What was once the blog that got me fired. Now try and figure it out. I intend to Track the eventual overthrow of mankind by robots. Conspiracy theories. Election Fraud concerns. Documenting the Silent Totalitarianism of the Surveillance Society. Or maybe this is just my real life, only fictionalized.
I turn 38 today. I am going to grow up this year. I won't fantasize about the teen daughters of the middle aged woman I date this year.
At a certain age it starts to get creepy talking about girls who are young enough to be your daughter. I think 40 is that age, and I am fast approaching the big 4 - 0. At 40 if you think Miley Cyrus is hot you need to keep that shit to yourself. You ought not bring it up in public. Which means a lot of 40 year old men try to hidetheir lusting for all thing Vanessa and Miley, and in a way that just makes things worse out there for the average hebophile.
What I mean by that is I have discovered that being a sexual offender/deviant is not nearly as devasting to your social status as the militant feminists and over protective parents would have you believe.
At work it is common knowledge that I heart jail bait. In fact most of the girls I work with make sure to point out to me whenever they see a cute girl who is possibly jail bait just to find out if I "would go there or not."
Usually I would. But I tell them I am unsure because it is better to be safe than sorry.
My coworkers make a point of finding me all the stuff in the store that is related to Miley Cyrus. I guess they feel my obsession with her is cute. One 17 year old coworker of mine found a picture in a magazine of Miley and thought I would like it. She gave it to me and I taped it to my locker. I never suffered any consequences for the picture like hate crimes or mobs attacking me with lit torches.
In a way I think I am like Martin Luther King. I practice non-violence civil rights campaigns on behalf of my fellow hebophiles. I hope my blog and my openness leads to the same civil rights movement that blacks, Latinos, and Gay peoples have historically fought for.
If America lost some of its Puritanical ways and stopped persecuting hebeophiles the whole country would be better off. There would be a lot less rape-murder of children. I am sure there would be an increase in rape. But less rape with murder. Sexual predators often have to murder the child because the activities they enjoy are illegal. Taking care of any potential witness is just being criminally tidy. I think most of the child rapists out there hate having to murder. If America had the open standards of the Netherlands Jon Benet would still be alive today and she would have her own Reality TV series. At the very least she would have posed for playboy by the age of 16.
I guess what I am saying is that all the talk about needing sex offender register laws is wasteful. In fact society already implicitly endorses my ideas. That's why women who have sex with teen boys never get forced to register as a sex offenders. According to society Female teacher boy student sex is just hot. That's why female teachers get a slap on the wrist. If more hebophiles were like me and showed the world that their interest in teens was harmless and sweet we would all live in a better world.
But I have done my part. For the last 37 years I have stood tall. Never wavering. But at last like the red bracelet wearers from Logan's Run my time has come. I will have to restrict my desires to the harmless exercise of watching too much Disney TV.
I box of instant jello brand banana pudding. I bag of generic "nilla wafers." 2 over riped bananas. 3 green bananas. 3 egg yolks (grade b medium brown eggs) 1 splash of artificial vanilla flavoring. 3 cups of non fat milk.
Directions:
Watch Card Shark play poker until 3 am.
At 4 am
Boil pudding mix and milk and egg yolk. Reminisce to yourself about the time you made the funniest joke of your life that had something to do with the color of egg yolks and a guys shirt.
Pour ingredients into pan and throw in bananas and cookies. Chill overnight. Drive and hour to relatives house. Watch as no one tries it. Go home and cry yourself to sleep.
I guess this is the part where you expect me to share with you some kind of "Holiday Post" where I discuss my feelings about Thanksgiving. Maybe you would prefer me to write about "This Years Thanksgiving," or at the very least you wish that I would write some kind of post where I tell you what I am thankful for. Except in my case you know I'm not thankful for much in this world. So then you expect to get a shower of negativity that would cleanse you much like the colonic you need but can't afford.
I'll see what I can do. I mean I'd hate to leave you in a sour mood on a holiday. I know what it can feel like to be packed full of bile.
I drove to Sun City to see my family. The family I have in Arizona consists of: an aunt, a cousin, a second cousin, a cousin-in-law, and a step uncle. Just listing people this way makes me feel creepy and weird. Or maybe it's just having my family around that makes me feel weird and uncomfortable.
I guess that's why I waited a year to go and see them, but then I did and every thing went OK. Especially the part where they kept asking me if I ever finished college. They must have asked me that question a dozen times.
I did my best to ignore the situation. I fained disinterest in their question. When that did not work I pretended not to hear them question me, because I was so interested in listening to my cousin's husband tell me all about his favorite past time. Treasure Hunting. Eventually the family noticed that questioning me directly was not going to work, so they altered the question. They asked me what college I went to and then they asked, "Did you ever graduate from it?" Clever. But not clever enough to get them the answer they wanted. Instead I simply told them "I attended college."
The drive to my Aunt's house in Sun City is surreal. The winding road to the retirement community is dotted by drug stores and nursing homes. The only things allowed into the city are old people and golf carts, except on holidays like Thanksgiving. Most of the other cars on the road were ambulances. They sped away from me with their flashing lights on, but their sirens eerily quiet.
I guess here is the part where I tell you that Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. I tell people Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday because Thanksgiving is the coolest holiday. That's because Thanksgiving has cache. If asked all the cool people would tell you that Thanksgiving is "like their favorite holiday," because "it has totally not been commercialized like Christmas."
I liked Thanksgiving because I used to go over to my Aunt's house. It gave me an excuse to see my older cousins who I hero worshipped. I also liked to play in the woods behind the fence in their backyard.
I don't do those things anymore. Instead I played balderdash with my 7 year old second cousin. I watched snippets of the Cowboys game whenever my cousin's husband decided fiddling with his TIVO's settings has become too boring for him and he switched the TV back from 1/4 viewing mode to full screen just in time for the screen to go to a commercial after missing important action that resulted in some kind of scoring play.
I think I now hate Thanksgiving. My new favorite holiday is my birthday. I like my birthday because it is the only holiday that is all about me. Only this year's birthday won't be all about me because all of my friends are getting together on my birthday to plan someone else's bachelor party. The narcissistic personality has decided to poop all over my parade and have his bachelor party intrude on the holiest of my holy days. I can't say I am surprised. Just like I was not surprised after it rained today and the hole in my roof leaked, because that's what holes in the roof do. They leak.
I keep having dreams where I kill myself. The dreams always start off with me being interviewed by David Letterman. In the dream I tell David that the whole celebrity thing is 'bullshit' and so is the whole "genius" and "creative artist" thing. I go on to tell Letterman that I also reject the concept of talent. Mostly because I lack talent, so I would never amount to anything if we were to use talent as a barometer to decide who gets to be famous.
Next, I tell Dave how angry I get when I see how people with even less talent than me get talked about as being 'serious artists.' It just makes me sick. But the only thing that makes me sicker is your belief that Art does anything other than allow us time to jack off. Which I guess is better than encouraging "Rape" because "Rape is violence" and it has nothing to do with ugly men not getting sex from hot chicksjust because sometimes granny gets what she's asking for.
I called my mom while I was at my Aunt's house for Thanksgiving and put her on speaker phone. I had to keep reminding her that she was on speaker phone and that being on "speaker phone" meant that other people could hear what she said and all she had to say about that was that, "Your Aunt knows I speak my mind." She might have said something else, but I couldn't understand much of anything from all the slurring in her speech. Mommy was on her thirteenth cocktail. Which I guess goes good with all those pain pills she pops.
Then I told mom that sometimes I write as Sarah Beth on my blog all because she scarred me as a child with her constant droning on about how she always wanted a girl and she finally admitted to me that she should have stopped having children sometime after me, and I said something about how it was good thing there was no Roe vs. Wade when I was conceived, and she said something like, "yep."
All in all it was one of the best Thanksgivings ever.
I learned to emotionally eat again. I had a bowl of ice cream, a slice of chocolate pie, and a bowl of banana pudding that I made all by myself that was so good that when I asked the family, "if they wanted to keep the dish and the pudding they could," the only answer I got was a resounding, "Please take your cheap ceramic dish home- it clashes with my college degree and big screen TV, but at least the truck you have parked outside our home is not so trashy as to be embarrassing, and because of the truck we will pretend that your answer 'in the affirmative' to the question "Are you in a union?" means that somehow you make "good money" as a blue collar worker and we will try and look past what a failure you are for not graduating from college "because every time we ask how you are doing, your mother tells us you are still in college and we think it is kinda cute how you want to a professional student" to which my reply of "if only it payed better" garners the biggest laugh of the night, because nothing gets rid of uncomfortable tension like inappropriate sharing.
I wasn't going to post the story about the actor who plays "Turtle" on the TV series Entourage, because I read about the story on the Drunken Stepfather website, and I like to limit myself to stealing one story a week from his blog.
