Bastard Universe

Burn flag, burn!

2012-02-08T21:49:00.001-05:00

These are Occupy Oakland protestors burning a flag that they took from the Oakland City Hall on January 28, 2012. It was very refreshing to see people with as much contempt for this country as I have. I have a little U.S. flag in my apartment; I’ve had it on display forever; I’m not sure why.

The cocksuckers at U.S. Customs fucked with me at the airport – I mean they really tried to fuck with me and humiliate me. They asked me questions that were none of their fucking business. They rifled through every inch of my shit – even the dust they inspected. I am still missing something as a result of those slimy, Nazi fuckers fucking with my shit. When I got home from the airport I felt like burning my flag and posting it on my blog. I never had enough motivation to do it. The nylon that the flag was made out of was probably toxic, and I didn’t want to set off a smoke alarm. And it was just too much of a hassle to burn it outdoors and photograph it. I think I will let the Oakland protesters be my flag burning surrogates.

I don’t think that their flag burning was a good idea though. Most Americans don’t understand why anyone would not be loyal to this asshole country. It’s okay for a loser like me to burn a flag or to feel good about a flag burning, because nobody gives a shit about what I think. The flag burners, as much as I love them, are idiots. It’s a very bad way to get a political message across.

No more hope, but plenty of scorched earth

2012-02-05T16:57:00.001-05:00

Pequot Museum parking lot.

You beat me world -- in Hungary.

Hungary was not to blame.

Budapest was merely the location of the battlefield.

Blinded by arrogance, the victors don’t yet realize whom they are dealing with.

While I mount my scorched earth offensive in Europe against idiots, I take money away from idiots at poker tables. Idiots never feel that they have to study their subject. That is their weakness, and I am exploiting it.

I no longer have a future. Hungary was my last stand. It doesn’t bother me too much; I’m too involved in the day to day operations of making bastards pay.

Just another day in paradise

2012-02-03T03:10:00.001-05:00

Dear Barbara,

I play No-limit Hold'em -- and yes, it is similar to Russian Roulette. If you're not careful you can easily lose vast sums of money before you even know what hit you, and then your life is over. I have never lost vast sums of money playing poker, but I imagine it's a lot like failing your last CELTA lesson. One minute you have a life, and then the next minute you've failed and all your dreams disintegrate right before your eyes like burning paper. You are still alive and breathing, but you are effectively dead. After I write this e-mail I'm going to go book another date to go to the casino. They usually let me stay at their hotel for free during the winter, but they're all booked up and I will have to pay $70 to stay for the night. I really hate paying for the hotel when I'm at the casino, but I'll do it because I'm bored and miserable. Who knows, maybe I'll win enough to cover my expenses. I don't get to the casino that much anymore. Maybe four times a year. It's a long drive. I hate driving back at night. I don't see well at night. I hate the dark country roads near the casino. Everyone tailgates me because I drive the speed limit. In Budapest you have casinos everywhere, but they don't offer live poker with other players; they want you to bet against the house in games of chance, which is like throwing your money away; I find this sort of thing very insidious.

I'm beginning to get used to the United States again; I'm not saying I like it, but I'm getting used to it. It's nice to be able to communicate in my own language. Hungary is a wine country. The wine is good in Hungary, but I am a beer drinker -- The United States is a beer country, and I am a product of its culture. The beer in Hungary is not very good. Before I arrived in Hungary I thought I was going to be in beer heaven because I would be able to drink a wide selection of the imports from beer countries like the Czech Republic and Germany. The German imports in Hungary absolutely sucked, and I could find much better Czech beers in the U.S. than I could in Hungary. I could find good cheep beer domestic beer in the U.S. In Hungary I couldn't even find a six pack of beer. In the U.S. you can buy beer buy the six pack, the 24 pack case -- even the 30 pack case. In the U.S. we cater to the alcoholic. We make it easy and cheap to drink your life away. It is it is an alcoholic's paradise. Hungarians may live in a capitalism system, but they really have no clue how it works. I hope to God that Hungary never figures out capitalism, for if they do, they will become assholes like us.

Restaurants in the United States serve much fresher food than they do Hungary. One of my biggest complaints about Hungary was that the food in restaurants was not fresh and was way too salty. Restaurant food in the U.S. is so expensive that I've only eaten out once since I've arrived. In Hungary I always ate out. When I got back to the U.S. I was dying for a good cappuccino, but you cannot find good cappuccino in U.S. The cappuccino in the U.S. sucks. The best cappuccino in the U.S. is worse than the worst cappuccino in Hungary. But, weirdly, after a while the desire for a good cappuccino subsides and you don't even think about it -- you don't even order cappuccinos. You just get used to the way things are. The U.S. is a miserable, crap country, vacant of culture and soul, but the longer you stay here, the less you realize it. You just become numb and passive after a while, like other Americans.

Have you seen Erika's son in person? I saw his photos on facebook. He looks like such a cutie. I envy Erika. My niece is terrifically cute too. She's two years old. She sent me a drawing. It is horrible. I'm not sure what to do with it.

I'm attaching a photo. Please tell me what it means. I suspect it is a political ad and the person who wrote the comments on it in pen was making an anti-semitic remark. Am I right?

I'm going to try to call you this weekend. You can tell me about your financial struggles then. I need to ask you about The Hungarian Society of Massachusetts. http://www.bostonhungarians.org I miss Hungarians; I miss their beautiful and kind faces; I need to find someone who will make me some transylvanian goulash; I'm dying for this. (They don't have Hungarian restaurants here.) I'd do anything for some transylvanian goulash; I'd do anything for a good Hungarian woman too, but I'm unemployed, so I don't even let that thought cross my mind.

The woman from Szeged

2012-01-23T14:37:00.001-05:00

Dear LA Woman,

BTW, I've starting blogging again. Yes, this is after I told all my readers, except for you, to fuck themselves. I've published two e-mails to this Hungarian woman, Erika. She was in my class, really sweet and hot, and somewhere in her early thirties. I of course tried to get to know her better. In a move somewhat ruthlessly criticized by Hedi as being unmanly, I asked Erika to help me to buy some food in a Hungarian restaurant. I chose to indirectly ask her out for lunch. This is just the way I prefer to operate, especially if I have to deal with the person if they reject me. Erika just gave me this strange look and didn't answer the question. I was not sure she understand what I was asking, but I said nothing more. For the next for weeks I sort of gave her the cold shoulder. Any woman who was too good for me, well, she could just fuck herself! I learned later, from Erika that she had a husband and a kid. I was a little surprised because, unlike the other women in the class, who were all married with children, she never talked about her family. It didn't occur to me to look for a wedding ring. I don't have a lot of experience with asking out women whom I do not meet online. Then, one day I was going out with my other Hungarian friend from the course, Barbara, and Barbara was friends with Erika, and Barbara asked if she could take Erika along. So we went out and had something to eat. Barbara asked me how my trip to Szeged was. (Szeged is a city in Hungary about 120 miles south of Budapest, on the Serbian border.) I told them that I had cancelled my trip to Szeged because Aniko, the woman whom I had met through OkayCupid, had decided to abort our relationship. (I'm not sure if "relationship" is the right word, for we had never formally declared it as such.) Well, Erika became very interested in me after that. There was something about my having this relationship with this woman from Szeged that I think fascinated her. I think that my wanting to have relationships with mysterious Hungarian women somehow made me okay. I said in my OkayCupid ad that while I did not have a drop of Hungarian blood, I wanted to be as Hungarian as I could be; it was the truth.

I think I will publish this post in my blog too. Take care.

I hope you're okay.

Dickie

I fought the CELTA, and the CELTA won

2012-01-23T12:20:00.001-05:00

Hi Erika,

Well, most of my cultural shock has worn off -- English spoken around me feels normal now, and I am slowly but surely getting used to how ugly people are in the United States -- but I am still in shock, and it hasn't worn off. Leaving Hungary was like being exiled from the only place I had ever felt comfortable in. I failed the CELTA. Please do not tell anyone! I have told Barbara. You are the only two people I am telling this to. It was not that big a surprise. I requested an appeal from IH Budapest; it was denied. They said I could file a complaint with CELTA. In the form it says:

"When Cambridge ESOL receives the signed complaint form, we will forward it to the centre, who will be asked to provide a formal response to the issues you have raised."

An egregious error in this form stopped me cold. A "centre" is not a person. The correct pronoun is of course "which." I have decided not to waste my time and file a complaint or an appeal with CELTA. Due to a learning disability that I have, I cannot understand verbal instructions and, since the course provided hardly any written instructions on how to do things or any examples, I was completely lost. I don't know if I could ever get into the CELTA mindset, but they gave me no avenue for attaining this mindset. I do however understand English very well, as I have studied it extensively. The director of IH Budapest in his letter to me denying my appeal made a grammatical error. Grammatical errors litter their documentation and recommended reading. It is sad and pathetic. I'll never win with these people; they don't respect English. Had Eszter taken the time to properly study English grammar, she probably would not have given me two novel units language to teach that are not categorized together: "Have to" and "should." I expected these students to be familiar with these items based on the difficulty level of that goddamned textbook Eszter game me, with questions such as "You don't have to wash melon before you eat it," which completely threw these poor Hungarians. You should wash melons before you eat them, because slicing into them exposes the inside of the melon to the bacteria on the outside, carried in by the knife. But I don't think the authors of the textbook knew this. I was hoping my poor students didn't know this. Sometime I still torture myself about this lesson. Shouldn't I have prepared two lessons -- one based on the complicated and ambiguous material Eszter wanted me to use, and the other a fallback lesson, in case Eszter either didn't know what she was doing or was purposely trying to fail me? But I think about it, and I think, where was the time to develop two lesson supposed to come from, and even if I did manage to come up with a second fallback lesson, how was I supposed to teach two, very complicated, novel units of grammar that shouldn't be grouped together in a ten minute teach session? I know that probably everyone else in that course could have figured out some way to present that material in a lesson that would satisfy Eszter. I just did not know how. I just couldn't get into the CELTA mindset. That lesson will haunt me forever. I'll probably think about it every day for the rest of my life, for if I had survived the lesson, I might've passed. My whole future rode on that one lesson. I am going to abort teaching English. There is no future without that certificate. I will be forever stuck in the United States, forced to take menial, low-paying jobs. I have no real options now. I am still in Boston. I hate Boston. I hate this lousy joke of a country. What I need to do is find someone in some CELTA center, whom I can bribe. I'm not fully serious, but I'm sure there is someone somewhere in that rotten and exploitative institution who will take a bribe; you just have to find the person.

Yes, I know about Gábor and Anna being so shocked, for I got an e-mail from that nosy Anna bitching and moaning about her grade and asking me how I did. Anna must be taking some serious hallucinogenic drugs to think that she was worthy of some special grade. I don't like Anna. Anna is much worse than Judit. I don't hate Judit. Judit is not duplicitous like Anna. One thing that annoyed the crap out of me about Anna was that she started using this big cowbell during her teaching practice to alert students that time was up. She started doing this under Eszter. Eszter said nothing. Eszter has no issue with infantilizing students. I found this to be very insulting to the poor Hungarian students. Anna is not Hungarian; maybe this is why she was so insensitive to them.

I was surprised that Gábor didn't get a better grade. Gábor lacked charisma, but was a teaching machine. I hated Gábor, but only because I envied him. His English was slightly off, though not as off as Eszter's. Maybe it was his English; maybe it wasn't. It doesn't matter. I don't understand why students in the CELTA program got so competitive and crazy when they would give us those silly competitive games during the input sessions. I hated those competitive activities. They weren’t learning. Employers are not going to give a crap what your grade is. They're going to be concerned with more practical things, like how much teaching experience you have.

"Dwarf" is correct, though I think that the preferred term nowadays is "little person." I suspect that little people, in general, are better people than normal-sized people, as they have suffered. People who have suffered tend to be better people. I hope that you land the job with this little person. In the United States you would not be that short. In the United States I am average height. In Hungary I was dwarfed by giants. I had never seen people who were so tall. This is not something that I liked about Hungary at all.

Take care.

Dickie

Back in the United States, and no longer in Kansas

2011-12-28T11:53:00.001-05:00

View of the Danube from Gellért Hill in Buda, Hungary on a rainy, foggy day. The right side of the river is Pest.

Hi Erika,

I got a cultural shock when I arrived in Hungary, and I got a cultural shock coming back to the United States. When boarding the plane in London, people were speaking in somewhat ugly, Germanic sounding language. I was familiar with this language -- I knew the words, as it was English, but I heard it for the first time as a foreign language. Something seemed very wrong because people were not speaking the beautiful Hungarian that, while I understood hardly any of, I was comfortable with. And the people boarding the plane were so ugly. I had never seen so many ugly people before in one place. In Hungary, hardly anyone is ugly. Hungarians are incredibly beautiful people. I was not used to looking at people who were not beautiful. It was shocking. (There are of course exceptions like Eszter. Don't believe the crap I said in front of Zozo about Eszter being beautiful. Eszter does not look very Hungarian to me; she looks Germanic.)

When I got to Boston, Customs really, really fucked with me. They of course had nothing on me, but they interrogated me, asked horribly personal questions, and looked through every inch of my luggage -- even the dust they inspected. Finally, after clearing Customs, exhausted and really pissed off, having two suitcases, one in each hand, I ran to the bus that would take me to a train, that would take me to my apartment. The rear doors of the bus were open, so I hopped on with all my luggage, and the bus driver closed the door while I was half way in. I managed to squirm in, dazed and confused by why anyone would do something like that. A passenger said to me, "You have to pay." I had to pay? Then I finally realized that I was no longer in Budapest. In Boston, like every place in the U.S., you pay the bus driver up front. They open the rear doors in order to let people out.

