Straight Talk

As far as he was concerned he could walk into a grocery store and walk past a good looking chick, and she could be like, "Hey, man.  You're like a loser.  You're like a loser scumbag, scumball dude!"

And he'd be like, "Ya! Whatever, man.  I don't give a shit!"

And then he'd just go about his business. Slowly, moodily, because his back was giving him trouble, he'd meander through the shelves looking for specialty food items like freshly ground sea salt.  Because he had a secret.  And that's all a man really needs, is something special, something to keep to himself.

He didn't have the looks like the beautiful girls that dotted the checkout lines.  But who cared?  Who really cares about the straight man dreams of lifeless automatons buying frozen yogurt in sweaty black yoga pants and ponytails and freshly painted lipstick.

He was an old age new age man.  He was a Walter Benjamin, challenging today's ready acceptance of the ironic and tired.  He was FUCKING EARNEST AS SHIT.  He may have walked with no moral authority, and looked away when you talked to him, but he had the maddening crazy glare of a mongoloid who knew something.

Because, HE WAS ON TO SOMETHING.

You couldn't take that away.  No matter what.

Are most people bad?

 I think so, but I don't know.

I think I am, and I KNOW you are.

You dig into my pockets, and you take the change that isn't yours.

You do nothing to end world poverty.

So we can't decry the other. (We are him/her.)

 We can't avoid our own duplicity.

(You see!!!???)

Except by watching reality television...except by seeing Jesus in every snowflake, in every thrust of the Nigerian plunderer, (condomless, exploding his seed into your virgin infants crawl space, but curing his AIDS.)

BUT

If we are all bad, then so what?

Who am I to care/ I don't.

We DONT:

So hence no Morality?

PARATAXIS

which is the case when you write shit and no one understands it
which is the case that all you motherfuckers that come here don't get
that I am leaving the shit out that you should know
but that most of you don't

dont fuckin' tell me I am wrong in saying this:

"The most obstinate thing I can see is a fat man in gym clothes."

Don't tell me I am fuckin wrong about that.

Look the fucking word up.

You people are getting me so fucking angry here.

I avoid writing.  

Why?/because I suck.  Also, because you won't get anything, even if I didn't suck.

I'm not here to write. 

 Only one crazed reader understands that.  He is PRAISING himself now, but he is slightly correct.

I will write almost every day now.  I will podcast again.  The words must leak out.  We can not worry what the random person who reads only one post will think.  Surely, you will misunderstand things.  This is necessary.

Marx said something to the point in his introduction to Capital.   About never being properly understood.  Let us make no certain understatement.  The method of the Dialectic is not a method of scientific understanding.

I will make no appeal to it whatsoever.

I used to do this without trying

Things could be worse: RETRO from the 2000's

I just got through watching the movie Talk Radio.

The movie brings up some heavy questions. I could apply a lot of the those questions to blogging.

SO Maybe I SHOULD do some soul searching....

What am I doing? What do I stand for? What do I want?

Nah, I find that shit boring.

What I learned from watching the movie.

All the important questions I can ask about this blog have to do with my audience.

What's wrong with my audience? What is it that youwant? Why the fuck do you keep coming back?

For the abuse?

I think you just enjoy watching me decay.

DECAY

I keep seeing myself in the mirror. I'm getting old. My fat belly collects lint in the belly button when I forget to pick it out.

I think talking to 18 year old kids at work about my sincere love of "fit preggo" porn is laugh out loud funny. So did the 18 year olds. But what the fuck do 18 year olds know?

My goatee is uneven. My ingrown toe nail is bleeding through my sock. I have unexplained back pain. I keep finding squishy tumors in my testicles. I keep shitting green. I just put myself on Prilosec because my throat closes for no good reason. My face and lymph nodes are swollen.

I need a haircut. I am going bald. I am going gray.

YOU SAY 

Things could always be worse.

I SAY

No they can't.

