The Purposeless Driven Life (A Magnum Opus)

A Purposeless Driven Life.

A Purposeless Driven Life®

A Magnum Opus by Romius T.

Subtitled: A compendium of all the things I have learned.

Introduction:

There is no purpose to life. A fact you are well aware of.[1]

Life is Empty.[2]

You feel alone. Good. You feel alone because you are alone. There is no god.[3] Even if there was a god, he does not care about you.

No serious person could believe in a personal god.[4] But many serious people claim to believe in a non-personal god. I think you call that belief Deism. [5]

I had hoped to get around talking about the non-existence of god in this essay, but since I brought it up and since so many of you will have some kind of belief in god I guess I might as well tackle that belief head on.

Deism

Deism is not an acceptable answer to the purposeless driven life. That’s because deism allows many of its practitioners to see purpose in the world. Pernicious deists go further and see agency in nothing more than the random patterns of the phenomenal world.

Some time ago a group of ambitious Deists must have combined agency with purpose. Those deists see “design” in the universe and believe that design means there must be a god. [6]

But not all deists make such easy to refute claims. Albert Einstein is one such case. Einstein is credited by Richard Dawkins with such a defensible case for deism that Dawkins refused to debate him in The God Delusion.[7]

"[If you]try and penetrate with our limited means the secrets of nature and you will find that, behind all the discernible laws and connections, there remains something subtle, intangible and inexplicable. Veneration for this force beyond anything that we can comprehend is my religion. To that extent I am, in fact, religious." [My emphasis]

Einstein was a great man. He was also a very smart man. He was much smarter than me. But is what Einstein talking about god? "Yes, you can call it that.”

No. You can’t. That’s not god.

The awe that humans feel when confronted with the “inexplicable” is understandable and it is what drives every great scientist and philosopher to truth. The desire to make sense of the world is natural. Every child is born with it. Curiosity may not be limited to humans in the animal kingdom, but it certainly is one of our finest characteristics. But it is a giant leap to go from confusion to god and from god to worship.

Veneration.

The problem with the Veneration of Mystery.

I don’t worship anything I don’t understand. I don’t know why anyone would. That's why I am more of a Troy Aikman kinda guy and less of a Tony Romo kinda guy.[8] Even still. That seems like a personal choice of mine and not a logical argument.[9]

Let me break down the “logical” argument for you into several parts.

First.

Deists act like Atheists.

Einstein said that he “venerated” the “force behind” the seeming logical consistency of the world. But did he? Did he go to church? Did he light candles? Did he worship? Did he pray? How did he devote himself to the force?

The answer is he did not. Einstein pissed a lot of people off when he admitted that he did not believe in a personal god. That is why Spinoza was excommunicated.[10] And rightfully so. Deists never get around to really doing anything religious. They love a good mystery. They make terrific writers of constitutions, but they really have no place for gods as most people understand them. Because Deists don’t act like religious people they often get confused for Atheists. [11]

Second.

The world may not be so darn comprehensible.[12] Einstein was not a fan of Quantum Mechanics. He once famously said that “god does not play dice with the universe.” He was wrong. God does play dice. Even if god does not play dice, I just wanted you to know that I knew that quote by Einstein. Also, I knew that the second I started the sentence “Einstein once famously said…” you expected me to use that quote. So I did.

I guess my point is that if Einstein would have just paid more attention to Quantum Mechanics he might have been an Atheist and saved us all a lot of trouble. [13] But he didn’t.

Veneration.

I have a problem with prayer.

I work in a grocery store. I noticed that a customer would come in about once a week to buy candles. He bought 40 dollars worth of candles every week. That's a lot of candles. One day I let my curiosity get to me. I asked him about the candles.[14]

“Why do you buy so many candles?”

The customer went on to tell me that he bought the candles as a donation to his church. It seems that worshipers at his church lit candles for certain ceremonies. They used a lot of candles and a lot of the church goers he worshiped with were poor. So this customer took it upon himself to buy as many candles as he could afford so that everyone at his church could light one whenever they needed.

I like that story. Even though I don’t believe in the efficacy of prayer or lighting candles it was moving to know that the human heart can be so giving. My customer seemed very sincere and devout. The customer was obviously an immigrant to this country. He spoke broken English and wore dirty work pants whenever he shopped. I was certain my customer could not really afford to spend 40 or 50 dollars a week of his salary on something that did not directly benefit him.

I think many of my religious friends would like to use the immigrant candle buyer as a powerful argument for the existence of god. They would argue that god touched my customer’s life and opened his heart.

But I have my doubts about the candles and the praying.[15]

I study prayer. I thank god for unanswered prayers.

No less a personage than Garth Brooks has offered forth a defense of prayer to the faithful.

“Thank god for unanswered prayers.”

If what Garth meant by his this statement is that “we should be careful what we wish for” then I am all for the sentiment.

But I think Garth had something else in mind. I think what Garth Brooks meant to was to defend the efficacy[16] of prayer. His defense of prayer sounds a lot like the rationalizations one hears from god fearing folk when they face trouble or tragedy.

“Little Billie was just too good for this Earth. That’s why god drown in him the Bayou.”

Billie is dead and drown, yet we are supposed to feel no sorrow. Garth sings,

“just because he [god] doesn’t answer, doesn’t mean he doesn’t care.”

Garth goes on to add that, “some of god’s greatest gifts are unanswered prayers.”