I was in a big department store in the U.S. called BJ's. A woman was getting annoyed and frustrated with her son, because her son wanted to wander around. That is what children do; it is in their nature. Very rarely do parents get annoyed with their children like that in Hungary. People love the hell out their children in Hungary. Americans do not understand children. Children in the U.S. are often treated much in the way you might treat luggage. You lug your luggage around, and it is a hassle. In BJ's when I wanted to get around people in crowded aisles, I would have to resist the urge to say "bocsánat." Something seemed horribly wrong to be living in universe where you don't say "bocsánatot kérek" to get people out of your way.

Yesterday, when I was driving on the hi-way at night, I thought about the view from Gellért Hill and all the places and people and things I missed about my Buda. It was of course not "my" Buda, but it was the only place I had ever know that felt like home. I cried.

This is probably my last post, assholes

2011-06-14T01:50:00.001-04:00

My life has taken on a new trajectory. In a few months I will be living many thousands of miles away.

I now have to protect my privacy for professional reasons. I will be disabling or deleting this blog within a month or so. I may start a new blog, where I will be more vigilant about protecting my privacy.

The enemies that I’ve made as a result of this blog will be very happy about this move, as it means that my posts will not continue to embarrass them. I am still not sure what to do about Wediko. I am considering shaking the motherfuckers down for their domain name – I can certainly use the money; I also might just continue to embarrass them. I haven’t decided yet.

It’s highly dubious if I have many regular readers, if any. I would like to say that I hate all of you, with exception to L.A. Woman, for whom I love. (But it is not a romantic love, don’t worry.)

At a certain point I had prevented people from commenting because of all the trolls and assholes posting their brain farts on my blog. About a year later, I turned the commenting back on, but restricted it to blogspot members only. There hasn’t been one comment since. This, to me, says a lot about the human race -- what fucking shits you all are, in that you can only squeeze out your reeking brain farts when you can do so easily and anonymously.

I think you are all fucking scum. And I have one word of caution for you men not living in the U.S: You’re days of pussy may be coming to an end, for your woman may be fucked by me, and I intend to dish out the best fucks that your woman has ever had.

Tables are turning motherfuckers; time that I got mine. And I’m not only after your woman, and in a much better position to take your woman -- I’m also going to take your job, because I’m probably a lot smarter than you are, I work a lot harder, and I don’t take shit for granted. And when I’ve taken your job, I ‘m not going to feel guilty. And I’m going to hope that you end up hanging yourself over your sudden loss of pussy and revenue. You will feel lonely. It will rot your soul -- your entire being. Most of you assholes, who think you are so fucking superior to me, would probably not last a day in my shoes. I hope you get the chance to see the world as I do. I hope it is your woman and your job that I take. I hope, dear reader, that I fuck you real good, for you probably have it coming.

Have a shitty life, scumbags.

Kevorkian dead. Good riddance, scumbag

2011-06-04T02:11:00.001-04:00

Kevorkian snuffed someone I knew – she was not terminally ill. Don’t believe everything you hear about Kevorkian, even if it happens to come from so-called humanitarians and liberals and progressives. He was fucking cocksucker.

The Kevorkian freak showing off his “suicide machine” in 1991.

Dr. Death in his later years

We need assholes like you in the service

2011-04-28T11:26:00.001-04:00

I watched The Patriots, 1994, directed by Eric Rochant, starring Yvan Attal, and I thought – where has this movie been all my life? With exception to Three days of the Condor, it is the best spy movie ever made. It is about the Mossad. There is this great line in the movie where the protagonist was asked why he was chosen for an assignment. The protagonist did not know. The protagonist was told that it was because “we need assholes like you in the service.” The protagonist, you would think, would say something or at least have some affect – but, like a true asshole, I guess, he did not seem to mind being called an asshole – or he might have just been playing it cool. It was a tremendous acting performance. The characters in this movie will make your skin crawl.

At first I thought it was an Israeli movie, but it is a French director; it figures – only the French could make a movie this devoid of sentimentality.

Life in slow motion

2011-04-25T14:32:00.001-04:00

I was supposed to go to sleep at a reasonable hour, but ended up playing online poker until well after the bastard birds started tweeting. Shouldn’t I be trying to get my ass into gear? Shouldn’t I be prepping for the fascist EFL fucks in Belarus who will be interviewing me and busting my balls for no good reason other than the thrill of displaying dominance? I just don’t seem to care. I don’t care about my graying and depleting hair, nor my limp dick. What is the point? If by miracle I land some shit gig in Southeast Asia, what fertile woman is realistically going to want to fuck me? And, say they do want to fuck me, how am I supposed to get this limp cock inside of them so that I may seed them with my brood? I don’t even seem to care about my existential dilemma. I just want to play poker – poker is way better escape than drinking – I haven’t drunk all month and have lost 12 pounds because there is never time to eat when you’re playing poker. I’m not winning, but for the first time, I’m breaking even. I can play poker for real money until the end of time now for free. I play poker because I don’t care. I used to drink because I didn’t care. I don’t even feel suicidal anymore because I simply don’t fucking care. In the past I would say, look at the horror of my life being flushed down the fucking toilet; but, really, what life was there ever to get flushed? What future where I am not neck deep in shit do I have?

Donald Trump, you are a moron and asshole

2011-04-10T21:23:00.001-04:00

Donald Trump, who wants to run on the Republican ticket for president, is a fucking moron. Below are grammatical errors he made in about two minutes of conversation on CNN on March 29, 2011.

TRUMP: If it wasn’t for us, OPEC wouldn’t exist.
WHAT'S WRONG: Improper use of the Second Conditional.
SHOULD BE: If it weren't for us, OPEC wouldn’t exist.

TRUMP: I also say that NATO is us.
WHAT'S WRONG: Linking verb complement needs subjective case.
SHOULD BE: I also say that we are NATO.

TRUMP: When NATO goes in, this is us going in.
WHAT'S WRONG: Linking verb complement needs subjective case.
SHOULD BE: When NATO goes in, we are the ones going in.

TRUMP: I just looked at polls today that showed me doing very well.
WHAT'S WRONG: Case of pronoun “me” is wrong. Needs to be subjective case.
SHOULD BE: I just looked at polls today that showed that I’m doing very well.

This asshole, who averages about one grammatical error every thirty seconds, wants to be president. I saw Trump in another interview today bitching and moaning about Obama not providing proper evidence of citizenship. It was the purist shit I have ever heard. He impressed upon the interviewer how he had gone to the best schools. How good can these schools have been when a 95 IQ asshole like me who graduated from Northeastern University, which is a school for mental retards, can speak better English than the mighty Trump? It’s a myth that one has to be smart to make money or be successful. All one needs is a rich daddy. If we did not all have our heads up our collective assholes, we’d take back from these motherfuckers all their undeserved shit. I say we take Trump’s private housing and turn it into public housing for the poor. We deserve it. We speak better English. We’re not on national news blabbing away like banal fucking idiots.

I couldn’t believe how gay that dog was

2011-04-09T18:49:00.001-04:00

I had a date today at Jam’n N Java in Arlington, MA. Yes, I know that I said I was going to quit dating. I don’t really want to discuss the date beyond saying that I was grateful she extended her hand to me after the date so that I could avoid the awful awkward hug that I didn’t want to give her.

Jam’n N Java had incredibly shitty service and shitty coffee. They overfilled my cup so I couldn’t get any cream in it. There’s a pretty good chance they charged me for the ceramic coffee mug that I requested. Since the girl ran off after she gave me the coffee, I couldn’t request a receipt. She gave me a Canadian penny in my change. I put the Canadian penny in her tip jar. That was her tip. A Canadian penny was way more tip than she deserved. She wasn’t worth a rusty washer that you find on the sidewalk. The coffee made me nauseas, but then again all dark roasts makes me nauseas. This is New England, home of Donkun’ Donuts. Natives (I’m not a native, but have been living here forever) don’t like their coffee bitter, but the yuppie coffee shops are fascist and only serve dark roasts, and if you are not yuppie enough to enjoy it, you can fuck yourself. It’s funny that one of the people who worked there knew my date by name – my date was obviously a regular.

There was a bike path that actually cut right through Jam’n N Java. Unlike the Google snapshot of this bike path below, there were a million bike riders swarming in and out of this bike path. It was like a yuppie hornets nest. They and all their bicycles made me really nervous.

What is also not present in the snapshot is the big blue sign that said “America’s Revolutionary Bike Path.” Now, I could be wrong, but I thought that the big decisive battles of the revolution were fought in Lexington and Concord, not Arlington, but who knows, maybe this path went through these towns, or maybe it was just a stupid sign. I am way too lazy to find out.

As I waited for my date, there was this guy walking around with this really tiny and really furry dog. It was the gayest dog I’ve ever seen. It must have taken countless generations of gay dog breeders to create an animal that looked this gay. While the guy with the dog was well-dressed, he didn’t look gay – he just seemed to be a heterosexual with a curiously gay dog – maybe he didn’t realize how gay his dog was – but then he gave me “the look.” I have gotten this look before, but never from a man, if you exclude the time ten years ago when I ventured into a Castro bar to take a crap.

Harassment and intimidation of Romani citizens by anti-Roma vigilante groups present in Roma neighborhoods

2011-04-08T16:32:00.001-04:00

I was horrified to learn about what these fucking neo-Nazis are doing to these poor gypsies in Hungary.

http://www.errc.org/cms/upload/file/hungary-gy%C3%B6ngy%C3%B6spata-letter-march-2011.pdf

I would gladly suck your penis or vulva for money

2011-04-04T12:01:00.001-04:00

A few months ago, I came upon some article online that said that a Las Vegas brothel was looking for male prostitutes, and that this was the first time that a Las Vegas brothel had ever sought male prostitutes.

I went to the brothel’s website. If my memory is serving me correctly, they said that they were looking for men 30 – 40. They wanted head-shots and full body shots. They warned that if you sent nude shots that this would disqualify you. They did not specify whether you would be prostituting yourself for men or women – nor did I care.

At first I was like, “Woo-hoo!” maybe I can become a whore and finally make a decent wage. All I would have to do is suck some cock. I have never sucked a cock, but I’m sure that the worst, most gnarliest cock can’t be nearly as bad as the worst minimum wage day labor job I’ve ever had. Sucking cock for good money cannot be remotely as humiliating as working a minimum wage job for cocksuckers.

Then reality set in. I was no longer 40. I was 45. I was fucking old. But then I though, I still look good, I’ll send them the photos anyway. But then I thought, no, I don’t look handsome anymore. I’ve lost too much hair, gained too much weight. I’m not going to bother.

I read an essay in an Ethical Humanist newsletter, written by a man, asserting that prostitution was really rape. This is the most absurd argument I’ve ever heard. If the prostitute is forced, against her or his will to have sex, than that is rape. But if a person consents to sell her or his body for sex, to say that is rape is to completely ignore the violence of rape. If you’re going to call the man who buys a prostitute a rapist, then by that inane logic, you should call McDonald’s and Walmart and day labor outfits rapist institutions, for they exploit people’s bodies just as Johns do. Whether the exploiter wants you to grasp his penis or his mop is really irrelevant. Exploitation is exploitation. The feminists get so ideological and crazy that it really starts to turn me off. In fact, it becomes downright revolting. I believe in an egalitarian society. I don’t however like to define myself as a feminist because the label makes me very uncomfortable -- because I know that there are extremist wackos in this camp. And no, I have never paid for a prostitute. The reason why is because I have always looked at it as humiliating and demeaning. Being a prostitute I’m sure is demeaning too, but I doubt if it is nearly demeaning as working for assholes for wages that could barely get you by, living in your car.

The read-between-the-lines rejections are so demeaning

2011-04-03T19:02:00.001-04:00

I wrote this nurse on OkayCupid – she was curvy, had some serious breasts, dreamy wide hips, nice legs, and a really tight belly in the one photo where she was not a little plump. (I like ‘em plump – no big deal … breasts and booty are a good thing, not a bad thing – unless of course you’re not into women.)

As you can see below, I didn’t have much to say when I wrote her. She was an incredible longshot as she was gainfully employed, good-looking, relatively young at 37, and seemed to give the impression that she was awfully cool.

My friend is a Nurse Practitioner. When I recently got my CPR and AED certifications I left a message on her voice mail proclaiming that she was not the only one around here who can save lives -- that I too was a medical professional! I was of course exaggerating.

-Dickie

Usually when a woman writes you back, she’s interested. Once in a blue moon she politely tells you she is not interested, and I always hate when she does that. It’s better not to respond. This woman gave me the worst rejection imaginable – the read-between-the-lines rejection.

