Here is the long overdue post about my Billy Jack choose-your-own-adventure story. The Trip. Part 1

You may not realize this. But this blog post is way overdue. You had probably forgotten about it, or you paid it no mind the first time I mentioned it.

But either way the post is overdue. Out there someone is waiting for it. They are disappointed that it has taken so long for me to write it down for them. Perhaps they are very angry about it. And they have decided to "never forgive me for how long it has taken."

"That is," they say "unless the post is really great." If the post can capture the spirit of that night. If it does not intrude too much into their memories. Destroying the affection they still feel for that night. That instead it simply reminds them of a funny anecdote, or it allows them to repaint their imaginations again with my reminders and descriptions.

"I should not fuck this up." They have told me. This night will go down in history. But maybe it is better if that history remains told by memory only. Orally. Recanted in smoky bars or over games of poker. Each time its truth being twisted an tugged at from different positions. Followed by loud angry disavowals.

That's probably best. And the way it should be recalled. By the particulars themselves. One at a time. To throngs of admiring friends, who hang on every word. Who bellow out laughter at every inside joke and every nuance of character betrayed by action.

But that is not how this story will be told. Instead I will tell this story. As I remember it. It is a story of 4 men who decide to make trip to Prescott, Arizona in hopes of meeting Billy Jack.

You really should read my posts about Billy Jack in order to understand why we needed to meet him.

I should tell you a little about the men who went with me on this trip.

G.I. Joe- drives tanks for a living. Well actually he used to drive tanks for a living. Though I am not too sure that one ever really stops driving tanks.

The Married Lawyer Guy- He is the only married guy I know. He is also the only person I know who gets visibly angry when people ask me to correct their grammar or spelling for them.

Card Shark- He thought there were lots of little reasons we should go to Jerome and Prescott. Billy Jack was one of those reasons. When asked if he thought that was a "good reason?" he replied that it was only a "little reason" and he never said "it was a good reason."

Romius T.-known throughout the blogger land as one cool kat, man.

Maybe I should get back to the action. Move the plot on and such. It's what good writers do after all. They would not languish here. In the set up for so long. Where is the fun in that? After all this story is long. And there are lots of things to get through. Many of them will be funny. But not to you. Because you were not there. And those funny things may not lend themselves to the kind of description I am good at.

But here goes.

After meeting up together the four of us all pile into Card Shark's full- sized-cab truck. Some of us were excited. Card Shark had his ipod with him, and took strangest perverse pleasure in finding his craziest music to play for us.

I forgot my ipod, so I could not break up the stream of bad music. Instead I described a particularly funny podcast called Distorted View to my friends. I mentioned how the show often played audio clips of gay fisting noises.

"You mean the actual sound of gay fisting?" Asked the married guy, who tried as best he could to imitate the sound of gay anal fisting. That is, the actual insertion noises that one would hear with fist sliding into ass. The "hmmmpftt hhmmppt" sound effect.

"No, no." I corrected. "Just the yelling the dude would make." I paused and then tried to imitate the grunts and groans of gay men who are being anally fisted.

While we all agreed that none of us were into into anal fisting, per se, we thought it too bad I didn't take my ipod with the anal fisting show with me.

After our discussions about music and podcasts our attention turned to food. I wanted to eat at an A&W. I was on a road trip without Funions, so naturally my mood was apprehensive. I pushed the A&W idea, suggesting to my friend Joe that A&W was a great place for road trip food.

"Think of it. Shakes. Hot dogs. All prepared by beastly women with cigarettes in their mouths who fail to wear gloves, or to cover up their moles and age spots."

Joe dismisses the idea. He has a much better idea. He wants to eat at the the ice cream shop from the movie Billy Jack. When Joe talks he leans forward in sharp bursts like an autistic boy would. Out of breath and in between bows he speaks with short, terse sentences.

But I wondered if the shop had any food other than ice cream.

"Sure it does. Hamburgers."

That settles it for me and I throw my weight behind the decision to eat at Billy Jack's ice cream shoppe.

Now that we had on plan for food we decided to visit that land of Hippie chicks and Urbanity called Arcosanti.

There is surprisingly little to see there. Arcosanti is a village commune designed by hippies. I think the hippies have been building this "town" for 50 years. If hippies can't build a place to live in fifty years it's no wonder it has taken them so long to make due on their promise of building a new society.

Maybe the 60's movements have not failed failed. Hippies are just sorta disorganized and lazy. It's just going to take them a while to get around to everything.