Apparently one of god’s gifts is not the ability to avoid circular reasoning. We did not want Billie to drown. We prayed for god to intercede on Billie’s behalf. He did not. Therefore prayer does not work.[17]

---

[1] Why else would you begin to read this essay? Perhaps you started to read this essay because two days have passed since your birthday, and no one acknowledged your birthday. No one should have. By not acknowledging your birthday your friends have given you not just a gift, but the very best gift they can give you. The gift of awareness about the emptiness of life. (See footnote #2.)

[2] I have glossed over a very important part of the book here. In fact it is the crux of what we will be talking about later. I know that you are not interested in what I have to say yet, so I have to get the stuff that you are interested in out of the way even though it really is not as germane as you think it is.

[3] I know there is no need to instruct you on the silliness of a personal god. All I have to do is point out that Zeus is not real. Nobody prays to Zeus anymore. Speaking of praying, I have no idea why people pray, or light candles. Really! When the fuck did lighting a candle ever do anything? If you think that lighting a candle can do something other than increase your contribution to the alarming growth of green house gasses into the Earth’s atmosphere then you are fooling yourself. What you really believe in is magic. And that is sad. There is no such thing as magic. I know that saying that “there is no such thing as magic” seems like a big claim, and maybe it is. You might even want me to prove my claim. Well I am not gonna. And I think you are an asshole for suggesting to me that I should. By the way, if you believe in magic you can’t claim to be a deist. If you are not a Deist then I must put you in the same category as the monotheists, polygamists, and the crazy right wing creationists. A category I call “crazy folk.” If you still feel that I must address “the problem” of a personal god I suggest you go read Sam Harris.

[4] I hope you enjoyed the End of Faith.

[5] At least the dictionary says you should.

[6] Do I really need to suggest to you that you go and read Kant? If you don’t want to do the research for yourself then you HAVE to take my word for it. The ontological argument is an argument only an idiot could like.

[7] Personal communication with Card Shark.

[8] I still think Tony Romo is going to win me and the Dallas Cowboys at least 2 Super Bowls.

[9] If you like big words you might have used aesthetics.

[10] I suppose you don’t know who he is either. Einstein based some of his understanding of the god force on the pantheism of Spinoza, "I believe in Spinoza's God, who reveals himself in the lawful harmony of all that exists, but not in a God who concerns himself with the fate and the doings of mankind."

[11] There is a huge fight between Atheists and theists over Einstein. It seems everybody wants a piece of him.

[12] We could play a bunch of logic games here. If the world is ultimately incomprehensible (i.e. the thing in itself that is the force behind the apparent lawfulness of the universe) how could the world be comprehensible at all? We probably need to read more Kant.

[13] Interesting side note, Einstein’s religious thinking may have clouded his scientific mind to the point that he overlooked Quantum Mechanics and thus he avoided reconciling the new science with his theory of relativity ultimately dooming his quest for a theory of everything. A theory of everything could prove god does not exist (which would make this whole introduction parenthetical.)

[14] Who knew I was going to talk so much about candles?

[15] It’s nice to see a man sacrifice for his fellow brethren. But the simple fact remains there is no evidence that prayer works. None. A few studies have tried to prove the power of prayer. They all failed. Some of those experiments actually suggested that intercessory prayer actually harms.

[16] Just get a dictionary.

[17] To suggest that false outcomes are “proof positive” is to engage in classic case of circular reasoning. If you still don’t understand circular reasoning I am afraid you will need to take a course in logic. Once you complete the course you may continue to the next chapter. Don’t cheat and just keep reading. You really only cheat yourself when you do things like that. If you want more proof that prayer does not work you should check out: Why won’t god heal amputees?

I am a big tease

I don't have time to write about hanging out at my exgf's new bar. Or getting to meet her other baby daddy. Or how scary the bar is. Or how I accidentally went to a gay bar and watched a drag queen show. I will post it all tomorrow. Instead I will go to work. If I was making 100 dollars a day on the Internet business idea that Mrs. Card shark suggested I would be able to stay home and blog. Alas, I am off to to grocery hell.

Stop being nice. Women don't want dick, they want "dicks?"

I know you didn't notice anything different yesterday about the blog. But the fact is that I altered the blog. I made a "whole sale" change to the writing style you were used to. I wanted to write in more of a prose style and less of a bloggy confessional style. The change was supposed to help me in my vain and stupid dream of becoming a professional writer. I figured I can't keep writing in the same silly style of the drunken stepfather because he does it a lot better than me and because it has never gotten me the hits or fame it was supposed to.

What I wanted to do was work on my "craft." So that is why I wrote about sunlight and tried to add description to my normal blog stuff. From the underwhelming results I know that attempt (just like every thing else in my life)- was a big fat failure.

One person left a note that it was "interesting." My future wife thought it was good, but she also thought it was just like all my other stuff, so she really did not see what the big deal was that I was making about how I was going to make over the blog and become a writer. I guess that is because I suck at writing.

I also suck at getting girlfriends. I was hanging out with Card Shark and Mrs. Card Shark and Mrs. Card Shark said that I should just avoid trying to get with intelligent women because they will assume that I am beneath them. Then she asked how my love life was going.

I told her it was shit because I am sick of fucking hideously ugly women, sick of dating mental retards, and tired of getting involved with emotional basket cases.

"When I eliminate the women who are normally attracted to me i.e. the chubby, stupid, and drama queens. I really eliminate any possibility of being with someone. That is why I am alone right now because I would rather be alone than date the women I can get."

I also told her how I did not think it was fair that I had to date ugly chicks and she wondered if I had my standards to high. When I informed her that I thought about 60% of the female population was attractive she said, "the chicks that want you are hideously ugly?"

