A Zombie Jesus teXt message

A Zombie Jesus teXt Message continues the story of FLo Jo, Zombie Jesus, and El Caminos from Sir Freida Bee.

Zombie Jesus
so sorry
me love you
long time
not like u
flojo

u no love me
no mo
'gone and got ya
a boy friend

leff me
all high and dri
left yo' babby daddy

you used to call me
babby daddy

even tho'
all them chillin's
was never mine
not one of them buns
in your oven
was my seed

leff me cryin
oustide yo' house
in my shoes

I cry in my Helio
typeing messages
u never read

cuz I so sad
and
lonely
just a beat ol man
who got no use leff in 'em

so out you go
closing the sceen door behind ya
with a whack
driving off in that
old el camino

I sit jibber jabbin
making no sense
counting the ways up I love you
counting for days for sure

I'm still sittin'
here in prison
and trying to wrap my head around it

why you shot me that day

I remember
the good ol' days
when use
loved me

when all use did
was shout out to the preacher man
my name
and I came back to ya

wanted to show you my scars
wanted to tell you
how it sure hurt
up on those crosses
how i wished
you'd tear 'em down

I's as rich
as a poor man
can be
and I aint got no el camino
to drive you off in

and
I guess all
yo' kids and chillins
would be wearin
some old hand me downs
if we moved in
together

but somtime
I bet you think
about how'd
you's wash my feet
and tell me
you thoughts my
feet was nice
and how normally feet "turn you off"
but not mine

I still hate you gettin that abortian
though
Cuz I love to see you and
your big belly
and I love how
the milk starts dribbiling out
a few months
in to your expectin'

and weren't you
gonna keep me up to date
on your titties?
and how they got some brown in 'em again
now that you was pregnant again
just cuz you hate having them brown titties
is no good god damn reason
to go getting that baby cut out o' ya

I swears
I was so mad
I was seeing red that day
I was goin' to learn ya a lesson
I was

I tole ya
I dont mind
another man's seed in ya
I get off on it
and I like banging ya
when I know ya's preggars
and stuffed
by a big dick

I sure dont know
why
I was born
so small

but i never heard
ya complain

my little plan
was to let ya fool around on me
I wanted to catch ya in the act
and jack off
peepin' thru the door lock
thas all ruined now

and I sit
away
in
prison
singing
blues
about how I got no one

but you sure enuff
got someone
cuz u always finda way to get some
yous a bit of a fluesy
like that

and di ya notice
I skipped the c word?
I wasn't gonna
but ya get pissier
than the devil
worked up over apples
whenever I use that talk

o babymamma
Ima call ya that...
babymomma

no matter about that abortion
no matter that you got his
picture up on your myspace

i knew
when i bought
you that helio

that
it would cum
to no good use
just plasterin'pics of u 'n him
all kissy faced

that sure sparked me
got me all fired up
made me run to get my shotgun
made me find you
hoarin' it up at
hooter's

I took care of em didn't i?

write me back Flo Jo
I miss u
and its cold
here
and can you send me some money
for the prison cantina?

all i get is
bologna sandwhiches
im so sick of baloney
baby

I miss u

Dear Tiffany, quit hawking your 100 calorie cookies at me. Do the elves own you or what...I bet you gotta midget fetish, you freak!

I feel like a piggie. I am scarfing down new Keebler Fudge shoppe fudge filled cookies, even though one cookie has 25% of the daily recommended saturated fat in it.

My belly is fat because my store had pork chops on sale for 97 cents a pound. I bought two big packages and they each cost me only $2.24. I can live off all that pork for days. I e-mailed a friend telling her that I made 4 cheese mashed potatoes from the dehydrated box and a salad ( I eat healthy bitches) but I am afraid her food snobbery will crush our budding friendship when she reads it.

That would suck because soon I am going to be pretty. I am going on a diet and I will stop eating cookies. I am only eating the cookies today because I need something to wash down all the fat free milk I am drinking.


I feel I need to reinforce the idea to you that I am now on a diet. I gave up drinking soda. No more coke or R/C at home anymore. I just bought a huge 1 gallon pitcher and I am drinking decaffeinated ice tea from 20 ounce plastic cups. I've been meaning to lose weight for a while, but I was too cheap to buy a new pitcher for my ice tea. I am worried about drinking so much decaf ice tea though. How will my body know to get rid of all the liquid I am drinking without caffeine as a diuretic?

My dishwasher doesn't work, and I don't trust hand washing items to drink out of. I guess I'll just add buying a new pitcher every week to go along with all my plastic cups, sporks, and paper plates. I spend 12% of my disposable income on throw away table wear, but who are you to judge me? Your boyfriend fake orgasms, and that quilt your sister made you for Christmas was 15.99 at Costco. Your such an idiot. I can't believe you fooled yourself into thinking she took all that time to make it for you. Your sister can't sew. And nobody realized until the last second that you were going to make it up for the holidays this year. So your sister got the last straw and bundled up to face the bitter cold. She headed over to Costco and she grabbed the first thing she saw, a quilt, because it was cold out and she thought if you had car trouble she could keep the quilt because your Dad never turns on the heat.