I feel terrible. I try to imagine a person worse off than me. I think about a guy who always wanted to be a woman. Who felt trapped in a man's body. Who hates his penis. He wants to cut off the penis and wear cute skirts and those long body shirts that get layered under shorter shirts. He wants to paint his nails. He wants to be taken care of. He wants to be rescued. He's so tired of making decisions for himself. He just wants someone to make the decisions for him.

So he gets the surgery. He gets his penis cut off. Now he uses the girl's restroom. He shaves his legs.

Try to imagine he does not have huge "man hands," or a massive Adam's apple. Try to imagine that he can have an orgasm with his new vagina.

Let's imagine he sits with his legs smartly crossed and has boyfriends. Maybe even fools the guys at college. They don't know that he is a Tranny. They just like his girlishness. They fuck him and he blows them. He enjoys all the cum in his mouth.

But one day he wakes up and misses his penis. I mean REALLY misses his penis. The way any man would miss his penis if it was cut off from him. I wonder what he would go through. I have no idea. Other than staring down at his empty pelvis.

Probably lots of crying. 

There are just some mistakes you just can't undo.

He would have to go on living as a woman. He would have to wear those pink breast cancer buttons in September. He would have to watch Oprah. Fuck. I have no idea what else he would have to do. I guess he would have to keep on faking it like all women do.

Because men are useless fucks. We are. We just don't give a fuck. We want your pussies. We want you to admire us. We crave your attention. We need you to build us up.

I have no idea what the fuck you get back from us in return. We give you nothing. All we are is WANT. We are like children. We are want machines. We desire everything we can see and think of.

We need to feel. To touch... everything... maybe that's why you love us. We are your little children that can speak to you, and rub your backs, and lick your toes, and open jars you cannot, and build the world for you.

You just want to live in the world of emotion and make believe.

In the world where there is just you and me and we talk all night in the bedroom/and we cuddle on blankets listening to the rain splash against the windows/and off in the distance we hear car alarms go off after lightning strikes and the car alarms remind us that we are playing hooky/that the real world is out there/but not in here with us/not today at least/we are safe.

YOU SAY

But at least YOU still have your penis! That poor tranny boy lost his!

I SAY

I wish just my penis was cut off. I wake up with a boner every morning, but what use is it?

I am castrated. 

Only you will tell me that my castration is all in my head.

A man without a car is castrated. I am a man without a car. I have only my erection. What purpose could my erection possibly serve?

A reminder!

A reminder that I never get what I want. You see The tranny has closure. I do not. My erection ensures that I will have an endless supply of "possibility" followed by failure.

BUT THINGS COULD BE WORSE

No they can't.

If things "could always be worse" then how can you gauge things as they actually are?

If your "standard for comparison" is always changing it can not be a standard for comparison. A comparison without a set value is fallacious.

Things are as bad as they can possibly be. 

It's just as likely that we live in the worst of possible times as it is that we live in the best of times.

I am constipated with Life

I am constipated with Life

"You're getting off work soon."

She was a Mexican and in her mid 30's.  Married which meant to me that I had a pretty good chance.

She did not look up from counting my drawer when she talked to me.

"Go home and watch TV. Blog and space out. " She told me.

"I plan to." I replied. "It's all I do anyway."

"I know." She laughed.

So I went home and blogged and spaced out and watched TV on the computer. I did those things because they were the only things I ever did. I guess I could have done something else, but I never thought about doing anything other than "what I always did" until it was too late.

I would look over at the alarm clock perched on my computer monitor and realize it was 6 in the morning. 6 am. Too late to do anything now. Then I would remember that I would have to be at work in a few hours. I would lie down on my bed and try to masturbate. 40 or 50 minutes later, my penis, dry and chaffed would cough out an orgasm like a sick child coughs out phlegm from the flu.