"Yes!" I replied. "They really are ugly. I mean...it is almost unfair that I have to have sex with the chicks that I have sex with. I see lots of guys that pool better ass than me that don't have jobs and are way uglier than me. But for whatever reason I just can't seem to attract or get nice girls or good looking ones. I am not asking for a supermodel. I just don't want to date someone 2 or 3 levels below my own mediocre status."

It seems that the Mrs. had assumed that I wanted a supermodel. I guess all women think men want a supermodel. But that is because women don't understand men even though we are really easy to understand. We all most always mean what we say. When we don't it is because we are lying and when we lie it is just to get in your pants. Men like sex. We can find a lot of different kinds of women sexy. And we just want a women who pretends to understand us and accept us for who we are. That ain't that difficult ladies.

When we are nice to you it is because we like you. When we like you we want to fuck you. Sure, sometimes we want to fuck other people when we want to fuck you. But you can blame God for that. What we really want is for you to cook dinner once or twice a week. Make our beds for us. Tell us when we are being seriously stupid. Sex 3 to 5 times a week. Plus the occasional affair if we promise not to get caught or rub your faces in it. We promise in return to remember your birthday and to buy you a dishwasher on our anniversary.

I know that does not sound like a fair tradeoff to you ladies, but the truth is men don't have a lot to offer women. At least most men don't. I guess that is why women choose the tall ones, or the good looking ones, or the rich ones. I don't blame you for that even though I know I tend to run my mouth a bit at you all. That's just because I am sick of the hypocrisy most women (and yes men) have. Women are always telling guys that they want a guy who can make them laugh or have a conversation with.

I tell you what. I am good at all that shit. I can show you I care in lots of little ways. I'll rub your back when it hurts. I will remember you are out of conditioner when I go to the store. And if you are in to my wacky world view I can keep you entertained for hours listening to the crazy stories and internal landscape that is my imagination.

But chicks don't really want that. Chicks are still grounded in their evolutionary history. Which is why chicks go for the bad guy. As Mrs. Card Shark put it, "Women want to know that a man can protect a woman even though we don't live in a world of bears and tigers trying to eat you. If a guy is kind of dick then you can imagine him beating up your enemies or saving you from a wild fire or whatever your insecurities are."

I guess what I learned from a Mrs. Shark is that if you are "nice" women don't see you as protective and being protective is one of the things women look for (if only unconsciously.)

She also said that I shouldn't ask a girl out by saying "we should hang out sometime" because that will get you in the friend zone. I thought I would pass on the knowledge I get from my female friends to all you homeless losers trying to get laid. I know none of this advice means much to any of you as most of you live in the basement of your parents homes and can't imagine anything more thrilling than a a fake blow job from a World of Warcraft prostitute even though the female character is mostly likely played by a dude. But really since when has that bothered you? Certainly not since the time when you were 8 and your mom caught you taping your penis together with your only friend's penis. I have no idea how your Mom managed to make it through that day, but I imagine it was with a lot of alcohol, so don't blame her weak kidneys on the drink, blame it on your homoerotic tendencies.

I still have a job. I still have this ingrown toe nail.

I guess I just wrote the title to my newest book. I still have a job. I still have this ingrown toe nail. I got some advice from a friend at work about how to deal with my ingrown toe nail. He suggested surgery, only with out a doctor and with me grabbing a cuticle cutter and clipping away at the nail. Then I am supposed to tear out the offending bit and yank it out with tweezers. He says whenever he went to the doctor that is what they did to him, so he decided to leave the high cost of private insurance and self medicate.

I for one am too chicken shit to try that. Though I did buy some cuticle cutters.

I still have my job. About an hour in I remembered that I don't particularly enjoy the job. Standing from 3 till midnight got my toe all yellow and nasty.

I went to Card Shark's house and we drank until 6 am. We finished off a 24 pack of Miller lite and a bottle of Martini & Rossi's Asti Spumante. That stuff if yummy. You can tell the difference between a 14 dollar bottle of sweet wine and a 7 dollar bottle of Balatore.

I am dehydrated. I have to work late again. I am supposed to go play poker after work. Maybe I can win enough money to go see a doctor about my toe.

Best Week Ever

I get suspended from Work!

I wanted to start the New Year off with a bang. I guess that is why I ended up getting suspended from work. I am off for the next three days. I bet you are wondering why such a good worker got suspended. If you are wondering then you don't pay any attention to what you read. I told you guys a while back that a check got lost while I was working at customer service.

I did not say I lost it. I have no idea what happened to the check. All I know is that when my boss reviewed the DVR tape she could not tell what happened to the check. I don't see how that is possible. I had the check. She saw me "frank" it. She just can't tell what I did with the check afterwards.

Personally I think that shit sounds suspect. You see clearly what is going on...then all of a sudden nothing is clear? I refuse to take responsibility for the things I know I do wrong. I have a real hard time coming to understand anything where neither party is sure what happened. But since my drawer was short over 200 dollars because of the missing check I get a 3 day suspension.

Suspensions in the retail industry are nothing to worry about. Normally that is. I got suspended for having 4 tardies last year. It is just how the grocery business works. Personally, I think it kind of stupid. But that is just my take on things.

The only thing about it is that a friend at work (the dude who wants to go 4 wheeling) told me how every single 3 day suspension he has ever seen has ended with a person getting fired. That freaked me out a little obviously, because I don't make a dime off this website despite the fact that you won't find the kind of entertainment you find here anywhere else in the world. I mean I podcasts, TV for the Internet, my radio station, 3 blogs. I give and I give to you people. I get nothing but the occasional comment about how brilliant I am and usually that is enough to keep me going. Of course if I lose my job I will be homeless for real, because I am sure Card Shark's wife won't want to give up the spare bedroom to rescue a homeless bum.

