Peacocks, electrocutions and seizures...OH MY!

It's nice to know that even a few people still want me to write.

I wish I had half the skill it takes to be even a decent blog writer.  I want to able to write like one of my favorite blog writers, Alecia.  I think her voice would go well with all the craziness in my life right now.

She also encourages my writing, which is nice.

Though I bet she watches NASCAR  just for the crashes.

So much has been going on.  So let me fill you in.

Almost electrocuted while installing a hot water heater.*
Mild seizure from abusing Ecstasy.*

Got a girl.  (Well kinda.  It ain't official as neither of us is into relationships.)

The new gf lives in the ghetto.  To get to her house I have to navigate through a virtual modern day land mine.  I have to avoid onerous canines that look both dangerous and sickly all at once. I imagine the same kind of dogs can be found huddled in packs in pleasant sounding places like Somalia.  In addition to the dogs, I must dodge roosters, chickens, and the neighborhood peacock to get to the guest house behind her parents home where the gf lives

That's right, I just said I had to dodge the neighborhood peacock.

(Lets call my new almost girlfriend M.  She is the old GF from my third best post ever. )

M. invited me to dinner and asked me to drop by around 6.  She was "into cooking now" she said, and she wanted to show off all her new culinary skills.  When I arrive she tells me she has to go pick up her other kid who is at her father's house. She suggests leaving me alone with her son because father # 2 is a real asshole and will start shit with her if he sees her with any other man. [read all about him and her in this post.]

M. leaves to pick up her daughter, though before does that she stops at a friend's house to get high, after getting high she goes grocery shopping.  Because a bitch is going to get hungry after getting high, am I right?  She finally gets back around 9:30 loopy high and slightly drunk.  Her sister and friend stay over until 1:30 in the morning. I think you sense I am not getting laid again.

You are correct. I don't.  I do almost get to third base.  Does fingering labia count if there is no insertion of digit into vag?  Ladies let me know.

I know what you are thinking, I'm a natural born sucker.

I sent her a text 2.5 hours in to her adventure saying, "did you get lost?"  She replied that she hoped I was not mad at her for leaving her.  I told her, "we'd talk after she got home," but we didn't.  She does not like me to get/stay mad at her. Though I guess she does like me as a babysitter.  I'm such a nice guy.

The following day on the walk to the bus stop she explains to me that "if you are going to date a girl with kids you have to be prepared to watch them on occasion."

I suppose she is right.  I am sure there is some added responsibility when  with you date a girl with kids.  Though I am not exactly sure how inviting me to dinner** at 6 and not having dinner ready for me, but instead taking off to a friend's house to get high, and then do some errands without even asking me beforehand is really part of the responsibility I took on.

Here is the part where I describe my babysitting skills.

Her son is so attention starved it's kind of sad.  The Kid was ecstatic to have a male in the house.  Sat right next to me and was rubbing his MERSA/Chicken Pox all over my Droid with his grubby little infested hands.

Then I played video games with him for 2 hours.  I hate video games.  And I really hate playing video games with 7 year old kids.  When you play video games with little kids you have to play the way the kid wants to play.  Which basically means he gets to kill you, over and over again, and you have to take it.

The next day I had a fun talk about all this with the Ex-Internet Girlfriend.

She wants to start a Facebook profile and add me as a friend in order to make all the girls on the internet jealous of me.  She is going to create a profile using a hot "girl next door" looking photo and talk shit to the NEW/OLD GF.  I think she even wanted me to change my status to "in a relationship with this fake profile.

Very funny stuff.  Talking with is how I want to relate to a girl.  We never have strange pauses in our conversation.  We never run out of stuff to say.  She actually makes me laugh.  She's really funny. I wanna date a girl like the EX Internet GF/only I think she would have to be more of an alternative chick.  Less conventional than the Internet ExGF in order to get past my inability to be a "real man" in the  world.

You know the whole "I don't really take care of business" attitude that has me at the age of 40 lost in a dead end job, nursing the gangrene on my stubbed toe for two years, avoiding my hot water heater for fear of getting electrocuted, trying to survive on only three fourths of my salary (the rest getting stolen from me by loan companies) bus riding, overweight, balding, insecure, borderline personality disorder, panic attack having, seizure having -from simple recreational drug use- one day suspension getting- and only one more tardy away from getting fired, loser self.

Who am I kidding?  What alternative chick is into that?

I bet I am wrong to hope that if a girl dyes her hair strange colors she won't give a shit about things like stability from her man and instead they just want someone that makes them laugh as we freeware are way through the garbage for dinner.

p.s. Hippy chicks, please inform me if you too desire stability, and some form of conventional masculineness from your men.  If so, I assume this puts me back on the path to getting duck tape and storing a hot sorority girl in my basement.  Or putting up with white trash women who cuckold me-  without me even getting to jerk off.

*That's a whole fucking story.
**She did end up making me a sandwich with mayo.  I hate fucking mayo.

p.s.s. Stay tuned and I will write something about the panic attacks I keep getting.  How I am dissociating and punching myself in the face while trying to stab one of my balls off.  I mean I finally get why crazy people decide to chop off an arm.  Not that I was ever going for knowing about that feeling.

Happy Thanksgiving: An Epic Poem from Romius T.

Everything is empty
and everything
you do
hurts me
in my
soul

and
"we're not
running
a special on turkeys" I tell you
because I think you're an asshole.

but at least I can see
down your shirt
when you bend over
you
skeezer bitch...

It's getting worse

I might have had a "mild" seizure last night.  I was convinced I was electrocuted (that's a whole story.)  I called the fire dept.  I am having panic attacks that last all day now.  I did E a few nights ago and on my birthday which was last week.  I think my brain got fried.  I think that's why I am paranoid and having electric shocks (Serotonin syndrome.)

The End is Nigh

Nigh means near, right?  I am not writing in the blog right now (or anywhere else for that matter.)  I was going to write a post about it on my birthday, but I never started it.

But if you still check the blog daily, or weekly for new stuff you might want to be even more sporadic.  I am not sure when (or if) I plan on writing anymore.

In case I don't- let me thank all those folks that stopped by and gave a shit.  Thanks.  Really!

I'm like a "mean" David Cross?

I'm like a mean David Cross?

How is that even possible?  David Cross is like the meanest person on earth.

He has a giant swimming pool full of drowning kittens.  An entire swimming pool, full of kittens.  He has giant tubes that connect to the pool that dump kittens into it by the hundreds.  Hundreds of kittens at a time into a giant, swirling 20 foot tall hot tub.

As soon as the pool gets full of kittens he floods the pool full of water and turns on the heated  water jets.  Then he just sits back in his chair (after a hard day's work of screaming at little old ladies leaving bible school) and watches as the poor little creatures jostle around  and drown.

Now answer me this?  How in  the world am I anything like David Cross?

I don't have a pool or anything.

Dog days of Summer

If you have come here hoping that I have awoken "Kant like" out of my days of slumber, then I have bad news for you.

I am not sure if that day is coming.

I don't know what to tell you folks.  What I can tell you is that I am not even checking out my blog stats on a daily basis.  Nor even a weekly basis.  I can't remember the last time I looked them up.

That is heresy to every blogger I know.

Perhaps we should no longer call me a blogger.

I make a decision I am sure I won't keep.

I have decided to forgo anymore E for the next two months.  I am hopeful that after a period of rest my brain will return to normal.  If not then I guess I will join the ranks of the millions of you who choose to never read a book.  Who watch Jersey Shore and drink Tequila in the morning.

I drink for medicinal purposes only.

Alcohol is the only drug that quiets my brain.   A heavy night of drinking slows down my Central Nervous System to the point that I feel almost like my self again.

I am on my third beer tonight.  It's 4am and I have to work tomorrow.  Most people would not be drinking right now. But  doing things most people do has never been anything I have  been good at anyways.

Note to self:  Identify and enumerate things  I am good at.  Write the list and stick it in a bottle.  Throw out to sea.  If it comes back then you truly are "gifted and talented at something."

Secondary note to self:

Do not drink contents of said bottle as most likely they will be contaminated with oil- slash- irritating chemicals designed to break up oil.

Note the use of spelling out slash whilst making use of the physical dash.  Note that that note is not that interesting.

To quote a friend of mine that I have never met,  "They aint all gotta be epic."

Is there other big news?

I recently added the Chinese Android Rom MIUI to my Droid. The Rom kicks ass.



Things I have noticed about the ROM.