I would try to go to sleep then. Usually it was hot in my room and the noise from the ceiling fan would keep me awake. The ceiling fan had light fixtures that did not work because the light bulbs had corroded into them. The light bulbs would clang around hitting the side of the fixtures because the fan wobbled at high speeds. I needed to run the fan at high speeds because my room faced the sun and always kept a residual heat about itself. I was too poor to run the air conditioning anyway. Not too cheap mind you, just too poor. I could afford the internet or air conditioning, and I chose the internet. I never regretted that decision.

Days pass. Weeks go by. Somehow those weeks turn into years. The only way I marked time was by watching the growth of hair that sprouted up in the most unnecessary of places on my body. Whenever I got bored of plucking all my unwanted hair I would turn my critical attention to my weight or my disappearing hair line.

I lay under that ceiling fan all those nights watching the fan wobble, waiting for it to fall off of its hinges.

Ceiling fans make me think of death. All because I watched the movie Angel Heart as a kid. The movie made a lasting impression on me, and I always told myself that if I ever got to make a movie I would include cinematically impressive shots of ceiling fans as an homage to the movie.

One day out of boredom I stood up on the bed and adjusted the light bulbs in hopes that I could get the jingling to stop. I played around a few times with different positions, but nothing worked. I would get frustrated then and lay back down on the bed. I kept getting aroused by the noise though, so I would jump up and start to have a go at the ceiling fan again, fancying myself some kind of fix-it man.

Suddenly there dead silence, the noise from the fan had stopped.

"Are you kidding me?' I asked myself.  "That's it?" 

My nemesis was a paper tiger. I performed a simple trick and the noise stopped.

"All those freaking years." I mumbled to myself. "I suffered through those bothersome clicks and clanks." 

But now I had gotten the noise to stop.

Suddenly I felt like a new man. I would sleep now. I would sleep better than I had slept in years. I would wake up each morning refreshed. I could attack the day now with all my new found energy.

I am not sure what happened to that promise, but it never happened.

Maybe the clanks of the corroded light bulbs hid the sounds of roommate's television, or his skulking back and forth to the refrigerator.

Whatever it was it seems it made no difference. No matter the improvement my situation comes under. No matter the effort I make. No matter how objectively the improvement could be presented before me it still does me no good.

I sleep no better than before fan noise stopped. Now I just seem to notice my backache instead of the annoying sounds emanating from above me. I concentrate on the uncomfortable collision that is my back and the cheap mattress beneath me. I am itchy and I wipe blood from my ingrown toenail onto the sheet which sits scrunched in a ball at the foot of the bed.

I still wake up with a pounding head full of dread. I hope tomorrow will be different. But I know it won't. I marshal all my physic energy. I try to convince myself to get up and go to work if for no other reason than to escape my lousy bed.

I hate waking up. I hate waking up more than anything. I do mental calculations to find the latest possible time for getting up. I'm not sure why. I wished I didn't. I would like to take my hatred out on the world, and thereby become a man of conscience. Or tell the world I am tired of it and check out. Become a bum. But I don't.

I guess I have no will power. I am stuck again on that lousy metaphor of being an amoeba. Alive, but with no will. Movements that seem directed, but are devoid of purpose.

I don't wish to sprout nihilism. I don't look all that deeply into the abyss. I am not overrun with the nausea of dread.

I am just constipated with life

Ecstasy is alright with me

Damn, that fucking smells.

Of course it does, you can't go jamming your finger in your butt for an hour and not expect it to smell can you?


I guess not.  He thought.  Then he typed:

Ecstasy is the best thing in the world.  The best thing you have never tried.  The best thing THERE is to try.  But you straights won't ever know how great it is, because you are too scared and chickenshit to try it.

It doesn't matter that ecstasy will leave your kidneys bad.  It doesn't matter that your vision goes blurry.  It won't matter that you won't be able to concentrate anymore.

Who the  fuck thought you were going to get past Hegel's Phenomenology of Mind and into his Critique of the Right anyways?  Politics is smallitics nowadays.  Anyway we've got Rachael Madow to instruct us in that game now.  Who needs 19th century white men?  