I can't say I blame her as bums stink and use a lot of toilet paper as they are not used to being able to wipe their ass and whenever you let a homeless person inside to use your "facilities" expect them to steal all your toilet paper and aspirin. Even if the the homeless person is really just some under age post hippie "Mill Rat" which is a term we use around here for young white people who purposefully live on the street or take to wearing the same clothes everyday and begging for change in downtown Tempe. Some guy wrote an online book about a mill ave rat who is some kind of super hero. You can read it here.

My Ingrown Toe still hurts. I get accosted in a bathroom. I get hit on by a chick. I get cock blocked by the X-man.

I think it has been a week now but my ingrown toe still hurts. It is still infected. Luckily I added a bump to the head to even things out. I was in the bathroom stall at Casey Moore's when the door flew open and hit me in the head. If you know Casey Moore's then you know that the door is made of god damn steel and you know the place is supposed to be inhabited by a ghost. Do the math.

I still got hit on by chick when we checked out the Time Out bar. The TimeOut bar is a hipster heaven. My friends and I were the only people in the bar without makeup, tattoos, or body piercings. I guess we are original like that.

We played pool. Me, X-Man, and his brother. His brother looks a lot like Jesus. I always suggest that Jesus start a cult. He never wants to.

I was checking my email while the brothers played pool. Some girl walks over to me and gets in my personal space. She tells me, "Whatever you are looking at must be interesting." I guess she feels that being in hipster heaven is good enough for her. But looking at a bunch of posers and wanna be's gets boring and my friends can't play pool for shit. It's actually kinda embarrassing how bad we are at pool. And anyway sometimes I get e-mail that tells me how great a writer I am and I love getting that e-mail more than I love hooking up with fat bitches, and y'all know I live to hook up with fat chicks.

This girl is skinny though. She has bleached hair. She is drunk out of her mind. She wants to know if my e-mail is for work. I wonder how many people at hipster dive bar have blackberries that go off on the half hour reminding them to get that graphic design in before the deadline or their shit is canned. "I think all hipsters are graphic designers." I tell her. I am full of theories.

The e-mail is a notification from YouTube that someone has subscribed to my YouTube videos. I am fucking shocked by that. I had no idea anyone ever watched those. I was happy. She wanted to see my video so I showed her the video of the crazy talking pencil who is "not thinking about vagina!" She could not hear the video over the crowd noise and my on the spot impression voice over did not make her laugh.

COCKBLOCKERY

Just as I am closing the video the X man walks over. He is having issues since he has not gotten laid much. He starts fights now in Scottsdale. He introduces himself and gets the name of the chick. Aurora. "Like the car." Thankfully, I keep that thought to myself. I run out of beer and decide to get another beer. I thought I was making a point for me and the chick to go get a beer and get a away from X. She is too drunk for subtlety. She walks off. I get a beer and X man gets a phone number. He asked and she handed out the digits like they were free or something.

X defends his thugishness in the car. He calls me a pussy. He say it took him only 10 seconds to get the digits. I remind him that she walked up to me and that he was not a good wing man. A good wing man does not swoop down and prey on the drunk and weak. He works to get his "boy" laid. X just wants to talk about how is going to end up killing people at McDonald's if he can't get laid. I tell him about She Male prostitutes on Van Buren. For 10 dollars they can take care of that problem. "But that chick was hot!"

"That ain't no defense, man." I tell him. "So you are a good friend and wing man unless the chick is hot?"

We get more beer and head back to my place. Jesus calls his go go dancing girlfriend. Her name is Sara and she wears boots that look like the are made of fur. She looks cute and she enjoys drinking bottles of my Balatore Rose Champagne. We play 3 man (the dice game).

Sara makes a rule after rolling three doubles. Anytime a player rolls a 6 they have to drink 6 shots. That rule is fucked up. We are getting hammered now.

After a few hours I kick aside the music of hip hop that my gangster friends like. Then I make a discovery of EPIC PROPORTIONS. Sara LOVES my favorite rock band of ALL TIME. Sara loves UFO!

I think I just met my dream girl. A go-go dancer who drinks bottles of Cheap champagne and loves UFO. "This girls is awesome!" I exclaim to Jesus. "Marry this girl! Right now!" I demand. I don't think Jesus wants to marry her. Jesus hates 70's music. I see myself in 5 years married to Sara with our kids being second generation UFO fans. The idea makes me want to cry. "I love Sara." I tell Jesus. "I can believe I met a girl that likes UFO." Neither of my friends can believe it either. Jesus wants to dump Sara just because she likes UFO. But first he takes her back to her place, or more likely she takes him back to her place. I bet they are going home to fuck. Even though Jesus won't marry her. Even though Jesus hates UFO.

GOD MUST BE PUNISHING ME

Since God is punishing me I have decided to go CHURCH. Tuesday I will attend the services of Bob Larson. Bob is a demon chaser. Bob performs exorcism. I new a guy who worked with me that now works for Bob. That shit is crazy. I plan on taking a few friends down and checking it out. I plan a post tomorrow. I have posted some videos about BOB (his TV show on the SCIfi Network over at Bathos.

A very DaVid MaMet Christmas

I had one of those dreams where I pretend I am in a David Mamet play.

"I don't understand a lot of things. Like what the inventor of the S.O.S. pad was thinking?" Who would do that? Why invent a product that rusts when placed in water when the product is designed to be immersed in water? "And yet we are told that the S.O.S. pad is an icon of Americana. No wonder we suck."