But then you had to make such a production about how your sister must have put the quilt together that your sister and your mom let you believe that she is America's newest quilting sensation. And yes that means she throws away the all those antique quilting magazines you bought her for Valentine's Day. She hated the basket you sent her because she felt like all you were doing was just asking her for more quilts and she wants you to stop taking advantage of her emotions just because her womb works and she's got kids and you might was well be dried up and eggless like granny because there is no way in hell you are ready for the RESPONSIBILITY of kids like her.

Nobody bought you presents because your family assumed you would be spending Christmas huddled around your boyfriend's house sucking up to your maybe one day (go ahead keep telling yourself that) future mother-in-law who hates youfor being the person who stole her little boys penis. Now I am as disgusted by your mother in law's unnatural affection for your boyfriend's penis as you are, but that's because I want to hide my penis in there too. I heard you like double stuffing from your roommate.

[I can't believe my luck in finding the video that accompanies this post. After I wrote the post I was looking for pictures of the cookies I was eating and popped sweet tiffany. I want to marry sweet tiffany. I think she hates me though, she just doesn't get my sense of humor. If the right video is not playing click here.] She even quilts I viewed her profile and I must tell you I had no idea when I wrote that I am just spot on though!! OMG!! I can't get the video to play in blogger for some reason so you will just have to click on it.

The Self Help Guide to Suicide is you pretending this blog post is not a cry for help

Life is like a box of chocolates. If the chocolates are the sad left over boxes of chocolate on sale for half price the day after Easter. I've already run out of material to post to my self help podcast, so I am thinking about starting to post new episodes to my old podcast The Surveillance Society. A podcast I think I will rename Big Brother Watch. That way I could just read you the headlines of all the privacy breaches and technology stories that are dooming our nation to become like a real life version of that George Orwell movie.

I am only writing because I read this post on copyblogger that gave me permission to write "less than perfect or crap blog posts." Of course copyblogger told me not to post them, but I did it anyway, because I like to break the rules. I was supposed to rewrite this, but I've edited a lot of the early content on this blog, and that got me nowhere with you. Just like when I called you Tara Reid.

I know comparing you to Tara Reid is going to piss you off because you only think of Tara Reid as the party girl slut who drank her way to a size 6, and you want me to imagine you as the fresh faced Tara that was a size 2 when she first became famous by making the movie American Pie. Frankly, I still think that Tara is hotter than you, and you should just take that as a compliment, because you don't get complimented that much.



I'm having a mid-life crisis. I woke up depressed today. I could tell you why I am depressed. It had something to do with a particular thing that could have happened that would have made me happy, but that thing didn't happen, but that's not really why I am not happy right now. I'm not happy right now because the moment I start to feel bad I begin to think about my life. When I think about my life I really get depressed, because I've got a lot of things to be depressed about, like I am 37.

At 37 you really only have about 20 good years left, and that's being optimistic. I spent the best part of my life drunk and slacking, so I don't even remember not doing all the stuff that must have been so important to me at the time that I was doing nothing.

My ex wife used to warn me that someday I would get old. My friend Card Shark loves to tell me that "time happens even if you don't make plans for it, so maybe you should make some plans." I suppose retirement would be better if I lived in a condo with a one of those old people scooters, but I just can't get excited about planning for my death. I don't see much difference in what I am not doing now, and what I won't be doing years from now with less hair and a bigger waist line.

Instead of thinking so much about myself, I I should be thinking of my poor readers who had hoped to find something funny here, or at least not a post this depressing. My problem is I can't make decisions. I don't know what I want from this blog. This blogs lack of focus, it's failure to grab a niche, to find a topic and ruthlessly exploit it, means it suffers from identity crisis the same way I do. Only identity crises are supposed to be over with by now, unless you want to extend your adolescence so that you never see death approaching, it just shows up at the doorstep one day while your taking a green shit.

I rode my bike to subway for lunch today. I awoke hungry and thirsty, but it took me two hours to decide to go and get lunch rather than reheat the burrito filling I ate last night. I rode the bike around in circles for a good 15 minutes trying to decide where to eat. The only thing I knew for sure was that I wanted to read the paper and get free refills on my soda, because I was running out of soda at home, and biking to Circle K always brings with it some degree of risk.

I was reviewing some of the older blog posts, and it is funny how often I write the same joke about how fat chicks read this blog. It's also funny how after 500 posts I have covered basically every topic one can write about. I found a post where I mentioned I would prefer eating the placenta of Suri Cruise, to working. All that after I gave such shit to my good friend and blogger extraordinaire Freida Bee about eating her placenta, even though eating her placenta brought her tummy back into shape 8 years ago, and maybe somebody could pass that info to

Mila Jovovich.

Mila's pregnancy has so busted her that I'd pass up sex with the bitch, and I haven't been laid in three years. If you don't count the prostitutes, and I don't think you count prostitutes. Mila was a hot pregnant chick. The bad thing about having a pregnancy fetish is that a knocked up girl can't stay pregnant forever. The nine month breeding cycle is a fetish lovers countdown to end the relationship, because eventually they give birth, and then you have child support payments, and a busted body to look at, all the while telling her you still find her sexy even though the hood of her vagina is down at her knees.


