Happy Halloween You Little Midgets

Have I told you the story about how I lost a spelling bee in the 4th grade because I couldn't spell the word Halloween? I was the first one out of the spelling contest, and I think that shocked just about everyone in my class, especially my teachers, who thought I might be that one kid-in-a-million that every teacher hopes to get. They figure that kid will grow up to be smart and successful and then they get to take credit for "developing" his talent. I guess somehow that will make up for them being a failure, because all they ever got to be was a teacher. And maybe it gets rid of all the guilt they have, because most days all they have is contempt for the animals they are forced to teach.

I just spell checked this post and I misspelled Halloween again, so I guess the joke is on those teachers that thought I would ever amount to anything. I think they should have figured that out right after I choked at the spelling bee.

I guess those school teachers got fooled (just like a lot of other people) because as a child my I.Q. tested out at 160. I know my I.Q. isn't that high anymore. I must have lost 30 points since the 5th grade. At 130 my I.Q. is nothing special. I could easily be mistaken for a guy with an I.Q of 110.

Not much really separates "the mearly gifted" from the guy with just an average intelligence. Unless you actually work at it. And I don't work at it. So you can take your measly 110 and with some hard work finish college and get a good job. With a good job you can get all the trappings of a nice middle class life style and you can convince yourself that what the world really needs is another middle management quality control engineer. Not that the world doesn't obviously need another quality control engineer, its just that I don't care about middle management quality control engineers and neither does the rest of the world.

What I am really trying to say is that then next time you feel compelled to tell me stories about your life as middle management quality control guy in the guise that your life stories are as exciting as working for the CIA- you should instead just continue to throw up on yourself, otherwise I just might have to vomit too.

I know that none of this has anything to do with Halloween, but that's ok. If you read my blog you know that if you want the stuff about Halloween you have to skip to the end of the post. I like to start my posts off as boring as possible, only then to reward the diligent reader by paying off at the end.

Not that I am planning on doing that today. But you get "it" anyway and that's why we have out little thing. You get to be in on the secret that less patient readers never get. I guess knowing that makes you feel good about yourself, and normally I would probably make fun of that, but I imagine that you might have other things going on in your life that make you feel good. Unlike me. I only have this blog and I guess that makes me pathetic. Even more pathetic than you, but then again if I wasn't here and feeling this pathetic you wouldn't have anyone around to make yourself feel better about. So in a way I am like Mother Teresa, except I spread self esteem to those who's self esteems would otherwise be unwarrantably high.

I decided to have a few beers while writing this post and I am on my second beer. The plan is to get drunk and walk down to Mill Ave., and watch all the girls in slutty costumes parade by. I think the parade is some kind of tradition that is not talked or written about, but that everybody kinda just knows happens. It's a good way to spend a couple of hours. The girls are drunk and wearing all the latest costumes, or they are all teenagers out for the night and away from adult supervision.

I like teens the most because they get creeped out when they notice me staring at them. I'm not shy when I am drunk on 'All Hallows Eve.' I get right into their faces and tell them they should not be dressing "slutty" if they don't want all the attention. I think women are better off knowing as early in life as possible that they can't control who they turn on and who's attention they behaviors elicit. If the kids still want to dress like that at least someone told them better.

I plan on taking lots of pictures and maybe some video clips. I am going to preface it all on the fact that I am interviewing these girls for my blog. I think I am going to get a lot of chicks to talk to me that would not give me the time of day normally, just so they can get their 15 seconds of fame.

To work up the courage to do that I am going to have to step up my drinking....

Visit the archives for more of my Halloween shit.

I don't have a phone that works yet. Step into customer service hell or don't use Let's talk.com to buy a phone

Nothing simple ever happens to me. I wanted to buy a new phone. I wanted a new cell phone provider. Nothing simpler than going to Letstalk.com and ordering the phone you want for only 50 dollars. Right?

Wrong. Letstalk.com's awesome customer service begins with selling you a phone using a website that is designed to look like a portal or a conduit to numerous cell phone companies. You can chose your provider or cell phone from their handy online menus. What they don't tell you until you read the fine print after you pay for your phone is that Letstalk has become your cell phone provider.

Great. One of the reasons I was going to go with Verizon is that the company I work for offers free activation and a 20% discount on Verizon. It is now very fuzzy as to whether I will be able to collect that discount now.

If that were my only problem then I would chalk it up to getting scammed and buyer beware. But of course there is more. The phone was priced at 50 dollars, but free after a rebate. Beware of the rebates from Letstalk.com.

First, you have to wait 120 days before you can even send out and apply for the rebate. You need to make sure that your request is sent in between 120 and 180 days. You have to have the original sales receipt and all kinds of goodies and the rebate takes months to process. I expect to get my 50 dollars back sometime in 2010. It makes you not want to use the rebate which of course is exactly their plan which means you can bet sure as hell I am going to send away for that god damn rebate (and that's if I don't cancel on them which of course they make almost as difficult.)

I requested to get my old phone number to be "ported" to my new phone. Big Mistake. Huge Mistake. As soon as I requested to keep my old phone number my old phone company shut down my phone. Despite promises from Letstalk and Iwireless that it would not happen.

I have money on the pay-as-you-go phone and I can assume that is gone. I don't really care about a few dollars, but I have been phoneless because of this screw up and that has been annoying. It was why my friends where able to surprise me the other night and why I ended up drinking and debating the facts of a lost bra for over an hour along with getting a nice case of acid reflux.

I ordered the phone on Friday and got special 2 day fed ex shipping included that got the phone here sometime after 4 pm on Tuesday.

When I got home I saw the package outside my door waiting. I was excited to have my new phone. I tore open the package and learned that if I want to change my phone service or was upset about the phone or had any problems I was to call Letstalk and not Verizon (even though I have Verizon. The damn phone says Verizon when I turned it on.) I beter have Verizon. All my friends have Verizon and the in-calling will make my bill very cheap.

Stupid thing about the enV2. You can't make a call with it if the phone is charging. I know the battery life is supposed to be awesome and wack crazy. But I don't like the fact that the phone will be off limits while charging. Who thought of that idea?

I charged the phone fully like the instructions said and turned on the phone in order to wake up as many people as possible to tell them my new phone had arrived. What I got was a message that told me that my phone was offline and I would need to use a calling card or a credit card to make a call.

Because I am phoneless I would have to use pay phones to get a hold of Letstalk to fix the problem. Only thing is Letstalk customer service is open only 8am to 4 pm. IF you call the 1-800 number the number tells you to go online to learn the hours of customer service operation. What kind of racket is that? I was lucky enough to get pissed off them twice, because I found two different 800 numbers to call and drove down to the local pay phone two different times only to discover that even though they are a phone company, Letstalk doesn't take phone calls past 4. I was steaming in my pants like a Bukowski shit.

I still am. I have to wake up early and get to a land line and call this retarded phone company and get them to give me a phone number that works. I have to find out if I really have in calling. I have to see if they are going to give me my discount. I have a feeling this will take days. I think I may have just read that on their website. This is total BullShit.

Don't fucking use LEtsTalk.com Their cheap ass phones are not worth the Busllshit.

It is a well documented fact that you are an idiot

Don't hate me because I am Misanthrope. I can't help it. I was born that way. Just like you can't help being the way you are because you were born just like Sarah Palin's mongrel child. You're a bit retarded, and stuff doesn't go to your mind that well and even the stuff that gets in your mind doesn't stick there because if it stuck there that would mean there was enough gray matter or brain juice to soak up inside your skull and we both know that ain't the true.

I did not know it, but I guess I have been nominated as one of the most hated people on the internet, and I guess I should be surprised, but I am not. I know I talked to you guys about how popular I have become and with popularity you always have to risk the backlash. And I guess here comes the backlash with me being nominated for the most hated dude on the tubes. Even (everyone loves) Kelso's Nuts admits that I am favorite to win the award.

I think I know why I am going to win that award. I was talking to a friend the other day who wanted to go into politics, but will never go into politics because he hates stupid people. He can't stop himself from telling stupid people how stupid they are, and the one thing stupid people hate is being told how stupid they are.


That's why stupid people like Sarah Palin think a jar of peanut butter can disprove Evolution. It's why stupid people will vote against allowing gays the right to get married. Stupid people are always looking around for another stupid person to tell them how not-stupid they are. Stupid people are so stupid they never stop to consider the possibility that they are stupid. That's how stupid they are.

Smart people are filled with self doubt. That's why stupid people hate Obama, because Obama equivocates. That's why stupid people hate intellectuals, book smarts, or anything that has Physics in it. Stupid people even hate the word equivocates. How stupid is that?

Of course the only thing worse than a stupid person is a not-stupid person. Not-stupid persons sit around all day waiting for someone to post a rant against stupid people and when they read the words "smart people are filled with self doubt" they nearly shit themselves from the hiccups they get from nodding their heads in agreement to what they just read.

Sorry, not believing in yourself don't make you smart. It only makes you an ass. Maybe you should wonder why you are susceptible to my smooth talking and ego flattering speech.

You are going to hate me now.

I have to break the news to you. You're not that fucking smart. If you were that fucking smart you would have done something by now. You have not. You are not distinguished. You are just one of the faceless masses that bury their heads at the problems of the world and slowly die on the inside from the alienation that we call being a member of the 21st Century working class.

Don't tell me to get over it.

Alienation is not a "feeling" that you can get over. Alienation is a fact. Alienation is the drunken hangover from the alcoholic soaked relations of society.

I deal with my alienation by being an asshole to you on this website. Like my good friend Jesus Martinez wrote:

"I am also sticking with...shit, because it seems to be working….and by working I mean sending you to other sites that are better than mine and worth reading….because I’d hate for you to get stuck here since I am not very good company and definitely a horrible host. I’m the kind of guy who won’t offer you a drink, will leave you in a bathroom with no toilet paper and who would be grabbin’ at your wife in front of your face, so I guess it’s better if you head on over to some of these other people, but I guess you can come back again tomorrow, since I’ll be doing the same shit I’ve been doing the last 4 years, it’s pretty much all I know, which is sad considering I’m not all that good at it, even though you’d think with all that practice would come some improvement, but that’s just not how things work in these parts…."