That dialogue wasn't in the dream. The problem is I don't remember much of the dialogue in the dream anymore.

"you don't remember?"

I don't remember. I can't remember if what I am...

"remembering"

Yes. Remembering.

"continue"

If what I am remembering is really remembering now or if what I remembering is something different.

I am sure it is different. It had something to do with not knowing stuff, and how the stuff we don't know is not important. I think it was just some clever word play that really meant nothing. But if I remember something about it I remember that I liked the way the dream wrapped everything up with a pun/zinger at the end. I remember thinking I was clever and I should get up right away and write it down.

I remember I added the the S.O.S. thing as just some random aside and that the S.O.S. thing was a less polished joke. It was more of a "what the fuck good is an rusty pad of wool?"

I was going to add pictures of the rusting S.O.S. pad sitting in my sink, but I figured that only I care about the S.O.S. pad and you will just see a picture of a rusty worn out piece of steel wool and think I am a dirty person who never cleans his sink, so I threw away the steel wool and I cleaned my sink because the last thing I need is you judging me for keeping a dirty kitchen even if I keep a dirty kitchen. I mean I may keep a dirty kitchen, but I always clean up before company comes over, so in fact if you were to ever become a guest at my house, you would just assume that I always keep the dished clean and my sinks washed and my stove tops clean so you would never be able to judge me for that.

Sure you would judge me for all the other things I do. Like my hypochondria. How I worry after eating an chewable antacid with acid reducer that the pill will clog in my throat and inflame my swollen lymph nodes and cause my airway to constrict enough to make it difficult to swallow and difficult to breathe, but not so much that I need to call a doctor. But that doesn't make me paranoid. It only makes me a hero. A silent sufferer. A martyr like Jesus. Though I guess this is the season for Martyrdom.

Like how my Mom is suffering in silence and refusing to speak to me because I couldn't get the time off from work or save the money to go and see her get married even though I managed to finagle a way off work to see Card Shark's wedding and even payed the money for a Tuxedo which is about the cost of a one way ticket to see my Mom on SouthWest Airlines. I guess I should be ashamed, and the fact that my mom forgot my birthday and forgot to wish me a Merry Christmas or even send me a card should just be my punishment.

But I thought my punishment was having to watch a movie on Christmas Day by myself and when I tried to strike up a conversation with the "refreshment guy" about his poor luck having to work on Christmas and then getting all snubbed by a 19 year old dude with acne "making time and a half" thinking it was too pitiful to have to speak to me that he turned his back on me and pretended to start filling popcorn buckets even though there was not a person in line behind me and I had not ordered any popcorn.

I don't buy expesive popcorn at the dollar theaters. Instead my snack consisted of the warm M&M's I snuck hidden in my pockets with. I decided to sneak in the candy that I picked up from the Walgreen's that I visited for an hour before the movie started. I walked around and looked at all the Christmas sales and the various drug store items that Walgreen's has. I talked to a young lady that looked over at me with pity which I mistook as interest until she asked me if, "40 year old men are supposed to wear T-shirts over thermal underwear?"

I think she must have been in her high school fashion club or something because she had on light blue eye shadow. I was 3 p.m. but she still had on pj's and slippers. Her face was painted colorfully even though she had just woken up for the day. She had a fake fur lined coat and her hair was intricately laced in a upswing hair do that takes hours to make it appear like she only spends a few minutes on. She did casual with flair. My look says, "I do casual with sweat pants!"

We started talking after I asked her where the hemorrhoid medicine was. I think she noticed that I carried around with me a bottle of douche-for-ass-cleaning. I told her I was a male model. I don't think she believed me until I told her I was in gay porn. "Butt I am straight." I told her. "The money is way better for men in gay porn." I could tell she knew that because she cocked her head at me with one of those "I am so way hip I know about the pay rate structures for male porn performers." Like she had some kind of Excel spreadsheet on her palm pilot highlighting the gay/straight pay differentials. Maybe she did. She seemed knowledgeable.



Even though she was pretty smart I think she missed out on the opportunity I gave her to indulge in a post-modern witty tête-à-tête. At first I think she pretended to not know who Priscilla Lane was just to keep from bonding with me.

"The Lane Sisters?" I beamed my phazers at her. "They were a sister group that sung patriotic songs." I explained.

"Star of the 1942 Alfred Hitchcock movie Saboteur?" I added.

"Surely you jest." Was her reply. I should have known that a girl her age would have no clue who Alfred Hitchcock was. She was probably thinking I was making some kind of grotesque penis joke.

"Ask your grandmother." It was the only thing I could think of to respond. I was demure now. I was having no fun. I placed the Ass Douche on the counter.

"My grandmother is Priscilla Lane." She finally confided in me.

I told the girl that Ms. Lane was, "Britney Spears before Britney Spears was Britney Spears."


"She was married for a day. Then she had the marriage annulled. I've seen photos of her in bare midriff bent over a chair."

"That's kinda slutty." My new friend acknowledged. I agreed. "But hot. Your Grandma was hot." After a long pause in our conversation I used my last bit of Priscilla Lane trivia on the girl pretending to be Ms. Lane's grand daughter. "Prisiclla died in 1995." I told her.

"Oh."

I guess talking to young people about death is boring. Old people love to talk to about death.

"Did I say that outloud?"

"Yes."

"I did not mean to say that outloud. Also, I did not mean to say that 'I did not mean to say that outloud' as I assume you are smart enough to realize when I ask you if I said 'something outloud' that I in fact did not mean to 'say it outloud'."

"I guess for some reason you are just saying things outloud that you wished you had not said aloud."

"Indeed."