I know the problem you have with this blog is you are never sure what you are going to get with it. Is it my blog or is Romius T's? Is he a character? Am I breaking character now? And is that ok? Is this blog some kind of cheesy celebrity gossip blog without much in terms of gossip and pictures? I can't decide either, the same way I can't decide what's for lunch. (So I decided to post the gossip and the pictures.) Don't even get me started on Netflix and how all those movie choices are preventing me from watching a movie till the end.

I'm supposed to be writing a book and this blog was supposed to help me hone my craft.
I was just hoping to improve my writing ability. I don't think I have much, because I don't use the blog to practice my writing. On occasion I remember not to use the passive voice, or remember to use spell check. But more often that naught I forget basic grammar and make no systematic attempt at correcting my writing.

I know I like to think of myself as creative. The people who feel sorry for me hand me over that label like some kind of atta boy merit badge, and I should be grateful that at least there are people out there that consider my feelings important enough to throw me a life jacket, because they notice I am drowning. But nobody likes watching a person drown, or at least most people don't, and that even applies to you sick fucks.

But I will make a distinction that I think I have made before, and that is between imaginative thinking and creative thinking. One needs imagination in order to write or do anything creative, but creativity is a kind of productive activity at least according to Eric Fromm.

Eric Fromm is a nice guy, but he convinced me that productivity of any other kind means selling out to the capitalist man. I am sure he would have been astounded by my corruption of his theories, but I read philosophical stuff to make me feel better, not to learn anything.

I know you'll have some advice to give me like "you could just start writing everyday." You could rewrite your stuff and practice and try to get better. Or you could keep a job like your mom and work there for 20 years with no benefits and not complain because you think you deserve it. You could finally get off your lazy ass and do something for a change, but we both know that advice isn't going to work, because I ain't doing any of that.

Maybe you were lucky enough to get volume 13 before I erased it and added volume 14. If not you could win this secret less cool version of volume 14 and a packet of country gravy if you get me famous. I forgot to change the title of the last post to the current "self help guide," but I wasn't going to record another version.

I hope your easter ham was yummy but stop trying to convince me that your kids yellow stained shorts come from eating too many peeps

I got a call from work today. They asked me to come in late. Normally asking me to show up late to work will put in a good mood, but If I am already awake and ready to work, and then you ask me to come in late, I'm not gonna be so happy. I ended up working 9 and half hours today. So I hope your Easter ham was yummy, because I forgot to buy flour tortillas on the way home, so I didn't even get to eat the left over burrito filing that I made last night.

I know you are wondering what burritos have in common with easter, but I figure most hispanics are catholic, and I think you get the rest.

Why is it that you learn all the cool stuff about people after they quit or get fired?

For instance the produce guy asked if I wanted to buy something from his department "on sale." The next day he quits. The guy finally gets around to showing me where the 99 cent stickers are and now he's gone.

It turns out that he must be some kind of crusader for jesus, because in addition to providing you with plenty of potatoes and honey dew, he is a part time exorcist.

Let me repeat that to you, for effect. My produce guy is a part time exorcist. Well, my ex produce guy was a part time exorcist. The exorcism buisness must be real good, because he is no longer a produce guy, he is now a full time exorcist.



I heard he quit because he was convinced that our bread aisle is haunted. This wouldn't be a problem for him except out bread aisle is inconveniently located next to the produce section. I guess he'd just had enough with all the bread flying off the shelf. I was told by the dairy guy that the bread doesn't just fall off the shelf. It flies off the shelf. The produce guy poured holy water over the shelves, but those demons who inhabit the bread aisle must have been too strong for his beliefs or his magic water, because it didn't work.

I think my produce guy should just let the ghosts have it with the AK-47 he bought over the phone while sitting with me on break a few weeks back. I remember spitting up my grape juice cocktail when I overheard him buying it. I just hope the guy is not aware that I am agnostic or something. I don't want to be shot. I love my back from the dead zombie jesus.* I really do.

*how is this not a movie franchise yet? zombie jesus , back from the dead, kicking ass and taking names. Killing demons and non-believers.

I have a list of people I am supposed to be writing about. I have my spirit wife #2 aka babymomma. Babymomma wants to know why I didn't write about her in my last post about my spirit wives. Naughty "m" wants to know why I haven't written about her (even though I did here.) And naught m's boyfriend wants me to write about him too. I think you bastards mistake me for your biographer. I don't think you understand something about this blog. I'm the star of this show bitches. So maybe if you want to get highlighted on this blog you can take up hobbies like exorcism, or hunting ghosts with AK-47's or something. Otherwise I can't just make this shit up for you.

Peace out.

romius t.

Happpy Easter!

I wish I was a baller (spirit wife #1 gets her song on.)

You know the song where a short guy dreams about being taller, being a baller, and having a good looking girl, (You know because he'd call her.) I guess I like that song because it finally shows the creative side of being stuck short and girlfriendless.

