You need me

I've decided that what the world needs is a bit more of me and a little bit less of whatever it is you have when I am not around and taking up space in your sunlit world.

Sometimes I take a break from writing in this blog and when I do that I tend to regret it. Not because I am not taking this whole writing thing seriously. Not because I am worried that I am wasting my 'gift.' I stop writing because I lose my confidence. But I shouldn't stop writing just because I lose my confidence.

I should never worry about losing my confidence because no one is going to read this blog and only "get it" if what they read that day is actually well written. That's the thing I like about you. You take all this in with a shit grin just like me. Even though you know you are only reading some hack faux Bukowski wanna be.

You see past all the other guys needs for sentence structure and look right to the heart of things. For you and me it's all about feeling. And if sometimes I can't convey that feeling...well....you fill in the blanks for me. All because we have that kind of connection. You know what I am thinking right as I say it. You mouth the words as you read because you are thinking them too. You might even nod you head as you read this sentence.

I should have figured that out a long time ago, but I didn't.

The sad thing is that I am not quite as smart as I thought I was. The really sad thing is I am no longer even as smart as I used to be. As for the future? Things don't look good in the future.

You know for a long time I worried that somehow I had wasted my life. That I let down my parents or you. I don't worry about that anymore.

We both know I don't have any gifts to offer you. And I think that it is safe to assume that I am never going to go anywhere with this 'writing' thing as I have way too many issues and some of those issues include lack of talent.

But that's ok. Even if I have a hard time expressing things and clarifying the words I would like to use, and even if I can't seem to write down the things I want to say to you in some kind of logical order I know that you still get the gist of what I am saying, and I know that is enough for you, or otherwise you would still not come here after all these years.

The truth is you need me. You need to hear the things I tell you even if they are the topics are the same 5 things over and over again, even when I tell you then in essentially the same manner.

You need me because you are the emotional equivalent of a five year old. And I am the only adult you know in this world. And by adult I don't mean that I have health insurance*, wear Khakis**, and spend all day trying to be positive and productive. By adult I mean that I am the only person willing to tell you all the things you already know but are too afraid to say out loud because you worry they will all come true if you do.

*I don't go to the doctor. I am sure I have the AIDS. I have a sore throat and a runny nose.

My foot is turning green because of the ingrown toenail.

Every couple of days I bathe my feet in a bowl full of hydrogen peroxide. Sometimes the puss is yellow. Sometimes the puss is red with blood.

My toenail is seriously trying to cut my toe in half which I think would be an awesome experience.

I am running an experiment to see how long you can survive with an open wound on you body before the gangrene*** sets in. If you find out one day that I died. That I collapsed at my computer board from some kind of anabolic shock from the infection in my toe reaching my heart. I want you to know that it was because of you. It was all for you.

**I own only one pair of jeans and they are full of holes and the bottom of the cuffs are dirty from being dragged on the ground, because whenever I walk I drag my feet.

***There was of course that time that I saw a homeless man walking to a convenience store. Like all homeless people he wanted to buy beer. Like most homeless people in the summer he wore dirty cut off denim shorts and carried a cane.

Unlike most homeless his left leg was swollen to three of four times the size of a normal man's leg. His leg was a reptilian green. His leg had gone gangrene.

I've never seen a dead person. Not in real life anyway. Somehow I have avoided that.

(Unless you count the guy on the freeway that was trapped inside his car in a raging inferno...though for sure neither me nor my friend could swear that what we really saw was the skeleton of a man in flames.)

Anyway. I have never seen a dead person. But that homeless guy was as close as I have ever come to seeing a live dead person. I thought about turning my truck around and driving up to the beer mart and asking the guy if he knew how close to death he was. I was sure this guy did not realize that hospitals have to take you if you are dying and the have to work at you until they get you stabilized.

Maybe homeless guy knew about the medical services he could get, and maybe he just could not face having his leg amputated.

I remember watching the homeless man recede in the rear view mirror. I almost ran a red light. I kept thinking I need to call the police. Why has no one called the police?

I read something about the bystander effect in a social psychology class. But it still did nothing to effect the diffusion of responsibility that I felt that day.

We are all bystanders in this hostile world.

I am the psychology professor warning you.

You are me driving past a homeless guy with gangrene.

And the homeless guy? He's the future.

