Schadenfreude

I haven't posted in a week. The natives have become restless.

I sit in a room that is 10 degrees warmer than the rest of the house. I have the computer on and I sit with a pillow behind my back. I type even though my hand and back hurts. My hand is turning purple. I must have some kind of circulation issue. My thumb hurts the most and I think I have repetitive stress injury from surfing the net too much and from checking groceries all day.

There is a naked bulb burning brightly behind my back that casts a pale yellow glow over the rest of the room. I turn on the fan and face it directly at me in order to combat the intese heat in the room. I am writing in Fro's room because my computer is 4 times slower than Fro's computer.

I have buyers remorse again. I wished I would have waited to buy a computer that at least had a gig of ram. My computer has only 286 megs of RAM. It is slow, but it is not painfully slow. I just notice the difference between Fro's faster computer when I type on mine. I love fast internet.

I need to stop torturing myself by searching for computers on Craigslist. I see all the computers with a gig of RAM for the same price that I paid for my "complete" computer system. I know those computers don't have monitors and keyboards, but those things are cheap. Anyway, I don't like my keyboard or mouse. I really want an ergonomic keyboard/mouse. I saw a wireless ergonomic keyboard and mouse at a computer store for just 30 dollars. I know the bible says that "only the devil should covet," but I covet that keyboard and mouse. I think I will try to sell my computer online and buy a better one.

I can't really afford to keep buying things, but like a good American I will do it anyway. I just bought a new phone. I bought an enV2 from Verizon. I think I will love it. I will have access to the internet and email at all times now. I have internet with the computers at home. I will have a cell phone with unlimited mobile internet access. I am sure I will be mobile blogging and posting videos that I capture with my new cell phone. If I had the phone today I could have posted a video of the girl who wore tiny shorts to the store with printing on the butt that said "cheerios" on them. After seeing her I told everyone I ran into at work that my favorite new cereal was cheerios.

"Fawkes" and I both got busted checking out the "Cherrio's" hot chick at work. We got caught by a sweet teenager. After watching the girl in cheerio's short shorts, I glanced back to the teen who's items I was scanning. I met her eyes and I think she saw for the first time the horniness of older men. I could tell she was disturbed, but she had no clue how to respond to what she had just seen. Her developing mind weighed the options of dressing slutty and getting the attention that all little girls want from men with the rational part of her brain bent on maintaining her dignity and personhood.

I am not sure which side of her won. I would like to tell you that the good side won and that Eli and I had not created another girls gone wild, but alas I cannot. I can't say for sure which side I wanted to win. I guess I want the girls gone wild side to win, I just don't want to know that I was the reason a young girl gave up on respecting herself and decides to slut herself off to the world.

The jail bait had on a Led Zepplin concert t-shirt. Like she even knows who Led Zepplin is. I wanted to ask her about it, but she had just caught me staring at the girl with the cheerios short shorts. I watched cheerio girl walk away until she exited the store. I couldn't bring myself to have a normal conversation with the teen because she probably thought that me and Fawkes were perverts.

*** (Be warned. Below I describe a bad beat in detail.)***

I played Poker last night and won 70 dollars. Card Shark lost so much that I had to give him all the stake and my winnings. He lost a lot of money trying to help me win a huge pot on the last hand of the night and I felt bad we both lost.

The last hand we played was a splash pot.*

*A splash pot is when the casino adds extra money to the pot as a prize or reward to the players.

There was a hundred dollars in the splash pot. It was also a kill pot which means we were playing 6/12 hold 'em instead of 3/6. I had queen/ten unsuited. The flop came up with a queen and because of that I knew I was ahead. I raised. Card Shark raised me. I re-raised Card Shark. There must have been 3 to 4 hundred dollars in the pot after all the raising. Several of the players went "all in" because they did not have enough money to cover all the bets.

It was a bit confusing seeing all the piles of money being divided between players still in the hand and players who were only in a few of the pots because they ran out of money. The dealer was a long time dealer, but she was confused and I am sure she began to pull money out of stacks randomly.

On the river the last card was a six. I thought I was ok, but apparently some loser* who was all in hit his inside straight and therefore I lost the main pot. I won several smaller side pots and incurred the wrath of a drunken Card Shark who mistook my bravery in raising all the posts to mean that I had the "nuts" or the best hand on that deal. I did not. I just had had the lead from first to fourth street. I was pushing the pot to be as big as possible in the hopes that I would get a big score on the last hand.

I read the play correctly. I was ahead. The only card that could hurt me was a six and unfortunately that was the card that came up. That happens in poker.

***
I got a call from the Google Ex Girlfriend while playing poker. Card Shark gave the table some advice. He said, "when a girl calls you at 2 am she is looking for affirmation." According to Card Shark if I am giving affirmation to a women by chatting with her I should, " be getting something out of it." Otherwise she is just using me. Card Shark says I should be getting some sex or something. "Unless the conversation is really that good, that just talking to her is all you need."

I told Card Shark the conversation was pretty funny for the first couple of minutes. But around the middle of it I needed to have a blow job from her if she wanted me to continue to listen to her talk about her boyfriend troubles.

He told me to make sure she give me one, "but that might just be the dick in me talking."

I told Card Shark I was sure I did not want to talk to his dick.

***(note: I am not a hypochondriac.)***

I have not had a coke in three or four days. My acid reflux is still around though not as bad as when I drink soda. The lump in my throat is gone (mostly). I am thankful for that. I can swallow a lot easier than I was swallowing a few days ago.

I am drinking flavored ice tea with no sugar. I will go work out at the gym soon. I no longer have the excuse that coke is making me fat. I will include in this report the fact that I have lost 2 pounds since quiting cola. I am not bragging, I am just reporting facts.

I am sneezing too much at work. I still consume too many antacids. My shit is clay colored.

*end of report*

*The loser (aka winner of the big pot) did not want to play one more hand at very high stakes with me and card shark. I guess he did not want to take a chance of dumping his chips back to me and prefered to empty is winnings into the penny slots near the exit of the casino. Loser.

I get carpet and skylights. I go to the DMV. I have worked 11 straight days, so my eyes are blurry.

The carpet guys came today to install the carpet today at 8am. I got a text message last night at 11:37 from Card Shark telling me that the carpet installers would be coming by early in the morning, and I needed to pack up my belongings again, so that I could move them out of the room I am staying in, so it could be carpeted. I also got a text message that asked me to not wear shoes on the carpet. It was signed "one pussy whooped homeboy." I wrote him back and told him he was a ball less homo and he agreed.

I should say "Hi" to my newest reader, Mrs. Card Shark. I would normally hold Mrs. Shark to the same degree of snark and insults that I give to all my fans, friends, and enemies. But I am deathly scared of Mrs. Card Shark. Something about her going clubbing baby seals as a vacation idea made me think that is a chick you should not mess with. So I won't. Also, I promise to make the Mexicans take off their shoes while they are in the house even though that will just make the house smell like tacos.

I know some of my readers don't like it when I make fun of Mexicans, but I only make fun of Mexicans because I know for a fact that Mexicans eat raw the blood of javelinas and enjoy feasting on the flesh of white babies. I myself do not condone the eating of little white babies (excepting for down syndrome children.)* I know white babies are quite tasty. I've tried a few bites myself, but I don't eat them regular like you Mexicans do and like a certain reader and linkee of mine.

We have skylights in the house.

I still have not found the fro. I dropped by his house and the note I left was gone, but there is no sign of the Fro. I can't find his parents phone number, so I will have to make a trip back to the ghetto again to see them.
I went to the DMV yesterday. I needed to get my truck to pass emissions and pay for this years registration fee. My tags expired on the 31st of last month, so I drove all the way to Chandler worrying that I was going to be stopped b the police and arrested and forced to sit in a stall with smelly Mexicans. Luckily that did not happen. I got lost of course and sat for an hour in the out of state inspection booth before being told I needed to go to the in-state inspection booth.