• Much quicker than stock.  I was not overclocking my phones computer processor and my phone was quite snappy.  
• No app drawer.  Big flaw in my mind that was almost a deal breaker.   I added Launcher pro, but hate Launcher pro mostly because on my droid it usually ends up seriously lagging along with some serious redraws.
• I love the advanced notification bar that gives one the ability to toggle gps, wifi and the like.
• Totally dig the lock screen that gives you three choices as to where your unlocking will take you.  Text, Phone or Home Screen.
• iPhone like. But what the hoohey.  
• Some cool wall papers.
• There is a lot of other cool stuff, but you don't care.  

Note you need to be "rooted" in order to apply the rom to your phone.  I do not recommend that you void your warranty and I am not responsible when you brick your Samsung Alias trying to put this kick ass rom on your low tech messenger phone.

Go ask mommy for a smart phone.

Maybe I will give away my phone in some kind of super contest.*  I think I would get more hits for doing that, than if I suddenly was able to write like Kerouac.

*I will never give my phone away you jack-asses.

At least the masturbation is good

I have permanently damaged my brain. It's been several days since I got high and I am still suffering the effects of the intoxicants I took.  The intoxicants can kill on the first try.  I must have a death wish to try shit like that.

My brain is fucked.  I am slow and retarded now.  I barely function at work.  If I did not have 30 IQ points on the average person, I would not be able to function at all.

I won't go into what I did.  But let's just say it was stupid.  It was the stupidest thing I have ever done.

What I will tell you is that if you hoped I'd really become a serial killer (and stop fucking around with the literary pretensions of this blog) then you may be very pleased by what I have done to myself.

I have violent thoughts on occasion now.  Usually when I am masturbating.  I get very tingly all over and the high returns  with a powerful sensation whenever I think about sex.  Also whenever I touch myself.  Or whenever I see a woman in tight clothing.

I can watch VERY violent things on the internet and get very turned on now.  I mean VERY turned on.  I lose control.  I lose my voice from screaming along with at the TV or my computer monitor.

I am tingly as we speak even though it has been several days since I have had any intoxicants (other than double cheeseburgers) inside me.

I enjoy repetitive (I think it's called stereotypic behaviors.)  Grinding my teeth or tensing my body causes the euphoria to return to me.  I can taste metal on my tongue.

I have searched the internet for more information on the disturbing health effects  I have noticed.  There is virtually no information available.  This is surprising and alarming to me.  I am very good at finding things on the internet, so I know if there was more information out there I would have found it by now.

The few bits of information I have found suggest that the effects of the intoxicants I took could last days, weeks, even years.  I had no idea one simple exposure could cause such drastic health concerns to a person.

I am not stupid.  I new it was dangerous. I new I could die the first time I did it.  But I figured any drug could be used one time without long term effect.  I am wrong.

I feel high as I type.  The feeling is actually quite pleasant. I tingle and as my mouth fills with a copper taste. My penis is especially sensitive.  My masturbation sessions now run hours.  I have incredibly intense orgasms.  The strongest of my life.

I do get paranoid.  I had a bad panic attack last night.  So bad I woke a friend up and took a taxi to their apartment.  I stayed for a few hours and took another taxi home.  That is a waste of 25 dollars, but I was so scared that I actually called 9-1-1.

I hung up before they answered.  I then got a call on my cell from the Tempe Police asking if someone called them.  I lied and told them I miss dialed.  That's when I decided to call my friend.  I was sure I was going to have a heart attack.  I have a heart condition that I have been hospitalized before over and assumed my racing heart was going to spin out of control and cause me to die.

My breathing patterns are strange now.  I have trouble drawing deep breaths.  I breathe shallow.  My sense of balance (always poor) is now even worse.

The music that plays in my head is loud.  So loud that I have trouble hearing people speak to me.  I have to ask people to repeat themselves over and over again.

I am worried that I will hurt someone.

Caught up in a masturbation session I would expose my penis to passer bys.  I would think about attacking a lonely girl sitting outside my apartment.

The thought of such a girl has given rise to a great swelling of euphoria in my brain.  It makes typing difficult.  I find my head swaying back and forth.  Licking my lips, I close my eyes and give into the sensation for a minute.  Then the dark-side pulls me.  I imagine the feel of her vagina.  Her protests and screams only further my imagination.  I now know why psychopaths enjoy the protests from their victims so much.  I have never enjoyed the feeling of my penis more than stroking it to the thought of fuck punching a girl to death.

This is truly disturbing for me.

Like I said I don't think anything will happen.  I am still in control of the dark side.  Even when it pulls and I allow the feeling to come over me and I am straining with all my might and tugging at my penis with the strength of an elephant I know I am in control.  I can stop it.  I know it wrong to enjoy it. But I also know the dark side is not me.  It is just tempting me with pleasure.  But it is different.  It is brutal.  It is pure cackling evil.

But it does feel incredible. Powerful.  The sensation is unlike anything you mere mortals have experienced.  It feels God-like.

I feel god-like when I masturbate, but it is quite terrible to feel this good all the time.  The simple task of grasping a pen can send shivers down my spine. The constant surge of adrenaline wears on me.  Even pleasure after a while can hurt. Can you imagine the pleasure of almost coming dragged out over 3 to 7 hours in a day?  It can be both excruciating and wonderful at the same time.

I enjoy the sly looks of lust I see in women.


My powers of observation are improved in one area.  I can read the minds of young women when it comes to sex.  I notice when they wear short shorts and tug the seams past the  bottom of their asses.  They quickly flash skin at me under the guise of scratching an itch.  I am savvy now.  I notice cleavage and hair tosses and flickers of interest in your eyes that I have never seen before.  The rest of my brain has shut down.  But it has left open the door to allow me to concentrate on sex.

The fog in my brain is here to stay.

I am worried that it will never go away.  Yesterday was the worst/I could barely move or talk.  Today I am much better.  So much better I thought I would go drinking tomorrow.  But just before bed I decided to masturbate.  Just to test the waters.  As I suspected, the feeling came roaring back.  I began shaking, thrusting my hips.  I grabbed my penis with two hands and fucked myself raw.

I keep wanting to write this:

I woke up in the hospital.  I don't remember how I got there.

It was my last sane thought before the intoxicants over took me.  I was going to write a book.  but that dream is over.  My new dream is to be normal.  To breathe deep and not worry about irregular heart beats.

(Sometimes I have trouble finding my heart beat and that sends me into a panic/then I feel the heart beat start to race and skip and that feeds back into the panic loop.)

I'm not crazy yet.  But I wonder how long it will be before it happens.

Watch the movie Sharktoctupus

A good friend of mine wrote the screen play.  You can watch the movie tonight on Sci-Fi Channel.  I refuse to call the network by it's new name.

You did not notice me ignoring you did you?

It has been for some time now that I have left you without knowledge of my circumstances, without tales of debauchery and the like that make the static days of your life seem to pop like a bag of microwaved popcorn.

My own head is like that bag of popcorn.  Though the serotonin  I have left in my brain is more like the dead kernels one finds at the bottom of the bag than the fluffy popcorn suitable for human consumption.

So it has been a while since we last spoke.  Do not think that it is some random time that has passed and we have not conversed.  On the contrary it was with great purpose that I have left you to your own devices.  To see you slither through the hallways of life with your head down and your arms protectively covering your books.

I, on the other hand, have been slowly sinking into an abyss that I will not quickly be rescued from.

I awoke this morning (and by this morning I mean afternoon) to a bedroom covered in the paraphernalia of my destruction.  A bottle of Raid insect repellent, (spilled: it's red juices now defacing my computer chair cushion), a 1 liter bottle of lighter fluid poured into a cristal glass, a Vick's inhaler, my computer screen stuck at reddit.com/jailbait, a package of extra polar ice gum, a bottle of lubricant for masturbation, the empty baggie where once was placed my final stash of ecstasy pills.

One would think I would wake to staggering headache.  I did not.  My head is fine except for a sluggishness of intellect which I expect you deal with naturally most everyday.  It goes unremarked by you, so let us cease to speak of my fogginess.  I have spell check to alleviate the most pernicious effects of the holes developing in my frontal cortex.  I have no idea what allows for you make it through the day, save God's grace that intelligence was not highly selected upon by evolution for survival.

I ran out of toliet paper four days ago.  I now fret before any bowel movement because of the added step of showering after releasing the putrid diarrhea dripping from my bowels.

What else have I been up to?

