Merry Christmas is just my treatise on why you should just kill yourself

*** Merry Fucking Christmas. ***

Write this half drunk.  Bottles of liquor scatter as you pace around the living room.  Empty beer cans get stacked on the dining room table.  You wipe the spilled scotch away from your brother's pink laptop  before it starts an electric fire.

Christmas Eve was spent at a lonely man's bar talking to the dead heads and the losers that drink on holidays instead of spending time with their family.  Even there no one speaks to you but the old bartender that still brings up your first meeting whenever she sees you. How you told her you were into killing and stalking bartenders and that, "should be wary of you."

But she was never scared.  Mostly because she could kick your ass.  Not that you are interested in fair fights.  You don't get into fair fights, only fights that you start when you know the outcome already.  Fights after you have poisoned her drink.  Fights where only you have a knife, slice her belly open, and wear a mask of her face at her at next year's Christmas Eve scaring the bejesus out of her kids when you scream, "Momy's back!!!"

"You take shit too far!"  Her boyfriend will scream at you and kick you out of the bar.  On the taxi drive home you lament your condition.  Home alone on St. Nick day.  Then stuck at home alone on Jesus' birthday.

Your family has abandoned you because of your lack of fidelity, and you don't have any friends.  So you drink some more.  You get fist fucked.  You cry yourself asleep because anxiety likes to masks itself as mania sometimes.

Christmas ain't fun like it used to be.  When all you needed was G. I. Joe and a blanket and your imagination.  Now your imagination just takes you deeper and darker.  It provides no way out though.  It just zaps you twenty years in the future.  You will be older, uglier, poorer, in less health.

You have to hand it to inertia and the human will to live.  You can't see why we don't just off ourselves.  Why not take some of the assholes down with us?  Attack the fat cats.  Attack the beautiful.  Get back your sanity.  Sew some fucking justice in the world.

But the world just mocks you with atrocities.

What you need is 1905 pages of justification.    Without god we are nothing.  Burning out our nihilism, we can ask only, "but why, sir?  must we continue?"

The negative answer is the only one you see.  Else we sputter in shame.  Caught up in our self indulgences.

I am way too nice now to give you a lecture on the passive-aggressive interplay between the sexes..

I am on this new kick where I am exposing myself to the world for being the nice guy that I really am. Today I am talking to you about my sensitive side, because I don't want you to think that if we were in a relationship, and you brought home a kitten I'd train it by lighting your bottle of hairspray on fire and spraying it at the cat.

I mean I would light the spray can on fire and and spray it every once and a while just to let the cat think that it is possible, and it better behave itself.

I think it is important to exert dominance over animals otherwise one day they may get it in their heads to to eat you if you forget the kibbles and bits.

Speaking of me being nice here are some pictures of Britney Spears looking less fat than before.



I guess if you are like Britney then you used to be cute but then you got pregnant and decided eating was way more fun that getting looked at by boys. I don't blame you for your over eating as men are assholes, and the mean truth of it all is that if Britney lost her high paying job and fame she'd just be another single mom at the community pool hoping to play house with some reformed gangster who just got out of jail for selling dope.

I don't know why you go after reformed gangsters, because gangsters don't take care of their own kids, so what makes you think he's going to take care of your smelly brats? The sad truth is he is just using you for sex and the sadder truth is you know it, but just can't help yourself. Your last boyfriend was so bad in the sack and had such a tiny disappointment for a penis that you will do anything short of shoplifting cucumbers to feel something in that stretched out womb of yours.

I applaud your life affirming decision. Most people in your situation have given up on life and have lost all their enthusiasm, but not you. It doesn't matter how much weight you gain you still feel entitled to an orgasm. I guess taking all those feminist classes in college wasn't a complete waste of money for your dad. I bet he rests at night easy knowing that your fat ass is getting hammered by a big black cock.

And I know that the reason I don't have a girl person, (even a girl person like you,) is that I am slacker and somehow being a slacker is worse than being a drug pusher.  "At least drug pushers have ambition." You'd say.

Also, I guess your biology compels you to mate with men who can take care of you. I understand that part of the psychology of women. What I don't understand is how you mix up the ideal of a 'man with ambition' with the current incarnation of man you are with who drinks all of your Budweiser and replaces it with the Natural Light that he steal from his pothead friends.

What makes even less sense to me is that most of the women who read this blog have money and don't need a man to take care of them. Even if they didn't have money, our modern society allows you to exert control over your own finances. But women are filled with the funniest anxieties. You all wonder how a man will react to you ending up in a wheel chair. Even though most people will never become paralyzed you constantly quiz your man over his desire to remain with you if "something truly awful ever happened to you."

The truth is most people bail in those situations, and you aren't being any different to me in my situation so stop being so judgmental. You aren't paralyzed, or horribly disfigured, but I am poor which is the male equivalant.

I am a bonafide slacker and therefore I will be unable to care for you. You don't need to worry about the possibility of me running off on you as you get older and ugly, as you are already bailing out on me faster than K-fed after he gets a girl pregnant. So the real question is not if I will stick around if you get deformed, that is a difficult mental equation invlolving my emotional attachment to you that has to be balanced by my future ability to acquire someone better. I make that calculation every second I am with you and asking me to turn that unconscious mechanism off is like asking me to stop breathing. I can try for a while but all it will do is is leave my blue in the face.

No, the only real question here to ask, is are you going to look past my inability to earn to see the real human being I am? Stop obsessing over hypothetical questions about the future. Ask yourself how you feel right now.

My guess is you can't, because deep down inside women are not liberated enough yet as a species. You ask questions like that because you don't assume you can take care of yourself. You aren't really looking for a partner, just a substitute for daddy in the bad times. Plenty of men date ugly women, thereby violating the state of nature that our male gender bequeaths to us, but most homeless men have to make do with raping shut ins- no matter how witty and clever they may be- because so few women have any real confidence in navigating life by themselves.

I don't really hate fat chicks (reprise from bathos)

I was told I was fat because I have lifestyle issues not because, "it is in my DNA." Life style issues? I don't know what that guy is talking about. I don't have any life style "issues." I like my lifestyle. I have been drinking coke and surfing the net all day. I walked to McDonald's for lunch so I could buy a Big Mac Meal because they have their Monopoly promotion on again.

I have to say that buying Big Macs is a great investment strategy right now with the Stock Market in the tubes and all. For 7 dollars I got a large Bic Mac meal and two bags of ice. The super sized Big Mac meal came with 6 free chances to win a prize, so I feel like I am finally on the road to financial recovery.

Friday my work reissued my lost payroll check. I cashed it and took all the money to 7-11 to pay my electric bill. The kiosk took all my money, but it did not credit my account. I called the customer service number and they promised me that the money is going to be credited soon. "Maybe Wednesday or Thursday." The operator said. I told her that was kinda shady and she told me to stop eating chocolate graham crackers and cola after eating a Big Mac for lunch. I wanted to tell her to mind her own business, but she has a point. I'm fat. And because I am fat I promised to tell you the secreet to why fat chicks love sex. 

My initial hypothesis is an extension of an earlier theory I had on why the retarded love sex so much. If the mentally retarded are going to survive in the world they need to reproduce at a higher rate than the non-retarded. That is why evolution equips the retarded with an almost insatiable curiosity for sex. The retarded are constantly playing with themselves and dry humping unsuspecting visitors anytime some one knocks at the door.

I am not sure about "legally," but ethically you can't rape a retard because they love sex so much. I am pretty sure the same thing goes for fat chicks. If you have ever had sex with a fat chick then you know how grateful they are for penatration. FAt Chicks loves cock and even though you have heard the rumors that fat chicks gobble down all day on your rod because they are woried you will leave them for a skinny chick, I am telling you to skip the foreplay and go straight to the fucking.

As soon as you put it in a Fat chick she will scream like you are cutting through her with a chainsaw. I don't know about you, but I like a loud fuck. I like it when the girl bucks and screams your name and claws your back and begs you to put it in "deeper."

I did some research on the internet and by research I mean I watched a lot of fat chick porn on the internet. You know that I review amatuer porn clips but that I can never find a site that lets me embed the clips. I figured out why. I forgot that the best web site for embedding porn clips is Red Tube. Here is a fat chick. They look limber when they bang you.

Here is another "classic" post from Bathos!

