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 list all my aches. I daydream about pregnant chicks.

My liver is dying again. I took the brightest green shit of my life today. Christmas tree green.

I'd go to the doctor, but I worry that they will discover something wrong with me, and then I will be stuck in this cashiering job for the rest of my life, because once you get diagnosed with a disease you can't change jobs and get health care.

Me legs are cramping out on me. My feet hurt and of course my back is going out. I make it through the day by swallowing ibuprofen and guzzling soda. If I have enough caffeine I can get through anything even the liver damage that ibuprofen causes. Of course ibuprofen and soda cause my acid reflux to act up and so I have to take Pepcid Complete to block all the unwanted acid. I am sure Pepcid causes liver disease too.

My bowel movement was almost magical. It was so green. I would have thought it beautiful. If it was not full of cancer.

I notice all of you are pregnant.

Yesterday the store was full of pregnant women. Most are attractive young women with "starter" baby bumps. I seen these girls come in the store for two years now. Sometimes they flirt with me. They always smile at me when I hand them their receipt. Today I noticed how a third of them have gotten knocked up.

First time pregnant women are a hoot. They walk around the giant refrigerators with a mocking smile. They stare out at space and seem lost. Absent minded they rub their growing bellies. They look for reassurance everywhere.

I live in the ghetto so none of the women are married. Most of the girls have boyfriends they would have broken up with 5 months ago, but now they have to cling to the idea that they found the right guy.

The boyfriends tend to push the grocery carts without enthusiasm. One wants to buy frozen pizzas. Another tries to use food stamps to buy energy drinks and 40 ounce beer in tall aluminum cans.

Mostly the boyfriends feel trapped. They are mice caught nibbling cheese. Now they are wondering if the cat is on her way. They are wondering if it is better to gnaw off their tails than to wait for the agonizing death that stalks them.

So many of the pregnant girls are college girls. Going to ASU. Getting drunk and fucking all the boys they want.

One sweet girl is buying a pretty pink bottle of vodka. Her belly pops out of her tank top shirt. She is wearing booty shorts from the 1970's. The shorts have purple lined stitching. It almost looks like she only has a pot belly from drinking. But her belly is hard. Her hair is soft and oily.

I know the signs.

I wonder if she knows she can't drink anymore? I bet she is in the horny stage of pregnancy. I think she is buying the vodka for a cookout. She is probably enjoying staying at home with her live-in- boyfriend who decided not to go back to Pennsylvania for the summer. They rented a house with a pool and a few roommates from Marketing class.

The boyfriend drinks at home and grills steaks and the little girl is enjoying this playtime of domesticity. She still hasn't told her parents and they still live off of his dad's credit cards.

The girl wears a lot of make up but does not look slutty. She just looks happy and you wonder about her sanity. In a few months the dreariness of being pregnant will come at her. Her boyfriend will look for an apartment "closer to school" and I will see her in line at the food stamp office.

I will offer her a listen to my i-pod on the bus ride back to the ghetto. I bought a headphone splitter just for the occasion. She puts on the headphones just to drown out the chattering and crying of her baby for a minute.

She hates my music, but she thanks me anyway. She is a people pleaser. She makes funny faces at her baby. She gives me a look out of the corner of her eye. Waiting to see my reaction. If I pass her test she will talk to me more. Maybe ask me about my life.

The summer day is hot and we both stir around trying to get unstuck from the plastic seats. Every time the bus door opens we get a heat blast from the furnace outside. The bus rolls back and forth and knocks down the stroller she is carrying. I bend down to pick it up and she thanks me as I pop one headphone out of my ear just in time to hear her say "anks."

"Your welcome." I mouth to her as she fusses with her child. Trying to situate him on her lap.

A computerized voice announces my stop. I pull the wire to let the driver know to slow down. I hop off the bus and give one look back. The girl looks tired, but not beat down. She has stacks of W.I.C. checks pushing out of a dirty manila folder. Her flip flops barely touch the floor of the bus, and she waves at me underneath a nursing blanket that doubles as a sun shield.

I wave back at her. And hop off the bus.

The Self Help Guide to Posting Porn Requests on the Internet

When a pregnant woman stops you on the street to tell you about pregnant horse porn I think you naturally assume that she must be talking about a couple of horses "fucking" and one of them is pregnant.

