My Great Grandfather died in a Concentration Camp...

An empty fate just means an empty score.

2010-05-04T00:12:00.000-07:00

I'm recently 32, I just bought a house, I don't know any girls that aren't already married, and i have no ambition for future success. This has always been good enough. It isn't any more. Now what.

End Transmission.

Sometimes waitng in line is just too much to handle.

2009-11-23T16:54:00.000-08:00

Today, I put in my four hours of work for the week. I awoke at 9:30 AM, I wasn't sure my alarm clock still worked that early, but it does. I spent about an hour doing my daily morning bullshit, answering emails,(from impatient assholes who apparently have no idea how slow the US Postal service is) tying to make my protein shake with no blender, (everything on the blender works, except the little black part that attaches to the base broke, apparently there is no way to just buy that piece, and unfortunately a 97% operational blender might as well bee 100% non operational. It seems like a waste to have to buy a whole new one...never mind), packing the day's shipments, and just generally trying to psych myself up to venture into the outside world.

I headed west on Colfax towards the largest Pawn shop in Denver. This place is typically a disappointment to me since they over value worthless shit, but they also undervalue valuable shit, so sometimes it's a lucrative trip. Anyway, it's the first stop on my scavenger loop around Denver, and today it was awesome!

First of all I got some 18 year old kid helping me (he kept calling me "sir" which I found insulting, I work for a living goddammit), by which I mean he opened the glass case and stood watching me scan video games. This store has hundreds of awesome Xbox 360, Wii, and PS3 games, but usually they wanted between $25 and $30 for them and were jerks about giving me a bulk discount. Today, however they were desperate to unload some of their over ripening stock, and were in the mood to haggle. So I went to work wading through all the crap to find stuff I could sell.

I was about half way through the pile when there was a disturbance directly to my 5 o'clock. All I hear is, "What the fuck, this is fucking bullshit!" (this is typically a exclamation of displeasure) the over weight mexican lady at the register tells the dude to chill (cheel) out or he would be asked to leave.

"Oh I'll leave," he says and thats when I get a look at him. An old white dude, at least 6 feet tall, with a road worn Undertaker leather duster, he's livid. People have apparently been cutting in front of him, though it seem more likely the line he is in is just moving slower. "Why the fuck isn't here just one line, these assholes cut in front of me!"

It is then the middle age tough guy manager steps in. He's about 5"6" 220lbs, and has a sweet flame tattoo on his arm.

"Ok buddy, you're out of here," he tells the old man.

The old dude barely gets "fuck You!" out of his mouth before he decks the manager in the face and runs grumbling out of the pawn shop. The manager is on the floor, out cold. There is blood, and everyone is freaking out. Someone calls the police.

I still had about 100 games to sift through, so I went back to work.

end transmission.

It's nearly impossible, Highly Improbible, but not hopeless.

2009-11-15T02:56:00.000-08:00

Who are you, who are they? It feels like I might break on this ordinary day, why do we need to change, we were perfect yesterday?

Shit, I'm writing a shitton of shit right now...that's a lot of shit. Man Face to Face "ignorance is Bliss" is just hitting all the chords. Anyway, I'm gonna wake up, hungover and soberish....and read what I wrote and post the fixed version. Sorry you don't get the raw version, it's just a little too "feel sorry for me" at this point.

On a funny note, I ran over a squirrel today. It wasn't personal, more wrong place wrong time, but I swear the second before it died it judged me.

end transmission.

The future is now.

2009-10-27T21:16:00.000-07:00

Ok assholes! If you can't figure out the god damn check yourself out lanes at the supermarket, just suck it up and let the high school kid or the kid with downs syndrome check you out.

I've seriously had it.

I like the check yourself out lanes, because I shop for food one meal at a time. I don't need a fucking cart to ship my provisions to my car. I want to get in, buy my 3 lbs. of meat, 1 lb. of cheese and 1 liter of Vodka, and get the hell out with as little human interaction as possible.

Drop items, scan, beep, scan, beep, scan, beep, swipe card, get on with life.

NOT

Take 5 minutes to unload my basket, trying earnestly to stack my obviously more than ten items into some sort of stable pyramid on the scale that won't go rolling all over the place, swipe...swipe...stupid look on face...swipe...(why isn't this onion coming up on the scanner?)...swipe...swipe...now I have to act frustrated and get the attention of the attendant and blame technology and him/her for my own ignorance...oh, you need a code...ok duh, no bar code on an onion, stupid nature...scan...beep...scan...beep...scan beep...wait this wasn't the price that I thought it was, it should be on sale...fast forward 10 minutes, "no mam, it's the generic tomato paste that is 62 cents, this is the name brand it's 71 cents"..."well, then I don't want it."

Finally all the items are scanned, and lo, it's time to pay. the total comes to $42.34. First let's search our luggage size purse for $.34. When we don't find the requisite change in that location, we can ask our husband if he has any change, he searches the cargo pants of his pants, finding nothing shrugs apologetically as he scans the US weekly's. Well there's nothing to be done now, but pay. Shit, I only have ones and fives and I don't use a wallet, I just throw money in my pocket like it's worthless, so it's all crumpled. Wait! why is this huge unshaven white guy murdering my wife with a rib eye?!

I'm just saying you should have to pass some sort of proficiency test to use the check yourself lane. You should also have a debit/credit card.

No change accepted.

end transmission.

The dregs of sobriety.

2009-08-19T23:04:00.000-07:00

There are no more barriers to cross. All I have in common with the uncontrollable and the insane, the vicious and the evil, all the mayhem I have caused and my utter indifference toward it I have now surpassed. My pain is constant and sharp and I do not hope for a better world for anyone, in fact I want my pain to be inflicted on others. I want no one to escape, but even after admitting this there is no catharsis, my punishment continues to elude me and I gain no deeper knowledge of myself; no new knowledge can be extracted from my telling. This confession has meant nothing.

end transmission.

Like a loaded gun, if it sits too long, eventually you'll work up the nerve.

2009-06-18T00:01:00.001-07:00

Ha! Here you go Chris, the blog is back.

So after four years give or take, the Vegas experiment has come to a close. I made some money, had some fun, made some friends. But here I am heading back to Colorado. Have I outgrown the tiny city in my travels across the world, or will I appreciate it more now that I know what the world is like elsewhere? Time will tell, but for now I look forward to being close to the people I have been too far away from for too long.

I will miss the small tribe of kids I have bonded with in Vegas, the simple truth is I have spread my roots over a large area of this country and no matter where I go I will leave people behind. Though this is sad, it is also very cool. I feel very lucky to know that there are people all over the place that can tolerate my fucking presence.

Anyway, Denver will have its hands full with me for a little while at least, I can always leave...make sure you impress me enough not to turn the town to salt.

end transmission.

Abandon ties that bind, there's no salvation here.

2009-04-01T01:13:00.001-07:00

Hello. My name is Daub. I am 30.9 years old, and I have been unemployed for almost an entire year. So unbeknown to you, you have all been paying my salary for the entire time. (suckers!) That does not make you assholes my boss! But if you could manage it, I would like Tuesdays off.

Currently, I live in the spare bedroom of one of my best friends and his old lady. There are two very ugly dogs here. They eat my shoes on a daily basis, somehow they are growing on me and that is lucky for them. For a more detailed biography please visit: www.washeduppornstars.com/dickdaubbone.

I do not have a problem with my drinking, but I do have a drinking problem.

Anyway, after a slight hiatus, I have decided to put fingers to buttons and share with you all some things that have been on my mind.

First of all, Robocop is an awesome movie. I remember when my mom took me to see it as a lad in the theater. It was odd, because my parents wouldn't even let me watch Ghostbusters. I don't think my mom expected it to be so graphic, and when the ED209 turned that businessdude into hamburger, I remember her dragging me out of the theater and keeping me outside until the barrage of gunfire silenced. I watched as much as I could before my exile, and after that my mom just gave up and let me watch the rest of the film.

I mention this heartwarming tale of my youth because I feel like that movie fucked me up for the rest of my life. I had never seen anything so fucking amazing in my life, something about the gratuitous violence, sex, and cyborg one liners changed who and what I would become. Kinda like how Linda Carter in that Wonder Woman outfit defined my "type" before my balls even dropped. Black hair, blue eyes, big tits, she ties you up and makes you tell the truth. I'm probably the only person who ever thought she was hot. Also she had an invisible jet.

What was I talking about? Fuck. I guess my point was that if Robocop were here, he and Wonder Woman would fix the economy somehow.

end transmission.

I can't recall the why or when...all I remember is that now we aren't speaking.

2008-08-29T05:02:00.000-07:00

A lot of you have asked what happened next in my adventure with LSD in public after the asian chick. I alluded that it was substantial and kept me from ever attempting such a stunt again.

This is true.

For those of you who have never tripped acid, I guess maybe you need a little more description of the experience to understand. After I talked to Kelly I decided to head home to the dorms, which was a pretty decent walk sober, but tripping was going to be a herculean gauntlet, survivable only by the true of heart and strong of faith.

You see, when your this fucked up on rat poison the world is different. It's not like you're drunk, your faculties are intact, you can move adroitly, your thoughts are clear, too clear, almost. But you are also not straight, you are perceiving everything differently, as if you are wearing red sunglasses and asked to properly identify colored objects.

"pick the green apple."

You can recognize the object: apple, and you see a green one, plain as day, but the object you picked looks to everyone else to be a red apple, and to be fair, there is no apple. It's actually a yellow pear. Get it? If not you've never been that fucked up.

I digress. Ar this point I had already forgotten that I had talked to Kelly, in fact that she even existed, i was already contemplating whether or not God had designed Street Fighter ( the arcade was right in front of me) as a way to separate the weak from the roundeye, when a most unfortunate event occurred.

The fat girl from my feminist philosophy class appeared with two of her (i assumed) sexually damaged lesbian friends. There was no escape, she recognized me(most of you have heard the tales of this class....I'm sure I'll include the experience eventually...but for now, imagine me in a class with 30 angry feminists talking about rape).

I, of course, pretended as if I had no idea who she was, ans she walked by without incident. Very anticlimactic.

Where was I, goddammit, this parachute is a knapsack! I'll be back with the rest, fuck! Stupid internet.

end transmission.

I'll love you forever, if I ever love at all.

2008-08-18T11:20:00.000-07:00

So due to the immense free time I have at my disposal and my growing lack of enjoyment at the company of my fellow human beings, I have been playing around a lot with internet IQ and personality tests. Low and behold an EHarmony commercial came on and I figured, with that much money for TV advertising, they must be popular, but how accurately could it diagnose my personality.

In a nut shell, it was terrifyingly accurate, and this was the final result:

"Unfortunately, we are not able to make our profiles work for you. Our matching model could not accurately predict with whom you would be best matched. This occurs for about 20% of potential users, so 1 in 5 people simply will not benefit from our service. We hope that you understand, and we regret our inability to provide service for you at this time."

Now, this doesn't surprise me, since I answered every question with 99.9% honesty, and, well, no one is ever going to get a date going that route. It was the actual personality analysis that blew my mind.

"Your emphasis on personal independence and personal responsibility may seem to lack in compassion to some people. Undoubtedly you have encountered people who feel this way toward you. And some may find you to be rather selfish. You do stay focused on your own life, take responsibility for your own problems, and are not always moved by situations in which some people think some action is required. That is part of you and your basic beliefs about life. And some people will inevitably want you to be different, but that is simply not who you are.

Undoubtedly you have met some people who get uncomfortable being around you because your feelings are so close to the surface. They may keep a bit of distance, especially around any subject that might trigger an emotional topic they are uncomfortable with.

Lucky you! You enjoy your own company as much as you enjoy the company of others.

You may occasionally run into problems with other people....They may be more sociable and outgoing, and find you too laid-back and relaxed. They want conversations to be lively and passionate while you keep things amiable and civil. Or others may be more quiet and reserved than you, and when you're in one of your more animated moments they may wish you would back off. You may be ready to put more energy into a conversation than they are comfortable with."

That's just a taste, but you get the point. Have we really figured out how people react to the point that a generic online test can pinpoint such salient features in our personality? Are there really only a certain number of specific personalities in the world that are quantifiable? Or is this test like astrology, just general enough that you can pick out the things that seem right and ignore the stuff that doesn't apply.

All I know is that Eharmony has little hope for me as a person, and that makes me happy.

end transmission.

Slow news day.

2008-07-03T18:25:00.000-07:00

So, I have really been shitting the bed on this blog lately, and I apologize. My hate mail has tripled in the past two weeks, people demanding their money back and some even offering me money if I just stop ejaculating this crap on the tits of the internet.

Well, I refuse to cease. As a writer, and a badass, I know that sometimes you must fight through the shit to get to the toilet paper. So here goes.

Since nothing super awesome has happened recently, I have decided to regale you with a tale of yesteryear, when I was younger, dumber and equally handsome. This tale is set in the late 1990's, a time before the internet, cell phones, or that little ring contraceptive device that no one told me about, until I encountered it in the field (that's another story for later, when the kids go to bed).

I was a lad of no more than 19 or 20 years, cocksure and abound with potential and angst. Things were hard for me at this time, working 3 jobs, going to school, and trying to balance a budding alcholic habit with the trials of a newly independent life. It was a fun time, though, and many exciting things were happening to me.

This story is not about any of them, unfortunately. This story is about the time I decided to take 2 geltabs of LSD and go about my day, just to see what a normal day in the life of a Daub would be like while hallucinating and sweating profusely. I remember it as if it was filmed and the footage was recorded on my DNA, a sort of inherited memory that came from an ancestor. I cannot recount the entire 16 hour adventure in this limited tome, but this I think is the most salient and interesting of the experiences (a close second was fucking the blonde hippie girl that lived in the dorms downstairs from me, her name was an "A" name... Anne? I dunno, she was clean for a hippie and had blonde pubic hair, a novelty for sure, though any pubic hair on chicks nowadays is a novelty. Not all change is bad.

I had just left my symbolic logic class, my mind blown away by the concept of changing life into math. It is a fairly "out there" concept even when sober, but we do it on a daily basis, and don't even know it, though most people cheat and have beliefs that are the logical equivalent of 2+4=7. I was leaving the Hellems building and was walking toward the UMC, my eyes shifting under my sunglasses, taking in an incalculable amount of stimuli. I remember thinking that most of our lives we were tripping on something and acid was the antidote, everything seemed so much more real to me, I could see the way the world really was, I realized that day that I was God, I determined reality, my perception was truth, my truth, and in that way I was divine. In the 100 or so feet to the UMC, I also wrote the entire plot and premise of the movie "Tank Girl," as well as finally figured out why rich Dads always have hot daughters (that mental debacle had been plaguing me years, and the answer was so simple).

At this point, I am, of course, just standing stupidly, staring off into space, people milling around me, unaware that the slightest nudge could send me into a rant about the apocalypse building in my mind.

That's when Kelly happened by. Kelly was this cute Japanese Lacrosse player that I met...somewhere, I went to some sorority party with her because she hated all the girls in the thing (her mother had been a DG, so she was supposed to be, that dinner is another nail biting tail, maybe later) and she wanted someone to have fun with. Awesome girl.

"Daub, what's up? What're you doing?" she said.

I remember thinking that I was imagining things, I didn't expect to see anyone I knew, and i was about 3 hour deep in chemical inebriation. The idea that there was a girl's voice in my head was not too hard to fathom. Kelly was pretty short, and I thought she was an elf or some sort of cartoon character, it took me a while to recognize her, but my clouded synapses, running at the speed of light, so quickly that thoughts were thought and forgotten in milliseconds, finally recognized her face and set into motion...a reaction.

"Kelly, I'm glad I ran into you, I need you to hold onto this until tomorrow," I handed her the pen I had in my hand, she took the pen, I didn't see her face I was staring at her feet for some reason, and I walked past her, confident that my actions were justified and completely suited to the encounter.

"Uh, thanks...I guess, are you ok?" she asked.

I had almost escaped, I turned around. Now I wondered why I had wanted to get away so badly, now I wanted to stay, "Hey let's go get a beer," I said.

"I have class," she said.

"So do I," my drug addled memory somehow yanked a fact from the aether, I always passed Kelly at this time, I knew where she was going, "besides, isn't you class that stupid writing class you hate so much? What do you call it? Writing for retards...or..."

She smile, "Basic concepts of essay writing."

"Yeah, fuck it, let's go. I'll teach you everything you need to know about writing an essay. And Step one is beer, or maybe vodka. You may not be ready for the advanced concepts, but I think you'll get a hold of it pretty quick. Besides if you don't come with me, you could get hit by a bus, well you could get hit by a bus either way, but would you rather your last moments on earth be with me and some alcohol, or a bunch of idiots trying to form a coherent thought in written form without colloquialisms."

"I don't have a fake ID."

" I know where we can go. Come on, you owe me for that fucking sorority dance."

"You had fun, you just won't admit it."

"That is a lie, come on, let's go."

She looked at me strangely then, her tiny asian face seemed so far away from my lofty corn fed height, and for just a second I thought she could read my mind, so I stopped thinking about her naked and, grasping at any other thought that I could formulate, I settled on wiener dogs, they’re like little people. People that eat their own poo. If she could read my mind, well I’d be ok. If she did not have that power I would also enjoy thinking about tiny hotdog shaped dogs. Win, win.

“I really have to go to class today, it’s my day to have those retards read one of my papers and tell me what they think, while I pretend to care. These fucking required classes suck.”

They do bark a lot though, seemingly at everything, even at themselves when they chance upon their reflection. How strange it must be to come face to face with yourself, but being too stupid to understand the concept of “I” you think that your image is another “thing like me but not me…somehow.” I suddenly realized that I was just standing there, lost in my own bullshit. I settled on a de facto response that would later in life serve me with such distinction.

“Sure.”

“I’ll call you when I’m done, though, I think drinking sounds like a good idea.”

“Ok, have a good time with the bastards.”

“Bye.”

This would have been great news if the cell phone had been invented already, but alas, in those dark times one would have to literally wait by the phone when one was expecting a call, and I wasn’t exactly sure where my phone was at the moment.