Thanks for the message! It's good to have skills. Especially ones that save lives.
-A

These types of rejections make my skin crawl. And let me add that with exception to my friend, LA woman, whom I am referring to in my e-mail to this nurse on OkayCupid, I hate nurses. My feeling about them is that, for the most part, they’re a bunch of fascists and control freaks. I mean, what the fuck? – look at that duplicitous, fuck-you rejection – look at the controlling way they treat you in hospitals. They complain about doctors, but a doctor you can at least deal with – when a nurse, for example, doesn’t want you to get out of your bed after surgery to take a piss and, after you have asked her when you will be able to piss and she just ignores you, and you decide to ignore her authority and attempt to get out of bed anyway to take your piss, what she will do is pump you full of drugs and render you unconscious. I can give more anecdotal examples of what type of fit-for-the-Third-Reich behaviors these people engage in. I’m sure you could too. Nurses are no Florence Nightingales. Florence Nightingale herself was probably a fascist and just in it for the power.

Fuck I hate nurses and okaycupid and these bullshit subtle-ass, insulting rejections. I am disabling my okaycupid profile. All I’m doing is embarrassing myself on that site. The unemployed have absolutely no business being on a dating site for any reason, whether that be for dating, sex, friends, activity partners or whatever. The unemployed should accept their bottom-feeder status, buy a suitcase (thirty pack) of Budweiser (preferably from tax free New Hampshire where they don’t even need to redeem the empties) and bitch and moan on blogspot. (I’m not prepared to accept this status, at least not permanently, but I do need to stop embarrassing myself on OkayCupid.

Letter written by a depressed alcohol abuser, with a big fucking existential crisis.

2011-04-02T16:07:00.001-04:00

Dickie! Actually, the reason why I'm leaving OKC behind me is... I've met someone great and we're bf-gf. He's the sweetest guy on earth, too. [UNDISCLOSED BF NAME.] He's tall, adorable, works in nonprofit and is a film critic for fun. I can scarcely believe my good luck, after 2.5 years of being unattached. It's still pretty new, but it's going pretty well. Would I sound like a jerk if I say hang in there, Dickie, and it will happen for you, too? Because it will, just gather up your faith and keep hoping and wishing and acting like the lucky soul you are. Enjoy your corn chips, but don't you give up!
What are you doing for fun lately?
-L

Hi L,

I'm afraid that I have become so cynical that it never occurred to me that someone might want to leave OKC because she or he has found someone.

But, good for you. I hope you get some good love.

I am not seriously looking on OKC, and will probably disable my profile again. My priority is to get out of this asshole country so that I can put a roof over my head. It is quite beyond belief the obstacles I have faced and continue to face to make this nightmarish dream of teaching English in some other God-awful country come true. Patriotic assholes love to say "love it or leave it!" Well, I fucking would if I could! Their simplistic view of the world and problem-solving belies their position and diminishes my view of them as intelligent beings.

Christ, L, the most fun I have these days is drinking copious amounts of Budweiser, and this, as you may or may not know, is not that fun. I should stop being so blatantly honest with people, but I'm just like, ahhh, fuck it, who cares?

-Dickie

Spirit of Aquai

2011-03-31T13:09:00.001-04:00

I was so disappointed when the Mohegan Sun casino in Uncasville, Connecticut changed their website to make their job offerings more accessible, because I had planned to blog about it. Before, they made people who wanted to look at their job listings go through a seven step process. You would have to click a button that said “Can you continue the Spirit of Aquai Continue” after each step. What was funny is that they never explained who or what Aquai is;

Thanks to the Internet Archive’s WaybackMachine I was able to find a copy of the old version of Mohegan Sun’s site so that I could write about it.

My second favorite step is step 4, “Grooming Standards,” where they asked you to agree to “bathe” and “brush teeth daily” and “use an effective deodorant.” (And, remember, this is just to look at their job listings.)

Now, I can understand why the Mohegans might want to insult the white man, as I’m sure the white man has fucked them over pretty well, but my family came off the the damn boat at Ellis Island. My family was way too busy being fucked over by gentile white men to fuck over a Mohegan. There is no reason to insult me like this personally; my family never did anything to fuck over a Native American. (It is arguable that my being here is an invasion of their turf; however, I have been trying desperately to get out of this asshole country for my whole life and have not been able to afford to do so, so, again, I am not responsible for fucking Native Americans – I cannot help that I was born here.) Furthermore, the Mohegan tribe has profited off of me by taking 10% of my poker winnings and from collecting the many two dollar blinds I have posted in order to immediately get into poker ring games. They were not just insulting a potential employee, they were insulting a customer whom they have made money from. It’s just not cool.

My favorite step is step 6, “Your On-Boarding Journey Begins…”

They said in this step:

“If selected, the map below represents what your on-boarding journey will be. It outlines the steps you will travel through, from the time an offer is presented, to your 90 day follow-up orientation.”

They showed you the map below:

Notice in this map how you start in Northwest Connecticut and must make a long, arduous, non-linear journey to Southeast Connecticut.

Do you see what this is? This is an allusion to the Trail of Tears. They are symbolically telling us that they want to make us pay, just as we made them and their Native American brothers and sisters pay.

In step 2, “Core Values,” the first core value they listed was “Blowing Away the Customer.” I don’t think this is a good value to strive for. As a customer, I never want to be blown away. It makes me nervous when people are too enthusiastic about pleasing me. I just want to get what I paid for and have people act courteously and professionally, that’s all. I’m pretty sure that this is what most people want.

After you had agreed to all seven steps, they gave you a few crappy job listings and did not post salaries or benefits. In the current version of their website you no longer have to go through the seven step process in order to get to the job listings, but they still don’t list pay or benefits. There is no mention of the Spirit of Aquai either. I guess that didn’t go over very well.

I don’t recommend working at Mohegan Sun or its neighboring casino, Foxwoods, because, although they have finally instituted no-smoking sections, you’re still inhaling a lot of the second hand smoke from the smoking sections, which are not properly sealed off. You’re just getting less smoke. I would put my money on both places being toxic from second-hand smoke, and you don’t want to spend thousands of hours of your life in places like these. Maybe they are good employers. Who knows? But whatever they pay is not worth the physical suffering and monetary costs of emphysema and lung cancer.

I never play against the house, so can’t really judge Mohegan Sun as a casino, other than it being smoky and tremendously tacky, as the building is designed to look like a giant wigwam. If you’re interested in poker, Mohegan Sun actually has a superb poker room with very professional dealers. The problem there is finding a full-ring table. I think the reason why this is is because they operate too many tables at once. If you are like me and you hate playing short-handed games, you are better off playing poker at crappy, zooy Foxwoods, with its abominable dealers, tasteless large-breasted waitresses with breasts hanging out all over the place (while you don’t see any nipple, there is more breast to be seen from these women, then three completely naked breasted women combined – it’s simply garish), and gimmicky, waste-of-hard-earned-money Bad Beat Jackpot (which also encourages idiot players to be river rats in hopes of hitting that asinine Bad Beat Jackpot, which nobody ever really wins because you probably have a better chance of being struck by lightning.) At least you’re pretty guaranteed to get good action at Foxwoods.

The dreaded i93 and how I became a supporter of the Republican cause

2011-03-28T13:49:00.001-04:00

My shrink – my cognitive behavioral guy, wants me to take things slower with my highway driving phobia – but he is not the one hemorrhaging his life savings on $3.50 gallon gas. I need this money for my lofty retirement in the trailer park of my nightmares. I need to try newer and harder targets. I don’t have time to keep hitting the same targets to reduce anxiety, which is really very minimally effective. My shrink tries to impress upon me that while driving on the highway I am safe – that I am creating the fear. But this is pure bullshit. It’s very unsafe. I drive a fucking 2000 Toyata Corrolla. It handles like shit. It is made for durability, not driving. A strong gust of wind will make that car wobble at 55 m.p.h. It’s disconcerting. Very. You have to either be a better driver than I (and perhaps I am a shitty driver) or a fool to drive that thing much over 65 m.p.h. And then there are the fucking maniacs – especially the truck drivers who get two feet behind you, literally, to bully you into getting into the slow lane, but you can’t because you can’t even see out of your rear view mirror because they are so close that all you see is truck! I am afraid that if I ever meet one of these sociopathic, aggressive motherfuckers face-to-face, that someone is going to get very hurt, and I am going to end up very in prison.

The Connecticut drive was far less scary than I thought. i385, which runs down the state from Massachusetts is a wussy interstate with only two lanes. A joke. Yes, you must drive on a major highway -- the MassPike to get to i385, but it’s only 35 miles, and considerably less scary than i95.

Taking i95 to Providence provided a lot of fodder for driving terror, with its Route 128/i95 bottleneck and, as soon as I hit Pawtucket, Rhode Island (you, know, Pawtucket Ale – “Family Guy”) it got zooy, and increasingly zooier as I hit downtown Providence. The plan was to turn around farther down in the Providence suburb of Cranston, but my feeling was, fuck this, I’ve gone far enough, let me get the fuck out of this madhouse before I wig.

This weekend I attempted i93 North. There was the i95/i93 intersection, where the lanes go from four to three that always freaks me out, but this time, instead of staying on i95 I went on i93. While the trip to New Hampshire was 20 miles less than the Providence trip, this drive was scarier because it entailed going from one interstate to the other.

I managed to keep it together for the last 5 or ten miles of the trip. When I got off at the exit at Salem, NH, that’s when I really started getting nervous. This was New Hampshire – there was not supposed to be many people in this state, but there was a huge traffic jam on the road taking me to Walmart. I had plotted Walmart into the GPS as a piss stop before I went back. There was so much traffic. That’s when I started to get that get-me-the-fuck-out-of-here feeling. I kept going though. It took me ten minutes to drive one and half miles to Walmart.

I don’t shop at Walmart. To do so is to donate to the Republican cause. But this was tax free New Hampshire. I needed some cheap beer. I was too freaked out to go fishing around for liquor stores. Walmart was selling 30 can cases of Budweiser for $17.00. It was insanely cheap. And, since this was the “Live Free or Die” state – its motto is written right on its license plate, I didn’t even need to return the empties. It was an alcoholic’s paradise. (Beer isn’t even allowed to be sold in Massachusetts outside of liquor stores because the liquor store lobby successfully persuaded the moron voters to preserve their monopoly in a ballot initiative.) The only reason why I didn’t buy ten cases of beer instead of only one was because I knew that I would drink myself into oblivion. Then I saw a case of Dasani water for only $4.00. Holy fuck I had to have that. I bought two. One more than I needed or probably will be able to drink in my remaining time in Boston. And then I saw these teeny Dannon Greek yogurts for only a dollar and put it in my wagon, and then I saw a whole shitload of cheap Gatorade, and I said to myself, fuck my boycott of Walmart, let someone who actually has money boycott Walmart. I need the savings. Fuck this. I wanted to buy a bathing suit. I wanted to stuff my car with as much tax-free crap from China that as I could get my greedy little mitts on, but the need to get the fuck out of that state before I completely freaked out was more powerful.

It took me a long time to get back on the highway due to all the traffic. Salem, NH is really a shopping Mecca. All the big stores are there, including Macy’s. This is all probably to cater to people in Massachusetts who don’t want to pay their 6.25 sales tax. Who can blame them? Massachusetts once had a ballot initiative to go from a flat income tax to a graduated income tax. Had the moron voters voted for it, we probably could’ve gotten rid of the regressive sales tax, which hemorrhages a lot of our money to New Hampshire and the Internet and lived off the fat of the multitude of rich assholes in Massachusetts – the same rich assholes who have our asses kicked from nine to five each week, if we are lucky enough to have a job. But, this is the U.S. – we do things backwards, even in Massachusetts, one of its most progressive states (technically a Commonwealth.)

Coming back is always ten times easier. I deliberately took a harder route coming back: i93 to 495 to 3 to i95. Four major highways in a row. It was easy coming back, but the shit had been sufficiently scared out of me going there. I needed to do some heavy drinking with my New Hampshire beer when I got back, though I did it at night, after more driving. The thought occurred to me that I should clean the empty beer bottles, but then I thought – why? – you don’t need to store them because they don’t need to be redeemed, because where I bought them, in New Hampshire, you “Live Free or Die.” So I just threw them out. What freedom! What a state!

The next target will be the i93 going into Boston from the South – the SouthEast expressway, a really scary highway. Ten miles of this is a lot harder than 40 miles on the interstate to New Hampshire. If I do not need to be scraped off the SouthEast expressway, there will not be much else to do after that, and I will probably push for graduation from therapy soon after, probably against the protests of my therapist. Fuck him. Had I listed to him I’d have spent half my life savings on gas and gone a fraction of the distance.

The MBTA gets back to me

2011-03-27T12:29:00.001-04:00

Commentary about this e-mail sent to me by the MBTA is below. Keep reading…

MBTA Reference # 02720524

March 17, 2011

Dear Dickie Richards,

Thank you for contacting the MBTA. We appreciate your business and value your feedback.

We appreciate you taking the time to write and sincerely apologize for the Operator’s dangerous actions while driving Bus Route 60.

With the information you provided, the Operator was identified, interviewed, and reinstructed on safe driving. Any further infractions may result in more severe disciplinary action. The MBTA has a progressive disciplinary policy, up to and including termination.

We apologize for any inconvenience this may have caused you.

Should you have additional questions or concerns regarding this issue, please contact the MBTA’s Customer Communications Department at 617-222-3200 or 800-392-6100, Monday through Friday, 6:30 AM to 8:00 PM and Saturday and Sunday from 7:30 AM to 6:00 PM or visit our website at www.mbta.com.

Thank you again.