A few days ago I purchased 3 (24) packs of beer.  The beer cost me on $7.99 each 24 pack.  It was a great deal.  I got drunk enough on the beer.  Though not as drunk as the school aged skater boy that found himself in my apartment.  I have his skate board still.  The last I heard of him he was in the hospital.  I presume he is okay.  I left him on the side of the road and quickly disappeared.  Just so you know I called 9-11 for the poor boy, his eyes rolled back in his before he could thank me.

You see? I am not completely lost.

My latest million dollar idea is to develop a television show that purports to be a morally ambiguous  Twilight Zone.  But in reality I will use the fictional guise of the show to push my agenda of misanthropy.

The main character will be like the devil.  He will argue for the (incorrect?) position when it comes to things like suicide.

That would be the pilot episode.  A man considering suicide.  You will think of course that the Bill Bixby like loner character is there to save the suicider, but you will be wrong.  He will be there to offer support for suicide.  He will make elegant arguments about the meaninglessness of life.  He will set up straw man arguments for living.  He will demolish them.  He will show the ambiguity of the depressed person's life on others.

The case will be difficult.  It will not be obvious which choice should be made.  Perhaps we fade to black just as the gun's nozzle recoils.

Other shows will feature why being selfish is better than helping others.

Excuse me for not adding additional episodes.  Every time I swallow I get the delicious taste of lighter fluid nasal drip.  This causes an involuntary shudder that effects the tip of my penis is a strange manner.

Have you ever seen videos of ball crushing?  Women in high heels crush and step on the exposed genitalia of their cuckolded prey. Last night I understood for the first time the extreme pleasure that can be found in the crushing of one's penis.

I think that the Vick's inhaler gives special powers to my dick. As I feel no pain whatsoever, and the amount of abuse given to my penis is only matched by the damage to my pre-frontal cortex from huffing on whatever chemicals I could find last night.

Perhaps I should buy whippets as I hear they are less dangerous than gasoline.  But at this point do we care any longer?  Aren't you happy to see me go off the deep end finally?

My stomach is empty but I can not get out the gargled taste of lighter fluid from my mouth.  I think that means I will skip lunch.  A planned meal of two cheeseburgers and chips.  3 glasses of unsugared tea.

The cheese burgers are homemade. I am using frozen patties with a 73% fat content.  I have generic buns.  Tiny, they are made for children it seems.  Red onion, lettuce, mustard.  I am out of pickles.  The chips are strips of tortillas that I have deep fried.  I have no salsa.  I do have cheese wiz if the mood strikes.

I showered twice last night.  But it was not enough.  I am unclean.  The sticky mess of multiple shits is my life now.  I am traversing  this world without toilet paper, without so much as a sanitary napkin.

I am blowing my nose into the same towels that my roommate dries himself off with.  I am inserting assorted cooking utensils into various parts of my body to test the fecal content of my dishwasher.

Somehow I am still alive.  My ingrown toenail has long since moved to gangrene and the dead skin around it shrinks to a blackened hue.  The rest of the toes is swollen unnaturally from all the blood running to it.  Sometimes for fun I poke at it and watch as the blood drains into the shower.  It runs for for 5 minutes at a time.  I can poke it six or seven times before I get bored of watching the blood drip down.  Like Norman I see it all in black and white.

Why don't you pray for the heads of decapitated children to be re-attached

Every day I pray for the heads of decapitated children to be reattached.  But it never happens.

I think you should all join me in praying for real miracles.

I'd like to see the head of a child that was decapitated have his head magically reattached.

Stop praising Jesus for the work that doctors do like fixing broken arms and ruptured livers and stuff and take this pledge with me now!

***
Let's make Jesus earn his praise.  Until Jesus heals a decapitated child I will only give praise to the doctor/nurse/human I see physically manipulating the child through the "miracle" of science and technology.  From now on Jesus only gets credit for the reattachment of decapitations.
***
Now that we have all agreed we FINALLY have a real chance of curing the plague of decapitated children!

p.s. does anyone know where I can find video or pictures of decapitated children?  this post really lacks some multi media punch.

p.s.s. i am sure this post has nothing to do with the recurring dream i have of cannibalistic infants and toddlers that attack me every night.

20 documentaries that you must see

1. The Corporation (Watch the YouTube Link HERE!) This is probably the most important of the movies on this list.  A must see film!
2. Enron: The Smartest People in the Room.
3. Gasland
4. Roger and Me
5. The War Room
6. Up Series 
7. Waco: Rules of Engagement
8. Dark Days
9. Grizzly Man
10. Manufacturing Consent
11. Murderball
12. God Grew Tired of Us
13. Super Size Me
14. Jesus Camp.
15. Capturing the Friedmans 
16. The King of Kong
17. A Brief History of Disbelief (YouTube Link)
18. Fahrenheit 911
19. Lost in LA mancha (2002)
20. Marjoe (1972) 
21. The Thin Blue Line
22. The Staircase

My life is supposed to be cooler than this.

Though I think we know better than that.

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If you come up at me "rapping" about how you're a "grandma" and you "want to fuck me" I might ask you to remove your saggy tits from my shoulder

Last night I got a call from j-dog.  I hung out with him at the "Lucky Devil" and nearly got laid.  I met a nerdy girl who just turned 21, and I bought her a shot.  She ordered the most expensive tequila in the bar.  I guess I should have figured.  Her shot almost cost me more that the 3 small pitchers of bud light I was nursing that evening.

It was okay though.  It was her birthday and I am on my quest to date a nerd girl.

While we waited for her shot she told me she was ex-Mormon.  She said she started drinking when she was 14. Then she told me she could drink me under the table.

"Because I'm a shot girl.  I only do shots."

I told her once I got under the table, "I was a trouble making troll."  Then I told her about my affection for alliteration and she was like, "I'm good at math."

Her parents kicked her out of the church because they thought she was a lesbian.

"Well."  I thought.  "You aren't married and 21."  I told her.  "And you have short hair.  That pretty much makes you a lesbian in the Mormon church."

She agreed.  But she did not apologize for her short hair.

She had some funky glasses that hid her face well.  I think that was a good thing as there may have been some cross-eyes, or Mormon inbreeding going on there.

Still she was intelligent and spoke of jokes about 8 year old boys and the pope and so that caught my attention.

But her cock blocking friends were going to have nothing to do with her talking to me.  They all walked up and dragged her off, only for her to come back a few minutes later and sit down with me.  We talked for like another 20 minutes and just when you thought I could have asked for her number her friends drag her off a second time.

In my youth I would have drank a few beers and waited for her to come back around, or walked outside to get her number, but I am way too old for all that now.  Also, it occurred to me that she was only 21.  Other than molestation, I can't think what to do with a 21 year old girl.  So I bid her adieu and walked home.

Other things that happened that night.

J-dog and I talked cell phones.  J-dog is an interesting cat.  He is the only person I feel comfortable calling me "bro."  He saw me texting and had the best line of the night when he told me to "put that slow phone away"  Okay.  Maybe not the best line of the night.  But I now can't wait for August 20th.  I am getting me an Epic 4g.  No matter what.  If I have to sell everything I own.  I will do it!*

*Not that I have any interested buyers on the enV3 I put up for sell on craigslist.*

Other things that have nothing to do with cell phones.

J-dog's brother got arrested for punching his girlfriend.  Somehow I was made to feel sorry for J-dogs brother.  I guess his girl did not want to press charges, but one of the neighbors saw the punch and called the cops.  The guy is on parole, so it could be messed up for him.  J-dog is afraid his brother is going back to jail for a long ass stint.

The brother went to jail for stealing a million dollars from an old woman.  But it wasn't like he wasn't taking care of the old gal while he was milking her.  He used some of the money he stole for her, and apparently she did not want to press charges against him.

J-dog told me about how his parents spent a hundred grand on lawyers as he sipped from a 20 ounce Whataburger cup full of Jagermeister.

His brother's situation sounds a lot like the girl I felt up 20 years ago in a bar.  I reached up and ran my hand real slow like up her skirt till she turned around and was like, "Hey!  What the FUCK!"

I was like, "Took ya a while to say something."

Her friends looked over at me in disbelief.  But then I got confirmation from the girl.

"I had my hand there for a while, right?"  She let me play with her thigh.  This only emboldened me and I went for the panties.

She nodded at me but was like, "You took it too far."

I guess it was the finger in the panties then?

Fair enough.

Another thing.  The grandma rapper was real.  A sweet 41 year old grandma.  She rapped during the DJ show.  She kept telling me her tits were on me.  I kept thinking "Does that mean you have droopy tits? or are you into me?"