I get ready for the gayest log cabin bachelor party ever

I thought I'd post another picture of Turtle and the girl that plays Meadow on the Sopranos. I guess they are still going out which ought to give me hope. If a guy like that can nail a broad like that, maybe I am not going to die alone after all.

If you have ever wondered what I look like, I look a lot like Turtle.I am short and chubby. Only I hate most rap music, and I have never worn my baseball cap sideways. Also, I don't think white shoes are a fashion statement. Despite his love of white tennis shoes, the man clearly has good taste. Turtle is also the kind of guy that gets what he wants out of life. Turtle is not like me. He is not willing to settle for what he should get out of life. I mean a guy with no discernible talent, small stature, and odd facial hair out to earning 10 dollars an hour, and trying to save his money so he can get online at E-harmony in the hopes of banging a few overweight divorcee's.

Speaking of overweight people with facial hair, I am going to a bachelor party in Northern Arizona. I won't tell you the city because card shark is worried that one of you stalkers will try and meet us there. All I can tell you is that there is only one strip club in this town and I think Turtle is probably better looking than most of the women in it.

It looks like Card Shark is going through with this whole I am getting married thing and that makes me the last 'hold out' among my friends in the "let's get remarried" idea. I know you are going to say, "what about the fro?" But let's face it that guy has no chance of getting married...ever.

I plan on taking a few pictures, if I am not too drunk for an early morning hike. I have to work today until 8 tonight, and I have to work tomorrow at 6 pm so my time at the log cabin bachelor party [that's not gay is it?] will be short.

Just remember. I am not gay. I am Turtle. I don't get chicks, because I hold out for hot chicks like Turtle, and Turtle has convinced me that if I hold out long enough, I can date me a hot Italian girl from Jersey. Until then I will put up with the gay jokes about how I have not had sex in 4 years, how I blush when Kyle the singing cashier hugs me, and all the random gay dudes who want me to help them pick out parsnips in the produce section of the grocery store.

Because one day I will be the one laughing. At that day is coming soon.

It's been two days since my birthday and I am still hungover. I am contemplating deleting all my useless friends at myspace because none of them sent me a happy birthday wish even though whenever they sign in to myspace they get a message that tells them about upcoming birthdays so there is really no reason for them not to say happy birthday.

My eyes are bloodshot red. They look awful like I've sold my soul to the devil. Scary. Super AIDS style.

My landlord woke me up at 1130 this morning to give me notice that rent is going up 100 dollars a month. Now is the time to get this blog so huge that it could pay the bills. But in reality I am looking for a second job. After Card Shark's wedding and bachelor party and stuff are done I will hit the ground running and that means I won't be posting much other than stuff like this where I am typing with 13 minutes before I need to shower.

My toilet looks like a gremlin exploded in it. I threw up late on my birthday when X's brother forced me to drink shots. My liver is shot. My back hurts which means I am doing damage to the liver (or what's left of it.)

My house smells wet and it is 71 degrees inside. I left the door unlocked and the windows open. I left the patio glass door cracked when I fell asleep.

I ate and watched netflix and texted all day yesterday. I was too ill to blog or read your blogs. I read them all today. But I hate google reader because I am too lazy to post comments because of all the extra clicking that is required. I don't have much for you today. Sorry folks.

Cooking With Romius T. A Banana Pudding recipe so good that it will make your relatives forget that you are a failure.

I made banana pudding.

Recipe:

I box of instant jello brand banana pudding.
I bag of generic "nilla wafers."
2 over riped bananas.
3 green bananas.
3 egg yolks (grade b medium brown eggs)
1 splash of artificial vanilla flavoring.
3 cups of non fat milk.

Directions:

Watch Card Shark play poker until 3 am.

At 4 am

Boil pudding mix and milk and egg yolk. Reminisce to yourself about the time you made the funniest joke of your life that had something to do with the color of egg yolks and a guys shirt.

Pour ingredients into pan and throw in bananas and cookies. Chill overnight. Drive and hour to relatives house. Watch as no one tries it. Go home and cry yourself to sleep.

(more pictures on the way)

I poop 4 times and I review the Pita Grill where I meet an ethnically ambiguous hottie who serves me feta cheese

I just took my third shit today. My first shit was kinda brown and kinda solid. The second shit was yellow or clay. It was soft and mushy. The third shit was green and runny.

Children do not develop an immune system for the first few years of life so parents are constantly seeing the kind of mess in dirty diapers I am seeing in the toilet these days so they would probably not be alarmed the way I am about the condition of my bowel movements. I worry because I assume the only reason I shit like an infant is because I have AIDS and the AIDS has so fucked my immune system that the fact that I drink a little ice tea with hibiscus makes me shit weak, runny and green. I feel like I am Kermit the frog in his last days, getting high with the King of Rock and Roll and ready to die face down in the commode.

I know every one wants to dissect what I am eating so I will use that as an excuse to give you my review of the Pita Grill.* Also I only eat chocolate gram crackers, herbal and decaf ice tea, and fast food.

*It should be noted that I shat before eating at the Pita Grill. The Pita Grill is in no way to blame for my weak or discolored bowel movements.

I loaned my truck out to a friend of Card Shark's. She needed to move furniture. She was also a good hour late getting the truck back to me at work so I had to stick around work for an additional hour waiting for her to return so I could get home.

I guess she felt guilty about taking so long to pick me up because she palmed me 10 dollars which I would not have accepted, but I was not paying attention to what she gave me, and after I took the money it felt weird to give it back, and there the whole thing about me siting around waiting on her for a good hour, and her good manners would have required her to take me to lunch or dinner, and the 10 dollars would have been about what she would have had to pay, and accepting the money was a lot easier than coming up with an hour of uncomfortable small talk at lunch which would have turned devolved into a one hour gab fest about Card Shark because he is about the only thing we have in common.