Sincerely,

Flora

Customer Communications Department

This email/electronic message, including any attached files, is being sent by the MBTA. It is solely intended for the recipient(s) and may contain information that is proprietary, confidential, legally privileged, and/or exempt from disclosure pursuant to state and federal law. If you have received this message in error or are not the intended recipient(s), please notify the sender immediately by reply, and delete all copies of this email/electronic message and any attached files from your computer. If you are the intended recipient(s), you may use the information contained in this email/electronic message and any attached files only as authorized by the MBTA. Any unauthorized use, dissemination, or disclosure of this email/electronic message and/or its attached files is strictly prohibited.
Please consider the environment before printing this e-mail.

This was sent a month and a half after I reported the incident. Here is my bitching and moaning about their not responding to me the first time.

First of all, there is a serious grammatical error in the MBTA’s response. The MBTA says:

We appreciate you taking the time to write

This is wrong because you need to use possessive pronouns in front of gerunds. So it should be:

We appreciate your taking the time to write

You could argue that President Obama makes this very same error, so what’s the big deal? Obama’s job is to bomb babies and children in Asia and Africa, take away people’s subsidized heating oil, fuck federal employees, and raise the taxes of the poor while keeping taxation of the rich unsustainably low. Obama should know proper English to set a good example, but, as an executive officer, he is really not in the field of customer service.

Because the MBTA failed to provide me with any evidence that they reprimanded this individual, there is absolutely no reason to believe that they actually did. I think that what I am receiving from them is a load of sugar-coated crap, but even if they did reprimand this individual, it would not have done anything to correct the undesired behavior. The driver does not remember what happened a month and a half ago. In order for punishment to be effective, it must be unambiguously and immediately paired with the undesired behavior. You learn this in any introductory psychology course in behaviorism. We’ve known this fact for about 70 years. It is not revolutionary or earth-shaking.

Furthermore, the MBTA completely failed to address my demand for the videotape of the incident. This is not a private bus company; this is a public bus company being paid for by your state and federal tax dollars. Any videotape that was made of the incident should be public domain. I have a right to it, and I would’ve put it on YouTube had they met my demand, so that the entire world could see the psychotic assholes at work on the MBTA. You have a right to see this! It’s your tax dollars at work on your public property!

They left me no e-mail address to respond to. What I think is funny is all the legal mumbo-jumbo at the bottom of their correspondence. I love how they say:

Any unauthorized use, dissemination, or disclosure of this email/electronic message and/or its attached files is strictly prohibited.

They are a public agency. By definition, any record that they create should be freely made available to anyone. What they sent me is PUBLIC DOMAIN -- it is not their fucking intellectual property. What the MBTA doesn’t understand is that this is not North Korea. We, supposedly, live in a free and open democracy, where the public has a right to know what its government is paying for.

All I can say is that the MBTA sucks elongated and discharging gonad.

Jam your lousy senior discount up your ass, Dunkin’ Donuts

2011-03-24T20:19:00.001-04:00

Walking out of Dunkin’ Donuts, something seemed wrong to me as I looked at the receipt. Why was the small coffee I had bought so cheap?

In horror, I saw that the Dunkin’ Donuts cashier, Lasiah C, who was probably about 18 years old, had unilaterally decided that I was a Senior Citizen and therefore eligible for a 10% Senior discount. At first I thought that I must have been given some other customer’s receipt by accident. But this was sort of like believing that fairies exist, or that when you die you will remain alive through an afterlife, or that if you think positively enough, good thinks will happen to you.

I always knew this day would come, but I thought that the universe would at least hold off for another ten years before it deemed me old. I mean, I’m a young 45. I’m slightly encrusted, yet considerably less encrusted than men my age. I have at least some sex appeal left, don’t I? Certainly, I could not possibly be categorized as a Senior Citizen. The reality is that that is what happened, and the reality is that I need to live in reality.

This prompted me to make the decision to apply for the EFL course in Hungary before every fertile woman on the planet believes that I’m a Senior Citizen -- and for all I know, they might already do. I was heavily leaning towards this decision anyway. This was just the straw that broke the camel’s back. This will mean that all the money I had saved up and planned to use to live in some glorified trailer park in this asshole country will be used on a course to give me certification to work as an EFL teacher in God-forsaken third-world countries, where I will probably be exploited and still live a life of shit.

What was I thinking to think that I could get a crappy job in some place like Dunkin’ Donuts and persuade some woman to gestate my brood? Maybe my age will be too great a hurdle in a poor country overseas too, but I have at least an opportunity there to not live the total life of fucking shit that I fully suspect I would live here, taking shit jobs.

I don’t have to commit myself to working overseas yet. I can take the lousy course overseas and make my decision about working overseas later. It is the middle road decision. It will give me a taste of what it will be like without having to take the complete plunge. The decision is costly -- it will be a lot of savings hemorrhaged, but I don’t want to live in this asshole country if I can help it. I believe I have slightly more to offer this world than serving up donuts in Dunkin’ Donuts or towels as a cabana boy. I think it’s better to live in China and help them speak English so that I can enable them to sell their cheap crap full of lead and God knows what than to be on the front-lines here, wearing a blue fucking apron, stocking Walmart’s shelves with China’s leaded merchandize.

And fuck my asshole father who says I need to see a shrink because I refuse to submit to a life of shit here. He thinks there are better options in this country for a middle aged guy (now, apparently a Senior Citizen) without a fucking resume, yet when I ask him to name one, he can’t. What homeless shelters has he ever lived in? What cars has he ever slept in? What cockroach infested rooms in bad neighborhoods has he ever endured? He has no clue how mean this countries’ streets are. It’s my life. It is not his! Even if I were to find a shrink who actually gave a fuck, he or she wouldn’t have the slightest clue how to help me. I know this because I’ve literally seen a hundred of these depraved motherfuckers.

If I fail I fail; let me fail on my terms!

Scintillating!

2011-03-16T20:57:00.001-04:00

I reopened my OkayCupid account. I’m not really dating though; I’m primarily interested in sex. I make this clear. I’m sure I’ll disable the account, soon, once I feel I’ve embarrassed myself enough.

As a writing exercise, I wrote a college professor who said that she didn’t want someone who was "easy-going" or "laid-back. This is what I wrote her:

Look, there is nothing wrong with "easy-going" or "laid-back." I am the most laid-back person in the world up until the point where I have a wig out.

I'm writing to you because I just can't resist sexy college professors, not that I've ever had one. Also, I saw that photo of you by the beach, and I know you must know the butterfly stroke. I know that you can help me!

(Okay, running a little long for a personal ad intro -- can't write too much or I will look desperate, and I am only moderately desperate.) You look really sweet. I hope you find someone, whomever that might be.

I wrote this off the cuff. I am a good fuckin’ writer. Had I lived a life of gainful employment, I am sure that I would have gotten a lot of nookie from smart and horny women.

I don’t’ feel any loss that this woman never wrote back. She said in her profile that she wanted “scintillating conversation” and “international adventure.” I’m not sure what “scintillating” conversation is, but I’m pretty sure I’m not interested in this type of convo. As for international adventure, I can’t afford it. Brainy women like her, I think, want their cake and want to eat it too. They are perpetual losers like Heather.

I took the interstate, mofo!

2011-03-16T03:04:00.001-04:00

I took the (MassPike) Massachusetts Turnpike to Interstate 395 to Mohegan Sun. The MassPicke is a major highway. The irony is that i395 is a pissy little two lane highway. Could you image all the time and aggravation spent avoiding i395, all the fear involved in the thought of accidently getting on this road when I would take alternative routes. It was three and four lane highways that gave me major panic, not two lane highways.

I ate the MassPike and i395 for breakfast today. Tears came to my eyes while I was driving because I realized that I was not as fucking hopeless as I thought I was. I had to stop the emotional outburst, as I needed to be able to see the road.

Maybe, I thought, other things were possible. Maybe I didn’t have to be a pool boy and/or a lifeguard and/or a Walmart worker. Maybe I didn’t have to listen to the negative of people like Heather or my father, who told me that I couldn’t do certain things. I begin to seriously think about going overseas again. Maybe if I can drive out of state on the interstate and also obtain a CPR/AED certificate – maybe I can do more. Maybe I can take the EFL course run by the EFL fascists in Hungary or Boston. Maybe if I can do that I can carve out an existence somewhere in China or Vietnam or some other God-awful place. It will suck major cock, but maybe it will be lesser cock than my bleak future as a member of the working poor here.

I busted Heather’s ovaries too much

2011-03-14T11:39:00.001-04:00

I went too far with Heather in my last post. What you saw was an angry, immature, slightly mad person. I’m not going to edit or delete what I wrote, for that’s how I feel. I’m a bitter and ugly person. It’s just the way it is. It’s not pretty, but that is who I am. Psychiatric professionals tell you that you should love yourself, but it’s really quite impossible to have self-love for a person as ugly as I am. I have a grudging respect for myself. That is all. And that came only after nearly 40 years of self-hatred.

I wish I were more of a man. I wish I could say to Heather that there are no hard feelings and that I wish her the best of luck. I really do wish that I could say these things, but I don’t entirely believe them, so can’t. Maybe in the future I will be man enough to do this.

I can fly, Heather. You can’t!

2011-03-12T21:34:00.001-05:00

I am no longer friends with Heather; however, she may still be reading this blog. One of the myriad of horseshit excuses Heather gave me for why I was not good enough to create children with her or anyone was that I could not drive on a highway. “You want to have a child, and you can’t even drive on a highway,” she said.

I would like the opportunity to tell Heather that I can drive on the highway now. I am seeing a cognitive/behavioral shrink in order to get over the phobia. I am still working on it. Getting rid of phobias is a long hard process, but I am succeeding.

It was such an utterly stupid excuse that you gave, Heather. The inability to drive on a highway does not preclude one from being a good parent. Ironically, Heather could not fly. I have always been able to fly. So now I can drive. I can drive anywhere on the the entire continent, and if I want to visit Budepest or China, I can do this, and might be doing this soon. Unlike Heather’s, my fate is not yet sealed. I am still free, still vibrant, and my world, unlike Heather’s is not closing in on me.

Why couldn’t you have had the ovaries – Heather, to just tell me right away that the reason you would not like to be with me is that you are one of the myriad of excruciatingly boring, bourgeois assholes, that money is your God and whore. You have no vision. That it your problem. At least an opportunistic bloodsucker like Nancy had vision. Yes, money was her God, but it was a means to end, which was to create children. She at least was preoccupied with creating something greater than herself. She was on a mission. You might even call it a spiritual mission.

Now, I understand that you have economic concerns. You have your family to take care of, but, really, there are ways of letting people whom you are already friends with know that they are not right for you without fucking forcing them to bare their soul to you over skype, because you are too freaked out by the fact that a poor man might like you. You could have extended me the courtesy of speaking to me in person. It was really not a lot to ask. In addition, you didn’t need to get all wiggy when I arrived at your house, still out of breath, after having a panic attack on the highway. You did not need to disrespect me by so diligently impressing upon me the importance of my leaving your household, because of your need to do work. Certainly this could have waited until I caught my breath. (I mean shit, you were planning to see a movie with me – so you had a few hours to spare.) You would actually have been slightly less of an asshole had you suggested a nice hotel for me to drive to in order to catch my breath in order to recover from my highway terror. You didn’t need to be such an asshole. I knew you had a deadline. But you didn’t need to be so motherfucking rude. I have never shown you that level of disrespect.

Of course, you dismissed my having a panic attack. And, because you said I didn’t have one, it must not have happened. You are superior to me, aren’t you? It is ironic that you always accused me of having Narcissistic Personality Disorder, and one of the hallmarks of this disorder is a lack of empathy. It is you who seems to lack the ability to put yourself into other people’s shoes. It is not I who said, nonchalantly, “you’ll get over me.” You also lack affect. There is something wrong with you. I am not a shrink and, unlike you, I don’t give armchair psychiatric diagnoses of friends’ psychiatric disorders, unless of course they are ex-friends, and I am trying to impress upon them what a fucking loser I think they are, in a final fuck you farewell.

I can honestly say that I say these words to you not because I am angry at you (which I am), but because I truly mean them: You are a loser. I am a loser. I may continue to lose, but at least I think like a winner and play to win. I’m not interested in you. I fell in love with your sweetness. But now I finally realize that you are not really sweet, that you have nothing whatsoever to offer me. You have no vision. Perhaps you have passion in your area of expertise, but I have not seen a lot of passion from you. While you are vastly more intelligent than most, you seem to lack the ability to formulate cohesive arguments. (I lack this as well, but I’m not the one with the Ph.D.) I was impressed by how someone with your knowledge and brainpower could use such a pathetic argument to defend your war-mongering, poor-bashing, Republican wannabe president. But, I guess, your love of Obama is only natural. You are defending your class, of which I was born into but find, as I have mentioned, obscenely and excruciatingly boring. But, hey, as Robert Gibbs said, I wouldn’t be satisfied if Dennis Kucinich were president. (But, unlike Gibbs, I understand the subjunctive and have at least some grasp of the rules of English, unlike Secretary Clinton, Obama himself, and the other fuckwads in Obama’s cabinet.)

Let me get back on point. You always used to nonchalantly say to me, “I’ll get over you.” It was your way of writing off my pain and/or discrediting your own importance. Well, you’re right. I have gotten over you, finally. In fact, I’m forgetting you already. So there’s no need to get all bothered about some heavy-breather like me wanting to move in with you, eat your food, hog your bed, and create embryos that stick to your uterus. I can find better women. Women who want to fuck (me), who have emotion, who feel and who love and laugh and cry. I want a woman who has vision. Passion. Who sees the beauty of children. Who is not deceived by the bourgeois mirage.