Well she wanted to fuck me.  That's the third woman in the past month I turned down.  So I guess me not get laid is all about me being choosy.  But without a car I can't go back to her place and then never call her again.  She might drop me off at home and then she'd know where I lived.  And crazy-rappin' black grandmas is something you don't take lightly.

I was gonna buy a crap load of drugs from some of the people I met to celebrate my vacation.  But circumstances came up and I was unable to consummate the deal  Also, I am down to 100 dollars in my account.  I can't see me buying drugs and eating out, going to the bookstore and buying a new phone anytime soon.  Even if I start donating plasma at 50 dollars a pop.

I let you know if I am healthy enough to donate plasma.  Also, if I have AIDS or some other blood disease when the tests come back.

I'm in Europe enjoying life without you. Sometimes I think of you, but then I rememeber I don't like you, and I assume your off getting drunk and forgetting to feed your cat

Yesterday, I had one of those conversations with one of those customers who thinks he's funny by regurgitating something offensive he's read off a chain letter e-mail to me.

Customer:

Do you guys participate in the Obama grocery stimulas program?

Me: (pretending to care)

Um,  what's that?

Customer Bigot:

It's where you buy as much groceries as you want, but the guy behind you pays for it.

Me:  (Laughs)

No.  We actually participate in the Republican tax plan.  That's where you buy your groceries and pay taxes on it, so the rich guy standing behind you doesn't have to.

General applause from the peanut gallery for me.

Lesson to you:  Go hard to the hoop, or don't come at all.

An open letter to Verizon Wireless.

The rumor that BIG RED is EVIL is true

There is a rumor floating around the internet that Verizon is going to go to a tiered internet pricing plan for their smart phones.

I can't tell you how upset I am about this.

Q. Why the hell would anyone buy a smart phone if they can't use the damn thing like a smart phone?

A.  They bought an i-phone.

Sorry about that Apple fanboys.  It's not my i-fault.

Reasons I am quitting THE EVIL BIG RED soon.  

Verizon's vaunted network is slow.
Verizon makes its subscribers pay a premium for access to their network on the idea that they don't drop calls and that they deliver a great online experience.

I guess that's why I pay 30 dollars a month to get internet on an Env3.  The Env isn't even a smart phone, but I still get charged like it is.  My Env3 struggles loading content from Verizon's V-Cast.  I'm forced to sit through the machine "buffering" multiple times during most any video I watch.  the web on Verizon is horrible.  It's like I'm holding an i-phone 4 with my hand in some kind of death grip.

Verizon is about to pull a bait and switch.

 I am a premium subscriber who throws his money away on Verizon by paying for crap like V-Cast, unlimited internet, and Verizon's crappy Navigation service.

Verizon forces you to buy the "all you can eat internet" because the only other plan they offer is 10 bucks for 25 mb.  25 mb is shit.  25 mb is like looking at your homepage twice.

I thought I was the kind of customer that Verizon wanted.  A subscriber who buys all the premium services they offer.  But I am not.  The kind of customer Verizon wants is the customer who pays for things, but does not use them.

Verizon.  Why did you get angry when you offer a service like unlimited internet on 3g and then notice that people actually use it?  Let me give you some advice.  Try to think of a buisnes plan that does not involve hoping customers pay for a service, but then choose not to use it.

You are not LA Fitness.  LA Fitness runs a shady business   that hopes you are fat and plan to stay lazy.  They hope you don't want to work out.  They wan't you to sign up and forget about the services you are paying for.

They are shitty company.

Your plan won't work because you provide a service even fat people want to use.

Why didn't you foresee what it would cost to provide your network to people and then charge them for it?  Was that too hard?  Is the price prohibitive?  Then why offer data plans in the first place?  Why go after manufactures and push them to create monster phones with dual core processors?

It's because people don't talk on your networks anymore?  And people who don't use their voice minutes don't want to pay for your overpriced calling plans.

So you play your version of the bait and switch game and charge 20 bucks for texting, even though your cost to send a text is basically free.

Why not follow Virgin mobile and do things like 25 dollar all you can text with only 300 minutes?   Kids eat that shit up.

Why Verizon is evil.

Verizon has the same business plan that your drug dealer has.

First,  get us hooked on unlimited DATA.

Then you pair the unlimited DATA with one of the Incredible Droid smart phones in your line up.  Then you wait for us to go over the modest limits you will set up so you can stick us with massive overcharges for the extra GB's.

(Sounds like what you guys used to do with voice minutes.)

Additional rant about why vErizon is evil.

Your decision to go with tiered data is pushing us back to 1991.  AOL and the $4.oo a minute internet internet pricing was the thing that kept the masses from getting online.  I hated 1991.  Do you remember anything cool about 1991?  That's because there wasn't anything.

All you can eat data is what brought the internet to the forefront of media world.  Going backwards will only cripple technology and the progress of mobile phones.  I want my quad core 2ghtz 2 gb of ram phone dammit!

You are EVIL. So very Evil.

Quit being EVIL.

i discover the sinister truth about synaesthetes

if you're like me and you try to write half-way complicated shit on your blog, you will notice that most of the time you come off as some kind of ass.

the best case scenario is i am steve jobs at some lame press conference explaining to a bunch of nose pickers that they can "have their free case" and "please shut the fuck up about how our phone drops calls."

but most of the time a guy like me doesn't even rise to the level of doucheyness that my analogy suggested.

instead i sound a lot more like an idiot that can't put two sentences together and get them to connect in some meaningful (if offensive manner.)

i'm sure that's why this blog has failed to find an audience -except for the isolated packet of traffic that comes from synaesthetes searching for pictures of miley cyrus's crotch.

it bothers me that 33% of my traffic comes from the boston home for self-taught synaesthetes.  sometimes i get so low that i want to stop blogging.  i don't because i feel that by continuing to blog i am serving some kind of useful purpose i.e. giving synaesthetes something to jerk off to other than the slightly ripe smelling remnants of your child's diaper.

like you i'm sickened by the idea of the physical gymnastics involved in the masturbation fantasies of synaesthetes.

though i doubt you worry, it should bother you that there is an industry attempting to turn the entire world into a bunch of masturbating synaesthetes.

i know what you are saying, "it's just a fad.  it will go away." that's because you don't see patterns the way i do.  if it weren't for me you would have probably never heard of the idea that one day we will be masturbating self taught synaesthetes.

if you don't know what "that" means i can only tell you (from my careful journalistic practices) that it will mean soon when you "think" about the color blue you won't see the color blue.  instead it will just "feel" like miley cyrus' little sister lapped danced against  in some sinister kiddie stripper imitation (and the fact that you will enjoy it makes me want to puke all over you.)



and you won't be against that kind of "thing" anymore since all of your senses are melding together and your sense of smell is tied up into your penis which just brings us back to you stealing little girl's underwear.

i'm mad at you boston area residents that visit my site.

it "bothers me" that you steal little girls underwear.  it bothers me that you beat off to it in mental institutions. you are so successful in life.  you are getting exactly what you want, and i am a giant failure of a human being who can't seem to stop the flood of synaesthesia addicts flooding schools and the internet.

worse i can't seem to type words in an order that makes people want to read them.  and by read my words, i mean i can't put forth anything so compelling, that it forces people to tell their friends who could get me book deals, to give me book deals.

in fact i have trouble gaining followers on blogger or twitter.  mostly people tell me to stop writing so much about the epidemic of synaesthetes and it's subtle influence on  kiddie porn.

i guess people just don't want to read the truth, or imagine the types of people who steal child's underthings to masturbate while attempting to teach their brains that yellow = 4.

but i'm not gonna stop covering this huge story just because your imagination is somehow too constrained to confront the truth.  maybe one day i will be rewarded for my heroic journalism, but i doubt it.  the synaesthetes are taking over the world and i'm down to 30 hits a day on this blog.  soon enough there won't be  a damn person reading this blog and i will be typing all this for those that survive the coming holocaust.

a holocaust of child panty sniffing by self taught synaesthetes the likes of which the world has never seen.