But then I noticed how Turtle's story is just like the story of my life. He is a chubby, amiable loser who lucked on to a TV show. He is not an actor, but he got lucky enough to land a part where he could play himself. And the character he plays on TV gets to fuck the Meadow from the Sopranos. My life is just like that. I too am a short, prickly, chubby guy who plays a character just like himself. Only I play a character on the internet who used to fuck fat chicks.
I read the rest of the story, and it turns out that Turtle's life is a little different than mine. In my real life I am just sitting here in my underwear trying to decide if the potato salad I bought at work is still safe to eat after I left it in my work locker for 5 hours, and the guy who plays Turtle on TV reallyis fucking Meadow.
I think you know how the rest of this story is going to turn out. I am going to ignore the proscription against eating warm mayo, so I can blog to you about projectile vomit and painful diarrhea, and Turtle is going to fuck some of the best pussy in the world.
I bring that story up to illustrate for you how the world is always fucking me and it has nothing to do with me being short, balding, chubby, or untalented -as lots of people are just like that and most of them have occasional good luck. I never have any kind of good luck. I need you to understand the tragic nature of my life, so you don't take the next couple of stories I will tell you out of context, and think that those stories are just coincidences. They aren't.
Married Girls Are Easy
A cute blond girl was placing her items on my conveyor belt, "Can I give you my phone number?"
I seldom take the opportunity to use my best lines at work, but I did today. Maybe it was something in her eyes. Normally I only see fleeting negativity of judgement when I catch a woman looking at me.
"You bet!" I yelped. I think my voice jumped 9 octaves.
The girl turned red. "I mean for my club card."
"I can't give out my phone number anymore." She explained. She flashed her left hand at me and used her thumb to point to the silver band around her finger.
"Your married." I sighed.
"Ya."
"That's ok." I told her. "I'll probably forget your number as soon as you say it."
I don't remember the rest of the interaction. I just remember that it was the closest I have come to being asked out on a real date in 4 years.
I know you guys are sitting home feeling sorry for me and wondering just how pathetic a guy I must be to get excited over a girl giving me her phone number just so she can save 31 cents on broccoli.
But it's not like that. I am humble guy so I don't like to brag, but I know when a chick is into me. I spend all day waiting around for women to drop me signals that it is "ok" to fuck them because I am too lazy to ask them out. So you have to get pretty good at deciphering the signals women send you if you if ever want to get laid. Unless you plan is to convince the 18 year old at work that you have a room for rent, and when she finally moves in you can drug her and steal her virginity, because you are almost 40 and have no other way of ever being someone's 'first' down there, or listening to a girl scream out in actual pain from your penis, and not just the fake screaming the girls at the massage parlor pretend to do for you before licking your ass and then asking for a french kiss. I think you should tell those girls the same thing I told the meth addicted prostitute I met in the bathroom at my favorite Greyhound bus stop in Gainesville, "Screaming isn't going to get you more than 15 dollars for a rub and tug!"
What I am trying to say here is that I have special skills and one of those skills seems to be my ability to hit on married women. I never asked for the skill. In point of fact I actively turned it off a few years ago after getting burned by the love of my life. But that is a cunt for another story.
This story had a blushing girl who liked the way I talked. I kid you not. I could have banged her. I chose not to because stealing married pussy is about the easiest thing to do, and I am not about to go and do something if I already know I can do it. What's the point? Which is good news for the 16 year old dudes who read this blog who thought that all that married pussy was off limits, because the truth is once a woman says she is going to lock her pussy down for one man what she is really saying is that she finally found a sucker who is willing to put up with her shit and pay her way through life.
Of course she is not telling the dude that. She is telling her man that she only wants one dick, but one look at Japanese bukake porn tells you different. Women love spooge, and women love to lick spooge from as many men as possible, and the only thing better than fucking some dude in the closet before she getting married, is fucking her husbands friends every time her he forgets "her" anniversary, or birthday, or some other made up holiday women are constantly going to the store to buy candles* for.
* I don't understand women and candles. I have never purchased a candle in my life, and other than power outages I can't see the need for them. Especially considering all I need is a potato and string and 12 other items to make an emergency light if the power ever goes out.
The bad news in all this is for the men who are married who don't think that their wives would ever cheat on them. You need to worry. If you think you are safe just because you settled down with the mousy girl with bad hair because she would cook for you, and take care of your children, and not complain about working more hours than you, so you can go off to the basement and be alone to watch football and drink Miller High Life you are wrong.
Just like you are wrong to thing she means it when she tells you that her ass is "off limits" because the 30 pounds she has added since marring you makes her feel self-conscious. She's not lying. She feels self-conscious and I think she should be, because it looks to me like she has the first signs of "grandma's ass."
All I know is that her ass is not that "off limits" because we can go from holding hands at the movies to ass fucking on the first date in like 2 hours. All it takes is for me to shut up and listen to her boring ass stories like somebody could give a shit, and 3 or 4 watered down shots, because your wife can't handle the alcohol. She doesn't even get drunk. She just wants an excuse to "loosen up" if you get my drift.
Ugly, fat, married women are easiest, but often they are so into their husbands tiny penises that they forget that they can "order off the menu." When they do extra-curricular it turns out less dramatic than in Film, or even made for TV movies starring Joanne Kilmer.
I will spare you the details of frozen dinners, and the women with stained shirts who prepare them through tears and bouts of swearing and cursing at the men who won't (or can't) fix the air conditioning in the trailer. All you need to know is that ugly people have souls too and they hurt and feel pain just like the beautiful people, only I don't care about them because they are ugly. And you can't really blame me for that, because I once tried to treat an ugly person like they were human, and instead of being grateful they acted like it was their right, but all I could think about was the sweat, building up on the hairy upper lip of a women who somehow thought a polyester pantsuit 3 sizes too small for her could be worn in public without ridicule from the purple lipsticked foster daughter she carts around with her, because she can't trust someone else's daughter around her husband after 6 beers.
I guess the whole thing that strikes me as unfair in this world is that people like Kathy Perry actually think they are being clever the whole time they are just being lucky. I know that just sounds like the running monologue in your head the whole time you were reading this post, but the fact that I got you thinking that I think I am clever was all just a ruse. I don't think for second that I am clever. Because unlike the rest of humanity I seem unable to turn off that part of my brain that stands outside myself. I am an observer of my own life and most of the time it seems unreal, and the rest of the time it is just boring, and not at all Sci-Fi, like an experiment where scientists are trying to discover the neural nodes of identity, and even less like the communion with god, or the wacko fringe eastern philosophies that want to dump your ego and get to Nirvana.
Some guy just knocked at the door. He woke me out of bed even though it was way after 12 pm in the afternoon. I thought about opening the door for him, but I did not have any clothes on, so I just watched him knock weakly at my door through the peep hole until he left, because that's the kind of guy I am.
I told you that story because I did not want you to think you are the only people I neglect. I neglect just about everything in my life and just about everybody I know. I know I've neglected you lately, and by neglecting my audience I don't mean not posting for a few days. I know you did not notice that. You probably enjoyed the break from me talking about my intestinal track and the strange discolored bowels movements it produces regularly. No I am talking about my review of the movie Sex and the City.
I designed this websites appeal to target an audience of 16 year old boys. I targeted 16 year old boys for the same reason all marketers target 16 year old boys. They are the number 1 market for disposable income in America.
I know a lot about advertising. I worked for an advertising company for 4 years before getting fired from it. I got fired because I showed up late to work all the time, and by late I mean I think I had 15 one minute tardies. I know what you are thinking, "You get fired a lot." I do. But I also got to have sex with one of the girls I worked with there, so I call it even.
I did not get interested in advertising just because I got laid at an advertising company. I've always been interested in Advertising. Ever since I was a little kid watching reruns of Bewitched. I wanted to grow up to be Darren Stevens and marry a hot blond witch and make up advertising slogans. My love for advertising was the main reason I started watching 30 something and is one of the reasons I love watching the best show on TV right now, Mad Men. So if you know where I can find season 2 on the internet let me know. I don't have cable so I have missed at least half of this seasons episodes.
I tell you all this so you can understand that my decision to post the video (below) of a young MileyCryus riding around on her bicycle with her girl/pretty boyfriend to go get ice cream needs to be seen as a strategy from my marketing side. And if that does not convince you that I am not a pervert then you can tell yourself that I am the blogger version of French movies. I am all about coming of age stories and young love.
IF you know anything about French film you know what perverts the French are.
The modern world is absurd. Take the movie Water Lillies for instance. The director of this film lives a pretty good life in France. He has health care and critics who adore him for shooting scenes that are considered kiddie porn here in the USA. If you play the video you won't need to stream the movie on Netflix because you will have seen all the good parts of the movie.