What happened next is why this was the first and last time I did LSD in a public, daylight setting.

end transmission.

Sometimes I wish I was a magician,but then I realize I would hate myself more than I already do.

2008-06-30T02:26:00.000-07:00

So I'm still blissfully unemployed, sleeping 'till noon, reading and playing video games, rarely embarking on any outings out into the 104 degree desert heat.

This morning, however, I had to attend to my primary financial drain, my car. I woke up around one o'clock, laid in bed reading emails and trying to figure out how the Hell I got home last night. Anyway, my proscribed task of the day was to do a little car maintenance. It's important when unemployed to give yourself tasks to accomplish, thus feeling like you are still contributing to something, even if it's all really just bullshit.

So I went out to the Daubmobile to add a quart of oil (it leaks oil somewhere, I know very little of these things and hope that if I add more than leaks out, all will be well) and change the air filter. This is pretty much all I am able to do myself, and yesterday's quest was to acquire the supplies necessary for this endeavor, so all was prepared.

Needless to say I am quite hungover, and walking out the door is akin to swan diving into the sun. This does not improve my mood, nor my headache. I open the hood of my conveyance and begin the necessary steps involved in this routine maintenance, when I vaguely sense that there is another human being within 30 ft of me. It is as if my senile hermitude has given me some 6th sense, and I could hear her talking on the phone.

I, of course go about my business, the engine parts were hotter than satan's taint and I was swearing quite profusely. I start to get a strange feeling, like when your fly is down and you're in a crowded room. You don't want to draw attention to the mistake by hurriedly zipping up, but you also need to fix the problem before more people notice. The point is, it is at this point that I realize the girl is no longer talking on the phone, she is talking to me. I'm very focused on my tasks, my head buried in my car's engine.

"Hey! Yeah you," I finally absorb from the air and turn around.

"What?" I ask somewhat disappointed that the girl was very not hot.

"Yeah, finally, have you seen a fucking cat come by here?"

"A cat? No, but I've had my head buried in here so..." Between the heat and the alcohol and the oil fumes my IQ is barely high enough to maintain breathing and heart rate.

"You would have noticed a cat come by here, heard it at least."

Uh....I've been sequestered in my apartment for a couple of weeks, did cats get louder while I was away, or maybe she just had large, very loud cats...and she's kinda pissed off, which bothers me 'cause I didn't do shit, and I don't really care a pig's balls about her pet.

"I didn't hear a fucking cat, but I've only been out here about 10 minutes, sorry."

A short pause. She looks at me as if the F bomb was not only inappropriate, but also preemptory. She launched her bomb first.

"No, not a fucking a cat, have you seen a CAB out here, you know a taxi?" she looks at me like I'm a retard, the whole time her cell phone never left her ear.

"Ohh..." my brain ignites like a tetris game waiting for the long, straight four piece and finally getting it, bam! "A taxi, no I haven't seen shit."

She looks at me like I told her the moon smelled funny today and says, "Well if a cab does come by, just yell out for me, ok?"

I have never seen this person in my life, but in the interest of ceasing this awkward social interaction I manage, "If a cab comes by here while I'm out here I will stop it, with my own body if necessary, and if I escape serious injury I will notify you A-Sap."

I then stared at her until she retreated to whatever banal purgatory she subsisted in, and I went back to my task, singing a face to face song in my head, and realizing it had been a couple days since I had looked in a mirror.

end transmission.

Here is the world they’ll try to sell you, here is the ache, barbiturate...

2008-06-18T04:14:00.000-07:00

I just realized! I don't know what the fuck I'm doing! I don't have a clue! I'm growing a beard again, that's all I got, and it's mostly grey.

Also, I am not sure it's wrong for a 27 year old mexican dude to beat his 2 year old child to death on the highway, to the point it takes police shooting him to death to end the affair. Why did he do it? Was the kid crying to much? Did he just hate it? I don't know, but it doesn't bother me either way. I feel like nothing people do surprise, shock, or offend me any more, if things like this ever bothered me. I would never beat a child to death, I don't think, but I also thought I'd never see a girl shoot darts out of her vagina....so, what the fuck do I know.

Bartender? Are you sure this has vodka in it?

end transmission.

When you're falling, you're the only one that doesn't see the distance.

2008-06-15T04:01:00.000-07:00

Well it's been a while. I've been without the internet, and they frown on drinking and downloading pornography at the library, so, I've been kinda off the radar. Well I turned 30 years old, lost my shitty job, got a sweet infection in my mouth and had to have teeth literally drilled out of my head, luckily it only cost me 3 grand, I saved $400 bucks by staying conscious through the whole procedure, the smell of your own jaw burning with the friction of a drill is something I highly recommend you all endure, it takes your mind to some odd places.

I quit drinking, got hooked on the fun pills from my mouth surgery, ran out of pills and went back to booze. Ironically I've written more in the past 2 weeks than I have in the past year, and I'm happy with about a fifth of it, which is really good.

Before I forget, go buy the new No Use For A Name album, it's the most upbeat depressing album I've ever heard, Tony Sly has always been good at that kinda shit, but he really nailed it here. You don't even know its depressing until after you're done listening to it...that is a magic that is hard to conjure, and is an inspiration to me. It's like falling in love with a girl, having her leave you, sending you into that downward heartbreak spiral for a year or so, only to realize you never really even liked her in the first place.

Anyway...

I guess I glossed over my 3 week awesome return to Colorado. Not only did I get to see all of the people I miss every day, but I got to see a Trevor Keith show, No Use For A Name and NOFX (and my 2 favorite American Steel songs, someday I'll see a whole set, that makes 3 I've misssed). My humiliating Sorry! defeat was not a high point however, and it may have soured me on the entire board game phenom. I really think video games are gonna overtake that market, well only time will tell.

I guess you all would like some witty insight into life or maybe an embarrasing sex story. I can only leave you with this quote from the master himself;

"If you find yourself in bed with a terribly ugly woman, wishing she was pretty will not get it over any quicker."

end transmission.

Happy Birthday Daub, you're fired.

2008-04-16T01:57:00.000-07:00

Well, I got laid off. No I didn't fist fuck anyone rich or accidentally pee on the CFO of MGM/Mirage, I didn't kill a hooker, or get caught fucking a waitress on my lunch hour. The corp just needed to save a few million dollars in order to maintain the corporate jet fleet, or to keep their concentration camps open, or whatever they do. On the bright side:

end transmission

Sometimes those simple things won't turn the trick no more.

2008-03-29T23:40:00.000-07:00

Whew! I just spent a half hour whining and complaining, only to have windows shut down internet explorer and "poof!" all gone. Lucky for you I got it out of my system.
I'm in the writin' mood, which means more dead latinas/babies per raped estranged spouses than ever before! I hesitate to give you the link to it's web publication until I sober up and read it over first. 'Till then, just wonder and imagine at the terrible world that shits out of my diseased brain.
These moods are so transitory, yet elationary (is that a word), and it made me think, well wonder, at people who write shit like Harry Potter. That Rawlings bitch is one of only 7 female billionaires on the forbes list of rich assholes. What mood is she in when she writes that shit? I don't make shit from the crap I write, mostly 'cause I can't finish anything and no one really wants to read stories that make them feel like crap just for being alive. I get that. But come on?
The itch needs to be scratched, gotta go.
end transmission.

Everyone Learns Faster on Fire.

2008-01-28T05:40:00.001-08:00

Well, it's been a while kids, but I'm back! Through the adverse tribulations of sobriety and back again! Yeah exclamation points!
!!!
What nuggets of truth do I have to impart on you as I slowly trudge the uneven path toward my 30th birthday? Simply put....none. I Don't feel like I've mentally/emotionally grown since around 1998. This is ironically the last time I took one in the nuts (a hell of a streak to be certain, though it does cause some inordinate flinching in order to maintain the statistic).
punk Rock bowling was another glaring high point in a life otherwise shrouded in the gloom of monotony. I have awesome friends, and I'm happy and lucky to know all those fuckers. Lifelong friends who I feel so close to that all I can think of is how I want to be the first to die so I don't have to go to their funerals, and so my funeral is heavily populated. This is a vain wish since logevity is the curse of paternity on both sides of my family for untold generations.
Maybe I'm getting sentimental in my old age, but I think I have all the friends I will ever have...sorry new people you're out, just no room for you. My heart is like a hotel you take your mistress...it charges by the hour and no one ever cleans the sheets. i don't know hwat that means, but surely in the future people will look upon the ramblings with the hindsight colored by my genius. Of course you will all know the truth, but they will have only the text with which to judge.

end transmission.

The Outside World is Closing In.

2007-12-09T22:48:00.000-08:00

I just got back from an awesome trip to L.A. a place I've never actually been to. After some initial hardships finding the fucking hotel I was staying in (it is honestly the most confusing driving experience I've ever encountered), the trip rocked.

I went out to see a band called the Playing Favorites at the Viper Room (apparantly a famous club?). It was their very first live performance, though the band is comprised of verteran musicians from many bands, most notably to me is the fact that Joey Cape is in the band. Their album was put out by Virgil at Suburban Home Records, an old college friend of mine. Awesome album, go buy it.

Anyway, the show was rad and best of all, I ended up drinking, eating tortilla chips and bullshitting with Joey in the kitchen of some random dude's house after the second show saturday night. I've already espoused my man-crush on this dude, and anyone who knows me knows I'm a fag for his music, but it's amazing what a normal guy just like any of you guys I would sit around with laughing and talking 'till all hours of the morning with. It was crazy hanging out with these guys, drinking, telling stupid stories, looking at bullshit on youtube...a fucking awesome time.

I'll prolly have more to say about it after I get some sleep and process the whole thing, but for now that's it.

end transmssion.

The Terrorists have already won, at video poker!

2007-10-22T04:27:00.000-07:00

Check this out kids! I apologize for the crappy image quality, but I had to snap this picture all stealthy with my phone since I didn't want to get in trouble. I might get in trouble anyway, but it's funny enough to risk.

Also there is an unexpected fat girl doing a superman pose in the background.

end transmission.

Yeah, that's the way things go some days...

2007-10-17T06:43:00.001-07:00

Fucking christ! I can't even go to a bar a 2 in the morning after work to enjoy a free beer without stepping knee deep in bullshit!
There I was sitting at the bar playing, playing nickel poker, enjoying my Guinness, contemplating the how I was going to make rape funny in a story that has been keeping me awake, when POOF! Here comes some asshole from LA. Well he's actually from Vegas, but he's back! He knows the bartender and they start talking. the asshole pulls out an Iphone and starts showing everyone pictures of his newborn son.
Wow, a biological miracle to be sure!
Well, it turns out this kid has a serious birth defect. He has Spina bifida (which due to my insomnia coupled with an uncomfortable curiousity for fucked up illnesses, and the fact that I have been watching 3 episodes of House MD a day, which is an awesome show, I highly recommend..I digress, I know a little about this disease), basically the spinal column doesn't completely form around the spinal cord. It can be mild, or super shitty, but it is never good, and the most sketchy points in the disease are right after birth.
This guy kept alternating between "he's totally healthy" and "He's got this really scary disorder" followed by, "he's gonna be fine, we have the 4th best surgeon in all of california."
Something told me a assistant PA in LA was not really on the A list for doctors. I kept my mouth shut. But I thought, "If your new born son is in this kinda turmoil, why are you in Vegas at 2 in the AM drinking budlight with a waitress from PT's. Are you an asshole? or just a complete douchebag lier?
It turns out he was just an asshole, his "baby's mama" was taking care of it for the weekend, he needed to get away.
Wow.
I fucking hate children, and I wouldn't leave that hospital if my dick and balls were on fire and the only estinguisher in all the world was in Angelena Jolie's pussy, which was in the hospital parking lot, prepped and ready ( well maybe then...but my point is easy to see anyway).
Was this guy in denial? Then why did he keep bringing the kid up? Did he just not give a shit? I just don't know, never hving concieved a child with a potentially terminal disease. I can only think that the frailty of every day life both terrifies and intrigues me.
and though I truly hope that child is ok, I got the distinct impression that his dad hoped the kid would die quickly and save him a lifetime of trouble.

end transmssion.

There's a coldest day in every year.

2007-10-14T05:47:00.000-07:00

I woke up Friday morning, after five or six hours of turning inmy bed, thinking about everything. I had a dentist appointment at 2:00, so I had planned on getting up at noon. That would give me plenty of time to fuck around and jerk off or whatever I was going to do.
I woke up at 1:15 and ended up going to get some food at Taco Bell. In front of me in line at Taco Bell was a Mexican couple. The girl was petite, attractive, and pregnant. She had a child in her arms, and her "man" was some kid barely 20 years old, with an ECW t-shirt. He had a sweet mullet, and looked like he was one chromosome away from being retarded.
Why is this important? Because after my dentist appointement, I went to Wal-Mart to purchase a notebook, underwear and check the prices on electric toothbrushes. ANd guess who was there?...the smae fucking mexican couple, right there, shopping for tortillas or whatever. Strange, to be sure, but whatever.
After I went to Wal-MArt I went to 7-11 to put some air in the back right tire on my Jeep (it has a slow leak somewhere) I then went inside to buy a slurpee. The mexican couple was not there, but there wa sa guy who asked me for change. I told him no, and he insisted that my entrance into heaven was predicated on my charity. I told him I was terrified at the prospect of eternity in Hell, but I had limited funds and my immidiate frozen sugar needs took precident over my afterlife concerns.
I ran a number of other mundane errands, and ended up at Autozone to buy some new windshield wipers and a new gas cap. I shit you not, the Mexican couple was there, the same family, buying...whatever.
So I ran into these fucks a few times in the same day...I remarked on it, but did not think any more on it, until I went to food for less later that night (8:30) to get vodka, soda, and peanuts.
Those fuckers were there renting a movie from a vending machine! Are these fuckers following me? Am I following them? Are they inept CIA agents passively tailing me? Fuck, how is my life and theirs so similar that we're at the same places at the same time all fucking day long? What the fuck was going on?
I got over it quietly and went about my business. I went out for some drinks at about 11:30, and met up with a girl I had met about a week before. We hung out 'till about 2:00, and as we were leaving, I saw the mexican dude in the bar! Same ECW tshirt, it was him!
I apparantly have a parallel life with a young mexican family, and all I could think about was wether or not they noticed me, running into them all day long.

end transmssion.

If you could hear the dreams I've had my dear, they would give you nightmares for a week.

2007-10-14T04:54:00.000-07:00

Something I've been running into constantly lately is the idea that the the same actions produce the same results, or the idea that if you do the same shit, the same shit will happen to you.

That seems logical, and it is an appealing philosophy for change. But what can I change? What is it about what I do (that has caused an outcome I do not enjoy) that I can alter? The problem is not in me, and if it is it is so intrinsic that to aliviate it would destroy me. So what is the njkl;h5tare4uiorfjlk

in the infinite hours between 6PM and 2am.

2007-09-26T19:35:00.000-07:00

This is the first blog I have written at work. There are days at this job when I have absolutely nothing to do and so I am left alone, walking in circles, with only my thoughts. My mind Is a twisted and terrible enough place to visit, and to be sentanced to hours within its confines with no distraction is a horror beyond words.

Usually, this type of situation is what leads me to write. Somehow there is catharsis in removing ideas from the aether of my troubled head and chisling them into reality. Without this release, the ideas and arguements bounce around my skull like a handfull of rubber balls thrown into a bathtub, costantly increasing in both velocity and quantity, until I feel like I'm going mad.

It is the focus of the composition that allows me to mute my conflicted musings to a dull roar, and thus stave off a complete mental meltdown for a few more hours.

This silent desperation for distraction in leu of my favored method of management has led to some of the most asinine conversations with some of lamest people on earth.

Just minutes ago I literally had a conversation about dust! Fucking dust! I have rarely had the opportunity to be involved in such an intellectual treatise on, what is truly one of the most fascinating issues facing us today!

Never before have I been so engrossed by the topic of comparative weather conditions; ie in Ontario it is apparantly already getting really cold, but here in Vegas the temperature is quite pleasent!

Currently there are no boobs to oggle at, so I am consumed with the desire to find an ugly old lady so that I may debate the pros and cons of coin operated slot machines, certainly a topic that remains interesting even after exploring its nuances hundreds of times.

End transmission.

Bowling Racecar Driver

2007-08-23T05:04:00.000-07:00

When I woke up this morning with a slight hangover and a more than slight mad-on for the human race, I would have never guessed the day would turn out so awesome.

I was wondering around, 7 hours deep into my shift, wallowing in my usual reverie of self disgust (I went to college so I could end up pushing in chairs and giving directions to the bathroom?) and loathing for people the world over precipitated by dealing with the constant, unyielding stream of stupidity and asinine behavior.

Then I see a very small man at an atm. Not really noteworthy in itself, until he turned around. He had a fuck off black beard, and holy shit! It's fucking Joey Cape...I think. I kinda orbited around, slowly convincing myself that, yes, that is the man responsible for some of the greatest music made in the past 15 years.

Fuck it, I thought, and I walked over to him.
"hey man, I don't wanna bother you, but are you Joey Cape?"

He kinda looked at me, surprised that maybe I recognized him.
"Yeah, I am."

"I'm Kris (I always introduce myself thus, explaining Tom? Bob? No, Daub, is very frustrating), and I think your music is the shit."

"Thanks dude." And we shook hands. He accepted my praise with humble appreciation and a smile.

We talked for a little while about some work he's doing with a mutual Friend at Suburban Home, Virgil, and some other bullshit.
Now for those of you who don't know, Joey is the lead singer/song writer for Lagwagon (arguably the most awesome band ever), as well as the Guitar player in Me First and the Gimme Gimmies, and the creative force behind Bad Astronaut.

This guy is like a god to me, I can't really remember a day of my life since I was a junior in High School that I haven't listened to at least one of his songs, and here he is randomly crossing paths with me on a "normal" day at work. It was surreal, I still feel like it was some kind of boredom inspired hallucination.

But it really happened, I shook hands with one of my heroes today.

end transmission.

The Note From Which the Chord is Built.

2007-08-03T14:41:00.000-07:00

Speaking of AIDS....