Once I got to the right inspection center I moved quickly to the front of the line. I had no idea my luck for the day was over though. The computer that they use to test emissions crashed while it was hooked up to me. It had to be rebooted six or seven times. I was in a panic attack already as I was worried that the truck might not pass inspection. The truck has a bit of a rough idle and seems to cough or spit sometimes. I think the battery cable comes undone or something because I can sometimes hear a clicking noise. At other times the car jumps for no good reason.

Once in motion the car drives well, though right after it's started it is a bit sluggish like the fuel pump is blocked or something. Before Card Shark sold me the truck it sat for a few months without being started, so the gas may have gone bad and possibly that damaged something. I know the wait forced us to get a new battery, and I think you all remember what a mantastic story that was. (If not click on the I am mantastic link below.)

Luckily the truck passed inspection. I get around the rough idling by keeping the truck full of gas and by using the highest octane gas available. It seems to run better without all the knocking when it has a full tank and high octane. I've even gone and used a few octane boosters despite my belief in their efficacy.

I need to remind the Card Shark that we need to buy a vacuum cleaner. Maybe the Misses can do that for me.

The Internet Girl Friend would have been very happy to see all the changes taking place at the house. I no longer live in a home that has not been vacuumed in 4 years. Sure there is the faint smell of cancer one gets from the new installation of carpet. The ubiquitous smell of paint fumes which I doubt I will ever stop smelling as I think some of the paint has lodged in my gonads or my esophagus somehow. But Card Shard does have skylights. And if I know anything about chicks, it's that they dig skylights.

*this is my attempt at topical humor. hello vp palin. abortion good. retard bad.**

**fracking blogger erased half this post and I am out of time. Also the mexican baby eating joke was actually funny in my head at breakfast and before blogger fucked up.

Here is the long overdue post about my Billy Jack choose-your-own-adventure story. The Trip. Part 1

You may not realize this. But this blog post is way overdue. You had probably forgotten about it, or you paid it no mind the first time I mentioned it.

But either way the post is overdue. Out there someone is waiting for it. They are disappointed that it has taken so long for me to write it down for them. Perhaps they are very angry about it. And they have decided to "never forgive me for how long it has taken."

"That is," they say "unless the post is really great." If the post can capture the spirit of that night. If it does not intrude too much into their memories. Destroying the affection they still feel for that night. That instead it simply reminds them of a funny anecdote, or it allows them to repaint their imaginations again with my reminders and descriptions.

"I should not fuck this up." They have told me. This night will go down in history. But maybe it is better if that history remains told by memory only. Orally. Recanted in smoky bars or over games of poker. Each time its truth being twisted an tugged at from different positions. Followed by loud angry disavowals.

That's probably best. And the way it should be recalled. By the particulars themselves. One at a time. To throngs of admiring friends, who hang on every word. Who bellow out laughter at every inside joke and every nuance of character betrayed by action.

But that is not how this story will be told. Instead I will tell this story. As I remember it. It is a story of 4 men who decide to make trip to Prescott, Arizona in hopes of meeting Billy Jack.

You really should read my posts about Billy Jack in order to understand why we needed to meet him.

I should tell you a little about the men who went with me on this trip.

G.I. Joe- drives tanks for a living. Well actually he used to drive tanks for a living. Though I am not too sure that one ever really stops driving tanks.

The Married Lawyer Guy- He is the only married guy I know. He is also the only person I know who gets visibly angry when people ask me to correct their grammar or spelling for them.

Card Shark- He thought there were lots of little reasons we should go to Jerome and Prescott. Billy Jack was one of those reasons. When asked if he thought that was a "good reason?" he replied that it was only a "little reason" and he never said "it was a good reason."

Romius T.-known throughout the blogger land as one cool kat, man.

Maybe I should get back to the action. Move the plot on and such. It's what good writers do after all. They would not languish here. In the set up for so long. Where is the fun in that? After all this story is long. And there are lots of things to get through. Many of them will be funny. But not to you. Because you were not there. And those funny things may not lend themselves to the kind of description I am good at.

But here goes.

After meeting up together the four of us all pile into Card Shark's full- sized-cab truck. Some of us were excited. Card Shark had his ipod with him, and took strangest perverse pleasure in finding his craziest music to play for us.

I forgot my ipod, so I could not break up the stream of bad music. Instead I described a particularly funny podcast called Distorted View to my friends. I mentioned how the show often played audio clips of gay fisting noises.

"You mean the actual sound of gay fisting?" Asked the married guy, who tried as best he could to imitate the sound of gay anal fisting. That is, the actual insertion noises that one would hear with fist sliding into ass. The "hmmmpftt hhmmppt" sound effect.

"No, no." I corrected. "Just the yelling the dude would make." I paused and then tried to imitate the grunts and groans of gay men who are being anally fisted.

While we all agreed that none of us were into into anal fisting, per se, we thought it too bad I didn't take my ipod with the anal fisting show with me.

After our discussions about music and podcasts our attention turned to food. I wanted to eat at an A&W. I was on a road trip without Funions, so naturally my mood was apprehensive. I pushed the A&W idea, suggesting to my friend Joe that A&W was a great place for road trip food.

"Think of it. Shakes. Hot dogs. All prepared by beastly women with cigarettes in their mouths who fail to wear gloves, or to cover up their moles and age spots."

Joe dismisses the idea. He has a much better idea. He wants to eat at the the ice cream shop from the movie Billy Jack. When Joe talks he leans forward in sharp bursts like an autistic boy would. Out of breath and in between bows he speaks with short, terse sentences.

But I wondered if the shop had any food other than ice cream.

"Sure it does. Hamburgers."

That settles it for me and I throw my weight behind the decision to eat at Billy Jack's ice cream shoppe.

Now that we had on plan for food we decided to visit that land of Hippie chicks and Urbanity called Arcosanti.

There is surprisingly little to see there. Arcosanti is a village commune designed by hippies. I think the hippies have been building this "town" for 50 years. If hippies can't build a place to live in fifty years it's no wonder it has taken them so long to make due on their promise of building a new society.

Maybe the 60's movements have not failed failed. Hippies are just sorta disorganized and lazy. It's just going to take them a while to get around to everything.

At least Hippies make good cookies. Card shark bought three cookies from a lady behind a counter at the cafe. After buying three cookies he warned us that if we wanted a cookie for ourselves we would have to buy one because he was planning on eating all three by himself.

We all got in line to buy cookies. I think Card Shark felt guilty about eating three whole cookies, because as each one of us got to the counter he offered to buy our cookies for us. But we all refused his offer. We wanted to buy our own cookies to make sure he would feel the full intensity of his shame. The buying and eating three whole cookies just for himself. People in Kenya never get that lucky.

We sat down in the picnic area next to the cafe to eat our cookies. Married guy found a chess set. Their are chess sets everywhere in Arcosanti. Hippies love chess even though I think chess requires a certain kind of logic they rarely posses.

I am not very good at chess. Married guy convinced me to play a game with him. He also got me to believe I was in checkmate when I wasn't.

We kept playing after the Card Shark helped me find a way out of married Guy's mate. I then missed a 2 move checkmate myself, which meant Married Guy luckily escaped from becoming the first person to ever lose a chess match to me.

On our way out of Arcosanti we met a few hippy chicks. I mentioned to Card Shark as they walked past by, "That I liked hippy girls, but I wished they shaved more." I am not sure the hippy girls stopped long enough to hear me talking to them. Because they gave no reply. I guess hippy girls have a lot more things to do than you think.

We are now on our way to Prescott.

G. I. Joe lived in Prescott as a boy. He said that his physics teacher taught him that the Earth was flat. Which when you think about it seems like a reasonable belief. Otherwise we'd all be sliding off the globe like a miniature plastic army men trying to conquer Nigeria.

Stay Tuned For Part II. A Trip to Prescott. And Part III. We are Attacked by Four Wild Cougars in Jerome, Arizona.