I doubt you'd think she was talking about her desire to have sex with a horse while being pregnant.

But if a sicko like that stopped you in the street I bet you could impress on them the knowledge of their social faux pas with a simple raise of your eyebrows.

But what if "that person on the street" was actually an anonymous poster on the Internet?

How would you scold that person for their inappropriate behavior?

A flame war?

And who you hold responsible when all you have to blame is the lawless community of anonymous internet geeks who refuse to learn even the basics of human interaction.

Something has gone terribly wrong here.

I want to remind you to be careful when opening the responses you get from the fetish requests you make on the internet, because after you click on the link that the creepy internet nerd sent, you may never be turned on by pregnant chicks again. And that would be terrible thing!

It is relevant to your interests.

I know the anonymous internet poster just wanted to help a fellow fetishist out. But posters should take more care when answering requests they get in cyberspace.

And if you are an internet responder and you fuck up... just admit it. Apologize. Don't flame me back with the old Internet adage "it is relevant to your interests."

That's just not the appropriate response to a situation that requires you to apologize.

You guys have no idea how to handle social situations.

I know all you anonymous posters on 4chan hate rules. And I know that flaming back one of those super geek fetish porn addicts who befriends you by offering you free porn can be risky. That's why I am telling the community at large how to behave and not him.

He would probably just hack into my computer and download all kinds of illegal stuff into it and then call the cops on me.

We live in age of entitlement that sickens me.

Instead I had to tell him thank-you:

"Thanks for sending me that link to the pregnant women fucking horse fetish website. Because I really wanted to know just how specific people feel they can be in this age of over the Internet porn."

That guy still owes me an apology. Horses fucking pregnant chicks is not "relevant to my interests." I mean... not that horses fucking gets me off either.

I like to watch pregnant chicks fucking. Maybe they could be sisters from Japan wearing bright navy blue school girl outfits sucking off horses.

I mean except for the horses part. I like PONIES not HORSES you FREAKS!

MOAR
BUMP
LOL

p.s.
I guess I could have linked to the webpage, but that would make it weird for us.

Wouldn't it?

I do less all day than you do before 9 am.

I have no hope.

Without hope I don't have to worry about getting depressed. Depressed people are always looking out at the world with expectations and getting only reality to stare back at them. Reality has a way of kicking you in the ass. Reality is a hundred and twelve degree day in Phoenix. Sweat pouring down your balls. Your asshole so smelly it could kill a turtle.

Walking the curbs.

Walking the sidewalks in this town is always an adventure. And I don't mean the homeless people. It's easy to ignore the homeless when you drive around town in your air conditioned cars.

Waiting at the bus stop with them is a different story.

Homeless people always ask me for money. I bet we have that in common. Talking about shared experiences passes for funny. Ask Dane Cook. Not that I have anything against Dane Cook. He is very likable.

Anytime a homeless person asks me for money I always tell them, "I was just about to ask you for some." Then I tell them I need the money to get to work.

"I just need a few bucks for the bus."

I figure if I get to work I won't be homeless.

"What the world needs is fewer homeless people. Since you are already homeless you might as well give me the money and keep me from getting fired which will allow me to keep my apartment and not be homeless which will not add to the suffering of the world."

Never argue philosophy with the homeless.

All homeless people have PhD's in Philosophy. They will quote you guys from 300 years ago you have only heard of.

Eventually you will agree with whatever homeless guy has said and give him a dollar so you can put on your headphones and jack up the volume to UFO's "Youngblood."



"That's an easy-going hard rocking song with caustic lyrics."

I think the description of this song from the YouTube submitter is right on.

If you wondered why I posted a picture of Miley Cyrus in a bikini it's because my posting a picture of her in stockings blew my stats up by 100 hits a day. I like all the hits I get even though the hits represent a few hundred perverts who click on the site for 3 seconds to view the photo.

At least with my stats rocking out like this I can get up for writing in the blog. And since so many of you wait by the computer for my posts all these Miley Cyrus pictures benefit you too. I mean I know I still have only 14 followers which means that most of you who read me don't have gmail or are too embarrassed to place your profile on my blog. I am not sure I can blame you. But I sure could use more followers.