At least Hippies make good cookies. Card shark bought three cookies from a lady behind a counter at the cafe. After buying three cookies he warned us that if we wanted a cookie for ourselves we would have to buy one because he was planning on eating all three by himself.

We all got in line to buy cookies. I think Card Shark felt guilty about eating three whole cookies, because as each one of us got to the counter he offered to buy our cookies for us. But we all refused his offer. We wanted to buy our own cookies to make sure he would feel the full intensity of his shame. The buying and eating three whole cookies just for himself. People in Kenya never get that lucky.

We sat down in the picnic area next to the cafe to eat our cookies. Married guy found a chess set. Their are chess sets everywhere in Arcosanti. Hippies love chess even though I think chess requires a certain kind of logic they rarely posses.

I am not very good at chess. Married guy convinced me to play a game with him. He also got me to believe I was in checkmate when I wasn't.

We kept playing after the Card Shark helped me find a way out of married Guy's mate. I then missed a 2 move checkmate myself, which meant Married Guy luckily escaped from becoming the first person to ever lose a chess match to me.

On our way out of Arcosanti we met a few hippy chicks. I mentioned to Card Shark as they walked past by, "That I liked hippy girls, but I wished they shaved more." I am not sure the hippy girls stopped long enough to hear me talking to them. Because they gave no reply. I guess hippy girls have a lot more things to do than you think.

We are now on our way to Prescott.

G. I. Joe lived in Prescott as a boy. He said that his physics teacher taught him that the Earth was flat. Which when you think about it seems like a reasonable belief. Otherwise we'd all be sliding off the globe like a miniature plastic army men trying to conquer Nigeria.

Stay Tuned For Part II. A Trip to Prescott. And Part III. We are Attacked by Four Wild Cougars in Jerome, Arizona.

Katie has the Menses

My favorite Jew Girl has the Menses again. I think she gets them more than once a month. I am going to start keeping track of them again. Just like I was one of her girlfriends in the Sorority and we were all tyring to synchronize our cycles together.

I don't know why chicks do that. But it's one of the things I like about 'em.

How a Win/Win situation turns into a crime

Start by writing stuff down. Which is exactly the kind of thing you want to do if you are thinking about committing a crime.

Write down the crime and then sign your name. Otherwise the cops might actually have to do a little investigating.

Michigan Man Sentenced to Jail After Sex Pact With Girlfriend, 15-Year-Old Daughter:

MUSKEGON, Mich. — A 37-year-old man who was accused of having sex with his girlfriend's underage daughter under an alleged written contract with the girl and her mother was sentenced to several prison terms.

Michael Fitzgibbon was sentenced Friday to up to 15 years for each of four counts of third-degree criminal sexual conduct after prosecutors said he, his girlfriend and her daughter signed a contract allowing the teen to be his sex partner for two months.

The case arose after the woman, afraid of losing her boyfriend while recuperating from surgery, allegedly arranged for the three to sign a contract in June, The Muskegon Chronicle reported Saturday. In exchange for the sex, the 15-year-old testified she was to be paid and receive privileges, such as piercings, hair dyeing and permission to stay overnight with her own boyfriend.

In a letter read by assistant Prosecutor Dale J. Hilson, the alleged victim wrote that since the incidents last summer, she has tried to commit suicide, was treated at a Grand Rapids psychiatric facility and is now undergoing therapy.

My other Job is Blogging over at The Need Of the Few

I don't like to get into philosophical arguments about Carl Jung with guys who drive tanks for a living.

For one if they lose those arguments they could just get in their tanks and run you over. And I have a feeling that G.I. Joe would have no problem doing that.

That's why I won't tell him, but you my loyal 3 readers about this guest post I blogged over at The Needs of the Few.

The post is entitled:

Medusan-in-a-box: A requiem for Larry Bud Melvin, AKA The God-Man Calvert DeForest.

Or you could try visiting Bathos for my latest short story about a guy who think too much about toothpaste.

Very soon I will have to blog about the road trip to Sedona and Jerome where I encountered 4 cougars on the hunt for young prey. It was as they say "majestic."

I hope you enjoy.

Hugs and Cuddles.

Rt.

If you've come here to read about the Midget who enjoys jail bait, read on.

People send me lots of e-mail. And its not all just about midgets who love the Jail Bait. Though most of time it is.