I have a Mantastic Day. I go to strip clubs. I play poker with Connie Hawkins (Hall of Fame basket ball player.)

*This blog post is now edited and in completed form.*

I went to a burger joint that has a theme like Hooter's. The girls dress in short skirts and tight shirts. The burgers cost 10 dollars a pop, but they are quite yummy and you can get chili on them for free.

We stopped at the burger joint because we thought it was the Heart Attack Grill. The Heart Attack Grill is a famous food place in Arizona that got national attention when the Arizona Nursing Union tried to sue the company because the Grill dresses its servers in slutty nurse uniforms. Real nurses somehow thought that people might get confused by that.

Back to the burger joint that is no longer the Heart Attack Grill :
Card Shark told the staff that I was self employed as a pro blogger. The manager and owner of the store wanted to know my website because I told her that I was going to blog about the restaurant.

The cute servers had tons of questions about me what being a pro blogger was like:

Q. Does it get boring having to be witty all the time?
A. Nope.

Q. Can you make money at being a pro blogger?
A. Yes.

Q. Will you write about this?
A. Yes.

I gave the girls a fake blog site because I did not want them to go to my blog and notice that I had no advertising on the site and thus no way of making money other than the pathetic "please donate" button that has been plugged only one time in the sites 5 years of existence. (Thanks Drug Monkey!)

MEET MY NEW WIFE, COREY! COREY IS A STRIPPER. i AM GOING TO VEGAS THIS WEEK WITH HER. WE ARE GETTING MARRIED. sHE PROMISED!

nEXT

We went to a strip club that was close to the burger joint. I forgot to mention that Card Shark brought his Mexican contractor with us to the burger joint so we could all go to the Strip Club together. I think going to a strip club with a guy who has on a tool belt and hiking boots is very manly.

The strip club is very dark and I had a hard time seeing in it for the first 20 minutes. I ordered a beer because I did not have to worry about driving. Beer at the strip club is 5 dollars and then you have to tip the waitress in a very low cut top, or she gets pissed at you and spits in your beer.

It had been a while since I had seen a woman naked. I got to see plenty in the strip club. All the girls were very attractive and most were skinny with fake tits. A number of the girls asked me if I wanted a table dance as soon as I sat down. I told them no because once I start spending money at a strip club it goes fast.

I gave all the money I had saved for a down payment on a new car to a very hot Asian stripper in Las Vegas. As we walked hand in hand down to the ATM machine I told her that "I was not rich" and that the only money I had in my savings account "I had saved to make a down payment on a truck."

I told her it was all the money I had in the world and that I was in my mid thirties and carless in Arizona which was exactly like being carless is Las Vegas.

Even though I had just met her I told her how much I loved her, and how I was hoping she would not make me give away all my money, because with out a car it was hard to get a job or go out on a date and I had not been on a date in 4 years. I wanted her to know that I vulnerable because I was lonely and horny.

My Asian stripper just smiled at me and pulled me over to the cash machine. I looked at her one more time and pleaded with her.

"Could I please keep a little of the money? I really am saving this money for a car, but I will be honest with you...I am pretty much powerless around you. Please don't make me give you all my money. I know you don't want me to do that. I've already given you over a hundred and fifty dollars."

The cash machine said "hello" to me and warned me that it was going to charge me 7 dollars to withdraw my money. I glanced over at my Asian stripper. She was getting bored.

"Get your money out!" She wined. "Let's go have some fun."

I still had a painful boner and now I was going to be broke. I took the money out the ATM and handed it to her. I gave her my very best sad puppy dog look. I don't think it registered with her at all. My stripper then took my hand and led me back to the table where she spent the next half hour grinding her knee into my erection.

I think the best part of the night was walking to the ATM with my hot Asian stripper and holding her hand like she was my girlfriend. I like holding hands and I like to cuddle which I guess is gay, but I don't care what you think. I liked how the men at the club looked at me as we walked back and forth from the ATM. On the way back all the men stared at me admiringly. They seemed to be saying to me that I had good taste in women. That my stripper and me were a cute couple and I was cool enough to have picked her.

Obviously I was loaded because there I was at the cash machine taking out hundred dollar bills like it was nothing. I know some of the guys wished they were me right then. All they could afford to do that night was tip dollar bills to the stage dancing girls. They had to shoo away all the aggressive girls who would drop by and ask for a dance between every song. Not me. I had a sexy girl/friend/stripper for as long as I could afford her.

I have had some bad experiences with strippers . I was looking through the archives of this blog and I found a high number of instances where I gave what was left of my savings account to a naked girl just because she would sit on my lap, breathe in my ear, and whisper to me that she thought I was wonderful and sexy. I once gave all my savings to a wonderful single mom stripper that way while in Palmetto, Florida.

I thought about all that while I was trying to relax in the strip club. The owner of the club kept the place so dark that he often got complaints from his workers. I hoped that my eyes could adjust quickly to the darkness. I wanted to at least see the girls jiggle and move around a bit.

I was startled out of my day dream by a young girl jumping into my lap.
"Hi!" She said. "My name is Corey!" Corey was deeply tanned and had large possibly fake breasts. At least at one time I think her breasts were fake, but maybe she had a bad tit job. I think she must have had the implants removed because the skin around her breasts sagged and rippled like from being stretched out. She smiled at me and placed her arms around my neck. Then she told me she was drunk.

"I just did a shot!"

Everything she said she said in exclamations. She asked me if she made me nervous. "You look nervous!" She told me. I agreed. And she asked me why I was so nervous.

"I did not shave today and I know that dancers hate it when men come to strip clubs without shaving because our faces scratch your boobies." I confided.

Corey did not mind my 5 o'clock shadow she said that it looked sexy on me. Despite how easy the conversation was flowing I could tell Corey was itching to get a table dance. She was antsy on my lap and crawled around like she could not get comfortable. I took her hint and asked her if she wanted to get a table dance. She said, " Hell Yeah!" And then she asked me where I wanted to get the dance. I told her I wanted the normal side dance. I could only pay 10 dollars a dance and you had to pay 20 dollars a dance if you wanted to go to the "more private" couches that lined the back wall.

I did not have to leave my friends and risk being suckered into the "private" couches to get a table dance. I could have stayed and had my dance around my friends, but I don't like how my friends always want to make eye contact with me when I am getting a table dance. A table dance is supposed to be slightly naughty and pervy. A table dance is not supposed to be fun. That is why I am against women going to strip clubs unless they work there.

I don't like the dances where the girl talks a lot either, or where she tries to show me her dance skills. I want the stripper to take off her top and push her breasts into my face. I want her to put her tongue in my ear and blow her hot breath on my neck. I want her to straddle my lap and rub on my crotch. I want her to grind her knee into my groin. I want to her smile up at me when she pretends to suck my dick.

I don't know what other men like in a strip club dance but that's what I like. I also like hand jobs, but I have never gotten a hand job from a stripper. I have gone to the VIP rooms. I have paid great sums of money in them thinking I was on my way to the fabled land of stripper hand jobs and happy endings. But I never got a hand job in a VIP room. Then I thought that if I got to know a stripper really well she might want to give me a hand job and a happy ending. So I became a regular at a strip club for a time. I introduced myself to a big titted Mexican girl over at the Cheetah's dance room. Eventually I knew that stripper's real name and she had my phone number. We almost hooked up once, but I never got a hand job from her.

It's not just strippers, I've never been given a good hand job from a girl friend either. None of the girls I've dated have given me a hand job to completion. I did date a girl right after my divorce who I think was into giving hand jobs. I remember she liked to stroke my cock under the covers. At the time I assumed she was just trying to get me aroused. Now that I look back on it, I think she got off on it more than me. I know she really liked to touch dick but her parents were very religious. She probably learned the hand job thing in high school to avoid losing her virginity to horny seniors.

She also had this weird thing about flip flops. I think she must have had a hundred pairs or more in her bedroom closet. She told me she though it was really "hot" that I wore flip flops too, and it was one of the first things she liked about me.