I have a nice penis. I have never mentioned this before. The few woman whom I’ve been with have complimented my penis and asked to either suck it or get it inside them. I don’t blame them. It is, after all, a pretty nice penis. I have never asked a woman to suck my penis. I don’t really enjoy it because felatio is way too toothy for my comfort. What I’m into is licking vulva. I am good lover, not just because I enjoy giving a good lick, but because I am sensuous and truly enjoy making love, not just shooting my load into a vagina, which I have a freakish capacity to do many times without even losing my erection. You are and were deserving of none of the good love that I can give -- sexual or otherwise, nor my DNA. My sister had a niece. My niece is cute as fucking hell. My sister’s baby kicks any baby’s ass that you’ll ever see in movies. My sister and I share virtually identical DNA. I know that I have the ability to create a baby as cute as my sister did. I am however looking for a winner to have a baby with. There will be no lick and no penis for you! If you are still reading, you are probably thinking how you have no desire to be licked and fucked and impregnated by someone who is as immature and Narcissist-Personality-Disordered as I am, and that is exactly why I don’t want you. My penis is yum and I am a fun and lovable and loyal as fucking hell. My penis, my lovemaking, my DNA, and my soul will be saved for a more deserving woman.

I’m sorry, but I am not quite done with you. I must attack you some more, because you were such a fucking insensitive asshole to me. Your days of soft and tight skin are numbered, Heather. Your DNA is breaking down as you read this. Evolution no longer sees you as a breeder, but as a caregiver of someone who has already bred. Your hold-out for your fantasy bourgeois breeding partner and mate has and will continue to fail. You offer nothing at this point. Yes, you are smart, but, newsfash – most men don’t give a flying fuck about intelligence. You certainly aren’t sweet. Ironically, one of the excuses you gave me why you weren’t good enough for me, which I believe you actually believed, was that your breasts were too small for me. Like all of your hair-brained excuses for why we wouldn’t work out, this one was quite wrong. Your breasts were perky and felt quite heavenly when I hugged you. You have – or at least you had nice breasts. Your breasts made me hard. If they haven’t already, your tight breasts are going to lose their shape sooner or later, as you begin your inexorable menopausal decline. You are stuck in your little asshole town with your not-able-to-take-care-of-themselves family. I, on the other hand am free. I can move out of state. Unlike you, I can fly out out the country. I plan to do one of these things soon. The world is still mine for the taking. Your world is closing in on you. You live in a world of shrinking possibilities. I am still aging gracefully. Unlike you, I still have time.

Have I gone too far? Have I been really mean? Absolutely. But you had it coming, Heather. You really had it fucking coming. You disgust me. I regret having not told you to fuck yourself that day when I visited you when I had the panic attack on the highway and you got all wiggy. When you asked me where I was going to change my clothing, did you expect me to just get naked right in the middle of your living room? What did you expect me to say? Had I ever acted inappropriately with you before? Was there anything that I did or had said to deserve that insulting fucking question? So don’t be insulted by anything that I’ve said today. You’re an insensitive fucking asshole, and I’m just putting your ass in its place, though knowing you with your affective disorder, it probably won’t even phase you. It is one thing being a bourgeois asshole – I’ve dated hundreds of them -- it’s wholly another thing to FREAK out when someone who is not a bourgeois asshole says he desires you. You didn’t have to wig. You didn’t have to make inane excuses. There was no need to embarrass me like that. All you had to do was just say no, and I would have understand and not wigged myself. Had you just been honest we me, you would not have told me anything that I hadn’t heard a hundred times before. It would not have been a big deal. It was all the fucking bullshit that was the insult. So don’t be hurt by anything I say now. Take it like an adult. And don’t fucking call me, don’t skype me, don’t e-mail me. Piss the fuck off. I am writing this to get you out of my system. I never want to think about you again. I have found another person to help me with my English. I can do my own hack proofreading for now on, so I won’t be needing any of your services or need to contact you again for any reason.

Do you know why I saw you after our first date? – I felt guilty. After our first date – the Christmas date, when I got home and you sent me a photo of your little spider-like dog, I cried. You seemed so lonely, so needy. I know what this loneliness is like. Against my better judgment, because of guilt, I went on a second date with you. After that I knew I just couldn’t do it anymore and weaseled out of calling you as I said I would when I got back from Florida. A year later you complained about my lack of wanting to walk through all the dog shit on the ground during that second date. You reasoned that because of my lack of wanting to walk through your town (Beverly, MA), which is literally full of shit, I was somehow unqualified to father children. Prima donna maybe. Unfit to father children because I dislike shit on my sneaker? Just another of your myriad of offensive excuses for why I was unfit to father children. And then there was more talk of Narcissist Personality Disorder. Jam the fucking Narcissist Personality Disorder up your ass, Heather. I mean, jam it. Jam it good. What the fuck would you know about empathy. You have about as much empathy as one would expect an extra terrestrial to display, who has no concept of empathy.

Yes, this all is payback; I am saying all this in anger, yet in truth. Take it like an adult, Heather. Don’t cry. Don’t become indignant. I’m just paying you back for all the shit treatment you gave me. You have it coming. Just take it.

I’m not hopeless, Heather. You may have given up on me, but I never did. I am not inferior to you, Heather. Even if I weren’t able to drive on the highway, you would still not be better than I. So please fuck yourself, Heather. Your little bourgeois prying eyes are not wanted on my blog. Please piss the fuck off.

By the way, I hope your little dog is alive and well. I don’t dislike your dog; I dislike you.

Put the damn Christian in the YMCA, will you?

2011-03-03T19:36:00.001-05:00

Those assholes at the YMCA want $36 a month for a scholarship membership on top of their $50 annual membership fee. They wanted my financial information. So I gave it to them. I can’t talk about money here, but it is beyond pathetic how little I make. Without the help of the remnants of LBJ’s moribund War on Poverty I would be out on the street. I tried to tell the YMCA that I already plunked $350 (full price, non-member) for their lifeguard course. (I recently failed their swimming test though did obtain their CPR/AED certification. I nearly needed a lifeguard to save me after attempting to swim 500 yards.) I tried to tell them that I just need to use their pool for five hours a week for two months in order to pass their lifeguard certification. But they just don't fucking listen. My mother offered to pay, but I want the goddamned YMCA (Young Man's Christian Association) to honor their Christian mission of helping the poor to help themselves. Who knows, maybe I’d find Christ if they actually fucking helped me to help myself. It is their fucking job to help me find Christ -- they are at heart a Christian organization, and I am a poor Jew badly in need of a fucking savior! I might just demand my money back for the course. The Aquatics Director did tell me in writing that I could get a refund minus the Red Cross handbook in the event that I couldn't complete the swimming requirement.

But that's not really why I would abort the lifeguard course. I'm having second thoughts about the Walmart Strategy. There is no more money coming in, and for the first time in five years I'm feeling that cold hard bite of poverty. I had forgotten how painful it is to buy gas and to buy even the simplest things. And you know what? I fucking HATE poverty. I think I have a better chance of not living in poverty as a hack EFL teacher. And you know what? --fuck my father who thinks I should see a shrink because I feel the only real escape from abject poverty is overseas. I would like to see him try to get a job as a middle-aged man with a severe fucking learning disability, with no marketable skills, and no resume. I would like to see him make it as a $9 dollar an hour life guard or pool boy and moonlighting 30 hours a week as a $8 dollar an hour Walmart worker. What a shit fucking life. And I’m living in a dreamland to think that I could find a woman who would be interested in creating a child with a grunt like me. In the miracle event that I find a woman to impregnate, how in the fuck could I afford to provide a life for this child that is not complete shit? The answer is that I can’t! Love is not the answer. Love is not enough in this asshole world. You need cold hard cash.

I don't fucking have to listen to my asshole father. I am my own man. I don’t have to listen to anyone who I feel has his or her head up his or her ass. The only person I really need to listen to is myself. I think overseas EFL may be a better option. I'm going to play three thousand more hands in poker rooms. I can do that in the next month while I continue my medical treatment here and possibly work on trying to pass the lifeguard course. If I can't reliably make at least minimum wage at 2/4 poker, I think that I may seriously reconsider teaching EFL overseas, despite what a tortuous job and shit life this looks to be. I need a safety net, even a small, shit one, if I am going to condemn myself to the life of the working poor. As unqualified as I am to teach English, my English is better than President Obama’s. At least I know to use a possessive pronoun in front of a gerund. It is also better than Secretary of State Clinton’s English. She mixes singular and plural pronouns, and it’s really pathetic and embarrassing. I think I’ll probably be able to at least fake being an EFL teacher who knows what he is talking about. I’m no longer thinking about teaching in Central/Eastern Europe. I’m thinking about teaching in Vietnam. They pay a lot more, and their language is a lot easier than Russian and Hungarian!

MBTA ignores me of course, so I waste more time by writing the gonad suckers again

2011-03-01T17:34:00.001-05:00

On February 4, 2011, I reported to the MBTA via this web form a driver acting inappropriately and endangering my safety as well as the safety of other drivers. The bus route number was #60. The date of the incident was February 3, 2011. The time was approximately 6:15 p.m.

I'm puzzled why no effort was made to contact me. I am curious how many complaints the MBTA ignores before bus drivers like John McCarthy are fired. (John McCarthy was an MBTA bus driver who was recently fired by the MBTA after being charged with being drunk on the job.)

Let me reiterate my demand for a copy of any electronic recording of the incident I reported on February 4. Also, I would like to know if there was any attempt by the MBTA to investigate this incident.

I have a right to this information, and I am exercising my right. I hope that we can resolve this issue amicably without my having to bring in a third party. You have two days to respond.

I will continue to keep the public informed, using my blog, of the MBTA’s lack of effort to ensure the public’s safety.

The Walmart Strategy

2011-02-18T19:55:00.001-05:00

I followed my dream today of being a pool boy by buying a swimsuit at Target for the lifeguard course I will be taking next week. As pathetic and comical as this dream is, a dream is a dream.

Target didn’t have much in the way of swimsuits. A lot of stupid, loud colors and patterns; however, I came across a navy colored swimsuit with little white anchors stitched all over it. It was the most gayest swimsuit I’ve ever seen and, despite the fact that it lacked a front pocket –- I had to have it! I was in love with how cute it was. I wouldn’t be caught dead in something that looked overtly gay, but this swimsuit sent an understated yet overwhelmingly powerful message that you are gay and you are proud! -- and I loved the concept. The large swimsuit was too small on me, and they didn’t have an extra large, so I opted for a very plain and boring swimsuit for fifteen dollars.

I saw a baseball hat that I fell in love with too. It was a Bud Lite hat, and normally I wouldn’t be caught dead in a hat like that, but this hat had a bottle opener embedded in its bill. It was so trailer trashy that I instantly fell in love with the hat and needed to have it, but I am like, very low on funds and opted to deny to myself the object of my love.

While I looked for the swimsuit, there was an old guy talking on his cell in Russian, using very common Russian words and phrases that I had learned last year in order to live in Siberia or Moldova. The plan was to find a woman there to create a child with and teach English; now that I have switched my strategy to looking for impoverished women in the U.S. to create a child with, the Russian and the English that I devoted so much time to learning is fairly useless. A year ago I could understand a lot of what he was saying, but now I had no idea what his words meant. It made me sad to know that I will never be able to live in a foreign land where the most beautiful language in the world is spoken. English and Spanish and German are ugly and vulgar languages. You don’t fully realize this until you’ve studied Russian. I have always despised and wanted to escape the U.S. I hate its right-wing assholes (including its right-wing wannabe --Barrack Obama) and I hate its fuck you attitude. I will not have the time nor money to ever escape this place, as I will be up to my eyeballs in shit soon. I have Obama to thank for taking away my publicly funded fuel assistance and for taking away my tax credit for the poor, and thus raising my taxes. I need these things, for I will be joining the ranks of the working poor soon, if I am lucky enough to get jobs. (This is plural, for I will need more than one job.) I will still be fucked up the ass by the drug companies. I am not sure if Obama’s overly-confusing healthcare program will cover me at all. It won’t help me in the near future, when I will need it. That I know.

I voted for Obama and he fucked me. You liberal-minded middle-classers with your spending cash (even if it is not too much) and your semi-comfortable lifestyles are next in line to be fucked by this wolf in sheep’s clothing. I hope that you will remember my words before casting your vote for Obama again. Obama is a war-mongering, right-wing suck-up. I advise voting for Mickey Mouse. Our democracy has been bought and sold. If you really want a change, start a revolution.

Hell might possibly be South Florida

2011-02-15T20:28:00.001-05:00

“Come to Florida,” my father said. “You can buy cheap real-estate.” You have the money! Such shit.

