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The unbearable lightness of dating

The unbearable lightness of being single.

There is a movie that came out in the 80’s that I got suckerede into seeing called the Unbearable Lightness of Being. (When a woman sporting a G-cup bra asks you to go see an erotic movie, your penis suddenly has an open social calendar.)

Director Phillip Kaufman basically held me hostage for 2 FUCKING HOURS and 51 minutes.

With popcorn.

Not only was it not an erotic movie as promised, there was no happy ending, on screen or off on that fated evening.

Even a sloppy handjob would have been at least a bandaid in this situation.

The only thing the movie did for me was to depress me and push me into a suicidal whiny morass that pooched my evening and several evenings to follow.

It was hands down, the most depressingly shitty tale ever told, like Sylvia Platt during the come down from a meth binge, like right before her teeth fell out.

The internet is supposed to make dating easier.

Instead you have an ocean of choices when all you want is a cup kept to yourself.

Think of cable tv.

We now have several hundred channels to watch, and yet, there is nothing on.

Same thing with dating.

And both dating and cable tv have gone up ridiculously in price over the years.

But, while flipping channels, if you do happen to catch daytime reality tv, you get to see the most bizarre couple combinations humanity has to offer.

So is that the only options left?

To find some sort of Jerry Springer green room contestant?

Maybe the illusion is the normal life and the real normal life is the freak show?

Never been a fan of freak shows, despite my limited exposure to it.

I have disarmed a mad woman in the dead of night.

I have been accused of impregnating a woman I never had sex with.

Same woman claimed I asked for her hand in marriage, which never happened. (Her entire argument was that I had implied it.)

A totally different woman tried to talk me into financing a murder.

Any decent psychologist would ask “Who are you punishing here?”

No clue.

If it was just one freak show, I could see it.

But 4 separate freak shows?

They are obviously not the problem.

It has to be me.

I am Nipsy Russell from the Wiz.

“The genius who created me only took care of my dashing good looks, my
razor-sharp wit and my irresistible attraction to the wrong women,”

We will ignore the lack of a heart thing, it kind of goes without saying.

So, if I cannot trust myself with finding the right woman, the only other solution is to leave it to karma.

Karma and I have a bit of history together.
I am still firmly of the opinion that karma is lazy and pretty much only shows up when it feels like it, if at all.

The idea of giving up seems counter productive, but there comes a point in any journey that when you hit a dead end you have to admit that the journey is over.

Giving up it is.

Somebody recently asked me about all of the hiking I am doing.

And it suddenly hit me that I am occupying my time.

And knowing me, it makes perfect sense that I found a hobby that includes a lot of time for reflection.

This is the mental version of pouring a mix of salt and lemon juice on a cut.

But there is almost a peace in the idea of giving up.

The unbearable lightness of dating.

Bite me.

 
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Posted by on May 27, 2016 in Uncategorized

 

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The sex ed penguins.

Went to another reunion, and it wasn’t even mine.

Not entirely certain how I keep ending up at other people’s reunions, but never making it to my own.

It can’t be because I don’t want to go, I mean, obviously I enjoy these types of odd soiree.

Maybe its that sense of not officially being eligible to be there.

Breaking even a basic rule can be fun.

Most people don’t, but this falls right in line with my Catholic School upbringing.

Catholic school is a bizarre form of psycho/sexual abuse that few people come away from unscathed.

I don’t mean being touched by a priest, that is a separate kind of crime, I am talking about the legal form of mental abuse. (Which I still don’t get. I mean, at age 9, I was HOT. You could have bounced a quarter off my ass. Nobody laid a finger on me.)

Sex ed, when taught by angry sexually frustrated nuns to angry sexually frustrated young boys, becomes a harrowing tale of the blind leading the blind.

The girls, in crisp white blouses, plaid skirts and patent leather shoes, were herded into one room, and a mangy group of sloppy boys was herded into the other.

The girls, I found out later, had a four hour lecture about how evil and vile boys were.

The boys, had a different afternoon.

Watching 4 hours of the most grisly VD movies ever made has a peculiar effect on the adolescent mind.

It had the same effect as the Reefer Madness films had from the 60’s.

We didn’t believe a word of them.

First off, masturbation did not cause blindness or hairy palms.

If it did, we would all be tapping white canes and look a lot like werewolves in school uniforms.

And I would be the Alpha Wolf.

Some of us discovered things earlier than others.

The funniest part was, non of us understood what they were talking about.

Self abuse? Who would abuse themselves, that sounds nasty.

Play with myself? Sure, who doesn’t?

There was 2 kids I went to school with that went to the bathroom a few times before recess, spent all of recess there, 1 time before lunch, all of lunch, and a few times before school got out.