I don't! Fuck man, it's the friggin' 21st century.  I trust only non bald lesbians.  Not fancy androgynous computer assisted voices.  And if a non-bald lesbo wants to insist that white men shouldn't go around armed and ready to kill whenever the neighborhood watch tells 'em it's okay, then shit that's the end of history man.  Fukishama style, only with less atomic energy and more misplaced acquiescence to the status quo of capitalist relations.


There is no struggle, but the class struggle.

Beer.  I fucking love it.  I am going to do this thing where all I drink is beer, from now on.  Going to kick that soda habit.  Fucking soda is makin' me fat.  The fatter I git, the less sleazy twenty one year olds want to sleep with me.  Like all they want is to cash their chips in and get married.  Like sleeping with some old fat man will reduce their trade in value. 


One thing you young ladies need to understand is that as soon as you step foot off the lot you lose half your value.  15 and virgin?  I'd pay 16 dollars and two bottles of Hard Mike's Lemmonade to rape your ass.  


But in your twenties?  A beer drinking hussy like you, probably on birth control, probably not listening to Daddy Rush.  Probably banging dudes in your dorm room left and right.  Shit man, might as well bang me.  Fuck, some chicks like to slum it like that.  Totally get's em off that I sweat climbing up stairs.  Totally makes em wet.  Daddy issues I guess.  


Maybe.  


Maybe they just like being mistreated.  Who the fuck am I to tell you no to that?  Like we've figured out mankind.  Like we've figured out culture and shit.  We have NOT, no way, sir!!!


Look at the MTV show.  The one about the guy with no underpants. I want to like that show.  But I can't.  Everybody is too damn clever, and good looking.  Everybody has perfect days.  Everybody gets laid.


That's what's wrong with kids these days.  God damn kids have been getting satisfactory trophies for just showing up for so long, they can't take a shit by themselves without some kind of award show afterwards that says like, " And for best green shit, it's little Maggie.  Way to go Maggie.  Way to take that green shit!  We are all so fucking proud of ya!"


I used to think that writers who told stories about Millennials being super needy was lazy.  I mean you read stories every couple of years in Time or News Max Magazine that tell you how frustrated bosses are at the young people today and you just kind of blow it off.  They can't really be that bad.

That is until one day when I worked with one of these kids.  And for Pete sake.  The kid needed a Trophy every time she sharpened her pencil.  She ended up quitting before I could fire her.

This whole world has gone to shit.  Which reminds me to take my finger out of my ass.  


We probably shouldn't mention that.


I won't.

Why is it that women like me to have sex with them while they sleep???

I am drinking LARGE amounts of wine
in LARGE blue wine glasses

I am a TERRITORIAL she- BEAST
that will indulge you,

only to feast on your intestines

I am walking very fast to get to you

I am bitter:
like a cold
medicine
for
cold sores

I am getting very DRUNK
(quickly)
to amuse
you

I think you like me now
I think you hate me now

You are my fuck biscuit
I am your mountain MAN

I hate slavery

I like to fill my search history full of things like "how to buy slaves on the internet" just for WTF fun when friends and family come over.

But that's the kind of guy I am.  Full of clever shit and funny jokes.

 That's why I got all the bitches.  Tons of 'em.  So many bitches that if you dweebs need one just let me know.  Drop me a comment and I will shoot you over one of my overflow.  Shit's going on motherfucker, I got bitches galore.

I got so many bitchez that guys are always asking me about how I got so many of them.  Well it wasn't cuz I was rich or good looking. Hell no.  No way motherfucka.  Shit bitchesz don't even like that shit.

Bitches want a strong ass motherfucka that can decide for them all the shit they can't decide for theyselves.  Like what's for fuckin dinner and such.

