Why The Dirt by Mötley Crüe is the best book ever written

Because I fucking say so.

And now for something... else.

It's hysterical. I say it's time for something else and I give you the exact same thing: The Dirt! Well, you could go all 'Ceci n'est pas une pipe' on me by saying it's an image of The Dirt rather then The Dirt itself, but I'm afraid I won't allow that. So there. Read The Dirt and be amazed at how pathetic your life really is.

Hoo fucking rah! Someone used the moving An Inconvenient Truth thing! At least two sane people reading this shite, now the rest of you clear off and go see the movie. Be amazed at how horribly wrong our lifestyle has become.

Now for some bollocks. I know some people are tired of me saying I have a bad memory, because they think it's a joke. Well, yesterday evening I was preparing some task for school and I lay a sheet of paper somewhere in my room and then I looked for some dictionnary I needed. Twenty seconds later, after I found the dictionnary, I couldn't remember where I had put the sheet of paper. I shook my head, closed and opened my eyes a couple of times, went WTF? and then started looking for the bloody thing for five minutes. Not even twenty seconds, that's how long I remember stuff that's not important to me. And I don't consider a whole lot of things important. I know people don't believe me when I tell them I have a pretty fucked up memory. I wish I was kidding, but I'm not. The only way I can remember stuff is by constantly repeating them in my head like a madman: you put it in the top drawer, you put it in the top drawer, you put it in the top drawer, you put it in the top drawer, man I really want to fuck Lindsay Lohan right now, you put it in the top drawer.

All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.
I like the Dutch version better, it goes something like:
Alleen werk en geen vermaak maakt van Jaak een rare snaak.

I didn't have memory problems when I was younger. Of course I would forget where I put the house keys now and then, but that's a problem everyone faces now and then. Lately things have gone from bad to worse. If someone asked me how I passed my day yesterday, I don't think I could give a decent answer. My mind is just filtering way too much information out of my head these days, as if memories are of no importance to survival. Interesting theme for a story right there eh? The man who couldn't remember a damn thing. Sounds like a crappy 30s movie and sounds a little bit like The Bourne Identity. Maybe that's why I'm so good at killing people! No, wait, that was A History Of Violence. A rather boring movie, if you ask me. Because the bad guy doens't wear a mask, obviously.

So, it seems Playstage is down for good. The server is corrupted or something, I'd have to check the MSN message log to remember what BM said to me exactly. Corrupt servers, what's wrong with society these days. Before you know it, we'll have extremist servers blowing up national monuments using binary code and leet speak. I don't feel particularly sad about the fact that the site seems to be dead, probably because I change moods three times as much as I change underpants. I could be devastated about it tomorrow, who knows. I don't know if I'll try to find another gaming website with a similar community and flood some new forums with my gaming nonsense. I kind of accepted to be a freelancer for BeNintendo.Be - for a moment I thought that URL had a nice mirror effect going, until I found out that Nintendo spelled backwards wasn't Nintendo but Odnetnin; that's almost as unpronouncable as blog- but I don't know if I'll actually write some reviews for the site. I planned on writing some in this blog before and they still haven't materialized, so I guess I'm not motivated.

Motivation has always been a disaster. While reading The Dirt, I was constantly thinking stuff like: 'Hell yeah, I'm gonna pick up my guitar again and play some kick ass rock 'n roll! Let's rock some balls!'. Then I would pick up my guitar, play for five minutes and go meh. I never understood how people could be motivated to do stuff for years at a time, studying something so they can get one particular job, for example. When I'm motivated, the 'Let's take on the world!' feeling lasts for about three days, then I go back to 'Meh, the world is boring'. For example, over the last week I was excited about playing guitar again, going on a snowboard trip with some friends, starting writing a story, getting some studying done and preparing something special for the 50th-post-in-this-blog-combined-with-the-first-year-anniversary-of-this-blog post. I played guitar for five minutes, decided that I'd rather spend the snowboarding money on rock concerts and festivals, didn't type one letter for a new story, didn't study one page for school and fucked up the long-awaited 50th post by writing this rubbish. Motivation sucks.

Speaking of festivals, somehow I managed to save up 120 Euros for Wacken Open Air 2007. If I can't find transportation for the Amon Amarth concert next Friday, it'll be 20 more Euros added to the pile. I amazed myself by collecting that amount of money, it made me realise that if I really wanted something, I could eventually manage to get it. Even if it's just money for some German festival. Most people would consider that rather unimportant, but they are oblivious to the truth: your life sucks if you haven't been to Wacken. So I'll keep saving money for Wacken, and Graspop too. I should have tons of money by the beginning of the summer, so I'll buy some Jack Daniels (gotta start learning to drink that shit), some Mötley Crüe records for the stereo and some other stuff.

I'll have to pass my exams first, which I will drastically fail at if I continue to live the way I live. Too bad I'm the only one that doesn't care. My dad obviously makes a big thing out of it since he's the one paying my studies and most of my friends don't understand why I'm not hammered on getting through all the exams the first time. Going to a festival like Wacken, to me, is a thousand times more important than bloody school. It's a life changing experience, after all I'll have to start saving money for Wacken every year after this year's edition, in a way that school could never be. I don't want to have some boring job, I want to be a fucking rock star. Even if I don't play in a band right now, make no efforts to find one and can't be bothered to play on my guitar for more than five minutes. I'm not worthy of being a rock star and I'm definitely not worthy of a college degree with this attitude.

You only know what your life could have been if you've read The Dirt, so I'll do my usual useless promotional talk and say once more: read The Dirt. Of course I won't convince any people to do so, but I don't care. At least now I know that my life is pathetic. Mötley Crüe are Gods. And assholes. Every God is an asshole. So, we can conclude that I am God.

Read The Dirt.
You fuck.

And a huge thanks to Stijn for lending me the book, I'll know what I'll be getting myself for Christmas. Cheers.