In retrospect, it is possible that they were trying to rip it out by the root.

Like I always say, its important to have a hobby.

One kid stopped bringing lunch as eating cut down on his private time.

And non of us went blind. (Ironically, I am wearing glasses right now.

On a side note, I may be one of the hairier men you will meet this side of Little Armenia in Southern California.

Maybe something to that.

For the most part, we all survived the Catholic school version of Sex Ed.

But, much like returning soldiers who have been thru hell, we all bear the mental scars of it all.

The mildest side effects are those of us with the standard sexual kinks. Oral fixations, promiscuity, that sort of thing.

The worst are those that are the serious deviants. Gimp suits, scat fetishes, barnyard animals, and it gets worse.

And the world keeps turning.

And the nuns keep talking.

And the circle of life continues unimpeded.

 
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Posted by on May 20, 2016 in Uncategorized

 

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Anybody dead yet?

Paraskevidekatriaphobia: Fear of Friday the 13th.

Excuse me while I shit myself sideways and die.

Its no secret that this day in particular tends to give me an immediate case of swampass.

And you people are READING it on Friday the 13th as if its nothing.

Well, dipshit, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but…

We’re all gonna die.

Look at the logic, for God’s sake.

There is ONLY ONE Friday the 13th this year, versus 3 last year.

This year has all of the power crammed into one day.

Think this is bullshit?

Anyone want to guess when the last year was that had only one Friday the 13th in it?

2001, the year of 9/11.

Ha!

Now, I know that half of you are ready to get into the panic room I have been building to ride out this evil storm and the rest, morons really, are skeptical.

Anybody ever see the movie the Purge?

That is exactly what is going on.

Anarchy, blood in the streets, dogs and cats- living together. MASS HYSTERIA! (Name the movie and you get sprinkles.)

And the twisted part of it all is that I am forgoing my time honored tradition of huddling in the dark and crying like a little girl for the day.

I will be thumbing my nose at the beast and going hiking.

There is an excellent chance with will be the last blog ever written as I will be dead at the bottom of a cliff by 9am tomorrow, both legs broken and gang-raped by bigfoot and the chubacabra.

I was going to say that there are worse ways to die, but I can’t think of a worse way to die right now, that sounds pretty F-ing horrible.

But, I have been bitten pretty badly by the hiking bug and I am heading out every day off I have.

Like a healthy form of meth, I am pretty deep into the addiction.

It is better for your body than meth and you never have to blow anyone in an alley for a trail.

So I’ve got that going for me.

Turns out, that after a lifetime spent growing up in southern California, I suddenly found out there are amazing trails all over the place.

And it may be the cheapest hobby on the day to day.

Decent shoes are a must, along with something to hold water and food, hiking poles are nice, shade hat and sunglasses.

But you can piece it all together on the cheap and as long as you have the free time, you can go binge on your addiction all you like.

I will get sick of it eventually, but for right now, I am loving it.

But hiking on Friday the 13th has that extra edge of masochism to it that makes it pretty exciting.

I wonder what its like to die in a landslide?

Without coffee?

Now THAT is scary.

Fuck it, I am staying home.

If anyone needs me, they will find me in my panic room, sipping coffee and crying like a little girl. (Possibly masturbating, but this is a don’t ask/don’t tell blog.)

My condolences.

 
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Posted by on May 13, 2016 in Uncategorized

 

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Are you talking to me?

Beware that, when fighting monsters, you yourself do not become a monster… for when you gaze long into the abyss. The abyss gazes also into you.”

Nietzsche was a mentally twisted beast of a human being.

But, he did have a point.

I got an email. No big deal.

I get a lot of emails, mostly spam. (Viagra, rogain and life insurance. This should bother me more, not sure why it doesn’t.)

But, there is also a certain percentage of inevitable hate mail that this juvenile screed scares up on a regular basis, week in, week out, often by the same people.

And it rarely bothers me, mainly because I value very few opinions higher than my own.

And critics kind of rate at the bottom of that list.

But, every now and then someone pops up that truly has an intellect, expression, brilliance and puts down a scathing rebuked that throws me into the shit.

Who is this superior being? The erudite elitist that has that kind of clout?

Me.

Shit from pretty much everyone else is water off a ducks back.

But what happens when it comes from the duck?

And here is how it started.

Some jagoff sent me hatemail and said I was like a monster.

Didn’t call me a monster, said I was like a monster.

Probably a throw away line from this person that meant nothing.

I read it a few days ago, and don’t even recognize what it was that caused the twisting of the panties.

It came from one of those people that I get crap email from all the time.

But it struck a nerve, made me think.