The preview does not have any dialogue because there is not a lot of dialogue in the movie. Most of the dialogue consists of background noise while the camera focuses lovingly on the budding cleavage of its 15 year old stars. I think YouTube has at least 10 clips of the movie and that is because pedophiles use YouTube as a jack off portal the way you use google to stalk your ex boyfriend.
I am sure the film director is the media darling of France while I am shunned by the mainstream media in America all because I write fan fiction for MileyCyrus.
I felt dead at work yesterday. I went through the motions of scanning your groceries only because I need money and because this blog costs a fortune to run. I use all my spare income to make sure I have access to the internet so you can get your 13 seconds worth of entertainment out of this blog every day.
I was in the shower and I came up with a 15 minute rant about how I hate my life, but I can't remember a word of it.
I can't remember the idea I had for a new character for this blog either.
I came up with the character yesterday at work after I finally stopped feeling sorry for myself. I know it had something to do with customers walking up to me and whispering things to me like how they have fake tits, or how the itch cream they buy is not really for themselves, but I can't remember much of that either, so I guess you will just have to put up with what you are getting creatively from this blog which may not be that great, but it sure beats thinking about your life.
***
MEET EMMA THE GREETER!
One of the greeters at my store got very excited yesterday. It is her job to open the pharmacy for all the sluts people who want to buy condoms when the pharmacy closes at 7 pm. After opening the sliding glass door she rushed over to tell me that the, "black guy who just bought condoms bought the LARGE condoms!"
I told her it was no surprise as black men have larger genitals than the Italian men she has known her whole life. Despite what Italian men say, most Italians are short, and any guy under 5 foot 9 has a small dick. That's why women love tall men. They are betting that what is below matches how high they are on top.
I also told her it was no use crying over spilled milk and the 60 years she spent bedding small dicked men probably made her incapable of taking a young black buck like the boy she brought the condoms to.
That's when she changed the subject and asked me about my penis and wondered if my readers knew about my size. She made a joke about me having a pencil dick and I told her I drew the line at 60 year old women using the term "pencil dick" in front of me. I also told her that I had a wide ribcage and that while I might be heavy, none of the fat collects around my ribs so she could trust that I was thick where it counted.
She wondered whether I chatted dirty online. I told her I talked dirty all the time and she cracked a joke that she was actually my long time internet girl friend.
She also wanted to know if there were any laws against talking dirty online. I told her that the only law against talking dirty online is talking to under aged girls, or the cops who pretend to be underage to get you arrested. Which pretty much dries up all the possibilities of dirty talk on the Internet.
You can't talk to teen girls about sex because you will go to jail, even though teen girls are the your first choice, and the only girls confident enough in their sexuality to do so. And by confident in their sexuality, I mean they have low self esteem and enough daddy issues that you can take advantage of them.
Older women are super horny too, but they always want to send you pics of their saggy tits for you to jack off on. And the furious masturbation it takes for me to ejaculate on a printout of your saggy tits rips the skin off my dick.
All that furious masturbation, just so I can send you a still picture of the white goo that I have dribbled onto your face pic, so that you can post it (along with all the other ones) to your RedPorn profile. Which I guess somehow confirms for you that men still find you attractive, and I guess enables you to have your middle aged orgasm, which sounds a lot more like a dying mule than the sexy purr of a women with a functioning uterus.
My review of the Sex and the City Movie should be read by men too
I had no plans to talk about what I wrote today.
Today's post was supposed to be another "I feel sad and lonely because the world acts indifferent* to me."
I was depressed all day yesterday, but then I watched The Sex and the City movie and I felt better. Not because a good cry gets rid of bad hormones, but because I knew there were millions of women waiting around to see this movie, and I could feel sorry for them.
I don't know if a woman wrote Sex and the City, but I do know that the movie could only appeal to a woman.
Whenever I doubt my masculinity I watch movies like Sex and the City to reconnect with my manhood.
I don't understand women.
I don't know how you connect to these lame fantasies of BIG romantic love. I just don't see exactly what Carrie Bradshaw sees in Mr. Big. Other than the obvious inference that is so subtly hinted at. He is rich, tall, and I guess "big" for a white guy.
Mr. Big is emotionally unavailable. He dumps Carrie at the alter (though in his defense he said it was 'his bad' and he would still go ahead with the ceremony where upon Carrie then proceeds to have a melt down and refuses to go walk down the aisle with Big which makes the whole thing her fault in my opinion.)
The best thing about the movie was how Big and Carrie decided to get married.
Carrie was trolling for security, or at least a part of ownership in the condo they just bought. Mr. Big wanted to keep his little sex toy, and the hundred pairs of shoes he bought her. They decide to get married rather than Big just offering to let Carrie live in the apartment if they break up. I though the offer was realistic, but stupid on Mr. Big's part.
The writers have an obvious contempt for Mr. Big because he never gets any good lines. He has the 'smoothness' of a dull razor blade dragged across a hairy pimpled ass. He never says anything witty. He was not profound or deep like some of Carrie's other suitors. I don't see why Carrie would leave Aiden for this guy. I guess women like their men Cave man like. All action and no talky. That's probably because they get all the 'talky' they need from their friends.
The most annoying thing about this movie was the number of times the screen had to show the "fab 4" throwing up their hands and screaming at each other like a bunch of 12 year olds because it had been 3 days since they had last seen each other.
I suppose you could make a case for them screaming every time they saw "Samantha" because ostensibly she had moved to California. Despite the move, Samantha was in every scene of the movie and every scene of the movie began with her "surprise" visit and the girls throwing their hands in the air and screaming for the thousandth time, "aOH my gosh I can't believe you are back in New York!"
The movie ends with Big and Carrie getting married at a small justice of the peace ceremony and with more arm waving screaming by the girls and the silent puking of Carrie and Samantha after they noticed that the producers had them eating at a KFC in the final scene to show how "real" the girls are and how they are totally not stuck up fahionistas who only care about the "scene" of a wedding and want nothing to do with living up to the vows of making the coffee in the morning because it is cold and serving me beer when the game is on.
The other sound you heard was me puking on my t-shirt a little because I just gave 2 hours and 28 minutes of my life to this movie. I guess I was overcome with the knowledge that The Sex and the City movie was the number one movie on my NetFlix queue.
Snuggles,
Romius T.
*Don't worry that post is coming. I call it The world as Will and Indifference. I think I might play off the whole The World as Will and Representation. You should probably read a little Schopenhauer to bone up.
I work late today. I won't start work until 6 p.m. Which means I have plenty of time to post a blog entry for you. I know you can't tell from reading them, but most days it takes me a good 2 hours to write a blog entry.
Some of you have been lucky enough to stumble upon one of the rough drafts I write rather than the finished project. I usually post "the rough draft" to see what it looks like "live" on the blog. I then go back and read the draft 6 or 7 times. I try to catch basic grammar and spelling mistakes and fix them before most of you read the draft and assume that the rough draft is the final version. The whole process can take an hour or two. So you can see that I am putting way more effort into than you think.
I try not to make it look like I don't work hard at this blog because I know it just adds to your conception that I am somehow a genius who just cranks this stuff out without trying so you "just know" that someday when I start trying this blog will take off and all the talent I am hiding from the world will be finally showcased for all to see.
I hate to break it to you, but I work hard on this blog. Harder than you have a right to expect from me. I know I tell you from time to time that I don't make the effort to edit this blog, but that's because if you saw how much effort it takes for me to make one post you would admire my determination for the first time, but you would come to realize that my dogged efforts are in vain.
So don't trust me when I say I don't take time to edit this blog. The truth is I take the time to edit. I am just too lazy or stupid to locate all the mistakes I make, and that makes me insecure, because some of you are smart enough to catch them, and then I worry that my dyslexia makes me look stupid.
You think I don't have dyslexia because I don't make some of the classic mistakes that dyslexics make. But you are wrong. I have a strange case of dyslexia where I sometimes place 'the predicate before the subject' like I was speaking in Chinese or something even though my Mom is not Chinese and my parents hate foreigners.
I make the same mistakes when I talk to people in person, and if you have ever had the displeasure of speaking to me, you probably noticed how I placed words in strange places during our conversation. I am shy and uncomfortable around people, but I can fake being outgoing by making outrageous comments. If you are around me long enough you might notice that I am slightly autistic with a case of the Asperger Syndrome.
I don't get dyslexic when I am on one of my rants, or when I am making use of one of my funny voices, or during short bursts when I cast my sardonic insults at you, which is why I usually just stick to making fun of people, because making fun of people allows me to release the tidal wave of my intellect, like clitoral stimulation releases the frothy mixture of sweat and vagina juices from your swollen pussies.
But ask me a question and try to get me to tell you something in a straight forward logical way and I will end up sounding a lot like Sarah Palin at a news conference with Katie Couric. Which is one of the reasons I never jumped on the bandwagon like the rest of you and assumed that Palin isn't smart because when questioned she gets flustered and starts vocalizing all over the map. Maybe Sarah is just Autistic like me which I guess explains why she has all those mongrel children.