Miley Cyrus looked pretty good in that bikini.

I figure I have to get around about writing about Slacker Anger. Only thing is that writing sometimes allows the anger to dissipate into the background cosmic radiation that sat around in the universe for 15 billion years before we came around and designed experiments to appreciate it.

The Boston Globe wrote about Slackers. How we downsized life. And how our downsized lives made us recession proof. I wrote about that the other day. But of course I am always a few steps ahead of the mainstream. That's why you read this blog. I'm always a few steps ahead of you.

Like I know how that song rocks....

You make me want to be a better blogger

I can't think of anything to write about. I am blocked. Either that or I am too embarrassed to put out the stuff that normally "qualifies" to get published on this site.

But I got an e-mail from my one daily reader urging me to write anything and I listened. I get a lot of advice from readers of this blog, and I always listen to it which is ironic since the title of this blog is the Self Help Center which I think means that I am supposed to be offering you advice.

I've had this idea for a while that I should write a "how to" on how to survive the recession.

i WRITE a HALF-HEARTED hOW tO sURVIVE tHE rECESSION

So I guess this is the worst recession since 1982 when Ronald reagan was in office. I was around then too and my family made it by having 16 family members live in a two bedroom apartment. Sure the food stamps ran out quickly and several of us got Hepatitis, but that never stopped my parents from voting Republican.

When the food stamps ran out we just ate beans and rice like we were starving Africans. I guess that's why I've always had a soft place in my heart for the children of starving Africans. It's because I can identify with them. I mean I've never had flies lay eggs in my eyes, but that's because of the energy the free student lunch program gave me.

Back then we were so poor that me and my cousins hated the weekend because the weekend meant no school and no school meant no free breakfast, and we were excited by Mondays because Monday meant at least 2 free meals for sure, and that meant that the 12 kids living in the 5 bedroom sublet would not be home to eat all day, and that meant that there would be food left over for dinner. Three meals in a day during the school week. We were in heaven!

Maybe I should have left this post unpublished.

Though as you can see I have good ideas. I've got lots of good ideas for posts. It's just the execution is not there.

Like I have my idea for writing a second Miley Cyrus fan fiction story.

This time Miley's puppies get sick-
based on a true story
(she twittered about it!)
Her puppies get sick by catching some sex disease
because she is in to bestiality
then she writes God on Twitter
(check to see if god is on twitter/if not start god on twitter account)
god twitters her to put puppies in plastic bag
and then drown them in her bath water

I am sure that is a great idea.

I just don't have any dialogue for it.

Miley Cyrus wears pantyhose

Here is a picture of Miley Cyrus wearing pantyhose.

I had no idea that women still wore pantyhose.

I know that Miley is only 16 and hence does not count as a woman, but it strikes me as even unlikelier that a 16 year old would wear pantyhose in public. But I guess they do.

I don't have reason for posting pictures of Miley Cyrus in her pantyhose. In fact I should really stop posting pictures of Miley. I should start listening to my Google Analytics page and post pictures of cute Emo boys since the only people who read this site aren't pedophiles but 40 something women.

But I don't want to. I don't share your interests Moms.

I had to post this picture because I think pantyhose is creepy. Also, from the looks of Miley's feet she does not know how to choose shoes. Her feet look pretty cramped in those high heels.

Now go read my Miley Cyrus Fan Fiction!

Not that we have gotten that silliness behind us....

We can talk about something important like the Swine Flu.

I am upset about the Swine Flu.

(I for one am not going to stop calling the Swine Flu the Swine Flu.)

The reason I am upset about the Swine Flu is that I work with the public, and the public goes around spreading the swine flu without a care.

I don't receive any hazard pay for braving the flu and being on the "front lines."

Mexico has basically shut down their entire economy. The only places left open are police stations, hospitals, and grocery stores.

It's funny. All of sudden what I do is important to you. Not that you would ever admit it by paying me better. But the market has spoken I guess and that means I will continue to be paid in such small quantities that I will be compelled to work even in the face of sure death by exposure to a Pandemic.

I can tell you this.