We met on the Internet and back then I was fucking whatever girl would let me. She was a tad bigger than most of the girls I usually go for. So I decided I would just stay at home with her and fuck her a lot. I thought she might get skinny if I made her miss dinner by screwing her as often as I could. Whenever we finished fucking she would get hungry and want to go to I-Hop or something. I always made up some lame excuse and then I would work on getting her excited again. We would have sex and then she would forget about wanting to eat. I bet she lost 10 pounds in the month or so that we fooled around.

My stripper Corey was very sexy. She had a dark tan. I don't go for that normally, but on her it looked good. She had short brown hair that she had just "cut off" because her swimming pool had turned her hair green. She had large breasts that were very soft and they looked liked they may have been recently reduced from fake triple D's to natural D's. She was petite. She stood only 4'11 which technically means she is a midget. I did not hold this against her because even with the 5 inch stripper boots she had on I was taller than her by a head. I liked being that much taller than her.

Corey has a great smile and a very attractive face. A lot of strippers have nice bodies but they will often have hard faces or just aren't that pretty. I judge a women's beauty mostly from the face. By that measure, Corey was quite pretty. She was also thin without being skinny. I could tell she did not have to work out (other than the workout that one gets as a stripper) because she was naturally thin.

Corey complained that she was cold before the song for our dance played. She explained as we sat down we were "to wait for the song that's playing to stop" before we would have our dance. She explained this to me like I was a child, or like I had never been to a strip club before. She tried to convey to me that she was doing me a favor by letting by waiting so I would get a full song's worth of a dance. Like that was not standard practice in the industry to wait for the beginning of the song to start a lap dance.

I allowed the comment to pass between us because I did not want to spoil the mood. Corey worried about me. She kept asking me if she made me nervous. I went along with her ruse that I was a "rookie" to strip clubs. I repeated to her how nervous I was and I told her she was the sexiest thing I had ever seen. She laughed at my confession and told me I was crazy to think it.

Our song started she immediately took off her top and told me to spread my legs. I gave her high marks for her technique. I was turned on by the idea I was going to get a lap dance and became aroused. Corey noticed and rather than playing coy with me, or getting offended she began to rub me with her legs and grind her crotch against me.

Part of her dance included turning around and showing me her ass. When she did this she placed a finger on her panties and rubbed it up and down. I was not surprised. It was a standard ploy at this club. On the third dance her finger disappeared into her black panties. Either she knew a good magic trick or the sheerness of her bottom cover allowed her to finger herself. Either way I was excited to see such a thing.

Corey liked to take her hands and rub them around my erection without fondling or stroking it. It was a dirty maneuver designed as a very innocent one. . She liked to be both Madonna and whore. I found the competing designations to be exciting. She also like to be bossy. I told her that and she agreed. I think it was the first time she realized that she likes being in charge. She agreed with me it and said it was "kind of a turn on."
I don't remember when I asked her to marry me, but I do remember that she said yes. I told her I wanted to get married right away. Today. She suggested Las Vegas as a way to get hitched right away. I told her I loved the idea.

A few dances later I asked another stripper "forbidden" if she wanted to be Corey's bridesmaid. It turned out that "Forbidden" was Corey's BFF and was totally up for going to Vegas with us. I suggested to them both that we could go to Utah and all get married. Neither of the girls thought that joke was funny. Both forgot they were getting paid to pretend to have fun with me and think every thing I said was funny. I was a little pissed that I was not going to fictionally marry both of the girls. But at least Corey and I were still on. She told my friend the Mexican contractor to remember to "bring my husband back" the next time he went to the club.

After going to the strip club Card Shark and I decided to play racket ball. I spent more than 300 dollars paying for a gym membership at L.A. Fitness and our visit to the gym would be just my third time to the gym in four months.

We played for about an hour or so. Racket ball is a dangerous sport. was We played doubles with a couple of young college guys, and I was hit in the face. I thought about crying after I got hit in the face, but decided it would look like I was a punk so I didn't. I did ask everyone including Card Shark and his fiancee if the ball left a red mark on my face. Every one swore up and down that it did not. They all lied to me. I woke up this morning and saw a huge red mark on my face right were the ball hit me.

After the gym I hung out with card Shark at his fiance's house. Mrs. Shark's best friend was there. I have a small crush on her and it is no big deal. I crush on most women if they are somewhat attractive, and since by definition 50% of all women are rated higher than a 5.0 I have crushed on a lot of women.

I was supposed to get to walk down the aisle with "Ape" at the wedding but now I have been told I can't. I have to walk down the aisle with some fat chick friend of the fiance who has kids and is getting married. I know my only chance with Ape is getting to walk down the aisle with her at a wedding. I just know if I can get her attenion for a second she will see the real me and be attracted to me but now that chance is gone.

Ape and I did exchange several glances that night when Card Shark or the Misses made a salient point or two during our conversation. Even though we glanced at one another, I am convinced that Ape is being snooty to me for no good reason other than one time during a Halloween party I asked her to sit on my lap and you would have thought I asked to her to go killing Jews with me or something because she gave me a look that was part "deer stuck in headlights" and "I can't believe you think I am so slutty!" I don't think Ape is slutty. I just happen to know 4 glasses of wine on Tuesday is pretty mellow for Ape.

I only asked Ape to sit on my lap because she seemed drunker than normal and she had already groped a few guys that night so I figured what would be wrong with her also groping me. I guess a lot which is why I guess I will have to keep paying for girls to sit on my lap.

I need to come to terms that the 75 pounds I gained since high school took me from being just unattractive to scary ass ugly or whatever is worse than unattractive.

I guess I am bummed. All those years of back yard football prowess led me to believe that I was special that I had value. I grew up thinking anyone who could be all time quaterback* for 7 years running could not be that undesirable. Most of what is left of my self esteem stems from being an overachiever as a junior high kid where I got straight A's. I was also the best football player on my street. I used that hidden confidence to fuck a number of fat chicks after my divorce. In my twenties I used all that confidence to get drunk and get phone numbers at dance clubs. Not that I tried to get phone numbers often. But when I did it worked more often than not.

I got depressed hanging out with Ape and Card Shark. Card Shark wanted me to go play poker with him. Card Shark always wants to go play poker. I knew I was too hurt by Ape's lack of affection for me to be able to concentrate on poker well enough to win some money.

I am on hot streak again with poker. I won 280 dollars the other night and I won 60 dollars the time before. I am winning even though I am trying new games like 7 card stud hi/low split. I think hi/low games are some of the easiest to make money at, because so many people go for the low and forget about the high.

Another reason I did not want to go play poker was that I was all sweaty and gross from playing racquetball. I don't feeling dirty or sweaty. I am a high self monitor and I notice things like when I stink or look bad. I know that other people don't notice things about me as much I notice them myself, because they are so busy concentrating on themselves, but I still find it difficult to let go of my anxiety.

I would feel weird to me to go out in public without washing first. Card Shark told me he was going to take a shower first too and he invited me to shower at his house as well. I figured the fiance would be disgusted by me showering in her house so I declined the invite. To my surprise the fiance seemed genuinely undisgusted by the idea of me showering in her place and convinced me that it would be ok.

I washed my hair with Johnson & Johnson baby shampoo in the hopes that a waitress or female poker player would smell the shampoo on me and associate me with the happy smell of clean babies. I don't think any of the women that passed by me at the casino could tell I was tear free and sexy.

Card Shark and I sat down at a table that was spreading 7 card stud with a hi/low mix. Seated at the table was Connie Hawkins a famous Hall of Fame basket ball player from the 1960's and 1970's. Connie is well known in the local poker community and has played for years. I was surprised to see such a well known super star playing low limit poker but was happy to get the chance to sit down with such a talented player.