According to AzCental.com

An actor who has had several minor film and television roles was in a Maricopa County jail Thursday on suspicion of sexually abusing a 15-year-old girl.

Jonathan Simanton, 36, of California was staying with family when police say he fondled his nephews' teenage baby-sitter in Scottsdale.

Simanton, known for his 3-foot-6-inch height, has acted as an elf in Surviving Christmas, an Oompa Loompa in Epic Movie and a small part in Turbo: A Power Rangers Movie.

Police reports offer the following narrative of what investigators believe happened Tuesday based on an interview with the victim:

Simanton was staying at the apartment while the victim was baby-sitting his three nephews. The two spoke throughout the evening and the victim told Simanton she was 15 years old. Simanton said he would date the victim if he were 20 years younger.

Simanton called the victim into a bedroom where he was lying down on a bed. She sat on the floor next to him. He then proceeded to fondle and kiss the girl without her permission.

The victim told Simanton she had to go to the bathroom and left the apartment to report the incident. Simanton admitted to touching the victim inappropriately, and there were indications he was under the influence at the time of the incident. He is being held on a $4,500 bond."

Now Just how a 3 foot 6 inch guy can get accused of molesting a 15 year old is beyond me. Way beyond me. It seems to me that if your the same size as the person you are "fondling" then it's OK.

Plus I am pretty sure you are allowed to fondle the breasts of a 15 year old in Arizona. Or all that time I spent working at the Law Library was for nothing.

I am not a lawyer, but I did play a ghetto lawyer at work for 4 years.

Arizona Revised Statute 13-1410. Molestation of child; classification

A.) A person commits molestation of a child by intentionally or knowingly engaging in or causing a person to engage in sexual contact, except sexual contact with the female breast, with a child under fifteen years of age.

I gather from the law that it is perfectly fine to sexually manipulate the breast of any female aged 15 and above.

It's not like the guy was trying to post pics of a girl who's father is "a national candidate for president" on the Internet. I mean that would be wrong. But only really wrong if you "come out" as a ChoMo and call the 5 and 8 year old "hot."

When you read stuff like this epiphenomenalism doesn't sound so crazy

I was under the impression that epiphenomenalism was about as sound a scientific theory as judging one's character by the lumps on your head.

I think I am wrong. Well actually I am a little relieved. Secretly I have always been a bit of an "Epi" fan.

An article from The BPS research Digest details how "psychologists in Italy have reported the real-life case of AD, a 65-year-old whose identity appears dependent on the environment he is in.

He started behaving this way after cardiac arrest caused damage to the fronto-temporal region of his brain.When with doctors, AD assumes the role of a doctor; when with psychologists he says he is a psychologist; at the solicitors he claims to be a solicitor. AD doesn't just make these claims, he actually plays the roles and provides plausible stories for how he came to be in these roles."

I guess the point I am making here is that you are about as conscious as Ashlee Simpson, only she's cuter.

I have no Lucky Charms. I didn't even get Corn Beef and Cabbage this year. A way too late post on St. Patty's Day.

I was depressed on St. Patty's Day. First, I saw no Leprechauns. And if you don't know how much I love leprechauns then maybe you don't pay much attention to anything you read here. Which is OK. As I don't really pay any attention to you.

The day did start off pretty well. Around 7 in the morning I took a civil service exam at the post office. That way when I get older I can really go postal on your ass. That deserves another post sometime.

Card Shark and I were still awake at 10 am. So he decided to stop off at a local titty bar. At 10 am the bar wasn't even open yet and somehow we convinced the doorman to let us in.

I think the bartender was a little pissed about us getting in so early, as she didn't have any clothes on yet, just a G-string and bra. Which is great. Because the best part of going to a strip club is seeing someone naked or near naked that never intended for you to see them naked.

Later that day I told a friend while watching that shit hole of a movie Strip Club that, "At some point in a stripper's career she dies a little on the inside. That's the day she stops getting nervous or embarrassed about going on stage."

I told my friend that I wished I could just pay to see the look in their eyes as their dreams or dignity died out. That's way better that a lap dance any day of the week. And the only reason my friend really goes to strip clubs in the first place. I guess the point I am making here is that my friend is a misogynist and everything I say is just a joke.

The other point I want to make is the quality of strippers at 10am is shit. My stripper had enough scar tissue on her stomach to start a war with. My friend "fell in love" but the girl would normally be considered the "fat ugly stripper" at most strip clubs. The longer we waited the more we saw fat chicks walk in and get naked. Suddenly my real life had intruded on the fantasy that is supposed to be going to a strip club.