As soon as the Swine Flu breaks out in Tempe you motherfuckers are on your own. You can come to the store and scan and pack your own groceries, because I damn sure ain't gonna do it for you. I am not going to risk my life for you. I don't like you. In fact I hate you.

I can spread this rumor.

Hospitals in Phoenix are jammed full of flu victims. I was told this by a customer . She just got out of the hospital. She came through my line and purchased 70 dollars worth of DVD's.

Why would anyone do that? Has this girl never hear of Blockbuster or NetFlix? I asked the girl why she bought so many DVD's. She said she had the flu and had been in the hospital for a week. She went on to add that there were "hundreds" of people in the hospital for the flu and that the government was not admitting to it.

Then I remembered something told to me by an Indonesian school girl I met on Omegle a "chat room for strangers."

She told me that it was possible that I was not getting better even though many of my flu symptoms have gone away. She mentioned the Dengue Fever. And how the the Dengue fever goes into hibernation. You feel better, "but the disease is just getting stronger."

Strong enough to kill you.

I guess that is why the customer bought herself enough videos to last a week. She knows that the flu will kill her in the next week so she did not mind buying the DVD's vs renting them. Which I guess means that I have a week to live to.

This is all starting to make sense.

You need me

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My foot is turning green because of the ingrown toenail.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We are all bystanders in this hostile world.

I am the psychology professor warning you.

You are me driving past a homeless guy with gangrene.

And the homeless guy? He's the future.

I decide to be more positive

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

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



Here was my response:

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

The internet is full of good news today.

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

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

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

Speaking of updates:

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

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

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

Fuck the FBI

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

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

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

I think he called me a homo.

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

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

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

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

I look so fucking tuff in black mascara, dudes!

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



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

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

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

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

You die sooner than you think...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

All there is is real life.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I don't work today

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

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

I don't care about you

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

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

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

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

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

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

But it still is kinda freaky.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Random Movie Review...]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I guess crack is wack.

But not as wack as this....

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

I posted all that for Commander Other.

Your Welcome.

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

Tootles,

Romius T.

My life is strange

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

I don't care about that kinda stuff.

Instead I have my interests.

My interests run the gamut:

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

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

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

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

I write my blog to teach lessons.

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

The lesson is that you are evil and useless.

I am back

My vacation is over and I am back at work. That sucks for me. Not that you care that I have to go back to my soul killing job.

Not when all you care about is the entertainment value I provide when my life sucks and spirit is dampened.

Well suck it.

I've been giving you guys a break from reading my blog and I can't say that you are any better off for it. I won't say that I am either which doesn't make much sense, but when you think about it almost nothing makes sense anymore. So why should this?

I want to start blogging more regularly, but the only thing I have to blog about is that time I was playing around in your ass and I got a little shit dicked on my finger. That ruined our weekend because you vomited all day after sucking me off and I shat green for a week from catching whatever virus your last boyfriend left you with.

Maybe you wish I had stopped blogging years ago, but since I don't have anything else going for me in my life I am going to keep blogging.

I want to leave you with this video I took of a homeless guy that lives outside the Gold Spike Casino in downtown Las Vegas.

For some reason The Gold Spike has always attracted drug addicts and homeless people. For a long time the Casino had no plan how to do with its terrible image. It just sat there dying a slow death as the rest of Las Vegas benefited from its decision to go classy and "high end" focusing on families and ignoring the roots of Vegas which is prostitution and gambling and dirty shit people who have nothing to lose but their money.

Well, the Gold Spike has decided to capitalize on its authenticity and produced the worlds first "gangsta" casino. Complete with hot blackjack dealers dressed in wearing wife beaters and rap music in the background.

It's the best idea Vegas has come up with in years...

Dear SKY meet Willie Ames

If you don't know who Skyferreira is that's ok. It just means you aren't as cool as I am for knowing about her.

I do have some advice for you though SKY:

I'd like you to meet my Willie Ames. He was cool once too. Only face it he had much nicer "guns." (Check out the pic in the link girls he is like so hunky!)

I guess what upsets me about sky is that she promotes herself as a chick not into sex with older guys, but check out the article on her myspace page where the journalists writes about wanting to put his head between her legs.

I mean if you are grossed out about that kinda stuff why promote it on your website?