Everyone wants to be in South Florida. Everyone loves South Florida. It is so warm. What a wonderful place, with its densely packed wide roads full of SUVs and trucks and plain old cars driven by rednecks with memorial tributes to their dead friends on their rear windows and their bumper stickers that say “God bless our troops especially our snipers.” Such good people in Florida -- and what scenery -- a Walgreens on every corner; no, I’m exaggerating, some corners actually have CVS’s. Drive any rode and you will either see a strip mall or a condo complex. They really know how to pack them in in South Florida. Condos litter the landscape. What little orange groves and farmland is left is rapidly being converted to condos. Why buy food locally when you can burn more fossil fuel and make the world good and hot by importing your food halfway across the world? They live in their condos behind gates, surrounded by palm trees. An illusionary island in a sea of congestion, sameness, and madness. The strip malls look alike. They all feature a Publix, Walmart, Walgreens, Subway, a pizza store, and a Asian restaurant. Yes, occasionally there is some variation; but they are the same entity. Often there are zombies standing outside the strip malls waving signs to entice people to come in. Sometimes they are dressed up in stupid costumes. It is all normal in this anti-universe.

I was awed by how fat people’s asses were in South Florida. South Florida is barely above sea-level as it is. How do they pack in all that ass into all those cars and condos and shopping establishments without weighing the bottom half of the state down? I really thought that. I’m not talking about a lot of people with relatively fat asses, I’m talking about a huge mass of people with giant elephant asses. At some point the weight of all this ass is going to cause the bottom half of the state to sink into the ocean. We don’t need to worry about global warming sinking Florida.

MBTA–they suck smegma pungent gonad.

2011-02-04T13:39:00.001-05:00

What are the chances of this request (below) being honored in our lovely free and open and transparent democracy? I think zero. The MBTA is the Massachusetts Bay Transit Authority. The MBTA is comprised of high-salaried civil servants who run our public transit system. Do you think that they are grateful to have their cushy jobs and to serve the people? No. The MBTA contains some of the rudest and most belligerent motherfuckers on the planet. I once saw a bus driver literally using his bus as battering ram to knock down some poor guy in front of the bus who wanted to get on. Every time the guy would regain his balance after being knocked back by the bus, the bus would inch forward to hit him again. The bus driver did not want to let the guy on because he had already closed his door. And this happened in the middle of winter. I can tell you many stories about these fucking scum. The MBTA is one of the reasons why I hate humanity.

Dear MBTA,

On February 3, 2010, at 6:15 p.m., I was exiting the Chestnut Hill Mall from the Route 9 side, with my car.

An MBTA bus #60 was behind me as I attempted to take the left onto Route 9. It was especially difficult and dangerous for me to make this left turn, as there was a snow mound obscuring my vision and, as you can image, given the time of day, there was a lot of traffic.

Within 10 seconds of my attempt to take this left onto Route 9, your bus driver started honking his or her horn. I stuck my hand out of my window using a halting gesture, indicating to your bus driver that I acknowledged his or her wanting me to proceed and that this was not helping; however, it was still not possible for me to safely take this left. Your bus driver menacingly inched his or her bus in back of me as I attempted to exit. Your bus driver increased his or her honking until it was non-stop.

I don't believe that it took longer than 30 seconds for me to take this left onto Route 9. I believe your bus driver's behavior towards me was unwarranted, discourteous, and very dangerous.

I demand a copy of any electronic record that you may have of this incident.

Thank you,

Dickie Richards

I fucking hate cooperate art

2011-01-18T20:42:00.001-05:00

I want to destroy corporate art, as they did in Fight Club. I especially despise this piece of corporate art, as it is right in the middle of the fucking sidewalk.

A big turd-like piece of cooperate art, right in the middle of the goddamned street in Boston.

It lies right in front of the Bank of America building. It no doubt belongs to BOA. BOA property blocking a publicly owned property -– the sidewalk, while public funds are used to bail-out BOA after fucking us.

What I’d like to know is how BOA gets away with blocking our sidewalk with this monstrosity. It is fucking criminal. Probably a good thousand people have accidently stumbled into it at night. It has probably bruised, battered, and broken the bodies of poor unsuspecting bystanders.

Work here because we are assoles with pissy attitudes

2011-01-18T02:59:00.001-05:00

All this ballbusting and not one mention of how much these fuckers are willing to pay. I betcha it’s minimum wage. Shits.

Good Work Ethic (Hialeah, FL)

Date: 2011-01-06, 8:35AM EST
Reply to: job-qeuvg-2146342538@craigslist.org ^{[Errors when replying to ads?]}

****** Please read this posting in its entirety before responding to this job posting. ******
Looking for a person that meets the following criteria:
1. BE DRUG FREE
2. GOOD WORK ETHIC
3. VALID DRIVER'S LICENSE WITH YOUR OWN TRANSPORTATION TO AND FROM WORK
4. MUST HAVE A BACKGROUND IN CARPENTRY AND/OR MANUFACTURING
5. SPEAK FLUENT ENGLISH (SPANISH IS A PLUS)
The individual that gets hired for this position will be expected to perform the following:
* Be on time for work every day and work a full day
* Be ready to put in a full day's work
* Be able to take direction and work with minimal supervision
We normally work 5 days a week and 8 hours a day. However we may require you to extra hours that may include weekends. This is a very physical job so be ready and willing to work. Our company specializes in the cabinet industry. You will be trained to use the different types of machinery in the shop. Sometimes you will be running the machinery and sometimes you will be cleaning, packaging or delivering material. In other words, do not apply if you do not want to work. Also, if you can not get along with fellow co-workers and you are the type of person that likes to complain and/or be lazy then please do not apply for this position. Do not expect us to beg or try to entice you to work for us as we will not waste our time in doing so. We want to be impressed by your sincere attitude and work history.
So, if you are still reading this ad and you feel that you can become an asset to this company then please forward your resume via email for review with your contact information. It is EXTREMELY important to provide your resume. We will not bother to contact you or even consider you for this position if you do not provide a resume.

Location: Hialeah, FL
Principals only. Recruiters, please don't contact this job poster.
Please, no phone calls about this job!
Please do not contact job poster about other services, products or commercial interests.

Douglas State Forest

2011-01-12T20:13:00.001-05:00

The most fun part of my journey from Boston to Southeast Connecticut, where I play poker, is driving through the Douglas State Forest in Douglas, Massachusetts. From Massachusetts, once you drive through the forest, you’re in Connecticut, only there are no signs telling you so. I choose this unusual route because I can no longer drive on highways. On this day, I encountered a strange animal while driving through the forest…

Forest road, at one point it gets exceptionally narrow.

Notice there is green to the left and right – you are in the middle of a forest. Garmin GPS device, which I have since returned, was wrong about the street. It’s actually S.E. Main St.

I came upon some type of wild animal while I was coming back, perhaps a baby moose.

No, it wasn’t a moose, it looked dog-like, but it couldn’t be a dog – it way way too big to be a dog. Maybe it was a hybrid moose/dog. Perhaps it’s genetically possible to combine both moose and dog.

Whatever it was, it scared the crap out of me. It looked mangy, so I threw it some bologna that I had, but there was no way in hell I was getting out my car.

Then, the weirdest thing happened. Some young and very hot looking woman going the opposite way stopped her car and asked me if I was the dog’s owner. She got out of her car and inspected the dog, completely fearless of both the giant dog and a strange man (me) in the middle of a forest.

The dog had a collar yet no tags. It might’ve belonged to a hiker, yet it might also have been lost. The woman cell-phoned some animal shelters. I had tried to feed the dog some water out of my hand, but that didn’t work. The dog didn’t understand what I was trying to do. There was nothing more that I could do. I left. I didn’t take any photos of the hot young woman. That would not have been polite. You’ll just have to trust me on this.

Just another damn day above ground…

2011-01-07T13:02:00.001-05:00

Hi Kitty,

You don't have to be sorry. We never made firm plans. The English teaching job situation for Americans wanting to get full-time work (with work permits) in Hungary seems very gloomy, as it is in all of Central Europe. So, taking the course in Hungary probably won't afford me any real advantages beyond seeing Europe. I really did want to see Budapest; however, your language scares the living crap out of me -- and I do not have time to study even enough of it to get by, which would take months. This creates an additional disincentive not to go. I still haven't made up my mind; I will in about a month. Despite my anxieties, I might go because I know that if I don't see Europe now I never will, as I have no more money coming in. Maybe, if I go, I can get one of my classmates or students to drive me to Lake Balaton. (I'd of course pay for a rental.) I'm actually more interested in seeing the countryside than the city. I feel suffocated by cities and want to escape.

I have no idea what is going on with your stay in Italy. I am a little afraid to ask. I don't know if this is work-related, you have a mysterious Italian lover, or this part of your duties as a secret agent. Your mastery of English exceeds that of all Hungarians who teach English on OkayCupid. You are perhaps a spy, trained by some spy agency. I am of course kidding, but, well, you never know...

-Dickie

Some type of predatory bird

2011-01-02T15:18:00.001-05:00

Update on the loser, Michael Phillips

2010-12-25T17:38:00.001-05:00

I did a nine part series about a loser named Michael Phillips.

I have some recent information to report about this piece of human garbage.

He now owns Bukowski.net, where there’s an ad on his main page linking to a book on Amazon called Charles Bukowski's Scarlet, printed by a no-name publisher. Michael Phillips is the first to leave his comment on Amazon and, as one would expect of one who makes money off of the very product he is reviewing, gives it an excellent review. I would not be surprised if Phillips was involved in publishing this book. I have never read this book; I have no interest in assholes like Phillips who exploit Bukowski’s name for profit.

Other interesting facts that I’ve learned about Phillips are that not only does he sell his own book, alternative man, on Amazon, but he also writes a glowing review about it on Amazon. I feel bad for any poor bastards who might actually have bought this book. Phillips’ Bukowski derivative poetry really sucks giant elephant penis. I would show you some examples on the Internet, but Phillips seems to have removed these examples after I previously pointed them out.

E-mail to an old friend

2010-12-23T01:33:00.001-05:00

Hi Monique!

I'm still alive, and I still worry about you -- you were sort of like an adopted daughter to me.

Are you still in Boston, in law school?

I am not in Eastern Europe yet, but plan to go to Hungary in April for an EFL course. I still need to pass the interview. I am very good at botching EFL interviews, having botched two for the Boston course.

I have taken up being an alcoholic and buy beer not by the six pack or even case, but by the 30 can suitcase like a maniac. If they sold beer by the crate, I'd gladly buy it, as I need to drink in volume in order to stay sane so that I can study English grammar, which no one in their right mind would or should do.

How are you?

-Dickie

Not runnin’ on Dunkin’

2010-12-19T15:44:00.001-05:00

Dunkin' Donuts advertising that "America runs on Dunkin'" is an egregiously blatant lie! I ordered an extra large Dunkin' Donuts coffee in order to wake myself out of my zombie-like stupor so that I could get some work done. Drinking the coffee was like drinking a tall glass a water.

On the reservation (mostly)

2010-12-16T20:17:00.001-05:00

The Foxwoods casino in Mashantucket, Connecticut now lets me stay at their hotel for free, two nights a week. (The privileges of playing poker.)

View of the MGM Grand from my hotel room in the Hotel Grand Pequot Tower.

This is the only hotel I’ve ever stayed in that I haven’t hated. It was quite fancy, clean, quiet, and everything worked.

Two plump virgin toilet paper rolls – how often do you see that?

In case you need to make a phone call while indulging in all the toilet paper they give you.

That’s brass, baby!

View from hotel room.

Another view.

Ceramic coffee mugs!

Real glass cups! Was I in hotel heaven or what?

Isn’t it cool how they stack ‘em?

You can buy "The X-Files" on demand for $20.00. I love the "X-Files" ... but wait a minute, that's not Agent Mulder -- and if you look really closely, that's not Agent Scully -- and that's not really the "X-Files" - it's "The Sex Files." What a gyp....

It really makes me nervous that people have watched pornography in the same bed that I'm sleeping in....

Pequot Museum, near the casino; still on the reservation. I loved the crap out of this place!

I spent three hours here and ran out of time; I didn't get to see a lot of the museum. I really, really loved the crap out of this place.

View of casino from the museum tower.

Shadow of museum tower.

Another view from the museum tower.

View from museum tower.

This is one of the few places in the museum where they let me take photos.

Shot off the reservation, coming home; I'm pretty sure that this guy didn't vote for Obama.

The other Bridges

2010-12-15T18:14:00.001-05:00

I worry about Jeff Bridges' brother, Beau Bridges. Unlike Jeff who is a handsome, well-respected, and well-known actor, Beau has scary eyebrows and is only vaguely remembered as Jeff's brother in "The Faboulous Baker Boys." I worry about Beau; I worry about his mental stability. If I were Beau, I would need some hard-core pharmacological agents in order to stay straight.

How ‘bout speaking some English, Hil

2010-11-30T19:21:00.001-05:00

Today on Democracy Now, Secretary of State Clinton said the following:

"If anyone reading the stories about these alleged cables thinks carefully, what they will conclude is that the concern about Iran is well-founded…."

anyone is a singular pronoun; accordingly, only singular pronouns may be used with it. Clinton says, their, a plural pronoun. This is, how shall I say it -- fucking wrong! Below, I correct her fucked-up English:

"If anyone reading the stories about these alleged cables thinks carefully, what he or she will conclude is that the concern about Iran is well-founded…."

Noam Chomsky came on later and refuted Clinton’s claim, saying, basically, that King Fahd was a dictator and that his feelings about blowing up Iran are not representative of public option among ordinary people in the Saudi-Arabia and the Middle-East.

I think that before Secretary Clinton tells what people who “think carefully” should think, she should stop fucking embarrassing me by thinking more fucking carefully about her English.

Grammar and the ridiculous

2010-11-25T21:55:00.001-05:00

Which sentence is correct:

You are acting ridiculous.