Leslie (spirit wife#2) is complaining that I don't write enough about her. She also wonders why I wrote a screenplay for a new TV series called "my boyfriend is gayer than Skittles" and dedicated it to her and her new boyfriend. But we hugged for like 6 minutes after work today and I had to promise to write about her if I wanted her to keep hugging me like that.



I am not really surprised that she would barter away her hugs for some male attention as her boyfriend is Mormon and 24. And if you kn0w anything about Mormons you know that the men who still practice their beliefs in their 20's but aren't married are considered a bit suspect and by suspect yes I mean gay.

Leslie is convinced that "skittles" is just bi-sexual and that we (meaning me and skitttles) could have a fun time jerking off to either gay or straight porn. I told Leslie that the only way that wasn't gay was "in a steven king novel," and she told me that I "seem to make that reference a lot," and she wondered what was up with that.

I'd like to change the subject to wife #3 and her obsession with the song "dirty girl." The song is ok, but watching all my spirit wives play like they have a microphone in their hands all the while shouting "you're a dirty girl, you're a dirty girl" is just way too cute of an image to keep to myself.



I've been busy here are the two lastest episodes of the Self Help Center Podcast. Episode 11 is a straight read of the March 15th post so if you have read the post, skip the episode.



Episode 12 I read the post from St. Patty's Day, and March 20th's post which includes tips on winning a free packet of gravy from me. I also read my world famous poem about throwong bottles of whiskey at homeless people.



Leslie here is a podcast I totally forgot about doing on you, because I thought the text messenger was someone else.

I teach you what to say if you accidentally stick your finger in your girl friends ass

I have a secret theory that when a woman asks you why you stuck your finger in her ass on the occasion of your first love making with her, she isn't really interested in the epistemological foundations of free will.

"Baby, choice is an illusion. I can't tell you why I did that or anything else, after all consciousness is epiphenomenal."

She was worried that because I stuck my finger in her ass I didn't respect her. She's right. I never called her back, and I lost a great deal of respect for her, but it had nothing to do with her offer of anal sex on the first date. It had more to do with her inability to respect my philosophical position on mind/brain problems than her admission that she was a former prostitute that had sex with 200 men.

She used to like to brag about that to me like I was Oprah and I gave a shit about her "overcoming" her victimness. I was just glad I wasn't like the other turkeys, and paying for her shit, as it wasn't all that good, and I had a hard time believing she could give it away for free, much less charge for it.

She showed up to my work for a few days after I dumped her. Each day she wore progressively less make-up and smelled worse. I think it had something to do with getting fired and losing her "boyfriend" all in a time period of a few days.

If it makes you feel any better I saw her a while back at the mall and she was wearing as much makeup as you might expect a girl who used to sell her body for money and by that I mean a lot. She was eating an ice cream cone and buying stuff, so I guess she is not homeless and has a job now or went back to selling herself which I guess is good news for the guys who read this site as that is the only way you can get laid. If you see her, tell her hi for me, but also tell her "hi" doesn't mean that I want her stopping by and I still have my gun and can call 9-1-1.

I celebrate St. Patty's Day by confirming that alcohol makes me shit yellow

I am hoping that my shit being all yellow today has something to do with all the green beer I drank last night. Me and the FrO went out bar hopping because the only holiday we celebrate all year is a drinking holiday.

The FrO has gout which you would think would make him stop drinking. But this is one tuff motherfucka. Either that or he is really just one dumb muthafucka. He took a week off from work because gout said "sit the fuck down." The good news that came out of this is he was able to devote that time to reading every single post ever made on this site, including reading all the comments.

I think the rest of you should call of work and do the same. If you can provide me some kind of proof I will send you an autographed copy of the podcast on CD and a packet of gravy. Actually you have to choose, either the packet of gravy, or the signed CD. If you want I will even sign the gravy for you. You can choose brown gravy or country gravy. I recommend country gravy as it goes good with biscuits.



First we checked out R.T. O'Sullivans. O'Sullivans had a 10 dollar cover to get in and that is more money than I make in an hour. We bought 6 dollar Irish Killian Red beers, by that I mean I bought a Killian's red. I won't lie for my friend, he bought a bud light because he is one prissy bitch, for a guy who prefers to limp around with gout rather than take medicine or stop drinking.
I had to pee as soon as we got there and that's not just because I don't want to pay for the first round. I'll have you know I bought the first round. So I went around checking for porta potties and finally found one that wasn't locked. But it was occupied by a girl with her pants around her ankle and big wad of toilet paper around her arm who screamed at me "it's doesn't lock" or something like that. I was too flustered to make any much sense out of anything, and just ran off to quickly use the toilet inside the bar.

FrO actually talked to a girl tonight. That's a first I believe. I am sure she walked up to him. He said he talked for about 2 minutes and then ran out of things to say and so went inside to look for me. There were plenty of hotties to look at, and the new thing this Patty's Day was for girls to wear short skirts with green stockings or garter belts. I hope that tradition keeps going.