Oh. Because all you care about is promoting yourself. And you admit that on the page as well. I guess I don't get today's new fangled artists with their, "sell out before we get famous" attitude.

I'm just glad some new 16 year old is out there ready to glam it up. All the pro kiddie models on 12 chan were getting boring.

I am not sure which is more disturbing. My interest in following a German teen transvestite pop star or my new obsession with 16 year old Skyferreira. You decide.

It's ok. Everything is Ok.

I lost my phone adapter. That means I can't listen to my phone with headphones.

I know you don't care, and you are wondering why I wrote that. I haven't written on this blog in a while and when I finally take the time to write a post --all I talk about is losing my 3.5 mm to 2.5 mm ear phone adapter.

It probably isn't even lost. I am sure it is the truck somewhere.

The reason I wrote about the lost adapter is I think of it as some kind of metaphor for the Existential angst I feel in general. The separation from reality that my ego posits as truth, but is in reality simply a symptom of brain chemistry reacting to my personal circumstances and socio-historical setting.

I waited to write and that's all I have.

I don't want to talk to you about the perfect weather we are having.

The sun has set. The wind is blowing. The tree planted next to my apartment building sways dangerously against the side our building, the sky has few clouds. The sky is gray, but cheerful.

It felt good to stand outside, so I opened the door and just stared at nature. Not like you do. I don't care about nature. I can't think of anything to do with it. I thought about going for a walk. But I was lonely without my phone adapter.

I misplaced my mp3 player too. But I just found it. Right where I thought it would be.

I plopped 2 lbs of fresh pink ground beef in the frying pan. The beef tasted good. Fresh. So much better than the 5 lb bag of frozen beef patties I bought at Walmart.

The girl who made the beef displayed her packages with pride. She winked at me behind her white smock and apron. The cashier flirted at me when I came back in a few minutes later to purchase a can of beans.

"You can't make beef combo burritos without beans." I tell the cashier.

She wants to know if I make beans at home, then she nods likes she understands me, like we have something in common. I thinks she tells me a story about her father making beans at home, but only when she is not around. She is hurt by her father.

"He only wants to make the good food when I am not around." She tells me as she pushes buttons on her cash register.

I won't tell her that I think she is fat and maybe Daddy does her a favor by not giving in to her fleshy appetites. That she herself if pink like ground beef and she could taste good on a BBQ grill.

Instead I will pretend that I don't need to resort to cannibalistic fantasies 'to get me off' because my dick is so dry and bored.

Today I was pretending. I was pretending like you all must do. Otherwise I pity you. Wasting so much effort being cheerful. Wasting so much energy. I pretended so well that I did not even think those thoughts as the moment occurred. I am just now thinking them. And only as a shock tactic. You know I don't mean those things. I won't ever cook your bodies over open flame.

Someone could notice.

I am relaxed. Like I am at the beach. Someone keeps calling me from work. I am not going to work today. I am on vacation. So I can relax. I can take a walk. I would too. If I felt better. If my body didn't feel so old and bumpy.

I took a brown shit today. First time in two weeks. I think that means I am as healthy as I get. But it still makes me wonder, "When do the 'feel good' days come?"

I guess you only get them if you work out and eat right and go to the doctor and do all the things you have to do that don't include watching depressing child molestation stories on NetFlix.

But I don't want to be engaged in the world. I almost said I hated "being engaged in the world," but then I erased those words, because I don't have that kind of passion today. Today I am just peaceful. No. Not peaceful. I am panicked, but the calm kind of panicked. Like right before you go under for the third time. The ocean spray hitting you in the face. Swallowing quarts of seawater. The tide pressing you out. The feeling of hope forcing you up. Buoyant like.

All before the lungs give up. Over capacity they burst, and your eyeballs open in mock surprise like the used rectums of anal porn models. Alluring and disgusting all at once.

But at least you stop splashing. You stop making those disgusting sounds of survival. And for a second... you CAN breathe underwater. I like to think that's how you die.

Your last thoughts are, "I am immortal."

VACATION

Well Folks

I am on vacation from my job. Starting now. I am off to Vegas this Friday.

EXPECT a CRAP load of TWITTER updates. I have no idea if I can picture update, but we shall see.