I know I can't worry about you judging me for this post so that's why I went ahead and posted it

The day after I shot a man in the face was the first time I ever felt powerful, so I guess you can't blame me for scooping up the latest pictures of Miley Cyrus looking like a slut for your enjoyment. I don't like looking at a picture like this because unlike you I am not that much of a voyeur. I like having a normal girlfriend and a normal relationship life. That is why I am attracted to good looking, funny, and intelligent women-not the little girls you like. But I post these pictures as a service to you so you can jack off to them and stop circling the playground so much and worrying all the soccer moms that got that flyer from the sheriff's office with your picture on it. I know what you are thinking, if I am attracted to smart good looking chicks what is the problem? Why am I still single? How hard can it be since I like girls who are legal? I'd like to think it has something to do with how I am picky and I like really attractive women, but I think it has to do with how smart, cute, funny girls have standards and I never measure up well to standards, because unlike pedophiles I never practice trying to pass statistical tests. I am a creative type and we need more freedom and breathing room than the facts and figures can give.

You should think of me like an independent film with subtitles and no plot even though I am an American. I don't open the big screens like Batman does, but every once in a while a movie like me comes along and even though the first part is boring you start to appreciate a film where the character gets developed and the plot moves along in congruence with the feelings and ideas of a flesh and blood person, not simply as the side show for special effects.

I know what you are thinking that sometimes even quirky independent movies suck and you are sick and tired of how all the so called "quirky" characters in independent films are all really the same. That might be true, but sometimes when you floss your teeth they bleed out for three hours, but that doesn't mean that you shouldn't go ahead and floss them once a week anyway.

Either way it appears that Miley Cyrus has no idea how to stop acting like a whore despite all the bad press, and I guess that is a good thing for you. It just goes to show you that god had something planned out right when it comes to repopulating the Earth with sluts. Every few years the sweetpre-teen with braces who loves daddy and jumps in the garden sprinkler grows breasts and discovers for herself that empowerment means having power, and since she does not have power in the real world she begins toying with the idea of using her sexual awakening against the pathetic man-boys staring at her through closed windows hoping to get a peak at her nipples when the water begins to work its magic on her bathing suit.

I don't know if you can tell the difference between this post and any other post I have written, but I will tell you that I was totally phoning this one in. The sad thing is I could write five or six of these posts a day and if I added a few more pictures of Miley and Britney I'd end up making a few dollars a week from Adsence. Instead I work hard all week looking for inspiration because I am stuck with the idea that you are looking for a blog with integrity. Even though I only write when I want to I still get worried that the people who read this blog are bored waiting around for the three posts I write a month, because they have decided that my blog is just not worth it if they are not sure what I stand for. I think you should give me a break and not force me to tell you in graphic detail what I do here, because if anything that only stokes the disdain I have for the audience which only means fewer posts for you. By now if there is something I should not have to tell you, it's that ifcarefully defined I have a great deal of integrity.

That's why I am always trying to come up with a new angle to attract someone other than the mid 30's married alternative mom that I can't seem to meet in real life, but only on the net where they are already married and ridden down with offspring, so I really have no hope of getting them to jump ship with me, so I guess I will always be alone, because I live in a town full of crack heads and old people who care more about money than well defined integrity. I guess what I am saying is that my sense of integrity compels me to point out how wrong it is for a preteen girl to feel OK about subtly using the power of her sexual awakening against a horde of horny social misfits for profit all the while complaining about all the misunderstandings that she is perfectly aware she is creating. Confusion about your burgeoning sexuality is not only natural, but is inherently a private affair; hence, it is no one's business. Not even a perverts. But the naked manipulation of said sexuality for purposes of avarice leaves one open to critique which is why you will find Miley's photos posted here. I hope you all appreciate how much I have had to hold your hand here, and explain things to you because then you can then begin to understand how much smarter I am than you. I know how thankful you are for this service, but it only fills me with pity for you. All this anxiety gives me a pit in my stomach that grows ever more hallow. I am sure you are all the reason I have acid reflux and throat cancer, and one day when I can't breathe from my esophagus closing in on me I want you to have a nice ceremony at my funeral where you engage my blog in the literary theory that you took at community college, which on second thought will probably end up sounding a lot like some small town Oprah Winfrey's book club meeting, so maybe I am having second thoughts on that. Maybe you could just convince a middling blogger to give me some air time now that it is clear to the world that I am not a pedophile just a hard working social critic.

Remember when I tried to be creative?

Honestly, either do I.  But I guess I did.  I have proof.  Maybe some of you read my Bathos Blog before I stopped writing in it, or maybe you remember the glory days of the self help center, before I got caught up in drugs and my attention span collapsed and any creative juices I felt dribbled out of me like yogurt pudding spills out of your grammie's mouth.

Here is an ancient review of a good movie you never saw:

I review Claire Dolan. A movie you have never seen before.

WHY YOU WILL HATE THIS FILM.

I watch movies like Claire Dolan because I have class, and you don't. You probably sit around all day eating Cheetos and watching movies like Norbit on Cinemax. You think movies with over-stylized acting and slow pace suck. You like movies with action and a plot that makes sense. You don't like movies that are "clinically austere" and movies who's actors are "cold and affectless." You hate long movies with lots of conversation. You won't sit through a movie that tries to get by with just dialogue.

I jacked off before watching this movie. I don't recommend you do the same. Because the movie is about a hooker. And movies about hookers usually have lots of sex in them. Claire Dolan not only is a movie with lots of sex, but with tons of tit scenes. The tits of actress Katrin Cartlidge appear on screen for more time than any other character in the movie. Katrin gives an incredible performance. And her tits are magnificent. Several times in the movie Katrin wears a deep v-neck white blouse. Katrin has a longer than average torso and small pert breasts that are perfectly exposed by the office sexy sheer materials of her 500 dollar top.



SYNOPSIS


Claire owes a great deal of money to a very bad guy. Like most women who are born "whores" she decides the best way to pay it off is to become a hooker. After Claire's mommy dies she gets sadder than a woman who sells herself for money to pay a debt to a very mean and large bad guy. Claire decides to runaway from her life in New York. Claire's idea of a good hiding place from a big time pimp from NYC is Newark. Claire's cousin lives in Newark. 


In Newark, Claire, can stroke the faces of random babies without drawing too much attention.

Like all failed prostitutes Claire tries her hand at cosmetology. She listens and tends to boring women by cleanng their nails. Katrin the actress has very nice nails. I can imagine myself as a reporter ready to introduce myself to her before a publicity interview. I'd be really nervous. I'd fear she'd be bored by me and another publicity interview. I am sure she is until I remark what nice nails she has. I tell her that I am surprised that she has "real" nails and compliment her on all the "hard work" of taking care of her nails. Katrin would thank me for noticing. She would flirt with me and let me in on her little secret "that men rarely understand the difficulties women go through in order to have natural nails."



Claire eventually meets Elton. A man she decides to have a baby with. Elton appears to be a nice regular guy who drives a Taxi. Elton is played by Vincent D’Onofrio from Law & Order. Vincent decided not to shave for the movie.  Also in real life Vincent is a schizophrenic.


I think the Elton character has an ex-wife and a kid. I am pretty sure there is a scene where he is talking about sending child support check to his ex-wife. Only he never says the words "child support." We do meet a 13 or 14 year old girl that could be his daughter. He drops her off at home and gives her money. He then tells the girl not to tell her mother that he is giving her money. "Buy yourself something nice." He tells her. She thanks him, but she never calls him dad. In fact she calls Elton by his first name. I thought that scene was a little creepy. But maybe I am just reading into things.


It turns out that Elton is a not such a nice guy.  For instance, he buys a prostitute later in the movie. Ostensibly he buys the prostitute to know what Claire is going through in her life as a hooker. But the hooker he buys just happens to be the hooker from Budapest that Claire finds quite beautiful. 


Elton follows Claire around after her pimp discovers Newark is just a cab ride away from Downtown. The pimp drags Claire back and forces her to go back to work. Elton follows Claire to a "date" and watches as she fucks another guy. At first Claire seems turned off by the idea of fucking her John while her soon to be Baby's Daddy is watching. But like all good workers she just grunts her way through it.

THE CHARACTERS

The male "heroes" in these kind of movies always get punched, but never defend themselves. They are terrible fighters who go down on one punch. Like a punch to the gut. Followed by some chocking. Elton is no exception, so when Colm Meany tells him "I've been expecting you." I was totally expecting Elton to get his ass kicked. No disappointment, he does. Though Colm buys him a shot to make up for the ass kicking, and he gives him some wonderful advice. "You can't make a ho' a housewife."

After Elton finds out that his new girlfriend is a sex worker he rushes straight home to have sex with her. Followed by an akward scene where an axious Elton asks Claire if she had an orgasm during their recent sex act.

"Did u cum?" He asks.
Can't you tell? She replies.

Elton and Claire do not discuss Cuckoldry, they discuss how they will get through "this." Elton offers Claire money to help pay off the debt. And like a hooker Claire accepts the money.