At one point in the game several players left the table and Connie Hawkins asked the dealer for a "rate reduction." For you novice poker fans a rate reduction lowers the amount of money the casino takes from the game (the rake) and it is often requested by semi and professional players when the number of players at the table has diminshed the chances of breaking even.

"Connie Hawkins just asked for a rate reduction." I whispered to Card Shark. "I have officially seen every thing." Mr. Hawkins was polite to all the players and enjoyed good naturely poking fun at some of us. When prodded he told us stories about his days as a pro player. He said a lot of the guys he played with liked to play poker back then, but that mostly they played home games that included a lot of wild cards and they almost never played Texas Hold'em poker's most popular variation today.

I won a lot of money off Connie Hawkins while playing poker with him.
It was not that he was such a bad player as that he often ended up "facing down" with me when I caught a huge hand. In one instance I had 4 kings. After seeing my 4 kings all he could say was, "Nice hand."

Mr. Hawkins did benefit from the best line of the night when I layed a solid hand down against him. Card Shark muttered, "Faced down by a Hall of Famer." Mr Hawkins nodded his head in agreement with Card Shark and repeated the line under his breath. He seemed to get a kick out of the line and all the cheers from the table's players. They made my loss that much easier.

A trip to a theme burger joint. Strippers. Poker. Hall of Fame Basket Ball Players. All in all a very Mantastic Day.

*Ask your boyfriend what an ALL TIMe QB is.

I fix batteries I move furniture, and I can beat up small infants, is there anything I can't do?

Man Day: Part 1 The most mantastic day ever

I woke up and watched the suns play the spurs and the suns won by 30 points and if you don't know that is some kind of good omen then you haven't recently rented the Mel Gibson classic Apocalypto. If you do rent it you will be happy to know that natives are a lot better off since the white man came. Now that I have watched it I no longer have any white man guilt over civilizing your race.

I fixed my battery finally after 2 full days of trying... spread over two weeks. Card Shark assisted if by 'assisting' you mean touching the battery with metal things to see if we were going to get electrocuted when we unscrewed the battery cable.

A quick Self Help Guide to taking out your car battery. Take your battery out during the day. It is a lot easier to see stuff in the light than at night. Also batteries are heavy so before you go to the auto store to purchase a side mount socket wrench extender make sure the battery is actually mounted into the car. If you use two hands and pull the battery up that means it is not side mounted and one handed you just have the arm strength of a girl.

Make sure you Internet g/f does not notice you struggling with lifting said battery out of place as this will only feed her belief that she can kick your ass if you got in a fight, and women don't respect men that lose fist fights to girls. I am not suggesting that you pick a fight with a girl just to show "how tuff you are" because women never give any credit to a guy who wins a fight between a woman and a man. No matter how tuff the girl is.

After replacing my battery I went with Card Shark to pick up a TV entertainment center. We lifted it in to the truck ok, but we had three guys to do the job. At home we had two guys to haul it out, and I was one of them, so it was really like one guy and one guy with 2 girl arms holding up wood cabinetry. At one point Card Shark asked me if I was "having a heart attack?" I told him I just turn a very attractive red color whenever I bend over or my head drops below my neck line. "It's white people thing" I told him and I think my answer satisfied him, because all he knows about white people he learned from me and Mel Gibson.

We finished the day off at Walmart and Home depot loading up on man tools in the event that we ever need tools again. My feeling was that we will never need more man tools, but Card Shark insisted that he was so inspired by our man day that he was going to build a bird house.

The only acceptable way of ending such a mantastic day is by cooking meat on fire. And that is what we did. We cooked large steaks, steaks big enough to choke a horse, and we cooked them on fire on the grill I made with my two very own girl hands. My ex wife and I spent 10 hours one weekend putting together that grill and maybe that is why we had to use a lit paper plate rather than the auto starter to light the fire. A fire ball worthy of the Fourth of July poofed forward nearly engulfing us all in flames, but it was worth it as the steak was tasty, a proper testament and finale to a very mantastic day!

MAN DAY 2

Man day two finds me filling up my tank and getting an oil change. I washed my truck and bought a big gallon of Wild Turkey. Beware!!! homeless people if you see me gunning my engine for you. Make a run for it. I bet you won't get to the sidewalk in time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

P.S.

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

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

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



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

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

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

*Did I mention I like long dark curly hair?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I am forced to blog at a public library, but at least I get to sit next to a lesbian with bad acne who wears a scarf to hide her hideous head

I am back at the public library because I can't seem to figure out how to get my computer hooked up to the Internet. Like America in 2000 I need Al Gore, but I won't get him. Unlike America in 2000 I won't get George Bush either, but I may get a look at some lesbian bush as the girl who is sitting next to me at the computer terminal is a lesbian. I know she must be a lesbian because of the way she dresses. She dresses like a boy, but she is wearing some kind of scarf on her head to hide her short hair, and she is typing away on some instant messenger service because lesbians hook up by chatting on instant message platforms. I see this lesbian web surfer every time I go the library. I feel connected to her enough to make fun of her and that is the biggest compliment I can give a person.

I bought a wireless Internet adapter for my 99 dollar computer. I spent 50 dollars on it and I still can't connect to the Internet. I don't know if I bought a crappy Internet connector, but I know that I was not picking up any signals outside my house. That should not matter as I have cable and a wireless modem so I should be able to pick up the wireless signal from my house. For some reason that may have to do with me being a moron, I have been unable to connect the signal from the wireless router to my wireless USB plug in adapter. I think I need to first connect a cable modem to the wireless router. Only thing is the wireless router connects to the cable line and the router connects to my computer so I don't think that is the problem. I was pretty sure that Card Shark's computer was not hooked up to a cable modem just the wireless router. I guess I could dig around the computer boxes again, or ask Card Shark for some advice, but I am sure Card Shark paid someone to connect his computer. I wished I could do the same.

I am at a loss to explain why I can't get the Internet and I am getting frustrated. I get frustrated easily and it is the one time I act like regular person. I have spent more time on getting wireless that I have spent donating time to the needy. I just really want the Internet. I am addicted. I can't believe I wake up 3 hours early for work just so I can get my fix. But I think I am on a runners high when it comes to writing and I want to write everyday even if my writing is no good. I just don't like writing in a vacuum or with a pen and paper any more. I guess I could use my computer's word program and type, but then I would not have all your wonderful comments and feedback I get from you my lovely fan girls.

I am think I am beginning to get buyers remorse over my computer purchase. I always get buyers remorse no matter what I buy. I can never be satisfied with whatever I have purchased. i know there is always something better out there for a lower price. I think that is why I can't stay in a relationship. I am sure something better is coming along. I am sure my new model girlfriend will come with oral sex this time.

I know I only spent a hundred dollars on the computer. But I saw a number of laptops for a hundred and fifty dollars on craigslist. I could have bought a used laptop that came with a wireless card inside it. I could have taken the laptop to the library or some other wifi area and stayed as long as I wanted and I would not have to worry about public computer time limits. Instead I am stuck with a computer that warns me about a fan failure whenever it starts up. I do have a 90 day warranty. I think I will try taking my computer back. I know he will allow me trade in the computer for a model who's fan works. He will even let me trade it in for credit against another computer system. I would buy one of the store's laptops but they all start around three hundred dollars. That is just a bit out of my reach. I am going to be moving soon and I will need to save money for a deposit if I move out on my own. If I move in with the fro I will need money as well.

I think all my readers should send their favorite episode of the podcast to every member of their e-mail contacts with a suggestion that if the listener likes the podcast they should donate 1 dollar for every episode they download. If you all place advertisements on your heavily viewed blogs I am sure I would be set up quickly with enough money for gas to get me back to the library. Either that or I could become of those stupid success stories you read about where a guy puts up a website where people can buy 1 dollar spaces so he can become a millionaire. All I want is a used laptop so I can keep the podcast going and continue with all the posting I am doing. If I can get 1,000 donors I could get a I-Mac or something. Think about it. I know some guy who got 5,000 dollars donated so he could go to school. If I get 2,000 dollars in donations I will finish the 2 classes I need to take to get my AA degree from community college. Is that enough of an enticement? Do you want to see me naked? I recently trimmed some of my pubes if that is what you perverts need.

