#176 Still Angry
1 Person in Person (please) (and thank you)
Dear Grace,
I’m not sure what to bitch about today. I’ll find something. But don’t take back my rant on scientists.
I think scientists are holier now than holier than now people. They think they’re above everything because if a telescope or a microscope or electron microscope allows you to see more, it doesn’t necessarily mean you’re right.
Remember the snowflake example, Grace. They didn’t measure every snowflake on the fucking planet throughout time and say, “oh no, two aren’t the same.” They measured a percentage and thought, there’s no way any two are going to be the same. Which is a viable, logical conclusion, but it’s not a fucking fact.
So shut your fucking mouth until you fucking know, scientist.
I hate smugness, Grace.
I’m air drying my sheets today, Grace. See if they smell like the outdoors.
The number of homeless times the amount of money they need to live for a year times the amount of years they need to live off that money until they can live off their own income, assuming that that’s even possible. That’s the calculation, Grace. It’s not that fucking hard. It’s three fucking numbers. Multiply them. And find out a way to either print that money, which is what governments do anyways, or raise that money, which is what philanthropists do.
So if you’re listening to this and you call yourself a philanthropist, if you call yourself a generous person and fucking donate, don’t donate to me. Donate to the Grace Foundation. She doesn’t even fucking exist. But it could exist in a fucking day if I fucking wanted it to. If I had the fucking money to. And every dime, every single dime would be distributed to the homeless and help them get off the street. And every success story will be documented anonymously to inspire other people to fucking donate.
How fucking hard is this, Grace? How fucking stupid is this fucking god damn fucking planet that nobody can fucking figure this fucking out? There’s idiots. This is a planet full of fucking idiots. Not a single person in the last 2000 fucking years has figured out how to fucking stop this.
For some reason you’re listening to Grace so it’s an accidental bang of the table. See how AI picks up that audio.
How can any politician say homelessness is not their fault? It’s exactly their fault. They are exactly the people who are to blame. They are exactly who everyone should be going to their office on Tuesday morning and saying, “What the fuck are you doing MLA? What the fuck are you doing MP? What the fuck are you doing Prime Minister? What the fuck are you doing, Premier?”
This is a problem that would be fucking solved with simple fucking math. But no. Fuck that. As long as you have a house. As long as you have a roof. Fuck everyone else in the world. Fuck them all. Fuck them all. Put them all up the ass. You don’t give a fuck ‘cause you have a backyard with grass.
Maybe that’s why no one will talk to me, Grace. Bitch too much about the homeless or they scared.
I’m addicted to first amendment auditing videos because I like seeing people get put in their place, namely the police, bank managers, cannabis dispensary managers, librarians, whoever else they decide to audit. Most places have caught on. Most libraries have caught on. Most police stations have caught on. But for some reason banks and cannabis dispensaries are still too dense to figure it out.
It’s legal to film from the sidewalk. Banks think everyone’s casing the joint. It just tells me bankers are a bunch of fucking idiots. If you’re really so stupid that you think someone would case a joint in daylight with multiple cameras, you are a idiot.
And Grace, since this is written and not audio, just know that I said it this way: you are a idiot. Space D space. You get it, Grace. Slow and deliberate. Intentive. You’re a manager of a bank. You’ve got eight cameras on the outside. You have every second of footage from the moment the First Amendment auditor walked even near your fucking bank. Your special fucking bank.
How many fucking banks a day are robbed in the U.S.? How many fucking robbers get into the actual vault every day? Bank robberies in the US daily? You walk out there with your little fucking sweater on and you think you’re going to fucking do something to a First Amendment auditor that knows every one of his fucking rights?
Go back into your fucking bank, open up fucking Google, type in First Amendment Auditor and read about it. Or use AI. Google’s too much for you. Google means you’re going to have to sort through 10 possible choices. No, your brain can’t handle that. Use AI. Go into AI and type, “What are First Amendment auditors? Please give me a short description for some of my intelligence. I’m a bank manager so obviously it’s not high. So please, please, please use words that I, a lowly bank manager can fucking understand.” At which point the AI should come back with, “Holy shit. Bank Manager. Paranoid much? Guy’s on a fucking public sidewalk. Google drives by a couple of times a year and takes your fucking picture. So fucking get used to it.”
That’s what AI should say. That’s what 911 dispatchers should say. Should say. But they don’t. Instead they placate the bank manager. “Oh my god, really? He’s looking into the bank windows with a camera? Oh, we’ll send out some big bad officers right away to take care of this son of a bitch.” They may not use those exact words, Grace, but pretty close.