Next, we went to a bar that is owned by a famous ex basketball player in Phoenix. Dan wasn't there but I did tell the bartender that I was gay for Dan Marjele, but I don't think that makes me any gayer than any other dude as Dan Marjele is pretty cool. I also told the guy I need to get a cell phone that I can use to upskirt with, and if you want to send me one of those, I promise I will send you two packets of gravy. One brown and the other country, and then you can get your gravy on!

We left because only three people were in the bar and I wanted to make sure that my driver had no more than 1 beer at any bar we went to. We took off for the rest of the night to the FrO's favorite neighborhood bar where I kicked his ass in trivia and came in third place in the entire nation. I can't believe there really are two people out there smarter than me, but robot computers don't lie, they just plot your death.

We got picked up by the Fro's sister so no need for the Po-lice to get involved and I bought insurance today, so I am just a bus ride to the DMV away from getting my license back, and then buying a bottle of wild turkey, and then watch out you fucking homeless people I have the right-away.

I have no faith in our election process, as I write this, I spoon down pounds of cheerios, because it lowers my 300 count cholesterol

"You'd be surprised what the human mind and body can adjust to."

Those words were spoken by a homeless man who lives under the subway in New York City. He's been living underground there for over 4 years. He used to have running water, but the authorities cut that off. He tells the documentarian how the running water spoiled him "because of course you could get used to that kind of thing."



I guess you can get used to all kids of things like: the messed up way we elect our leaders in such a non-democratic format... like winner take all primaries, our screwy electoral college system is way funkier that it seems, election fraud, wire tapping of the the citizenry, 1 million people on the terrorist watch list, or a real bad economy...... if you want to.

Me? I am have trouble focusing, and that's keeping me from writing on this and some other subjects (that link is sorta random -it's a link to a rant on keith olbermann) like "reification and my goofy friend who thinks there can't possible be an argument for the non-existence of god, when he looks over with surprised eyes at me "do you know any?" and this is a guy i'd like to think was pretty smart, but oh, well."

Instead I have switched fonts on you to tell you something is up...I am going to be free associating more than normal, like your were the murderess of an ostensibly cool college rock band and I am typing away trying to impress* you with what one of my girl friend's called my "rich inner life" which was just her way of saying "you have too much of a poor outer life and I am moving upstate to get away from you, and to fuck lumberjacks, because it is every girls wish to fuck a lumberjack at some time, and I can finally do it once I dump your loser ass."

* I am pretty sure this is what they call an inside joke. One person will get it though. Can you believe that I wrote this after I wrote that e-mail to you? Ya...me either....though what I was saying in the e-mail and what appears here as hackery of that idea is two other things, but I ran out of "steam" as I really got into the idea of writing this, so I have to apologize to those who are reading this even though I am talking to you right now and not to them and I think it's kind of rude for them to read this part when it is so obvious I am not talking to them but I am talking to you...

i don't really see her point as she could have fucked lumberjacks right here, but this chick was all about authenticity and I mean that. I am not just saying that to get some cheapo shot off against a girl who treated me "ok" except when she was dumping me to fuck lumberjacks.

I know I am breaking the cardinal rule of Strunk and White by going on like this, by "carrying a breezy affect (or is it effect I read the book I should know) but fuck Strunk and fuck White or whoever wrote that part. I am going to write like this tonight because I'm frustrated by my inability to sit down and really write something meaningful. I can only write stupid jokes about 'fucking' lumberjacks and now a host of idiots typing Google into their browsers are going to find me when they are doing searches for funny jokes about lumberjacks, but I think that's kind of funny as the joke is on them.

As difficult as it is to type with a handful of cheerios it is slightly more difficult to get through the workday if you are most people. Fuck I am out of cheerios and I was on my third bowl of cheerios. I should tell you though mini sized bowls that are "child sized" and not meant for an adult.

I know you are probably thinking that I don't really write anything substantial anyway, so why am I so worried that I can't seem to focus and write on topics that are of interest to me now. You've got a point of course unless of course unlike me you don't think that spirit wives, underaged girls, and celebrity gossip is somehow substantial. You are wrong, but that's a disagreement that we can agree to disagree about later unless you really want to disagree with that, but I really wish you wouldn't be so disagreeable.

I have no faith in our election process, and you knew at some point I was going to have to get into the topic sentence of this rant, but like always I have waited for as long as I could possibly get away with it because I like pissing people off who don't like me.

I was eating at one of my favorite restaurants the other night (I eat out a lot and when I eat out I like to make fun of servers who have english accents and I don't care if they end up in my line at work and tell me how they are planning on franchising the restaurant because I like english accents and I like that restaurant) and I brought up the point that I feel like I have lost faith in our election process, and I feel like most other people have too, but I have yet to see a general consensus like that reported in the news. And (while left unsaid) perhaps that's why there is no general consensus as to what we should really do something about it.

Of course one of my obnoxiously agnostic friends suggested that perhaps there is no general consensus to ameliorate the fictional problem I am pointing out, because most people have not lost faith with our system.