I got my test results from the Doctor today. My cholestoral level is perfect, my thyroid is good, and I don't have herpes, hepititis or AIDS. In fact I am in perfect health and there are no sores on my asshole or genitalia. That bump thing on my cock turned out to be an ingrown hair, which I've had hundreds of before, but usually on my face, occaisionally on my leg or arm. Anyone up for some unprotected sex?

end transmission.

Look into the future, all I can see...the next generation looking back with pity on me.

2007-07-05T03:36:00.000-07:00

Alright, today (well yesterday for all you people that live like a normal human being) is the 4th of July. The celebration of our country's birthday. There is a lot of YEAH AMERICA! shitting around this time of year, and it got me thinking about nations, nationality, and the world as a whole.

Obviously, back when you were lucky if you went 20 miles away from where you were born in your lifetime, the commradery necessitated by locality was important. There was a lot of scary shit out there, and it all wanted to eat your food and rape your family.
This concept gradually expanded to the scale of a nation, loosely bound by common language and common foes. Them and Us. You are like me, and we must protect what we have from those who are different than us because, well, how could I trust some dirty fuck who doesn't speak my language, much less love my god?

But today, at least in the US, I don't feel like an American. I don't really agree with 95% of the things my government does, I don't agree with most of the opinions of the majority of my fellow citzens, and I sure as fuck don't feel like I want to. I'm embarassed to be labeled an "American."
I feel more like a tenant, who must pay a monthly rent to live and drive and breathe in the borders of the complex. The US government is just a landlord that, for some reason, is allowed to take my money away, whether I want what their selling or not, and I get something in return, though I don't really get a say in what it is (voting is for suckers, don't think for a second your voice counts, but that's another rant) and they take a nother taste if I buy something I do want, and then they take a cut of my shit when I die.

To make a long story short, the world is so interconnected, finacially as well as culturally, it seems so stupid to base your most highly regarded affiliations on something so trivial as geographic similarities. The Nation-State paradigm is foolish, and more to the point, dangerous.

Terrorists have learned this, or perhaps they were the first to figure it out a long time ago. Who do retaliate against, when violence is perpetrated by a few, acting not out of patriotism, but in their own self interest? You can't go to war with a country just because a few of it "citizens" blew up some of your shit. Why hold entire populations of people responsible for the work of a few, just 'cause they live in the same town? Why think they think the same way?

But we have, and I say "we" because my taxes paid for those tanks, and bombs, and bullets. My money, though pratically stolen from me, paid for these things, and I AM responsible and there is nothing I can do about it. All because I was born here instead of Japan.

end transmission.

The agony of De-Feet.

2007-06-24T16:59:00.000-07:00

A 13 year old girl's feet got fucking cut off on the Superman ride! Some cable snapped and chopped them right off above the ankle. Wow. What a shitty vacation. It kinda makes me want to get a job at an amusment park, I mena, shit, hooker fights and drunk tourists are amusing, but no one ever gets any of their limbs violently removed right in front of me. That's fucking terrible and fascinating to behold, I reckin'.

"But Daub? What about the poor little girl who got hurt? Have you no compassion?"

In a word, no. She got hurt voluntarily doing something fun. Fun things are often dangerous. I mean, come on, it's a ride that you strap into and then it drops you 200 ft at 55mph! You could get the same thrill jumping off a building, though argueably the Superman ride has a lower fatality rate than that alternative.

Besides, the cable could have just as easily severed her head.

end transmission.

If you don't remind me, I won't forget you.

2007-06-24T03:49:00.000-07:00

If you don't already know, "Dear You" by Jawbreaker, it will kill you. It's the most powerful album I've ever heard.

Aside from that, I guess I don't have a lot to say. "I m jet black, I am stone cold."

end transmission.

If what you seek aint free, then fucking steal it.

2007-06-15T05:33:00.000-07:00

First of all, I might be the last person who has heard of the BBC documentary "Planet Earth." If I am indeed, next to last, and you are the last one, let me tell you, it is fucking incredible. Run, don't walk, to the internet and buy it. The great white jumping out of the water in slo-mo....jesus it's fucking incredible, the whole thing looks like it's CGI, it's such an odd perspective on wildlife footage, I guess it took 5 years to make...anyway it's awesome. If you know how to use torrents, you can watch it for free, if you don't know how to use torrents, you are an archaic relic, and are falling so far behind the herd that that you deserve to be eaten. Seriously, you're like that old lady who is wasting everyone's time trying to pay with a check, and you left your driver's license at home, ad you demand that you be trusted due to the fact you've been shopping here for 40 years. Get with it!

What was I going to say...fuck?

I was late for work today. You all know how punctual I am, how could this have happened? Did I oversleep? Did I take to long jerking off in the shower? Whas there a traffic accident? All viable reasons...but alas, no.

I was feeling a little sluggish, so I stopped at a gas station for a Sugar free, So-Be energy boost. I grabbed the can out of the fridge, and went to pay for it. There was only one person in front of me, some scraggly looking dude buying a 12 pack of MGD. The cashier rang it up, and asked for the $12.37 needed to purchase such an august item. The dude had only a ten dollar bill.

A dilemma to be certain. So what does this asshole do? He turns, and looks at me, and says, "Can I borrow a couple bucks? I'm a little short."

You can imagine my response.

He said, "hold on," and went, slowly, out to his car. I told the cashier, who I have seen on more than one occasion, due to the gas station's prominent location on my route to work, "Here's the 2 bucks for mine (the beverage was technically $1.99 with tax)."

She told me she had to ring it up first, and she couldn't do that until she cleared this guy's order. My rage gauge was in the red, I looked at my watch and debated whether I needed the energy drink that bad. At this point, the guy comes back, somehow he had acquired $1.34. Now he had $11.34, which was not enough, but he was hopeful he could barter the beer's price down to this level.

I am now purple with rage. I look at the people behind me in line, they seem to be content to wait. I slapped a dollar on the counter, took 3 pennies from the little bin, and said..."Ok, come on. I gotta go."

The dude smiled, told me thanks. He grabbed for the 12 pack, but before he could grab it, I tore open the top, took one of the cans out, and put it in my pocket. HE looked mad, but stifled his protest and left.

end transmission.

Daub's a decent guy, until he drinks, and then his liquid mind takes over how he thinks.

2007-06-12T05:29:00.000-07:00

Well, fuck me. I forgot I still had more story to tell. I got off on a tangent writing a story about cannibalism, and I just forgot about it. Anyway.

Grandpa had found his brother in Mexico, and found that he was very paranoid about who he would and would not meet in person. The lovely girl with the gun was Robert's 17 year old daughter. She eventually led them to Robert and there was general merriment at the reunion. Garner and Robert when off to get drunk and catch up, and Grandma and the girls were set to preparing the feast for the celebration, in fact, a pig was to be slaughtered for the occasion!

So while my kinda prissy grandma helped kill and gut a giant hog, Robert caught Garner up on what he was doing hiding in Mexico. It turned out that Robert had started to make a quite a large amount of money running guns from California to Mexico (and onward to where ever, apparently getting them out of the U.S, is the hard part), trading them for drugs and cash and then bringing the drugs back to the U.S.

He did this largely by boat, but used planes sometimes. This went on for years, and Robert amassed a shit ton of money, laundered through an few legit businesses in the States. No one noticed that a pet shop, a home improvement store, and bar were making tens of millions of dollars a year, until the bar was failed it's liquor license recertification for serving underage drinkers. This, in itself, was not a big deal, until it came time to file the tax returns, and a bar that was supposedly shut down for the last 8 months posted record profits.

An audit ensued, and Robert abandoned ship, left his wife in CA, clueless as to where he disappeared to and even less informed of her husband's actual profession. (Garner said that Robert had always hated this woman, but because a divorce might reveal his secret monies, had to endure her. So when he bailed, he left her with nothing, since all his assets were confiscated, fuck you hag!) He had set up this safe house in Mexico years before, and so there he was for the past 7 years, hiding from the FBI. He got married again to some mexican chick (I think she was his housekeeper at one time) he had knocked up years before, and just kinda drank and hung out. He covered his tracks pretty good, since the U.S. Government had yet to find him, but the fact that Garner's P.I. was successful was a miracle.

So Garner told him about his twin sons in Germany, and Robert (who had apparently wanted to marry his german nurse, but was not allowed to by the state department) decided they would leave for Germany as soon as possible, his hiding be damned.

If I was making up this story it would end with the twins being an FBI sting and Robert would have fought his way out of the trap, kinda like in Scarface, but alas no. This story has a pretty happy ending. They stayed in Germany for a few months, getting to know his long lost progeny. Unfortunately, Robert's nurse had died five years previous, but had always spoken kindly of him.

end transmission

We want to not know you, to better know you.

2007-06-05T06:03:00.000-07:00

So where was I...

Oh yeah, well my Grandfather's 2nd eldest brother (my step-great-uncle? I dunno.) was shot three times by the surprised Nazi's in the foxhole he mistakenly charged, a flesh wound on his left leg, and two shots in his right arm/shoulder. He made it back to his unit and was med-evac-ed back to a hospital somewhere in Alsace, France which for those of you who don't know is on the German/French border, and is super fertile land. Almost every war those two countries fought were over this small strip of land, and everyone that lives there are as much German as they are French.

Anyway, he spent the rest of the war sitting there with a shattered collarbone and a broken arm.

Now we fast forward 28 years. My grandfather, Garner, is just sitting around doing whatever, and he gets a call. It is from a young man, stationed in Canada. A german soldier on some kind of training stint. The boy says he is trying to find his father. The lad's investigations could not reveal the location of anyone else in the family, and Garner was the only person related to his father he could track down.

Garner flies to Canada and meets the boy, who it turns out is a twin. Moreover, he is the son of Garner's brother (I guess I should start referring to him as "Robert," since that is his name) their mother was a nurse in the hospital where he recovered.

Robert knocked up this nurse (good work, dude!) and was shipped out of the country before he found out she was pregnant. She was unable to get word to him, obviously there was a little animosity toward the Germans in 1945. Garner told the kid he would like to help him, but Garner had not seen Robert in almost 13 years, he could have been anywhere, but Garner promised to do his best to find him and tell him he had twin sons in Germany.

The last Garner knew his brother was somewhere in California, but all his old addresses were all abandoned, and no one seemed to know where he was. Garner hired a private investigator to find his brother, and just waited.

It took the guy almost 7 months to track Robert down. Garner got a call; "Your brother's somewhere in Mexico, I need more money to go find him." Garner paid the man and waited again.

2 months later he gets a call. "I found Robert, if you want to see him I know where he is." So, Garner grabs my grandmother and heads down to Mexico. It's funny imagining a woman who doesn't even know how to pump her own gas going on this adventure...but it happened.

They flew into Mexico City and then drove in some shitty bus north to Guadalajara. At this point Garner is a little suspicious, he's not sure what the fuck is going on, and the PI won't say shit. The PI gets them a "cab" (some asshole with an old VW bug), and tells them this is as far as he goes. So it's Garner and Grandma alone in Fuck Off MExico, alone and headed out of town.

About 5 miles out of the city they come to a huge complex, i guess you would call it. A house surrounded by 15 foot walls. The cab drops them off, and leaves them at the front gate.

Neither of them speak Spanish, and Garner walks up to the gate and basically just keeps repeating "Robert Payne?" over and over to everyone he can see. Finally a guy let's them in, and not too gently walks them into the main house. Apparently the estate was massive, all kinds of side houses, stables and such.

They are brought to patio where a Mexican woman is sitting in a wheelchair, a blanket over her legs. She smiles at them and says (in broken English) "You are looking for Robert?"

Garner says, "Yes, he's my brother. I've been looking for him for a while."

The woman is skeptical, "If you are his brother...prove it."

Prove it? "Uh, I don't know. He's my brother," was all Garner could think to say.

The woman was unconvinced. Then Garner told her, "He has a big scar on the side of his face that he got from a farming accident in Wisconsin when we were kids, and he's also missing these fingers."

This seemed to convince the woman. She smiled. Then she pulled the blanket off her lap to reveal a double barreled, sawed off shotgun, aimed at them. "I think you are who you say," she told them.

I told you every one of Garner's 9 siblings were self made millionaires? Not all of them did it legally.

There's more.

end transmission.

All we know is failure, all we have is us.

2007-06-03T02:51:00.000-07:00

I wrote a huge three page dissertation on life versus slavery, but I decided you wouldn't really enjoy it, so you get this instead.

I'm sure you all have met people that have changed your life, someone who has put something to you in a way you never really considered, or helped you through a tough patch....

My grandfather, on my mom's side. He had been married to my biological grandmother since before I was born, so he was pretty much my grandfather. He was a self made millionaire (one of 10 kids, all of which became very wealthy, I'm sure I will tell all their tales some day, but this about just two). My whole life he was very stand-offish, I wasn't his blood, and I was more than a disappointment. This was wholly justified, why would someone who brought himself from nothing to greatness have any pride in a chubby little idiot who had everything handed to him.

He may or may not have sexually abused my mom....I just don't know. I do know that when his death was imminent, we bonded. Not in any deep, emotional way...we just..understood each other, in the end. He knew he was dying, and I was the only competant aire to his legacy. Despite the man shady past, i found myself captivated by his stories, and it was my first real face to face with a man who never thought he would die, dying in front of me. Fuck what an evil, heartless man this was, he did what he needed to, prospered and now...it all came in the heap of shit that faces us all.

This was one of the stories he told me.

Garner's older brother, the second oldest of their brood, lived on the family farm in 1941. He was involved in a horrible accident with a piece of machinery, and escaped with only the loss of his right index finger, and half of the next two fingers. He also received massive scar from his hairline to his jaw.

Like many Americans at this time he enlisted in the war effort, but because of his injury (he had no trigger finger, and was thus unfit for combat duty) he was given desk work in England. When the Germans made their push in 1944 (later to be known as the battle of the bulge) the allies were desperate for warm bodies. This was his chance, they were taking all volunteers, blatantly needing warm bodies to catch bullets in the greatest German offensive of the war.

There he was, finally in combat. Anyone who knows anything about this time in WW2 knows it was luck and pubic hair that held the allied army together. My grandfather's brother found himself in a foxhole when the retreat was called. He was so scared and fucked up that he ran....

Straight into a German fox hole. He had retreated the wrong way and had charged the german lines! HE jumped, stupidly into a foxhole and started shooting. HE killed nazi 5 soldiers who were so surprised they could not react.

He realized what had happened and ran back to his comrades. He was awarded the Medal of Honor, and heralded as a hero.

This, is only the beginning of one of the most amazing stories I have ever heard.

end transmission.

You've got those moves and those eyes, I've got these shakes and bad breath.

2007-05-25T03:55:00.000-07:00

A girl I have had sex with is dead.

As far as I know, she is the first to hold this dubious distiction. It was a a very long time ago, and I haven't spoken to her in close to a decade. I found out she was dead through the grapevine, as news of this kind will travel. She was nothing special, one of a tragic many from those days, a victim of my youthful indescretions and phobia of commitment.

The last time we spoke she was fucking my buddy Mikey (a marine who fucked just about every girl in Hallet Hall '96), vainly trying to make me jealous. I met her at a Face to Face show, and our combined love for that band is what led her to my bed, much more than my drunken charms, I think. We both had our lives changed by the same song. Girls in that scene were few and far between in those days, after all. Especially hot ones. She had the most amazing smile, and while I pretended to not not give a fuck about anythnig, I think she really didn't.

She used to write me poems, read them to me after we fucked, and then burn them. My psycho chic radar was on its max setting in those days, and if it wasn't for my constant 18 year old boy erection, I probably would have run sooner than I did. But she was fun, if not a little crazy. And she didn't smoke, I have always liked that in a girl.

She was interested in my writing, and I let her read it. She wrote in the margin of one of my stories (which I still have, oddly enough), "Good writitng is taking truth and recreating it, delicately painting it with a feather on a canvas of tissue paper. You write like the pen is a hammer and truth is a puppy's head."

In my youthful inexperience I may have missed out on someone who really understood me.

Now she is dead. She was in a car "accident." A drunk driver T-boned her at an intersection. She was coming home from the bars, also drunk. Her favorite drink was Gin and tonic, which I always found disgusting.

end transmission.

I think pascifists are weak, and violence is wrong.

2007-05-22T05:36:00.001-07:00

Well, here we are again. I feel after all this time, there is a lot of pressure for me to blow you motherfuckers! (There should be an "out of the water" somewhere in that previous sentance, but due to alcohol consumption and budgetary cuts, some things had to go).

A few mouthes ago I came across a drunk man at work. He was in his mid 30's not being intrusive, just wasted, having fun. I had just watched a Russian cocktal waitress trick him into tipping 20 bucks for his drink, and then we began conversing. (Vegas tip #343 Beware Russian waitresses with amazing blue eyes)

Here's how it went.

"So how old are you...25..23?" he asked.
"I'm 28." I said.
"Married, kids?
"No man no wife no kids,"
"Good work! I've been married almost 12 years! Can you believe that!"
"No."
"I don't have any kids. I fucking hate children."
I was thinking on the topic and I decided to press the man for some intel.
"Can I ask you a personal question?" I asked.
"Sure!"
"How have you been married for 12 years, and managed not to have a kid, how did you find a woman who wanted to be with you, seemingly forever, and not want a kid?"
This guy literally grabbed me, pulled me close, and looked over his shoulders and all around. It was as if I had asked him if he knew who really killed JFK, and he was about to reveal the name to me.
"I can tall you it wasn't easy...but, my secret is I didn't."
"Your wife wants kids?, I don't get it." I said.
"Hell yeah she wants kids! I fucking don't, but I love her and...I didn't wanna lose her over such bullshit. Here look at this!"
He showed me pictures of his wife, pictures from the wedding, all kinds of sappy cheek to cheek photos, etc...and then he told me;
"Se she's hot, right? I wasn't about to let a thing like children get rid of her...so I uh...well...one weekend while she was away on a business trip...I got a vasectomy and never told her."

end transmission.

Oi! Soft Cocks! You're a fucking disgrace!