The Self Help Guide to Overcomming Anxiety: or how i stopped worrying and learned to love the dread

* you should read this before reading this post.  then all the shit i left out will make more sense.*

the gas station by my house sells caffeinated gum and something called red tilt malt liquor.   if you come looking for me, it might be best for you to try the gas station before knocking on my door, as i buy a lot of that shit because that is the shit that keep me going though the dread and anxiety of living in this post-modern nightmare that we call call "now."

now if you are like most people you just read that i drink malt liquor, chew caffeinated gum, and i talk a lot about anxiety, so then you started diagnosing me with some kind of depression, or drug problem.  a few of you may have worried that i was some kind of hipster.  note: i only write for the 2 people who actually worried for a second that i was a hipster.

don't you fucking worry though, i'm not a hipster.  i'm an old fashioned nerd.  i'm just broke and tired of drinking bud light.   but i'm too poor for sam adams. 

now for those of you who are worried that, "i think a lot about dread" let me try and ease your christian fears a bit.

you might worry that i'm a nihilist without understanding the christian roots of existentialism.  (yes, i just played switcheroo but hold on a bit and i will school yer ass, k?)

first, you are right about me being a nihilist.  but don't get ahead of yourself.  getting ahead of yourself would be like "but you don't fucking believe in anything-how can you believe in nothing?"

like most uneducated people i use my own definition of nihilism.  first a bit of background that you will all agree with me.  humans are the only animals that go around acting like their very existence is some kind of problem that needs to be figured out.

so the main "problem" of being human is figuring out just what exactly it means to be "human."  Agreed?  you better agree asshole, or just cut and fucking run back to mommy and the robed priest that likes to tickle your pickle before mass.

so let's get back to my definition. it goes something like nihilism simply means that all the old fashioned ways of  finding meaning no longer work.  things like belonging to your tribe, your religion, your nation no longer ground you to your being.

in other words, you can be religious, but how many people do you know wear black Nike sneakers and gulp sleeping pills down before suffocating themselves by wrapping a plastic bag over their heads?  i think the answer is 34.  but i didn't Google that. so who knows.

now 12 step helpers want to come in and solve the crisis of modernity by offering you up solutions like getting a higher power.

i wonder if the founder of AA knew anything about kierkegaard.  kierkegaard said all we needed to get over life was to get a "defining commitment."*

*(a defining commitment is just like submission to a higher power i won't go into why here i won't go into all the parallels of how k. and 12 step programs are the same, but let's just say that they both think that your "higher power" could be a door knob.)

a door knob.  you see the only way you can get away from dread is by positing something outside of yourself that you can base your life on.  it could be the god-man (k wants us to be scarily committed to him.)  it could be staying sober.  it could be making money.  but we won't find the solution in the distraction of every day life.

personally i don't like the idea that 12 step followers propose. you know how you get over dread? you get over dread by getting over it.  i'm not going to try a leap into faith into something that i know is absurd just so that i can run away from the contradictions of the human psyche (the whole what's the point thingy) by escaping myself and pointing my life in the direction of something outside my self.

i'm for dealing with the self.  even if that means living in resignation.  even if that means living in dread, anxiety, anomie, and nihilism.

i'd rather be myself.

just like you don't worry about being over 40 and coming off as desperate as hell for attention next to your prettier friend at the bar (yet still found the will to diss 3 douche bags who figured you were an easy score) and you earned mad props from me and my friend when you didn't even try and cock block your friend when it looked liked she was gonna get laid before you.  now that's "living" with purposelessness.

things we learned today:

1. we never get to resolve the contradiction of being human
2. that's why humans live in despair
3. despair can be good because it lets us know we are human
4. paradoxically knowing that we are human drives us further into despair 
5. resignation to the impossibility of resolving contradiction is the only "solution" to suicide

What will we learn next?

nietzsche and kierkegaard had similar ideas about the possibility that we could overcome the crisis identified by k.  both were wrong.  i will show that the pessimism of schopenhauer was correct (although his prescription of aesthetic abandonment was wrong- which is the same thing as distraction- a concept loathed by k.) 

i will also show that the crises humanity faces ends with our mutual destruction (by either the typical ways i.e. war, famine etc.) or by replacement with non-human entities -you call them robots- who themselves will say they are simply the synthesis of the contradiction of humanity.  they are totally wrong and are non-human.  a simple task to show they are non-human is to show they do not live in despair.

Sickness unto death: or when the cure is worse than the disease

drinking in the middle of the day is fun.  you should try it sometime unless your idea of fun is doing crossword puzzles or making afghans for your church group.

drinking during the day feels sneaky.  the way looking up a girl's skirt when she bends to place her bike on the bus rack makes you feel dirty until she sits down on the curb in her tiny shirt-dress and lights up a smoke and stairs straight out at you and stretches out her tanned legs and allows the breeze to blow up her skirt giving you a peek at her undies.  then you feel less creepy than the girl flashing you in the shirt dress.

girls and shirt dresses  maybe the second best thing about summer.  the first must be sangria wine.  even if that sangria has been sitting in your refrigerator for 3 days with the cap slightly unscrewed.  the sangria still has enough carbonation to taste fresh and fruity.   i guess boone's knows what they are doing.

i'm gonna drink a lot of stuff other than beer tonight.  i am thinking TILT malt liquor again.  12% beast of an alcoholic drink.  maybe i will get real loaded before i go to the lucky devil and order a few 45 cent wings.  the lucky devil makes great wings/you'd never guess they make decent cuisine here on account of the cockroaches and general lackadaisicaliness of the  employees (sometimes you order a dozen wings and they don';t get made but the bartender is sweating so much that you decide not to ask him to turn on the fryer) also the disturbing clientele would suggest you will be served food that a trucker would belch at eating.

but you'd be wrong.  of course you are always wrong about most things.  other than green pant suits are in style again and honda accords make wonderfully dependent automobiles.

back to me getting drunk

i'm thinking about getting a few of those caffeinated chewing gum and drinking a few TILTS and when sufficiently buzzed then getting my beer on.    

what about you guys?  does beer do it anymore?  don't you need to drink the hard stuff, wine, or lace your weed with something to get off to it anymore?

i wished i had something dangerous like angel dust.  i'd do it! i would.

i don't think i need friends.  i shun contact.  it's like i already know you are going to bore the fuck out of me.  i know i look ridiculous to you but thats because you only see me one-sided.  like the 17 year old courtesy clerks that tells me that he is smarter than me. i called the dumpy motherfucker half-way smart (trying like i always do to make you feel better) and he looked at me "like what does that make you?"

that little whiney bitch ain't even heard of Hegel, so "why should i even give a fuck?"  you ask.  well i am getting dumber by the minute and all these fuckers are climbing on my back.  the fucktards are gaining on me.  i'm losing anther race.  i'm gonna have to keep lowering me expectations until i'm running around with crackheads and homeless people bragging that my razor blade still works.  "i'll cut your fucking throat with it too!"

i'm confused.  i kinda want to hang out, but mostly i want to drink and feel the release of my shit as it slips past my plastic undergarments and having you nearby reminds me that i'm not supposed to wearing plastic undergarments yet.

it's a miracle you pass yourself off as normal.  course all you "norms" are full of shit.  most of you so fucked up in your own heads, so full of delusional thinking, so looking at the world through your rose colored glasses, that you shun me for the very fact that i let you get a peak at the real world.  i burst through your moronic thinking like water buffalo's turd through my colostomy bag.

i was gonna keep this shit short so that you new readers would take a chance and read something.  but lets face it.  who gives a fuck?

what did we learn today?

1. distraction allows us to forget that we human
2. it's only "OK" to live in distraction if you have first demonstrated that you are conscious that you are living in  despair
3. distraction can be necessary when we are having trouble living in resignation 
4. you have always been in despair
5. once you know you are in despair, you will always be in despair
6. despair is a structural component of human life
7. you can pretend to be happy while in despair
8. some of you are unaware that you are in despair -but you  are still in despair
9. despair is not something you choose
10. you cannot leave despair
11. are you happy?  do you disagree that you have ever tasted despair?  then you are not fully human.  you have no self.  you may get to die that way.  as unconscious as a shell fish. 

i need to get out and do something

i need to get out and do something, i've been like stuck in this goddamn condo for what seems like months or something.

i need to "mack" on chicks.  i need to walk straight up to a chick and deliver a classic line about how like my, "my shit is so funny it's like you are terri schivo and my intelligence is a feed tube and im pumping you full of nutrition and you are like possibly dead except for the occasional eye movement which may or may n0t have anything to do with a concious mind in there."

and

"how am i doing? prolly not well, huh?  but don't show it or kick me to the curb too quickly because my friends said this line would never work and we BOTH know it ain't gonna work---but FUCK them for knowing that it won't work and telln me it won't work..."

"it's like who gets to make them know how shit goes down.  why we gotta let the fucking standard shit work only?  why not sit down and drink a beer with a possible schizophrenic?  what could possibly happen?"