You ever get caught in one of those conversations where you are trying to decide what to have for dinner with your significant other? Well all you gotta do is just tell her where you are going.  Say it like, "We bee eating at Subway."  Bitch we be all like she don't want to eat there but don't fucking worry about that shit.  Just get all adamet  about it and be like, "Look I don't like that other shit, I want some goddamn Subway!!!"


Bitch will look at respect with you.  First time in your life probably.  Next of course she will complain to her friends.  "That dick don't let me eat where I want."  Never tell her friends her pussy got wet.  Never tell her friends she went down on you in the parking lot after eat'n Subway.

You gotta look out for bitches cuz Bitches is slaves.  Always want to be told what to do.  And the thing about slaves is the only thing they know how to do afterwards is complain.

Ladies you wanna make things easy?  Just tell yo man where you wanna eat. If not if yo pussy get wet when you are told to do, shit, then shut the fuck up and eat Subway.

I'm creepin' up on you

Little Jimmy whined like a bitch when I stuck a poker through his eye socket.  Careful though. I had to be careful, I didn't want to get to the mushy brain matter behind Little Jimmy's eyes. Puppies eyes are so damn delicate because they lead right to the brain, and even a tad bit too much pressure could kill Little Jimmy, and killing Little Jimmy was the last thing I wanted to do.  I wanted him to be conscious so that everyday he bumped into the living room furniture it would serve as a reminder to his master not to fuck with me.

Not that I really minded blinding that little pecker.  Fucking thing barked all night, even pissed on me the few times I was generous enough to pick him up and petted him.   

I didn't even have to use my AK 47

Got some good advice, I was told I need to be more positive. She wanted to see something on this blog that wasn't depressing. It was something like, "I always want to stick my head in the oven after reading your blog."

I tried telling her how it wasn't my fault, how nothing good ever happens to me, and how I'm just keeping it real and writing the things I know. But she was like I don't care about that, just make something up.  And wouldn't you know I would be writing this on the bus on the way to work when a homeless women sits right next to me.

Great! I'm thinking another stinky homeless. But she starts tugging at my manhood. I look over at her and she smiles a toothless grin. Then she hands me a blue viagra pill.  "I think you're going to need this." She tells me. And I start thinking, and maybe this is my lucky day.

Good things were just ahead, I got a phone call right before work telling me I didn't have to come to work, but I'd still get paid for my all my trouble.  I  then walked past a gaggle of teenagers, the kind that would intimidate a lesser man even with a few more inches.

The girls were combing each other's hair and discussing trade secrets about how to get their jeans so tight.
"Jenny, if you use super glue you can get your jeans even tighter!"

"Ahah! So, that's how they do it."  I thought and turned around to go home and walked past a couple of Japanese twins. One was close to giving birth. Between lamaze breathing she asked if I needed a ride. She winked and I climbed in. Both girls were wearing catholic school girl uniforms. The pregnant one hiked her skirt up and asked me, if I saw any crowning?

"Nope." Came my reply.
"Then I think we have time." She says.

Her sister had a hard time steering the car into the intersection because she was busy getting me hard.

"Viagra is a hell of a drug!" I told the two Chinese girls who both agreed.

By the time we got home I had popped twice on tiny Asian nipples. "We've got to get to St. Lukes!" They screamed at me as they drove off, big poppa jamming from the lowered windows of the 1987 Mustang convertible.

As soon as I was inside I got another phone call. My little brother had quit meth for good. He'd taken part in some secret CIA fluoridation project in Austin, TX and was clean and sober. He said he was on the way to see me because my middle brother had just won the Mexicana lottery while on a job down south working in a catina offering donkey shows.

"Fuck ya!" I told the mouthpiece which later informed me that Google was releasing a beta version of jelly bean the company's phone software on a brand new Motorola created Nexus phone and they, "totally wanted my input."

What a great day!

Happy New Year Everyone: Meet the new boss, same as the old boss.