2007-05-01T00:11:00.001-07:00

I'm back! Feet solidly entrenched on the terra firma of the good old US of A! It sure feels good to smell freedom in the air once again!

Unfortunately, I returned to find the freedom of internet access I usually enjoy has been stricken from me. I have pictures to post and stories to tell, but for now, due to technical difficulties, you'll have to settle for a quick summery and your imagination.

First, thanks to Heidi, Scott, and Dusty (Melbourne's #4 top bloke!) for having me in their home, none of them read this, but I say thanks nonetheless. I'm sorry for Kelly's behavior....I don't like to travel alone and she was the only person i could find on such short notice.

Swimming with sharks. Explaining to foreigners about how embarrassing it is to be an American right now. Fighting the great and terrible Turtlesaurus in the dark depths of the barrier reef. Teaching hot Russian chicks how to use photoshop. making fun of Canadians. Ringing up the biggest beer tab on the boat. Pub crawling throughout Melbourne and magically loosing weight and feeling no hangover. Aussie rules football, meat pies and beer. Learning sweet chili is no substitute for salsa. Everything in Australia comes with fries, even Chicken Parmeasen, Melbourne's fave dish. Creation of about 100 inside jokes that no one else will ever find funny. Aussie cats can apparantly teleport through locked doors. Ausralian Sea Hippies respect a bloke who can make fun of himself. Even non-sea hippies respect a good sense of self deprication. Australia has the world's surliest customer service.

I tried my best, but I could only reach an Aussie Cultural Assimilation factor of 85%.

I'm a Big Girl's Blouse.

Stickin' it in and hoping for the best, Cheers Dude!

I don't know or care with who or where I fit in with at all...

2007-04-15T16:49:00.000-07:00

Writin' fast and livin' slow...

Ok, I'm on the eve of my voyage to Australia where I hope to embarrass myself on chunk of land heretofore unexplored by the people of my tribe. Either cool stuff will happen, or I will make cool shit up, either way, this blog should experience a noticeable spike in excitement.

I am also 3 days away from turning 29. How did I get this old? Aside from the simple biology of the the progression, I feel like I'm still 13 years old, but with hair on my balls. Wait I had hair on my balls when I was 13...uh..maybe I feel more like a 9 year old? The point is I fell just as immature and useless now as I did 10 years ago.

I guess my point is, Ian bought me a really cool diving knife for my birthday, and you assholes got me nothing...so I guess I know who my real friend(s) are. Hopefully this will inspire some guilt and thus cause you all to scramble to get some last minute gift. Don't bother, just send money, that will suffice. No more naked pictures of yourself feeding your pets....wherever that trend came from, send it back (you know who you are)...it's just creepy.

So I work with this Mexican lady (one of many), and she's actually really awesome, but today she said something that got my panties in a bunch. Today was her birthday, she turned 42, and was really proud of the fact. Which is odd and pretty cool. SHe was excited to have lived so long, had such a full life, 4 healthy kids, all that crap. WHat fucked me up was the follow up statement.

"I have four beautiful children, a house, a husband, some people have only one child or none at all."

Only one child, or none at all. She actually pities such people. Does she realize I pity her for the exact antithesis of her point of view? Probably not, she would most likely find just as much frustration in trying to understand how I feel as I do trying to figure her out. This bothered me for a a few hours until I watched a black hooker knock the front teeth out of a white hooker and laugh in her face. I also saw the white hookers boob when, during the tussle, her top was removed.

It is hard to focus in Las Vegas, sometimes.

end transmission.

Slowly Fading Fast.

2007-04-05T14:15:00.000-07:00

Since these blogs are printed Chronologically, you might want to read the last post before this one in order to get part one of this story, in case that is too much work, here's a brief synopsis....

Previously, on Daub von Daub;
Theorizing that one could time-travel within his own lifetime, Dr. Daub von Daub led an elite group of scientists into the desert to develop a top secret project known as Quantum Leap. Pressured to prove his theories or lose funding, Dr. Daub von Daub prematurely stepped into the project accelerator... and vanished. He awoke to find himself in the past, suffering from partial amnesia and facing a mirror image that was not his own. Fortunately, contact with his own time was maintained through brainwave transmissions with Al, the project observer, who appeared in the form of a hologram that only Dr. Daub von Daub can see and hear. Trapped in the past, Dr. Daub von Daub finds himself leaping from life to life, putting things right that once went wrong and hoping each time that his next leap would be the leap home.

And now the conclusion....

Where was I...oh yeah the lesbian police officers.

So there we are, Chris and I talking on the curb, awaiting our Friend Brian's return with a car. Oh yeah, I guess I missed that point, Brian ran into us some time after the guy in the house threatened us, and before the pigs arrived. He said he would go get his car and come back for us, so we were just waiting for that to happen when the cop car showed up.

The lights come on, the spot light goes from me to Chris, and finally to Even, nonchalantly passed out in the gutter of the road a few feet away. The single light turns into three, as the cops pull out there flashlights. The "hot" one, shines her flashlight in my face and approaches, the bull dyke, stays at a safe distance, with her hand on her gun.

The flashlight moves from my face to Chris, then to Even.

"What's going on here?" the hot cop asks.

"Nothing, just waiting for our ride," I tell her.

"What's wrong with that guy?" she asked indicating Evan's lifeless form.

"He's drunk," I say.

"Why are his pants down around his ankles?" She asks.

Ehherrrrrrrt! His pants were down because he was fighting us the whole time we were carrying him, and he's super skinny so his pants just worked themselves off. Of course all I can think of to say is;

"They fell off," I go to get up to pull them up for him, when all Hell Breaks loose, both cops draw their guns and start yelling,

"Get back on the ground, hands where I can see them! (followed unintelligible screaming)"

"I was just...I was just gonna put his pants back on....ok I'm sitting back down."

At this point they calm down some,and the Bull Dyke walks over to Evan and starts trying to wake him up asking him questions, "Do you know these guys? Are you ok, what have they done to you?"

It is at this point that my alcohol addled wits finally do the math and realize what these two cops think is going on...

"Whoa! Hold it, we're just trying to get him home...his pants fell off while we were carrying him, we're not trying to rape him.."

"Sit down, now!" there is a gun in my face and I sit down.

"Do you know these guys?" Evan's questioning continues...and somehow he grabs onto some sort of coherence...

"Those guythss...yeah, I know them...they're fabulous!" Evan says and then goes back to sleep.

The cop looks up from Evan and asks us, "If you're trying to get him home, why are you just sitting here?"

"My friend is coming to get us with his car."

Meanwhile the other cop has gone to the house behind us to talk to the guy inside. She comes back out and asks us what happened. And this is where Chris and I's tactics in dealing with pigs differs. His dad was a cop, so he knows better than to lie, I just start lying out of habit.

"uh, what do you mean?" I said.

"This guy inside says you threatened him."

"Threatened? No, he said he was going to come out and kick our asses (which was technically true) and I told him that he was welcome to."

"He said you called him names."

"Names, like what?"

"He said you called him a pussy, and a motherfucker."

I start laughing. Like Butthead in health class. The cop just said it with such a dry expression, it was hilarious.

"What do you think is so funny?"

I stop laughing, suddenly serious.

"No, mam, I would uh never do that."

"Well he called us fearing you were going to beat him up."

What a pussy, I thought again.

This is when Chris pipes in, "Yeah we called him a pussy, he was telling us to be quiet and we're drunk, he threatened to come out here and fight us, and we told him to come try."

I started, "That's not how--"

I'm silenced by a flashlight in my face, "You sit down and be quiet, you're obviously full of shit, don't talk." I sit down and start wondering what the charges will be when I'm put in the slammer. Public intoxication. Threatening bodily harm. Uncooperative attitude. Attempted Sodomy of a redhead.

The two cops take our ID's and start talking on their radios and leave us to stew in our own thoughts. At this point, Brian returns with his car (he is pretty drunk too) and pulls over. One of the cops goes over and talks to him. Luckily his arrival corroborates our story and their fears of our molesting the skinny kid are alleviated.

The cops come back over to us, sitting on the curb, hand us our ID's.

"I want you to apologize to the man inside the house," the hot one says.

so I turn and yell, "I'm sorry you're such a pussy, dude!"

"no...hey...look at me, go to the door and apologize to him, or you're going to jail."

So I get up, escorted by the cop, to this assholes door. HE opens it, and what a surprise, he's a dreadlock hippie, my most hated enemy! He smells like a dog's butthole and he has a pot leaf tattoo on his arm.

"Hey man, I'm sorry I got so drunk and was being loud outside your house." I gave the cop a look that told her that was the best she was going to get.

"Ok dude, thanks," he told me. I turned and left, not waiting for my escort.

I returned to the curb, Chris and Brian were getting Evan into the car.

"The next time this happens, call a cab, and tell him to buy a belt," the short haired cop told me.

"He has a belt on , now, " I told her.

She did not think that was funny.

end transmission.

It's nearly Impossible, highly improbable, but not hopeless.

2007-04-04T12:55:00.000-07:00

You make me feel like balast, like dead weight...

2007-03-28T18:13:00.000-07:00

I want to tell you all a joke. I want to tell you a story about trying to take a shit on a toilet that flushes automatically, or an embarrassing sexual escapde involving me and a drunk gril from Iowa. I desperately want to tell those stories, but....

This sentence is the hundredth draft... I want to say so much here, but my meager literary skills are incompetent in the face of the task before them. How can my art fail me when I need it most...? What do I say. What can I say?

end transmission.

Unlucky Stuntman.

2007-03-16T01:58:00.000-07:00

I usually try to keep this shit funny and light hearted. Right now...I'm kinda addicted to the expression of this medium. I don't mean to bring you people down, and you are all surely very unused to any sort of non-sarcastic sincerity in this blog, but someone I care deeply for was diagnosed with cancer today.

This person is my age, and it's kinda fucked me up a little bit. Ironically, recently had a conversation about Kharma with a girl at work. I told her thaT I thought the concept of kharma was bullshit, because my life experience has taught me that good things happen to bad people and bad things happen to good people. Shit happens, there is no reward, no deserving including in the calculations.

This person is one of the most kind hearted people I have ever known, though this person certainly has a dark side, as we all do, but...goddammit. I am left without a schematic, no chart to show me the right course. There is nothing I can do, I am powerless, the worst feeling there is. Why is someone who has such a positive influence on the world, stricken down, while someone like me, so useless and mired in the morass of mysanthropy, left perfectly healthy?

There is no why. That is a question that we invented, it cannot be answered because "why" is a motive that we create, but it has no actual value or answer. I wish there was a God I could blame, curse, and blaspheme against, but there is none. Nothing happens for a reason, it is biology, chemestry...physics. Fuck, I hope she will be ok. It's all I can do, and it sucks.

I've never been so angry at the truth.

end transmission.

Does this shit happen to anyone else?

2007-03-09T17:33:00.000-08:00

Well, I have the internet again, and it turns out that I can live without it for four days. Though technically I had it on my phone, so maybe not.

So, a lot of weird shit happens at the super market. I think it's 'cause it's really the only place on earth that everyone has to go. Whether you are a lawyer or a janitor, eventually you need toothpaste, and oranges, and pizza, and beer. So you get a lot of people that normally don't mix in society, mixing it up.

As a digression, you should all know that I live my life by a morality that is popularly known are "relativisistic morality." Simply put it's the theory that morality is relative to the person in any given situation. Stealing is wrong...but not if your kids are starving, that kind of shit. I determine right or wrong based on what I would feel and/or do if I was the person in any given situation, I think it's really the only way to make judgment calls on hypothetical situations.

So retards. I think a child that is going to be retarded should be aborted. If it is too late for that, it should be humanely euthanised after birth. I only say this because, I would rather be dead than retarded. Life sucks bad enough without a handicap like that, and if i was in the womb, about to be born retarded, I would not want to live. Now that is not to say that I want everyone to kill their retarded babies, luckily for a limited time we still get to make choices like that for ourselves, I'm just saying what I would want/do. I think it is the only humane thing to do. Same goes for if my baby was black. (come on, that's a little funny.)

This is all relevant because I was at the local Albertson's buying provisions for the day. The bag boy was retarded. The "check yourself out" lanes were down for maintenance, and I had to shuffle along with the rest of the idiots. This is pretty much how it went down.

The retard put my beer in a bag (it maybe a slight bit ironic that we use drugs to feel like retards feel all the time, maybe I'm wrong, maybe I should hope that everyone is born retarded..hmm...);

Retard: "I'm going to put this in three bags so it doesn't break."
Daub: "Thanks, dude."
Retard: "My mom says beer makes you fat and dumb."
Check out lady is slightly embarrassed.
Daub: "Your mom's probably right."
Retard: "How come you're all wet?
Daub: "I just finished working out."
Retard: "You should take a shower."
Daub: "I think that's a good idea."
Retard: "My mom says you have to exercise or you will get fat."
Daub: "Yeah, that's true."
Retard: "I don't think Sarah exercises too much."
Sarah is the uncomfortable check out girl, who is slightly obese. At this point I make eye contact with Sarah and it takes all the will power I have not to laugh in her face and say, "the retard called you fat!"
We go through the normal bullshit, I sign my receipt and I grab my shit from the retard.
Retard: "Don't forget to shower, you stink."
Daub: "Thanks, you have a great day."
He moved on, bagging someone else's groceries.

end transmission.

I wrapped regret around the chance I'll never take..discarded dreams, far too much time awake.

2007-02-26T14:03:00.000-08:00

I was writing a story about a girl who killed herself and I was researching suicide notes. This page is awesome: http://www.well.com/~art/suicidenotes.html. I don't know if it's real, but it seems genuine enough, or else the author is a badass. I love the idea of using your own death as revenge to someone who obviously hates you. THe guy who says he can't think of 45 days he would ever want to relive...awesome. I love the sense of humor these people exude in their final words, I also love the numerous type-o's. You'd think you'd want your last written work to be flawless, but apparantly who fucking cares.

I also found a rondom suicide note generator, this is what it made for me:

(Try it out http://www.porkjerky.com/suicide.htm)

February 26, 2007

Listen Up Dumbfucks:

Most people kill themselves because of a mental condition. This is true in my case too. The condition I suffer from is that I am not normal, I am not like everyone of you "sane" people.

I am not normal in the sense that I am not like every other one of you brain-dead zombies. I can think. I can reason intelligently. I can observe and learn from life. I can make my own decisions and follow through on them. And I can do these without any aid from celebrities, T.V. or radio. Unfortunately, every one of you shit-brained lemmings seem to lack these skills and I can't fucking take it any more.

Since everyone else in this world is a fucking retarded drone who revels in their ignorance and unintelligence, I must put an end to my misery. I truly wish I was normal. I wish I could be a fucking retarded sponge like all of you. I wish I could have the same conversations day in and day out about sports, politics and "how about that weather huh?". But I can't.

Sure you'll see this note and say Daub's the crazy one. You have to it's the only way you can go on thinking you're sane and your pathetic life is meaningful. Go ahead, call me the weirdo like everyone else surely will. Then return to your happiness of everyday mindless monotony.

My only wish is that the bullet I put into my brain doesn't kill me but only leaves me brain dead. For if ignorance is bliss and everyone of you fuck-for-brains is truly happy, then living a life without a brain stem in a coma, devoid of any cognitive ability must surely be utopia.

Leave My Machine Plugged In You Fucking Retards,

Daub

P.S. I superglued all my orifices shut so you coroner pricks can't steal my fillings or sex up my corpse.

It's a little too good. I better up my game before I kill myself.

end transmission.

Don't Call ME White.

2007-02-20T14:59:00.000-08:00

So the NBA all star game came and went, with only 6 or 7 gun related deaths, almost 1,000 arrests, countless cocktail waitress molestations, and a general stench of anti-black people sentiment throughout the city to mark its passing.

By my count 98% of the people out this weekend were black, and about 75% were fucking assholes, on a scale I cannot even express. Absolutely no respect for anything or anyone, demanding free shit, throwing shit at people who didn't hop to fast enough, just loitering around and being loud, and obnoxious.

Now as a white man, I most certainly have never tried to scam free drinks from a casino, or acted like a jerk in public when under the influence of drugs and alcohol! Truly offensive!

A lot of people say a lot of shit to/around me because I am white. Things they may hold to themselves if in certain company, it's shitty that they assume I will be empathetic to their bullshit, but there it is. "Those people are animals," or "I'm not racist but this is why no one really likes black people."

Wow. Actually, these people are the reson why people don't like assholes. They just happen to be black, but I've known some assholes who are not black, quite a few, actually.

I even had a co-worker tell me that they were "embarrassed to be black," this weekend. Finally, someone who knows what it's like to have a whole demographic of your race embarass the fuck out of you by there behavior, and to feel somehow akin to them because of your DNA. I'm embarassed to be white everytime some ignorant motherfucker takes time out of his busy quality time in his trailer finger banging his daughter, so he can go out and beat up a gay guy or some black dude who has the audacity to marry a white girl. Fuck, I'm embarrased that our President is white.

Anyway. On a positive note, I was walking around with a clipboard at about 4 in the morning. I had to write down some numbers from a machine that was directly in the middle of about 6 black people sitting around bullshitting. I said excuse me, walked in the middle of them and started writing. One dude said;
"Look at this shit, what are you writing down how many niggas you got up in here? Just walk right up and start writin'! No shame at all."
I replied, "YEah, but on the sheet I'm supposed to call you guys "Neegros.""
I thought this fat black lady was going to choke on her drink she started laughing so hard. Her friend said (I swear to christ) "You did not!" about 5 times at the top of her lungs, and everyone laughed at me.
The guy who had spoken first said, "You're an alright dude(black people say dude?), What's your name?"
I said, "My name's Daub."
They introduced me all around, took my picture with the group and before I left, the fat lady said,"Now you make sure you don't get shot this weekend."
I said, "I ain't trying to get killed at work."
They all replied, "I heard that."
and I went on my merry way.

end transmission.

Alone Amognst the Heathens.

2007-02-04T14:11:00.000-08:00

Alright! I get it, no more existential laments of my senescent fears. No more rants about boring ass celebrities. Today I'm back to my wacky adventures and the often embarrassing results of my life and times.