Not that I am defending Sarah Palin mind you. I figure she has an I.Q. around 110 which is pretty normal for a somewhat college educated white woman. Sarah is about as smart as the women I meet at community college which is to say not very bright. On the other hand if you give her the answers she might be able to follow along with you as you explain concepts like "exceptionalism."
Not that she'd retain any of that knowledge in any useful way other than maybe being able to select the correct answer in a multiple choice test. She would not be able to use complex scientific theories or philosophical ideas to interpret the world, and those ideas could never inform her world view. She is stuck with "common sense" and digestible forms of tautological nonsense which make sense only in hindsight and who's wisdom offer us only truisms.
That is why the average 'man in the street' loves her (well that and her big tits) because she is using the same dimheaded lamp post to guide her thinking that most people do.
If Sarah had paid attention in school she would not have to be told by her handlers that Africa is a continent, and maybe she could have gotten around to trying to memorize some of the names of the leaders of that large country (er, continent) instead of trying to digest a lot of basic information that smart people know without trying.
I am not sure how I got sidetracked into talking about Sarah Palin, (I added the title to this blog post after I got sidetracked and the sidetrack became the post) but I guess it was because I thought you might like to know what it would be like to talk to me in person. And since we all know the character of "Sarah" you can have a good mental image of my communication style. Only all the words and sentences I would spit out at you Turret's Syndrome style would be connected to the point I am making, and all the facts I would use would be true, if just a little exaggerated for effect.
The whole point of this post being that I take a lot of time out of my life for you. Time that is rarely appreciated by you, or returned in favor. I never get credit for all my hard work just because you can can crank out a 2 page post in under 30 minutes. You can't conceive that something you read that only sounds like the verbal drippings from my stream of consciousness has to be made orderly and functional. "Orderly and functional." See I tend to repeat adverbs and stuff like Sarah does. Only when I write this stuff down can I catch some it and fix it. I think I will leave some of the stuff in in to get my point across to you and so you don't think this is just another example of my hypochondria going wild.
I'm having a hard time remembering what the hell this post was going to be about.
***
I drank a coke today for breakfast. In the past month I have had 2 cokes and 2 sprites. I was not worried about coke until today. Today's coke was quite good and I have to go pour myself an iced tea or I will be hooked on the caffeinated stomach acid juice again.
Lord help me. But I drank a glass of tea and I am ok. No more coke.
I was cleaning around the house today. Whenever I clean I listen to my Mp3 player through my home stereo. I can do this because I bought a special adapter and I know how to connect the adapter to my stereo. I am cool like that.
One of the songs I listened to while I washed dishes told me that I should, "stop scheamin, and lookin hard." I have to agree with the song. I need to quit contemplating so much.
I only contemplate the Big score when I get bored or broke. I like to think of ideas that could make me rich or live the exciting life I am told to crave.
Maybe I could sell government secrets to the Soviets like Sean Penn does in the Falcon and the Snowman. Only I wouldn't be a dumbass like Sean Penn's character. I would live in the same apartment. I would drive the same car. I might get a better sound system for the truck. I might wear some nicer clothes, but nothing flashy. I'd stick to Levi 567's. I would not go out of my way to attract any attention.
But after I contemplated my life as a super spy I noticed that for all the risk and anxiety the life of a secret agent would give me the only difference in my life would be new speakers and six or 7 pairs of shoes.
I figure if I got a second job or donated blood I might be able to afford the cost of those items, so for now the government is safe and its secrets are secure.
Since I am not the flashy type (I am too paranoid to be) I think I may have to rethink this whole "big score" idea. I mean it sounds a good gig when you first think about it, and it would probably relieve my boredom, but I am not sure it is worth the effort.
I tried to think of things to do on my day off:
go hiking at South Mountain
go to a bookstore
go drinking
visit friends
shop at thrift stores
got to a movie
eat out and read the paper
work out at the gym
go for a walk
Thing I did.
bought BBQ sauce for my pulled beef BBQ in a crock pot from the Mexican food store
started BBQ in
made ice tea
did the dishes
ran dish washer
tried to call honey smacks
scrubbed 96.7% of rust stains off new stove
unplugged microwave from wall to save electricity and mother earth
vacuumed a bit
ate lasagna from a can
checked the mail
walked out on balcony and looked at the sun and sky
subscribed to Netflix for 2 months at the one video at a time plan for $8.99, giving me one fewer reason to leave the house as the plan comes with unlimited instant viewing of Netflix's online catalog
watched the China Syndrome (**** of 5 stars!) And the Falcon and the Snowman (not done watching, still have an hour to go. kinda slow and I am in the mood for a sci-fi movie or a comedy or something with more action.)
I should record a few podcasts tonight. I may not. But I will think about it and feel guilty if I don't. Which is good. Not that it matters. Since I have recorded only one podcast in the past couple of months my downloads have dried up. I am on pace for around a hundred downloads instead of the 300 I had a few months ago.
The podcast is dying and so is this blog. I am no longer getting 30 return visitors a day. I am back to around 10. I guess for awhile all my posting attracted people to see what the fuss was all about. But after reading me for a month or so they figured out why I am not famous and why all my blog friends have more readers and hits than me, because they are so much better at blogging, and some of them seem to care about their audience, and they actually know how to write, so I guess that makes things easy for them.
All I have to say about that is while the landscape of this blog is as dry as your 50 year old vagina I am not going to be too upset over it. Like you I am just going to sit at home and eat my way to an emotionally satisfactory place. My mail had a company newsletter that bragged about how someof our associates are good people. Way beter people than me, and that got me depressed almost.
But I decided that I am not going to feel bad about myself, just because I don't visit old people's homes and wash their near dead bodies, and I don't volunteer my time helping humanity. I can't worry about those things because they bring me no great joy, unlike sitting here at this typewriter and pounding out stupid ideas for the same 5 people, who tirelessly hit the refresh button hoping I have the day off and live blog my day for them, because they hate being alone with their thoughts because their thoughts are boring even to themselves, so they just imagine all the things I say are the things they would say when they read me aloud with their lips moving.
I'd hate you, but I am so much like you. We both have no reason for living. And if I am not making much since right now I should tell you that is because I turned off the air conditioner and opened up the house a few minutes ago, because the sun finally went down so it no longer 90 degrees outside. I hope my brain adjusts to the heat that is going to pile into the house even though I turned on the fan to try and keep me cool. So if I am rambling it may just be the first sign of heat stroke.
***
I think it is a real credit to myself that I have 10 readers when I can't write for shit. I don't even post slutty pictures of teen idols most days so there really is nothing much to read here anymore. I get that. And I am working on it, if by working on it you mean I hope something happens in my life real quick like that I could blog about because like you I am sick of writing fat girl jokes and jokes about Mexicans.
Keep dropping by. I will blog all night. Unless I can think of something better to do, which I can't. I am thinking of writing a blog post about the newest right wing meme regarding the financial meltdown and how according to the right wing nuts and the Wall Street Journal the fault all lies with Carter and Clinton.
Either way I will continue talking about my metaphysical crisis, my estrangement from society, and my inability to get laid. Because I know that is why you come here. And not for the analysis of the economic situation. Because unlike Kelso I want to get laid off the internet so I keep all the economic shit at Bathos. And I will keep all the misanthropic pathos over here. Cuz chicks dig pathos.
I had to leave my wife because she could not live with my panic attacks. Like the panic attack I am having about having throat cancer right now. she never worried with me. she always told me that my worries were "nothing" and that I was ok and I did not need to go the doctor and even when I bleed and need 9 stitches* she had more important things to do than wait around the emergency room with me, like laundry
*Every time I have ever needed stitches i have needed 9 stitches. weird, huh?
I always know when I am having a panic attack. When I am panicking any noise I hear:
revs me up/bothers me/aggravates me/startles me/panics me/disorients me.
I feel something at the bottom of my throat. When I apply pressure to the outside of my throat near my clavicle I feel a bump or pressure. It also hurts like I have the mumps or something.*
*These things are real, but there is no point in panicking about it.
writing about my discolored bowel movements had gotten me to think my health too much, and now I am sure that I have cancer. that ignoring all that green shitting is going to come back to pay me in the ass. (sorry bad pun. god I hate puns.)
I am going to have problems swallowing tonight I think. Maybe acid reflux causes cancer. yes I seem to remember reading that somewhere. the doctor will tell me i have a 50% chance of living. I hope she is cute. I hope she lets me cry. I hope I am tuff enough to win, to beat out cancer even though being tuff has nothing to do with beating cancer.
I just took my third shit today. My first shit was kinda brown and kinda solid. The second shit was yellow or clay. It was soft and mushy. The third shit was green and runny.