You are acting ridiculously.

I thought that the first sentence, which uses ridiculous, is correct. In this instance, acting ridiculous appears to be a phrase, perhaps a gerund phrase, which acts as a complement to the linking verb be. Accordingly, you would use the adjective ridiculous and not the adverb ridiculously.

I called numerous grammar hotlines. All except for one said that the second sentence, which uses the adverb ridiculously, is correct. These people are convinced that act is the main verb and can’t even entertain the possibility that be is the main verb. They all seemed lacking in grammatical terminology. One woman finally agreed with me, but I think that she only did so because she felt bullied by me and didn’t want to deal with me anymore.

The one grammar hotline, which seemed to have some clue about English, offered me this advice, which seemed the most viable: Both sentences are correct. The first describes the person, and the second describes the behavior of the person.

I am still not completely sure what the answer is, though I am pretty sure that there are few, if any, grammarians alive.

Stuff that you do when you have too much time on your hands….

2010-11-25T13:11:00.001-05:00

Scary-as-fuck, abandoned mental hospital in Preston, CT

2010-11-19T18:51:00.001-05:00

This place scared the hell out of me; I was so glad to get my ass back into the car and get the hell out of there. The place seemed familiar to me because I’m pretty sure they shot a low-budget horror movie there. You can find this God-forsaken place on Route 12 in Preston, CT.

Animals that I saw while in Connecticut

2010-11-17T00:11:00.001-05:00

I saw some dwarf camels…

…and a giant chicken…

Conjugate the verb, motherfucker

2010-10-05T15:32:00.001-04:00

I heard Donald Trump blabbing away today on Morning Joe. During Trump’s tirade of inane reeking bullshit, he conjugated the verb sing wrong. He used the past participle form sung without preceding it with the auxiliary verb be or have. And this shithead, who went to Penn, has considered running for president. Why don’t rich, right-wing fuckwads learn to speak fucking English before they buy their own elections?

The wake-up caller

2010-10-03T23:47:00.001-04:00

It was a few weeks ago. The existential horror of my existence keeps me up until daylight, so the call I received at about 11 a.m. was like a call at 5:00 a.m. for a normal person. The call was coming from my cell phone, which I had forgotten to turn off.

The caller was a woman with a funny accent; I thought the call was probably emanating from somewhere in the Indian subcontinent, and that she was someone from my credit card company trying to verify a suspicious charge. It could also be some scumbag asshole headhunter asking me if I was interested in a job in which I was completely inappropriate for because they didn’t bother to read my resume.

The woman kept asking me to verify who I was. She had mixed up my last and first name. (Many people do, because if you axe the finally consonant off of my last name, it could be a first name.) “Who is this?” I kept saying. I couldn’t hear her because I was so tired and disoriented from being woken up at what, for you, would be 5 a.m.

“It’s Nancy,” she said.

It was the last person on earth I thought would call me. My Romanian Internet girlfriend from Dubai who was interested in breeding with me but decided against it because “I was not safe.” (What this meant was, I didn’t have enough money to support her brood.)

It had been two years since I had last spoken to her. I was pissed at her for not even getting my fucking name right. I thought about saying, “Oh, I remember you, you’re that Romanian woman from Dubai, right?” But then I thought against it because it would have sounded stupid. And then I thought about saying, “Oh, hi, how’re you doing?” But I had too much venom in my heart to say this with much enthusiasm, so opted not to say this as well. All that thought took up a lot of time. Finally she said, “I didn’t wake you up did you?” I had to take a piss really badly and was in no mood to embarrass myself by having to come up with an explanation for why I was asleep at 11:00 a.m. I was obviously fucking unemployed – and she obviously had no use for scum like me, as do all women, unless they are obese. She wanted something. She was not calling me because she missed me. I know this because she had made it very clear to me that she would not even waste her time to be friends with me if I didn’t serve her practical needs of fathering and supporting children and fulfilling her lofty dream of owning a home on Long Island.

“Can I call you back? -- Can I call you back?” I said with some desperation. All I wanted to do at that point was take a fucking piss; I did not want to deal with this shit. There was a long pause on her part. She told me she’d call me back in a half an hour.

I waited for a week for her to call me back. Part of me did want her to call me back, part of me didn’t. What was so odd about her call was that she had called me on my cell phone. Nobody knows this number. Nobody should know this number but my inner circle. I had thrown away her number, but I considered contacting her through Skype or facebook, as I still remembered her last name; although it was Romanian, it was a beautiful name and I will probably always remember it. How did she even get that number? The curiosity was killing me. (Actually, not even the credit card companies have this number – at least they should not.)

I first did a google search on her, found she was married last year and probably working in the hotel industry in Washington D.C., which is what she did before went to Dubai. Last year I had looked at her facebook profile pic, and it was her in a jewelry store with a guy. She looked happy as shit as she looked down at a necklace which was presumably bought for her. At the time, I asked Heather (a former friend of mine) whether this guy in the pic with Nancy was more handsome than I was, for I was struck by how a woman who was as beautiful and intelligent and worldly as Nancy would go for a man who was so dull looking. I always assumed that Nancy would hook up with someone James-Bondy. Heather said that I was more handsome. “Don’t you think he looks kinda ugly?” I asked. “No,” she said. “He looks fine. He looks like my brother.” (I had sort of stuck my foot in my mouth.) Heather, on the other hand, reacted with amusement at the sight of Nancy, for I had written volumes in my blog about how beautiful she was. Heather said she looked terrible – and she was right – she looked bloated and like shit. Heather claimed that she might have been pregnant, that women tend to look sickly when they are pregnant.

After learning about Nancy’s marriage to a superior man, it made me shudder. She had perhaps created offspring with this man, divorced him, and wanted me to care for her brood. Maybe this guy had all the money in the universe but shot blanks. Maybe she was after my sperm as well as the prospect of my money. Maybe she needed citizenship help. Whatever it was, it gave me the heebie-jeebies and I lost all interest in contacting her. I probably would have not contacted her anyway, even if I hadn’t learned this information. How she got my cell number will remain one of the eternal mysteries of the universe. (The credit card companies shouldn’t have this number either; I was just too disoriented to realize that when I got the call.)

What I’m not sure about is why she called me at 11:00 a.m. It could be because I had been forgetting to turn my cell phone on; it could also have been because she wanted to test my employment status or that she was unemployed. I hope she is unemployed. I hope she feels unemployment’s oppressive weight, its humiliation and unjustness. I hope that she never bares children. I know that her powerful thirst for children is at least as great as my own. I hope that she hasn’t and never will bare children. I hope that she feels my pain for the rest of her days. Fuck Nancy; the bloodsucker. Fuck her. I mean, really, really fuck her.

“My Son, My Son, What Have Ye Done”

2010-09-26T11:04:00.001-04:00

I saw “My Son, My Son, What Have Ye Done,” directed by Werner Herzog on DVD as soon as it hit the streets. I'm sorry to say that it sucked.

I don’t think living in L.A. or working with Hollywood actors has, for the most part, been a good influence on Herzog. While Herzog’s “Rescue Dawn” (2006) was awesome, I miss the heady days of the Herzog experience, which featured Bruno S., Klaus Kinski, the beautiful Eva Mattes, and daring shoots in the middle of the Amazon jungle.

Aren’t I lucky to live off the dole?

2010-09-18T22:09:00.001-04:00

I think the letter, below, that I received from my public housing office pretty much speaks for itself; however, I would like to add that this letter was slipped under my door at around 4:00 p.m. on September 16, giving me only a few hours before they (maybe) barged into my apartment the next day (on a Saturday) at 8:00 a.m. on September 17 in order to ensure that I haven’t made myself rich by pawning their twenty year old oven and refrigerator. Also, September 17 happens to be Yom Kippur, the holiest day on the Jewish calendar.

I posted a note asking them not to disturb me on Yom Kippur. The note has mysteriously vanished. Maybe they fear a Jewish uprising.

The Man Purse

2010-08-26T19:19:00.001-04:00

Occasionally I see men walking around with a man purse, and every time I see them, I say to myself, “You go, girl!” I want a man purse. There is simply too much crap a man has to carry around with him in his pockets in the modern world. I need a man purse! Yet I cannot have a man purse because I fear being ridiculed, harassed, and beaten up.

I am simply not man enough for the man purse.

I applaud the brave pioneers of man pursery, paving the way for cowards like me to some day carry a man purse.

Harvey Pekar, Dead

2010-07-13T13:19:00.001-04:00

Perhaps my last hero, Harvey Pekar is dead. Amy Goodman announced the news on Democracy Now. She mispronounced his name, calling him “Pecker." Goddamn her!

The well traveled woman

2010-05-15T20:39:00.001-04:00

I have criticized women in the personals for years for trying to pass themselves off as well-traveled and sophisticated because they have been to Paris or London or some big Western European capital. Big whoop. But finally I have found a real, truly international woman who has even been to Bali. Anyone who is cool knows that Bali is a must see. She is the real deal. But then I keep reading and I see this shit: "It's very hard for people to be happy, but if you can achieve that in your life, you have succeeded." This is such bourgeois crap. Happiness has nothing to do with success in life. This woman is deluded, perhaps even shallow.

The Cosmopolitan Hotel-Tribeca -- The Worst Hotel in The World

2010-05-01T12:53:00.018-04:00

The Cosmopolitan Hotel
95 West Broadway
New York, NY 10007

http://www.cosmohotel.com

I stayed at The Cosmo for one night because I had an interview in the vicinity the next day. The total cost, with tax was $204.33 USD.

I could sense something was not right the moment I stepped foot in the hotel room. This is how the toilet paper was when I got there. It had of course been used by someone, and I felt little as if I were in a bus depot.

The room was a little musky and cramped, but it's Manhattan so I shouldn't complain:

When I attempted to take a shower at night, the shower tub got clogged up:

They sent someone up to look at it. He came back with a plunger and plunged and plunged and plunged. It was getting late, very late. I needed to be at an interview in the morning.

I happen to have experience with clogged bathtubs, and I knew that no amount of plunging on earth was going to unclog it. It needed to be snaked. But they kept plunging.

Finally, after 2:30 a.m., after a lot of bitching and moaning, they granted me another room, right next door. This room had a toilet with a broken fill sensor, so every half minute or so I'd hear annoying water sounds, which was very unsedating. I regret now even giving the maintenance guy a dollar tip for carrying my bag (which I could have carried myself) into the new, shit room.

I had asked for a wake up call before all the shit came down. Of course I never got it, because the fuckers probably never made a note that my room was switched.

In the morning I opted not to complain to the manager because I had an interview and I didn't want to upset myself. They didn't knock a dime off my bill.

The worst hotel in the universe. Stay at your own risk:

From Family Guy to Sex Guy

2010-05-01T00:26:00.002-04:00

I have been on OkayCupid for a long time. Too long. In the past, when I had some money (though never nearly enough), I tried to look for a women that I could potentially start a family with. But the recession dried up the already shriveled money teat. I refused to let the dream die, and I plotted and planned to go overseas to find employment -- even devoted several hundred hours to the study of Russian. Recently, I botched an important interview, which derailed my immediate plans of going overseas and put the whole mission plan into question.

There was no use in saying that I wanted a nuclear family in my profile if there was no money to fuel this with, so I went "Sex Guy," and selected Casual Encounters, and deselected Long-term and Short-term dating. Though I like sex a lot, I am not a "Sex Guy." I was just tired of being probed about my assets. It's oppressive. At least a fuck buddy would want me for me, and I wouldn't have to waste my time and energy on women who want more than I can give.

I was horrified to learn recently that I had not fully transitioned my profile from Family Guy to Sex Guy. There was still a remnant of the old Family Guy stuff:

"My dream is to find a (non-crime) partner who loves children and desires, as I do, to create a loving family."

God knows how long it was there. It probably seemed very confusing to people.

So now I am fully and completely a Sex Guy. I never dreamed that I would be reduced to being a Sex Guy. I'm sure it could get worse. It probably will...

Our Presidents...

2010-04-22T19:05:00.001-04:00

Our Presidents, after smoking some seriously good shit.

Charles River, after the great rain of 2010

2010-04-11T13:11:00.001-04:00

The genital suckers who insure my car

2010-04-09T13:37:00.002-04:00

Arbella

Claims Department Head

P.O.Box 699195

Quincy, MA 02269-9225

Dear Sir or Madam,

On 26 March 2010, a Kia SUV, driven by Elizabeth Kim collided into the side of my car while I was parked. I contacted my insurance agency, [undisclosed]. Shortly afterward, a woman called me from Arbella to tell me that an adjuster will be contacting me in order to set up an appointment to have my car evaluated.

On 3 April 2010, someone who called himself Phil, who said he was with Arbella, left a voice mail for me saying that he was an appraiser and was interested in setting up an appointment with me in order to have my car appraised.

I called him the next day around 11:00 a.m. in order to make an appointment with him. He told me that he had already come by that day, and that he had already appraised my car. Phil asserted that there was no damage done to my car and objected to my assertion that the car had been damaged.

I am puzzled by why, if I was home, he did not ring my bell. Phil told me that he had taken numerous photos. Since there was a row of hedges not one foot away from my car, and a severe rainstorm going on at the time, I am puzzled by how Phil was able to take proper photos and be able to do a proper assessment of the damages.