Thinking is a lot like looking in a mirror.

And the last thing a monster wants is to look in the mirror.

There is that moment of recognition of being a monster, and that delayed hit of realizing that you didn’t start out this way.

The abyss of this blog has been staring into me long enough that it has changed my perspective.

I used to sit in the normal section and point out the funny shit over in the asshole seats.

Now? After almost 5 years and 600+ posts?

I live in the asshole section.

Hell, I am the mayor.

My filter is gone and what is spewing out of the pipes is some foul shit.

So be it.

The one thing that Nietzsche never figured out was this:

Being a monster doesn’t bother the monster.

He likes being a monster.

Its a lot like being an 800 pound gorilla with a big dick.

It intimidates a lot of people, and the ones it doesn’t are the only players of the game you are likely to find.

And these players will pick up the shit you throw out.

And throw it back.

And thats fun.

 
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Posted by on May 6, 2016 in Uncategorized

 

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The everyday of Batshit Crazy.

There is a certain charm in insanity that you have to admire.

I am sitting in Starbucks without the benefit of my aluminum foil hat.

And, evidently, I REALLY need one.

Because the zombie apocalypse is off the table, only to be replaced by CRAZY MOTHERFUCKERS.

It all started with the lizards.

Lizards, now don’t quote me here, are running everything.

I came in late, middle of the conversation, so I can only report what I managed to piece together.

  1. The lizards run everything behind the scenes, like a shadow government. Politicians, the authorities, and the Jews that run Hollywood, are all under their thumb.
  2. The lizards are out to kill people and reduce the world populations. They are doing this thru a variety of different evil plans.
  3. The lizards are cannibals, and eat people. (Technical point here. Lizards, being a different species, are not eating their own people, just us. So they are not cannibals, just predators.)

The lizards are a clever bunch, from the sounds of it.

Their main method of culling the human population?

Cancer causing toilet paper.

I may just shit myself at the hysterical craziness of it all. (But I am afraid to wipe my ass at this point. I would use newspaper but I am afraid the ink will transfer words onto my ass cheeks like when you press Silly Putty onto newsprint. I know how crazy this sounds, but serious insanity can be passed like a mental STD without the availability of penicillin. Mind your own business.)

The whole presentation is a macabre little bit of theater.

The main authority on Lizards and their vile activities is a bald guy with a sweaty head in an air conditioned room that we will call Mad Hatter. I chose that name because it really captures the crazed glint in his eyes.

His sidekick has yet to say an actual word. He just grunts in agreement or makes a derisive snort of disbelief. He is a non=speaking hype-man for this performance. We will call him Grunt.

Mad Hatter seems to have an issue with his coffee.

Prior to every sip, he peers thru the drink hole in his cup, eyes narrowed with suspicion.

What’s he looking for?

What will suddenly be there before that next sip that wasn’t there before the last one?

I am a huge believer in individual rights and I am against the state having too much power…..but-

I would be ok with them putting these two creepy sum-bitches down for the greater good.

Harsh times, harsh solutions, good coffee.

And coffee can make it all better.

Ok, I will relent, lets let the boys live, I am feeling benevolent.

Can you tell that my coffee cooled down enough to drink a few lines ago?

Thats how it goes, life is dire and scary without proper coffee.

Mad Hatter and Grunt are still batshit crazy, but they are not my problem.

But, and this is important, they are SOMEBODIES problem.

There is someone, somewhere, that is stuck with these paranoid shitbags.

God forbid, a wife somewhere.

The poor woman must drink, that is the only way I can see her getting thru her day.

Drinking and plotting his death.

Not sure what it is about the boys that brings out the dark and evil here, but it keeps coming up.

I mean, we all saw Old Yeller as kids and everyone cried their eyes out.

But you have to do it, but its wrong.

You have me in a box here.

Let me think about it before I call the authorities to euthanize Mad Hatter and Grunt.

(Just watched the ending of Old Yeller on Youtube, made me tear up, even decades later.)

While I am contemplating, Mad Hatter just ponied up that the President and most of Congress are really lizards.

That would actually explain a lot.

A new idea has popped into my head.

With the right amount of prodding, Mad Hatter and Grunt are just the men America needs to take care of the lizards.

Because it starts with Lizards and ends up with the zombie holocaust.

Correction, it starts with coffee.

Lets not forget why we are here.

Mmmm coffee.

 
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Posted by on April 29, 2016 in Uncategorized

 

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I hate to be the one to tell you

I have begun to notice a disturbing trend.

Grown women who loudly proclaim to be “Sick of the drama” but always seem to be hip deep in drama.

Its like they never left high school.

They live on Facebook for the most part.