Also I will live blog when I can.... Hopefully some of the video and pics comes out. My phone has no flash....

Should be fun...!

I am useless

I am in a bad mood, and I don't want to wake up.

My feet are crammed onto the TV dinner tray that I use as a computer desk. My farts smell like McDonald's double cheeseburgers. But not real double cheeseburgers. The new recession McDoubles. The McDouble has two "all beef" patties, but only one slice of cheese.

I wished I didn't smell the farts.

Sleep is stuck in my eyes. I need to shower. I have to go to work in 30 minutes.

I am trying to avoid people, but they keep trying to contact me.

No one will leave me alone. I want to watch the recession all by myself. Like it was just TV. I want to watch the decline of America, because I think "leveling down" is a good idea.

I want to sit back on the internet and view programs on a computer monitor that I could have watched on TV last night.

Only nothing in my Hulu Queue is worth watching.

The news is bad.

"And thinking it is bad just makes it worse." I overheard some republican on talk radio say that.

I don't care about being bitter. I am too busy laughing at you as the American dream turns into Detroit. soon we will all live in Detroit .

Nobody wants to do anything about it. We will just wait for the government to fix the problem. Even though none of us believe in the government anymore.

We don't believe in anything else which is why we will let the leaders keep this capitalist system around. We just hope in a few years we get our jobs back. Maybe in a few years we will be able to afford a new iPhone. By then the iPhone will have 64 gigs. And we will load it up with stolen music.

In a few years (if the stimulus works) the only poor people will be newsmen and artists.

I say fuck the newspapers. They got everything wrong.

And I say a big "fuck you" to all the recording artists.

You are supposed to be poor. That's where suffering comes from. From want. From need.

If you really want to suffer for your art then no more of this dressing in 300 dollar homeless chic t-shirts.

Now you will just be poor. Mustard stains on your t-shirt. Using your change to by corn dogs and Super Big Gulps and forgetting that your change was for the laundry. Wearing dirty clothes to all your interviews. Getting kicked off food stamps because you can't find a job. Food stamps are for people with a job.

Go home and cry now. Go home and write that rock opera on your iMac.  3,000 dollars well spent.

Seeing that OCTOMOM almost ruined my fetish of TEEN PREGGO GIRLS

It's just like me to tell you that I am done blogging and done with this whole Internet thing and then start posting like a mad man. Like a manic. Like some kind of retarded monkey on Twitter and by retarded monkey I mean one of the offspring of Sarah Palin. The one with the extra Chromozone.

I don't have a reason for making fun of Sarah Palin's mongrel child, but I just didn't want her to think she was all in the clear for having some kind of beat up old womb giving life to mental midgets that the state or some poor Mexican nanny is going to have to take care of for the rest of the unnatural life span of something that should have caused her uterus to spontaneously abort.

But enough abut how I hate the retarded.

I am sure you have all seen those pictures of the OCTOMOM as the OCTOMOM is all the rage on the internets and I am sure all of you have been waiting for my response about having OCTUPPLETS.

I think the idea is crazy. I would have aborted at least 7 of those puppies. And seeing that OCTOMOM with her huge distorted baby bumps almost made me lose my preggo fetish.

Which is saying a lot as the only reason I go bowling is that two of the girl that go bowling with me are teen moms with awesome baby bumps which is ike two dark fantasies in one. I get to touch the baby bumps and then go masturbate in the restroom as long as no one notices that I run to the bathroom after groping the hard bellies because I am sure that the baby daddies would not go for that.

Then again who knows? Teen fathers usually hate seeing teen girls knocked up because all they see is dollars signs that they cannot afford. So maybe I am doing them a favor by taking all the sexual graticfication and desire all these teen moms have and putting it to good effect. At least I can wank my semi hard on for a few minutes and maybe get some blood flowing down there for a change.

I am reusing pics. I am on my third beer. No one cool has shown up. No single women. I want to be a married guy at the bar. Married ring. Getting drunk on Wendsday. That shit is bad ass. Why is this guy all shaved and showered like he is looking to get picked up? Bartender is pissed I ignore her for the internet. I am reading google reader. Everyone is so cool on google reader. Shout out to Frieda Bee! Live twittering sucks balls.