I know if you were making this movie, your hooker characters would not have the same hang ups as ordinary women. That would make your girlfriend too uncomfortable. But just like your girlfriend, after fucking another guy, Claire-the-hooker misses her boyfriend. She calls him sometimes just because she misses him. She even gets ticked off at him when he has to go out of town on buisness. I don't know a lot of cab drivers who need to go out of town on buisness. Maybe there was some kind of taxi cab driver convention he needed to go to. Unlike Claire I think we should give Elton the benefit of the doubt. Instead Claire just gives Elton one of those passive aggressive pissed off faces women are famous for.

Katrin Cartlidge definitely has that pissed of girlfriend look down. I was so turned on by Katrin that I kept interrupting the flow of the movie with fantasies about married life with the young hot actress. That is until she sported the sorta bored "oh really" look every guy in the world has seen. You know what I am talking about, right guys? If you still don't know what I am talking about and your boyfriend is reading this review out loud to you, go look at yourself in the mirror right now. That's the face I am talking about. That's the face she gave Elton and the face that told me that I too could get bored looking at the face of Katrin.


After sometime we find that Claire has moved to Chicago and has trouble finding a job and is interrupted while eating lunch by former John's.

Elton marries another woman and gets her pregnant. He remains a wimp of a man. When he and his new wife bump into the pimp on the corner of a street, he is fearful that the pimp will reveal his secret life to his bride. However, the pimp only mentions the birth of his new son while fondling Elton's wife's protruding belly.

The End.

The Total Box Office for this movie was: 0 dollars. This movie has been awarded the Seal Of Approval. If you don't like this movie you are an ignorant ass.

There's a reason we call it "spent"

Men hate the feeling we get after having sex.  I thought I'd let you know about that ladies.  It's because we are spent; therefore, broke.

I feel like I just had sex all the time.  Which means I feel terrible. Nothing like the rush of neurotoxic sludge that builds up in a women's brain after cuddling with her lover.

No. I feel ...dirty, spent, used.  I feel like I have nothing to live for at least the next 24 hours while my body reforms the gooey matter resting in my ball sack.  Only, I don't have the hope that in 24 hours my life can get an erection again.

Not that this should matter to you. hope you have something better to do than worrying about me.

But if you want to read the following:

I'm pretty sure I am dying.  My brain is spazzing out again.

I have a terrible teeth clenching, headaches and weird symptoms like heart pains.  I feel like maybe doing drugs has taken its toll on me.

I don't get it.  People seem to huff pledge for weeks, or years without getting side effects.  I smell a little accidentally while dusting and I am freaking out like a villain from some 1980's nighttime soap opera.

Whatevs

I'm just dealing with the panic attacks by distracting myself with masturbation, but then the penis gets raw.  So it's not like that can go on forever.

I might be losing my hearing and my balance seems off.  This is disturbing.  I would really like my balance back.  Also my 29 inch waist from my early twenties.

I cough and my heart goes crazy.  I get dizzy.  I wonder if I am having a brain tumor.  I should really check that out.  It would suck to have a brain tumor though.

Just downloaded an application for my phone that lets me borrow books from my library.  Maybe I will read some books now.

My fucking head really hurts right now.  I should take a tylenol, but I went drinking last night over at the MUGGSHOTS.

The bartender thinks I am funny.  She told me.  Even noticed that I checked in at home on Foursquare.  (We're totally friends on Foursquare!)  Not that she is in to me.  I think she dates hipper dudes than me.

Some loser was hitting on her and took offense to me talking shit from the peanut gallery every time he tried to use some lame line on her.

At one point he really pissed me off because he called me a douche.  He was drunk as fuck and took offense to me saying my favorite thing about animals, "is how they taste on the grill."

My brain was too drunk to register that he called me a douche for a good 5 minutes after he called me one, so I couldn't exactly get pissed at him.  I would have looked like a drunk asshole if I had.  But he deserved it.  I spent three hours at home fantasizing about my special "Super" fighting skills.  I've blogged before how I am crazy ass fighter and how you don't want to mess with me, but I am not looking that information up right now.  Too fucking difficult.  My leg is jumping out of control.

But anyways I drank a few malt liquors when I got home and dreamed about knifing that fucker.  I WILL not fight fair.   I will stab you.  I will kick you in the balls, and do whatever it takes to win.  My life is so much more important to me than your ethics.

I did get him to look stupid after he thought my bartender was kicking me out -when in fact she was talking to another person.  He looked so deflated.  Kept telling me how I was killing his buzz.  I told him I was only making mine better by making fun of him.  Plus I got to have a conversation with her whenever he went to smoke where she confided in me that he "asked her out" but she was not into it at all.

I might try to fuck her now.  We will see.

I need something to do.  Maybe eat brownies.  Get drunk on Absolute.   Also, I am planning on checking out this legal high called EMpathY.  Not too sure about it.  Don't even know what's in it.

For my upcoming 41st birthday I am going to a rave.  I will swallow massive e pillz.  Probably cause my brains to short circuit.  But it will be the last time after that I promise.

Been having some manic episodes followed by panic.  I know I should wait till this all subsides before trying anything new.

Want to feel normal again.  Soon as I do, I want to feel fucked up.  First world problems I guess.

Next article I will have to talk about the #occupy movement.

Good nite KIDS

Remember stay away from men
in windowless vans
if they tell you
"free ice cream"
if you
help me
find my dog

I vomited last night, and I don't know why you aren't huffing Pledge

Last night I drank at the bar where I met my fat lady friend.  She wasn't there, but her friend was.  Her friend is a mountain of a woman.  A beast.  A brick.  Three hundred pounds.  Over six feet tall.  She is going bald.  But she has an almost sweet voice which contrasts with everything else about her.

She walked over to me at the bar a few times, "just to say hi."

Sweet really.  Very mannered.  I really didn't reply much.  It felt awkward talking to her because I was worried that Megan would call up her friend and have her come down.  Then I would have probably ended up having sex and my plan to distance myself from any relationship with my FAT lady friend would go down the tubes.

Lucky for me Megan had no such intentions.  She was plastered and singing songs along with the rest of the Karaoke performers.  Megan had another friend with her who was as drunk as anyone I have ever seen at a bar.  The woman looked familiar to me, but it might  just be because she is sister to the person I am thinking of.

I contemplated having sex with both of the girls after they came over to say hi.  But I thought it unwise.  Perhaps I just wasn't drunk enough though later that night I would be drunk enough to huff Pledge.

Pledge gets you high as fuck, and makes masturbating more fun than having sex with the unattractive or viciously drunk women I meet in bars.  I highly recommend hufffing furniture cleaner.  It's very cheap.  Makes one disassociate, amps your dick and multiplies the orgasm.

Some side effects include a ringing in the ear, loss of balance.  Memory problems.  Loss of brain cells.  Panic.  Headaches.  A full litany would include the tense body and grinding teeth.  But none of the symptoms are much worse than drinking.

I don't remember drinking enough to cause myself to puke last night, but I must have.   At least I made it in the toilet.  A really nasty vomit.  Not sure if it was the chicken wings which I ate earlier in the day.  Of course it could have been the Autistic boy  who sneezed on me like six times at the meal.  So many times that at one point I found myself gagging from the thought of his spittle on me.

Now  I know what you guys are thinking.  Romius, please don't huff chemicals.  They are bad for you.  Oh please.  First I drank.  Then I smoked what was left in my roommates pipe.  Some grunge Weed.  Good stuff that got me fucking high.  But not insanely high.  Just really fucked up.  I needed something that would make me go to the next level.  Since I am not doing e much anymore and I don't have any coke or meth it's all I have.

I figure pledge is less harmful than butane.

Who knows?

The thing I like about huffing is it makes you crazy.  You want to rape girls, you want to curse, and cut off your balls.  I've started seeing shapes and things out the corner of my eyes.  Not bugs.  People I think.  But they are never there when I turn around.  I am hoping I will hear voices.  I have always wanted to hear voices.  And huffing makes masturbating for days afterwards really awesome.  I don't even have to huff very much.  I guess I am very sensitive to the chemicals, because the high is supposed to last a few minutes, but can last hours with me.  Also the next day I am stiff feeling effects.  Laughter comes very easily.  Sometimes my mood is lifted for days afterwards too.