As a preface, a short history lesson. When I started working at Mandalay Bay, I was a little sad to be returning to Graveyard hours, and I was drinking very heavily, lamenting my nocturnal prison. Those of you that know me, know that I cannot really hide my internal emotional state from showing on the outside. If i'm pissed, or happy, or whatever, you can see it in my face. My disdain and contempt was apparent to my supervisors and I got the non-surprising "do you like working here? You don't seem to. You're attitude is unacceptable."
Now usually when someone tells me they don't like my attitude, I would say,"I don't like anything about you, so why would I care what you don't like about me." but I needed money and a lot of people went out of their way to help me get the job, so I bit my tongue, and thus the most brilliant coping mechanism my evil genius has ever hatched came about.
When George Costanza realized every decision he had ever made had led him to failure, he decided to do the opposite, and everything would have to logically succeed. Well everything I thought or felt, resulted in the people at my job thinking I was a bitter, angry, relatively uncontentious individual who hated everything about the small minded hampsters he had to work with and under.
Since these feelings were not likely to abate, I just reversed how they were expressed. If someone asks me how I'm doing, I respond (Life is Shit, and you are the asshole.) "I'm doing super awesome! How are you doing!" Shit eating grin on my face. If some high school dropout tells me I have to comb the entire casino for chairs covered in piss, I would say (The fact that someone as stupid as you is my boss makes me want to kill everyone who ever met you, including myself) "Of course boss! Sounds fun!"
You get the idea. The more pissed off I was, the more psychotically cheerleader-like ecstatic my outward demeanor would appear. This had the added bonus of my inwardly laughing my ass off at mocking this life they all take so fucking seriously, thus relieving my own boredom and stress levels. I was using a modified anti-sarcastic sarcasm technique, pioneered (or at least introduced to me by) Justin and honed to a razor edge by hours of practice at the sub shop. That was a little different, since everyone but Bruce was in on it. My new approach worked and in less than a week I got the, "You have made a noticed improvement in your attitude, we've seen it, and we like it."
Anyway that leads into the second part of my trials this day. The first has something to do with a little hurdle I face everyday called "professional sports." I don't give 2 shits about any pro sports. If it wasn't for Nike I wouldn't know any of their names, if it wasn't for video games I wouldn't even know most of the rules. That is a small problem in most social situations, I usually surround myself with people that have more to talk about than that shit. Don't get me wrong, I have friends that are sports fags, but they can talk about other shit with me, and sports with their other friends. But at work, i don't get to pick who I interact with. And let me tell you I exaturate not a whit when I say that every male employee of my casino has no opinion, or interesting commentary on anything other than sports. That and all the things they would do to chicks that wouldn't piss on them if they were on fire, but that's pretty much all dudes everywhere. Their vapid diatribes of homosexual awe make me almost want to hear about what color Carrie is thinking of changing her fingernails to.
Anyway, this also goes for most of the customers. And this is of course, the weekend of the superbowl. On the 435th time I was asked by some drunk asshole, "Who you got on the game tonight?" I decided to have a little bit of fun. Usually I just pick whichever team the inquiring mind is advertising via hat or jersey. This results in massive amounts of high fives and cheering. This time, however, I told him the truth. This is how it went:
"I don't follow football."
"Why the fuck not?"
"I just don't care about sports."
"No sports?"
"I like girls volleyball."
"What are you gay?"
"No. I think watching a bunch of sweaty dudes root around in the dirt wearing tight pants and slapping each other on the ass, bending over in each others faces, is kinda gay. Getting such a vicarious thrill through the triumph of total strangers, is...I just don't get it."
"So, since you're a fag, you must be a Colts fan."
How does one argue with such insurmountable logic?

Still with me? Here's number 2. I was unloading off my slot gear waiting to clock out. I was waiting for this amazingly jubilant old man. Now, when someone is genuinely excited about coming into work, I instantly put them on the danger list, though it does help to feed my faux gusto.
"Hey! How are you today," I asked.
"I am doing amazing," the old man said, not a stitch of irony. Maybe I have met my match, maybe this old man has taken my technique to a level I can only aspire to. I must test him.
"Amazing? That's pretty good for nine in the morning! Why so amazing, what's your secret, I'm barely awesome right now!"
"Well I just got out of the hospital."
"Yes, always a cause for celebration."
"Yes they had to kill me for ten minutes and then bring me back so my heart would beat correctly. Now every minute of life is wonderful."
Damn! I knew it!
"Yup, life is pretty sweet, I have to agree with you! It could be worse!"
"Yes, that is how I feel. You know, you could go at any time. One minute your here, the next...you just don't know."
Yes. That is true. I agree, "Well let's just hope it's not too soon for any of us, am I right?!"
"That's why it's important to be prepared."
? what the fuck does that mean ? Prepared like, have a will in your pocket, or maybe make sure you paid your insurance so your family won't starve? No, being prepared for death means everyone you love knows you love them every minute!
"Prepared, like how?
"You have to make sure you have the love of Jesus in your heart at all times. It's what I tell all the young people in my bible study group."
At this point I would like to iterate that this kind of brainwashing is as evil to me as the Hitler Youth or teaching your children that black people are all criminals. Wasting space in young fertile minds with superstition and magic is quite possibly the most heinous thing anyone can do to the intelligent, useful development of a child's psyche. To teach them to focus more on the consequences of a life after this one, instead of making the most of this, their only one true shot....aghhh!
"Oh great! When are those meetings, sounds like you've got a lot of good ideas!"
"They're every Wednesday night. I can give you directions to the church."
"That's ok, but I'm gonna look into this Jesus thing. Have a great day!"
"You too, God bless."
"Awesome!"

So the third and final straw is a somewhat more common occurrence, but in light of my day I was in no mood for pleasantries. I had just got home from the gym. I was getting some shit out of my car, wearing what I always work out in, pink short-shorts and a black muscle shirt.
This little mexican dude comes gerbiling on my six. this is what transpired;
"Hey man, can I talk with you?"
"Uh, yeah, what's up?"
"Uh, my friend, got like pulled over by the police...and they uh took him to jail."
"Shitty."
"Yeah so, I was-"
"I'm not going to give you any fucking money."
5 second pause.
"Not even a dollar?"
"How the fuck is a dollar going to get your friend out of jail?"
"Well, I just have to-"
"Nevermind, fuck off."
I turned to walk away, and I swear this is what he said to me.
"Can I bum a smoke?"

end transmission.

Murder By Life.

2007-01-30T13:57:00.001-08:00

Well some of you might know that I have a Grandma. She is drunk almost all the time, and is quite close to insanity. She can be very annoying, and petulant, but she has a special place in the hole where my heart used to be, so I can't help but have sympathy fot her. To her, I will always be that chubby, sweet little boy she knew me as long ago, and while this is sometimes problematic, it is also somewhat endearing. She has no idea what a massive pile of useless I have become, nor what an asshole I can be. She was also the only adult in my life that did not react with that pandering, "he'll grow out of it and get a real job" when I said I wanted to draw and write for a living. That always stuck with me and so I try to help the poor old lady.

That being said, I wish she would die.

She has lived a long time, and had her run at things. She had a pretty good life, but the good times are done. Everyone in her family, her husband of 40 years, all her friends, they're all fucking dead. Her life is as lonely as I can imagine is possible, with me her only friend (certainly a fate worse than death) Add to that the fact that the world has completely left her behind (she was born before electricity for fuck's sake!) and it's no wonder she's constantly wasted. She's trying to kill her self daily with piulls and booze, but because of some fucking ancient religion bullshit about suicide, she can't just off herself. "Why won't God let me die," she has often lamented. Maybe God is just a serious asshole.

This whole situation makes one thought surface in my skull. I do not fear death. I fear getting old. I don't mean turning 40 (though I do not relish that inevitability) I mean outliving your life, your body and mind failing, and watching everything you know and love change and disappear. Think about it, every person you ever made laugh, every person you ever fucked, every bastard you ever met on myspace, your mom and dad, brothers and sisters, all the people you remember, no longer exist, and you will never make new memories with these people. No one even knows what a Playstation 5 is, and all your favorite actors and bands are dust. No one wants to hear about life bfore cybornetic limbs and computer chip brain implants. You have nothing to look forward to and the past only brings pain. Existance is a painful limbo were all potential is lost, and thanks to the Republicans, you have to work at Wal-Mart just to have enough cash to stay drunk.

Hopefully, I'll get hit by a bus or a falling meteorite soon. That way my funeral will be full of grieving people, lamenting my untimely demise. You don't wanna be the last one to go with no one left to carry your coffin.

end transmission.

I am sooo sorry.

2007-01-27T00:10:00.000-08:00

It has come to my attention that I am an insensitive, intolerant hate monger, with anger management issues. Man, I apologize to everyone for my injudicious views on, what are very truly, super important world issues.

I will be checking myself into a social sensitivity rehabilitation center. Hopefully they will help me care more for people I don't even know and allow me to avoid my terribly incorrect, yet surprisingly funny over generalizations, about people and their bullshit. Hopefully my blog will soon reflect my personal progress in the upcoming months.

Thank you all for sticking with me in my most dire time of need and weakness.

end transmission.

I'm not gay, but you are.

2007-01-27T00:09:00.001-08:00

Wow. First of all i got suckered into watching Grey's Anatomy, once. I am a sucker for medical shows, and this one qualified, but it is the shittiest TV show I have ever seen, and labeling it a pandering, "chick" show would be very insulting to chicks. (PS if you watch and/or like that show, I will hate you, I promise).

That being said, I can't escape this "controversy" about the black dude that called someone on the cast a fag or some shit, i don't even know who he said it to. It doesnt fucking matter, really. The entire situation is ludicrous. Like I said I don't even watch it, but I still know about it, (aren't we at war or something?) and that angers me greatly.

They're actors people! COME THE FUCK ON! They are not the characters they play. Who cares if Dr. Dreamboat hates fags in real life? Apparently everyone but me. His job is to pretend he is someone he's not, if your gay and you like his character, well that just tells me he's good at what he does.

And what kills me is that this poor bastard is going into counseling over this shit, to change his obviously incorrect views on the gays. What the fuck kinda bullshit is that? If i was that guy I would have said, "You know what. Eat shit. I called him a fag, and he is a fag. And fuck you for telling me what I can and can't say, or what I can't and can't believe. I might have said it at the time just to hurt him, with no real anti-homo sentiment behind it, but now, fuck you all."

but that's just me.

end transmission.

Coping with Insignifcance.

2007-01-22T14:36:00.000-08:00

This weekend was a very good time indeed! I got to hang out with some of my oldest palls, drink until sickness and tell stories about shitting and make fun of stuff. I got to go see NOFX (which was amazing, It's been almost 4 years since the last time?) and hanging out with real punk kids, both old and new, people who share a love for sarcasm, PBR, and being assholes to everyone. No dude make-up either. Finally hanging out with good music everywhere, not a DJ in sight.

I had almost forgotten that there were any of these people left, but be assured they thrive! I haven't laughed as much as I did this weekend in many moons. Kelly and Chopper were out here, as well as Scott Kaplan, and Virgil and a veritable army of Suburban Home/Denver Punk peoples, drunks, nerds, and losers all around. We had an amazing time, and I'm now loathe to return to my normal life.

I haven't had that much fun in a long time. I would like to thank all of you, (even Fat Mike, who was a dick to me, just like always) even the new people I met whose names have faded in a beer inspired amnesia. Sorry for the unusual lack of vocabularic pinache, but my brain is literally exhausted, and elated for the pain. I have to get some fucking sleep now.

end transmission.

Finally, I know who gave the best onscreen BJ in 2006.

2007-01-14T14:59:00.000-08:00

So last night was an excitig night at work. The AVN convention is currently taking up the floorspace in the convention center of THe Mandalay Bay. For those of you who don't know what that is, it's the largest Adult Video/Product convention in the U.S., and last night they had their award show. A kind of Acadamy Awards for porn, if you will.
When the show was over, the party spilled into the casino, and you can just imagine what that was like. Strangely enough, porn stars do not feel the least bit shy in a public setting. I haven't seen so many topless hot girls making out and finger fucking since my Grandma's 73rd birthday back in '92.
Honestly, all you had to do was look for a big crowd, and in the center of that crowd was any number of hot girls, tearing their clothes off and making out. Not to mention girls just standing around topless, gambling, drinking, all that shit. It was an eye candy bonanza.
Of course, the women I work with were all very confounded and noteably snooty. "Why do men have to be such idiots over tits?" or "Stop looking at those three girls practically fucking and get back to work" or "they're just tits and most of them aren't even real."
Their pleas fell on deaf ears and their attempts to ruin the spectacle were in vain. I mean, I might have been just as apprehensive if the casino had been overcome with statuesque male doctors from some kinda underwear model/mensa convention, but that kinda thing just doesn't happen in Vegas, or anywhere, who knows?
I also got invited by some dude to audition to be in porns on his website. Apparantly the interview is as follows:
1. Daub walks into room. Room has a few dudes and a camera.
2. Daub strips.
3. Daub achieves erection by manual means.
4. Daub masturbates and must be able to cum on command.
3. Success = a call back and I get to fuck some random girl and have it webcast throughout the planet.

I said I would consider it, took the man's business card, but declined to shake his hand.

end transmission.

I hate Bono.

2007-01-11T17:04:00.000-08:00

So we're sending 20 something thousand more poor highschool dropouts to the middle east. I try to avoid politics in this thing because I like talking about myself more, but I watched that speech good 'ol George gave on the TV and it made me want to fucking assassinate him, well more than I already did.

You hear that secret service! I want the President of the United States dead. If I dissappear suddenly in the night you guys know what happened.

Anyway, fucking fuck! That asshole talked (well, sounds came out of his mouth in stuttering stream) for so long but he basically only said one thing. The fact that that anus sniffing fuckface told us with a straight face that sending more soldiers over there was the first step to getting them all home...well I was pretty drunk and now I have to buy a new TV. How stupid does he think we are? How does that even make sense? I might not understand all the nuances of American politics, but this makes no goddam sense. Fuck that guy. It's so frustrating.

end transmission.

The Rejection of Salvation.

2007-01-11T06:25:00.001-08:00

The human being who is condemned to death is, at least, magnificent before he disappears, and his magnificence is his justification. The Daub creates his own unity by aesthetic means. But it is an aesthetic of singularity and of negation. The Daub is, by occupation, always in opposition, He can only exist in defiance. He can only be sure of his own existance by finding it in the expression of others' faces. Other people are his mirror. A mirror that quickly becomes clouded, it is true, since human capacity for attention is limited. It must be ceaselessly stimulated, spurred on by provocation. The Daub, therefore, is always compelled to astonish. Singularity is his vocation, excess his way to perfection. Perpetually incomplete, always on the fringe of things, he compels others to create him, while denying their values. He plays at life because he is unable to live it. He plays at it until he dies, except for the moments when he is alone and without a mirror. For the Daub, to be alone is not to exist.

end transmission.

Don't confuse your truth with your pain.

2007-01-05T14:45:00.001-08:00

Well I've taken a break from my Tiger Woods 2007, I double bogey'd the last hole putting me at +6 for the Tour, which is really shitty. That game is like crack. I wonder if real golf is that much fun? Hm..

So 4 days deep into 2007 and there is really nothing to report. A funny anecdote...

I was working, well I was standing around at work wondering what would be better to be burned alive or to have a white hot copper wire stuck in my pee hole, when a cocktail waitress came up to me and said,
"Daub, who is that guy, he's famous isn't he?"
She was indicating a real tall skinny black guy, his hair mostly grey, and he had a cane.
"yes, that's Dr. J." I told her.
"Oh he's a doctor, I thought he was an athlete or something."
Then she walked away. Now I'm no sports freak, but I know who Dr. J Erving is. I went over to him (me and the Doctor kinda bonded earlier talking about how cool it was being so much taller than everyone else...I told him about how men over 6'2" are the largest minority in the world, we got to talking about all kinds of other shit, he's a real cool dude) and I told him what the girl had said, and he almost choked on hs beer laughing. When he recovered he told me that such a misunderstanding made him feel old.

Welcome to the club Dr. J.

end transmission.

Scream when you burn.

2006-12-30T16:25:00.001-08:00

One more day and this year will be over. The earth has been traveling around the sun at 67,000MPH for 365 days and so, he we are back were we started, ready to do it all again, though this time somehow optimistic that something will be different this time around.

I think it would be cliche and boring for me to talk about New Year's resolutions and regrets of times passed. I would like, instead to tell you all about something I that is probably the furthest thing from your mind, but should be closer to the forefront.

You know when you get a new roll of toilet paper, and you are too lazy to put that little spring loaded rod through it and attatch it to the rack? What do you do with it then? You set it somewhere...on the back of the toilet, on the floor next to the toilet...or you set it on top of the rod in the fixture and you get on with your life.

This seems a perfectly acceptable solution, and after all you just had a very pleasent, if not stressful bowel movement, and the achievement has left you euphoric and slightly unaware of...certain physical truths. Namely, that the new roll of ass wiping paper has too large of a circumfrance to actually stay on top of the rod.

You stand up, go to flush your effectuation straight to Hell, when lo! The brand new roll falls right into the tiolet! No fucking way did that just happen. No fucking way!

But it did, and now you have a problem. Your toilet is full of shit an any part of the fecies that was in any way liquid is no quickly absorbing into the massive lump of paper. You can't just flush it away, that would most certainly clog and make a bigger mess. So you have two options, A. You can fish out the shit soaked toilet roll with your bare hands and then try and figure out where to dispose of the dripping stinking mass or B. You can commit suicide.

end transmission.

Some Bullshit Escape.

2006-12-23T14:50:00.000-08:00

So, today I got in a big fight with some woman that insisted that suicide rates increase during the Christmas season. I know that's not true because I thought it was true at one point, but as I am prone to do, I did the research and found out it just isn't fucking so.