His point was something like "in politics there is now, always has been, always will be shenanigans, so what's the point in getting upset about it now? It's not all that different really." (I'll call this Thesis 1--in addition let's add an explainer to thesis 1-- we don't really notice things because we are too tired from working shitty jobs and watching commercials.)

Maybe he's right. If you read the constitution to the United States it reads like "we really like this democracy idea ...let's get around to it sometime." And I know that republicans have been getting away with suppressing the vote for years and democrats in chicago can vote after they die (and boy you gotta admire the city folk of chicago and their sense of civic duty going about voting way after you would think they care) so is it really different?

well. I don't care if it is different. How about that? It's a crying shame what we got going on right now. I mean a lot of folks think that Bush stole the election. You might think that would get some people mad. We've got computer vote counters that don't add up. And that stuff gets reported. It gets reported that the guy who own Diebold (don't let'em change their name) is a fucking republican hack job guy. I mean if I was a republican even I'd be a little upset.

Bill Clinton's wife is looking each and every way she can (to super delegates and other such non-sense) to get herself elected like the popular vote doesn't even matter anymore. Which I guess if you leaned anything from 2000 it's that it doesn't matter.

This is the 21st Century, I think we can figure out a way to count votes. This is not a hard problem, but we all accept it like it is, just the way we let the so called "commission of getting people we like elected" to tell us who gets to debate and we let them change the rules right in front of, as they go along, anytime they get spooked. I guess there is nothing we can do about it. We couldn't come up with public financing or anything else. We can just bemoan the complicated nature and the intricacies of how money gets turned into speech for corporations and corporations aren't even people. (yes solyent green still is)

It just seems to me that, that this is one hell of a laundry list, and that makes me long for the sweet natured naivety of Watergate. But back then we had some faith in out government, and got pissed if it didn't work right. We didn't just say "government as usual" and "is there someway we can privatize this mess so that the people who brought you new and improved Lay's potato chips now with laxatives can get a shot at things?"

I lay this at the foot of Jimmy Carter for being such a pussy* and not fighting like a Democrat, but like a democrat (see Bill Clinton and his wife whenever they contemplates failure.)* i'm not saying vote for nader.

I guess what I am saying here is that there might be some actual problems here. (and some of them of them are systemic...the electoral college is not democratic and if you don't know why I wish you'd go find out why, but I won't bother with links if you can't come up with a reason why it might not be democratic and-- I don't give a fuck about Rhode Island--is it even an island after all? Bunch of fucking liars they have over there.)

So if there are problems why don't we see problems and if we see problems why don't we have answers and if we have answers why don't we see the answers? I wish I had an answer to that.

WE ARE TOO RICH TO CARE.

(I'll call this thesis number 2)

What I failed to include (until I added the explainer) in my rambling discussion of thesis One is that it goes hand in hand with how Americans are too tired to vote anyway that we all have jobs that keep us down and the media "manufactures consent*."

*(damn media always making me want stuff--like I never wanted chicken for breakfast, but after watching all those McDonald's commercials about the chicken biscuit I gotta admit I'd like one, but I a'int getting up that early just to try a biscuit and some chicken, though if you know anybody who's tried one tell me what they thought about it!)
Thesis one and Thesis two seem to logically contradict each other, but in a nuanced debate I will accept that it can be shown they don't strictly contradict each and certainly are not mutually incompatible. (that's not how I wanted to say it, but you get the point)

I know I forgot how to show you how my earlier discussion ties in with thesis 1 but this is already a long post and I don't think i want to waste your time there so lets just agree that it does, ok? See? It's better when we don't fight.

Thesis 2 is a subdivision of why didn't the middle class ever fight the rich and bring the communist revolution to fruition? It's the pay raises stupid the pay raises!! well...that and color tv. Though I fail to understand why the cubans have put up with the revolution for so long in that case...

The simply fact remains that there are winners and losers in every economy and this culture has failed to produce a consistent resistance.

But you will object to this picture of American Exeptionalism and offer Noam Chomsky as proof. He will tell anyone who will listen that we are living in best world possible,* a time period of mass resistance, which is just Chomsky's way of being gay for Seattle, like my ex-girlfriend is gay for coffee and lumberjacks.

*(if by best world possible we live a a shitty world where there were some people who didn't just sit around and say we live in a shitty world, but they would go out and have meeting on occasion and in those meetings occasionally a resolution would pass where some of them would say that things are shitty and the majority would vote saying that was indeed so.)

And I will tell you that if you want to bring up every random fact you learned from your 8th grade history book in the name of layering additional complexities at me, I am going to have to kick your ass.

I take babies to Hooter's to get laid and end up ignored

Yesterday I went to Hooter's with Card Shark. Card Shark doesn't have a baby of his own so he brought his girl friend's baby. We had this funny idea that you could pick up on chicks with a baby. We also wanted photographs of the kid surrounded by young women with large breasts in tight tops.

None of that really happened. We got seated at the restaurant by the only ugly waitress at Hooter's. Most of the female customers ignored us. The only interaction we had with anyone was with the table next to us, and that was a couple of 60 year old men who thought the baby was cute.
That's not the kind of response I wanted.