The ringing in my left ear is bugging me today though.  But it's not like I have anything to live for.  I am trapped in a cycle of poverty.  I am indebted to student loans to a total of 25% of my salary for life,  and the government is suing me for back taxes.  I don't have a car.  I have gained 20 pounds from all the sugar water I drink.  My ingrown toenail is still here, two years and counting.  I owe my doctors a ton of money so I can't go back to them to get it taken care of.  The sebaceous cyst on my head is growing again.  In the daylight my baldness is too apparent.  I think I have developed hemorrhoids in addition to all the other digestive tract problems I have. I don't have a car, I am having sex with fat women I am not attracted to.  I haven't read a book in months.  Maybe years.  I can't remember anymore.  I am bored.  I've never been bored before.  I spend way too much money drinking at bars trying to fuck bartenders that are way out of my league (that's when I am not chasing women half my age that are disgusted by my aging body, my old man smell, the creepy way I am dying from AIDS without having the virus.)

Shit like this makes you want to get religion.  But religion is a waste of time.  Dear TIMSCOOL> I think I owe you a response to a very long comment.  Still haven't written it.  But I will say that I think you presume God.  And everything you think follows from that presumption.  But we can't presume GOD.

We can presume the ugliness and emptiness of the world because it is all god has shown us.  She hides in the shadows.  I haven't enough light in my life to look for her.

But I don't want to be rescued.

Not by god.  Not by a good job.  Not by a positive outlook on life.  You guys are fools for believing that crap.  "Life is what you make it."

Listening to that shit is what probably made me puke last night.

Drugs are not the answer either.  I am not Hunter S. Thompson.  I am no evangelist for that movement.  I do them sometimes.  When I want.  Who the fuck knows why?  There is no self that is in control.  There is no responsibility to a greater purpose.   I don't control my life.  I make no decisions.  There is no I.  Show me HIM.  I demand it!!!

why u no suffer from cognitive dissonance? 

My life is no different than all of yours.  You don't give a shit either.  You watch TV and take care of kids.  Big fucking deal.  There is no purpose there either.  You stand in line, you buy postage stamps, your whole lives are devoted to the set of principles that there are no principles.  We are the 1% of the world.  We are decadent.  We should suffer more for our sins.  We should bleed.

But we do nothing like that.  We are timid, fearful creatures.  You so disgust me.  I so disgust you.  I so disgust myself.  I will wallow in suffering.  I will.  It is all we can do, even in my suffering, even in my wallows, I will follow the news of ICE CREAM SANDWICH.  I still fucking care about cellphones. I still ignore the retarded evil that is our existence.  Screams at my 1% do nothing.  I am mockery.

Where is the Guillotine, brother?

You fucking middle class bastards!  You fucking poor people.  You fucking poor people with your Western Union pick ups.  Mom sends you 20 dollars and you buy cigarettes????

Ask a friend for a pack!  Why must you bother me for such navel Gazingselfishness!

I want to kill all those people!  I want to write a letter telling you that Herman Cain was right.  BLAME YOUR FUCKKING SELVESSS for christ sakes!!!!

I hate your poverty.  Clean up.  Buy a dog.  Dress it in costumes.  Sell out you useless fucks.

I'm going to drink now.  Maybe I will take my pink netbook to the bar, and write more for you.  Not that you deserve it. STAY ASLEEP BROTHER   who neeeeeeds u?

I am cynical. A homicidal pill of truth, so swallow bitch, swallow!

I'm back.  Like a metaphorical fork jabbing you in the eye of truth.  Are you ready? I fear not. You are salivating like a fat chick for dick.  Your collective vaginas turning into vats of hot steamy butter for my jack hammering penis to pummel through.

It's been a long time since you have to deal with the truth:

Like Obama isn't the only black man that is hurting America.

Let's face it, every black man I know is killing America.  Negroes make America weak and fat.  Mostly by fucking our fat white women.

If black men weren't fucking fat white women then fat white women would have low self esteem.  for instance the fat bitch I'm fucking thought she could mention that she hates men who don't have cars.  Then she looked over at me like I was a loser.  Completely forgetting that she is a fat white chick!

With the correct low self esteem a fat white woman would be forced to respect fat white men.  This would lower the pool of available white men to good looking women.  Good looking women would then only date good looking white men.  This in turn forces ugly men into creative outlets like getting rich, or writing good Science Fiction.  When was the last time you read any good Science Fiction?  1970?  People were skinny back then.

But now we got fat people everywhere.  FaT white women get laid by decent looking black dudes.  This means that average white girls now think they are hot because more good  looking men are chasing them. This makes them lazy.  Average looking women don't learn to cook.  Sometimes they go whole football seasons without shaving their legs.

Good looking women can barely be described as human, and now that the pool of men who can compete with them is so low, many have turned to lesbianism.  Look at Rachael Maddow.  There is a woman begging for cock if I have ever seen it!  But she's a total dyke!

I blame you black man.  I blame you, like a tea party member secretly wishes he could join the KKK.

Fuck you black man for giving me reasons to join the KKK.

I fuck a FAT WOMAN because of you.

That wasn't always the case.  I've fucked thin, white women.  I got them to suck my cock.  I got their panties wet.  I made them voices purr with passion.

Now I only fuck fat chicks.  And fat chicks pussies are always wet.  All you do is stick your hand down their crotches and you notices the bubbling, salivating, gurgling Vesuvius of a pussy hole that all fat white chicks have.

It's pathetic.  There is no challenge there.  Maybe that's why black dudes want to fuck fat white chicks.  They don't offer a challenge. life is already a challenge when you are a black man.  They have to deal with discrimination and unemployment.  Shit, I'd never a hire black man... and I'm a liberal.

But you got me back, black man.  You got me back!  I fucked a fat chick last night. My fat white lady friend thanks you.  I ate her pussy for thirty minutes last night after I ejaculated on top of fat white stomach.  She guzzled down on my penis for 20 minutes after I came.  Sucked me dry.

No self respecting white bitch should ever have to do that.

My last cat joke ever. I promise.

Robin Williams likes to talk a lot about cats in his stand up comedy.  He does a lot of hissing and scratching miming.

I don't do that kind of thing.  Mostly because I don't like animals.  Though I do talk a lot of about kittens.  Like how useful they are to science and stuff.

Now I know you animal rights activists will get all upset at me.  Some people get really disgusted by my joking about animal testing.  Even though right now there is some scientist somewhere experimenting on cats.

I can't stop picturing Robin Williams as that scientist.  He's bending down to talk to the twin kittens. He is applies mascara to one kitten before trying to calm down the other kitty.

"I have no idea what's going to happen here."  He says to the control kitten. "He could be okay."  He tries to reassure Control Kitty with his voice.

"Really?" Control Kitty replies.  "Nothing bad at all?"

"Possible side effects include: dry mouth, anal bleeding, itchy eyes, blotchy skin, projectile vomiting, and loose stools." robin deadpans.

"Great!" exclaims the Control.  "You had me at loose stools! So glad to have 'volunteered' for this.

Uzbekistan spies, the singularity , and AIDS

I met a beautiful Uzbeki woman the other day.  At first I was quite astonished that she appeared so interested in me.  But then it came to me.  It was so obvious!  Of course she is a secret double agent programmed by KimJong il to assassinate me via nanotechnology robots infected with AIDS which will take over my brain and force me to kill, all because I know a Lady Robot Scientist who is hard at work destroying humanity by allowing the singularity to come about from the Robot Apocalypse.

I have no idea who to trust anymore.  Nor any idea what I should do.  At least we can take heart that the one redeeming quality in the North Korean Peninsula is that the great leader is trying to do everything possible to stop the robot apocalypse!

Even if it means killing me!  I understand the sacrifices that warriors must make in war.  If I must die, so be it.  At least it will be at the hands of the stunning Uzbeki woman dressed in all white.  And at least I know my death will save millions, maybe billions.

I stand ready Great Leader!

Instruct me! Death to the singularity! Long live humanity!  Long live Kim Jong Il!

Last night I went drinking at Muggshots. I drank alone because my female pedophile boss decided to ditch me to be with her cat instead.

So I drank alone, and the bartender closed the bar early, and I drank only one beer, and then I had to pay an extra charge because they had a minimum charge for credit cards, and I had no cash on me.

So I cursed my luck and started hating cats even more, but then I saw a cat eat a bird on the way home, and I remembered that I hate birds more.

Follow me on Twitter

If you aren't following me on twitter, you really should be.

twitter.com@romiust

Make me wish upon a star.

I think they should have a make-a-wish for fourty year old men who failed at life.  Why should children who are going to be dead in six months get all the fun? After all people like me will probably live for years more, appreciating the one moment we got in our lives that actually worked.

It's all dripping out of my ass

My ass has become a mustard factory.  I am producing about two pints of mustard yellow liquid a day.  If there are any takers just bring your containers over to my toilet and partake of the most foul smelling explosion of frothy mixture your fetish will allow.