Why talk about your three inch penis, when we all know that yo dick yo is so large that tribesmen teach their indigenous children that Mother Earth rests on the top of your cockhead?  Is it because you still want to do something with your life?  That's a delicious topping of ass crack.  Some would say that's a good sign at least compared to 2011.

But that's a belief that will kill you.

Here's another idea.

You are not great.  You are not special. You do not have a large penis.  Even if you did, you are fantastic at only turning women off.  You disgust the human yearning for aesthetics.

You will never be rich.  You will die poor.  You will die younger than you should.  You will die like the Kenyan from some preventable disease.  I will laugh at you as you die.  As you take your last breath.  Those of you without anxiety can ignore my truth, but if you had some anxiety you could understand it.   You could identify your tormentors.  You could identify the true victims.  But you are too stupid.  You are still too full.  Your food stamps cover up your failures.  Your unemployment will run out one day, but it will be too late.   You will be sectioned off.  Your shopper card, your ss# your credit score will segregate you to the land of hopelessness.  They will stop TREATING you at emergency room hospitals.

(It already happens.  You are fucking dying. The doctor knows it.  He just won't get paid if he treats you.  Ask him.  What's more important in your file: your medical history or your credit history.)

HE GIVES NOT A SHIT.

But he is not the enemy.   He wants to heal you.  Some part of him at least. (There are humans out there, a small minority.) But soon he won't understand why he'd ever want to help you.  Why?

Fuck the poor.  They stink.  They are stupid.  They are drug infected.

That is the truth.  I deal with the poor.  I am the poor.  We are fucked.  We always have been.

We all have the hope we get  to be middle class.  That's what we mean by everyone can be rich in America. But at last we are losing hope.  Soon we will all know there is no chance of getting rich.  Soon even the stupid figure out shit.

Fuck you when that happens.

Not really.  Nothing will happen.  This is not some foreign country., this is America.  We go down with the ship.  We are the Japanese that do not understand that WWII is over.  We are not the empirical beings are critics hope us to be.  We are fanatics about being Americans.



That's why we walk past homeless people, it's why we abandoned our homes after our interest rates skyrocketed, it's why we sing the star spangled banner at halftime, why we have military planes flyovers, and why we interview the military on gameday. It's not because we are more militaristic than anyone else, but because we are fanatical than most . We are fanatical about being American.

I know we don't seem fanatical to ourselves.  But we are fanatical, my friends.   It's why we don't understand/why we don't care about facts/why facts won't matter and never did.

We are fucking fanatics,  AS FANATICAL as FUCKING ANYONE!!!

You will find this out.  They will keep fucking with us, society will continue to break down.  We will still believe.  Ask DETROIT.  It's a fucking third world country, but they have no clue they stopped living in American years ago.

OWS is not enough.  It has already overextended itself.

Good bye America.

Happy New Year.

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

*** Merry Fucking Christmas. ***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But the world just mocks you with atrocities.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Here is another "classic" post from Bathos!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Remember when I tried to be creative?

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

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

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

WHY YOU WILL HATE THIS FILM.

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

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



SYNOPSIS


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


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

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



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


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


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


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

THE CHARACTERS

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

The End.

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

There's a reason we call it "spent"

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

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

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

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

But if you want to read the following:

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

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

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

Whatevs

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Good nite KIDS

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I figure pledge is less harmful than butane.

Who knows?

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

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

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

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

But I don't want to be rescued.

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

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

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

why u no suffer from cognitive dissonance? 

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

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

Where is the Guillotine, brother?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I fuck a FAT WOMAN because of you.

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

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

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

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

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

My last cat joke ever. I promise.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Uzbekistan spies, the singularity , and AIDS

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

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

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

I stand ready Great Leader!

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

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

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

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

Follow me on Twitter

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

twitter.com@romiust

Make me wish upon a star.

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

It's all dripping out of my ass

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

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

The pill makes me do it

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

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

I am sorry about all that.

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

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

The pill makes me do it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Much Love and Peace.

Romius T.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

p.s.

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

Love,
Romius T.