Saturday, June 26, 2010

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 ├╝ber 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.

Thursday, June 17, 2010

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.

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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.

Friday, June 11, 2010

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

Miley Goes See Through And Upskirt

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.

Thursday, June 10, 2010

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.

Saturday, June 05, 2010

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

My attorney called me yesterday in a panic after consuming  a batch of 60x Salvia.  He was shouting at me about a Mongrel girl he had seen in a vision.



She had white blond hair like an albino.  She had an attractive lean figure like the kind seen on a 12 year old boy.  Something was off in her eyes though.  It was in those large black eyes that the mongrel nature of her heritage shone through.

Her hair was pulled back by an instrument of some sort. The kind of device that 6 year olds wear to keep their hair out of their face.  She had dark painted finger nails, the tips of which were exploring the tissues of her vagina by plucking at the meaty lips that sat just above her anus.

The girl enjoyed masturbating for my attorney.  She began her masturbation by spraying whipped topping onto her nipples and then inside her pussy.  She licked her fingers clean after digging the sprayed contents out of her vagina with her black nails.

He found the entire thing strangely erotic.

"She had the body of 12 year old boy!"  He screamed at me through the phone. "You would not have believed the abs on this girl."  He stated.

"Sometimes you can count their ribs."  He breathed after gulping for air, "because they are so extremely anorexic."

"Well, the kind you like are."  I retorted.

"If she had the body of a 12 year old boy, how do you know she was a girl then?"  I asked.

I knew the best thing to do with a buddy tripping on Salvia was to ride the wave out by asking him rationally reassuring questions.

My attorney admitted that he could have been confused about her genitalia, but he was sure "that if she did have a penis" that it was "small enough to be a giant clit."

He told me, "she kept inserting ice cubes into her anus and sucking on them." Which he found slightly titillating, because he gets turned on by the smell of feces.

I can understand getting turned on by feces.  It's the kind of thing you do with a partner when you are trying to ignore the compulsion to get "strange."

You start off by wearing your girlfriends panties on the weekends when you visit cuckolding 'workshops' and then take it up a notch when you are zoinked out on E and smells- even disgusting smells- start having this incredibly erotic power for you.

But eventually even sniffing shit doesn't work and you have to take things up a notch or two by getting into cannibalism and necrophilia.  By then you get to worrying about the police and the relationships usually fall apart from all the paranoia.

"That's why I'd stick to furious masturbation, Salvia, and  Motherless.com."  He chided me. "Any day over a relationship."

Friday, June 04, 2010

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

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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.

Tuesday, June 01, 2010

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!