Frankly, I couldn't stomach the idea of talking about Card Shark for a full hour as the time I spend with Card Shark we spend talking about him, and if there is anything that you need to know about a guy with 4 blogs and two podcast and a u-tube channel is that this is all about me baby.

P.S.

I think I am going to shit again soon. Also, Yahoo Radio is fucking up again and not playing commercials!

Oh, yeah. I was getting to the part where I talk about the food I ate today and review the Pita Grill. I decided to eat out because I had an extra 10 dollars in my pockets.

The pita grill is in located in a strip mall next to ASU. The decor on the outside is pretty typical. Inside the place is pretty cool. There is ample seating. The furniture is shiny and black. An ethnically ambiguous girl is surfing the web and sipping a diet coke through a straw. The sound system is piping in Middle Eastern music. The "middle eastern" music sounds a lot like Indian music. But not the annoying kind of Indian music you hear in Bollywood movies. Calm, sedate stuff without all the odd vocalizations.



I stepped up to the counter to place my order. I told Ambiguously Ethnic Girl that, "This is my first time here." She pointed to pictures on the wall and told me there are pictures of the food on the wall. Now I know how really stupid foreigners think Americans are.

I tried to impress the girl with me knowledge of food by ordering a gyro pita with feta. When I ordered fries as my side she gave me a look of disgust. I guess foreigners aren't taught to hold in their contempt for the crassness of their patrons.

While my server took my order I played a game where I tried to determine the woman's ethnicity. I thought she might be a Greek, because she had long curly hair.*

*Did I mention I like long dark curly hair?

She also looked middle eastern; or moreover, the possible family members who worked with her looked middle eastern, and by middle eastern I assume Persian for no reason other than I know Persians come from Iran, and I was hoping I could somehow work that knowledge into the conversation without it looking to obvious. I never did. And I never got over the compulsion to blurt out that Persians are from Iran.

The food is quite good. I paid $4.99 for the Gyro Pita and $2.50 to make it a combo with fries and a drink. The fries are the only disappointment which is not surprising as this is not an American Diner, but a middle eastern food joint. The fries are skinny and come with a dusting of seasoning. I hate seasoned fries in general, so maybe if you like seasoned fries you would find the fries acceptable. The ice tea I drank had a hint of peach.

The gyro was good. The lamb and beef was tender and fresh. I added the hot sauce to it and a side of feta. My server smiled at me when she packaged the food to go and then placed it in the to go bag for me even though I ordered the food to eat in.

My food bill came to $8.10. I remember thinking the girl jipped me on change which got me to thinking she might be Jewish after all. But after I got home I saw that I had $1.90 in change, so maybe she is just Persian.

I was slightly irritated by the girl. She did not like to answer any of my questions, but that may have been because English was not her first language. When I first entered the store I heard her and her compatriots conversing in a language I could not determine.

She wore the strange track suit that Europeans think is appropriate for every day wear. Her lime green shoes did not match. I remember I couldn't understand anything she said unless she repeated it to me and was looking right at me so I could read her lips.

She sat down at at a table to eat a snack half way through my meal. She looked skinny behind the counter but I noticed a small pooch around her middle from my new vantage point. Nothing bad. She just wasn't super tight like a swimmer or an athlete. She had some good female fat.

My cell phone was beeping throughout the meal as I was texting the Ex IGF and Leslie. The only other diners where a nice college couple. The guy ordered food and the girl watched him eat. I liked that this guy did not pay for a meal for her.

College girl had short brown hair. She smiled at me. I think she was glad I was there because we were in on the little secret that this place served decent food. Maybe she was imagining that I could be her boyfriend, because her current boyfriend took her to places like this and she had to notice how my cell phone was blowing up, so obviously even though it was a Friday night at 10:30 and I didn't have a date, I was a guy with friends who couldn't stand to be out of touch.

The college girl looked back at me a lot during my meal. Maybe thinking I would buy her some baklava. It would be her first time trying it, and I could talk to her about all the nuts in the dessert and how they firm up her bowel movements. She would probably laugh at the inappropriateness of the conversation and marvel at how at ease I was with her. She would swear off men her age for the maturity to be found in my graying goatee.

The college boy got up and the college girl left with him. I guess all the stuff we shared meant nothing to her. Girls are like that though. I'm cool with it.

I'm at home now and I am eating cookies. I have 4 cookies left. I am going to eat them all. I have to go for a Tux fitting in the morning, and I want to be able to eat a little before the wedding.

One last thing. I just posted a new Fan Letter to Steve Nash's Wife over at Bathos for the Misanthropic. Quit making me tell you that. Add Bathos to your blog reader.

I end the long conversation over the bra found in my courtyard so I can get back to blogging

I don't have a phone. I am waiting on the FED EX guy to deliver my new cell phone. In the meantime, I must have pissed off my old phone carrier. They shut my pay-as-you-go phone down even though I have like 20 dollars left in the account. I guess I won't get that money back, but I will get to keep my old phone number which is really convenient for you if you are an ex stalker g/f of mine, or you met me on the internet and talked me into giving you my phone number.

I've been real busy this week. I attended a high school play put on by one of my co-workers. She promoted the The Miss Firecracker Contest at work by leaving posters by the time clock and by telling anyone who would listen that she was in a play. I guess she hoped that people at work would want to support her and the local high school by attending the play and shelling out the $3 for admission.


