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

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.

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.

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

end transmission.

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

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.

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!

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.