AND NOW A FEW ANSWERS ABOUT THE PODCAST

Some one asked me how the podcast is coming along. I can't upload or record new podcasts without Internet access at home. My podcast is ranked with a score of 2.97 out of possible 5 stars. To get ranked in the top 50 of podcasts (and thereby promoted on the website over at Switchpod.com) I need a score of 2.98. Just a couple of 5 star ratings from some of my readers would blast me back to the top of the podcast world again. My podcast has been delivering around 200 downloads a month even without staying in the top 50.

The podcast is drawing some interest without any new episodes. I have more downloads this month already than I did in all of the month of August, so I think you know what that means. The Self Help Podcast (check out the link on the sidebar) is going to take off soon. I will be asked to do a 3 minute rant on IFC's Henry Rollins Show. From there I am sure Mr. Rollins will want to produce my very own radio talk show. I will be getting famous soon and I will be leaving all you losers. Don't blame me when you spend your kids lunch money on a new Sirius subscription so you can listen to my new show. If your husband gets pissed off at you for spending so much money on yourself just tell him the reason your vagina has been so frothy lately is because listening to me tell the truth turns you on. I am willing to bet that your husband does not want to return to the days of the pre-frothy vagina. Not with all the pussy eating he is then required to get you steamy.

Part III Of the Trip to Find Billy Jack.

Frankly folks this happened so long ago I can barely remember anything that happened. A friend offered this bit of advice. "Just write we met a bunch of old chicks and they wanted to get busy with us. At least then it's over."

I will include an excerpt from a post that explains the Cougar phenomenon:

What is a Cougar and why are they dangerous?

Definition: An older woman trying way too hard to look young. Usually heavy makeup and way too tan, sometimes orange. Generally has leathery, smoking damaged skin, short skirt, and may have obvious breast implants. See any big city bar scene.

Part III. We are Attacked by Four Wild Cougars in Jerome, Arizona.

My friends want to sit at a table far away from the door and pool table. But I object. “I want to sit on the bench.” I tell them the bench is the only seating located next to other people in the bar.

We spot cougars...

The table located next to us has 4 very drunk women seated at it. The band we hoped to see had just stopped playing. I got asked if I liked to dance by the drunkest of the four women, Nurse Betty.

“No.” I replied.

“Darn. We were hoping for some action.”

I took a sip of my beer and rolled my eyes at her.

“What... you mean we aren’t enough action for you?”

I glanced over at her friends and waived my hands toward them. She took my bait and all 4 of the cougars joined us. And in one voice assured us that were that we were "all the action they could need."

I wore a baseball cap. So did Card Shark. Drunk Nurse Betty wanted to look under Shark’s hat, but he told her he was bald. That didn’t bother any of the cougars. They claimed to like bald men. "Pat" put an end to any refusal we could offer by claiming to love combovers. Pat thought combovers were sexy.

Nothing could dissuade these women from looking under are hats. Shark finally freed his tussles from under his cap. The girls took turns running their fingers through his long hair.

Next they turned all that post-menopausal attention towards me. They wanted to see what was under my hat too. I was not dressed for sex play. I had on jeans, a hooded sweatshirt, and a baseball cap. “I’m balding.” I told them. “You aren’t going to want to see what’s under my hat.”

But when cougars see their prey they get aggressive. They are like 14-year-old boys. All pent up sex energy. But unlike a sexually immature boy, an older woman feels entitled to satisfy her urge. Now that nature had released them from child-bearing, they molested us with abandon. They relished in the child's play of desire.

“We want to see what’s under your hat.” They repeat. I relent. I give them a peek. They see for themselves the receding hairline. Maybe it reminds them of getting old, because they quickly turn their attention away from it.

But they don't want me to feel bad. They start in on me. Telling me how they each like hats on men. They encourage me to keep it on. With my hat and casual clothes I could be mistaken for someone 25 years their junior. I think they like that part of me best of all.

We drive to Clarksdale because Clarksdale has a band. Married Guy sits up front with Card Shark and two of the Cougars. Joe and I make the trip in the back of the pickup bed along with the other two Cougars.

It's cold and windy. And we all anticipate getting frozen on the trip. Joe does something that astounds me. He snuggles up with the only half way cute cougar. Probably in her 40's, she doesn't wear tapered acid washed jeans. She still colors her hair. And she is decently in shape. Her face gives away her age, but at least the giveaway says "Milfy" not "Gilfy."

I am left to fend with the most obnoxiously drunk older woman I have ever seen. She had little or no self-awareness of her drunken state. The following conversation is not verbatim.

Drunken Nurse: "Do you want to snuggle, why don't you want to snuggle with me? Are you gay? Do you like women?"

It is precisely because I like women that I am not turned on by you.

I am annoyed at myself for allowing this turn of events. I know I can give no encouragement to Drunk Betty. I know any encouragement I give to Nurse Betty will become hands tugging away at my limp manhood. I don't want that. I am still hopeful that Milfy will give me a try.

But my my hope for a turn with Milfy dies as I watch Joe snuggle. I underestimated my competition in GI Joe. I assumed he would be lackadaisical. I was not prepared to deal with his assertiveness. I should have been angry about the way things had turned out, but instead I felt only a begrudging respect. The old man had a few tricks up his sleeve still.

I stayed warm in the back of the pickup because I borrowed a jacket from inside the truck. I stay warm with out the any of the human contact that Nurse Betty so desired. She complained the entire drive about how cold she was even after I allowed her some side-to-side touching. I know women are always cold, and it was 30 degrees with 60 mph winds, but I had already offered her my jacket. I was not about to offer my loins.

The Cougars who sat up front in the cabin were hungry. They asked if we carried any food or snacks in the truck. Card Shark kept a wary eye on his third cookie and did not share it. Even when asked directly, he refused.

***
A side note to women everywhere. When you first meet a man. And you ask him for a favor. If he turns you down. Assume he finds you ugly. ***

Clarksdale, Arizona.*
Home of the 10/12 Lounge and the One Class Act Blues Band.

A truly terrific band. Like most blues fans I am white. And like many whites I trace my love of the blues back to Bill Cosby. The appearance of legendary bluesman B.B. King on the Cosby show when I was in the 9th grade changed my musical tastes forever.

The lead guitarist and singer walked around the room as he played. Much like another Arizona bluesman, Carvin Jones. The band was elated to see a group such as ours enter the bar. We shouted along with the band. We cheered and applauded their efforts. It felt like destiny. The band played inspired.

Most Cougars love to dance. And these cougars were no exception to the rule. I danced with all 4 cougars. One cougar gave me the "fuck you eyes." I cannot express to you how disturbing it is to have a women 10 years older than your mother look you up and down like a piece of meat. She was ravenous in her sexual hunger. She did not mind showing me her desire. She showered it upon all three of my companions.

Her eyes said "I will fuck you tonight." Her mood was was confident and secure. She seemed to be saying that, "I know I am not what I used to be. But I am willing. And men enjoy that. Moreover; I am ready to abandon myself to the instinctual."

I will not play with that kind of fire.

But I danced for the first time in several years. I remembered what it was like to have the attention of a woman. I recalled why I missed that attention. A woman makes a man behave and feel differently. I felt more alive though I was dancing with death. I grew in confidence. I thought I could be valuable. If not to the world like any man of substance desires, then to a woman, and if not to these women, then to some women somewhere.

I saw my friends sharing that same feeling. They would not be dismayed by life completely either.

We drove the cougars home. Back to their hotel room in Jerome. They were sorry to see us go. But Married Guy needed to get home. They understood. G.I. Joe needed to feed his dogs. Dogs that love to lick me. Now I would not get laid because of Trixie the Dog.