In real life even I can get a middle aged fat girl, who's children have left her scarred and busted, naked without giving her money. I just go on E-harmony.com for that. So we decided to leave. As we left the bar we saw the doorman "making out" with one of the strippers.

This stripper wasn't hot. Just to give you way's of comparison, I've always dated hotter chicks. But here this girl was making out with some 50 year old 400 pound sweaty guy. I mean heavy petting at 10 am and the guy is drenched, no covered in sweat. She's holding on to him like she can't get enough of this guy.

"This guys gets more pussy than me?" My tone is incredulous. And my friend has to listen to me rant for about 16 minutes on the drive home. I am so upset about all this I decide to get myself a fat chick. And whenever I want a fat chick I go Karoke or dancing.

Eventually we made our way out that night to Graham's Central Station. Gram's has 4 0r 6 different clubs all under one roof. Mostly a bunch of cowboys, hoodrats and minorities show up to this place. You know just the type of people that a middle aged post modernist (but non-hipster) white guy can score with.

I take that back. I can't score at all. I saw myself in a Walmart mirror the other day. Walmart mirror's are not designed to make you look skinnier and they are placed out in the frigid bare industrial lighting. Lighting that makes you take stock of yourself. And forces you to surrender your vanity to the inevitable ravages of time.

I was told yesterday that I seemed positive. Despite all the shit "going down." That "my blog seems positive." I think I need to nip that in the bud.

15 Year Old Victoria Wants a Baby and is This Week in Jail Bait

Today I tried riding a bike to WhataBurger. I've been craving some meat and buns. I tried to bike it 2 miles, but ended up getting turned around and ended up on the freeway. It turns out that you can't ride your bike on the expressway. Who knew?

I guess the point is here that while I can't even plan a bike ride to a fast food restaurant, 15 year old Victoria is setting up her sexual escapades with several dudes and getting on TV. She's gotta be getting close to fulfilling her dreams.

You've got to admire someone that young who has her life planned out. I have a hard time wearing pants or a shirt when I write this blog. Plus any chick that has already slept around more than 300 times has to have something going for her.

UPDATE:

You can see new pics and videos of Victoria and her baby here!

I accidently erased this post. I hope you read it already. If not pretend it was funny.

I some how erased this entire post. All I have left is Card Sharks' Post Script. We should all beg Card Shark to become a regular contributing member of this blog.

A postscript: You should point out that the very next night, your friend ended up flaking on both the Suns game and going to Graham's. This despite the fact that the prospect of going to Graham's somehow cheered him up immediately the night before.

My guess is that he chose to stay inside his room and attract females by staring at a random point on his wall. That way he could again claim that he "scored" without the need for any confirmation. Actually, I think he ended up going to another bar with another friend that we have nicknamed the "douche," where I'm sure he employed his wall-staring tactics.

Note however, that with the Douche present as a witness, we haven't heard any claims of him "hooking up" using his method. The funniest thing is that he called later in the night to apologize for flaking, claiming that he was sorry and stating that he was "like Agent Zero and that anything he does is positive." Whatever the hell that means.

Stop reading this blog. Or I am only going to resort to reviewing all the boring clubs and bars I go to in Tempe for you.

Anytime I get a spike in readership I slow down in my posting. I don't like having to live up to all your expectations. I've said it before. But I feel the need to keep saying it over and over again.

I know you think I am a hypocrite. Because all I ever do is tell you I want to get famous and rich. And anytime I get close I self sabotage. But I could stay up late with you every night and get drunk and talk to you about the philosophical implications of approach/avoidance disorder till your sick and puke your guts out. But I am pretty sure that'll just be the tequila talking.

Last night I went out on the town again. Which is funny coincidence, because lately I've been watching a lot of the movie The Last Days of Disco.

In the movie one of the characters is given a fancy overcoat to throw over his hideous middle aged clothing in order to get past the bouncer. My friends and I had a similar experience at Club Zuma. We are way to old to be trying to get into this bar.

My friend got really pissed at the doorman for letting in a bunch of VIP's and hot chicks before letting in a couple of 30 year old scrubs. I tried telling my friend that it was OK. That this sort of thing always happened. And if was any kind of consolation, The Last Days of Disco pretty much ruined Whit Stillman's career as a director.