I decide to be more positive

I just got back from McDonald's. I ate some recession food. Now I feel sick like I made a documentary about fast food and how it is going to kill me. Only the documentary is not going to be watched by anyone and I don't have a doctor monitoring my condition as it degrades from "basically alive" to whatever comes after that.

Speaking of barely alive, I read on Twitter that Miley Cyrus' dog is ill and she has asked everyone around the world to "pray for it."



Here was my response:

romiust@mileycyrus Pray for your puppy to die? Strange request. But ok. You could just drown it in the bathtub. Just remember 2 use a plastic bag.

The internet is full of good news today.

Like according to the World Net Daily BLACK African men have discovered a cure for AIDS.

The cure for AIDS involves the rape and sexual conquest of virgins. And since we can never guess when a tween or teen has had sex the men have turned to infants to insure that they get rid of the dreaded disease.

I have no idea if the "disease" gets transferred to the infants by the cure. In which case it would not really be a cure, but more like some kind of voo doo transfer magic. Taking the AIDS from one person to another. I should really do more research, but since my source for the story was The Drunken Stepfather I don't think we will be getting many updates.

Speaking of updates:

I just created volume 31 of the Self Help Center Blogast. Only the good folks over at Switchpod.com have decided that I have reached my limit of free uploads which means that you won't get to hear any of the new podcasts I have. That's because I am too cheap to pay for a service that I used to get for free and which does not benefit me at all.

I figure some day I might transfer all my podcasts to another host that allows unlimited uploads but that would take a great deal of effort on my part.

Something tells me none of you are going to miss my podcast.

Fuck the FBI

I need to be more careful. Not like that time at the Yucca Tap Room when I accidentally bumped into a guy and tried to apologize to him only to have him get all angry at me and accuse me of "starting shit."

Like I told him, "I don't start shit."

I might finish it, but I don't start shit. I've never started a fight in my life. I even told the guy in the bar that. Then I told him how later that night I might follow him home and rape his invalid grandfather while he sleeps, because I am down with shit like that.

I think he called me a homo.

So I went outside and took his license plate number down. I figure I will go over to his house and let the air out of his tires, or talk shit to his girlfriend at the 7-11 by their house.

I'll walk right up to her and say something like, "tell your boyfriend he shouldn't fuck with people." I think she'd get the point.

I know this bitch and she thinks she tough. But she weighs about exactly 87 pounds and never eats anything that isn't meth or cocaine. And whenever she can't find her black mascara she gets all hysterical and accusatory to random people in the bathroom.

None of her behavior frightens me though. I could kick the crap out of that chick. I could steal her black mascara. I could wear that shit whenever I go bowling. Then the girl at the bowling alley snack food stand would give up her Christian straight edge re-virgined pussy for me.

I look so fucking tuff in black mascara, dudes!

I just clicked on this link so I guess I am on a watchlist for the FBI. The link is the website Support Daniel. Daniel is an activist for the domestic terror group the ALF.



I hate animals, but I do support acts of rebellion against the government. That's why I drink a lot of tea. Also, that's why I donated 5 dollars via Pay Pal to Daniel's defense fund. I am also thinking about buying a t-shirt. The t-shirts look pretty cool. Even though Daniel is not a model and does not wear black mascara like cool rock stars and anti-social misanthropes like me.

IF you are too chicken shit to click on a link that is certainly being watched by the FBI then you can click on this BOING!BOING! link that talks about how The Government has secret prison camps for the eco warriors and terrorist and by that we mean men 15-30 who happen to be Muslim.

I guess that's why you never see Muslims walking around anymore. They are all tied up in prison. The only Muslims I ever see come in to my work are the Muslim women. Never the men. And I am sure allowing women to drive and have credit cards is against the Muslim religion. I guess sometimes it is "ok" to act like the infidel if you are just doing it to wage holy war. Plus, all those Muslims kids have got to eat.

I have learned a lot from the Muslims. I too will act like an infidel. But soon there will come a time when the infidels will pay. Me, the eco-terrorists, and my Muslim friends will all watch the bonfire of Capitalism burn. And finally some of the street people will be kept warm by the cold embers of your dying society.

You die sooner than you think...

"I have a hard time looking at you." I told her.

I wasn't going to look her in the face when I told her that.

"I think it's because you're pretty."

My comment has set her off somehow. She has become agitated. She scrunches her face at me. She places her arm over mine.

