Monday, July 4, 2011


There are questions that persist in their eluding answers.  However, there is one person who cannot elude suspicion and that is Mr. Mustbee.  He is the kind of person who more than just happens to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. 
Conscious decisions to associate with people who he would be better off not associating with are made and on more than one occasion and on more than a couple of occasions.  Mr. Mustbee's patterns direct the spotlight on him and expose a personality that renders him an obvious candidate for failure and not just failure but relentlessly unavoidable and constant disaster.

A neighbor Mrs. Karlenskitorff has commented on his predilection for self-sabotage by stating the following:

"Mr. Mustbee must be some kind of person who enjoys making himself and others suffer and experience discomfort and pain and torture of exponential proportions.  It's as if his imagination is set in genetic stone on the genetic level to spend hour upon hour in his dark room or lab, I suppose, using his demented imagination and misguided and twisted creativity for evil to devise more ways to hurt people.  Even though he ends up hurting mostly himself one can make all sorts of limitless suppositions on his potential for diabolical endeavors to undermine other people's happiness and progress that actually does more damage to himself, the unlucky bastard."

One is left confronting this concept of luck in not only Mr. Mustbee's case, but in the types of criticism that is generated by this troubled and defective personality.  Sometimes the quality of analysis of Mr. Mustbee's life and character is that on the order of rather insightful and cuts to the foundation of the structure of the self and others present with a quality that borders on, teeters precariously, and falls over into mischartered regions that could only be considered absurd and wild guessing that resembles the inebriated unloading of one's automatic firearm.  

One key characteristic of the discourse on personality that provides examples of the surreal possess this tendency to include the dimension of probability.  Mr. Mustbee's aforementioned neighbor Mrs. Karlenskitorff used the word luck after making such a promising go of it but degenerated into musings upon indeterminism and other similar theories that cannot compete with modalities of more sound and consistently reliable empirically objective evidence forming their construction.  

Remarks on personality as in the representative exemplification of Mr. Mustbee must be of two types: (1). either focuses on the essentialism of basic characteristics that contribute to an individual's actions and behavior; or (2). include circumstances and random features such as luck (as in the aforementioned commentary of the aforementioned neighbor Mrs. Karlenskitorff with her aforementioned referencing of the term luck with its regressive effects and other confounding variables of a more arbitrary nature).

Elucidations of the aforementioned specimens of aforementioned mutterings and scuttlebutt that have come before and will certainly and uncertainly reproduce themselves and issue forth in birthing and rebirthing pains and endless agonies on the faces and lips of others will seep through the printed pages to stain the fingers of the reading and illiterate public to put their two cents worth in for all that is still worth.  And these formulations of criticism of personality will either take on the version of two diametrically opposed theories that fit the metaphor of two gears in a machine that grind against each other in their incompatibility or an unending array of displays like a holiday parade with an infinite number of floats that go on for hours and hours or an unmonitored youngster who creates an unending cast of characters in a video game to unleash a multiplex of ways to slaughter giant insects and other mutations.

Please disregard the preceding paragraphs they were cut and pasted together by a mind that could only be described as confused and lunatic.  Some minds such as the mind that wrote the above (at least the beginning had some inkling of common sense until it deteriorated) prefer to cloud and obscure issues that can be explained in a straightforward and uncomplicated manner.  Too much attention was given to Mrs. Karlenskitorff's remarks and remarks about remarks about her remarks and remarks like hers and not like hers.  So to redirect us toward a path of simplification, the following has been put together and broken down.

Just as the maddening noise of chickens can make one question getting closer to the land, so personalities like Mr. Mustbee must be at the root cause of making one question getting closer to other people.  It prompts one to question one's reason for living as in the following journal entry by a former anonymous co-worker of Mr. Mustbee:

"Mr. Mustbee is one of those people who has the type of personality that makes you wonder why people like that exist.  And the very force or energy or inner current that slithered, if you will, through the insides of his being like some serpent, or what have you, made you wonder so much why people like that existed that it made you wonder why you or other people existed for that matter.  His personality had such a pointless and destructive quality that not even working a different shift from him made you feel like everything was pointless and you just spent most of your time thinking of ways of being destructive yourself to yourself thinking about sharp objects to stick into yourself and pull out of yourself and look at yourself that you pulled out and look at this part of yourself and say to yourself, that must be Mr. Mustbee, he got inside me and fucked me up, he did.  Shit!  I'm fucked and it must be Mr. Mustbee."

Mr. Mustbee lifted his pen from the spiral notebook for a moment as he tried to halt the cloud of thoughts that lit up with lightning and only collapsed into a nebulous ball of steel wool.  He lowered his pen back down to the page and wrote:

Must be Mr. Mustbee that character with the character that must be full of nothing but disabled functions that can never be turned back on and can't turn them on because he doesn't want to turn them on because of dysfunctional internal switches that have been permanently dicked by a personality that is sinister to say the least and sown together by entrenched choices embedded in attributes that conspire to bring down a fallen ego that can't look beyond its own boundaries imprisoned within its self-absorbed walls imprisoned within rooms without windows that if there were windows would only let this incorrigible type look out at layer after layer after layer of wire fence reminding its intractable occupants of their hardened and unteachable ways.

- Max Stoltenberg

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