She would be wrong. No one cared and no one went to see her play other than me and two other dudes from work. One of the guys who went is a nice guy, but "Dairy Guy" and me are just perverts and the only reason I went to see the play was that I heard it was a bit "racy" for a high school play.

The play was Saturday night and I was tired after getting off work at 6:45. The play started in under an hour and I barely had time to go home and change out of my work uniform and make it back to the play. I considered blowing the whole thing off, but since I am a man of my word (I so seldom give it out is the only reason you cannot call me a flake) I decided to go ahead and attend.I felt good about myself on the drive over to my old Alma Matter. I told a person they could count on me showing up and then I went ahead and showed up. I was not just some lame 30 year old with no money and no future. I was a person you could count on.

Once I got to the play I was more than pleased with myself for being responsible. Only a few people attended the play. I counted almost no parents in the audience. Just a few friends of the people who were actually in the play. The play had only 6 cast members so you can see that the audience was quite tiny.

The lead actress in the play quite good. She has the dramatic over sell that is needed on the stage. My only complaint is that I am going deaf and I could not hear some of the lines. Only the featured actress really managed to project her voice. The rest of the cast forgot that they were not miked up. I should mention that the acting is way better than the acting in the video that I found and tried to embed on this post.

The play features several cuss words. The main character talks about how she slept around and got syphilis. The play also features several on stage costume changes that the hebophile in me really appreciated. I was in jail bait heaven.

The actress was very good looking and if I did not mention it before I should have. The lead actress has a firm dancers body. She wore high heels and dresses throughout the performance. The dresses hung on her the way a dress is supposed to hang on a women. There is a reason men design dresses for a certain body type. When you see the way a dress can hang on a young tight body in heels, you realize those designers are creating art. I now understand why most designers seethe with anger when asked to make a size 12 flatter.

I should mention the camel toe because the lead actress had to wear spandex and leotards for the first 2 scenes of the play. I should also mention that someone should teach teen girls how to sit and maneuver on stage in a dress because if you go all Britney Spears and flash your panties I can't be expected to look away even if the mother of said actresses are seated behind me and find my constant squinting and seat changes to be "noticeably without decorum." Fuck you. I paid my three dollars, and I am going to get my monies worth.


I wanted to let you to know that I am done talking to the X-Man about the bra he found in the courtyard of my condo.

I promise there is a connection to the first part of this story and the second part about the bra.

Like I said, I don't have a phone (here is the connection) right now. I guess Card Shark and the X-Man decided they wanted to hang out with me on Saturday. Since my phone is turned off they thought I was being an asshole by not calling them back. I was just busy watching a play and not having cell phone service.

After the play I went home and got online and read a few blogs. I did not have much time to read or blog (much less look at porn) before I heard a knock at the door. My two funny friends covered up the peep hole because they are seriously funny. I have no idea why they think that could fool me. The only people who cover the peep hole are cops and your drunk friends.

My friends showed up with Tecate and we started drinking beer. We went to the college bar where I drink alone at. I was hoping some of the staff would remember me and remember in the future when I sit alone at the bar that I have friends and I am not some kind of weirdo who should be avoided, but instead they should try and set me up with some of the hotties that frequent the bar.

We sat outside so Card Shark could smoke. I sat in the one chair that had no view of the action going on. I got pissed at myself for "always fucking myself" by sitting at the seat without a clear view of the action. Instead of sitting miserably with no view I got up and sat directly opposite of where I was sitting. I looked over a table full of college girls and spoke. "Don't worry, I just came to look. I won't bother you."

I think the girls were relieved.

We got treated to some full on XMAN with his XMAN craziness. He did his now world famous "I am staring at you in the face with as much intensity as I can to denote to you my truthful seriousness of the matter that I am speaking to you about."
I told x that he had all the seriousness of an infomercial and that the reason he fell for cults all the time was that he actually was serious and that he really believed all the crazy stuff he says and he agreed with me that his entire ideology was that of a self help guru infomercial. I thought I won the point on that debate but X just sat back smugly in his chair with an air of satisfaction.

Before 2 am I went to buy beer at the local gas station. We marched back to the condo prepared to drink till dawn and pass out at teh condo. The gang decided not to drink and drive because between us we have 5 D.U.I. convictions. "My friends have so grown up," I thought.

That was until Jesus showed up. Jesus is the x_man's brother. He got off work and called to ask if he could come over. When he showed up at the condo he carried with him a bra.

The bra was black. It belonged to the Victoria's Secret collection. Jesus smelled the bra several times in front of us. He said he could not ascertain whether the bra was new or not. He said he could not smell any body odor or perfume on the bra. What followed was like a transcript from one of those CSI programs that all you watch. We looked over the bra's size and determined the cup status. Double A.

"That means she had small tits." Jesus offered.

"And the cups have padding, so obviously this girl is trying to fool potential mates about he size of her breasts."

I am not proud of that observation, but I made it. And I report it to you because that is what I do. I report facts. YOU decide.

A number of explanations were offered forth on why a bra would be lying in the courtyard of the condo. Maybe a couple was going "at it" and forgot to retrieve the bra after an amorous encounter. I suggested that the bra fell out of a bag because it smelled like acetate and not people. In addition, the bra had the remnants of a plastic tag on it.

Jesus pronounced that, "No woman would wear a bra with a tag, it would be to uncomfortable!" I heartily seconded the point and it was soon agreed by all that the bra's owner had never worn the object. Once we decided that the bra had never touched a woman's skin (leaving in our opinion the distinctively likely explanation that the bra belonged to a blow up doll) we had our fill with the days events and called it a night.