Actually, more people kill themselves in April than any other month. I find that interesting since it was the month I was born in, so if you believe in any sort of reincarnation or that kind of shit, I probably have the soul of a suicide--er. I refuse to call them victims...but it makes sense when you think about it. Winter time is a bleak, shitty period of the year when depression seems almost inevitable. Everything is dead, it's cold, the days are short, a lot of time with no sun, and there's no fucking way your parents are gonna buy you a $185 GI Joe Aircraft Carrier for Christmas, even though it is over 5 feet long (That's barely $37 a foot) and comes with Admiral Flagg AND a special edition ACE. Where would I put such a thing? I'd find somewhere...

I digress, Uh...oh yeah, but in April it's all sunny and the girls are wearing less and the air smells like life and sex and vitality, and there you are, still feeling like shit, but the rest of the world walking around with a boner and you can't go anywhere without seeing it, mocking your pain. And your puppy that you named after your dead grandma got hit by a semi truck that was shipping tampons to the local safeway, and that "rash" you got from the girl you fucked six monthes ago still hasn't gone away, and they canceled Firefly, which was on its way to being the best show ever, and there's that fuck Jared still making money with his stupid glasses, telling you how good subway is for you, but you know it's a lie, they started a new season of the Real World, George Bush got re-elected, your job sucks, somebody got a hold of those pictures you took of yourself with your dick tucked back between your legs and posted them on the web, gas is over 3 fucking dollars a gallon, they stopped making almond joy ice cream, Pennies still cost 2.3 cents to make, and it doesn't seem to make any sense that there are no girl terrorists, and you can't stop watching that stupid super sweet 16 show on Mtv, and you ordered that Rueben with NO thousand island, just like always, and they still put it on, "I said make it Dry bitch! Dry!" and no one else seems the least bit depressed about any of it so BLAM!

This all seems moot in the face of the fact that this poor woman's daughter killed herself 6 years ago, on Christmas. I never said the suicide rate was zero over the holidays, I just said it didn't increase. In all probobility the poor girl was so fucked up she had other things on her mind more important than Jesus's birthday.

So, if you want to kill yourself, for God's sake wait 'till April. We'll all understand, and I won't have to stand in silent, awkward disbelief at my incredible misfortune at choosing when and who to debate on the topic of Yule tide self murder.

Merry Christmas kids.

end transmission.

Even Grey Suits have their day.

2006-12-23T00:07:00.000-08:00

I was thinking, whatever we may do, excess will always keep its place in the heart of man, in the place where solitude is found. We all carry within us our places of exile, our crimes and our ravages. But our task is not to unleash them on the world; it is to fight them in ourselves and others.

Egg nog was originally named after drinks called "grog" meaning anything made with rum. I drank a lot of it and this is the outcome.

end transmission.

It's sad when someone you know becomes someone you knew.

2006-12-10T10:30:00.000-08:00

So a lot of you might be wondering, where was Johnny Knoxville last Thursday night?

I'll tell you where! He was at the Double Down Saloon watching a girl shoot darts out of her twat at a skinny dude with balloons taped to his chest. How do I know this? 'cause I was there too!

It just goes to fucking show that there are things in this world still left to surprise and wow me. Just when I was sitting at home, lamenting that there was nothing this world had to present to me that would ever again fill my body with tingling veneration, behold! Las Vegas surprises me yet again!

This woman could not only fire blowdarts out of a tube inserted into her pussy, she could do so with enough force to lodge the darts in the human target, (better still, she could do it from two different positions!) that's right flesh piercing vagina darts! Add one more terrible weapon the the pussy's already lethal arsenal. The darts were not terribly accurate, though I blame the girls skirt for the interferance. Ian has pictures of this somewhere, I'll give you guys a look when I can get to them.

end transmission.

The politics of starving.

2006-12-08T05:21:00.000-08:00

The present paints the past in gold. The past paints the present in lead.

Murder in the key of F.

2006-12-05T16:14:00.001-08:00

A homeless woman farted on me today. I feel as if maybe she was just farting and I walked by, but that is not the truth. She expelled fecies in a gaseous form straight into my nasal pasasages, the airborne shit sticking to my white t-shirt and blue jeans, both now brown with her insolence. And she did so with predjudice!

Why do I tell you this?

To brighten your day, of course. Hopefully, if you were farted on today the person was lying next to you, naked, or it was in the context of ribald humor, expelled for a laugh. At the very least the person who farted on you had a place indoors to sleep. Even better, you walked through the ass-cloud of a stranger, and it only made your lunch taste faintly of shit.

end transmission.

Cry for mercy and you will die crying!

2006-11-19T13:29:00.000-08:00

I did it! After four years of brutal open warfare, with countless, intermitant guerilla skirmishes, I have done the impossible! I have defeated an enemy more terrible than any other foe known to the American people. I stand triumphant over the iniquitous and always unpropitious avatar of perniciousness on our mortal plain!

I, of course, speak of the DMV. Though the fight was arduous and spanned two states, I have finally won! Eat shit Boulder DMV, suck my ass Las Vegas DMV! You must now go on fucking everyone else in holes far too small for your cock of execrable injustice with the painful image of my well won vicotry, buring in your soul! Thus forever ruining your foul ejaculation, decreasing the elation you once felt so clearly knowing that no one could stand up to your rancorous might! Know that every asshole that waits in a 3 hour line in the early morning hours on a fucking Wednesday will be slightly bolstered by my tale and smile slightly through gritted teeth as you dispense your languid writs and permits!

I share this triumph with you all.

Fuck you DMV, I win, you loose, I fooled you you fucks, I won!

end transmission.

I'm a single succesfull guy.

2006-11-11T13:52:00.000-08:00

The Bouncing Souls show was fucking amazing, as they always are live. I heard some of their new songs live and maybe I'm willing to admit their new album is not all bad. The Acoustic version of "Say Anything" was surprising and very cool to hear. I am jealous of all you fuckers in Denver 'cause they're playing two nights, the second night they're playing Maniacal Laughter the whole way through, that should be sweet. I can't believe it's been 10 years since that album came out, it seems like just yesterday I was a young punk in my freashman year at CU drinking and getting into trouble.

That's the good and bad about a band like the Souls, I have so many memories tied to those songs, even those guys in the band, I've seen them so many times they seem like family, which is something i really miss, that "scene" of kids (most of whom I never really liked anyway, ironically) but it reminds me of a time before punk was cool, and only the losers liked it and if you put on a punk cd at a shitty party people got all mad and had no idea why anyone would like that kind of thrashing guitar and too-fast drum beat, with bad vocals and songs about peeing in ice cube trays.

This show had those kind of kids, even punkers my age with their kids, little 5 year olds and shit (maybe their is hope for the future of america) , the contrast to say, the Alkaline Trio show was astounding and not a little sad. I'm old, what I think is cool, oddly enough has finally caught on, and now, it has been destroyed by mass media and trendy bullshit. They sell ripped tshirts for $30 at hot topic, and it's cool to have a fucking FAUX Hawk! (I swear to God it takes all the restraint in my robust frame to refrain from killing anyone with that haircut, bloodily dismembering them and feeding them their own limbs) You can have a godamned mohawk at work in a fancy restraunt! It's socially acceptable, but only in it's new "fagged"up metrosexual form mode. There is something fundimentally wrong with that, and absolutely nothing punk about it..

Punk rock and the mohawk, the New Punk and the Fauxhawk, it's easy to kinda see what I mean, huh?

But most of the music hasn't changed, it has just been dulled somehow. Punk rock has been Fagged up mtreosexualised just like our hair, We sold them our revenge, and now what do we have left?

There are still a lot of good "punk" (now they have all just been thrown into the alternative rock bin of history, and that lack of distiction makes me sad) bands in the scene, most of the older bands keep making good music and playing it for these eyeliner fags, (I even like some of the eyeliner fag bands, Taking Back Sunday, My Chemical Romance, and some others, they have some balls I even if they do wear women's jeans) and the Bouncing Souls are still strong, they're one of those bands that just make you happy to rock out with, even their sad songs are upbeat and there is just such a rediculous positive energy surrounding them and their music, it's impossible to resist, you can't help but have fun listening to thier shit.

Mostly they make me think of days of yore, of Kap, (who got me into them) and all of our adventures as lads at the sub shop (the First Planet Sub crew, before the Half Fast team.), and Evan and our Bad Religion bonding that ended in a black out and severe injury on my part handing out flyers for a show at a frat party. Mr. Charles Livingston and Medieval Madness, Rats in the Hallway, Hallett Hall and all those fucking assholes. That all seems like a lifetime ago, I miss those days, those kids. At least I still see most of those guys every once in a while, there were a few of those kids who didn't survive (figuritively and literally), and some of those people I'm glad I will never see again.

Worse than all of it, I am the whore I never wanted to be, and it makes me sick, working fulltime at a job that does nothing beneficial other than fill my wallet. Watching Fight Club agian, sorry, that movie always makes me feel like a hypocrite. My things do own me and I am helpless in the face of their seduction.

On a happy note, one of the opening bands was this group of black dudes called Whole Wheat Bread...and I must say they were awesome, I was blown away, i haven't heard/seen a punk band with that much talent, attitude, and heart in a long time. I highly advise any of you in CO to go see them at the Gothic, they will surprise the shit out of you, I promise. They even have T-shirts and bumper stickers that say "I love black people."

I also need a new mouse, my left clicker is gummed up with beer. It makes computing difficult at best.

end transmission.

To Laugh is like swallowing a Secret that Santa Clause Farted.

2006-11-07T14:18:00.000-08:00

I was at work at about 5Am this morning, aimlessly walking around in circles, having an internal debate on whether it would be better to have a society where everyone was stupid, or one where everyone was smart. Both have interesting possibilities, on the one hand, if everyone was dumb...you guys don't really care about that so...

A really hot woman came up to me and this is what happened:

"Hey, do you have a light?" She asked.
"Nope, sorry," I said.
"Bullshit, come on you don't have any matches?"
"No bullshit, the bar prolly has some."
"I don't want to go to the bar, why don't you have any matches? Are you one of those non smokers?"
"Yeah. I Find it to be an offensive practice."
"What?"
"No, I don't smoke."
It is at this point the girl pulls a matchbook out of her purse and lights a smoke.
"Did you just try and use matches as an excuse to come over and talk to me?" I asked.
"Yeah, it kinda backfired, I guess. But I guess it was a waste 'cause I smoke and you don't, it would never work."
"We should probably go our seperate ways now, before one of us gets hurt."
I, of course, meant this in a relationship, broken heart kinda hurt, she on the other hand...
"Why, are you gonna hit me? I could take you. No, you'd probably beat my ass stupid, but I'd scream real loud."
?
"Ok, don't worry, I don't want to fight you, anyways," I said.
"What are you some kinda pussy?"
"Something like that."
"My name is ******"
"I'm Daub."
We shook hands.
"You have really soft hands, Daub, " she laughs.
"Thanks, I guess." (people tell me that all the fucking time...maybe I do have girlishly soft hands, so what?)
"Well, just make sure you don't call me ****** if you see me down here with some dude."

Yes, ******* was a hooker. A really hot/high hooker, who then continued to talk my ear off for the next hour and a half. It was a slow night, after all, and it's good to make new friends.

I learned the following things,
1. If i ever need qulity blow, I now have a contact.
2. ****** usually charges $500 for a BJ, $700 for vaginal, $900 for anal. (though she told me she'd suck my dick for $200, 'cause she thought I was cute). She told me about some of the famous dudes she fucked, i told her about the time Peed on a girl in the shower on accident. She told me that would cost $300.
3. Not all hookers have pimps, but most do.
4. It's hard to maintain a romantic relationship AND hook ant the same time. 5. Flirting with prostitutes is free.
6. Hookers are not very smart, though they are pretty good at bullshitting.
7. Not all hookers were molested as children, though this one was, and due to my X-factor (even at work, with A Vegas Prostitute, shit!) I found out all about it. It seems that her dad's brother used to video tape her in her underwear dancing on her bed, and then he'd...well you get the picture.

end transmssion

All Downhill from Here.

2006-11-05T12:19:00.000-08:00

Not much to say today.

A few things that I'm afraid to think about, much less say out loud, lest they be jinxed....even though I don't technically believe in such nonsense. Just cross your fingers for me. Eventhough I don't think that will have any causal effect on the outcome, just do it just in case, Thanks

Enough vagueries...The Bouncing Souls are coming this Thursday night, and even though their new album kinda sucks, I know they will be awesome live, they always are and I actually get to go to the show due to its atypical play date. (Who ever heard of a Thursday Night show?)

What else...Oh I went to the Doctor a few days ago for some intense pain in my ear. The bad news was that I had a mild ear infection, probably from listening to too many dirty jokes. The good (and slightly surprising) news is:

I AM APARANTLY THE HEALTHIEST MAN ON EARTH.

The doctor was literally taken aback by my level of good health. I thought he was fucking with me at first, he seemed so surprised, I thought it was some sort of sarcastic method of making me feel better about an ass polup or penis warts. But alas, my Height/Weight/Body Fat ratio was textbook, my blood pressure and heart rate were par for an 18 year old, and my asshole is cancer free. I also have no STD's, and aside from the ear problem, I'm in tip top audio/visual shape. He didn't do any sperm tests, but I did a home count and I had to stop at 1,000 million, with still a shot glass full of fluid left to go!

He told me to keep doing what I was doing and I'd live to be 200.
So in an effort to help you all sprint down the righteous path of longevity, I thought I'd tell you "what I was doing."

1. Lots of vitamins, it doesn't really matter which kind, just take them all, the key just to take most of them everyday.
2. Drink, heavily and often. Everyday if you can.
3. Say "yes" to drugs, but not "please."
4. Eat shittons of meat, avoid bread and sugar.
5. Try to have as little sex as possible (this step I kinda stumbled onto by accident, and completely involuntarily)
6. Rage against the small shit (like people who still use fucking checks at the supermarket...and wait till all their shit is wrung up before they start writing "WHat's the date today...what was the total? You got all my coupons, right?...still that seems high....oops I wrote the check for Safeway, this isn't Safeway, where am I? I better start again. ARGHH!) and let the big shit (George Bush) slide.
7. Take stuff from work.
8. Say "fuck" to little mexican kids as much as oppurtunity allows.
9. Call people while you are pooping, though politeness would dictate that you forgo flushing untill after you hang up.
10. Don't forget to flush after you hang up.
11. Drink with Diet Soda mixers, it has actually been proven alcohol enters your system faster with diet cola than with sugar! No shit. Look it up.
12. Listen only to Punk music from the early and mid 90's, (fall out boy and their modern ilk will not only give you cancer but it will make you gay as well) occaisional Blues and never, ever to rap. Except for that Jay-Z song about 99 problems, that song is ok for some reason.
13. Pee on a church at least once a week.

According to my doctor these are the things that lead to amazing, happy, healthy living. Enjoy!

end transmission.

..or a nod from hell.

2006-10-26T09:52:00.000-07:00

Why don't you start crying, for all you have left.

end transmission.

Same Cars, Same Clothes, Same Desires, Same Woes.

2006-10-25T15:55:00.000-07:00

So I have only to words with which two open today's Bullshit Session:

Hooker Fight.

I came to Las Vegas with a small list of things to accomplish. I have accomplished numbers 2 (fucked a stripper), 4 (got a job in a casino), 5 (took pictures of Ian asleep with my nuts on his forehead), 8 (turned down a blowjob from a female crackhead), 9 (turned down a blowjob from a male crackhead), and finally last night I checked off number 3 (watch two black hookers beat the shit out of each other, while on the clock).

I was "checking the meters" which in slot jargon means walking around with a clipboard looking official and intimidating drunk gambling foreigners. So there I was counting the minutes till lunch, when I heard a high pitch shriek, fallowed by a loud, "What now bitch!"

I immidiately knew it was an african american woman, because she just kept repeating "What now, Bitch!" over and over. I blame Hip-Hop, it encourages verbal expression through repitition. Kinda like marketing breakfast cereal, "whoop there it is!" or "my mind on my money, my money on my mind." might as well be "they're Grrrreat!"

Where was I...Oh, so I walk around a slot bank toward the bathroom, and there they are. The first thing I see...well first I'll tell you what they looked like.

The first girl had on what could only be described as a slightly wider than average rubberband around her thighs and the top half of her ass. It was hot pink, while her bra, which was about 3 cup sizes too small, was black. She had a blonde wig, and the highest stilletto heels I have ever seen. She looked (and moved) like she was walking on stilts. She also had a gut. Yes, dude, there were stretch marks.

The other gitl was real skinney, and black. I mean like the darkest black person I've ever seen, and she had on a pink wig, camo short skirt and one of those tight midrif shirts that unzipps down the cleavage.

Well Potbelly had Skinegro by the back of the neck and was punching, (womp, "What now, Bitch!") closed fist, (womp, "What now, Bitch!") not slapping, full on (womp, "What now, Bitch!") dude style punching this girl in (womp, "What now, Bitch!") the face. Skinegro's purse went flying, money went everywhere.

Skinegro then pulled away and promptly ("What now, Bitch!") fell on her ass, she was crying, her face bloody (Chopper, black people have red blood just like us, you lied to me), but she was ("What now, Bitch!") still ballsy enough to spit a "Fuck you! Bitch! This ain't yo shit!" Potbelly literally dove at the hooker on the ground, shrieking.

That's when I got on the radio, "Um...what's the 10 code for hooker fight?" (everything on the radio has a stupid 10 code, 10-5 bathroom break, 10-8 lunch, etc.) My clever quip was met with silence, and ("What now, Bitch!") that's about when security showed up and pulled these two hookers apart and cuffed them ("What now, Bitch!"). They would not stop yelling, and now that the skinny one had the big one cuffed and buffeted by security started getting real loud, "you ain't shit bitch, fuck you, etc." This made potbelly angrier, and consequently, louder. "you wanna come into MY house and shake your skank and then disrespect me, fuck you bitch. Fuck you bitch. Fuck you bitch. Fuck you bitch (you get the idea).

A third hooker came out of the bathroom and tried to put in her 2 cents but she was told she could leave now, or get cuffed too, so she quickly abandoned her whore buddies.

end transmission.

Back, and to the Left.