Now that we have got that out of the way, I am looking forward to Thursday.  I have breakfast with my Caribbean Queen, lunch with the EXGF, and I am celebrating the FRO's birthday with him and married lawyer and the X man.  So it should be a big day for me!

The pill makes me do it

I float in the clouds.  I am sanitized, baptized in the chemical love of anti-depressants, so I am less anxious. I have less of the strange bodily sensations that have been such an omnipresent part of my life for the last 7 months.

Because of the pill I am making small talk at work.  I am discussing the most inane things with customers.  Sometimes the customers actually grow tired of listening to me.  They walk off when I am telling them how much I love the particular brand of peanut butter they are buying, or I am regaling them with stories I find on the internet about giant boxes of lucky charm marshmallows that can be bought.

I am sorry about all that.

But the LexePro does not make me happy.  It just eases the misery of living.  It allows me to peak my head out from under my shell.  It makes me at times chatty and social, far more than my regular self.  But I guess I that is a price you will just have to pay if you get in my line.

I have noticed that customers seem to respond to my cheery self more.  I seem to perk people up and brighten there day when I ask how they are and seem genuine in my concern.

The pill makes me do it.

I smile and my voice has this sing song gay sounding tune of clerk friendliness which for some reason doesn't annoy me all the time I do it.  It's very strange.  Well not very strange.

It hasn't changed me.  I'm not really that interested in you.  I am able to tolerate your small mindedness if I can make a crack about it, or steer us to a topic that interests me.  Like cell phones, or the like.

I do have to report that I'm still pooping yellow.  I still have week bowel movements.  The recurring diarrhea hasn't gone away.  I've also learned that my triglycerides are 453.  That's like super high.  I have to give up soda and eat whole wheat.  Plan on doing that anyway.  I think my prostate cancer screening went okay.  So no cancer.  I must have some infection in my belly, because I still have bloating, tenderness, cramping and the recurring diarrhea.

Also, Sexual dysfunction is back.  I have a history of not being able to orgasm on  anti-depressants.  I will ask my doctor about Wellbutrin. I have heard that adding it to Lexepro can make your sexual dysfunction  go away.  We will see!

I had some stories about funny customers, but I forgot them.  I had a long post that got erased accidentally, and then blogger went down so that added a lot of time in between me writing anything down.  So, sorry about that.

Well you folks are caught up, except you missed how I wrote a story about the evil physician's assistant and how she was actually a cross-dressing transvestite pedophile and her adventures abducting children for the Bush's.  It was freaking funny.  But it's somewhere in the electronic quantum trash pile that we call blogger.

Much Love and Peace.

Romius T.

I get a prostate exam and Xanax, also meet the doctor girlfriend I have always wanted.

In addition to talking to me about her yoga, she asked me if I though   I was intuitive.  I agreed that I was.  But then again who says they aren't?  She told me a secret about herself that she had never told another patient (I won't reveal it) so I felt like we bonded a bit.  If she hadn't stuck her finger up my ass you could have said it was a great first date.  Actually, come to think of it, that might make a great first date.

I'm going back in few weeks for a general physical and exam from my actual doctor.  I am supposed to get my lab results back as well, I got tested for prostate cancer and other blood work.

I should mention some positive things.  My ingrown toenail is feeling better.  I think the antibiotics were working on it as well as the cellulitis.   The swelling is down and I have stopped bleeding from my toe every day. I need to get that looked at as soon as all this other stuff calms down.  I'd like to be able to go swimming or to the beach (or just wear some flip flops.)

I hope I won't need additional antibiotics for that!

Other than that I feel okay.  I am still having some occasion stomach cramping and pain.  But it is quite light and not so bad.  The only thing left is bladder pain and some difficulty in urinating.  That's been going on for some time.  Since the 26th.  Maybe it has something to do with the squishy things in my testicles.  I am having the M.D. check them on June 1st.

Tomorrow is therapy.  Looking forward to that.  Someone to talk to for 50 minutes that has to listen to my shit and pretend to care. Just like you guys.  Only I don't have to pay you!

Told the ex-internet girlfriend about my diagnosis of Diverticulosis and she was like, "I bet you were excited to hear that you have a real disease to talk about!"

I was like, "Oh please!"  Internet GF is getting marred this week.  Congrats Internet GF.  Not that you read my blog anymore!

p.s.

To the doctor at the ER that misdiagnosed my rash.  Go suck it.  My  ENTIRE ass is inflamed.  My thighs have some mighty nasty looking shit on them.  This is not just a fat guy rubbing his legs together.  I's take a pic but I don't want to gross you guys out.  If you want to see just Google psoriasis.

Love,
Romius T.

Cinco de Mayo and the curse of humanity

Happy Cinco de Mayo!

I have blogged before about Cinco de Mayo.  If you haven't read that little treat I suggest you do so!

I am going to celebrate Cinco de Mayo tonight with some friends from work.  A bunch of us are getting together at a local Mexican bar and eatery to eat tamales and drink margaritas.

I don't get to drink yet as I am still taking a powerful antibiotic that prohibits me from drinking alcohol.

So I am going out to a bar and not drinking and hanging out with a bunch of people I only know because I work with them.  I think I am turning into my idea of my dad from the 1970's.

I am not even sure I like these people.  Most of them are too young, and too stupid to talk to in anyway that goes beyond shop talk.  Making fun of customers and complaining about our crappy hours, pay, and benefits.

I stopped making friends years ago.  That's not true.  I never really started making friends.  In my whole life I have only made like 6 or 7 friends.

I don't count most of the people that most people count as friends.  I think friendship goes deeper.  Friends are family.  And if you are not family then you are not a friend. You are an acquaintance. Not that there is anything wrong with that.  It's just seems to me that too many people conflate the idea of acquaintances and friends to me.

I'm getting old and making new friends is too hard.  My old friends from high school don't talk anymore.  We've known each other for more that 20 years, but we have all grown apart.  We all live our separate lives.  Some of us have families, others of us have shrunk away from going outside, some of continue on partying like we are 20 year olds. (Sometimes partying with 20 year olds!)

So what happens in ten years when I am too old to party?  When my age starts being the only thing people notice about me.  "Who's that?"  --"Oh, you mean the old guy?"

I'm not sure.  I think as we age we grow apart from the world.  Men at least do.  We have trouble maintaining relationships and nurturing them. Already I feel myself going down this path.  The internet and connectivity of the social networks filling in the gaps, but not providing any real substance of human connection.

I guess it's important to disconnect from the world so that leaving it doesn't seem so painful.

I remember my youth.  When things seemed fresh, new, powerful.  Feeling would rise up in me.  I wanted to conquer the world.  Now I want a comfortable chair and something good to watch on TV.  I want at least one more Super Bowl for the Cowboys.

Is this really all there is?  I am so terrified of dying, but as soon as I feel a bit better the old dread of my life as a stale piece of carpet comes flooding back in.  I remember that I don't enjoy anything anymore.

Oh well.

There is something growing in my testicles.  I guess I will have to have that checked out.  It might be causing all the problems I am having with my bladder, the painful urination, the difficulty in peeing.

I probably have ball cancer, or prostate cancer.  Some kind of cancer.  Because the antibiotics aren't stopping the diarrhea.  They aren't stopping the the crazy colors.  And I forgot how I have had week shits for years.  I forgot how my bowel movements have been changing color with the frequency of a kaleidoscopic.

It won't be just some microbial  infection, because things never work out easy for me.  I'm not complaining, really.  I am resigned to it.  I had a pretty good run.  My life was a hell of a lot better than most who have ever lived.

It's when I think about that I get really depressed for humanity.  My god.  What a curse to be human.

Back in the land of the living

I think I finally learned my lesson about getting sick and doing nothing about it.  Like a commenter who said he was "glad I finally started fighting the entropy" I am glad I am finally taking action.

I scheduled a couple of new appointments with my doctor.  I have a physical with my primary coming in June.  (It takes that long to see my primary.)  I was a little disappointed in that. I'm not sure what the point of having a great doctor (so I have been told) if I never get to see him.

I put in another appointment to talk to the PA about my anxiety and panic attacks.  I wanted to talk to the doctor before my next therapy session.  That session is on the 9th.

I still have recurring diarrhea.  I am still taking the Flagly for that.  I am sure I am getting an increase in panic attacks from it.  However I stopped taking the percocets.  I was worried that they could increase the likelihood of seizures.  The antibiotics I am on can do that as well.

The auras around my panic/seizure/anxiety has changed again.  I am still coughing and that starts them, but sometimes I get white floating dots in my vision and then I get even stronger waves of stereotypic reactions, etc.