"The movie is going to start in a minute." I tell her. I hope that is enough for her. The movie starting. It gives us something to do, rather than talk. That way she won't look at me. Like I am some kind of space ship and she is some kind of weirdo SCI-FI freak into collecting original spacecraft from the 1970's TV show SPACE 1999.

I loved that show and I owned a space ship from the TV series as kid. It was one of my favorite toys of all time. But I don't go around collecting stuff from my past. I don't want to be a kid. I'd like to grow up one day and be an adult. I'd like to make red wine gravy, and have dinner parties where I am the 3rd most interesting person in the room.

I don't need to be the star in my dreams where I am a grown up attending dinner parties. I just don't want my girlfriend to feel sorry for me. For some reason my girlfriend always shoulders the burden of propping up my defeated ego.

"I don't feel sorry for you." She tells me.

I catch a shine or a glimmer in her eye. I think it must be love, either that, or its a reflection of light from the film projector. If they still use film projectors at the movies.

Did you know that the only thing worse than contempt is pity? How can you get even with someone who pities you?

I should correct something I just told you. The part where I said, "my girlfriend didn't feel sorry for me." She didn't say that. Even though she seems like the type that would.

She didn't say it, because she doesn't say anything at all. She's not real. There are no clumsily attractive women with appreciation of wit and "the strangeness" who toggle my head in their hands as I attempt to shyly look away from them.

All there is is real life.

Real life is boring. Real life is for people other than me. I am not sure when it happened. When real life decided that I was not to be a part of it. Real life would go about its day 'all merrily' and without a seconds thought to me and how I might feel about being left out.

I could use words like betrayed. But that's horse shit. Anyway, if you stuck around here long enough you probably figured that out on your own. So I might as well not try and fool ya.

I should come clean. Make a brand new start of it. (You know) Be honest!

I don't know how you do it. How you have all those silly thoughts in your head. Like somehow my telling you the truth about me and avoiding all the histrionics that writers tends to use is going to amount to something different or important in this world.

Maybe you think I'd be better off by being authentic with you and giving you the scoop as to me and somehow you can gleam something out of all of this. Your gonna learn a lesson here. Even if that lesson is to avoid being me. Even if the lesson means I get the short end of the stick.

I have no idea if that is going to happen. It might. I mean who am I to tell you it won't. It probably could. I am sure it is at least twice as likely to be true as it is not. But why should I be the person to tell you that?

Maybe you need to experience it for yourself. Some things need to be experienced for themselves...like furious masturbation.

I don't work today

I took a "mostly" brown shit today. It was the fist time in weeks.

I took a shower and in the shower I had this running monologue about women. It has something to do with Vagina. Something about how some vagina feels like meatloaf. Meatloaf with ketchup. I have no idea anymore what the hell I was thinking about. But I thought you'd like hearing about some of the things I can't remember good enough to write down for you.

I don't care about you

There used to be a time when I cared about you, but that time has come and gone, and now we both just have to learn to live in the time where we are now. The time where I don't give a shit about you, and the time where you stop pretending that all the attention you lavished on me was about me when it was (of course) always about you.

I'd complain about how I feel cheated and used and that you just took my Google page ranking, my energy, and my massive wonderfulness, and monetized it. Then got famous, fat, and rich.

But we both know that is not true. You aren't rich or talented, and you have no more money than me, and you were unable to take any of my helpful ideas and do anything with them.

I guess you probably just sit around your computer in your pajamas and scratch at your pussy. You shouldn't. I think that just makes the infection worse. Not that you'd listen to me.

Since we've got all that covered, I thought you might want to hear about how NOT one but TWO African American albinos walked into my store yesterday.

Maybe you don't want to hear about that....
Maybe you think it is kinda racists just to bring that shit up....

But it still is kinda freaky.

The other thing that is happening to me is that I am hanging out with a bunch of post adolescents and their 21 year old strippa roommate.

Actually, I am not really hangin' out with the strippa. I just sort of show up at the kickbacks* these kids have and watch the stripper get to work earning her 15 dollars from the 5 table dances that party goers get from her.

She walks around the party topless for about 2 hours in the hopes that someone there has a few dollars and that they will part with those few dollars so she can pay for her new boyfriend's food.

All I can say I am glad that the government is giving this guy food stamps, because I don't think the strippa should have to buy her boyfriend food.