I could have stayed. They wanted to cuddle. I am not sure I can satisfy 4 hungry cougars. I am not sure there is enough meat to feed such a hungry group.

But I think I would have liked to have stayed.

* The actual name of the city is Clarkdale, but the sound "Clarkdale" in my head disturbed the story for me.

I have another mantastic day. I solve mysteries. I can change the air filter in my truck. Trust me you want me on your side when it all goes down.

I am juiced. I have had a lot of caffeine today, but do not take what comes next as some kind of hallucination, as some kind of misperception of reality. I am mantastic. I can't help it. Get over it.

I took the truck to get an oil change. I got overcharged by three dollars. Walmart is a racket. According to the technicians who changed my oil several of my fluids where overfilled at the last oil change. My last oil change was at Walmart, though not the Walmart where I got my oil changed today. I wonder if I can sue. On the drive home a rock ricocheted at my window causing me to hear a loud cracking sound and so now I am wondering when the glass to my windshield is going to cave in. Even though the noise was loud and there were cars all around me I was able to safely keep control of the vehicle and prevent any further damage or accidents.

The walmart printout told me that I needed to get my air filter replaced. If there is one thing I think I know how to do it is replace an air filter.

THE SELF HELP GUIDE TO REPLACING AIR FILTERS FOR THE NON-MANTASTIC

Even a girl should be able to replace her air filter. If you take a car into the repair shop and they say they want to charge you money for replacing your air filter I want you to look them straight in the face and tell them to fuck off.

You can replace an air filter even if you don't know where your current air filter is housed. I did. So I know you can do it. I will teach you. I walked into the Auto Zone and asked the attendant to look up the type of air filter I needed for my truck. All you need to know is the year, make and model of your vehicle. If you don't know this ask your dad or your boyfriend. Or just go look at the trunk of your car. It will say something like 2009 Honda fit or something gay like that.

Once you have the replacement air filter, spotting the air filter housing is easy. Most of the times the air filter is right on top of the engine in a round container. At least it was in all my dad's old cars and trucks. It usually has a a screw on top that you can loosen and the top lifts right off. You will not likely need any tools for this.

But sometimes it is more tricky. Use the shape of the replacement air filter and compare it to the objects under the hood of your car. My air filter was located on the left hand side against the wall of the engine compartment. (see photo) The air filter compartment had two hooks that needed to be unlatched and then the compartment needed to be detached from the other side. When I did this the air filter was exposed. I took it out and the technician was correct. The filter was massively dirty. It was dirty despite the fact that the Mormon mechanic Card Shark trusts was supposed to have changed it a few months back. Unlike the rather naive Card Shark, I do not trust mormons to do repair work for me as I am not a mormon and mormons only look after their own. It looked as if the filter had been there for some time. I replaced the white filter with an orange Fram CA 9563 heavy duty air filter. This air filter kicks ass. It promised to be twice as good as my puny 1 year normal duty air filter. Cost was $14.99 plus tax.

What you don't want to read is my review of my oil change if you work in the Walmart corporate office.

Oil change was 36 dollars and included 10 ball point pens for 44 cents (nice sale), a large container of knock off Oil of Olay body wash, and one of those gay scrubby things I pretend I don't use to scrub away the rough skin I get for being manly by working on my truck and using rough pumice soap to get the grease off my hands. I repeat that I was over charged by three dollars for the oil change which was supposed to be 26.99, but inexplicable was priced at 29.99 on my receipt. In addition my windshield was not cleaned despite the fact that the service I pay for included it. The car was properly vacuumed. The front tires where inflated improperly to 35 inches despite the warning on the inside of the truck door requiring the front tires to be inflated to only 30 psi. 4.9 quarts of oil was added to the vehicle and the technician noted that at the last oil change (at walmart) the vehicle was over filled. I hope that is not bad. I have no idea if it is as it has nothing to do with air filters and changing air filters is all I know. Well that and changing batteries of course.

I solve Mysteries like I am one of the Scooby Do gang.

My time is being cut off. I must end this post abruptly.**

**I am back. I went down stairs and used my connections (I am mantastic like that) and got hooked up with an additional hour of Internet service. I know the library offers two hours of Internet service in one hour blocks a day. Most days waiting for the second reservation takes too long and I end up shuffling off to work with just an hour for online time. Today is my first day off in 15 days so I plan on using all this spare time to be online. I think I could probably get a third hour since my friend at work did not use my library card to get a reservation for me.

My computer is located across from a young woman wearing a blue tank top. She is either Native American, Mexican, or Indian. Either way she has tremendous cleavage. She is chewing bubble gum and I would place her age at 17 plus or minus 2. Her cleavage had a hint of a tan line suggesting that her natural color was less carmel than the exposed skin showed. I found that prospect to be alluring. I was reminded of a conversation I had with Card Shark last night while playing poker. We talked about how white people identify non-whites. I told him the secret to understanding how white people determine if you are white is that if you have any hint of color you are considered a colored person. I exposed my under arm to him and told him, "now this is white." I relayed to him a story about when I met my wife. She asked me if I could tell if she was Mexican when I first met her. I remember laughing at loud. "Of course I did." I told her while trying to catch my breath.

"It's just that I am light skinned." She replied. I think she was a bit hurt that I could not have mistaken her for being a white girl. She told me how her fellow Mexicans thought she looked white and did not accept her for being truly brown. I told her she had nothing to worry about as any white person could clearly see she was all Mexican. I think she took the news badly as I think my wife liked the idea that she could pass as a white girl. I know she liked that her married name (and her very white girl sounding first name) made everyone who met her for the first time believe they were going to meet a white girl.

i MAY NOT OWN A VAN BUT i HAVE A MYSTERY MACHINE OF MY OWN

I knocked a few times at the door. Fro's mom finally answered. She met me at the door fully dressed.* I guess that is what took her so long to answer. She let me know what is going on and so I have solved the mystery of the missing fro. He is no longer missing and is doing as well as can be expected.

*This is an inside joke among my friends. When I spoke to some of them about talking to the fro's mom they all wondered if she came to the door, "fully dressed?" I answered in the affirmative and I suppose that must be the reason my knocking took a full 4 minutes to get an answer.*

I knocked on the door for a few minutes without an answer and decided to give up. I walked back to the truck but then turned around and decided to give it another try. A shy voice asked me, "who's there?" I replied with my name and an assurance that I was a white person and some white people don't want to kill you. In the background of my mind I heard every song I know with the word "ghetto" in it. I was apprehensive that the door was taking so long to open. I looked around nervously from side to side at the neighborhood. A number of cars where parked on the grass in the house next to me. I drove past a house in the neighborhood that had a TV and couch on the front lawn. I tried to remain calm. I knew I had a duty to my best friend. I tried to remember that is was only 20 years ago that I too lived in this neighborhood, not 4 streets away. During the wait I took comfort knowing that I was good with mechanics and could replace an air filter. Surely anybody eyeing me from a distance could discern such a thing. I knew I could fit in here.

The door opened.

The inside of the house was exactly the same as it was during my teen years. We were never allowed inside the Fro's home as kids. I think he was embarrassed of how most of his siblings were nudists. The house is still cluttered with rows of romance novels. Enough romance novels to start a books store with. In fact more romance novels than most books stores would keep. All the novels have been read by the Fros' Mom over the years. She reads more romance novels than any other human I know. I would consider her a grand expert on the topic with an almost encyclopedic knowledge of them all. Wikipedia should get a hold of the Fro's mom.

Unfortunately her genius in regards to the genre of romance novels does not translate into a knowlede of cell phones. She cannot remember her phone number and can't pull up the contact function to write my number down. I do get her home phone number from her which was just an area code off from what I remembered the number to be in high school. I told the family that I would do my best to settle everything that is going on. I don't want the fro to stay lost forever. The fro has stated that I am able to move in at anytime and I can request a key from (I am unable to get L. (fro's mom) to tell me the name correctly). I am sure I could get a key from the owner of the condo. But Married Guy has suggested that his parents no longer posses the key. I will need to confirm that later.