2006-10-19T14:05:00.000-07:00

Holy Cow! I just found out something that is so fucking crazy, I just don't know what to do! I met this wonderful girl, who is borderline perfect. She's smart and beautiful, funny, the whole shubang! It's been a while since I felt a connection like this with a girl. My mom is a little upset that she's not Jewish, but other than that, things look good.

I recently found out, however that this perfect woman is seeing a psychiatrist! That wouldn't be so bad, except the therapist is my fucking Mom! Oh Man! What a crazy perdicament! Derrrr...

end transmission.

Those aren't boobs, they're lies!

2006-10-17T12:26:00.001-07:00

So it's finally happened, I've seen so many fake boobs of such enormous, dissproportionate, and almost comical admeasurement that I have somehow reversed the Y chromosome directive to be attracted to big tits. Don't get me wrong, I can't help but stare at them, they just don't really do it for me anymore. Or maybe they do and I'm just too sober to notice. Something's changed, certainly. I guess it's like anything awesome, too much of it in your face or on either side of your cock, and you begin to grow uninterested and bored. IT's not that I don't like boobs anymore, it's just that it's the little ones that draw my attention now, instead of, "DUDE, look at the ginormous rack on her!," it's now more like, "Dude, that girls hasn't got a boob job yet, hot!"

Thanks a shit-ton Las Vegas, what will you destroy next? My love of cheap vodka and fart jokes? Will I soon find myself giving money to charity and helping the mentally retarded in my spare time? My reality has been twisted beyond recognition, I have no compass, no indication of what direction is up, I never really realized what an anchor big boobs were for my continued sanity. I am most certainly lost!

Anyway, i met this Irish guy last night, he was drunk and looking to score with and was angry that all the chicks were just looking for money and totally disregarded his, "fookin greeat har and pairfectly tooned stoomak mooscles." He did indeed have an impressive six pack, though I was unsure as to why he showed it to me (his "har" seemed nothing special to me, but I'm hardly an expert on such matters). So we got to talking, It turned out he was from Fairfax, VA, a place I onced lived (sorta) and we also liked drinking to excess. Irish was inordinately excited about 24 hour bars, but was equally fiery about the lack of "slooty Veegaus tail," on a Monday night at 4 AM.

It was at this point he begin to tell me his exploits in Ireland, fighting and drinking, chasing women, mostly other dudes' wives, thus the fighting. Getting jumped and having his "heed womped on sumthin tarribel." HE said american girls loved his accent, but I could barely understand it...but anyway, I got a call and had to leave.

I ran in to him an hour later, and he told me he had gotten a "fookin bloojaub" in the "Lu" from some hooker and it had cost him 300 bucks. I asked him how it was, and he said that his wife gave better head, but that was before she died in a car accident a year previous while pregnant with his unborn son.

end transmision.

Sometimes the Struggle leaves you fragile.

2006-10-07T23:56:00.000-07:00

I saw a puppy get hit by a truck today, and I cried, a little bit.

Not really, I just thought that would be an interesting way to start today's mess. I met a girl today at my orientation for my new job as corporate whore #345443. The first thing I learned about her was that her last job was at hooters, and she had a cup size of 36 D. This girl was (is, unless she died in the last 5 hours) 5'4.2", short people always seem to round to the nearest tenth of an inch, much like I do when I talk about my penis. Anyway, at lunch she started talking to me about herself, (my x-factor working to it's fullest potential) and she told me she desperately wanted a boob job.

Now this girl maybe weighed 100lbs, and was, as far as I could tell, pretty fucking hot. The boobs were just the beginning, she had already laid out all the other myriad procedures she wanted done, lipo here and there, chin lift, etc.

She was (is) only 23.

This got me thinking about boobs, a topic I rarely waste much cognitive faculties deliberating. Not just boobs, but how much pressure there is for girls to be perfect. I would have fucked this girl sober, without even thinking of someone else, and she was convinced she was ugly, in need of surgical augmentation to be attractive.

I'm not an idiot, I have been aware of this issue for a while, i just forget sometimes how unaware people can be of themselves. We are so preoccupied with the paragonof perfection thrust upon us by the airbrushed media, that we can't see the beauty right in front of us, most often the beauty we posses inside ourselves. It is tragic and terrible.

On the other hand, maybe this girl's 36 D boobs hung to her knees outside a bra, or looked like cantlopes in a pair of gym socks, Who knows? I guess my point is, women spend as much money and endure as much pain as you can to make yourself look perfect. Because, in the end that's what I want. I want every girl I meet to have the exact same tits, ass and face. I want to make sure that every woman I fuck looks exactly the same, and that they are all so focused on their appearance that they have never read a book or done anything more interesting than bleach their assholes. Don't even consider going to the gym as an alternative to liposuction, an please, please, keep in mind that the natural, unique feel of a real breast is bullshit compared the the amazingly unnatural and disproportionate expeience of plastic boobery.

end transmission.

Dinner and a Movie.

2006-09-28T17:05:00.000-07:00

A few nights ago, I got really, really, really drunk. Even for me. I spent most of Tuesday vomiting, and I do mean the whole day.

The first volley throws out that burger, the second the hot wings. Then comes the water. Then the mystery liquid mixed with stomach acid.

After that there is a reprieve, a sort of drunken sweat coma that is violently inturupted 3 hours or so later by the beginning of the end. This is, of course, signaled by the final emptying of your stomach, anything left, stomach acid, bile, your stomach lining, that piece of gum you swallowed in 5th grade to avoid getting in trouble.

Your throat, raw and sore, the taste of pure evil in your mouth, that is when your stomach defies all science. Muscles you didn't even know you had begin to convulse, tightening and squeezing trying desperately to expunge every molecule of irritant from your soul. You desperately try to drink something, anything so that you can actually puke, something. But all you end up doing is choking on the liquid because you can't stop heaving long enough to swallow properly.

Soon this routine slows to a walk. You get a ten to fifteen minute probation from your sentance, just long enough to reflect on your sins and the inevitable penance that will ensue shortly. You think, maybe that was the last one, maybe it's done, but no...you are not done, not by a long shot.

This physical abolition is not all negative, though it is most certainly all bad. You start to ask, "What in the Hell did I do to bring my life to this, sweating over a toilet wishing I was dead, was it those squirrels I shot with a BB gun when I was 12, or maybe, it was all the times I was an asshole to total stragers or maybe I'm being punished for all the times I never cared about anyone but myself.?."

But the asnswer is glaringly simple, the only real cause is...Drinking to excess, duh? That is the superficial answer that your stomach is pounding into your brain with the subtle momentum of a ICBM. It is at this point that you start to need to shit too, all the contortioning has been working both ends, so now you have to hope that you have a convinient bathroom set up that will allow you to shit and puke at the same time, with minimal mess, but I digress.

Drinking is the obvious cause, but why did I drink so much? I drink a lot, and usually this does not happen, why this time? What does this event have in common with the few other times this has happened. And the answers come pouring in, without the filter of ego, or the ability to repress, your body has been strained to the limits of endurance, and just maintaining your life is taking all you have, so with all of your defenses down...a salience enters your pain addled conciousness...and there it is.

Suddenly and petrifying, the honest truth about your self, all your mistakes, all your regrets, all the thing that you need to remit, the behaviors you must abate, the fears that keep you abashed, the darkest most esoteric parts of you are laid bare...

...and then you vomit again, your stomach has managed to make about a teaspoon of stomach acid, that burns your throat, but that's a bout it, all your relvelations are erased by the lesson your body wants you to learn, a lesson you earnestly and genuinely embrace...No MOre Alcohol, never agian! And when you finally believe it, when your blood carries with it this truth, then your body lets you chug a gallon of water, and vomit it up, and then finally lets you sleep.

end transmission.

Beneath the Ashes and Lies.

2006-09-14T17:13:00.000-07:00

Ian and I got drunk on car bombs and vodka. I'm not lying to you guys, it really happened. Ok well maybe drunk is the wrong word, oblitertated may be more accurate. A celebration of my acqusition of a new job and the fact that life is so super.

We left the bar at some point and a black dude came out of the parking lot and said, "Yo, can you guys do a nigga a favor?"

Ian politely said, "No, man, sorry."

The black dude responded, "It'll just take a second," at this point we have walked about 100 ft away from the guy, we continue to walk away and Ian says, "Sorry, no."

"Well then fuck you fuckers, " the black dude yells.

I stop and turn around, "What the fuck did you just say?" I said.

"I said, fuck you," he said.

"That's what I thought you said," I replied and we walked away and went and had mexican food somewhere.

So to the topic of the week...
So goat fisting or "handballing" as I have come to call it is a apparantly growing in popularity among the kids. Apparantly, young teenagers, curious about sex with goats, are more likely to anally (brachioprocticly) molest a goat, then they are to vaginally (brachiovaginally), and also tend toward fisting over other forms of sex, such as goat sucking or goat fucking.

But what are the dangers of this behavior, you ask? Dr. Adam Germins, the world's foremost expert in animal fisting, had this to say,

"Fisting is generally considered low risk for the spread of STD's provided a few basic precautions are followed; but, as with any sexual activity, there are potential health risks that must be taken into careful consideration before engaging in the fisting. When fisting is done with proper care, the risk of injury is quite low; however, fisting, when done improperly, can result in serious injuries, including ruptured bowels, internal tears, rectal/colonic infections, urinary tract infections, pelvic immflamatory disease, bruising of the cervix, mucosal laceration, muscle tearing, and temporary fecal incontinence, sterility, in the extreme case, even death. It also has been known to make the animals cry a little."

Be safe, kids.

end transmission.

Sure Thing Failing.

2006-09-12T22:18:00.000-07:00

I know what you're all thinking...9/11 passed without any comment. One might ask; Don't you have something horribly inappropriate or insensitive to say about terrorists and/or people jumping out of 50 story windows to avoid immolation by flaming jet fuel? There has to be some complicated theory about how this attack was actually executed in concert with the American Government, or some sort of rant about dead muslims and the idiocity of religion. Surely, you have some rage about people profiting from this bullshit, and people with WTC tattoos, and the culture of fear America has incubated to the point of blatant insanity, and the Government's deft weilding of this trepidation to fuck us in the ass while we sit with a stupid grin on our faces asking for more, and thinking all the while that it is what we need.

That would be a valid inquery, and I would have to answer, that I just didn't feel like it, okay?

So in order to give me more shit to write about I have decided to have a weekly topic, inturupted sporadically by interesting "real life" events as they occur. Got anything you want me to talk about...I love hearing myself type.

This week's topic: Fisting Goats.

My first inclination was to be against the fisting of goats, both anally and vaginally. Then, I thought vaginal Goat fisting would be ok, if the goat was of legal age, and the animal was a willing participant. But then what about the goats of the male gender, are they to be left out of the five knuckle bliss? We can't just allow anal Goat fisting for male goats, and not allow it in the females, so all fisting or none.

More to follow.

end transmsiion.

Go to Work Drunk.

2006-09-09T22:32:00.000-07:00

I woke up today and my toe hurt. The second toe, second from the big one, and I investigated the pain. It turned out I had the beginnings of an ingrown toenail, I got my pocket knife and dug it out, instantly alieviating the discomfort and I was relieved. That got me thinking about the time I broke up a girl who I really liked.

Anyway, much like clawing out the ingrown nail, I sought to eliminate the pain. Luckily, I chose booze, coke and one night stands as my expurgation and not a knife. Though unlike the toenail, my methods ended in less than total triumph.

So in this painful delirium of inebriation and woe, I fucked a girl, I will call her Hot Coke Slut 16 or HCSXVI. She had the most amazing tits I've ever seen in real life, and she either looked really similar to my old girlfriend, or I just hallucinated the similarities.

It was some of the best sex I've ever had, so full of rancor and acrimony, just so fucking...vengeful, I guess. HCSXVI told me it was incredible as well, but I really could have given two shits what she thought. Hot coke sex with strangers always seemes really good at the time anyway, no matter the reality, so who knows. She was probably the third girl I had fucked since the breakup, and I was starting to feel like my approach to dealing with the situation might have some tatical errors. For one it wasn't really working for longer than a few hours, and for another, I was starting to actually feel worse.

Her cell phone rang about 20 minutes after we had finished, and I found myself laying in bed next to HCSXVI while she talked on her phone to someone. I just sat there thinking, my thoughts moving so quickly I could barely tell them apart, what was She doing tonight, did I have to work today?, where was my car? I'm kinda hungry, well not really, but I should be hungry, did HCSXVI really let me do that to her just now, it smells like sex in here, when did I stop wanting to be an astronaut, oh yeah when they said I was too tall to fit in the damn shuttle, fuck I forgot to feed my dog, i need some whiskey, I've got to fuck this girl one more time before I never talk to her again, when did I become such an asshole? but they soon melded into one terrible cohesive ideation.

I had never even thought to wear a condom. I came on her tits, though so pregnancy was not a fear, but I could practically feel the warts growing on my dick, balls and asshole, anywhere this fucking dirty slut's infected juices had come into contact with me. Or worse, I could have AIDS or Chlamydia, or gonorrhea, hepatitis B, or even C, Herpes, Molluscum, Syphilis...maybe even fucking Bacterial Vaginosis! Well, nothing to do about it now. I was either infected or not. Could I even get Bacterial Vaginosis?

HCSXVI asked if I had any more drugs, I lied and told her no. I got up out of bed and went into the bathroom to pee.

In other news....

I had a blast last night hanging out with some new people, My Myspace Non-homosexual internet Boyfriend introduced me to (real names withheld to protect the guilty, though to be honest I am so bad with names it will probably take me years to remember their real monikers) White Thunder, Slappy the Jew, Too-tall Asian Sushi Cook, The Russian, Yellow the Drunk, and a few others who I couldn't come up with interesting alias's for. It's good to find people that like to drink as much as I do, or are good at faking it.

Oh yeah, this all started because my Marketing director said my Blog did not have enough sex in it and I was losing readers in the 8-14 year old girl demographic.

end transmisson.

Public Witness Program.

2006-09-02T03:09:00.000-07:00

Hmmm...what to say here. I just bought a new keyboard, and it is a little odd, so fuck the typos...

I just met a bi-polar asian girl who loves horror movies, kung fu movies, and girls who act like girls.

Suffice it to say I am in love with her. She is hot to boot, and works at an insane asylum....and well, crazy, asian, hates girls, loves gore, fascinated be weird shit...it fits the bill, but she's even crazier than I think even I can handle...why does tha tmake it so much sexier.....I mean she has had some random "black outs" she calls them....psychotic episodes my limited psych education calls them....uh...well....

on a more stable note, I had a good interview with Mandalay bay today....lots of $$, hopefully enough that I can start fucking prostitutes and stop trying to find women I actually like.

end transmission.

That's 64 dicks, before you ever put your hands on mine.

2006-08-24T20:57:00.000-07:00

I'm back. I've been away from this blog long enough, I think, I've been writing on mypace a lot, but I'm back to this one because it leaves me a signifigantly increased amout of leaway. Not because of any real constraints, I just feel that this page is more true to my hate.

That being said, what do I have to say?

Nothing sadly, I'm in love with a stripper that hates me, I didn't know she was stripper until recently, but I've known she hated me since the first fight she started, why is that such a turn on? Anwho, I'm trying to get a new job, though all things conspire against and for me in equal portions. It's very frustrating.

I'm done talking for now.

end transmission.

Notes on pulling the sky down.

2006-07-25T12:48:00.000-07:00

In celebration of my achievement today I ate an entire chicken. I sat down and feasted, there was so much grease and chicken juices that my fingers got all pruny like when you stay in the bath tub too long. I feel awesome. The circle of life and all that shit. What achievment would warrent such a glutonous celebration, you ask?

What achievment, indeed.

I'm leaving the internet behind for I while, I have some focusing to do, but fret not! I shall return and I will be much more interesting for the holiday.

end transmission.

Come back to me, please, or I'll kill myself.

2006-07-13T05:37:00.000-07:00

Jerry Hatcher worked part time in a grocery store. While none of us could get jobs he could always get one. He had his little movie star face and his mother had a great body. With his face and her body he didn't have any trouble finding employment.
"Why don't you come up to the apartment after dinner tonight?" he asked me one day.
"What for?"
"I steal all the beer I want. I take it out back. We can drink the beer."
"Where you got it?"
"In the refrigerator."
"Show me."
We were about a block away from his place. We walked over. In the hallway Jimmy said,
"Wait a minute, I've got to check the mail." He took out his key and opened the lock box. It was empty. He locked it again.
"My key opens this woman's box. Watch."
Jimmy opened the box and pulled out a letter and opened it. He read the letter to me. "Dear Betty: I know that this check is late and that you've been waiting for it. I lost my job. I have found another one, but it put me behind. Here's the check, finally. I hope that everything is all right with you. Love, Dan." Jimmy took the check and looked at it. He tore up and he tore the letter up and he put the pieces in his coat pocket. Then he locked the mailbox.
"Come on."
He went into his apartment and into the kitchen and he opened the refrigerator. It was
packed with cans of beer.
"does your mother know?"
"Sure. She drinks it."
He closed the refrigerator.
"Jim, did your father really blow his brains out because of your mother?"
"Yeah. He was on the phone. He told her he had a gun. He said, "If you don't come back
to me I'm going to kill myself. Will you come back to me?" And my mother said, "No." There was
a shot, and that was that."
"What did your mother do?"
"She hung up."
"Alright, I'll see you tonight."

end transmission.

Another Dead end story.

2006-07-12T16:59:00.000-07:00

Well, I guess I've been running myself too thin, four different blogs are too many to keep original. This one has definitely been suffering the worst and it isn't fair since it was my original soap box to bitch loudly into the quiet abyss of the interweb. My original idea was that I didn't want to have any of the blogs be the same....but In the end I only live 4 or 5 different lives, which, sadly, only amount to enough interesting blog material for .356 blogs.

I don't know if I'm gonna break that streak today...uh...

Let's see, some of the stuff not covered here....uh, I fucked my 2nd drunk Vegas stripper....I went three days without booze, um....I don't know..uh Ian went to jail....he's still there at press time...uh a mexican bathroom custodian busted in on me while I shat at the gym....I saw pirates of the carribean 2, which was awesome.