First beer gone. When the cops pull me over all I will have to do is say, "read the twitter blog I author if you want to know how many beers I drank."

That way the cops would know what waste of meat I think they are.

So far...no FARLEY...

So here is my truck. Smashed. Go to the Lucky Devil. We can get drunk. Everone here sucks. Young hipster night. Why do they follow me around? Christ. I just turned this blog into Twitter.

HERE is the picture I so stupidly forgot to post.

This is proof that I do not lie. I am live blogging my pathetic attempt at getting drunk or getting laid. Neither will happen as I have only 26 dollars in my account. Not enuff money to get drunk proper. And if you have no idea what I am talking about go back and read the comments from the last post. I am wearing my best jeans.

The whole thing is a mess

I can't see out of my glasses. I can't remember when I bought new ones but it was probably a while back. I've seen homeless people take better care of themselves and their appearance than me.

I ate bacon for dinner today. Bacon, eggs, two pieces of white bread, 2 Dr. Peppers, and a handful of green M&M's. Because I care about my health.

Last night I caught myself in the mirror while jacking off. The whole thing was disturbing. I was hand fisting myself--all intense like-- while watching some YouTube video that you would never consider sexual, but that's because you're into normal shit like horse and donkey porn.

The guy I looked at was me but I would have never guessed that. He looks just like the middle aged fat guys on YOVuTU.com. I mean I was scary and I know scary. The lights were off and it was dark and the mirror image of myself could only be seen because of the flickering lights of my computer monitor (down to 55% of the screen because the monitor is going out.)

I should go drinking again tonight. I have 30 dollars in my account. I think I could get drunk on $20. Drinking would leave me with 10 dollars but that is ok as I get paid Thursday.

My insurance company is pissed off at me. They want me to phone them and tell my side of the story of my accident. The story goes like this, "I sure hope it was that guys fault as I can not afford a 1000 deductible."

I need some new jeans. All my slacks touch the ground over my shoes because I never find my size on sale. I just buy whatever pair of jeans are on sale and fuck that I need a size 30 (or even 29 inch length--I have short legs.)

All my clothes don't fit and the ones that fit are starting to fray.

This is uncomfortable for me. The older I get the less it is possible for me to fake being middle class. Maybe I should just embrace my middle lower class status and stop fighting the slow path of entropy I am on. I am not middle class. I just need to stop pretending I am lower middle class.

The mp3 player I bought from a kid at work is dying on me. The battery has finally had it after a year and a half.

Aren't you glad I am posting again?

Maybe we should hear from Romius T. soon. I miss that guy. He seems to know what he is doing and what he is talking about. I for one have no clue.

I am too lazy to blog.

I am giving up on this whole blogging thing for a while. I might write and I might not. Just like "LIFE" it is all up to me. And just like my real life my fake online life is failing. That's because just like in my real life, my online life is wearing me out (and beating me down.)

Real life sucks for me and I just can't devote the energy or enthusiasm I would like to writing a blog that no one reads or cares about. I guess I should just make this blog private and that way I could write for me and I think we'd all be better off.

I hate how bloggers are always threatening to stop blogging, and I am not going to be one of those bloggers that holds a knife over your neck in order to fish for compliments. I just wanted the VERY FEW loyal readers to know that I will be posting infrequently until I decide I want to post more often.

Not that you missed me. I know the last month or two has been shitty on this blog. I haven't been able to meet even this blogs low expectations even with all kinds of stuff going on to blog about.

• NBA legend Otis Thorpe played poker with me and bought me a cap and signed it. Otis is a class act and a real gent.
• I've been stood up on 2 dates.
• I had a car accident. And since I have a 1,000 dollar deductible and you can bet I am going to be driving ghetto for a while.

Those are just some highlights from this last week. So you can see stuff has been happening.

I had this elaborate story about getting stood up- but now that I have finally sat down to type it out- I can't remember it.

I have started 3 or 4 posts this month, but they sucked so bad that I gave up on them and I haven't been able to write since.

My ingrown toenail is still not healed. I realize I am fucking ghetto. I need to go to the doctor, but I also need to pay my taxes, get my car fixed, buy a new computer, and go on a date this year.