Children do not develop an immune system for the first few years of life so parents are constantly seeing the kind of mess in dirty diapers I am seeing in the toilet these days so they would probably not be alarmed the way I am about the condition of my bowel movements. I worry because I assume the only reason I shit like an infant is because I have AIDS and the AIDS has so fucked my immune system that the fact that I drink a little ice tea with hibiscus makes me shit weak, runny and green. I feel like I am Kermit the frog in his last days, getting high with the King of Rock and Roll and ready to die face down in the commode.
I know every one wants to dissect what I am eating so I will use that as an excuse to give you my review of the Pita Grill.* Also I only eat chocolate gram crackers, herbal and decaf ice tea, and fast food.
*It should be noted that I shat before eating at the Pita Grill. The Pita Grill is in no way to blame for my weak or discolored bowel movements.
I loaned my truck out to a friend of Card Shark's. She needed to move furniture. She was also a good hour late getting the truck back to me at work so I had to stick around work for an additional hour waiting for her to return so I could get home.
I guess she felt guilty about taking so long to pick me up because she palmed me 10 dollars which I would not have accepted, but I was not paying attention to what she gave me, and after I took the money it felt weird to give it back, and there the whole thing about me siting around waiting on her for a good hour, and her good manners would have required her to take me to lunch or dinner, and the 10 dollars would have been about what she would have had to pay, and accepting the money was a lot easier than coming up with an hour of uncomfortable small talk at lunch which would have turned devolved into a one hour gab fest about Card Shark because he is about the only thing we have in common.
Frankly, I couldn't stomach the idea of talking about Card Shark for a full hour as the time I spend with Card Shark we spend talking about him, and if there is anything that you need to know about a guy with 4 blogs and two podcast and a u-tube channel is that this is all about me baby.
P.S.
I think I am going to shit again soon. Also, Yahoo Radio is fucking up again and not playing commercials!
Oh, yeah. I was getting to the part where I talk about the food I ate today and review the Pita Grill. I decided to eat out because I had an extra 10 dollars in my pockets.
The pita grill is in located in a strip mall next to ASU. The decor on the outside is pretty typical. Inside the place is pretty cool. There is ample seating. The furniture is shiny and black. An ethnically ambiguous girl is surfing the web and sipping a diet coke through a straw. The sound system is piping in Middle Eastern music. The "middle eastern" music sounds a lot like Indian music. But not the annoying kind of Indian music you hear in Bollywood movies. Calm, sedate stuff without all the odd vocalizations.
I stepped up to the counter to place my order. I told Ambiguously Ethnic Girl that, "This is my first time here." She pointed to pictures on the wall and told me there are pictures of the food on the wall. Now I know how reallystupid foreigners think Americans are.
I tried to impress the girl with me knowledge of food by ordering a gyro pita with feta. When I ordered fries as my side she gave me a look of disgust. I guess foreigners aren't taught to hold in their contempt for the crassness of their patrons.
While my server took my order I played a game where I tried to determine the woman's ethnicity. I thought she might be a Greek, because she had long curly hair.*
*Did I mention I like long dark curly hair?
She also looked middle eastern; or moreover, the possible family members who worked with her looked middle eastern, and by middle eastern I assume Persian for no reason other than I know Persians come from Iran, and I was hoping I could somehow work that knowledge into the conversation without it looking to obvious. I never did. And I never got over the compulsion to blurt out that Persians are from Iran.
The food is quite good. I paid $4.99 for the Gyro Pita and $2.50 to make it a combo with fries and a drink. The fries are the only disappointment which is not surprising as this is not an American Diner, but a middle eastern food joint. The fries are skinny and come with a dusting of seasoning. I hate seasoned fries in general, so maybe if you like seasoned fries you would find the fries acceptable. The ice tea I drank had a hint of peach.
The gyro was good. The lamb and beef was tender and fresh. I added the hot sauce to it and a side of feta. My server smiled at me when she packaged the food to go and then placed it in the to go bag for me even though I ordered the food to eat in.
My food bill came to $8.10. I remember thinking the girl jipped me on change which got me to thinking she might be Jewish after all. But after I got home I saw that I had $1.90 in change, so maybe she is just Persian.
I was slightly irritated by the girl. She did not like to answer any of my questions, but that may have been because English was not her first language. When I first entered the store I heard her and her compatriots conversing in a language I could not determine.
She wore the strange track suit that Europeans think is appropriate for every day wear. Her lime green shoes did not match. I remember I couldn't understand anything she said unless she repeated it to me and was looking right at me so I could read her lips.
She sat down at at a table to eat a snack half way through my meal. She looked skinny behind the counter but I noticed a small pooch around her middle from my new vantage point. Nothing bad. She just wasn't super tight like a swimmer or an athlete. She had some good female fat.
My cell phone was beeping throughout the meal as I was texting the Ex IGF and Leslie. The only other diners where a nice college couple. The guy ordered food and the girl watched him eat. I liked that this guy did not pay for a meal for her.
College girl had short brown hair. She smiled at me. I think she was glad I was there because we were in on the little secret that this place served decent food. Maybe she was imagining that I could be her boyfriend, because her current boyfriend took her to places like this and she had to notice how my cell phone was blowing up, so obviously even though it was a Friday night at 10:30 and I didn't have a date, I was a guy with friends who couldn't stand to be out of touch.
The college girl looked back at me a lot during my meal. Maybe thinking I would buy her some baklava. It would be her first time trying it, and I could talk to her about all the nuts in the dessert and how they firm up her bowel movements. She would probably laugh at the inappropriateness of the conversation and marvel at how at ease I was with her. She would swear off men her age for the maturity to be found in my graying goatee.
The college boy got up and the college girl left with him. I guess all the stuff we shared meant nothing to her. Girls are like that though. I'm cool with it.
I'm at home now and I am eating cookies. I have 4 cookies left. I am going to eat them all. I have to go for a Tux fitting in the morning, and I want to be able to eat a little before the wedding.
One last thing. I just posted a new Fan Letter to Steve Nash's Wife over at Bathos for the Misanthropic. Quit making me tell you that. Add Bathos to your blog reader.
I noticed I had 2 additional followers on blogger today. I bet you'd think I was happy about that because all you ever hear me complain about is how I don't have enough of an audience to make any money blogging. You'd be wrong. By now you should have figured out how I could gleam something negative from something positive.
Like I told Dave one of the new followers:
"Every time I am just about to quit this blog I get a little positive reinforcement and that keeps me going, or in another way it keeps me tied to this machine and slowly dying on the inside."
I guess what I mean by that is that if I can hide from the responsibility of life by pretending people actually care what I say then i don't have to go out into the real world and do something. And since my natural predilection is to not do stuff then you can see how blogging fits right into that.
I had a much longer post on this topic planned but I have to go to work in five minutes. I was going to tie all this into how I can't get a girlfriend. I was also going to talk about the crossroads and how a man eventually needs to define himself.
I was going to talk about how we all feel we fail to measure up to our potential, and in the end how most of us give up before we ever truly try. I was going to mention that most of us who feel good about ourselves are deluded and the measurements we use are those of society, and the society we live in is sick, so we shouldn't be using the goals we get from society.
Of course you all know that. You know it doesn't matter what kind of car you drive or whether you met your sales quota from last week. You know the empty life you lead. You understand that sitting down in front of the television is like squatting over the toilet bowl of life hoping to shit something edible out of your ass, and in turn only getting juicy, discolored shits.
You can't wipe the stains away from such weak stains. You can only hope to change your underwear. Either way unless you change your diet all you will ever get is weak shitting.
I guess what I am saying is that our society lacks fiber and therefore cannot produce the well formed shit we need to live a healthy and productive life. But I am not going to sit here and tell you that I know what a healthy and productive life means. And since I don't know what a healthy and productive life is, you could ask what my standards are for disowning my life or for attacking yours.
The answer is I haven't the foggiest idea other than some vague intuition, and since you might outscore me on a logic test I am going to stick to what I do best, and that is trust what I hear from my gut.
I know the last time someone told you to "trust their gut" you got conned into a couple of wars and a trillion dollar bailout of millionaires. But trust me. Not all guts are the same.
I know some of you are going to protest and tell me that even though you are not good people you occasionally do some good things. You drop change in the United Way cups. You volanteer at homeless shelters. But the good things we do are not connected to us in any meaningful way. That is because we divide the world up into fragements. We don't connect with each other except when we need to feel better about ourselves.
You will never be happy as long as you segment out your life. As humans we have some kind defect in our DNA that makes us want to submit to the whole. Most of the good things we do in life, most of the small joys we bring to others, are nothing more than our desire to live whole. To give up our segmented lives and be swallowed up by some principle (god).
I suppose if you are willing to do that you can be happy. The happy of goldfish. I don't know. I can't do that. I can't submit. I'd like to. I'd like all the darkness in my life to go away. But I don't think I can.