I could not have summed up my blog or this post more appropriately. I guess that is why I had to steal jesus' words, and I guess that is why Jesus will always be more popular than me.

P.S.
Head over to Bathos I just finished a long attack piece on another crazy e-mail from the nutjobs who try and smear Barrack Obama.

I might get be getting popular

I don't like to brag, but I might be getting popular. I am not getting tons of hits, but my stats are suggestive. I'm getting a lot more repeat business than I used to. Most times I used to get 2 or 4 return visitors a day to this site. The past couple of months I am getting 20 or more return visitors a day to this site. I think the key to building a blog is networking and getting your blog on as many sites as you can. But I also think return visitors are a key and I think we are at a watershed moment in this blog. I think this blog is about to go from c- to a c+ on the rating scale.

If that happens I might get to be as popular as D-cup, or Katie, the Drug Monkey, etc.

I don't know what I will do with my new found popularity. Even my podcast has 300 downloads this month, and that with only one new podcast in the past two months.

I promise to get a couple of podcasts out this week. I am going to add a couple of new segments to the podcast. I am going to discuss the weeks most important conspiracy/robot news/election fraud concerns, and I will have a segment on the latest female teacher sleeping with student type funny news thing. I hope that will encourage all my readers to download the podcast as you won't simply be getting me reading the blog.

I wished I had taken my voice recorder to work today. I was at the customer service desk today and I had a monologue running through my head all day that I would have liked to written for you. It was kinda funny. I can't remember it anymore so I won't try and repeat it for you.

The Karl Marx Blog is going crazy. I am getting mad hits on the blog and maybe some of you have noticed that I have actually posted a couple of times this month. I am thinking of overhauling that blog and making it less faux academic and more like a blog about politics. I think it might be a good Chance to get the word out since we are hearing all the comparisons of Marx and Obama. Maybe I will put a poll up on that blog and test the reaction.

I made Corn Beef today. I put the beef and potatoes in the crock pot about 1. I left the slow cooker on high until I got off work at 8:30. I was sure I was going to come home to a bone dry pot. I did not. The food was not burned or boiled over at all. In fact the food was quite edible.

I promise to post again in a few hours. I promise to post something worth reading soon. Not the next post, but soon. I can't help being blocked. I just hope that we have such a good relationship that we get through the tough times together. We will get through all this tedium and boring blogging and we will be stronger for it. Anyway, I can't imagine you can do better than me. Go ahead and find someone more entertaining, more interesting than me. DO you think they will care about you the way I care about you?

Hell no! You will be just another face, just another number to them. I give personal service here. We all know each others names. You can trade me in for real celebrity, but you can't get a better community than what we have built here at the Self Help Center.

And I couldn't do it without you.

I end the long conversation over the bra found in my courtyard so I can get back to blogging

I don't have a phone. I am waiting on the FED EX guy to deliver my new cell phone. In the meantime, I must have pissed off my old phone carrier. They shut my pay-as-you-go phone down even though I have like 20 dollars left in the account. I guess I won't get that money back, but I will get to keep my old phone number which is really convenient for you if you are an ex stalker g/f of mine, or you met me on the internet and talked me into giving you my phone number.

I've been real busy this week. I attended a high school play put on by one of my co-workers. She promoted the The Miss Firecracker Contest at work by leaving posters by the time clock and by telling anyone who would listen that she was in a play. I guess she hoped that people at work would want to support her and the local high school by attending the play and shelling out the $3 for admission.


She would be wrong. No one cared and no one went to see her play other than me and two other dudes from work. One of the guys who went is a nice guy, but "Dairy Guy" and me are just perverts and the only reason I went to see the play was that I heard it was a bit "racy" for a high school play.

The play was Saturday night and I was tired after getting off work at 6:45. The play started in under an hour and I barely had time to go home and change out of my work uniform and make it back to the play. I considered blowing the whole thing off, but since I am a man of my word (I so seldom give it out is the only reason you cannot call me a flake) I decided to go ahead and attend.I felt good about myself on the drive over to my old Alma Matter. I told a person they could count on me showing up and then I went ahead and showed up. I was not just some lame 30 year old with no money and no future. I was a person you could count on.

Once I got to the play I was more than pleased with myself for being responsible. Only a few people attended the play. I counted almost no parents in the audience. Just a few friends of the people who were actually in the play. The play had only 6 cast members so you can see that the audience was quite tiny.

The lead actress in the play quite good. She has the dramatic over sell that is needed on the stage. My only complaint is that I am going deaf and I could not hear some of the lines. Only the featured actress really managed to project her voice. The rest of the cast forgot that they were not miked up. I should mention that the acting is way better than the acting in the video that I found and tried to embed on this post.

The play features several cuss words. The main character talks about how she slept around and got syphilis. The play also features several on stage costume changes that the hebophile in me really appreciated. I was in jail bait heaven.

The actress was very good looking and if I did not mention it before I should have. The lead actress has a firm dancers body. She wore high heels and dresses throughout the performance. The dresses hung on her the way a dress is supposed to hang on a women. There is a reason men design dresses for a certain body type. When you see the way a dress can hang on a young tight body in heels, you realize those designers are creating art. I now understand why most designers seethe with anger when asked to make a size 12 flatter.

I should mention the camel toe because the lead actress had to wear spandex and leotards for the first 2 scenes of the play. I should also mention that someone should teach teen girls how to sit and maneuver on stage in a dress because if you go all Britney Spears and flash your panties I can't be expected to look away even if the mother of said actresses are seated behind me and find my constant squinting and seat changes to be "noticeably without decorum." Fuck you. I paid my three dollars, and I am going to get my monies worth.


I wanted to let you to know that I am done talking to the X-Man about the bra he found in the courtyard of my condo.

I promise there is a connection to the first part of this story and the second part about the bra.

Like I said, I don't have a phone (here is the connection) right now. I guess Card Shark and the X-Man decided they wanted to hang out with me on Saturday. Since my phone is turned off they thought I was being an asshole by not calling them back. I was just busy watching a play and not having cell phone service.

After the play I went home and got online and read a few blogs. I did not have much time to read or blog (much less look at porn) before I heard a knock at the door. My two funny friends covered up the peep hole because they are seriously funny. I have no idea why they think that could fool me. The only people who cover the peep hole are cops and your drunk friends.

My friends showed up with Tecate and we started drinking beer. We went to the college bar where I drink alone at. I was hoping some of the staff would remember me and remember in the future when I sit alone at the bar that I have friends and I am not some kind of weirdo who should be avoided, but instead they should try and set me up with some of the hotties that frequent the bar.

We sat outside so Card Shark could smoke. I sat in the one chair that had no view of the action going on. I got pissed at myself for "always fucking myself" by sitting at the seat without a clear view of the action. Instead of sitting miserably with no view I got up and sat directly opposite of where I was sitting. I looked over a table full of college girls and spoke. "Don't worry, I just came to look. I won't bother you."

I think the girls were relieved.

We got treated to some full on XMAN with his XMAN craziness. He did his now world famous "I am staring at you in the face with as much intensity as I can to denote to you my truthful seriousness of the matter that I am speaking to you about."
I told x that he had all the seriousness of an infomercial and that the reason he fell for cults all the time was that he actually was serious and that he really believed all the crazy stuff he says and he agreed with me that his entire ideology was that of a self help guru infomercial. I thought I won the point on that debate but X just sat back smugly in his chair with an air of satisfaction.

Before 2 am I went to buy beer at the local gas station. We marched back to the condo prepared to drink till dawn and pass out at teh condo. The gang decided not to drink and drive because between us we have 5 D.U.I. convictions. "My friends have so grown up," I thought.

That was until Jesus showed up. Jesus is the x_man's brother. He got off work and called to ask if he could come over. When he showed up at the condo he carried with him a bra.

The bra was black. It belonged to the Victoria's Secret collection. Jesus smelled the bra several times in front of us. He said he could not ascertain whether the bra was new or not. He said he could not smell any body odor or perfume on the bra. What followed was like a transcript from one of those CSI programs that all you watch. We looked over the bra's size and determined the cup status. Double A.

"That means she had small tits." Jesus offered.

"And the cups have padding, so obviously this girl is trying to fool potential mates about he size of her breasts."

I am not proud of that observation, but I made it. And I report it to you because that is what I do. I report facts. YOU decide.

A number of explanations were offered forth on why a bra would be lying in the courtyard of the condo. Maybe a couple was going "at it" and forgot to retrieve the bra after an amorous encounter. I suggested that the bra fell out of a bag because it smelled like acetate and not people. In addition, the bra had the remnants of a plastic tag on it.

Jesus pronounced that, "No woman would wear a bra with a tag, it would be to uncomfortable!" I heartily seconded the point and it was soon agreed by all that the bra's owner had never worn the object. Once we decided that the bra had never touched a woman's skin (leaving in our opinion the distinctively likely explanation that the bra belonged to a blow up doll) we had our fill with the days events and called it a night.

My phone stops working

I am buying a new phone. I am trying to keep my phone number the same on my new phone. I think I pissed off my old phone company, because when they decided to port my old phone number to the new phone number they turned off my phone. Even though I have a pay as you go phone and I still have minutes on it.

So if you are a friend in real life and you have tried to message me or call me I am sorry. I am not ignoring your phone calls. I am not ignoring you. I just don't have a phone that works rights now until FED EX delivers my new phone.

I hope I will have it on Monday.

Schadenfreude

I haven't posted in a week. The natives have become restless.

I sit in a room that is 10 degrees warmer than the rest of the house. I have the computer on and I sit with a pillow behind my back. I type even though my hand and back hurts. My hand is turning purple. I must have some kind of circulation issue. My thumb hurts the most and I think I have repetitive stress injury from surfing the net too much and from checking groceries all day.