But my friend was basically inconsolable. He just kept staring at the doorman with these crazy psychotic eyes. The kinda eyes you all assume I have. But you're wrong. In actuality I am really quite placid and laid back.

We eventually got in to the bar though. One of my friends enjoys "grabbin ass" and I am pretty sure he did his fair share of ass grabbin. Which is ironic. Because one girl who walked up to us near closing time thanked us for "giving her support" in dealing with a belligerent ass grabbing drunk.

Funny thing is while she thought I was telling him that he didn't need to be harassing her, I was really telling him to instigate some trouble with her. I guess the point is here that you can't even trust the dopey middle aged guys at a bar who look like they are trying to prevent the perverts from touching you.

Cheers.

Romius T.

Top 10 Reasons why my addictions to Digg/Myspace/Blogger are killing me.

Face it. A lot of you are just like me. Addicted to the Internet. I know I should quit surfing the net so much. But I am pretty sure I should also workout more, eat less fast food, and get a job. But I can't. And I'd like to blame social sites like Myspace and Digg and Blogger. Why is the Internet trying to kill me? I'll tell you.

Top 10 Reasons why my addictions to Digg/Myspace/Blogger are killing me.

1. Other than blogs, I don't read anymore.

At least not books anymore. I used to read one non-fiction and one fiction book a week on average. Ever since I got addicted to the Internet I've stopped immersing myself in the world of books.

Instead I just browse your blog and leave witty comments hoping you will link me in your blogroll. It's the second fastest way to getting famous in the 21st century. Assuming you don't have a sex tape or a gun.

2. My attention span is shorter than Dick Cheney's penis.

I can't read anything for more than a minute. And I can't stand thinking in more than 30 second sound bites. Techno wieners call it blurbing. I must have at least 400 websites favorited to my computer. If I get bored for a second on any site, I simply move on to the next one. By now most of you have already done that too. Because this list is boring.

3. I might be going blind by staring at my computer screen.

If I am not going blind, then the radiation that my Commodore 64 is leaking out at me is probably keeping my sperm count low. But I am pretty sure staring at the computer screen all day is bad for your eyes. Of course I was able to discover this fact only due to Internet surfing. Ironic, no?

4. My sleeping pattern had been destroyed.

I can't remember the lat time I went to bed at a normal time. The pale blue glow from my video screen fucks with my circadian rhythms. I spend countless hours away from the computer, dreaming of getting to the computer.

5. MySpace can't get me laid. I haven't gotten laid in 2 years.

Yahoo chat rooms have been taken over by chat robots. There was a time when I got laid almost every weekend by simplifying logging into my local chat room and typing, "Who's horny? Lol."

So all the Yahoo chatters have gone MySpacing. If you fuck me on MySpace then the whole world knows you went donkey fucking.

6. Digg has made me a conspiracy theorist.

Read enough news stories about Google listening in on you through your computer and you will too. P.S. Turn off your Video Camera.

7. Blogger had made me think I am a writer.

A writer with goals who can accomplish something. Like get famous. Or make money. Writing in this blog has about as much chance as making me famous as reading the SECRET will. None.

The last time I had any ambition I was back in the 8th grade, but until blogger at least I understood this. Blogging makes me think my day dream of becoming famous and rich by doing nothing other than being myself has a chance to become true. Blogger is a liar.

8. My happiness is directly correlated to my blog's stats.

When Blogstats tells me 500 people have visited by site I am euphoric. But that has happened only once. Since then checking my BlogStats has only been a daily reminder of my failure in life.

9. I got fired for blogging once.

But I didnt get popular like Dooce. Or famous like an airline stewardess. Maybe it's because I don't have great legs. Or maybe it's because I am an Atheist who doesn't believe in Karma. Either way all blogging has ever done for me is make me poorer than a Kenyan.

10. I couldn't think of 10 things.

So Digg me. Get me famous. I have 10 loyal readers and one of you has a profile on digg. You know what to do.

Dr. Stephanie is on hiatus. That just means there is even more pressure for me to blog everyday. And I don't deal well with pressure.

All this pressure has caused my sleeping pattern to crumble way off. And I don't just mean "way" off. I mean "way off!" I can't seem to stay asleep. I am up for 2 hours fall asleep for 4 hours wake up for 6 sleep for 13 hours. Nothing makes sense. I haven't seen the sun in three days?

Do you know if it's still out there? I hope so. Otherwise it could get pretty cold out there.