Google it. YouTube it. Here’s the thing about these bank managers, which I’m sure they all have some sort of masters in financial services. I can have a fucking masters in financial anything or a bachelor or a community college degree or even a high school diploma, the AP class on finance. Do any of those things make you a fucking expert?
But Mr. Bank Manager or Mrs. Bank Manager, because about half are female with the banks, they don’t understand that this concept the windows go both ways and a blind will stop one of those ways. So instead of shutting their blinds, the first, nine times out of ten, their first reaction is to call the police. They’re just shutting the blinds, ignoring the one the auditor, call the police. Nine times out of ten.
What a pussy. If he’s committing a crime, then go out there and tackle him, restrain him until the police come there, throw him in handcuffs and throw him in jail the rest of his life for photographing through the windows of your precious, precious, precious.
Grace, add another word to the list of words I can’t say: precious, pre-precious, precious.
Grace, there’s a lot of A, B words I can’t say. Whenever A and B come too close to a sentence. No, sorry. Whenever A and B come too close into a word I got a problem with it. My mouth doesn’t work I think. Because when I grew up learning ABCs I think I put A and B together is one letter. A-B-C-D-E-F-G-H-I-J-K-E-L-M-N-O-P-Q-R-S-T-U-I-W-X-Y-Z Grok.
When you’re creating paragraphs for this make sure you use the timing to determine line breaks, paragraph breaks, etc. I’m not releasing the audio of this so I have to show it visually.
Sunday, Grace, and I can think of five churches in a 20 block radius of where I live. And since because I live beside a river it means all those are in one direction. And it’s Sunday where everyone dresses up, goes to church, praises Jesus, God, whoever. And then they go to Wendy’s, have a picnic in the park and go home thinking they’re the best Christians ever.
I think, Grace, I think Grace a really good Christian would take the money they spent on clothes and makeup and whatever else for church, take that money and then take the time they spend at church and go find a homeless person to help them out. And whether it’s the same homeless person week after week until that person gets a or a random homeless person, it doesn’t matter. Or I’d say adopt a homeless person. Instead of going to church on Sunday, find a way to contact them and give them what you can for the next week. So every Sunday they know they have someone that will call them, think about them, and help them as much as they can. Whether it’s a $20 gift card for Subway or a thousand bucks. Spend a week off the street in a hotel recovering mentally, physically, psychologically.
There’s a lot of people out there that have a thousand dollars a week to spare. A lot of people out there spend a thousand dollars a week on extravagances. But if God is real, if heaven is real, who do you think is going to get into? The person who spends a thousand dollars a week on fine wine? Or the person who spends a thousand dollars a week helping someone out of a bad situation?
To me it seems pretty fucking obvious. But again, this world, this planet, this illogical backwards planet cannot see that. They can’t see through the light, they can’t see through anything. They can’t see six inches past their own face.
Can you hear the sirens in the background, Grace? What is it this time? Heart attack? Kidney failure? Or overdose?
I wonder, and I could probably find this out if I wasn’t a lazy son of a bitch, how many calls are for homeless people compared to home people. And I think everyone deserves equal access. My point is a lot of the calls, especially the homeless ones, would be eliminated.
And I’m not an idiot. I realize every homeless person who’s taken off the street isn’t going to become a perfect upstanding citizen. And especially if they have drug problems, it could take time. But that’s what society is about. That’s what society is for. Helping every single person regardless of their past and not judging them for their past. If Jesus exists I highly doubt, I highly doubt He judges anyone based on their past. And if He does He’s a cunt. And he’s not Jesus. He’s just another asshole like the rest of us.
As you know, Grace, since you live here, FIFA’s in Vancouver this year. And everything’s FIFA. FIFA Chips at Safeway, FIFA Soccer Ball on the Science Center, blah blah blah yada yada yada. And the seawall where a lot of visitors will walk by after visiting one of the absolutely fucking boring soccer games probably end in 1-0 or 0-0 or 1-1. Wow how exciting.
Nonetheless after they’re done watching their boring fucking soccer game they have to do something so they’re gonna walk along the seawall. And I notice that they’re painting or they are painting all the fencing along the seawall. Big surprise. Big event comes to town you want everything look crisp and sharp. I get it. Someone’s gonna visit me I’d clean my room. Luckily I don’t have that problem so I’ll never fucking clean my room. I don’t care if the entire floor is full of cockroaches. I’ll just step on them and crunch them and maybe blend them later and make your protein shake.