I should mention that I went back to the ER again on Sunday night.  YeS, AGAIN.

And the ER lady PA was not happy with me.  She was quite dismissive of my concerns.  I was still having the recurring diarrhea and I thought I saw red streak.  The red streak turned out to be nothing but a skin irritation which (she did not say) may have been caused by some mild dehydration.  I am trying to drink more Gatorade, but I am finally getting sick of it.  I think I have Gatorade fatigue.

It was pretty humiliating to sit there and be scorned by a health care professional  for wasting her time.  It was one of the most embarrassing moments of my life.  My panic attacks have taken me to the place where I have become a nuisance to people.

Of course I think the doctor was pretty insensitive.  Instead of taking 5 minutes to discuss with me her concerns over my wasting her time she just rebuffed my questions.

How about tell me why I was wrong, show some clinical concern about why I am doing this...

Either that or hide your contempt a little better, because you chose not to address the fact that you think I am malingering, or an idiot.  Man up and tell me to go to my primary for most of my concerns and stop using ER services.

Not that she should care.  She still got paid.  My insurance company should be the pissed off people in this scenario, not the person benefiting from easy diagnoses and fat paychecks.  And secondly, it was a slow night. I got in to the doctor in under 2 minutes.  There was no one in line.  And the ER was basically dead. So fuck I probably gave you something to do for the first time in an hour.

I could tell she felt a little bad about her behavior because after she left to go through my chart again she explained that none of the tests she could run would alter the course of treatment I was on and she did so with a softer voice and more professional demeanor.

Now that that's over I am still taking the Flagly.  I am getting sharp nerve damage pains every once in a while.  Mostly I am not bothered by it.  The weakness in my lower extremities is better than when I was on cipro, but is still there in my right arm.  I am having a  difficulty in sleeping and I am sluggish and tired.

I went back to work yesterday.

I was hurting in the belly area from all the stretching and standing  think.  I was also really tired around the time to go home.  I am still not eating solid food.  I did have crackers and spaggettios when I got home.   I am drinking Gatorade and meal replacements.  My weight is down to 203 from 220 over the course of the last 15 days.  I guess that part is good.  People have noticed the new slimmer me, it's encouraging me to start a healthy diet when I recover from all this shit.

After I recover from all this I will be close enough to my weight goal that I will be getting bitches left and right.  I can stop blogging about anxiety and doctor visits and start blogging about all the tits that I am sucking on.

May Day. I talk talk therapy, and my latest ER trip. I type this for you even though I am having a crazy ass anxiety attack. And I explain why I think the underclass needs to rise up.

TALK THERAPY

Is it okay if your therapist thinks you are crazy?  My therapist was like in shock when I told her that I had 3 or 4 panic attacks every week.  She was aghast. "That's a lot."  She said.

But she believed me.  She didn't give the look that I usually get from doctors when I describe my symptoms.  Though she did say that I had been reading on the internet and stuff, because I knew all the terminology of anxiety.

I described how sometimes I depersonalized in the mirror.  That sometimes my hands look small compared to the rest of my body.  That my face dissolves when I stare at it.

"Those are massive panic attacks." I was told.  In other words she said they were on the extreme side of anxiety.  I'm not too certain how much experience my therapist has with such extreme anxiety.  I think she expected that I would have panic attacks every few weeks or something like that.

If I had panic attacks only once a week I wouldn't talk to a doctor about it.  For Christ's sake I was walking around and standing on my feet all day at work for over a week with a god damned flesh eating virus attacking my system, and it took me until my leg had swollen up so far that I couldn't walk on it before I even visited a clinic.

So there would be no way I would go see a shrink just because I had the occasional debilitating anxiety attack.  No.  I have those every day.  I have several every day.  I live with a coat of anxiety attached to me like Food Network TV star Paula Deen had dipped me in buttermilk and dropped me in bread crumbs to fry up some Twinkies in.

I get panic attacks every day baby.  I got one right now.  I'm convinced that I am septic.  I have a low body temp.  I have blue hands.  Blue hands mean I have low blood pressure, another sign of septic infection. Of course the blue hands came after I took a percocet.  I am sure percocets can cause this, though I just looked it up and now I am not sure.

That news has sent me into a near panic.  All I can tell myself is that I would be sicker if I had septic, right?

I mean I am not running a fever, my diarrhea is still here but not as bad as a couple of days ago.  My breathing is normal, I'm not confused, but I am restless I hardly slept last night.

 Again that could just be the anxiety which happens to have the same symptoms of many diseases that are harmful. (kinda fucked up? because it really messes with anxious people like me.)

I'm not feeling much pain either.  I hope I'm okay.  The death rates for septic are crazy.  15% and higher.  That has me really worried.

Everything is not all bad.  My leg is looking better.  Slowly healing up.  

Over all I like my therapist.  She seemed to be fine with adding medication (she's not allowed to prescribe it) and she wants me to get a clean bill of health from the doctor before she says I don't have things like epilepsy.

She wants to have another session soon.  She did not get to know much about me.  We talked the entire session about what I am dealing with right now. She said she'd like to spend the next session finding out more about my background and things.

I feel good about the plan as she set it up for me.  Like she is guiding me through a process rather than mearly reacting to certain symptoms that I show her.  Unlike how I feel when I go to the ER or to the regular doctor.

I feel like I have to be the one to figure out how to find a neurologist, an internist, etc. And I have to be the one to come up with my health regime. Does anyone else feel like that?  Do you feel doctors discount your feelings, symptoms, etc.  Even though you are the only person who knows what if feels like when you are healthy and when you feel off or sick?

Doctors are great.  Modern Science is a miracle of our own making. But we still need to feel like we have a human connection in order to feel safe.

THE LATEST TRIP TO THE ER
For instance it would have really helped to have my doctor go over my tests with me after he got them back at the ER last time.  Tell me what's wrong, or what's good.  He just said "most of the tests came back ok."  What the fuck does that mean?  I got a X-ray, CT scan, (my third in a week) numerous blood cultures, fecal and urine tests.

The doctor  didn't even wait for the fecal test to come back before he sent me home.  My guess is no one will look it up to see what it is.  I have to call or go down there today or tomorrow to find out my results.  I am left in limbo.  I am still waiting results of  blood culture from my primary.  No one has called back.  It's infuriating to me.

So I sit here and type away trying to ease my fears by writing them down.  I have this horrible panic that I am dying.  That there is doom right around the corner.  I feel like no one understands what it's like to be this terrified all the time.

People want me to just snap out of it.  Suck it up.  but believe me if were at all possible I would.  I hate being like this.  I'm really not that kind of attention whore.  But sometimes I feel like going to the ER and saying I have chest pains just so I get checked out right away and feel the security that several hovering nurses can give.

One of my nurses recognized me.  She said she was going to have to start giving me my own wing or something.  It was funny.  But scary.  I don't want to turn into one of those patients that is seen as a malingerer.

So far, the nurses and doctors have not said that.  The nurse told me it was a good idea to comet to the ER when I ran a fever on antibiotics.  I was also having chills, nausea, stomach pain.  It cost my insurance company more than 3,000.00 for the last visit.  My share was over 100 dollars.  I can't really afford that.

I paid about half of the cost and I am racking up bills.  I have spent 400 dollars this month on medication, doctor and emergency room visits.  I have no idea how I can keep up this pace.  I am flat broke.  My income is shitty.  A fourth of my income goes to the crooks that bought my student loans.

What am I going to do in the future?  When I get old?  How do people pay for surgeries when they make minimum wage?  It's disturbing.

I realize I have made bad choices.  It's pretty late to turn my life around.  So what do we do with people like me?  What about people in my situation that have no IQ or have emotional problems or kids? How the hell do we really expect people to take care of themselves?

RISE UP UNDERCLASS, YOU HAVE NOTHING TO LOSE BUT YOUR CHAINS!

The answer is I think we don't.  Mostly we let the underclass suffer and die.  We don't care because mostly they stick to the barrios and ghettos and mostly they shoot themselves and stick needles in their arms and usually take no for an answer when they stop us in front of Target begging for change.

The only way the rich and upper middle class will ever change, will ever consider giving the underclass a real safety net is when we make it uncomfortable for them.

If you got kids take them shirtless and coughing to marches in front of hospitals and congressmen.  Vote.  Rise up.  General strikes are needed.  Take the violence out of Harlem.  Show the rich that our social contract is void.  That the current situation is untenable.  Be DRASTIC!

Otherwise turn on the MMA fights and wait to die.