There is a naked bulb burning brightly behind my back that casts a pale yellow glow over the rest of the room. I turn on the fan and face it directly at me in order to combat the intese heat in the room. I am writing in Fro's room because my computer is 4 times slower than Fro's computer.

I have buyers remorse again. I wished I would have waited to buy a computer that at least had a gig of ram. My computer has only 286 megs of RAM. It is slow, but it is not painfully slow. I just notice the difference between Fro's faster computer when I type on mine. I love fast internet.

I need to stop torturing myself by searching for computers on Craigslist. I see all the computers with a gig of RAM for the same price that I paid for my "complete" computer system. I know those computers don't have monitors and keyboards, but those things are cheap. Anyway, I don't like my keyboard or mouse. I really want an ergonomic keyboard/mouse. I saw a wireless ergonomic keyboard and mouse at a computer store for just 30 dollars. I know the bible says that "only the devil should covet," but I covet that keyboard and mouse. I think I will try to sell my computer online and buy a better one.

I can't really afford to keep buying things, but like a good American I will do it anyway. I just bought a new phone. I bought an enV2 from Verizon. I think I will love it. I will have access to the internet and email at all times now. I have internet with the computers at home. I will have a cell phone with unlimited mobile internet access. I am sure I will be mobile blogging and posting videos that I capture with my new cell phone. If I had the phone today I could have posted a video of the girl who wore tiny shorts to the store with printing on the butt that said "cheerios" on them. After seeing her I told everyone I ran into at work that my favorite new cereal was cheerios.

"Fawkes" and I both got busted checking out the "Cherrio's" hot chick at work. We got caught by a sweet teenager. After watching the girl in cheerio's short shorts, I glanced back to the teen who's items I was scanning. I met her eyes and I think she saw for the first time the horniness of older men. I could tell she was disturbed, but she had no clue how to respond to what she had just seen. Her developing mind weighed the options of dressing slutty and getting the attention that all little girls want from men with the rational part of her brain bent on maintaining her dignity and personhood.

I am not sure which side of her won. I would like to tell you that the good side won and that Eli and I had not created another girls gone wild, but alas I cannot. I can't say for sure which side I wanted to win. I guess I want the girls gone wild side to win, I just don't want to know that I was the reason a young girl gave up on respecting herself and decides to slut herself off to the world.

The jail bait had on a Led Zepplin concert t-shirt. Like she even knows who Led Zepplin is. I wanted to ask her about it, but she had just caught me staring at the girl with the cheerios short shorts. I watched cheerio girl walk away until she exited the store. I couldn't bring myself to have a normal conversation with the teen because she probably thought that me and Fawkes were perverts.

*** (Be warned. Below I describe a bad beat in detail.)***

I played Poker last night and won 70 dollars. Card Shark lost so much that I had to give him all the stake and my winnings. He lost a lot of money trying to help me win a huge pot on the last hand of the night and I felt bad we both lost.

The last hand we played was a splash pot.*

*A splash pot is when the casino adds extra money to the pot as a prize or reward to the players.

There was a hundred dollars in the splash pot. It was also a kill pot which means we were playing 6/12 hold 'em instead of 3/6. I had queen/ten unsuited. The flop came up with a queen and because of that I knew I was ahead. I raised. Card Shark raised me. I re-raised Card Shark. There must have been 3 to 4 hundred dollars in the pot after all the raising. Several of the players went "all in" because they did not have enough money to cover all the bets.

It was a bit confusing seeing all the piles of money being divided between players still in the hand and players who were only in a few of the pots because they ran out of money. The dealer was a long time dealer, but she was confused and I am sure she began to pull money out of stacks randomly.

On the river the last card was a six. I thought I was ok, but apparently some loser* who was all in hit his inside straight and therefore I lost the main pot. I won several smaller side pots and incurred the wrath of a drunken Card Shark who mistook my bravery in raising all the posts to mean that I had the "nuts" or the best hand on that deal. I did not. I just had had the lead from first to fourth street. I was pushing the pot to be as big as possible in the hopes that I would get a big score on the last hand.

I read the play correctly. I was ahead. The only card that could hurt me was a six and unfortunately that was the card that came up. That happens in poker.

***
I got a call from the Google Ex Girlfriend while playing poker. Card Shark gave the table some advice. He said, "when a girl calls you at 2 am she is looking for affirmation." According to Card Shark if I am giving affirmation to a women by chatting with her I should, " be getting something out of it." Otherwise she is just using me. Card Shark says I should be getting some sex or something. "Unless the conversation is really that good, that just talking to her is all you need."

I told Card Shark the conversation was pretty funny for the first couple of minutes. But around the middle of it I needed to have a blow job from her if she wanted me to continue to listen to her talk about her boyfriend troubles.

He told me to make sure she give me one, "but that might just be the dick in me talking."

I told Card Shark I was sure I did not want to talk to his dick.

***(note: I am not a hypochondriac.)***

I have not had a coke in three or four days. My acid reflux is still around though not as bad as when I drink soda. The lump in my throat is gone (mostly). I am thankful for that. I can swallow a lot easier than I was swallowing a few days ago.

I am drinking flavored ice tea with no sugar. I will go work out at the gym soon. I no longer have the excuse that coke is making me fat. I will include in this report the fact that I have lost 2 pounds since quiting cola. I am not bragging, I am just reporting facts.

I am sneezing too much at work. I still consume too many antacids. My shit is clay colored.

*end of report*

*The loser (aka winner of the big pot) did not want to play one more hand at very high stakes with me and card shark. I guess he did not want to take a chance of dumping his chips back to me and prefered to empty is winnings into the penny slots near the exit of the casino. Loser.

I promote the drug monkey again because he sends me half my hits

I've got nothing. This is the third post in a row where I have nothing to say. I used to never post these kind of entries, but all of you have gotten used to me posting daily so now I feel like if I don't get something out that I am letting you down. I would hate to do that since I have been spending the last few weeks self promoting this website one person at a time.

I've been writing down this blog's address on strips of paper and handing them out to anyone who will take them. Since I have gone to the trouble of writing down my domain name for you and you have gone to the trouble of typing all the writing into a browser two or three times (because I had to remind you that you don't use www. on my address) I feel like you should have something new to read even if the new thing is not that funny or interesting.

I mean you could go look through the archives of this blog. The archives are lot funnier than anything you are going to read for the next week or two, but I know you don't know how to search the archives. If you are a reader who knows how to use the archives you think that reading the old stuff is like eating left overs and you would rather eat the shit that I am making now than try yesterday's lasagna. Big mistake. But as long as you keep coming back and make me famous I don't care if you think this weeks blog entries were awesome. There is no accounting for taste like yours.

When I am not begging friends and workmates to read this blog, I am tricking people to read me. Anytime I go to a pharmacy or see a pharmacist I tell them about that "master of pharmacy" the Drug Monkey. I figure half my audience is here as a result of his blog. I want to repay him for sending me so many readers by sending him two or three new readers a month. I know that half of them will eventually read my blog by accident and those people will realize why I suggested "Your Pharmacist May Hate You" after all.

I don't care if the only reason you find this blog is because you saw something on the Drug Monkeys web page about me. Now that you are here you are my friend too. And because you are my friend I know that the only reason you come to this blog is for advice on how to score with hot chicks. I don't feel like making a self help guide on how to pick up on hot chicks and if I did know I would not tell you and I would not be spending all my time on the internet trying to make you think I am cool.

I know you don't like to read so here is a video of a playmate telling you how to score with hot chicks.


How to Pick Up a Playmate

You've convinced me I'm fat so you can stop strategically placing all those mirrors around me

I don't know why I try to get a haircut on Sundays because all the barbers in this town take Sunday off. That means I am reduced to going to one of those super chains that offer haircuts at unreasonable prices by poorly trained high school dropouts.

Not only do I have to deal with 20 something "stylists" rather than a barber, I have to give out all kinds of personal information like address and phone number just to get a damn 15 dollar haircut. I don't think I should be paying all that money for a haircut because I am half bald and the only thing the stylist has to do is run a clipper over my head on a 2 setting and thirty seconds later she is done.

My hair is falling out again. Balding comes in waves, and I fear another wave is on the way.

The chain store hair salon has bright lights and an unforgiving mirror. I looked heavier than I have been. I am nearly 220 pounds again because I can't stop drinking soda even though I am having trouble swallowing at night and my throat hurts constantly from all the acid reflux I keep burping up.

I spent last night by myself at a college bar. I had 3 beers and sat alone at a section of the bar that was hidden from the rest of the establishment. I noticed a few times people wanted to sit down, but they were afraid to sit next to me because nobody likes to be associated with a loser.

A few weeks ago I thought I was gaining some confidence, but I think that is no longer the case.

I might post this

I have 37 minutes to write something for you. In 37 minutes I have to go to work. I poured myself a glass of coke and I put two frozen biscuits in the toaster oven. I will microwave two frozen sausage patties and place two slices of store brand American cheese in between the biscuits. I eat breakfast this way because it saves me 40 cents a breakfast sandwich over purchasing egg McMuffins for 99 cents.

I think you can tell from this post and the last post that I have nothing. I am just posting because I told you guys that I would.

Have I told you that a new episode of the self help podcast is up? If you don't subscribe via Itunes or some other RSS feed or don't have an I-pod or media player don't worry. You can still listen to the podcast by going to DIgg.com. Just search the podcast section for the Self Help Center. While you are there you could digg the podcast since the only person to have done so was Lucky Charm.

I figure the podcast is what is going to make me famous, so you should feel free to distribute it to whomever you feel.

***

There is something odd going on with my 99 dollar computer. The internet explorer does not open all the way in the full screen mode to cover the entire spectrum of the monitor. I would say there is a gap of about 20 percent, only the window won't expand or move like normally. I think my monitor is going out.

I am not worried I could always buy a new monitor for 10 dollars.

I was talking to Kelso's Nuts one of my fave bloggers over at the Daily Brimstone and he talked me out of paying for a subscription to E-harmony. He said that all the chicks on that site want to get married and I won't get laid using that service. He suggested match.com or J-date. I am not a Jew so I am leaning towards Match.com. But the girls on Jew Date are awesome.