I think i menti0ned rape jokes and how chicks (no matter how fucking progressive a girl is she  just never gets rape jokes and how they are "never funny" and all that so "here i am trying to get you with a rape joke and terri schivo jokes and feeding tube jokes that make you seem possibly like an invalid" which is i think is where i went with the rape jokes and then i think it was around that time that you finally got fed up with all raping, feed tube (could be viewed as my cock in your mouth) jokes and picked your floral covered dress off the bench and went back inside and pointed at me like i'm some kind of creeper--- when all you are is some kind of prissy little bitch that never fucks ugly dudes (which by the way is just exactly the kind of women that gets raped, so now i understand your concern- you see at the time i had no idea you were a prissy little cunt- i thought you were a hipster scene girl, or maybe emo and nerdy and liked computerz and liked to talk about the android third party market and how you'd be upset if you were "on ATT" and could not download a fabtastic app like skype just cuz it wasn't approved by google.

But fuck me. 

one fuckn joke about rape and im dead to you.  one little smack talk about regurgitating your intestines with my penis because you were in need of some intellectual redress and you get pissy fucking tears in you eyes like i'm the kind of guy who spens his time downloading videos of puppies getting boiled alive on youtube

im not like that.  certainly i watch said videos and laugh, but lets face it a lot of kids do that these days.  i just don't waste my time downloading that shit cuz other people do that for me.

speaking of your panties.  don't wear such a see through skirt if you don't want me talkin' about your underwear.. i was just curious if you knew i could see through your skirt as i saw through it from like 30 feet away with a simple glance. "not even trying" as i told u.  did not want to.  i got japanese porn for that.  i don't need to creeper it with you even if i am "peeking on e"

"the drug is not sexual"

i told that to the bouncer.  i told that to the cop.  i told that to your sister after you got up to go get them both.  i think everyone knows that e is not sexual so i was not assaulting you with my eyes

"what the fuck does that even mean?"

like i told yer sister, "its obvious she wants me to look at her panties and nipples, cuz she ain't wearing any fucking underwear and she is wearing a very sheer outfit."

that does not make me rush limbaugh or mel gibson.  i am not a racist.  i am not saying that the only reason obama is president is he is black.


in reality i wish i was black.  it would make a hell of a lot of things easier on me.  like playing basketball, and picking up on white girls with big asses.  not that i really want to do either of those things.  but you get my point.  black people have it so easy these days with food stamps and welfare and a black president also the fact that if i was black i'd know what i'd want for dinner every day.

fried chicken & waffles.  orange crush soda. aunt jemima anything.

why yes that is a side of kool aid.

and knowing what's for dinner solves 56% of life's problems.

I'm not drunk

drinking 6% wine with a screw top.  i'm also developing a less formal style where i am just "rappin" with you.

i drank through 2 bottles of fake sangria.  Boone's and vine arbor.  both taste more like wine coolers than real wine.  since real wine sucks I guess this is a good thing.

despite my "new" less formal writing style (witness no capitalization bitches)  i just wrote a long ass speech that included dialectics, my analysis of Hegel's master/slave dichotomy, heideggerian dread, the real threat of the robotic overthrow, etc.  you know the usual shit you read on this blog, but shoved down your face through a feeding tube terri-schiavo-style.

which just means that the whole time you want to die, and i just want to collect on your insurance money, and the whole "maybe you are moving, maybe your not -it's just a random stimulus reaction" is creeping me out. 

that kind of cerebral feeding tube approach to writing led me to the cerebral approach to drinking i took tonight. (beer over wine)

the buzz with wine is mature, more mellow and relaxed than you get pounding shots of goldshlager.  also wine makes you buzz faster than beer. though lite beer has less calories.  boone's wine has 450 calories a bottle.  which i guess means i will have to give up eating.  not eating is good as i am a fat ass again as i have put on 15 pounds that i lost when i gave up drinking soda a few months past.

started drinking soda again and like wam bam man the pounds just waddled back onto my side fat.

in the only good news "style wize" peeps are digging my "kicks."  i get a hell of a lot of unsolicited compliments on my fake chuck taylors.  you can get yours at 10 bucks a pop at walmart just tell'em romius t sent you and i make like a 5 cents for each one i sell.

that's not true of course, but wouldn't it be funny if hundreds of you peeps bought like mad amounts of fake chucks and wrote to the company and said i sent them and then walmart got all pissy and pussy about me sellin' they shit on my site since i make like 16 rape jokes a day on this site.

p.s. if you are not watchin the louie tv show over at fx networks you are like missing out on like the funniest show ever and shit.  truly fucking epic shit.  makin fun of homeless people, queers, aids.



louie tells you that you are less moral than you think just like i do only he usually just talks about himself and never goes after the audience as much as i do because he's all about money.

just the other day the fucker walks through my line at work and i was like

"holy shit LOUIE CK"

LOUIE CK says "o, man thanks."

I look aver at the band of misfits that clog up my line behind him

"folks, this guy is a millionaire, you should mug him on his way out."

he laughs a little but looks behind him a little nervous like because after all he is kind of bitch.

then i go,

"i got a bone to pick with u man.  i've been writing the same shit you do for the last 7 years on my blog, and i'm not a millionaire like you."

CK "well, you know... with all due respect...you probably aren't writing as good as shit as i do."

I throw ck his bitch ass change.

"I hope somebody rapes you on the way out."  I yell at him.

He laughs a little again and says, "i kinda thought that one was funny."

I shoot him back a deadly serious look.

"you would, you little faggot."

I need a vampire girl friend (revamped)

You'd think by now I'd be fed up with how things are. How my life sucks, how I hate my job, and how I am all alone in the world.  But for some reason no matter how much shit I throw at myself I never reach the point where I say, "enoughs enough!"  I am a bottomless pit.  Throw all my regrets down the well and you'll never hear them hit the ground.

Not that I'd ask your advice, but I bet you'd say that if I want a girl friend I need to quit being so needy.  One way to quit being needy is to follow through on my plans more.  Two weeks a go I made a plan to get my haircut.  I finally got my hair cut yesterday.  Sure, it took me a few weeks more than I thought it would, but a hair cut is about all the accomplishment I can handle in a week.

Given that I have gotten something accomplished this week I think I will overlook the phone call I got from the ex internet g/f.  She asked me if I ever went to the doctor to get a check up.   I told her no.  Then she asked if I had a death wish and I told her, "Nobody wants to live to 60 anyways."

I should have gone to the doctor, because I am dealing with a cold.   I am having trouble swallowing.  It's really kind of annoying. On top of not swallowing properly, I keep waking up in the middle of the night.  I jerk out of some fitful sleep unable to catch my breath.  I don't know if my throat is closing up again (because I am drinking soda), or if the cold is making my throat shut down, but either way I wake up gasping for air and then settle down for a nice long panic attack.

Panic attack subdued I finally fall asleep around 9am.  Then I wake up around noon and lie in bed panting like 14 year old Labrador Retriever.  I stare into the fan until my eyes bleed.  I shift back and forth on the bed uncomfortably looking for a position that keeps me from sweating, but I am also looking for a position that does not force me to inhale the full gale force of the wind machine.

It's a tough balance to  seek.  But my tossing and turning fails and mostly I just end up with a dry throat, coughing,  and blowing my nose into tissues which seems to only further dry my sinuses out.

Another thing is I seem to be peeing a lot.  Just tiny amounts though.  I am forced to get out of bed every 20 minutes or so.  I assume my prostate is fucked.  I can't believe that 39 years of age can be reached and the body can really fall apart like this.

I know what some of you are thinking, "Maybe this is all in your head."  Maybe.  But if so, I am so far down the delusion of hypochondria that I can no longer tell what is real.

Rather than got to a doctor I am self medicating.  I have not masturbated in 5 days.  I am hopeful that not spending my energy masturbating will enable me to power through this cold, or at least the closing of my throat.  But if I die in the middle of the night know that my last moments were panicked moments  full of sheer terror.  My biggest fear is suffocating to death.

If I am going to die tonight I hope I shit out my prostate before I suffocate- that way I can die in my sleep.  My insides having evacuated themselves during sleep my unconscious brain would never turn on to let me know I was dead.  I could then join the undead instead of  date them.

Hold on a sec.  Got to go pee.

I sit on the toilet when I pee.  Otherwise, I am afraid that the pathetic dribble of my stream will fall onto the carpeted floor of my bathroom.  Who has carpeted bathrooms?  I do.  That is how fucked my life is.  How uncontrollably wrong every aspect of my life is.  It's another thing keeping me from getting a girl friend.  Have you ever dated a man with carpeted bathrooms? I doubt it, but if you did I know you never respected him.