I may be spreading myself thin here. I have three blogs, the secret blog no one knows about, 2 podcasts, the Romiustexis Radio Station, and Television on the tubes from Romius T which is my youtube channel.
Despite the advice I am getting about this character I am thinking of creating a television series based on him.
I also have another idea for videos on the self help center. I am going to call it, "not my urine." Basically anytime I am in a public restroom and there is urine in the stall I am going to take a picture of it with a caption that says, "Not my urine."
I know what you are thinking, "high concept art" doesn't always translate to the masses. But I don't care. The only thing that sucks is that whenever I mobile blog all the posts I send can only go to the [TSHC] and not to any of my other blogs. I am also having trouble figuring out how to mobile post to youtube which is where I'd actually like to send all these videos.
That way there would be a reason for you to visit my TV on the Tubes youtube video channel. It would be like "Destination TV" if Thursdays on NBC still had something worth watching.
I don't want to crowd up this blog with a bunch of worthless videos. That's what youtube is for. I am still sticking to the one blog post per day aesthetic that I have nurtured over the years I have written this blog.
A further note: Whenever I mobile blog I will usually edit the post later and add more text. I can only add 1,000 characters on my phone which is about 8 text messages worth of space. I guess it would be nice to have an I-phone. Maybe when I make my TV series I will get enough money to buy an Iphone.
Ok. I am off to figure out youtube mobile blogging again. If I do, expect there to be shit load of new videos every day there. I know you can't wait.
I know some of you are going to say that all this broadcasting to the world sounds like a cry for help. Like I am screaming to the world "listen to me, listen to me!" At least that was what the Fro was saying to me when I showed him my newest video creation.
Sure, it is a cry for help. Just like the cry for help you made to your mommy the first time you ejaculated at night in a wet dream.
Mommy ran into your room as quickly as she could and wiped your penis down with some mommy spit and a moist towelette. It was a nice mother/son moment when she never mentioned how hard you got from all the cleaning she gave you. And you guys never talked about how cleaning you up became a nightly ritual.
But I'm the one with problems.
update: turns out it was real easy to upload videos to youtube from the mobile phone. now I hope I am not having to pay a lot of money to upload these videos from my cell. i thought I had unlimited video and picture text messaging. or at least 500 free text messages for the extra 10 dollars I pay verizon. we shall see. if in fact it works that way i will post tones of useless video. i am sure most of you can't wait to get romius t on video on demand 24/7. i am positive of that.
I am trying to type over the sounds of my roommates dying computer. The fan is running constantly even though it is 70 degrees in the condo. I figure that means my roommates computer is about to fail, because my brother's computer did the same thing before his fan chocked and took the hard drive with it. As soon as I am done with this post I am going to turn off my roommate's computer and wait for it to die on him. That way I can't get blamed for his hard drive failure, and for him losing all those stored Blondie mp3s he has stolen off the limewire.
Actually, I could not wait that long and I decided to finish this post on my computer where all I hear are the crying sounds emanating from my computer monitor. The sound is a lot like a dentist's drill only sharper and less inside your head. It is still annoying; although, slightly less annoying than a cooling fan in its final death throws.
I was supposed to dedicate this blog post to JessieBot3000. We were having a conversation at my checkstand the other day about a customer who came through our line. I tend to make remarks about every cute girl who passes through my checkstand. I make sure to comment to my bagger whenever I chat a cute girl up with all my highly effective and clever grocery store clerk banter.
I was telling JessieBot that the girl in my line could have liked me because she liked our conversation, but Jess disagreed. "Anyway," she said "She has a boyfriend, and the boyfriend and her looked like a cute couple, like they were totally meant for each other."
"But I like alternative chicks." I replied. "And if that girl was truly alternative she could see past my dorky clothes and unassuming wanna- be-preppy style for the alternative dude that I really am."
I may not drink Pabst Blue Ribbon and wear skinny jeans, but I am nothing if not all about breaking down sexual stereotypes and gender roles. I just don't feel the need to wear my faux trans gender persona on my sleeves.
I told JessieBot that I had no idea how to dress myself.
"I have no idea what is cool to wear anymore. When I was in high school Guess jeans where all the rage. I don't think Guess jeans are cool anymore."
The couple next in line overheard me talking to JessieBot and the female offered up her opinion about Guess Jeans. She told me that she thought Guess jeans were still cool and, "if not cool at least they are not uncool."
I wondered aloud if the old guess jeans were still cool. You know the ones with the little triangle and the question mark.
The couple laughed and agreed that the triangle style Guess jeans were no longer cool, "unless you are being retro." Which I guess makes my point. I still have no idea if the jeans themselves are cool or not. All I know is I would look ridiculous in a pair of acid washed skinny 'triangle' Guess jeans.
"No one would think I was being retro. They would just assume I was white trash and wonder where I parked my Camaro."
The world is patently unfair like that sometime. I don't know why I can't dress like the hipsters and pass off their goofy looks. I guess it is because I think the whole idea of dressing in some particular style because it is somehow suggestive of your personality is pretty insipid. I mean I know you think that too, but that's only because you are a bigger dork than I am and people point and laugh at you when you go outside.
Even though you can't be one of the cool kids you still want to be one. You even believe the hype that somehow something as retarded as fashion has meaning. You think a "personal style" reflects something about that persons "artistic soul." You just don't get it. That's why you look awkward copying all of the latest fashions you see out of magazines.
You can't mimic an artistic sensibility just because you have a personal style or a creative flair for grouping shirts with belts. All you have is style. All you have is a burning desire to fit in. And people can smell desperation a mile away which is why people stay so far away from you which is probably just doing you a favor since if they ever got close enough to smell the real you they would get a whiff of that uncontrollable body odor of yours and hate you for the very good reason that people hate things that smell like feet.
Unlike you I didn't just "opt" out of the mainstream aesthetic because I have an alternative body style (i.e. because I am fat or ugly.) I opted out of the the mainstream "looks game" because I refuse to play by rules that are only meant to fuck you.
The game is fixed. And I don't think telling ugly people they are beautiful does them any favor. That's why don't support the alternative hipster movement. I don't think we need another group of people feeling empowered because of the way they look.
First, because I don't think you get to change the rules as you go along. Second, because judging people based on their looks is immoral. I don't want to make everyone beautiful. I just want to end beauty. It's the difference between my radicalism and your cowardly incrementalism.
The whole system of lookism is wrong, and all you hipster snobs are making the same mistakes of judging people based on their taste and their clothes that all your enemies (preppie trendy cheerleader girlfriends) did to you back in the eight grade, causing you to get all depressed and start wearing black. Like we all don't know how sad you feel on the inside already.
All I am saying is that if some trendy hipster snob is going to judge me because she can't take me seriously, all because I wear normal clothes that don't drop off my ass like I am some kind of wanna be inner city Compton gangster, then she can kiss my ass- because she is the least alternative person I have ever met. All she is a snobby stuck up trendy who looks better in black than in pink. She is no better than the empty headed Paris Hilton impersonators of this world, and no amount of copiously underlined passages of Sylvia Plath could suggest otherwise.
If the past three months of my blogging has taught you anything then you know that this blog is never going to be anything all that interesting and despite the small surge of popularity this blog saw in the past month I think we all know that 20 daily readers is not very many and the fact that I haven't seen a bigger push or any additional followers on blogger means that this blog has stopped growing again.
I guess I should just sit back and enjoy the few of you who stick around and read this blog despite the fact that I can't think of anything to blog about and despite how boring this blog is with no stories of strippers or even drinking because I haven't felt like getting drunk and I even gave up drinking cola so I guess all this health stuff going on in my life has gotten me to start shitting kinda correctly again because I am happy to report that my last few shits have been "almost" brown and I think that is probably a positive thing which means I will most likely be alive for a little while longer which I know is just want you wanted to hear.
I read the other day that Microsoft is going to stop selling one of its old operating systems. I hope that does not include windows 2000 anytime soon, because that is the operating system I am using.
There are a lot of drawbacks to using an old operating system like Windows 2ooo. For instance I can't sync my cell phone to my computer, and so far I have been unable to sync my mp3 player as well. That means I have to use my roommates computer to sync all that stuff and that is kinda annoying.
One thing that rocks about windows 200o is steaming music from Launchcast. (Yahoo radio and Yahoo messenger )
I know none of you give a shit about Yahoo Radio, because none of you have ever visited my Yahoo Radio Station. You should because it totally rocks. I have rated more than 4,000 songs, albums, and artists. That means I have the best radio station in the world because yahoo radio plays the music I like best* and offers up suggestions based on how I rated different music.
*(A note: I have no idea if when listening to my radio station you are told my ratings. All I can say is that if you are not hearing Metallica, UFo, or the blues then skip the song it is probably one of those groups yahoo radio is promoting.)
The software Yahoo uses to suggest new music is not that great because they seem to push new bands and groups that advertise on yahoo more than just artists that sound like the ones you want. The other drawback is all the commercials they play on Yahoo.