I thought about going on J-date anyway and when people asked if I was on there even though I was not a Jew I was going to say than my name sounds Jewish and I never met my biological father so it is possible that I am Jew and just don't know it. But I figured Jew girls are too smart and would see right through that line of bull shit.

I have a weird neighbor

I have a weird neighbor. I am not talking about the couple next door to me who leave their door open all night. I have to hide my face from them when I walk up the stairs to my apartments and pretend I am in a rush to to get inside, so I don't have to answer any of their questions.

The wife is in her late 40's and is kinda MILFish. She has short spikey hair. I don't know what happens to women at 40 but they all get the same haircut. You could say the same thing about men, but the reason we all get the same haircut at 40 is because we don't have any hair left.

No, my really strange neighbor has a red Porsche . The Porsche is always broken down. He has had the same red Porsche since I last lived in the condo and he had the Porsche before I moved to the condo the first time.

For the past 2 weeks my neighbor has been working on his car all night. He stays up until 4 in the morning. He saws things and drills things directly below my window. He removes the fiberglass under body and works on the wires down there. He has been working on the same area of the undercarriage for 10 years. I have no idea what is wrong with the car. Every once and a while he will put all the pieces together and drive the car around. A few days later he will be back to work on the car.

I wonder if the car is really broken. I wonder why he doesn't save money and get it fixed by a professional. Why would anyone expend so much energy to save a Porsche . I mean I love Porsche more than I love my Volvo but I don't think I could have as much of my self worth tied into the make an model of the car as this guy does. The car has a terrible paint job, it needs a good wax. I think it must be a 1980's 924. It's an ok car that would have not pulled that much pussy in it's glory days. I can't imagine any girl getting wet over the car now.

IF you want to picture the guy he is exactly like you would expect. Call him, Guido. I think he used to have a mullet. He works out a lot and wears gym shirts and shorts 364 days a year.

I want to win the lottery and buy this guy a new car. Only I remember that he has a anger issue and once attacked the FRo because he thought he was responsible for a break in to the car.

I still hope to win the lottery. If I do I am going to buy a red Porsche 911 and park it next to his car. I will never drive it. I just want him to be reminded what a waste of time his life has been the last 12 or so years taking care of a car on life support.

I am a humanitarian that way.

Billy Ray Cyrus is a true pervert

I couldn't decide what to do tonight. I thought I might go out and drink because I live next door to a bunch of college bars and I like watching sluts drink beer. I don't leave because I have no hope of getting laid at a college bar now that I am nearly 40.

Even though I know I won't get laid at the bar I still torture myself by arguing the upside upside of drinking at the bar. I figure I may only have a .1% chance of getting laid at the college bars but that is way better than drinking coke and siting here on my computer blogging all night where I have a zero chance of getting laid. If you don't count cyber sex with fat guys pretending to be fat chicks.

I'd watch TV but I don't have cable anymore. Without cable all I get are local channels which basically means I get PBS and Network TV. I used to think that I liked network TV, but I guess I don't because I don't even bother to have the TV on in the background while I surf the net. Other than Lost and a couple of other decent shows Network TV sucks.

I wasn't too worried about not having cable TV because I have the internet. I had this idea that I would download all my favorite TV programs from the internet. I heard about Hulu.com and I figured, "whatever TV shows don't get screened over the internet I could always steal from livewire."

I was wrong about that. I don't know a lot about stealing stuff off the internet. But I do know that stealing stuff off the internet ain't as easy as you might think. A lot of times what you download is not what you think it is. Many times the quality is shit. I have no desire to watch a pirated movie that some ass stole by capturing it on his cell phone. I guess what I am saying is that I require a little quality with my free thievery. What I do not require is a three hours of download time to get a copy of the Sex and the City Movie where a guy is munching popcorn and talking to his girlfriend the whole time he is recording.

Speaking of the intertubes I found this video of Miley Cyrus getting spoon fed whip cream and ice cream by her dad. Fast forward to the 2 minute mark for all the hot Dad on daughter action.

Miley Cyrus launches new shake at Millions of Milkshakes



I think that shit could have been cute if Miley was like 6 years old or something. But Miley is almost 16 and the only thing that feels creepier than watching Miley Cyrus eat the whip cream off her daddy's spoon is deciding that you don't need to go out to the bars after all because you've already jerked it to Miley's new video, and since you are almost 40 there is no possibility of getting another erection tonight even if you met one of those hot little ASU co-eds and inexplicably she wanted to fuck you.

Billy Ray has decided to enjoy the burgeoning sexuality of his teenage daughter and he is not going to feel guilty about it. He figures he was the reason she got all that singing talent and all her money. I guess that is why this latest "Billy Ray and Miley Cyrus doing something vaguely uncomfortable and inappropriate" video is not that news worthy to you, but I guess it still is for me because despite all the big talk you hear from me I still shock pretty easily.

The best thing about this video is that it proves Miley has no idea what is going on. She still thinks slutty poses are cute and funny. She does not realize that all those half naked pictures she posts on the internet for me and all the sexual innuendo she makes with her dad is just part of the role play daughters go through on their way to womanhood. Because Miley is famous we get to see it acted out before us. And because we are perverts we get to enjoy it.

I take comfort in knowing that you find me boring

For the second time this week I have to go to work early. It is 1 am and I am blogging even though I need to be at work in 7 hours. I live dangerously like that because I don't care if I wake up in time to go to work. I don't care if I get fired. I know I could always use my extensive blog contacts to e-mail you and ask if I could come "kick it" at your house for a while.

I am trying to write, but I am too uninspired to do so. I have no idea why I try.

When I don't write it is because I self censor. I self censor because I am a perfectionist. I want every post I write to be entertaining.

Maybe you noticed that I have not written as much as I said I would when I finally got the internet at home. The reason is because I can now take all the time I need to write a post now, so I don't have a ready made excuse for you when they come out sucking like this one.

I gave away this blog's address to a couple of people from work. I wanted to try and wow them by writing something so great for them they would stick around and get my blogger following into the double digits. I don't think all my self promotion is going to work because even when I get the endorsement and promotion of a blogger like Katie Schwartz my stats don't explode and I don't add any new readers.

I'd like to blame myself, or my poor writing for the lack of interest in this blog, but I think we both know better than that. I know plenty of high profile sites that aren't half as good as this site is and they get millions of hits. I guess that is why I refuse to apologize to my 2 new readers from work for the crappiness of this blog. I don't really care if today's post sucks, I think you basically owe me a second and third chance to write something funny for you. If you don't like this post you can always visit the incomparable archives of this blog where you will find stories of strippers, hookers, and beer drinking escapades that will delight.

I know the rest of my readers don't care about all that, but the rest of what I have to talk about is boring.

My electricity is not going to get shut off. I paid the bill at 7-11, at some random bill pay kiosk. It took a few days longer than I anticipated for the payment to get credited, but I am happy to tell you that it did, and I no longer have to stress about that.

I have been stressing lately and I don't like that. Most days I don't stress because I am too depressed to give a shit about anything. And since I don't care about shit I don't take responsibility to do anything, like take care of myself. Well all that is changing because I am living on my own at the condo. I have to do things like watch my electric usage. I have to make sure the refrigerator door is always shut.

If I forget to keep the door shut I end up having to throw the milk out. I wasted an entire gallon today. The milk smelled ok, but it felt tepid to the touch. I decided to be safe rather than sorry and threw it out. One of the most empowering things you can do in life is to waste food. I think that is why indigenous peoples invented potlatches.

I don't feel bad about the gallon I wasted because I bought a new gallon of milk from all the reward "bucks" I get from management. I get tons of extra rewards bucks from work because I always say "yes" when management asks me to change my schedule or work extra hours for them. I work all the extra hours I can so I can tell myself that I am doing every thing humanly possible to pay my bills. Of course that is not true, I need to get a second job, or at least look for a job that pays at least 10 dollars an hour. I tell people I am staying with this job because it offers health care, even though I have not used any of the health care benefits that come from this job. I am afraid of using my health coverage because that would require me to pick a doctor and pay 25 dollars for the initial consultation.

I can't decide if I want to have a male doctor or a female doctor. I want to pick a female doctor because I am getting to the age where I will need a prostate exam every few months and I want a h0t doctor's finger in my anus. I don't want any unexpected orgasms (the result of prostate stimulation) to come from a dude. I haven't been on a date in 4 years so the last thing I need is added confusion in my life.

I know I should probably pick a male doctor because there is no such thing as a "hot female" doctor except on TV. I am not even sure how I would go about picking a hot doctor. Doctors don't post pictures of themselves on the internet so that you can choose the most attractive person for you- like real estate agents do. I think they should. I can't think of a better way to pick a doctor than by selecting them on the basis of their looks.

I want to pick a doctor on their looks only because doctors won't release their medical practice records to the public. So the only thing you have to work with is a recommendation from a friend or family member. Most of us just end up choosing a name at random from the yellow pages because we figure all doctors have to pass the same tests and licensing requirements so they are all probably the same. All doctors probably are the same so that's why my idea of picking a cute doctor lady is as good as randomly searching in the yellow pages for a doctor closest to your house.

As you can see I really don't know what to do about choosing my doctor so I am caught in this dead zone of choice. I hate making decisions.

The other thing I am worried about is going grey. I noticed the hair on the side of my head is turning greyer. I don't know where all the new grey hair came from. I think it may have been there for a while and I just didn't see it. I know I have have not had a hair cut in a few weeks. It is time for me to get another one. When my hair grows out I think you can see the grey a little easier. I don't mind a little grey hair. I just don't want to turn into a silver hair fox yet. I just moved into a place right next to a bunch of college bars and I was kind a hoping I could still "hit it" with a few college co-eds before I resign myself to the fat Mexican with 5 kids who loves to eat hard boiled eggs.