When I started blogging 5 years ago I had no idea what kind of people would be interested in reading anything I wrote. I assumed almost nobody and I was right about that. But I figured there would always be a small target audience that I could find. I mean by that male, perverted, and incapable of getting laid by regular women. The kind of guy that doesn't mind if his woman is fat, if the fat is the hardened belly of pregnancy instigated by another man's seed.

Instead of hanging out with men like Eliot Spitzer and conversing about our illegal proclivities, I have my fangirls. To a one, my fangirls think that I am scientist or doctor or pharmacist. They figure all my lower class ramblings are affectations of a slumming intellectual. When they find out that I really am nothing more than a cashier, they get disappointed. They tell me they aren't, and I try to believe them, but I think we both no that's can't be true.

That's becaise women project their rescue fantasies onto men. A rescue fantasy means that every man you meet should be able to ride up to you on a silver horse and throw you on the back and take off with you. A doctor can do that. A doctor has money and a doctor can be funny when he slums his way around in the ghetto by playing dumb. I have no money and I have to convince you that making veiled references to Lukacs means I am a secret intellectual and not just some kind of troubled, perverted slacker.

It works for some of you. If you "googled" Lukacs you were probably astounded that I'd read him in the original German and translated his work into English. After I am dead from pancreatic cancer (who's convenient warning signs include upset stomach, yellow shitting, and back pain) my x wife will release all my notes on Marx that she claims she threw away, but I know she didn't because that would mean she spent 5 years with a loser, and not the the 5 formative years of a man bent on making the most important contribution to critiquing Hegelian Dialectics since Hiroshi Uchida 20 years ago. But I digress.

What I meant to say was that I always kinda envisioned this website as fraternity prank. And not some kind of real dialogue with actual humans. I am not sure on how to do that as I don't get any real practice with real humans, because all my real friends think it's fun to cart your baby around downtown all the while accosting tall, thin, fertile women with the opportunity to buy a real life baby, so that they can have all the fun of dressing up baby, and none of the pain of childbirth. "Get a baby ..keep your body." Keep in mind I am 37 and giggling like a school girl with my friend.

The whole time I can't understand why all these smartly dressed women who look so desperate for babies and husbands when they walk the downtown shops by themseleves aren't even vaguely interested in the idea. We can't even get one girl to stop and talk to us when even a crazy christian on a megaphone quietly explaining to 20 something potheads girls why his loving god will be sending them to everlasting hell fires because they have sinned against him and thereby created some kind of space/absence of his light can. I was glad when he finally shut up because he scaring the baby.

I do important things all day like talk to celebrities and eat brownies

5:00 and I am still in my pajamas. I took a nap today, but I still do more important things than you do all day. I talk to famous celebrities who have nothing better to do than talk to me, because they don't have to work for a living like you losers do.

I was going to get some granola bars at work. We had them on sale 4 boxes for $4. Only today is the day we change the "ad" and even though I work at a grocery store I forgot that, so I guess I won't be getting any granola fiber bars after all. I still nee toilet paper, but I found a roll of paper towels in the bathroom, so I don't think I am leaving the house anytime soon. I don't need to be at work until 5 tomorrow. I guess this gives me plenty of time to live blog Eliot Spitzer and instant message famous rock stars.

I can't expect this post to excite you so here are some pictures of that dirty slut hannah montana.

SELF HELP CENTER PODCAST Volume 9

I am sitting here in my "lounge pants" responding to all the e-mail I get from my readers. I say lounge pants, but what I really mean is my pajama bottoms and the 99 cent t-shirt I bought for 99 cents at the 99 cent store. I'm sorry I was too lazy yesterday to write a post to go along with this podcast. And I know this blog post has nothing to do with this podcast, but you've come to expect that kind of thing from me.

I bet you are wondering what I am doing up at 10:24 am. I fell asleep at 3 am yesterday, so my body thought to wake me up early today. I have no idea what I am supposed to do with myself all day, as prime time tv watching is hours away.

Today is my Sunday which means I have to go to work tomorrow. I am out of toilet paper and paper towels and I forgot to brush my teeth last night, but on the up side last night I did the dishes and made brownies. And not those kind of brownies you little pot heads. I don't pander to pot heads. I know if I just acted high and talked about Ron Paul this website would be bombarded by 20 something skanks and skater dudes driving my numbers to the point that I could paid advertising . But I can't stand skaters, and I hate Ron Paul because he's a scary motherfucker.

I'm thinking of heading up to work to buy some granola bars and to get some toilet paper. I don't really need toilet paper, I buy it for company. I use wet naps and I pray every time I flush that the water goes down. So far it has. I'd go right now but I think most of my spirit wives are still at school or hung over and I am hoping to run into them at work and have them ask me to buy them alcohol. I figure them getting drunk at my place is the fastest way to get them to like me.

Self Help Center Podcast Volume 8

It's 5:00. In less than a half hour I will need to be on my bike to work. I am really trying hard at this point to forget that fact. I still need to brush my teeth and put on my shoes. I am not quite ready for work and I am not sure how long it will take me to get ready, but I wanted to get something in blog form for you. I know you wait breathlessly by your computer with google reader in hand, refreshing constantly, hoping I can make your life all right.