I see roughly none of that getting done.

I want to thank the guys at Hell's leading newspaper for giving me a visual link. I know Pain said he is waiting for part 2. Part 2 sucked. I just waited in a bar. Then I got a text that cancelled. Then I never heard from her again.

I guess I am ugly. I am not sure when that happened. I mean I have never been good looking. But I was never as ugly as I am now. I am just getting old and fat.

Speaking of fat I was looking at some pictures of me that a few friends put up on the MySpace, and by friends I mean people I work with, and by people I work with I mean a bunch of 18 year old kids. I hang out with kids because that is exactly where my career is at. I have to hang with them because I am on the same peg as 18 year old kids with no education who are just starting out in life.

Like I said I was looking at the pictures and I noticed how fat I am. Jim Belushi fat. I must have some kind of disorder because my face looks fatter than the rest of me. I might have some kind of infection in my throat or nodes or whatever they call it, because I can feel how swollen my tonsils or nodes are when I press my thumbs under my jaw.

They puff out and make my face swollen. Its really disgusting to look at, even more disgusting than my fat belly which I can hide by sucking it in when I am standing up. But not when I am sitting down.

I think sugar has something to do with it. Whenever I drink soda my face puffs out like I am allergic or something. My face gets redder than normal (which is sickeningly red as it is.)

All I know is I feel useless, bloated, and disgusting so I guess I know what it is like for you ladies to be on your period.

Because I feel like shit I decided to get drunk.. I ended up at the Lucky Devil.

The guy [ FARLEY] who manages the local Applebee's was there. So was the bartender who works at the Lucky Devil and Baers' Bar. Near the end of the night they both left together (but separately) like somehow we weren't supposed to figure out they were leaving together. Like for some reason we are supposed to care about their secret relationship. Ok. I guess I care enough to spread rumors they are fucking.

The only reason I bring it up is that I was hoping to "hit" the bartender and I think we can say that shit ain't gonna happen now. Also FARLEY talks a lot and TALKS VERY LOUDLY. I mean he is a nice guy and all I even sat near him so we could talk, or just so I could hear his stories (which are Ok but not that great-- he needs to really to take it down a bit- as the stories are really pedestrian and in no way match the enthusiasm he usually tells them with.) Also, the man has no VOLUME control. I should mention that Applebee's prides itself on the coldness of its tap beer. Because if I did not mention it FARLEY would have.

Well this post sucked.

I am sorry. I really can't do better, which is why I suck. And why I will die alone. Just like CAPTAIN KIRK.

Only KIRK is a fucking GOD and I am a FUCKING loser.

And you read me.

Jesus.

I am too busy to blog for you, happy early romantic day to you

I am too busy to blog. I bowl every Monday. I bowl with 16 year old girls from work. They often rub their breasts on me. I let them do it because that way they get to work out whatever daddy fantasies they have safely. If they tried rubbing against daddy at home daddy's little pecker would get hard, and when daddy gets a hard on, daddy needs to be taken care of.

My way the girls get to feel the rush and excitement of pressing against a man old enough to be their father without all the baggage and psychological damage that having an incestuous relationship can give them. All because I have masturbated the feeling out of my penis during the last 5 years of gender enforced abstinence.

I blame that abstinence on women my age who have spurned me, all because they refuse to grow up and settle down with a man who earns half of what they earn, just because they think they deserve better, even though we both know that you will be staying home alone again on Valentine's Day, unless you count the cat you rescued from the kill shelter. The cat that never learned that it's ok to be loved, and he attacks you every time you go to place food down for him. Which I guess just goes to show you that love always hurts.

Which is why on Febuarary 14th you will be downing loads of Ben & Jerry's ice cream and watching reruns of old Katherine Hepburn movies, because even though she won 5 Oscars she died alone. She died alone all because the older a woman gets the more society hates them. Not that you didn't already know that, but the real reason you get depressed (even on made up romatic holidays) is because you are finally coming to terms with how your sexuality is reving up just in time for the all the men in your life to become disinterested by the sagging of your tits.

The good news is that I guess you now know what it's like to be me. Futile, huh? All that sexual energy and nothing to stick your penis sized clit into.