You can eliminate the commercials by paying 5 bucks a month. If you get the service you can do things like skip as many songs as you want, and I have considered getting the service because I like to surf the net and listen to music, and sometimes I get sick of listening to just my cd's. Also I like having a DJ program music for me even if that DJ is a robot.
The reason I bring all this up is that there appears to be a glitch in the software of yahoo radio if you have Windows 2000. I get my radio station without any of the annoying commercials and so far I have been able to skip through any of the songs I don't like. I have no idea if this tip works only on my radio station or if it will work for you.
**Huh.
I just got my first commercial on Launchcast. I guess I should delete this post now, but since I took all the time to write it I am just going to keep it up anyway. Hey, normally they play one commercial for every 3 songs. And now I just got my second song while editing this post so I think it is safe to say that I am completely wrong so don't go trading in that wonderful Vista operating system you are using on the 1 gig ram laptop for windows 2000.
I wish I was disabled. That way when people asked me what I do with my free time I would have a ready made excuse for them. I'm not disabled, but I sure seem to shit like one of them. I shat green again and this time I would say there is no way it was caused by dyes or the food I ate. I probably have some kind of intestinal thing that people get before they know they have AIDS.
I did not take a picture of this shit, but it was green and nasty and I kinda wished I did just to get all of you who think I am making this stuff up in my head off my case. I may have some mental problems, but hallucinations are not one of them.
I'm going to try and give up all the antacids and see if that helps. If it doesn't then I will give up and shit in a cup for a doctor and when I am diagnosed with something terrible I want a lot of sympathy.
All I did today was eat pizza with a couple of friends and run errands. I went to the bank. I got a haircut . I cleaned up around the house and did dishes. I vacuumed. I know that has nothing to do with strippers, and I know some of you only read this blog to read about strippers , but I just got told that my podcast/blog talks to much about strippers.
Apparently he the Las Vagas Podcast better than he liked my latest man-tastic day podcast. Something about being embarrassed for me when he heard me talk about having a crush on a girl and how it was possible that the girl could find the podcast and know what a dork I am. Like she doesn't know that about me already.
It turns out that my friends feel like they get to criticize my podcast and blog because they think if they waste 20 minutes of their lives listening to the "whole" podcast they earn the right to criticise my work. I think they are wrong. The only people who get to criticize me are my loyal readers who join the community of losers we have here at this blog. My readers invest all kinds of time with me and give back feedback and add to the discussion. What would this blog be without commentors like Fawkes , Kelso, freddy, d-cup, and the cereal girls?
Either way my friend wants to think "20 minutes of effort" on a plane trip counts. Like I don't know the only other source of entertainment on a plane flight is the flight attendant spilling drinks on you, and the screaming kids in the seat behind you tapping on your head. He thinks that means he is allowed to make judgements about me and this blog. Well if you think you can make all that without a response from me you are crazy. And if you think I am going to stop talking about strippers you are even crazier.
I know you are concerned about President Elect Hussein and his socialist ways. I wrote a blog post about Barrack Obama where I talked about lowering your expectations for him if you are a liberal.
Obama is not about to usher in a sensible world of changes that could lead to socialist revolution.
He is going to lower the taxes on the poor and working class because he honors hard work and he thinks that the government should not tax the those with the lowest incomes.
Republicans give tax cuts to the wealthy in the hopes that trickle down economics isn't voo doo economics even though we all know it is.
He is going to raise taxes on the wealthy only back to the point where they were at with Clinton (which by the way were lower than taxes under Eisenhower and Reagan).
Under Clinton we had a balanced budget, and a strong economy.
Regarding the article you had me read, the guy mentions bad presidents and doesn't bring up Bush. How is that possible? We have lived the nightmare of possibilities that the article you suggested mentions, only his name was George Herbert Walker Bush.
Under Bush the North Koreans got the Nuclear Bomb. Under Bush Pakistan traded nuclear secrets. Under Bush we had the worst Terrorist attacks in our nations history. We have the largest deficits in history. We have 2 wars Bush did not win. We have the rape of the constitution. We have torture. We have a list of social problems and ills that were not addressed. We gave tax cuts to the oil companies when they were making record profits. We had a president lie about the reasons he took us to war. I could go on and on.
If all Obama does is allow one nation to get nukes, allow the worst economic recession since the 1970's (maybe even since the depression), expand the scope of government to include federal involvement into health care (prescriptions for seniors cost billions) and education (no child left behind), suspend the 4th amendment, allow the poisoning of our water, the humiliation of America before the world by allowing one of our great cities to die like New Orleans, etc.
Oh, and lose two wars, then all we would have is another Bush.* And somehow America managed to survive Bush. Maybe God does bless America.
*Another Bush another bailout.*
Why do the Bushes always lie to get us into wars in the Gulf (yes they lied about the first one too!) and allow evil doers to profit off the taxes of the American people?
*The bailouts (both bushes had them) are larger than food stamps and welfare payments. That is redistribution of the wealth. So is the decline percentage of taxes paid by corporations. No one calls that redistribution on the right.
No one on the right calls corporate give aways welfare even when we hand Wall Street a trillion dollars. Because we accept socialism for the rich in this country rather than for the poor. Food stamps cost about 40 billion dollars a year. The bailouts are more money than we have spent on food stamps and child welfare since they were created.
Working people need to understand the scope of the massive attack they were under during the Bush years. The Bushes care only about the rich. They engage is class warfare. They take tax dollars away from the poor and give them to the rich and to the powerful.
The massive tax cuts they give to the wealthy are part of a carefully orchestrated destruction of the effectiveness of government. Is it any wonder than when a Republican is in office how ineffective government is? I am not just talking red tape. I am talking Katrina.
When you cut taxes on the Wealthy you get smaller revenues*
*I could go off on this. The founder of Voo Doo economics, and the inventor of the Laffer curve, and the creator of that massively stupid Republican talking point that, "cutting taxes increases government revenues" has himself admitted - along with David Stockman Ronald Reagan's Budget chief- that in fact that is not the case, and it never was, and cutting taxes was never intended to increase revenues.
But I digress.
If you Cut Taxes. Decrease revenues. Keep the military budget (this is untouchable despite the fact that we spend more on military that the rest of the world combined) then you have to cut social programs. That is the whole plan for Republicans. Cut the safety net, "privatize Social Security"--umm anyone glad your Republican party did not do that now?
Is it no wonder working people see the government not working for them?
Gut the overtime laws, stop enforcing workers rights and safety laws. Cut the safety net. All that does is make negotiations at the labor bargaining table easier on corporations. And all it does is spread wealth upwards.
I am against redistribution too, Only I am against the wealthy and the powerful taking from the poor and defenseless.
History will tell us that the worst President ever managed to screw things up so badly it won't matter who wins this election, because all that president will have time to do is fix the problems of the last 8 years.
I don't expect Obama to be our savior. I don't expect billions to be spent on energy independence that could lead to a dramatic new way of reorganizing our society.
(What if we pooled our resources and paid for solar to power the U.S. We would have free energy in a few decades that would allow a huge saving relief for future generations. Maybe people would have to work less and ...Oh I won't dream about those kind of possibilities.)
Obama is just another democrat. Our vicious consumer life is not in danger from him.
The only danger is that he will fix capitalism long enough for it to continue onward. Where is will grow stronger and more reckless and eventually so destructive that "expropriators will be expropriated."
But not in time for us to reap the benefits, I am afraid.
(I will update later with links to prove my verify the facts y'all. My apologies to Fawkes for another boring political blog post.)
*I'm going to start including pictures with my descriptions.
My shit has been green for a few day, and if I was one of you crazy Republicans I would probably blame it all on Barack Hussein Obama. But since I am not a crazy Republican, I have to look to science for an explanation.
According to science green shit can be caused by not digesting my food. My working hypothesis is that all the antacids I am eating to control my acid reflux has reduced the acid level of my stomach to the point that I no longer digest my food properly.
The other probability is cancer.
My acid reflux is not as bad as it was while I was drinking soda all day, but I have to tell you that it has not all together disappeared. I may have to seek medical advice, and even though I now have medical insurance I still don't have a doctor. I am not sure if I will.
Even if I get a doctor there is the little matter of the 250 dollar deductible will have to come up to pay for any of the medical services I may receive.
All I know about deductibles is I assume they are all a thing of the past since we elected a Obama to the highest office in the land. Barack got my vote (even if it was cast on a provisional ballot in Arizona, a state that gave him exactly zero electoral votes) so like a lot of people I figure he owes me.
Caution. Don't get your hopes up.
President Hussein may not be the Anti-Christ, but he is also not our savior. He is just another politician. Obviously one of the great Orators of the 21st century or any other, but he is just a man and just a typical politician.
Politicians rule from the center. If you don't believe me just check out any of the comments from Speaker Pelosi about her new huge advantage in Congress.