I have a pool of blood sitting on top of my toe nail.  I wish you were a vampire.  That way you could wake up every morning and I could sustain you with a nice little before breakfast moment of bloody toe sucking.  You could suck on my toes and would overlook how deformed I am becoming.  I have let the toe nail thing go to long and I think I will need some kind of plastic surgery to right myself.

I can't be seen in public by a woman anymore.  I think that's why I don't go on dates anymore.  Imagine me trying to explain that I have had an infected ingrown toe nail for almost 1 and 1/2 years.  Imagine explaining to your non-vampire girl friend that you have health insurance, but that you are too confused by the promotional literature to pick out a doctor.

Non-vampire girl friend would not understand how worried I am about my 300 dollar deductible.  I am sure that a non-vampire girl friend would be unable to reconcile my concern when faced by counter factual  evidence like my internet searches for cell phones and upgradable memory sticks for my desk top computer.

She would also question my use of ecstasy tonight which will cost me 25 dollars.  I am sure a vampire girl friend would not.  Vampires live in a sort of vague hedonism from what I have learned.  Also, since they self heal a vampire girl friend would never find the wisdom in saving money for health reasons.

"I can't die."  My vampire girl friend would tell me.  Then she would go on about how I can't live forever without being turned and that since I was in "such bad shape" she'd never consider the idea of "being tied down to such a blob for eternity."  Then she'd say that I might as well forget about all that stuff because I will be dead in the blink of lifetime for her.

I would massage her back and she'd suck on my toe and then later that night we'd get some dinner at Denny's and she'd lament how they never get the liver "raw enough" and nibble hungrily on some of the dead meat of my toe all the way back to my apartment where we'd watch something sappy on TV, because vampire girls love the same tv shows they loved before they got turned.  And at some point my new vampire girl friend would want me to talk about her decision to cut off her hair and bleach it blond.

"I know it's nothing like what most normal vampires do."  She'd say.  "But I love it!"  She'd exclaim.

Her hair does look nice.

"It's all about change and how you adapt to it."  I'd offer up eagerly.

And we'd probably fumble around a bit in the dark and then my penis would get soft too soon for her and she'd ask to suck on my toe again and I'd be like, "Yeah, whatever."

Lucky Devil

Jarrod has on one of those jogging suits.   Like the kind I'd imagine you'd see people wearing in Central Park in New York.  Only we weren't in New York City.

We were in a dive bar close to Mesa, Arizona.  Mesa is a city of few hundred thousand Mormons and undocumented workers.  Mesa is the 38th largest city in the United States.   Not that you'd ever know that Mesa is larger than Oakland or Miami, cities that get way more national exposure,  because Mesa shies away from being in the spotlight.

The citizens of Mesa prefer it that way.  There are well documented reports out of Ohio concerning  visitors from Mesa who they say have "passed out from shock" after seeing other cities "who's downtowns didn't consist of vacuum repair shops, second hand piano stores, and oddly realistic sculptures of people sitting on benches."

I take a sip from my beer and notice Jarrod taking a photo with his cell phone.  Jarrod's attempt at photography has a way of reminding me of all those photographs one see's on MySpace.  You know the one's where teen girls point the camera at themselves from flattering angles in order to make themselves appear skinnier than they are.  The girls pout their lips, strike a pose, and flash some gangster signs.

I am sure there in nothing more troubling to the minds of the disaffected youth of South Central L.A. than seeing some milk toast Mormon in Arizona flash a peace sign into the poorly aimed bathroom mirror for a self portrait.

Not that Jarrod is trying to hide his fat.  In fact, Jarrod is in quite good shape.  I don't know Jarrod very well, so maybe it would be unwise of me to characterize him so quickly for you, but you should imagine Jarrod as a person who likes to go to the gym quite often.

He is the kind of guy who lifts weights for no other reason than to shave the middle of his chest so that he can point out his 6 pack of abs to you in a totally non-homo kind of way that just says, "I like to take care of my body, and I don't mind if a male acquaintance of mine appreciates that fact for me."

Hopefully I just did for you.  I want to bond with you Jarrod.  Even though I've never used the word "bro" before.   I didn't call you "bro" but that's not because I'm uncomfortable with my sexuality.  I'm just not Italian enough.

Since I am not full blooded Italian I don't buy or apply mousse, wear gold jewelry, or use pet names for my male friends.  I think my lack of über maleness may have something to do with the fact that my Italian father abandoned me (and his half-Native American wife) shortly after I was born.

My mother hated her red skin.  Mom learned her self-loathing from her father (who enjoyed using 'the belt' on his grandkids), so I never asked him about my "Indian" side.

I'm not Italian, or Indian which is why I fit is so well in Mesa.  I'm the kind of guy who can be a regular at a bar for two or three years before any of the local patrons learn my name.  I don't stand out in physical appearance which is must be why I learned to be so charming and mentally acute.

I think Jarrod is drawn to my intelligence.  We are having a nice conversation about cell phones.  He's recently purchased a brand new HTC Droid Incredible.

His phone is amazing and I am unapologetically covetous towards it.   Jarrod enjoys showing off his phone to me.  He allows me to run through the various home screens, and shows me all the various features of the phone like the 8 mega pixel camera.

What I am truly impressed with is the speed of the browser.

"The internet on your phone is faster than the internet on my home computer."  I tell Jarrod.

Jarrod nods and smiles at me.  "Wow."  He says.  "That's pretty crazy."

The only complaint Jarrod has about his phone is the short battery life.  In the middle of our conversation Jarrod excuses himself so he can leave to recharge his phone.

Part 2 is when Jarrod returns to discuss clubs, hookers, and ecstasy, and why all the girls on his Facebook are insanely hot.

My modem died

If you don't follow me on Twitter then you might not know that my internet modem died a few days ago.  I am in the middle of upgrading my service to a whopping 12 mpps.  A dramatic increase over my 5 mpps DSL line.


I think my set up needs fixing!

I'm getting a true fiber optic line instead of the phone line that I have now.  I was promised that it will really increase my speed as my current line is buggy and needed 300 dollars worth of repairs to get the 5 mpps I was paying for.

It will cost me an extra 10 dollars a month.  Don't worry with all the donations my readers give me this won't be a problem.

I hope you know I am being facetious.  But I won't complain.  Even though I just did.  I cut off my Netflix to get the extra juice so I hope it's worth it!

Internet maybe spotty as  I did the install myself.  Also there will be disruption when the new line comes in.  So if you are hoping for lots of posting, then you can keep hoping but I am not sure how much I will be blogging over the next few days.

The real problem with me getting the upgrade is the cost of the install and such.  I am getting 2 months of service free and the install is being spread over 3 months so let's hope that thee is no sticker shock with this upgrade or I will be left holding a very fancy modem (2 antennas) and not much else.

If I get super broke there is always gambling.  I could take my check out to the casino and play some 8/16 Texas Hold'em.  If I win I be set.  If I lose, not much difference in my financial situatuion really.

Things are looking up for me, just the way you are trying to look up Miley Cyrus' dress- I guess you have no understanding of 3 dimesions

Things are looking up for me.  Well not really, but I figure you get tired of me saying the same thing in every post about "how things are looking bad for me," or that "I am sitting in feces" and "melting in my apartment in the 90 degree heat."

I've turned on my air conditioning, and that means that the shit is basically staying in my ass.  I even bought some of those preparation h wipes for the ass, and my hemorrhoids seem to be a little more under control.  At least I don't have the uncontrollable urge to scratch the inside of my ass anymore.

My landlord was over today and has promised to put in a new couch for the apartment, along with a carpet cleaning, and some other stuff to get the house looking nice for the new roommate I will get.  He is replacing my old roommate who did not like paying his share of the rent for 2 years.

So maybe things are looking up for me after all.  That is until I get the electric bill next month.  Then all the shit hits the fan as they say.  But until then I am eating double cheeseburgers, and drinking malt liquor, and getting ignored by family members and friends.  All the things the now "second best" looking serial killer of all time enjoys doing.

I'm not really getting ignored by my family members.  They are just "indifferent" about listening to the new podcast.

I get asked for my number

It's not every day that I get asked out by a black girl.  From what I have read black women have a hard time of it in the dating world, because black men are all in prison or in the NFL, and if they run touchdowns for a living you can bet they are dating white woman, because white women are tired of waiting for white men to have enhancement surgery (if you know what I mean.)



The woman that asked me out is the daughter of 2 elderly customers that come in to my store to buy rum once or twice a day.