I do have Mrs. Card Shark looking for apartments nearby my work and she has located a few starting around my budget of 400 dollars a month. I may end up in one of those depending on a number of factors which I won't get into despite the fact that I have not really fictionalized some of this enough and maybe some of you will get what is going on and I hope that none of the fro's friends are reading this because I don't want to piss him off, but as far as I know the only person who reads this blog who might know the fro is card shark and I am not sure how often any one else reads this blog.

Maybe if you know me in real life you will drop me an e-mail and tell me that you read the blog.

I am moving and that means I won't have the internet for a while

Which I guess should depress you, but it won't depress you as much as it does me. I am addicted to the Internet. I am at the library today so I don't have time to write a long post or correct my spelling. I won't have a podcast for while either even though I have enough material for two or three podcasts. I know you don't care about the podcast, but I figure it is my one last shot at getting famous as this blog only has 3 readers one of those readers is 13. So maybe you won't miss me. But I have a feeling you will when the emptiness of your existence is made apparent by my absence.

I will be moving back to my old place of residence with my awesome roommate the FRO. The Fro hates when I talk about his gout and drinking escapades, but there really is not much else to talk about with the fro.

My roommate Card Shark has decided to get married and that means I am getting evicted. I get to live in the house while they do all the repairs and upgrades that the house has needed for the last few years. So I get to live in crack house and the wife gets wood floors. I guess it pays to have a pussy more often than not. Either way I a computerless as I was using Card Sharks computer and that has been boxed up. He has ripped out the carpets so I am walking around in a death trap. I stepped on a thumb tack and I am sure I will need a tetanus shot. I am deducting all my medical expenses from my last weeks rent.

I am not sure if the fro has Internet or a computer anymore and I will have to save some money for a computer of my own because I am tired of not being able to collect child porn on the computer that I borrow. I think I need to save about 150 dollars to get a computer that will let me surf the Internet. I am planning on cutting off Netflix and eating baloney sandwiches for the next two months so I can afford a used computer and a wireless router and broadband access. I will try and post when I can from the library, but that means I won't respond to much e-mail or your comments, or read your blogs for while as all I get is an hour of free Internet a day at the library and even that time has to come early in the morning before I go to work and if you know me you know I don't like being awake so damn early.

I think Cars Shark expected me to stay a little longer in the house but like I said it is a crack house now with no computer, no floors, and 3 Mexican workers hammering at the crack of dawn. I can see how the house is going to be nice for the new wife. For instance the new locks the mexicans installed don't need to be jiggled with a key to open. It sucks that the locks get fixed on my last day there. I was always annoyed by jiggling the key. Also the new lights in the kitchen are replaced, I no longer need to use the flash on my camera when I post a (cooking with t.) segment from that kitchen. Again all useless to me and franky the lights in the kitchen will go unused as the family moving in (team card shark and wife) are not exactly cooks.

Well folks I am thirsty and I need to go to work. I will be hunting for a part time job at night so that I can afford all my bills. I want the internet and I want a computer and the only way you ever get anything in life is by working for it. hahah

Sorry, I could not keep a straight face with that line of bullshit.

I will miss you guys but keep checking for periodic posts and go ahead and comment I will try to answer them.

Lucky Charms is not only a great cereal it is a great alias!

Stephanie:

I can't disagree with you. I am all about laying down a moral or two and I think this blog is fine for those over 13 who have a parent like you at home. I was just giving you a hard time. I am kind of surprised that a 13 year old boy might find this blog entertaining with all video games out there. I just think that he should hiding from you looking at stuff like this like I did with my parents. All this openness and refreshing ability to interact with your kids is weird to me as my parents did not want to know anything about what I was doing if it did not involve getting A's in school. They liked to bury their heads in the sand and pretend that their children were not growing up so probably so they did not have to face growing up which I guess is why I am so good at being a grown up too.

Lucky:

You new Britney before she became Britney? Wow! I once got Hillary duff's sister to email me. Not quite the same thing but you get my point.

So for now good bye. But not for long I hope. Soon I will post about my "crazy" night with my ex. That should keep you looking forward. Don't forget the archives folks. Most of that shit is funny. I trust like the the fro you will start at the beginning and read a new (old) post every day. Then you can go the forums at the podcast and start debating what it all means. You don't need lives you've got me. Start a car wash and get my computer. I want a laptop and a desktop and i want 3 gigs bitches!

Your favorite homeless blogger,
Romius Texis

My computer can't find the Internet and the power goes out at my store. I warn shoppers that I am just grabbing whatever comes near me.

My computer is sitting on the floor in my bedroom closet. Soon it will be gathering dust. It will sit in there underappreciated like all my forgotten short stories or like the archives of this blog. I think they serve no purpose other than to let foreigners find out the latest scoop on Kara Borden.

I tried hooking my computer up last night. At first I could not get the keyboard to work, but eventually I got the computer hooked up and running. Next I tried hooking up the cable modem to my computer. I know card shark has a wireless modem and I plugged the cable wire into it and plugged the modem into the back of my computer. My computer says I was hooked up the Internet, but I guess I don't know something about computers because Explorer could not find the Internet. All I know is that I kept getting a message that said Internet connection not found. I am not sure if I need to have Cox come out and set things up or if only his computer is set up to run on his LAN line. I threw all that jargon out like I know what I am talking about. I don't. All I know is I don't have Internet.

My only other option would be to buy a wireless card to see if I can steal the Internet from some sucker nearby. I know a few of the houses have been stealing the Internet from Card Shark's computer so it would only be fair. Maybe the wireless modem does not hook up to a regular desk top. Maybe the wireless card will let me hook up to the wireless modem. As you can see I am monkey sitting in the dark on theses kind of things. I need to marry a computer wiz kid girl.

I dated one once. Jenn would have been able to help me this problem. Also she was bi-sexual so she was always into getting a threesome. I never got one with her even though we dated for a few months. Bi-sexual chicks are like that with me. All talk and no action.

The one time she did have some action she hooked up with a girl on the internet and wanted me to drive her half way around town to meet her. I had a job at the Self Help Center and Law Library at the time and had to wake up in a few hours at 6:30 in the morning. I told her no, some other time. She threw a fit and got pissy with me, but she did not have a car.

I went to bed and that is when she turned her attention to my roommate. She buttered up the FRO with talk of lesbian sex. She left with FRO to her friends house while I was sleeping in my room. FRO is a sucker for lesbians and I think he got to watch her make out for a while. They took off to the other girl's bedroom and got down to the nasty without him which disappointed him to no end. At least he did not get the threesome I had worked so hard to set up.

I woke up that morning to go to work and found that Jenn was gone. I looked over at the computer and it still had her instant message up about leaving with the FRO and meeting her friend. In the message she talked quite a bit of trash about me and mentioned something about being so angry with me she wanted to hit me in the head with a bat while I slept. If you need Jenn you would know that was no idle threat.

Because of the e-message I broke up with Jenn when I got home from work. I told FRO he could take her home, "I was going to work." When I got home FRO was nowhere to be found but a messy faced, crying Jenn was. I drove her home in silence and dropped her off. We spoke in e-mail once or twice, but that was about the last I heard of her.

I think I digressed into one of my Lesbians have sex with each other but not me stories. I have plenty if you want more. But I guess I should talk to you about the power going out at my store.

The power went out at my store. It was chaos. The registers crashed in the middle of several orders. Whenever the back up generators cut on they crashed the remaining registers. Eventually we got everybody out of the store and were sent to work placing plastic wrap around the deli case, meat and dairy aisles. I have no idea if all our hard work helped. But an hour into the process the power finally jumped back on and we had to take it all down.

A few workers wondered if we were going to close the store for the night. I just laughed and told them that for Americans, they did not have a very good grasp of Capitalism.

It was busy the rest of the night and I had to bag groceries myself.