I don't know what I have against hard boiled egg eaters, I just know that I don't like the idea of my fat, lazy wife wiping her grubby egg shelled hands on her undershirt. I get that picture in my head a lot and it disturbs me. But after reading this post, maybe you just think I get disturbed easily.

Thanks Katie!

I just wanted to say a very special thank you to Katie Schwartz one of my most favorite bloggers of all time. She recently blogged a very special blog post about your truly. I can't think of anything I like better than people complimenting me and telling me how awesome I am.

I just wrote a special open letter to my "crazy" Obama fearing mom over at my Bathos site. I think it might be something that Katie's readers would like. I don't mention jail bait. I don't make fun of fat chicks and I don't talk about masturbation. I talk about Obama and why my mom does not need to worry that he is the anti-Christ. The post feels heart felt and fuzzy and only occasionally condescending. Iknow Katie's readers will miss all the talk about masturbation, but it was only one post.

Magic Johnson faked AIDS

I don't break stories on the internet because I am not the mainstream media or that newspaper in Hell, instead I am a just a blogger, and as a blogger all I do is circulate rumors and repost content that I read elsewhere with enough snarky commentary so that you can't claim copyright infringement.

I still like to keep my readers up to date with stories that I steal off the internet, because I know that you guys develop feelings quickly and get attached to all the people I talk about like they are your friends, because you don't have friends in real life and never will. All you ever had was Sammy and Sammy liked to punch you in the back of the head and that's why you keep coming back here because while I can't punch you in the head "literally" I can use my literary skillz on you just like a punch to the head.

I think I felt about as good as you did after running into Sammy in the court yard after I read that a couple of radio guys from Minneapolis told their listeners that Magic Johnson never had the AIDS. They said that he lied and made the whole AIDS thing up just to scare you. Reading that story made me sick until I remembered how I told you that Magic Johnson bought a cure for AIDS and kept it to himself. I guess I should apolagize to you for spreading false rumors, because if Magic didn't have the AIDS then he didn't hide the cure from you, so you should probably stop hating Magic and stop using your hatred of that famous ex basketball player as an excuse to hate all black people and not vote for Obama, because Obama is going to give you a tax cut and all you really care about is your money.

I don't get a lot of comments on this blog (other than from my lucky charm) but I do get people piping up from the peanut gallery who never read this blog, and they tell me how I should write it. They want me to update the story of the 8 legged girl from India who was worshipped as a god and who's image I have commandeered as a mascot for this blog.

As far as I know she had successful surgery and is living the normal life of a castrated demi god. You will have to click on the links to the Youtube video because the poster did not allow the option to inbed the video, or you can just take my word for it. The operation seems to have worked and the little girl looks normal.

I like happy endings, don't you? Speaking of happy endings go visit the Bathos for my take on why fat chicks love sex.

I bet you can believe I am still single

I don't know about you, but I haven't been on a date in 4 years. Maybe that's because I like to sit around my house on the internet eating chocolate popcorn balls that I make out of microwaved popcorn and jars of Hershey syrup. I don't worry about getting all the chocolate on my undershirt because when I am home alone I don't wear an undershirt. I just try to avoid mirrors when I go topless because I have massive man tits that can easily be mistaken for a woman's 38 dd's when I am not wearing my glasses. I can't imagine anything worse than getting a boner from catching a glimpse of my man breasts in the mirror, only to discover that the reflection I saw was me and not some random hot chick, but then not caring that the reflection was me and masturbating to my massive man jugs anyway.

You would think a guy who hasn't had a proper date in 4 years and masturbates to his own man boobs might try to advertise his single status at work. I did by carrying around with me a copy of a book titled I Can't Believe I am Still Single. Only my plan backfired because every one at work now thinks I read lame self help books on dating because I am so pathetic I can't figure out how to get laid on my own. Here's the thing, the book isn't actually a self help book full of tips on how to get a date. The book is a memoir written by Eric Schaeffer.

In the book Eric discusses his dating life and his exasperation that he is still single, despite being a semi-famous semi-sane film maker and actor. I relate to Eric because I am smart, only slightly neurotic and depressed and a semi famous blogger on the internet. The book is funny and would appeal to all the readers of this blog. If you get me a date with your sister or ugly roommate I will pass it along to you free of charge.

Eric Shcaeffer can't believe he is still single. Whereas I am not at all that surprised by my bachelorhood. Being a guy I can't decide if I like being single and alone better than I like being in a relationship. If I were a woman I would say that I was waiting on the perfect relationship and if given the choice between living the fun single life and finding my perfect "partner in crime" I would choose the latter if I could ever find her.

Since I am guy I think I would kill myself if I ever used the term "partner in crime" unless I was actually engaged in a criminal activity and needed a partner and even then I would be hesitant about saying it.

I can be alone because I am not needy like you. I moved into the condo and I am enjoying all the freedom that comes from having your own place and not having to deal with a chick. I hate expectations and whenever people are around me I feel like I have to live up to things I could care less about.

I know if I don't change I will end up alone. I won't have any kids and I will watch my friends get married and die. I will go to their funerals and people will ask me if I am married. I will have to invent a wife. I know they won't want to hear the truth that my last g/f was on the internet and that was like 20 years ago. I know that sounds pathetic. But I am not sure how much more pathetic it is than securing myself a fat chick with 3 kids from two different baby daddies, because in dating terms that's about the best case scenario for me right now.

If I did land me some used up white trash, I am sure we will be on food stamps because I will be damned if I am going to get a second job just to feed some illegitimate mulatto kid that ain't even mine. I just hope the chick doesn't have her ex boyfriend's name tattooed down her arm. That way I won't be embarrassed every time she reaches into her purse to pull out the food stamp card and her sleeve hikes up a bit exposing my shame to the rest of the world like a little cuckolded bitch.

I pretend I can be positive about life

I tried not to get too depressed yesterday. I decided I was going to be positive all day at work. I would not complain about customers under my breath. I would not sigh every time a customer handed me a yellow Western Union form. I was going to have a positive attitude like you.

Staying positive is a lot of hard work. I had to remind myself not to question "the idiots" that call me at work asking me if we have a Chase Bank in our store. "I might not be an information operator," I told myself, "but that does not mean I need to let simple questions bother me."

Thirty minutes into work I got a call asking, "if I knew any flu shot locations." I told the customer (after much digging around and keeping other customers waiting) that indeed we had flu shots. I even told the customer what time they would occur.

The information I gathered for the customer was not enough. He wanted to know about flu shots for store locations in Chandler. I remembered a website that offered store locations and times for flu shots. I asked the customer if he had access to the internet. I figured if I had access to the internet, and I was surfing on a 99 dollar bargain computer why wouldn't a fifty something living in the heart of suburbia have a computer? I mean who was this guy, John McCain?

John McCain did not have the internet and got grumpy when I asked him if he did. So I gave him a phone number to a Chandler store and hoped they could help.

It was not long before I got another call asking me about "the bank" in my store location. I get very angry when people call me and ask me questions about the bank in my store. I knew keeping calm during this phone call would be difficult, but I felt it was a challenge that I needed to take on if I really was going to try to be positive rather than negative at work.

In the past I wondered why customers did not call the bank directly to ask their questions. It seemed simpler to me. If I want information about something I would go to the source whenever possible. Since I get so many calls a day asking me non-grocery store related questions I thought that god must be punishing with me or something. I tried to understand why someone would go through all the trouble of looking up a phone number in the yellow pages and choose the number that only had a possibility of an answer over choosing a phone number that should definitely contain the answer.

I went over the possible reasons in my mind. I decided that my customers must be either lazy or inconsiderate. I figured they did not want to navigate the complex and lengthy automated phone lines banks often use and instead they wanted to take their chances with a live person, hoping that I could answer their questions for them.

Maybe I jumped to a conclusion. I do that a lot. A couple of days ago I called the Fro's parents and left a couple of messages. I never heard back from them. I got angry at them for not calling me back, cursing the lack of courtesy the Fro's family showed me even though I hate answering the phone and returning messages myself.

After the last message I tried dialing a variation of the phone number I had. The new number worked and I got a hold of the Fro's parents. I drove over to get the mail key and copy of the electric bill that I was told we were a month behind on.

The moral of the story is that sometimes the people who are ignoring your phone calls think you you are ignoring them. And sometimes the people calling your store to ask you questions about a bank accidentally glanced at a phone number below where they meant to call. I am not absolutely sure of the last thing. I sort of deduced it from the last phone call of the day I got about "if I had a Bank of America" in my store. The caller was surprised that the grocery store answered his call. When I offered him the right phone number he said that he had it and apologized for taking up my time.

If you are thinking that all of this new found positivism kept me from crying today you would be wrong. All it takes is for me to remember that I am profoundly unhappy is to remember that the universe and I exist in a state of profound emptiness.

I wanted to push away my sincere belief that existence is meaningless, but the entire time I watched the NBC TV show Chuck I kept having that sense memory wash over me. I succumbed to the quiet dread of that memory half way through the show. I cried after I watched Chuck's love interest fix herself up to go on a date. The program followed her into the bathroom. The camera lingered on shots of Chuck girl friend/CIA protectress wearing nothing but a bra and booty shorts.


I am not sure why I was so sad. Was it that such a beautiful women had to be reduced to a sexual stereotype? Normally, I enjoy seeing beautiful women in varying degrees of undress.

Maybe I was upset at the Networks decision to sexualize Chuck's girl. The show has a sweet nerdy vibe that does not mix well such blantant pandering. Maybe I was just upset that in real life unlike TV nerd folk like me do not pal around with blond goddesses. Maybe I was just upset that I did not have a girlfriend like Chuck.

I would hate to think that the vacuum of spirituality that exists in my life is caused not by my profound sensitivity, or at least awareness to the emptiness of existence, but simply by my inability to secure the archetype of feminine beauty that society showcases to me as accessible to all (but some how not for me.)

I stayed positive at work as much as I could and I guess you would say that it worked. I did not feel too depressed at work, but you could also say that bottling up my feelings led me to cry softly while watching the mild estrangement showcased on mainsteam media like the TV show Chuck.