I broke a condom a few weeks ago, but did not recieve an STD or a baby.

end transmission.

Vanilla Sex.

2006-07-10T15:08:00.001-07:00

I can't sleeep, what else is new, right? I tried all the normal remedies, I jerked off twice, read some of my own writing, went to CNN.com, all tried and true methods foe unconsciousness! But to no avail!

That, of course, led me to start drinking, which led to listening to Fugazi, which led me to think about dogs, which led to weiner dogs, which moved me to think of love and then a steady course straight to death, then I came right back up to guitar, which brought me to Slash and Guns 'n Roses, and then I restrung my acoustic guitar, and then I played it, then I realized I suck and made another drink, which led me here.

Albert CAmus said, "Yes, man is his own end. And he is his only end. If he aims to be something, it is in this life."

What, then, are my aims? Let's ponder this at the moment. There are, of course, both, short, medium, and long term goals (Did you catch that, I said both but I listed three antecedants(sp)). Short term....vodka, carne asada, vitamins, sex, money.
Medium Term...better job, vodka, carne asada, sex, money.
Long Term...Kids and family, death.

Alright, so maybe I have no idea what I want in the long term, but I sure know what I don't want.

Herepes.

end transmission.

Made up dreams.

2006-07-09T23:04:00.000-07:00

Today I decided not to run for mayor of Las Vegas, though I did enjoy the limited kickbacks just for being nominated.

Yesterday a mexican lady got arrested for shoplifting at Albertsonson's.

end transmission.

No man's friend.

2006-07-05T05:50:00.000-07:00

Jean-Paul Satre said, "hell is other people"

The french existentialists are really spot on, usually. This idea was cemented for me in Clerks with the line, "I hate peole, but I love gatherings."

I've been thinking about this a lot, and I feel it, but don't really understand it. that is always a dangerous place to be, always. It leads to all sorts of problems, not the least of which being genocide or mass immolation.

Why I am I so misanthropic, but at the same time so drawn to large social gatherings?

The answer? i am facinated by what it is like to be like you. I have never been one of you, I have always seen this world from an outsider's perspective, and that belies a certain ego, I know, but it's true.

You are not me. We have a lot in common, but the way you are is a foreign to me as Russian script. I am, and have always bee, different. SOme of you know what I mean, and that is why we have become friends...otherwise, I just don't get you fuckers. The way you think is a mystery to me and I hate you for it.

end transmssion.

Pictures of You.

2006-07-03T15:42:00.000-07:00

No one ever looks at some dried up, loser ad says, that will probably be me someday. But those people never thought that either, and now they are...well, dried up losers.

Someone spiked my drink.

end transmission.

...the sound of failure isn't here...yet.

2006-06-30T15:30:00.000-07:00

My life is boring and moving forward quickly. So, in other words, nothing is happening, very rapidly.

end transmission.

Ghost in the Lighthouse.

2006-06-26T15:04:00.000-07:00

I have discovered something. You cannot kill a puppy and expect it to stop loving you.

end transmission.

She said she was in love with me, and now she don't need me....

2006-06-25T17:04:00.001-07:00

I feel like this blog is now an assignement from a teacher who doesn't actually read what I turn in. Listen to Against ME! and the Fairlanes. Throw in some LAgwagon, and JAwbreaker. In fact, Listen to "Dear You" over and over again until you wan to to kill yourself. God it's amazing, how did I live so long without it...."I love you so much it's killing us both," shit.

Anyway. All the black girls I work with have white boyfriends. They all have kids with these dudes. None of them are married. What the fuck? Have I been missing out somehow? I've fucked almost every flavor of girl, but never Negro. Korean, Mexican, Japanese, German, White, Canadian, Slutanese, Cambodia, desperate and drunk, i've had a pretty diverse sexual portfollio, but the blacks, They intimidate me a little bit, and I hate people who pronounce "th" as "F". Birf Day makes me want immolate the whole world! Eat writer pretension!

Is pretenesion a word? maybe I should axe a dictionary.

end transmission.

Not a dull moment.

2006-06-23T09:47:00.000-07:00

I work at a casino, I wander around at all hours of the night not really doing anything of any real value to the further the human race. Last night a drunk stripper sat down at the bar next to some dude. She was in her early thirties, maybe just turned thirty, but she had an amazing body and, oddly enough, big fake boobies.
As most of you know, I find the most sensual part of the woman to be the boobies.
Anyway, she is absolutely throwing herself at this guy, who is having nothing to do with her inebrieated overtures. Is the guy gay, married, who knows, it doesn't really matter, this girl is determined to go home with this guy no matter what.
She is so intent on this goal that she sits there for two hours trying to seduce him, meanwhile drinking like my grandma at christmas time. Desire vs. Bladder....the winner?
This grown woman pissed her pants in public! She ran to the bathroom, well stumbled really, but was too late. She came back out summoning the dignity necessary to cover her crotch and ass with her hands.
So now, one would expect that all was lost! No! She just tied a coat around her waist and picked up were she left off! Awesome!

end transmission.

...like the shower rod, can it take my weight?

2006-06-18T23:05:00.000-07:00

Contrary to popular opinion and the article in USA Today, I am still breathing. Though my breath smells like vodka and peanuts, I am still thriving. It's just that nothing interesting has happened in a while and I don't feel like making anything up.

I did talk to a $300/hour prostitute at work a few days ago. She was by far the most expensive call girl I've ever met. I asked her how much 30 seconds would cost, and she laughed. She was very attactive and surprisingly smart. We talked about stuff.

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Until morale improves, the beatings will continue!

2006-06-03T14:47:00.000-07:00

Williams, Chopper check out my new blog for the first chapter of that story...I'll post more every few days...I just hate the fucking ending and am almost done making it worse. Enjoy. All content is copywritten 2006 by DaubvonDaub any use of these stories without my express written conscent is prohibited. All stories are in almost doen, still tweaking form, so I reserve the right to change anything I want. So there.

http://bleedingfromtheanus.blogspot.com/

Also I clogged the toilet at work. Agian.

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Accident Prone.

2006-06-02T13:05:00.000-07:00

So I guess some former CA Cop kidnapped some 14 year old boy and made the lad suck his dick at gunpoint. Now, if you haven't sucked dick at gun point, let me tell you it can be a very uncomfortable, and somewhat terrifying experience. Doubly so for a small boy of 14, I'd imagine. Mouth raping a little kid, that I something I do not condone, I mean make the kid lick your balls while you jerk off, or toungue your asshole a little, sure, but don't make him chug your hog, not cool.

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Here we go.

2006-06-01T08:03:00.000-07:00

I have two mains topics of discussion here tonight. The first is single hot women. You cannot trust that any girl over the age of....23, that's kinda arbitrary (who I've never actually had to spell that word, "are bit trar iy"), but it's kinda like definging a pile of sand. One grain is not a pile, neither is two grains, but what about 5,000, if 5,000 is a pile is 4,999 a pile or not,...you get the point anyway..

They either have a kid, and were dumped soon after the father got the news, a situation, that by the way is really your safest best, 'cause the reason she's single is obvious and may not be any sort of psycological miswiring, OR

there's something so wrong with this girl that even though she is so fucking hot, that is not enough to keep some guy, any guy, which is gotta be a doozey. There are a shit ton of desperate dudes, lots of them rich, just by the law of probability eventually you should find the right person given almost infinite choices.

"Well, maybe she dumped him, did you ever think of that, jerk?." Maybe, but I have no data to support that hypothesis, my test group is by no way omni-inclusive of every woman on earth, but theses conclusions are based on exhaustive field study. women stay with men that beat them, for christ's sake. If someone beat me up on regular basis, I would not hang around with them, unless they were really hot, which emphasises my earlier point. What the fuck could be so wrong with girls like this? I don't know but I bet if I talk to her for longer than ten minutes, she will tell me. I could range anywhere from being molested as a child, to, and I quote, "I feel like , if I love a guy, he better fucking love me back or it drives me insane," No shit.

So what do we d? Fuck ugly girls. Sadly no, they have a different set of issues, and more than normal because they haven't even got the consolation of being hot. And they are too expensive to feed. Fuck no one, that won't work. Turn Gay? No. Well...no.

We need to get our shit together and get those robot prostitutes into the streets! You know the Japs have had sex-bots forever, that's why they have so much economic power, they all fuck angelina Jolie every night, (well why not have 2 or 3, really), with not STD's or bullshit, and they can focus on fucking us all over. They have a master plan, robot whores are only the beginning.

Fuck curing cancer, I don't wanna live past 60 anyway, we wouldn't have to cure aids 'cause, robots are very hygenic. Screw all that shit because I would rather have a Gwen Stefani-bot blowing me right now, and every day till the batteries run out, than I would living another 100 years. Hurry up nerds! It will help you (us) the most...only we can free man from a burden he has carried since time immortal!

That probably didn't make a lick of sense.

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If I could be serious for a moment.

2006-05-30T14:41:00.000-07:00

Why are old people so fucking stupid?

I often forget that everyone is stupid, though, I think that young people are stupid in groups, and old people are stupid as individuals. Alright, I get that if you were still alive when horses where used as transportation, an airplane or a fucking computer might be a little hard to understand. That makes sense.

I mean since the beginning of the human race, we have helped those who cannot cope with change. Some would say that was God's plan all along. Evolution only reached these heights we have attained by promoting teamwork and brotherhood. Basically the family paradigm, I need you to help me with the work of society, so I will bully you into learning all the shit you need to to keep ME alive, and then you can do the same, until we get to the moon. Dads needed sons to help farm the wilderness, and daughters to marry other people's sons and unite giant families and have tons of kids, to increase the familial workforce. That's basically what Wal-Mart has become to all those fucks who can barely read, or the elderly. Their 15th century father.

Where was I? Oh yeah, old people not being able to use computers...I'm bored already. Boredom is a disease worse than cancer. The cure is not this blog.

Chopper, Williams, I'll send you that story soon, you win the top two spots in the list of the two people who read this thing. I needed to change the ending, too much death and blood.

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If I would have known, just how things would have ended up, I would have just let myself die.

2006-05-28T14:51:00.000-07:00

I have been neglecting, this my first blog, for another, two actually, but here I am, back to bore you all with nothing.

Let's see, X-men 3 sucked. I lost a shit ton of money gambling last weekend. I met a girl from Australia who said I was "the maddest bloke," she had ever met. She had big tits, and freckles. Her name mas Madlyne, I don't know how to spell it, but she was a little hot in a crazy, drunk sorta way.

Not much else, really, Bokowski said that the life of a writer was to go collect shit, pile it on, until you had to relieve yourself of it, I don't have enough piled up, it seems, not yet....

Fuck american Idol.

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As you were...

2006-05-21T23:01:00.000-07:00

Life continues, one hangover at a time. Saw some good bands last night, skipped out on work, won some money at poker. Hangover lingers...anus still functional.

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I can be as stupid as anyone...

2006-05-19T14:36:00.000-07:00

Well, due to some computer bullshit (I still don't know why), my internet Bookmarks list was resest to it's 1998 listings. After wondering why I was suddenly so interested in magic cards again, and why I was relearning about the Shakespearean sonnet, or why I thought Kathy Ireland was so hot, I realized what had happened. Man, internet porn has come a long way, and not all for the better! Before anyone was paying attention one could watch small russian children sodomize their moms with corn cobs, but now...god fucking luck finding that link!

Anyway, I lost the address to this blog and only through divine intervention was I able to return! I only wish I had something good to report. Ian and I have been getting drunk and fucking bitches, though it is Ian doing most of the fucking, though to be fair he does still manage to pull his weight drinking and does more than his share of the gambling.

We have a coke dealer, now, finally, though after a particularly bad bender, each of us have decided to stay away from it until we forget how bad it is and decide to do it again. The guy, is well, I can't really tell you about him, secrecy being important in his line of work...so, dead end.

Uhhh...what else...I met a really cool chick and talked to her on the phone for a really long time, so long, in fact, that I got horribly drunk and do not remember how the phone call ended. Did I promise to call her back, did I say something stupid? Probably. So Carrie if by some weird chance you're reading this, sorry, unless I didn't fuck anything up, and if that's the case don't read on...and all I can say in my defense is that If your a dick the first time you meet someone, it only gives them the chance to say something like, "At first I thought he was an asshole, but now that I've gotten to know him, I realize he's a massive asshole." If you're nice right off the bat, well then people just walk all over you.

Thank you Big Chris for keeping this blog at number one on blog city. If I prayed I would pray for you, but I don't so I will just think of you you when I see footage on CNN of little dead sand niggers.

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I little girl gave me a flower today.

2006-05-16T11:55:00.000-07:00

You ever have a shit so nasty that only a shower would get you completely clean?

I just did. The sheer velocity of the initial, unrepentant blast, startled me. It displaced all of the water in the bowl, shooting it at untested speed towards my virgin rectum.

Then Silence. Calm relief.

Followed by another horrible diffusion of mostly liquid fecal matter, that splattered the bowl's contents all over my ass cheeks. I could feel it dripping from my ass. I could hear it, actually.

Drip..ploop...drip.

I never did get around to that shower.

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I have been inside a lot.

2006-05-16T08:28:00.000-07:00

These past fwe days have found me alone, in my room reading and writing like crazy, so as far as anything interesting to anyone else...

I Finished "hot Water Music" for the 2nd time, and I'm about half way through "Ham on Rye." Charles Bukowski has been one of my faveorites for a while, but I never read his poetry, as poetry usually bores the hell out of me, his...isn't like real poetry...it's entertaining..."but Daub...poetry is for the gays, and I hate paying for something so short and stupid," well check it out for free, you cheap bastards;

http://www.poemhunter.com/charles-bukowski/poems/

Anyway. I also read a lot of X-Men comics and the new 100 bullets. Some Superman and Batman as well.

Take that! culture.

As for writing, I finally finished this short story I wrote about a guy who lights cab drivers on fire (based on true events!) Email me if you want to read it...otherwise, fuck off.

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Don't you know we're all whores?

2006-05-13T15:18:00.000-07:00

It has been a few days, huh? Well, I don't know. There have been some complications....

First of all, I have once again realized that coming off a coke bender is a lot like what I imagine being girl on the rag is like. You're emotions are all over the place, mood swings, a logical understanding of what you should feel about subject X, constantly at odds with what you actually feel about Subject X. Worse than that your current emotions don't make any sense, I hate the color green! WHat the fuck is that? Anyway that's over and now I must claw my way from the depths of what Cash so poetically termed, "the cocaine blues." I know far too much about what is chemically happening in my brain, and so I listen to Social Distortion Cd's and drink.

The details of the last couple of days are sketchy. I do remember killing a bum and fucking a 12 year old girl. These things may or may not have happened.

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Those stress cracks in the wood, how nicely they soak up the stains...

2006-05-08T17:34:00.000-07:00

Has anyone seen my dignity, I swear I left it around here somewhere......

Burned Beyond Recognition.

2006-05-07T15:32:00.001-07:00

Don' t kill a hampster with a BB gun. You will not feel good about yourself, or any of humanity.

Plenty of perspiration, not much inspiration.

2006-05-06T13:09:00.000-07:00

I was watching fox news at 5 in the morning, on my lunch break, when what did appear? Cu Boulder made the news for that 420 bullshit on Ferrand Field. Apparantly some kids are being charged with trespassing, and there is some website full of photos of kids smoking pot, where you can narc on them for fifty bucks. Man they found the dumbest hippy dirtbag to stand up for the cause...

His claim was that he was smoking oregano. HE didn't hink to say it was just a hand rolled cigarette, he was smoking oregano, as many people do on a daily basis. Man, they made this moron look even dumber than he probably was...sometimes I miss Boulder, just a little.

On a lighter note, I have determined that not being actively homophobic in LAs Vegas means you're gay, or curious, at the very least. I have not one, but four gay guys calling me more than is comfortable, and now I know what it was like for all those girls who suffered my sexual advances, when they only wanted to be friends.

Sorry ladies.

So to clear the air, I now hate faggots. Damn pillow biters, no ADam and Steve...damn ass pirates should go back to fag town where fucking and sucking other dudes is ok. now I look like I'm trying too hard to hate them. Does that make me seem gayer? SHit. I can't win. They say that the same things that attract women to me, work equally well on the fags. Well, fuck! At least I'm appealing to the catchers.

This, however, has given me some great insights into the pig-headed and utterly pathetic behavior we as men call our quest for sexual gratification. No matter how pointless the persuit, or how utterly out of reach the target, men will fool themselves into thinking they have a chance, going to great lengths, usually to no avail. We, as a sex, can be very depressing. No menstration, though, we got that going for us.

The free drinks are nice, though I'll never be that drunk.

The upside, is that one of these gays is my boss, I've never experienced the power and freedom having a boss that wants to fuck you can afford. I'm sure there have been female bosses in the past that wanted my hog, but women never really have enough power to do anything useful for you anyway.

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Apocalyptic Love Song

2006-05-02T16:38:00.000-07:00

I wrote two posts that turned out to be drunken bullshit, this is what I am left with:

Don't piss with the light off, especially in your own bathroom.

Always eat as much as you can when it's free.

Don't tell a girl you love her unless you mean it.

Make sure your boss does not have a myspace account.

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Wish I had thought of this.

2006-04-30T14:32:00.000-07:00

http://www.donville.com/Hitler.php

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Only Good for a...

2006-04-30T12:12:00.000-07:00

Well, I'm sure you all remember the transvestite at the gym. It turns out I talked to him/her and he/she is really cool. We met for drinks and one thing led to another. Well...

I fucked him/her last night.

Man, that would be a good story if it was true. I have violated the blogger-bloggee pact by lying and I apologize. I just thought if someone believed I'd actually knowingly fuck a super hot chick that used to be a dude, I would, I don't know, seem to have grown as a person, or at least, added some sort of intersting personal flaw that would ingratiate me closer to you, the bloggee.

The truth is, I'd probably fuck a hole in a tree if it bought me a drink, at this point, though it would have to be a female tree, to be sure. You know, a tree without nuts.

end transmission.