In other news I have a headache. It's either from too much sleep or not enough sleep. Since I am not sure how much sleep I am actually getting. I can't be too sure what the reason for the headache is.

But I can tell you that my brain feels like it has been moth balled. And my acid reflux is acting up. My throat is on fire. Which will probably give me throat cancer. I don't think there is a cure yet for throat cancer. I hope somebody is searching for the cure. They'll probably find it just after I die. And no one will notice the irony.

But death is preferable to watching movies with my roommate. He forced me to watch Billy Jack. Billy Jack combines the 70's hippies movement, karate, Clint Eastwood violence, and street theater. Lots of street theater.

BILLY JACK IS JUST A GUY WHO PROTECTS

CHILDREN AND OTHER LIVING THINGS

By forcing them into hours of street theater performances. That's not my idea of protection, but then again I hate hippies. It's called deodorant. Look into it. If the French hate it so much it has to be good.

Go read Bathos for more of my take on the Billy Jack movies and the Billy Jack the man.

How's that novel working out for ya?

Polish porn is a poor substitute

Much like El Monterey Frozen Chimichangas are a poor substitute for real Mexican food. You hear a lot of horror stories about Polish pornographers. Like the guys have their faces blotted out for a reason.

You can hear the reason in the background of the video I just watched. Children are screaming and playing. Older sisters knocking on the door. Moms that accidentally walk in. Oops! Somebody grab him a towel and pretend your just giving a massage. I guess in Poland nobody asks a young woman why she is giving an old naked man a massage. In Poland there are some questions you just can't ask.

Plus I am pretty sure that the women in Polish porn films are all victims of the White Sex Slave Trade. Which is why I guess they don't even pretend to enjoy themselves. The sexuality exuded by polish sex trade victims is completely artificial.

Here is a not safe for work viewing- link to porn. I feel a bit awkward showing you this link. Like somehow we've watched porn together. And grown men should never watch porn together. Any "group" viewing of porn other than group pron viewing by middle school friends is creepy. Stephen King not withstanding, I am pretty sure most of us until now never took part in a circle jerk.

Can the Russian at my Jack-in-the-Box please stop coughing on me?

I haven't had a lot of time to blog recently. I've been spending most of my days surrounded by poker players in smoke filled casinos. Poker keeps me up to an ungodly time in the morning. I go to bed at noon and wake up at 6 pm. But before I go to bed I usually have breakfast at Harlow's by ASU. I love the girl in black leggings who brings me my eggs. She has the best ass in town.

I was reading the newspaper today at breakfast. When I discovered some guy who lives in the area has TB. Bad TB. So bad health officials won't let him leave the hospital.

"He is not allowed a TV, a radio, a cellphone, a shower or visitors. A video camera catches his every move. His floormates are criminals, including a suspect in the killing of a police officer."

Normally hearing news like that would upset me. But the guy in isolation for a deadly drug resistant disease lives nearby. He refused medication and went outside without his mask. His excuse?

"In Moscow," he said, "when I went to clinics, even the doctors did not wear masks."

Russians are dirty people who's rate of infection for TB is 15 times that of the United States. That's no excuse for me not caring about this guy, but it is a fact. The Russian has also stated that he is depressed to the point of crying.

"They're making a criminal out of me," he added. "I've been crying almost every day. . . . I'm all alone. No showers. No sunlight. It's the silence that's pushing down on me. . . . It's the worst you can get, even if you murdered somebody."

So I guess his life now was a lot like it was back in Russia. "There is certainly a high likelihood that the patient has developed additional drug resistant (sic) that may make cure impossible," the assessment said. "If this is the case, the patient must be detained in isolation until death or patient's own immune system contains it (50% chance of either possibility)."

And his prospects for a life here in America seem about as good as they do for the average Russian. A 50% chance of imprisonment or death. I am not sure what this guy can complain about. He sure can't be homesick.

Would you worship God if he looked like this?

Me either. But faith in god is not getting me anywhere, and I bet if you clicked on the link and saw the real face of god your faith ain't no good either. I lost money playing poker tonight. I think it might be because I suck at it.

It leaves me really depressed. Because I think I might have to resign myself to working for minimum wage. Frankly, even then any boss would be over paying me.

I wanted to write a long post on resignation. But I was in too dark a place to write for the Internet. Stuff about how brave you need to be in order to buy a gun and shoot yourself. We all know I am way to chicken for that kind of thing. I hate pain too much.

Plus I have all that R/C Cola and masturbation to look forward to.