If staying positive means I can be haunted by the shallow deepness of TV writing then maybe I should go back to being negative.

I don't get the internet at work, but I do get to see a lot of pregnant jailbait

I am bored of the internet already. I haven't had access to the internet at home for months, but it took just a few days before I remembered that there really isn't much stuff to see on the net. The only blogs worth reading are mine (and yours) and I read them 5 or six times a day. I find it helps boost our collective stats.

I don't have cable or a DVR so I am missing out on all my favorite TV shows. It would cost me over 500 dollars just to get cable back and I can't afford that since I lose my paychecks all the time. Speaking of losing things, I've lost my library card again. That makes 4 times is the past 2 months and even I am getting sick of replacing all the stuff I lose. I guess I am going to have to start paying more attention to things.

In my new found effort to pay attention, today I noticed that my grocery store has a lot of knocked up teen girls walking around. I love jail bait and I really like it when the jail bait visits my store "all knocked up" because the girls stop being shy and start looking me in the eye when I stare at their swollen bellies. I guess pregnant teens can't really pretend they don't know anything about sex anymore, and since most guys their age are scared to even be in the same room as a pregnant women they figure they might as well score with the older dude in the apron behind the desk working the money order machine.

I don't know a lot about sociology, but if I did I could probably site some kind of scientific study that shows a really high correlation between parents who use money orders and parents who's teen kids get knocked up and wear very low hip hugger jeans just to show off their newest g-string for you even though they are six months pregnant. Not that I am complaining. I'm just saying there has to be a scientific study that validates my point of view on this and if any of you know any right wing think tanks that can pass that information along to me I'd be appreciative. Not to the point that I would send you a packet of country gravy, but appreciative nonetheless.

I wasn't going to write a lot about prego jail bait, but my only other idea was to explain to the reading public that the majority of W.I.C. dairy purchases spoil... seemed boring, and I figured taking on a lobby like babies and Moms was a bad idea because everybody loves babies.

If you don't know, W.I.C stands for Women and Infants and Children. It is a government program that feeds pregnant woman, their infants and children. It does so by issuing checks that can be used to purchase eggs, cheese, cereal, and milk. I don't have a problem with feeding Milf's and their illegitimate offspring, but I have noticed that most of the people on WIC are not the brightest individuals.

You see most of the people on WIC take their coupons and purchase a months allotment of Milk and cheese at one time. I know some of these Mexican families have 20 people living in their homes, but I doubt most of the people on WIC can really go through 10 gallons of milk in a week. I am not sure how effective a program can be if it requires people who would rather choose 3 minutes of fun over 18 years of misery to make mental calculations about how much food their family can consume before the expiration date of coupons and/or food goes bad. I know most of them seem to be saying, "I am gonna get my milk before I forget to buy it and I don't care if that means all we will be eating is Kix and milk for the next 4 days." What will your kids be drinking for the next three weeks? One of the 33 packages of Kool Aid you bought I bet. Maybe Kool Aid should add calcium and vitamin d to their packages. (I think I just made Kool Aid a million dollars.)

Normally I would not bring this up because I worry that Conservatives will use this important investigation as just one more example of what government does wrong, but I just can't stand WIC. No cashier does. It takes forever to ring up a purchase when a person has WIC. They back up my line. If you are on WIC and wondering if the people in line behind you hate you, they do. They all scream at me when they finally get up to me in line.

All the customers behind you blame you for the long lines you have created. I know how difficult it is to pick out the proper food, so I don't get too angry when you purchase cheese under 9 ounces. The WIC guidelines on food and disallowed items do not make any sense. All cereal has to be bought in greater than 12 ounce sizes. You can buy string cheese but it can only be mozzarella- not cheddar. None of the participants read the materials that the WIC offices give them, so they always bring up random food and expect that it is covered. IT usually isn't and then someone has to get indignant. All that confrontation saps my will live to live and the only way I can keep myself going is to ignore your ranting and raving and stare deeply into the budding cleavage of your teenaged daughter.

I lost my paycheck yesterday, if you find it I could really use the money

I spent 25 minutes on the phone talking to Quest trying to re-install the internet on my roommates computer. I have to pay 10 cents a minute to use my cell phone, so you can file that cost down as one more item in the list of bad money I have thrown away trying to make myself the most popular blogger in Tempe.

My Quest Tech, Julie, forgot to leave me with my Quest broadband number and the pass code for my wireless network. After 25 minutes talking to English as a second language person I figured out that the pass code was on my modem the whole time. I am happy to report that the FRO has internet now. I hope he is as excited about it as I am.

I was very frustrated when I finally got a hold of a support person, because it was not a simple matter to get a hold of tech support from the Quest people. Quest operates under the assumption that you have a phone line with them (I have stand alone broad band) and all the automated help lines kept asking for me to type my number in so it could confirm my account.

I got upset at the help line and lashed out by throwing stuff around the condo. I cursed Julie for running out of my apartment before going over anything: like how to call for broad band support, for not giving me my Quest number, or the password for my network.

Then I checked out the Fro's computer as I was installing the network back. The Fro is known for collecting quite a bit of porn. He has it saved all over his desktop and has set his screen saver to the most obnoxious set of pornographic images I have ever come across. I guess the Fro assumes that any women he meets who is willing to sleep with him (or goodly enough to entertain the idea of going into his room) will be so into porn, sex, and fetish erotica that he won't have to apologize for having it pop up on his monitor after 10 minutes of idle time.

On the other hand, I don't think Fro considered the possibility that his sister or some random stranger would ever stumble across his computer screen. I think that says something about the Fro's obsessive desire for solitude and I think he needs to get out more and meet people.

I lost my paycheck yesterday. I usually cash the check at work right away but since I needed to fix the flat on my tire I did not have the time to do so. No big deal. I figured I would just cash it later. I did not count on it falling out of my back pocket as I struggled to place the jack correctly underneath the rear axle of my truck.

If you found a payroll check yesterday in Tempe it probably is mine. Don't go trying to cash it as I reported it lost and cashing it now is probably a crime. Also, my pay day doesn't keep me in the lifestyle I have become accustomed to. So I doubt it would fill up the tank in your Cadillac Escalade.

And now for some random thoughts:

Last night something strange happened. My Google toolbar updated by itself. The toolbar now displays my Google saved bookmarks. I was quite happy to see that. I think I complained to you guys that Windows 2000 sucks and one of the main reasons I said it sucked was that I was unable to download the newest version of the Google toolbar. I still don't have the newest version that allows one to see one's G-mail, but that maybe a blessing in disguise because now whenever I relentlessly refresh my g-mail account I won't know for certain that I do not have new mail.

***
I have the window open because I am too cheap to pay for air conditioning. I hear the sounds from a wet t-shirt contest and for some reason I do not stop typing. I do not gather my things and run down to drink beer and watch young college girls get exploited. Maybe because I am by myself. If I had friends here we would all go. I guess I think it looks a bit creepy for a 37 year old man to watch college girls strip at a bar.
***
I am on my second beer and I think that means this doesn't count as a drunk post.
***

I need to buy a proper chair and a computer desk.
I need to purchase speakers for my computer.
Always using headphones is a drag.
I need to get a USB port extender thingy.
I need to find the two computer programs on CD that are at Card Shark's.

I purchased a key ring tire pressure gauge for under 4 dollars with my employee discount. I hope to avoid future blowouts now. I now regret purchasing an old fashioned tire pressure gauge for 3 dollars at the Q-Trip "We'll see ya soon!" How do they know?

My brothers insist I download AIM because they use it. I hate AIM and much prefer Yahoo messenger. Anyone familiar with both would understand my plight.

I got my internet installed by a hot chick, and then I got a flat tire on the way to work

I got the Internet yesterday, but maybe you don't care. I care because I don't have a life. The only life I have revolves around me spending all my time trying to make this blog the only thing you want. I spend way too much time on this blog. I don't remember how much time I spent editing the last piece I wrote, but it was quite a large part of last night. I know none of you want to go back and read it again even though I added the part of the story where I meet Connie Hawkins who is a real live Hall of Fame basketball player.

I am using a 99 dollar computer I bought from an ad in the Greensheet so you know I can trust it when the owner of the computer store says that my computer does not need a fan. He says he added some kind of liquid cooling thingy and that will keep the computer from over heating. I guess we will have to wait and see. I did get him to add an additional month to my warranty.

All I know is that the computer comes with Windows 2000 which I thought would be ok, but now I have to say I am not too sure. Windows 2000 can't run the latest version of the Google toolbar which means I will have to manually add all my favorites into the Explorer browser. I can't even import my list of favorites from 2006 that I saved in my hotmail account.

Windows 2ooo only runs version 6.0 of Internet Explorer and old versions of Microsoft's media package. I hope one day Microsoft gets around to helping out us old folks who don't realize that you need to buy updated operating systems. I think I may try downloading Google's new browser.

I got the Internet yesterday and afterwards I was as happy as a school boy. I love the Internet and I am addicted to talking to you kids on it. I love the Internet more than I love the starving children in the Sudan. I don't want to love the Internet more little hungry black babies , I'm just being honest.

TO THE GIRL FROM QUEST WHO INSTALLED MY INTERNET YESTERDAY. I THINK YOU ARE HOT.

I had a feeling that my Internet was going to be installed by a woman and I was right. The person who showed up to install my broadband was a tall blond chick with nice tits that stood up and filled out her grey pocket t-shirt. She wore a pair of tight fitting flare jeans and she pulled her hair back in a pony tail. She was cute in a white trash "I can fix my own car" kinda way. Her face was a little greasy from being out in the heat and she did not wear any make up.

Once I saw her I knew that it was no use trying to get her to notice that I had "accidentally" forgotten to unpack all my books in the hopes that she would be impressed with my reading habits. Some chicks see my home library and the vagina goes all frothy. Of course those girls are so horny for me I could make tapes of myself beheading infidels and they could find it something to be horny over.