Pelosi has no intention of using any of the political capital that this historic election has given her. She has already stated that this election did not give the Democrats a mandate. She added that this election was not about ideology.
That is precisely why we won't get investigations into the Bush administration. It is exactly why we won't get energy independence.
I think what we can look forward to is the re-emergence of America's standing in the world. We will work with our allies. We will stop torturing citizens of the world. We may add some piecemeal stop gags to the health care system.
What I am trying to tell my progressive friends is that after you read this post tomorrow morning you will wake to find the same America that you had last night. Even if Obama wanted he could not turn America into Sweden overnight. And unless I misread him 100%, Obama has no plan whatsoever to turn the U.S. into the socialist utopia you want.
I am not talking to the sophisticated progressives who have experience in organizing and protesting. I am talking to the people who consciousness Obama awakened through his inspirational talks. He has a lot of poor people believing that when he assumes office we won't have to worry about gas prices or the mortgage.
Of course nothing could be further from the case.
Barack Obama is the shiny face of Industrial Capitalism in its death throws. It appears that the current fiscal crisis has finally taught American Capitalism the same lessons that Europeans learned so many years ago. That the naked unbridled quest for greed is bad. That community is necessary.
Capital is resilient. It has sent one more volley back that we must return. Down to sets to love and facing elimination, Capital is taking a swing for the fences. It wants to get back in the game, so it has conceded what it must. It will offer some kind of health care. It will work to resolve what it can of the growing nightmare that is global warming.
I could list ad infinitum the possible forces that will mitigate the destructive impulses of our Capitalist economy.
But there are certain things that Capital will not concede. It will never concede the private appropriation of the surplus of the means and goods we produce socially.
To grasp this idea all you need to know is the consequence of my point. We will never have a rationale society as long as there is Capitalism.
I wish President Hussein all the luck in the world taming the beast he rides. But we all know how this ride ends. Either in oblivion, or the socially organized production of means of production.
I found my polling place on the internet. I confirmed I am registered to vote.
I am thinking I should live blog the election. The only problem is that I have to work until 8 pm Arizona time which means the election is going to be over before I get around to figuring out how to "blog mobiley."
I am pretty sure I can mobile blog, but I haven't really tried yet.
If I can. I will.
I wonder if there will be riots in the streets
I wonder if the Republicans will steal another election
I wonder if the Electoral College will produce another presidential winner who did not win the popular vote and if it does will that finally be the last straw for the electoral college?
I hope Keith Olberman gets to Anchor the coverage for MSNBC.
Need to get in the mood for the election? Go visit my incomparable archives:
With my last post I promised to get drunk and go to the Halloween parade in Tempe. I took the bus to Mill Ave. just around midnight. The scene there was bedlam. I recommend going to the Halloween parade on Mill if you can.
The parade featured tons of crazies, hundreds of drunks, and of course girls in slutty outfits.
I promised you I would take videos and pictures of the scene. I did, or at least I thought I did. I guess it turns out that I don't quite know how to use my phone as well as I thought I did. I ended up with just one video of a dancing guy with his shirt off, and a few poorly lit shots of scenery with no actual people in costumes. That's because I tried taking my pictures from the balcony at Hooter's after drinking a large beer or two.
I like photography and like every girl in the 8th grade I thought I could grow up to be a a professional photographer. I regret to inform you that is never going to happen. I'd like to blame the poor picture quality and all the videos I forgot to save on the fact that I was drunk, but I think we all know that most photographers wake up drunk, and take their best photos high on the cocaine they steal from the half-naked models they shoot.
I guess I will have to limit my dreams photographic artistry to that of becoming a director, because directors can always hire a cinematographer (and when you learn that directors aren't usually cinematographers you have to ask yourself just what the hell is it that a director does?)
Either way I did not include the Halloween pics I took in this post because that would require me to picture text my e-mail address, and then save the pics from the e-mail to my computer before I could even consider posting them on the blog, and that sounds like a lot of work just to show off a bunch of badly taken photographs that you would probably just laugh at, and wonder what all the fuss was over this whole Tempe Halloween Parade.
I could describe to you some of the vids and pics you missed.
There is the video of the two girls walking past me and whispering to one another, "what is that guy doing?" While pointing at me and covering themselves up. Like it wasn't obvious that I was just standing in the only well lit part of Mill with my camera open and recording slutty girls as they walked by.
I'm kinda glad I did not save that video as I was actually a bit embarrassed by what I was doing at the time, because I wasn't drunk enough to shrug off the comment and make a witty retort.
You also missed me getting permission to record the girl dressed as Snow White. The girl dressed as Snow White went around asking for donations of a dollar if you wanted to get a photograph with her. Since I asked her for a video clip, and I told her I was going to post it on my blog, I offered her two dollars as a donation. She gladly accepted.
In the video I never got around to asking her the questions I wanted her to answer like, "why she was out here asking for money." I decided that she needed the donations to pay for the costume. I also wanted to know how much she money she had collected. I know for a fact that just standing around that night she made more money than than I will ever make off this blog and all she did was walk around and look sorta cute holding an apple that said "$1 for pictures."
Maybe I should do that with my camera. I could send 30 second videos to all my fans where I wish them or their brethren a happy day or wonderful wedding. Though I would suggest you ask me to send video text messages of me making fun of the people you know- like those that have recently lost their jobs, or the fag who just got dumped by his girl friend.
I've had other money making ideas like my greeting card business. Some of my lucky co-workers and friends have had the good fortune of receiving my personalized Christmas or Valentine's Day cards. They can tell you they first saw my genius in those cards.
I bring up all those money making ideas because I am looking for a new job. Well I am not looking yet, but I have officially run of patience with my current job.
I was in a funk all day because all I could think was how much I hated my job, and how much hated my life, and how all I wanted to do today was stay home and watch the Dallas Cowboys on TV and drink coke and eat burgers from Sonic, because I like the way Sonic pairs their burgers with delicious sides like Tater Tots.
I was depressed before I even got out of bed today, but it did not help that right after waking up I read a long article on the suicide of David Foster Wallace. After reading the article I got to thinking that nothing really mattered because like David Foster Wallace said, "the disease of depression is really us."
He also talked about how suicides have already killed themselves before the final act and that at the end they are really just being tidy with their bodies.
That got me thinking a lot about cowardice.
They say that a coward dies a thousand tiny deaths and I suppose by now you all know what a coward I am. They say that a dying a cowards death is supposed to be way worse than dying with courage, or dying with at least with something approaching dignity. I would have no idea about that.
All I know is that when I signed up for being a coward I had no idea that I would have to endure the knowledge that I was a coward. I guess that is what the whole 1,000 deaths thing is supposed to illustrate, but I wasn't paying attention. I stopped paying attention to the world as soon as I figured out that I was not some kind of grand character in the struggle for world history.
Even though I am depressed, I did not call in sick. I was tempted though. I was so tempted to stay home that I waited to leave for work until I had only 15 minutes to get to work.
I still got to work on time so I don't think anyone noticed how miserable I was until people started to ask me how I was and I told them I was miserable and hated my life and my job and that basically there was nothing worth living for except surfing the web and burying myself away from all the responsibilities that a decent person should have.
Of course if we were to be decent folk we would all have to be Gandhi, and I am sure none of have the stomachs for that so for the most part people just do what they can. They drop their spare change in the March of Dimes buckets and wander around the suburbs with Obama stickers on their S.U.V.'s.
I used to think those people suffered from false consciousness or at least figured they were victims of capitalism in the sense that their lives were inauthentic (or jeez I can't remember what Fromm said about that but hey it is 4:08 in the morning and I just worked a 9 hour shift, ok a 3:30 to midnight shift is not 9 hours, but you get the point--- I can't think straight right now.
The whole point being that I no longer think those people are any different than me. I am them, and they are me.
Only, I actually think the "starving children" in Sub Saharan Africa are actually dying from starvation and that their swollen bellies really are a signs of severe starvation and being on the brink of death, unlike some of the people I work with who are convinced that all non-profits steal your money and pocket the money that happily fed children in Africa and Asia just don't need because that person used to be in the business of calling strangers to get them to donate money to charities in a previous career.
I'm not certain why that person left the high paying field of the Charitable con game in order to cook raw chicken over a rotisserie for you, but the fact that the man refuses to wash his hands or clothes means you should take him at his word, or at least stop eating the chicken.
While I am at it I should say that from here on forward I promise to stop calling Mr. Fawkes a bastard. Unless he deserves it.
I wan't to mention that telling all your friends and co-workers about your blog can backfire when they demand new blog posts from you every day, even though I write this shit for free, and I have over 1,000 posts just like this in the archives that they could be reading, so you can all stop trying to make me feel guilty and go read the archives, because if there is anything you need to know about my life is that it is exactly the same as it was 10 years ago.