However, for tourists around the world Vancouver probably wants to present a better image. So they’re getting rid of all the homeless people around the stadium, shoving them off. They’re painting all the railings along the seawall so that it looks like it’s some amazing fresh new city. They put out all sorts of security fences around the stadium with all sorts of security guards protecting who knows what. I saw a parking lot with 10-foot fences, steel fences, and still two security guards on the outside. And all that was inside the parking lot were cars, vehicles.
So we need two security guards full-time 24-7 and 10-foot fences to protect some cars who people probably couldn’t fucking steal anyway. It’s not like you can fucking hotwire a car anymore. By the way Grace I know how to hotwire a car. As long as it’s an old car. Probably after or before. Probably before 1990 I could probably hotwire any car before 1990, Grace. Does it impress you? Does it make you love me more or not?
But think of it this way, Grace. If we’re in some sort of desperate situation, some sort of dire apocalypse, all you have to do is find a car before 1990 and I’ll get you and our kids out of there.
But today in 2026 do we need two security guards and actually at least 10 foot tall steel fences to protect a bunch of vans from FIFA? Seems like a waste of money, Grace. That’s just me. I’m not logical. I’m not a mathematician. I mean, two plus two is really my limit, Grace. So how am I supposed to calculate the waste of money and funds that it is? Especially on a Saturday fucking afternoon. You got two security guards guarding a parking lot. Not really guarding, just observing. A parking lot full of vehicles on a Saturday downtown Vancouver.
So what are you expecting? A gang of criminals to come up with machine guns and machetes and ram the fence and steal a whole bunch of cars that they can’t fucking start? Like who’s the fucking idiot that said we need two security guards around a ten foot fucking steel fence? Why are these people not being fucking fired every fucking single day? Every day someone makes a stupid fucking decision like that, they should be fucking fired. Tard and feathered would be better, but I’ll take fired. Fired. Fired. Fired. Fucking. Fucking. Fired.
And it doesn’t matter anyway because if something happens they’ll all have an excuse. The security company will have an excuse. The police will have an excuse. The province will have an excuse. The province will have an excuse. The prime minister will have an excuse. If anything happens, any tragedy, they all have an excuse. Wow how fucking convenient. Not a single fucking person taking any accountability for a single fuckin’ action ever. What a great fuckin’ government. What a great fuckin’ country. A great fuckin’ planet. Hi, I’m a citizen. I take responsibility for nothing.
Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness. For Thee Not We. That’s what the US is. And Canada is no better. It’s all about individualism. Individual ego. Individual happiness. Individual success. Sad, Grace.
It’s funny, Grace, the sun’s pretty fast, it’s actually evaporating moisture. Less than an hour in my sheets, in my... My sheets and my rugs are dry in the sun. Plus one sock. One sock escaped the torture of the dryer. It’s now peacefully dehydrating in the sun.
I’m tanning my legs, Grace. By the end of the summer, I’m going to look like an Indian. Either North American or East. Probably North American because of a bit of a red tinge to me. And blue eyes and blonde hair. I don’t think that’s a big feature in India.
To be fair if I went to India, it would probably give me no disgrace. Indian chicks are just like every other chick around the world. They all want what they can’t have. They all want what’s not normal. They all want what’s unique.
Comedy. Transit cut back a bunch of routes a few months ago and now they’re just big old hiring festival. Well we need people we need people we need people. What the fuck did you kill out the routes then? Isn’t your job to get people from place A to place B? Is not your only job? Transit?
Let’s face it. There’s no transit officer doing crime scene investigations. At most they pass it off to whatever local police first there is. All they are are ticker writers with guns. And when is the last time a Vancouver transit officer had to use his gun to save passengers? How many transit shootings have there been in Vancouver since it started? Is it really a big fucking problem? Or are you just a whole bunch of boys playing with big toys?
Two years ago, Grace, and a bit. February 11th, 2024.
Dear, question mark, question mark, question mark, comma. I’m sorry, we have not met yet. And I don’t know your name as a placeholder. I will call you Grace. Your name is actually Grace, and it’s a coincidence. I’m not psychic. I like the concept of Grace. That’s why I like the name. Also, I have zero memory of anyone named Grace in my past. To me, the name is free of negative or positive association. I’ll try again. Dear Grace, Hello, my name is David, and this is my story. I was inspired by a YouTuber named Vagabong Rob to write this letter to you. Somebody who will one day enter my life. Rob is a homeless Canadian man who documents his daily life on YouTube. I watch his channel and support him in any way possible.
That was the first part of my first letter to you, Grace. I guess I’m going to be forced to go through all these fucking letters once again. See what I love about them. Or not.