I practiced a few opening lines before my quest tech date arrived. I was going to ask her if she got frightened by showing up to random strangers homes and being alone with men she did not know. But "Julie" was talking on the headset connected to her phone the entire time she was in my house so I never got the chance to ask her. I guess she could always scream for help to her dispatch and trouble shooting team so that probably relieved her fears about coming inside. If I could not generate fear in her from our situation, I knew I would not be able to generate any excitement in her loins.

As with any installation there were issues. For instance Julie did not show up until 12:15 A FULL 15 MINUTES after the latest time Quest said she was going to be there. She then had trouble installing my jack. She told me I may only get half the speed I was supposed to get.

At some point Julie needed help and called a guy to come over and help her fix my network. The guy walked into my apartment without knocking first. He had not given Julie enough time to walk from my bedroom to open the front door for him. I was a little surprised when the door opened, but I quickly surmised from his tool belt and Julie's apology that he was a Quest employee too.

He was tall and stupid looking like a college frat guy. I could tell Julie had a crush on him and he is probably fucking her even though he has a girlfriend. Julie and Stupid Frat Boy had an easy communication style that was beyond working together and exhibited the characteristics of people who have seen each other naked.

Julie installed my wireless modem and hooked both the computers up wirelessly even though I requested that both my computers be connected by ethernet cables.

Julie installed my computers with cute little adapters that harness the wireless signal and translate it into the Internet. I hope I did not get charged for them other wise I will have to raise some hell and by "raise some hell" I mean blog about it because I am too chicken shit to call and complain about anything. I splurged when I ordered the internet and decided on the wireless modem over the standard modem for an additional 40 dollars (a special sign up offer from Quest that included professional installation by Julie for just 10 dollars) in the event that I ever buy a laptop I would have Internet for it too.

I am not sure if the wireless connection I have is available to the public or how I would even access my connection from another computer. But I don't care about those things. I have the Internet now.

I was late for work because the installation took so long. I decided to take a short cut through the neighborhood because the traffic pulling out of the condo was so bad.

At the stop light next to my favorite restaurant I noticed that the truck was driving strange and I heard a funny sound coming from the truck that meant I had a flat. I stopped the truck and pulled into the driveway. I got of the truck and noticed right away that my driver side rear tire was completely shredded.

Pissed, I called work to tell them I was going to be late and then I called Card Shark for a ride because he works nearby. Card Shark is going out of town later that day so he would not be able to help me fix the flat or give me a ride back to the truck.

After work I called Married Guy, because Married Guy loves to fix problems. Married Guy picked me up from work and the combined efforts of Married Guy and me resulted in the replacing the flat tire with my spare.

If not for Married Guy I would have struggled finding the spot where I had to insert the tire iron to lower the spare tire down from its resting spot under my truck bed. I was able to loosen the tire bolts that the much bigger (and ostensibly) stronger married guy could not. I also managed to get the jack secured in the proper area so we could take off the tire and I knew which direction you loaded the tire on. So I was helpful to the situation.

(Disclaimer: Married Guy will insist that he "loosened those bolts for me.")

I have a Mantastic Day. I go to strip clubs. I play poker with Connie Hawkins (Hall of Fame basket ball player.)

*This blog post is now edited and in completed form.*

I went to a burger joint that has a theme like Hooter's. The girls dress in short skirts and tight shirts. The burgers cost 10 dollars a pop, but they are quite yummy and you can get chili on them for free.

We stopped at the burger joint because we thought it was the Heart Attack Grill. The Heart Attack Grill is a famous food place in Arizona that got national attention when the Arizona Nursing Union tried to sue the company because the Grill dresses its servers in slutty nurse uniforms. Real nurses somehow thought that people might get confused by that.

Back to the burger joint that is no longer the Heart Attack Grill :
Card Shark told the staff that I was self employed as a pro blogger. The manager and owner of the store wanted to know my website because I told her that I was going to blog about the restaurant.

The cute servers had tons of questions about me what being a pro blogger was like:

Q. Does it get boring having to be witty all the time?
A. Nope.

Q. Can you make money at being a pro blogger?
A. Yes.

Q. Will you write about this?
A. Yes.

I gave the girls a fake blog site because I did not want them to go to my blog and notice that I had no advertising on the site and thus no way of making money other than the pathetic "please donate" button that has been plugged only one time in the sites 5 years of existence. (Thanks Drug Monkey!)

MEET MY NEW WIFE, COREY! COREY IS A STRIPPER. i AM GOING TO VEGAS THIS WEEK WITH HER. WE ARE GETTING MARRIED. sHE PROMISED!

nEXT

We went to a strip club that was close to the burger joint. I forgot to mention that Card Shark brought his Mexican contractor with us to the burger joint so we could all go to the Strip Club together. I think going to a strip club with a guy who has on a tool belt and hiking boots is very manly.

The strip club is very dark and I had a hard time seeing in it for the first 20 minutes. I ordered a beer because I did not have to worry about driving. Beer at the strip club is 5 dollars and then you have to tip the waitress in a very low cut top, or she gets pissed at you and spits in your beer.

It had been a while since I had seen a woman naked. I got to see plenty in the strip club. All the girls were very attractive and most were skinny with fake tits. A number of the girls asked me if I wanted a table dance as soon as I sat down. I told them no because once I start spending money at a strip club it goes fast.

I gave all the money I had saved for a down payment on a new car to a very hot Asian stripper in Las Vegas. As we walked hand in hand down to the ATM machine I told her that "I was not rich" and that the only money I had in my savings account "I had saved to make a down payment on a truck."

I told her it was all the money I had in the world and that I was in my mid thirties and carless in Arizona which was exactly like being carless is Las Vegas.

Even though I had just met her I told her how much I loved her, and how I was hoping she would not make me give away all my money, because with out a car it was hard to get a job or go out on a date and I had not been on a date in 4 years. I wanted her to know that I vulnerable because I was lonely and horny.

My Asian stripper just smiled at me and pulled me over to the cash machine. I looked at her one more time and pleaded with her.

"Could I please keep a little of the money? I really am saving this money for a car, but I will be honest with you...I am pretty much powerless around you. Please don't make me give you all my money. I know you don't want me to do that. I've already given you over a hundred and fifty dollars."

The cash machine said "hello" to me and warned me that it was going to charge me 7 dollars to withdraw my money. I glanced over at my Asian stripper. She was getting bored.

"Get your money out!" She wined. "Let's go have some fun."

I still had a painful boner and now I was going to be broke. I took the money out the ATM and handed it to her. I gave her my very best sad puppy dog look. I don't think it registered with her at all. My stripper then took my hand and led me back to the table where she spent the next half hour grinding her knee into my erection.

I think the best part of the night was walking to the ATM with my hot Asian stripper and holding her hand like she was my girlfriend. I like holding hands and I like to cuddle which I guess is gay, but I don't care what you think. I liked how the men at the club looked at me as we walked back and forth from the ATM. On the way back all the men stared at me admiringly. They seemed to be saying to me that I had good taste in women. That my stripper and me were a cute couple and I was cool enough to have picked her.

Obviously I was loaded because there I was at the cash machine taking out hundred dollar bills like it was nothing. I know some of the guys wished they were me right then. All they could afford to do that night was tip dollar bills to the stage dancing girls. They had to shoo away all the aggressive girls who would drop by and ask for a dance between every song. Not me. I had a sexy girl/friend/stripper for as long as I could afford her.

I have had some bad experiences with strippers . I was looking through the archives of this blog and I found a high number of instances where I gave what was left of my savings account to a naked girl just because she would sit on my lap, breathe in my ear, and whisper to me that she thought I was wonderful and sexy. I once gave all my savings to a wonderful single mom stripper that way while in Palmetto, Florida.

I thought about all that while I was trying to relax in the strip club. The owner of the club kept the place so dark that he often got complaints from his workers. I hoped that my eyes could adjust quickly to the darkness. I wanted to at least see the girls jiggle and move around a bit.

I was startled out of my day dream by a young girl jumping into my lap.
"Hi!" She said. "My name is Corey!" Corey was deeply tanned and had large possibly fake breasts. At least at one time I think her breasts were fake, but maybe she had a bad tit job. I think she must have had the implants removed because the skin around her breasts sagged and rippled like from being stretched out. She smiled at me and placed her arms around my neck. Then she told me she was drunk.

"I just did a shot!"

Everything she said she said in exclamations. She asked me if she made me nervous. "You look nervous!" She told me. I agreed. And she asked me why I was so nervous.

"I did not shave today and I know that dancers hate it when men come to strip clubs without shaving because our faces scratch your boobies." I confided.

Corey did not mind my 5 o'clock shadow she said that it looked sexy on me. Despite how easy the conversation was flowing I could tell Corey was itching to get a table dance. She was antsy on my lap and crawled around like she could not get comfortable. I took her hint and asked her if she wanted to get a table dance. She said, " Hell Yeah!" And then she asked me where I wanted to get the dance. I told her I wanted the normal side dance. I could only pay 10 dollars a dance and you had to pay 20 dollars a dance if you wanted to go to the "more private" couches that lined the back wall.

I did not have to leave my friends and risk being suckered into the "private" couches to get a table dance. I could have stayed and had my dance around my friends, but I don't like how my friends always want to make eye contact with me when I am getting a table dance. A table dance is supposed to be slightly naughty and pervy. A table dance is not supposed to be fun. That is why I am against women going to strip clubs unless they work there.

I don't like the dances where the girl talks a lot either, or where she tries to show me her dance skills. I want the stripper to take off her top and push her breasts into my face. I want her to put her tongue in my ear and blow her hot breath on my neck. I want her to straddle my lap and rub on my crotch. I want her to grind her knee into my groin. I want to her smile up at me when she pretends to suck my dick.

I don't know what other men like in a strip club dance but that's what I like. I also like hand jobs, but I have never gotten a hand job from a stripper. I have gone to the VIP rooms. I have paid great sums of money in them thinking I was on my way to the fabled land of stripper hand jobs and happy endings. But I never got a hand job in a VIP room. Then I thought that if I got to know a stripper really well she might want to give me a hand job and a happy ending. So I became a regular at a strip club for a time. I introduced myself to a big titted Mexican girl over at the Cheetah's dance room. Eventually I knew that stripper's real name and she had my phone number. We almost hooked up once, but I never got a hand job from her.

