Yngwie's Odyssey

So my "little" brother made these albums you've maybe heard me talking about. He took existing albums and then made new songs with the song titles of the albums. He did My Name is Sasha Fierce first, which I forget the story on that one. But then he did the Back to the Future soundtrack, and he called it Cousin Marvin, and it told the story of Marvin Berry's tragic life after Chuck stole that "new sound" from Marty and never gave him credit for it. So I got pretty into that idea and then I figured out of brotherly competition I better do one myself. So I did, and so here it is, as a youtube playlist for your coninuous enjoyment.

Oh man, shit, dude. Fuck.

Well that sucks, one of my favorite bands broke up. God damnit. Now all I got is one pretty good album, an amazing EP, and a fucking straight-up transcendent shining diamond of an album I can enjoy for the rest of my life, plus a handful of hilarious, confusing, tragic, charming videos. God fucking damnit. Fuck.

DABDA

Elizabeth Kubler-Ross' five stages of grief apply remarkably well to my recent loss of Smoking. Here's how it's been for me:

Denial that I needed to quit just yet at all. (thanks, mystical understanding of the human body)

Bargaining that I'd quit tomorrow, or cut down to a limited amount. (thanks, vast powers of rationalization)

Accepting that I had to quit. (thanks, Great Uncle Don)

Depressed about how much it sucks to not smoke. (thanks a lot, past self)

Angry at people at the drop of a hat because I don't smoke. (sorry, friends)

always something there to remind me

It seems like everywhere I turn I see your face. I miss you. I miss the times we had. Remember? Nowadays I see you with so many other people, and I just want to grab these other people by the shoulders, and look them in the eye, and tell them to cherish you. I want to tell them, "you have no idea how lucky you are." I want to say, "no, you have no fucking clue. Cherish, for the love of God, cherish every second you spend together."

And you know what's the worst? God help me, but the last time we said goodbye, I said I hated you. I said that, and I have to live with that forever. I know you knew I didn't really feel that way, but I have a lifetime ahead of me to think about how that was the last thing I said to you before the Lord took you away from me. If there was some way I could get in a time machine, or harness the power of lightning to bring you back, just for one moment, I would do anything. Anything. But you're gone. You're gone and soon enough I will think about you less. Eventually I won't even care about you anymore, and that is the saddest of all.

Don't go softly into that dark night, Smoking, don't you dare!

R.I.P.

You can't pretend quitting smoking isn't tragic. Smoking was your buddy and your companion for a long time. It's not like it isn't sad to see it go. You gotta mourn it. You gotta admit to yourself that smoking was awesome, and that you will miss smoking. You gotta comisserate and say smoking will always kind of be a part of you. It will always be there up in heaven, looking down on you and kind of watching your back, like your grandma, or like Jesus, or like Yoda, Anakin, and Obi-Wan. It is the great consolation but also the great tragedy that life goes on without smoking. All things must pass.