My number 2 spirit wife has my blog address and my myspace profile so she is going to be checking out this blog. I thought I would give her a double dose of me by posting the podcast as well. I mean lets face it she can't get enuff of me. We work together and now she is going to be cyberstalking me and pretty soon we will be doing what the kids are calling a "kicking back" which I think is pretty much just me and her at my house getting drunk on kool aid and vodka.

I told her we really needed to invite someone else so she couldn't later throw out an "allegedly Romius T. was found drinking with a 17 year old in his.." well you get the picture. I did tell her that we should try buying alcohol together and when the clerk asks for her identification that I would get all indignant and reply that she "was my daughter." I thought it would be a nice touch if we made out right afterwards to creep the guy out.

I let my spirit wife wear eye make up, but I wonder if I am allowing her to live outside the "principle" with all this freedom

I noticed spirit wife number 3 had on eye makeup today. I told her when a 16 year old girl wears eye makeup, she can give pedophiles and perverts the wrong idea. She looks almost 17 with the eye makeup so I think some of the perverts got the idea that they should ask her out. Without the eye make up she could pass for 10 and I think the pedophiles would just go straight for the molesting angle. I guess you could say she is sending mixed messages out there. I for one am not upset at all by that. I told wife #3 that it was great that she could play both ways, nearly legal and young. I thought that only added value to her look, but some of you perverts are going to disagree. You are going to tell me that her new eye makeup look will destroy the purity of her little girl look. I think I'd like to tell you perverts to quit being such internet alt. discussion fags and accept her- eye makeup or not.

Some more advice to creeps who ask out my 16 year old spirit wife. Don't ask her out while she drags in carts to the store. Don't eye ball her up and down and shout "damn girl you lookin' good," for the most part this just doesn't work. I recommend buying her lunch and charming her with stories. Ask if she needs a ride home, tell her you might have a car in a week. Tell her you can buy her beer. Tell her you will buy her wine if that's what she says she is into. When she tells you that she is only with her last boyfriend because she had on "beer goggles" tell her you are more than happy to provide an additional pair of goggles as it will benefit you.

I give advice to my spirit wives because that's what a spirit husband does. What a spirit husband will not do is walk you home if you live 3 miles the opposite way of him. Not that I wouldn't mind walking the 3 miles for spirit wife #3. I think she might get a little creeped out if I walked behind her the whole way, occasionaly ducking into the bushes to avoid beeing seen by her.

Spirit wife number 1 came to me with a problem. I am seen as the village elder at my store. I have a good 20 years on most of the kids working there. So anytime they have a problem they seek me out for my advice.

"Aideen just asked me if it was ok that his penis is red and blue. I know that it's disgusting that he asked me that, but can a penis turn red and blue?"

So I had to give a bit of sex ed advice to spirit wife #1. I told her how when the male penis becomes "engorged with blood" it can turn funny colors, but just the tip of it. She thought that was gross and I reminded her that she bleeds from an opening between her legs.

Other people win the Big Screen Tv's I get bags of Baked Lay's Potato chips

Somebody poisoned my hamburger from Carl's Jr. last night. I figure it was probably your boyfriend, the greasy mexican behind the counter. I know how he's pissed off at me because of our secret friendship. He gets jealous of the way you think about me when you play with yourself.

All I know is that I have exploding yellow diarrhea and I can thank you for that. Which is nice, because the liquidy yellow shit I get from you, is a way better prize than you get for not showing up to my store's Steak'n Potato party Saturday. 10 am is way too early for me to wake up, and I figured that the give-aways weren't going to be real, but they were. Somebody won a 32 inch flat screen tv, and one of the mentally retarded girls who works here won a bike. I wasn't even pissed when I heard that the little retard won the bike. I could just imagine her running around screaming after she won. Who could take away that kind of joy from a person?



Speaking of joy, all the winners from this morning, went around rubbing it in my face by forcing me to look at all the prizes I could have won like suns tickets or 50 dollar gift certificates to Red Lobster. Like me, my spirit wives did not show up, so they didn't get anything. We just sat around feeling sorry for ourselves, and I became the prize patrol for night crew by giving away 10 dollars in cash to some of my spirit wives, because they all earn minimum wage and don't have enough money left over to buy lunch. I am not good looking, so I have to give away money if I want to keep getting hugs from my underaged baggers. That's ok, it's way cheaper to give teen girls lunch money for hugs and fake emotional connection than to give professional strippers money to rub on you.

After my shift ended I discovered that the company put all the left over steaks and baked potatoes in the manager's office. If I 'd been smart, I would have found the stash earlier, and treated my wives to a fine sit down fancy meal. Because I found the left overs at closing all that was left where bags of Baked Lay's Potato chips in the single serving size. I grabbed 4 of them along with 2 big cookies, so take that Corporate America.

My little victory over Corporate America is short lived because they slash our store's collective hours from 600 to 400. They are slashing hours not because our store fails to meet sales goals, we break them, but because the district is not making sales goals. What recession?