I guess I should feel lucky that anyone would feel the desire to ask me out.  The same way you should feel lucky that I decided to post this blog, because it had been almost a week and you had no heard from me.

I know that gets you worried, but the truth is that I was just sitting at home drinking Full Tilt Malt Liquor and wondering how that made me any different from the ghetto black woman I turned down the drink with.

Is it that I don't go to the grocery store drunk and shout at my mother and grandma to buy me shots and then drunkenly ask out random fat white dudes?



Leif said I should have gone out with her, and maybe I should have.  But I am still waiting for Miley Cyrus to turn 18 so that all the stuff I want to do to her will be legal.

Now for a second bit of good news.  I've uploaded another podcast.  Go check it out at the webpage I created for it.  You can subscribe to i-tunes and various other RSS feeds and the like there.  You can also check out new episodes via the widget on this blog.  It's the green monstrosity that you can't miss blinking to the left at you.

The podcast only allows me to upload about 100 megs a month.  So I have reached the max that free subscribers are allowed.  We will have to get this podcast so popular that I get enough donations that I can buy the pro service they offer.  Or you can just wait till next month for you podcast getting pleasure. I'm sure I know what will happen.

The one about my attorney and the 12 year old Mongrel child

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Christina Ricci still has a giant head and Miley Cyrus may be a slut, but I am going to celebrate my new reader, whomever he or she is

I just got my newest follower on blogger.  That makes 26 people who read this blog everyday.  I love my followers, because I am sure they are just like me.  Sitting in squalor on a feces covered cushion in front of their computer with their leg hopping up and down like they are coming up on coke or meth (most likely meth as we both know you can't afford the good shit.)

So what if both of our breaths smell like Comet?  Mine is mostly from this long term experiment I am running where I try not flossing, and I only brush my teeth in the morning, and yours is from mixing bathroom chemicals in your bathtub and snorting the resulting compounds.

I imagine the results you are getting from your white trash drug making are similar on the brain to the effects one gets sitting in a 91 degree apartment for hours on end.  Only at least you get a buzz.  All I get are sweat stains in my underwear that leak something awful on to the folding chair that doubles as my computer chair.

It makes for a smelly fucking place to be at.  But what the hell?  Like covering your giant forehead with bangs it seems that all my plans are doomed to fail, if not fail at least make me look like an ass that "sweats the fact" that she has a giant forehead even though half the fucking population wants to use me as their personal sperm incubator.

I don't have problems like that because obviously I am a talentless schmuck who's 40 years of laziness and stupidity have finally caught up with him, and now I am reaping what I have planted which is anything but a good time now that I can't afford Ecstasy or air conditioning.

I don't mind sucking.  Because sometimes I think that not sucking would suck.  If you don't suck then you have to spend all your time learning how to flaunt your adolescent sex appeal to overage perverts who get off to your muffin puff and camel toes. You can't afford to not appeal to as many people as you can possibly appeal to because you've got hundreds of people depending on you for their dinner.

I may be poor but I can afford to sit here and complain to you   even though I am sure that the experts would argue against it, because anytime I start sharing my life you start getting depressed for me, and we all know how Americans hate being depressed.

The only thing Americans hate more that depressed people are people with bad attitudes or negative people with low expectations and winy cynical senses of humor that suck the life out of the party that Nero-like is somehow still going on here in America.

The place may be burning down, but we are still going to have fun.  We just need to stay positive.  The emperor may have no clothes.  But any day he's gonna plug that mother fuckin' hole.

Either way it's all good with you.  I know when it comes to my new readers that I can get away with saying whatever I want, otherwise how the hell would I have grown this motherfucking blog from nothing to over 26 readers in just under 7 years?

Bootstraps, motherfucker.  Bootstraps.  I got'em.  And I am going to be pulling these motherfuckers up till I am sitting in the apartment on feces-less chair, texting on my Droid 2 rocking Android 2.2 and a1Ghz Snapdragon processor and feeling the cool breeze from my air conditioner pumping out at me at a chilling 84 degrees.

It'll happen bitches.  And then you are going to be impressed.  You are going to want me to write my memoirs, which you promised you would buy for 16 dollars each on Lulu.com, but which you won't because your roommate taught you how to steal pdf files and save them to your i-phone 4g.  All because you are like some kind of Apple fan boy who never learned that i-Tunes is a bullshit hippie Nazi scam that was probably instituted by Goldman Sachs in some short selling derivative scam that is too complicated for me to explain in under 2400 words and which you have probably read about by listening to pbs' this american life.*

*All you need to know is that the Jews did it.  I am sure of it.  Just like the Jews keep me from getting my novel published, and busted up my the non-binding pilot offered to me from Comedy Central (all we ask is that you tone down the- antisemitism--even after the public relations disaster of attacking unarmed peace activists?---yes, but maybe you go roundabout and try masking your shit with anti-antisemitism---if I could pull off that shit, I wouldn't be working in a grocery store ass-hole!

Fuckers.

If you've got kids then you need to read this post

In case you were wondering this is Miley Cyrus' camel toe.

Sitting in my undies and the house is 92 degrees today.  In order to prevent dehydration I've got two fans pointed at me, and I am drinking decaffeinated ice tea.

I have a lot of things on my mind, but the thing I am most worried about is how the Reddit.com link I submitted is getting down voted. Current status? I have 2 down votes to 1 up vote.
No one on Reddit seems to get that my submission was a joke about time travel (which should play well with all those nerds and geeks that read Reddit), but it turns out that the geeks and nerds that read Reddit.com are just too young to get sarcasm even though they have never know a life that was not distanced by irony.

Whatev's.

I am trying to decide if I want to take a shower and go get something to eat.

I don't have to.

I do have some left over bean/meat burrito mix which was quite yummy last night, but what I really want to do is get a cola or some soda or caffeine as the tea I am drinking has none so it makes the whole idea of eating left overs unappealing.

Another bonus for going out is that the temp is super hot in here and going out would enable me to cool off for a bit inside WhataBurger's awesome A/C.

I was supposed to go to luch earlier today, but the whole world ditched me in favor of going to the welfare office (or some such and other activities all of which include not hanging out with me.)

I wonder why anyone would ditch me when I could enamor them with tales of a not finished post on Memorial Day?  (A post that I now have to back date, because I waited too long to write it.)

The post has nothing to do with war, but so what?  When do any of the things I write stay on topic?

I should run to the store and get a coke and eat some burritos then I could stay home and finish the old post (not that any of you are waiting on my next post so what does it matter, eh?)

I think I am bummed out because way too much sweat is collecting around my ribcage, and I have a shit load of laundry to do.

I know what you are thinking.  Does this mean you are trying to get "real" and make this blog like super personal like you were a 19 year old girl?  I have no idea, though I am out of testosterone since I just jacked off.

I should have gotten up earlier, so I could have had Indian food for lunch.  I love Indian food and live close to the best Indian food place in the Valley.

I think I could live on Naan bread alone for the rest of my life. If given the choice of just one food item that had to be eaten for eternity I would choose Naan.

Speaking of hypotheticals, would you torture 2 children to save  5 million people?  That's the story line from the movie Unthinkable.



I got to say I think I would.  Ironic, since I oppose torture on principle.  But you got to think if you have actionable intelligence then maybe you got to torture.

Here's how I'd do it.

First you split the kids up.  Next you take the first kid and take him to daddy.  Shoot kid in face.  Don't even ask dad a question.  Next tell dad that you are video taping this.  Tell him you will show video tape to second child while he is dying.  Tell Dad you will kill child by having him eaten to death slowly(maybe by tiger or some kind of flesh eating virus.)

While dying, Kid has to watch tape of father refusing to save boy. We promise to resuscitate child as often as possible so that he must die several times.

Second child would be watching interrogation/our plan for him.  Bring child in to show father he is still alive.  Offer a chance to have father give up info.  If father refuses start torture of child.  Tell father that we may keep him alive just to make him watch child die by being eaten to death.  We may kill him and revive him as well as much as it takes.  Maybe give him a few months of relaxation to get him to forget and start over.  This time with cousins, random children, any other family members you can find.

*random factoid* If you Google "how to kill your baby and get away with it" you will get no useful information.  Somebody ought to fix that.

I think I will.

Don't use bleach.  It does not get rid of blood stains.  Do not buy cleaning supplies.  This is obvious to police investigators.  Do not Google "how to kill your baby" this is also obvious.

More hints on the way so make sure to check back to this page as I will update it as often as I can!