Dry Panic

There is  a dry panic setting in me today, despite the percocets.  I feel like I am doomed to die soon.  I woke this morning to more pain in my back.  The pain is not overwhelming, so that's not why I am worried.  It's just that the pain is not supposed to be there.  The Diverticulosis is supposed to have gotten better by now.

"A couple of days is the usual recovery time."  Said my doctor at the ER.  But it's been a couple of days and I am not better.

I was going over my hospital discharge records and I noticed that CT scan cleared me of inflammation of the colon, of the appendix, of the gall bladder.  All good things.  But for some reason, even though we did two CT scans, the doctor was unable to see the bladder.

He did not order a third CT scan even though I came into the ER complaining of bladder pain.  I also noticed that I did not see anywhere on my chart a complaint of bladder pain.  Despite the fact that I told the nurse specifically that the reason I called off my vacation and went to the ER was that I was experiencing bladder pain.

At the very least I am certain that there must be some inflammation of the bladder.  I have frequent urination.  I have painful urination.  It could also be there is a a puncture in my colon that has melded (a fistula) into my bladder which causes pain from the feces draining into areas that it should not.

This morning I had chills.  A sign of infection.  A little diarrhea.  Two times, but then it stopped.  I took a perc to calm down and take the edge off my pain.  Percs can give you constipation, which maybe hiding another symptom like drug resistant diarrhea ( a side effect of the antibiotic I am on.)  More things to worry about, folks.

I am thinking about going to the ER later today if the pain is still there.  Maybe have another CT Scan.  If I wait and go the doctor appointment tomorrow I think they will just tell me to wait and see if   it gets better.  I am sure a regular doctor's office doesn't have access to a CT Machine.  Either that or they will ask me to go to some other office that has one.  Another visit.  Another co-pay.  More wasted time.

I'm quite worried that I will need surgery to repair all this.  I have no idea how I'm going to pay for this.  I have no idea how I can live without going to work.  Worse, if I miss work, my insurance coverage goes away.  (A neat little trick to make sure that really sick people don't get coverage.)

You got to love this country.

A big FUCK YOU to all the Republicans out there that say that in Europe and Canada they have to deal with rationing of health care.  So do we.  Only this country rations based on money, access to good jobs, etc.  Not rationing based on reason, like who is the sickest etc.

We get what we deserve.  We let these fuckers fuck with us.  We let them try and gut the clean air act, we let them give millionaires tax  cuts.  We let them sock it to the poor and elderly.

Why?  Because we all want to be Donald Trump one day.  We are the morons in line at the grocery store with two carts of groceries and 20 dollars in cash wondering why we can't afford to get everything we want and then getting indignant as soon as some one points out the folly of our situation.

When will we learn?  Never is my guess.  The same guess as the ruling class every morning when it wakes and pours itself a big bottle of $2, 000.00 wine.

They laughing at us.

Bottoms up assholes!

I see a light at the end of the tunnel. (This is your hero on Narcotics. Legal ones at that.)

I'm back to blogging again.  I know I took a while off, so most of my loyal readers are probably gone.  But I have noticed a few of my die hard readers are still here.  I want to thank you for sticking around when there was really no reason to.

I think this blog is moving into the uncomfortable realm of reporting my first person view of my hypochondria.  I apologize for that.  But I will try and keep it interesting and light hearted. A big bonus goes out to those readers who wonder what it is like to have general anxiety or panic attacks, if you keep reading you will find out.

I can tell you that it sucks.  The fear and dread we live with is not something that you can simply snap out of.  Believe me, if that's all it took I would.

For the first time in my life I am actually going out in the world and taking charge of the things in my life.  I am getting help.  I am changing my lifestyle to manage some of my illnesses.

For instance:

I now get up once an hour and walk around the house for a few minutes.  I read that sitting all day is bad for people.  It's especially bad for people who have been diagnosed with Diverticulosis.

I am changing my eating habits.  I am eating more fiber than I used to.  I am committed to making some dietary changes that are palatable to me, but which can be of help to me.  It will require some sacrifice on my end.  I will have to give up things like eating WhataBurger 6 nights a week.

That may not seem like a bad thing or even a big deal to you.  But many of you have lives.  You have things that interest you.  You have support systems and lovers and things like that.

I really don't.  I have no joy in my life.  The few things that actually give me joy are killing me.  I enjoy reading and the internet.  I love going out to eat at fast food.

I need you to understand this.  One of the very few things that get me through the day are eating fast food burgers and surfing the web on my laptop.  I day dream my way through work by thinking about these things.  I substitute having a real life with these preoccupations.

Why must I preoccupy myself in such a way?  I guess because I don't have much of an imagination about some things.  I can't think of things that can entertain me or add meaning to my life other than these things. I know what you are thinking. I am a small human being.  And I plead guilty to such accusations.

I think what gets me in trouble with you liberal types is that ruminate on things like meaning and the big picture.  Therefore; I think you think that I ought to come to the right conclusion.  That service to others is how we deal with our feelings of doom.

But not me.  I just can't fake that shit.  Intellectually, I can agree  with the idea that to escape our self preoccupations we need to focus on others.  But that answer is totally unsatisfying to me emotionally.

I remain a captive of my ego-mania.  My self concern.  This is not selfishness.  I hate selfishness.  I am not a selfish person. It's not so much that I am selfish, more like I'm a child, in the sense that I don't come equipped with a view of the world that is outside of me.

Speaking of that.  If I had lost the leg from the MRSA then I would have at least been able to get some pity pussy.  Don't you think?  Girls, do you fuck one legged men?  You should.  They ain't got it easy.

But I don't get pity pussy.  Even though I am pathetic.  I live in this weird world were every one feels sorry for me.  Somehow they all believe nothing is my fault, and in most cases there is nothing I can do to help myself.  But at the same time everyone believes the contradictory notion that somehow I should be doing better.  That I should be better looking.  More successful.

Actually I am pretty sure that's not true too.

The weird thing is that nobody notices me. Which if you like my personality on the blog seems weird, right.  Like I seem very outgoing and crazy.  Certainly worthy of some double looks.  But in person I often lack charisma.  It takes a long time for me to work my magic on you.  I am like a visiting parasite or virus.  I can lie dormant for years, then melt your insides like flesh eating virus.

And bitch.  There ain't no cure for me yet!

Diverticulosis sucks (and don't ask me to pronounce it.)

I have Diverticulosis.

It's a crappy thing.  If you want to know what it is click the link.  It's what links are for.  Hyper-Space man. How long have you been on the Internet that you don't know these things?

I missed my vacation.  I was supposed to go see my Mom and my brothers in Florida.  It would have been a great time I think, even if not it would have been nice to see them.  I haven't seen my family in a few years, but lately since we all got on Facebook I have been communicating more with them.  Since I actually talk  and interact with them now I miss them.

Before Facebook I never talked to my family.  I'd  call them every few months at most.  I talked to my Mom once or twice a year.  My Mom for god's sake.  Most people think that is pretty crazy.

I was all set to go.  I had my e-ticket.  It was bought and paid for by my dear Mother.  She squandered 281 dollars on me.

But as you know I have had a lot of health problems lately.  Not just worries and anxiety about possibilities.  But actual real problems.

I contracted cellulitus on my leg.  I have had the infection for over 2 weeks now.  It still looks pretty gross.



That's bad enough, sending me panic and anxiety about going on a trip thousands of miles away.  But the morning of the flight I woke to some pretty intense bladder pain.

I had been having issues with frequency and stream control, but with the added pain in my bladder, the need to urinate constantly, some back and spinal pain and pressure, along with stomach cramps I felt like not going on vacation.

I called my mother and explained.  I think I sent her into a near panic attack.  She called my brothers who called me and hoped to talk me into going out.

I did not.

Instead I spent the day in quite a bit of discomfort.  It was hot in my apartment.  90 degrees inside without the A/C on.  I was seated on the toilet all day.  I was drinking tap water that was stored in old Gatorade quarts that I leave in the refrigerator to get cold.

I took a nap around 4pm.  I woke up around 8.  I was dehydrated.  I felt like I was running a slight temperature, even though my thermometer did not agree with my assessment.

By 8:30 I had called a taxi cab and was being whisked away to the Emergency Room at St. Something or another Hospital.

At the ER I grabbed one of those plastic bags for nausea.  A couple of times I almost threw up.  I went to the bathroom after a young Indian and nearly lost it.  He must have some kind of health problem because the smell in that bathroom was like nothing I had ever smelled before.  I was retching before I made it through the entrance.  I had to walk my way backwards with my nose all the way into the plastic tubing so as to catch a different scent.