Well over 50% of their posts are motivational posters proclaiming variations on the two main themes of:

  1. How a “Real Man” will treat them.
  2. How a “True Friend” will treat them.

Lets tackle “Real Man” first.

First off, anyone born with testicles is a real man, as opposed to what you might identify with. (I mean, I identify with being an asshole, but the concept of a human sized sphincter walking around is both scary and the science doesn’t support it.)

To loosely translate, paraphrase it, or just be the first person to say this shit out loud, the person posting this stuff has had really bad taste in men in the past and has not learned from their mistakes.

Does anyone have an ounce of shock left at the thought that a “Bad boy” who is dangerous and likes to party is not the odds on favorite for being a kind and supportive partner?

The sad reality of it is that the boring, consistent, “nice” guy that you don’t want is exactly the guy you claim to want.

Same message, said nicely and said mean:

Figure out what you need from a long term relationship and don’t settle.

Or…

If you are tired of being screwed over by the bad boys, quit screwing the bad boys.

(ADD sidebar: Iris by the Goo Goo Dolls is possibly one of the better love songs from the 80’s.)

Before you snort derisively and read on, go back and soak up those two little bits of advice.

Let the wisdom permeate your head.

Got it? Good. I think we are all better people now.

If those lines really hit home for you, don’t worry, I will feed you, baby bird.

(By the way, the line about screwing the bad boys actually got me hung up on by a female acquaintance who decided that I might be a sympathetic shoulder one night. Truth can be a bitch, people.)

Now for the whole friends illusion.

Here is a really sad truth.

The only true, life long friends you will have are the people that you grew up with.

Everyone else you meet after puberty are simply acquaintances that will show up and leave without warning.

This is not to belittle their temporary friendship, not at all.

But unless you have an emotional foundation that is based on the sentimental attachment formed before experience forces reason down your throat, you don’t have a chance in hell of putting up with someone you are not married or screwing (Sometimes mutually exclusive).

So whining and crying that someone you have known for less than a year as a legal adult has suddenly done something that was for themselves and inconvenienced you is kind of silly.

Adults have agendas and baggage, and those two things kind of make your agenda 3 on that list in their mind.

Not their fault, you are doing the same thing, but in your head, you like to think you don’t.

It doesn’t make you or them bad people, by the way.

It just makes you humans.

And that is the problem.

The overwhelming majority of humans are idiots.

My own extended family excepted, not to be biased or anything.

Mmmm, coffee.

 
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Posted by on April 22, 2016 in Uncategorized

 

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The little asshole that could.

There is a fine art to procrastination.

Much like sleeping in, its awesome, right up until everything goes South and the situation turns on you like prison rape, uncomfortable leaving a lingering awkwardness.

And that brings us to this morning.

The blog, when I am being diligent and writing it ahead of time, is usually scheduled to post at 0500 Pacific time every Friday.

Unless I have Friday off, then I write it on the fly while at my favorite breakfast spot.

So what happened today?

Me, is what happened today.

I am not seated in my favorite breakfast spot, I am at work, just barely 15 minutes early, desperately pounding out words for you ungrateful bastards.

Speak of the devil and he appears, my phone just buzzed with a text from one of the blog devoted.

“No blog today? You lazy fuck.”

Not to turn this into an angry backlash, but when was the last time any of you whiny bitches scribbled anything other than a complaint for me?

And lets get one thing straight, I do not work for you.

You did not pay for this.

I did not take your sister to prom and do barnyard shit to her. (Although I probably know who did.)

And while people only value what they pay for, they piss and moan like old women about free stuff.

The sick sadistic side of this is that there is an evil side of me that does enjoy making people upset.

I have crawled around on the inside of my own head long enough to know that I am at peace with my inner asshole, that it really doesn’t spill out into the rest of my life in a detrimental way, and therefore I like to encourage the little guy.

Now, true, he is a little spoiled, my inner asshole is, and tends to be disruptive, but he is mine, therefore, I am of the opinion that he is brilliant and beautiful.

A lot of people don’t get it because they don’t have one of their own.

As a society, we have been systematically beating down our own asshole urges to the point that it only comes out under extreme stress or is alcohol induced.

And that is never pretty.

The repressed asshole is an over the top diva, that once she makes her entrance, all hell breaks loose.

Bar fights, pregnancies, STD’s, lost jobs, and family feuds, all are possible when dealing with the repressed asshole.

So take a tip from me, I started taking my IA (Inner Asshole) out for some quality time, just the two of us, back when I first started this blog.

Liberating is a word that comes to mind, so does indulgent, but cathartic is there also.

Free your mind, and your asshole will follow.

 
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Posted by on April 15, 2016 in Uncategorized

 

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