It's not just strippers, I've never been given a good hand job from a girl friend either. None of the girls I've dated have given me a hand job to completion. I did date a girl right after my divorce who I think was into giving hand jobs. I remember she liked to stroke my cock under the covers. At the time I assumed she was just trying to get me aroused. Now that I look back on it, I think she got off on it more than me. I know she really liked to touch dick but her parents were very religious. She probably learned the hand job thing in high school to avoid losing her virginity to horny seniors.

She also had this weird thing about flip flops. I think she must have had a hundred pairs or more in her bedroom closet. She told me she though it was really "hot" that I wore flip flops too, and it was one of the first things she liked about me.

We met on the Internet and back then I was fucking whatever girl would let me. She was a tad bigger than most of the girls I usually go for. So I decided I would just stay at home with her and fuck her a lot. I thought she might get skinny if I made her miss dinner by screwing her as often as I could. Whenever we finished fucking she would get hungry and want to go to I-Hop or something. I always made up some lame excuse and then I would work on getting her excited again. We would have sex and then she would forget about wanting to eat. I bet she lost 10 pounds in the month or so that we fooled around.

My stripper Corey was very sexy. She had a dark tan. I don't go for that normally, but on her it looked good. She had short brown hair that she had just "cut off" because her swimming pool had turned her hair green. She had large breasts that were very soft and they looked liked they may have been recently reduced from fake triple D's to natural D's. She was petite. She stood only 4'11 which technically means she is a midget. I did not hold this against her because even with the 5 inch stripper boots she had on I was taller than her by a head. I liked being that much taller than her.

Corey has a great smile and a very attractive face. A lot of strippers have nice bodies but they will often have hard faces or just aren't that pretty. I judge a women's beauty mostly from the face. By that measure, Corey was quite pretty. She was also thin without being skinny. I could tell she did not have to work out (other than the workout that one gets as a stripper) because she was naturally thin.

Corey complained that she was cold before the song for our dance played. She explained as we sat down we were "to wait for the song that's playing to stop" before we would have our dance. She explained this to me like I was a child, or like I had never been to a strip club before. She tried to convey to me that she was doing me a favor by letting by waiting so I would get a full song's worth of a dance. Like that was not standard practice in the industry to wait for the beginning of the song to start a lap dance.

I allowed the comment to pass between us because I did not want to spoil the mood. Corey worried about me. She kept asking me if she made me nervous. I went along with her ruse that I was a "rookie" to strip clubs. I repeated to her how nervous I was and I told her she was the sexiest thing I had ever seen. She laughed at my confession and told me I was crazy to think it.

Our song started she immediately took off her top and told me to spread my legs. I gave her high marks for her technique. I was turned on by the idea I was going to get a lap dance and became aroused. Corey noticed and rather than playing coy with me, or getting offended she began to rub me with her legs and grind her crotch against me.

Part of her dance included turning around and showing me her ass. When she did this she placed a finger on her panties and rubbed it up and down. I was not surprised. It was a standard ploy at this club. On the third dance her finger disappeared into her black panties. Either she knew a good magic trick or the sheerness of her bottom cover allowed her to finger herself. Either way I was excited to see such a thing.

Corey liked to take her hands and rub them around my erection without fondling or stroking it. It was a dirty maneuver designed as a very innocent one. . She liked to be both Madonna and whore. I found the competing designations to be exciting. She also like to be bossy. I told her that and she agreed. I think it was the first time she realized that she likes being in charge. She agreed with me it and said it was "kind of a turn on."
I don't remember when I asked her to marry me, but I do remember that she said yes. I told her I wanted to get married right away. Today. She suggested Las Vegas as a way to get hitched right away. I told her I loved the idea.

A few dances later I asked another stripper "forbidden" if she wanted to be Corey's bridesmaid. It turned out that "Forbidden" was Corey's BFF and was totally up for going to Vegas with us. I suggested to them both that we could go to Utah and all get married. Neither of the girls thought that joke was funny. Both forgot they were getting paid to pretend to have fun with me and think every thing I said was funny. I was a little pissed that I was not going to fictionally marry both of the girls. But at least Corey and I were still on. She told my friend the Mexican contractor to remember to "bring my husband back" the next time he went to the club.

After going to the strip club Card Shark and I decided to play racket ball. I spent more than 300 dollars paying for a gym membership at L.A. Fitness and our visit to the gym would be just my third time to the gym in four months.

We played for about an hour or so. Racket ball is a dangerous sport. was We played doubles with a couple of young college guys, and I was hit in the face. I thought about crying after I got hit in the face, but decided it would look like I was a punk so I didn't. I did ask everyone including Card Shark and his fiancee if the ball left a red mark on my face. Every one swore up and down that it did not. They all lied to me. I woke up this morning and saw a huge red mark on my face right were the ball hit me.

After the gym I hung out with card Shark at his fiance's house. Mrs. Shark's best friend was there. I have a small crush on her and it is no big deal. I crush on most women if they are somewhat attractive, and since by definition 50% of all women are rated higher than a 5.0 I have crushed on a lot of women.

I was supposed to get to walk down the aisle with "Ape" at the wedding but now I have been told I can't. I have to walk down the aisle with some fat chick friend of the fiance who has kids and is getting married. I know my only chance with Ape is getting to walk down the aisle with her at a wedding. I just know if I can get her attenion for a second she will see the real me and be attracted to me but now that chance is gone.

Ape and I did exchange several glances that night when Card Shark or the Misses made a salient point or two during our conversation. Even though we glanced at one another, I am convinced that Ape is being snooty to me for no good reason other than one time during a Halloween party I asked her to sit on my lap and you would have thought I asked to her to go killing Jews with me or something because she gave me a look that was part "deer stuck in headlights" and "I can't believe you think I am so slutty!" I don't think Ape is slutty. I just happen to know 4 glasses of wine on Tuesday is pretty mellow for Ape.

I only asked Ape to sit on my lap because she seemed drunker than normal and she had already groped a few guys that night so I figured what would be wrong with her also groping me. I guess a lot which is why I guess I will have to keep paying for girls to sit on my lap.

I need to come to terms that the 75 pounds I gained since high school took me from being just unattractive to scary ass ugly or whatever is worse than unattractive.

I guess I am bummed. All those years of back yard football prowess led me to believe that I was special that I had value. I grew up thinking anyone who could be all time quaterback* for 7 years running could not be that undesirable. Most of what is left of my self esteem stems from being an overachiever as a junior high kid where I got straight A's. I was also the best football player on my street. I used that hidden confidence to fuck a number of fat chicks after my divorce. In my twenties I used all that confidence to get drunk and get phone numbers at dance clubs. Not that I tried to get phone numbers often. But when I did it worked more often than not.

I got depressed hanging out with Ape and Card Shark. Card Shark wanted me to go play poker with him. Card Shark always wants to go play poker. I knew I was too hurt by Ape's lack of affection for me to be able to concentrate on poker well enough to win some money.

I am on hot streak again with poker. I won 280 dollars the other night and I won 60 dollars the time before. I am winning even though I am trying new games like 7 card stud hi/low split. I think hi/low games are some of the easiest to make money at, because so many people go for the low and forget about the high.

Another reason I did not want to go play poker was that I was all sweaty and gross from playing racquetball. I don't feeling dirty or sweaty. I am a high self monitor and I notice things like when I stink or look bad. I know that other people don't notice things about me as much I notice them myself, because they are so busy concentrating on themselves, but I still find it difficult to let go of my anxiety.

I would feel weird to me to go out in public without washing first. Card Shark told me he was going to take a shower first too and he invited me to shower at his house as well. I figured the fiance would be disgusted by me showering in her house so I declined the invite. To my surprise the fiance seemed genuinely undisgusted by the idea of me showering in her place and convinced me that it would be ok.

I washed my hair with Johnson & Johnson baby shampoo in the hopes that a waitress or female poker player would smell the shampoo on me and associate me with the happy smell of clean babies. I don't think any of the women that passed by me at the casino could tell I was tear free and sexy.

Card Shark and I sat down at a table that was spreading 7 card stud with a hi/low mix. Seated at the table was Connie Hawkins a famous Hall of Fame basket ball player from the 1960's and 1970's. Connie is well known in the local poker community and has played for years. I was surprised to see such a well known super star playing low limit poker but was happy to get the chance to sit down with such a talented player.

At one point in the game several players left the table and Connie Hawkins asked the dealer for a "rate reduction." For you novice poker fans a rate reduction lowers the amount of money the casino takes from the game (the rake) and it is often requested by semi and professional players when the number of players at the table has diminshed the chances of breaking even.

"Connie Hawkins just asked for a rate reduction." I whispered to Card Shark. "I have officially seen every thing." Mr. Hawkins was polite to all the players and enjoyed good naturely poking fun at some of us. When prodded he told us stories about his days as a pro player. He said a lot of the guys he played with liked to play poker back then, but that mostly they played home games that included a lot of wild cards and they almost never played Texas Hold'em poker's most popular variation today.

I won a lot of money off Connie Hawkins while playing poker with him.
It was not that he was such a bad player as that he often ended up "facing down" with me when I caught a huge hand. In one instance I had 4 kings. After seeing my 4 kings all he could say was, "Nice hand."

Mr. Hawkins did benefit from the best line of the night when I layed a solid hand down against him. Card Shark muttered, "Faced down by a Hall of Famer." Mr Hawkins nodded his head in agreement with Card Shark and repeated the line under his breath. He seemed to get a kick out of the line and all the cheers from the table's players. They made my loss that much easier.

A trip to a theme burger joint. Strippers. Poker. Hall of Fame Basket Ball Players. All in all a very Mantastic Day.

*Ask your boyfriend what an ALL TIMe QB is.