Eventually I got seen by the doctor.  A NP with bad,  stringy hair from the 1980's.  I talked her into checking my liver and urine.  She ordered a CT scan after pushing on my stomach and detecting a flinch.

The CT tech was a big ex trailer girl with tattooes. She forgot to check if I needed a contrast CT and gave me the regular CT.  Turns out I needed the contrast in order to discern whether or not I had problems in my gall bladder or appendix.

I got the second CT scan and waited.  A few hours drifted by.  I was the only room without television.  But I listened to a few podcasts on my phone.  (I brought all three spare batteries and a charger with me.) I watched some YouTube videos and busied myself with Twitter.

I began to experience some more pain and was offered some relief.  The nurse was about to stick me with some Morphine when she asked about my allergies.  I mentioned Morphine and she quickly set about getting me another  pain medication.

She told me the pain med was 4x stronger than Morphine.  I believe it!  As soon as she gave it to me my face was flushed.  I experienced a sharp pain across my neck and face.  It felt very strange to be given pain medication only to have a reaction of pain? and intensity instead.

In fact I may not have experienced pain so much per se as intensity.

The pain mostly disappeared.  I got a few closed eye visuals and a few spontaneous giggles.  The giggles made my belly move and that actually hurt more than anything.

Around 2:30 the PA told me that the doctor had taken a look at the chart and found that I had Diverticulosis.  The PA asked if I knew what that was.  I told her I had never heard of it.

She explained that it meant I needed a better diet.  One with fiber.  That I could get inflammation and quite a bit of pain from my colon having pouches.  The pouches could catch things in them and get infected.  When this happens the colon is inflamed and the pain would be even greater.  She did give me some good news that my liver and urine samples came back normal.

And luckily my colon was not inflamed so there was no need for surgery.  I was told to take it easy.  Not eat.  Take anti-biotics.  They switched me off Cipro.  I got another antibiotic.  The Cipro was making me feel terrible anyway, so I am glad to be off it.

Sucks that I am allergic to so many antibiotics.

Spent 20 dollars in cab fare there and back.  Spent 60 dollars at the ER.  I was so hopped up on drugs I forgot to tell them to bill me and I just paid it.  If they bill me I never pay.  Just the way I am.  I can't afford all this.  Remember I make under 300 dollars a week.  If I am spending 200 dollars a week on hospitals and medications and gauze I won't be able to make rent.  I figure my insurance paid 250 dollars so the hospital made all the money they needed for that visit.

No freaking TV.

But I did get a prescription for Perks.  Perks handle anxiety as well as pain.  I took a perk today and it stopped my panic attacks.  It eased my general anxiety.  I took another 5 hours later.  It eased them again.  I have not taken anymore and I am feeling pretty good (at least about anxiety.)  I still hurt in the tummy and back.  The pain is not as bad, and the nausea has gone away for the most part.

I hope tomorrow relief comes form the Diverticulosis.  I want to go back to being normal.  I want my leg infection to fill in.  I want to be whole.

Tomorrow I call the psychiatrist.  I will try and get a PCP as well.  Big day for me!  I just want to stop living in hell.  Maybe I will.

Blood, Sweat and Anxiety

I should change this blog from the Self Help Center to the Helpless Center for contracting MRSA and Anxiety.

I am currently battling a vast infestation of bacteria which has left a rather striking gap in my upper side of my calf.  I've been taking all kinds of antibiotics.   I have been having all kinds of terrible syndromes from them.

Back around the 12 of April I saw a small red bump on my leg.  Within a few days I was walking in terrible pain.  I stuck it out for a few days at work, but the redness got so big that it scared me.  Also the pain standing on my feet all day as a cashier gave me another incentive to finally seek medical treatment.

I have insurance through my job, even though it's not great insurance it offers me the opportunity to get seen.

On the 15th I went to the local clinic by my work.  They treated me, but because the P.A. did not have the tools to do open the wound and drain it, she simply prescribed some antibiotics and suggested treating the infection with warm towels.

I followed her directions, but a couple of days later the infection was getting no better.  I decided to go the ER because I don't have a primary care physician.

At the ER I was greeted by a dismissive nurse who wondered, "Why are you here?"  But the nurse that cleaned my wound and the P. A. that drained the infection were really kind and professional. I was given some iodine and told to soak the wound 3 times a day.

Two days later on the 20th I went back to get the infection checked and have my packaging removed.  I was ordered to get a second, smaller package inserted inside the infection and ordered to take another antibiotic.

I have separated out the course work of antibiotics from this timeline because it deserves it's own treatment.

I took Bactrim on the 15th,  within 3 doses my neck was very stiff.  I had back pain, terrible headaches, I decided to go back to the clinic and get the antibiotics switched.

On the 18th  I was placed on DEOXy Hyclate.  A terrible drug for me as well.  Nausea, loss of appetite. In addition I began to have nerve damage.  Tingling, and burning sensations on my right arm and leg.  Terrible headaches, migraines   Photosensitivity. I had closed and open eyed hallucinations.  

My doctor chastised me for being upset about "yellow diarrhea."  A little diarrhea is not so bad, I was told how I had a serious infection and that there were very few antibiotics that these infections responded to.  In addition to the DEOXY I was prescribed CIPRO.

I decided to go back on the DEOxy hoping that the nerve damage would be temporary.  I began experiencing tinnitus as well increased nerve damage on the 21st.  I was taking benadryl for some rashes that the antibiotics were giving me.

On the 22 nd I went back to the clinic and was told to just take the cipro as I believed it offered fewer side effects. I had a yellow tongue and some considerable lower back pain which I now identified as coming from my spinal cord.  It might also be a symptom of an intestinal infection that I caught as a secondary effect of the antibiotic work ion my good bacteria.

Of course it is hard to say when one symptom showed up as a result of the antibiotics.  It is possible that the lower back pain has come from me sitting all day.  It is also possible that my anxiety (which has gone through the roof throughout all this is partially responsible for some of my internal subjective experience.

Things I know for sure.

I have had diarrhea, nausea, loss of appetite.  I have had migraine headaches.  I have become sensitive to lights, I have had trouble focusing, a general cloud and fogginess over my brain.  I have tingling and burning sensations in my lower extremities and my right arm.

None of those symptoms are result of fear and paranoia.  I can't say for sure which of the drugs gave me which.  But I am betting that Bactrim and the DEOXY reacted against me.

MY anxiety is so bad right now that I can't go more than 5 to 30 minutes without getting a head rush.  My head then sways to the left or right.  I get pins and needles in my brain.  Brain Zaps like when one stops taking Effexor.

I am also coughing.  I have a runny nose.   No fever.  When I cough ( a new aura) I get the convulsive movements.  Sometimes both of my feet "jump" in opposite directions.  I have stereotypic movements.  I was walking around in circles.

I don't know if that is epilepsy or withdraw from the Ecstasy that I haven't used in two months.  I have heart palpitations.  Severe anxiety.  I focus on death.  I think I am dying.  I image that all my symptoms must mean that I have liver or renal failure.

I have a  crappy headache right now.

I think I am leaving out something.

I haven't even mentioned the myriad of other ailments that I need to get checked out soon.

But I am most concerned to see this infection go away.  (IT LOOKS LIKE IT WILL)

Next the seizure like symptoms that are associated with my panic attacks and anxiety.  If this can't get fixed soon I will crack.  I can't go on with all the dread living inside me.  I need to get it fixed soon.

I am seeing a psychologist and psychiatrist when I get back from Vacation.  (YA I AM going on vacation, can you believe that?)  Mom is flying me out.  I have spent all week off work dealing with all this.   I can't wait to get off the antibiotics.  I need a god damn Valium or something.

I am worried the CIPRO will cause me to have difficulty breathing.

I realize I am awful when it comes to dealing with my mortality.  I can't handle the prospect of dying.  Hopefully all this gets settled soon.

Back pain still is here.  So are the headaches.  So is the anxiety.  Numbness and tingling in my arms and legs is less painful.  But still there.

I will be getting a PCP when I get back.   I have one picked out.  I am happy about this.

I called the drug/mental health hotline at my work to get a number for the shrink I will be seeing.  I cried on the hotline telling her all this.  (Just the mental health stuff.)

I guess I am depressed and lonely too.

But who would date the mess I just described?

I wished I could just be held and told it will all be okay.

I'm sorry for being weak like that. But I guess I really am.

Some people will take a look at this and say.  Geez it was a fucking infection.  Get over it.  MRSA happens all the time.  I get it at the gym 3 times a week.

I understand your sentiment.

I just lack strength.

I am useless like that.

No one will me miss me when I am dead anyway.

I am very thirsty.  I am going to sleep now.  Good night dear friends.