But the strippa does not make a lot of good choices. Stippa should think about going to a party with men over the age of 20. Because most men over the age of 20 have at least 5 dollars in cash on them.

NOT one of the of the guys at this KICKBACK had any scratch on them, so once again the roommate and birthday girl had to dole out the cash so that these broke ass dudes could get they dance on.

Broke ass dudes still have no interest in banging the sweet b-day girl so she should just set them free....

(That last paragraph was just a fucking twitter. I'm sorry.)

I forgot to take a video of the whole event. I am sure the stripper was not drunk, so I am sure she would have been against the idea. Next time I hope that she gets super drunk and then I can make a video. I won't post it, because I have no male readers, and all my gender challenged female readers will piss all over the video and tell me how degrading it is or some other bullshit like how I look fat while getting a lap dance and I certainly ain't gonna stand for that kinda shit.

[Random Movie Review...]

I saw Dakota Fanning in PUSH. A good movie. 2.5 stars. If you like SCI-Fi. If you like movies about mind powers. If you have a better imagination than the screen writer of Push. etc. Or if you clicked on the Dakota Fanning link and discovered it was like a smoking hot picture of Dakota in a "grown up" dress. That shit makes you pedophile. But you will like the movie.

"Miss Fanning" gets drunk in the movie. But I am sure your perverted ass new that already.

Push... has the distinction of being the only movie I have ever seen where I was the only person in the movie theater. Which would have been perfect if I really was that much of a pervert, because then I could have masturbated without a care..not having to explain myself to the guy in the seat in front of me.

I guess what I am saying is that if you are CHOMO...go see PUSH ...now....since it has been out for while and no one is seeing it anymore. Go on Sunday. Go on the last show of the night. Make a date of it with you and Dakota. Sign up to be a friend of hers on her fake twitter account. Send her nerdy/creepy/horny messages the whole time you are watching the movie... "with her."

(Random Factoid)
I own two copies of Karl Marx's Capital: Volume 3. I have had it for sale on Half.com for one year. Not one buyer. In all of America there is not one person who is looking for a cheap copy of Capital Volume 3. Wow. No wonder we suck.

(things I am working on...)
I am witting a follow up to my highly successful Miley Cryus short story.

NOW STAY TUNEd FOR the SARAH PALIN WATCH....

I spent the last two hours clicking links about nutjob Sarah Palin. It all started after I read this on DIGG.com.

Todd (husband of SARAH) Palin's half sister apparently was arrested for b/and e (breaking and entering) and trying to steal money.

I guess crack is wack.

But not as wack as this....

"She’s talking about pumping breast milk – the grotesque ritual carried out behind closed office doors nationwide by beleaguered working mothers who are fully “committed” (as the lactation consultants put it) to the goal of long-term, exclusive breast-feeding. *** “It’s the moment that kind of brings together all the awfulness of being a modern mother,” she says. ***"

I posted all that for Commander Other.

Your Welcome.

By the way, I was totally offended by that last post. I mean as you are all probably aware (especially the girl in the break room yesterday...I couldn't stop talking about my lactation fantasies... with my good friend ...the guy who wants to go ski dooing with me...I think he likes pregos too!@) I have a lactation prego fetish. I see nothing disgusting whatsoever about lactation. I see only the awesome dirty sex making I want to make with it....

Tootles,

Romius T.

My life is strange

I know you still have no idea what this blog is about. For years I have tried to slowly inculcate you into my belief system. Which is about directly opposite of yours. Even on the good stuff. The stuff you think we should agree upon. The stuff you think makes any good society work.

I don't care about that kinda stuff.

Instead I have my interests.

My interests run the gamut:

dakota fanning
robots/super computers taking over the world
film noir
ethical/moral theory
Marxism
miley cyrus

But whatever. You have your interest: in shoes, carpet licking, or linen napkins. Actually, I haven't the foggiest idea what you find fascinating. If I did I would have a hell of a lot more followers than 11.

I don't write this blog hoping you can become interested in the things I like. I know that won't happen. I still discuss the things I like, but only because I like them.

Also, I don't write for the 2 guys in Atlanta who seem to visit this site daily searching for updates on anything Kara Borden. I can't remember the last time I wrote about Kara.

I write my blog to teach lessons.

The lesson I most often try to teach is the lesson most of you have yet to learn.

The lesson is that you are evil and useless.