The next day, when it was dry, I drove my car out of my space and took numerous photos of the damage done to my car by Ms. Kim. I have overwhelming evidence of scratches going along the entire length of the side of my car that was hit by Ms. Kim's Kia. Even after all that rain, I could still see the paint from Ms. Kim's Kia. I not only have numerous scratches, but a dent. I also photographed how my car was parked at the time in which Phil asserted that he took these photos, demonstrating that it was not remotely possible to do any type of proper assessment, had he in fact been there. I also have someone who witnessed my parking of my car, who can verify that my car was parked in the position that I stated it was.

I called Karen Cormier the next day and left a voice mail informing her of what had happened with Phil. I also asked her to contact me. She did not do so. No one from Arbella has contacted me since Phil asserted that he had done the assessment.

I demand that my car be assessed properly, by a professional assessor, and that he or she makes an appointment with me in order to go over the damages.

Just let it die

2010-04-03T15:37:00.004-04:00

I have never seen so much rain. I've never experienced a warmer March. Is it global climate change? Perhaps. Now Obama wants to drill as well as kill. And there's nothing that anyone can do about it because there is no less backward alternative to Obama in sight. And even if there was, the planet may already be fucked.

Maybe instead of going down with this sinking ship bitching and moaning we should embrace the good aspects of humanity and the great progressive we've made throughout our history, not only technologically, but socially. While it has been slow, we have made progressive and collectively improved ourselves.

I once heard Bukowski talking in an interview about all these people who want to save the human race. He said, why should we save it, just let it die. He was essentially saying that the human race was not worth saving. I think that we are just as deserving of being saved as any other animal, but that perhaps we should not get so fucking bent out of shape if we can't be saved, and not waste energy saving something which is probably not in our nature to be saved. You may say that I am a defeatist, but take a good look at our current situation and offer me a realistic and viable solution.

Our intensive use of resources which has allowed us to dominate as a species is what will probably fuck us. I expect that humans, because of their intelligence, will continue to exist, despite radical climactic shifts, however it will be in a dark age that we will exist is. Future generations will probably look back at us in anger, and accuse of annihilating the world. They will overlook the fact that they are the same animal as we, that it is in our nature to exploit the fuck out of everything, and without this nature, we wouldn't have survived as a species.

Speak English, fucker

2010-04-01T18:36:00.010-04:00

I was listening to Jay Severin while driving in my car. I hate this right-wing fucker. He makes a living off of bashing Mexicans. When he starts to feel cornered in an argument with one of his callers, he calls them a homo and ends the conversation.

As usual, today he bragged about how many women he sexed it up with during his college days at Vassar. This ugly fucker might have gotten a lot of sex in college, but I can assure you that when this sex was done with people that it was quite imaginary. Women just don't dig ugly. Trust me on this.

JaySev was also talking some shit today that I've never heard of. He claimed to have been arrested thirty times protesting for civil rights. He claimed to be a close associate of Abbie Hoffman and, if I remember correctly, Jerry Rubin. I'm surprised he didn't say he was a member of the Chicago seven.

JaySev made this statement about his close Yippie associates:

"I had ran with those guys..."

That made me pause for a second. It sure didn't sound like correct English.

When I stopped I pulled out my verb conjugator iPod app that I had bought for $2.99. I was able to verify that this fucker cannot speak proper fucking English. You can not say "had ran." You can say "had run" if you want to form the past perfect tense. In this case, JaySev was trying to express the simple past tense, so he should not have stuck an auxiliary verb in front of "ran." He should have said "I ran with those guys." I'm sure that if JaySev saw me criticizing him like this he would immediately call me a homo. Everything contrary to JaySev is homo.

What bothers me is that this fucker acts as the English Police, having shitfits when people speak Spanish. If you're going to appoint yourself as the English Police and make money off of bashing Spanish speakers, you better speak fucking English yourself. Otherwise you just look like right-wing, jaw-flapping asshole.

Facebook, cannot do it anymore

2010-03-31T16:12:00.005-04:00

This was a FastCupid blog post.

The defrienders don't bother me that much, it is the frustration and agony of trying to figure out who the hell it was who did the defriending.

There are many things that I hate about FB. Some of you here are my FB friend, some of you are too good to be my FB friend -- and trust me, you're not nearly as good as you think you are. Some of you I defriended a while ago during a drunken night of madness. I regret this act and every single person that I defriended.

I think that I cannot handle FB anymore. There are two things that really disturbed me about FB recently. One was the woman I was in contact with who I met on OKC. She lived in a rural backwater in the Midwest. She was a quite severely good looking woman, though probably too old to reproduce, and I make it very clear to women that I am looking for someone who can reproduce. I don't however use this language. I thought she was cool. I had mentioned, without even thinking too much about it, that I visit her in Green Bay for a vacation. I would have stayed in a hotel. I was amazed that she offered to have me stay at her house.

I had bashed Obama numerous times on FB. The reason is that Obama pisses me off because I believe he is a war-mongering, business-friendly suckup. I am a Socialist, so what do people expect? In any case, this hot, Midwestern woman says this horrible, defamatory thing right on my FB page about Obama's race. And I'm like, what WTF? It horrified me that I could possibly have been sexing it up with a redneck. And this woman was very beautiful. I could have really, really, sexed it up with a redneck. It makes me shudder just thinking about it. I defriended her and ceased all contact with her. She continues this day to try to refriend me. She does not quit. I probably should have explained to her why I defriended her.

The other disturbing FB situation is another woman whom I have also never met before, yet we established a fairly close bond for penpals. We had also spoken on the phone a few times. I thought she was my friend. I thought she was cool and she understand what a fucking nutjob I could be. Yes, it is true. I did once ask her to leave her boyfriend for me. Though hours later, upon seeing its complete insanity, I told her that I had gone mad and to treat my prior message as a momentarily lapse of sanity. I sometimes go mad, but I am in touch with my madness, and am capable of seeing reality. Not too long afterward, she ceased communicating with me. I don't quite think she understand that I was not as obsessed over her as she thought I was. I don't get too bent out of shape anymore about any woman. I just don't care. I'm not trying to sound cool. I have realized that women don't give me happiness. They give me pain because I do not meet their economic requirements. And I don't really need their sex too badly anymore. If I am to be truly honest with myself, the feeling I feel when women reject me is relief. While I am ultimately responsible for scaring off this FB friend, I actually thought she understand me better, and I am actually no longer interested in being her FB friend and looking at her statuses, yet I cannot defriend her.

Getting back on topic, I'm so fucking tired of Facebook. I am not going to delete the account, because I would appear as defriending all my friends. I think I will just stop posting. I'm not really sure how to get out of it.

If you're an ass-kicker, at least write like one

2010-02-25T17:25:00.004-05:00

I'm tired today and feeling a little nihilist. I came across an OkCupid woman with a profile that was quite unreal. This sample from her profile is really just the tip of the iceberg:

Remember, I am a successful woman who needs a guy to match me in my ability to acheive goals. If you are not this guy, please, don't waste my time.

I would not dream of contacting a woman like this, but I have an overwhelming desire to help alpha-doggers with their spelling and grammar as they embarrass me, not that I am any type of expert in these matters.

First of all, we need to remember that old spelling rule we learned in the first grade: i before e except after c. Accordingly, "acheive" should be spelled "achieve."

Is her first sentence grammatically correct? Probably, but it sure done sound funny, eh? A truly successful woman like her would want to be more concise in her wording and instead say something like this:

Remember, I am a successful woman who needs a guy to match my ability to achieve goals.

But even this sounds a little cave-womany.

How about:

I am a successful woman. I desire a goal-oriented man who matches my level of achievement.

Or perhaps you could just try the cut-the-crap approach:

I kick ass! I bite the heads off fuckin' bats and eat them. You should too. Fuck the rest of ya!

Suicide Mission

2010-02-13T16:28:00.003-05:00

Dear L,

I am in Florida now visiting my parents. I didn't get access Wifi until today.

I think I learned too much about the intimate details of your life. I am specially referring to men. I know that I have also revealed personal details to you along these lines, and I am a hypocrite, but I am jealous of any man who you like.

I am not speaking to too many people these days anyway. It's hard to be chatty these days. I feel like I am on a mission to create offspring that is so risky that is practically a suicide mission. I could piss away all my valuable time and meager savings on an ESL certificate (which I may not even qualify for or complete) so that I could go to the backwaters of Eastern Europe or Siberia to get fucked (not the sexual kind). Or I could stick around and keep doing what I'm doing which will invariably lead to my being fucked, or as I like to call this scenario -- the slow death.

I actually looked into janitorial jobs today. Goodwill is paying $28,000. This is what an entry level computer programming job paid me ten years ago, where I worked 100 hours a week, so the Goodwill job scrubbing toilets is really the better deal as there is less investment in time and stress. People treat you like shit at these jobs because they assume they are superior to you because of their higher social status, but in my last 28K computer programming job my boss was a fucking tyrant and literally screamed at me. The Goodwill job is probably more secure that any programming job. Maybe this is the better deal than teaching ESL in Siberia. Maybe my chances of meeting a woman for the purposes of reproduction would be about the same. But my instinct tells me that I will probably get fucked as a janitor. I can just imagine the faces my OkayCupid dates make when I tell them that I mop floors for a living. While there are some exceptions most of these people are incredibly shallow despite how enlightened they attempt to portray themselves,

I'm running out of MOJO, L. I am fortunate to look younger than my age, but very soon time is going to catch up with me and I am not going to be able to attract reproductively viable women. Personally I don't give a shit about getting old. I just don't like the idea of being old and being faced with the existential horror of life without meaning.

It just feels like I am desperately running out of time and everything is closing in on me.

You could always call me. But please wait until I get back from Florida on the 27th so that I could have a little more privacy.

Here is my google voice number, if you don't already have it:

A FastCupid blog post I never posted

2010-02-02T02:00:00.002-05:00

I wrote this for the FastCupid blog but never posted it:

There is a whole little universe within a universe operating here. It revolves whether I'm here or not.

I could tell you how I'm doing, but people who know me know that I'm probably going to tell you that I'm miserable, lonely, and completely obsessed with a need to create my own family. What many of you don't know is that I have become Captain Ahab and am fully prepared to sacrifice everything in pursuit of my dream.

I pass up perfectly good 44 year olds who write me, and instead chase the elusive 34 year olds that will go out with me. It has nothing to do with getting a better fuck. I really don't care about sex. As horny as I am, my need for sex is the least of my problems. A younger me would never conceive that I would say something like this.

One of the provocateurs on this site stated that I could not get laid. I did not reply to him, but this is really not true. I haven't had sex since 2001, but I've had opportunities to get sex from women my own age within the last few years. I turn down these opportunities because when they present themselves I worry about all the time my having sex with women will take up. That is time that could be better spent plotting to put myself into a position where I can increase my odds of finding someone I can start a family with. In addition, it raises moral issues, which I'm not going to get into.

I have only so much MOJO left in the tank. And right now I'm running on fumes. All I have to do is get just a little bit older, and I will not be able to attract reproductively viable women, anywhere. As the impending doom of age encroaches it takes me further down the road of panic, desperation, and perhaps madness.

The stuff I do when going mad at 4:30 a.m.

2009-11-23T22:59:00.001-05:00

I used to read novels, historical books, but now I just read personal ads of people from all over the world. I often do this at night. I am often slightly mad at this time.

I came across a woman from Bulgaria who expressed a very strong desire to live in the USA. I wrote the following to her. She didn’t write back. I didn’t expect her to. By the way, she smoked:

I'm not sure why you want to go to the USA so badly. There's no work here unless you work for the medical industry. And if you smoke in my country you're treated like a leper. Cigarettes in the USA are probably pushing $10.00 USD a pack. You need to be rich to smoke.

I look forward to getting out of the USA. I look forward to working some day. I recommend you go to Western Europe, maybe France or the UK. They have better social programs there. These are more civilized societies.

The good stuff

2009-11-05T01:00:00.002-05:00

I don't need to make love to women anymore because the pure deliciousness of Sierra Nevada Pale Ale is just as good. The only problem is that my DNA and this beer's DNA cannot combine for the purposes of reproduction. I will need to work on this...

Stay away from this Craigsist guy

2009-10-30T14:53:00.002-04:00

I made an appointment and had a verbal agreement with the craiglist handyman in the ad below, an entire week in advance for him to repair my screen window. He did not show. He did not warn me that he was unable to make it. When I called him to find out why he didn’t show up for the appointment, he said “It slipped my mind.” He goes by the name “John” or “JP”.

Handy Man Service (Greater Boston)

Date: 2009-10-24, 6:03PM EDT
Reply to: purcifull121@hotmail.com ^{[Errors when replying to ads?]}

(PLEASE PROVIDE YOUR TELEPHONE NUMBER WITH ANY INQUIRIES SO I CAN CONTACT YOU)

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Getting in touch with the dead

2009-10-22T13:44:00.001-04:00

I really need to learn a better way of concealing my laughter when my dates talk about their belief in making contact with the dead.

Maybe I can insert a thumbtack in my footwear, and when the urge comes on to laugh or even smile, I can very quickly give myself some searing pain in order to counter the comedy.

Johnnycakes, they kick ass

2009-10-20T00:23:00.001-04:00

True students of "The Sopranos" will have the word Johnnycakes indelibly etched into their memories. I needed to fully experience the Sopranos experience, so finally got around to making Johnnycakes. Johnnycakes are pancakes that are made partially with corn meal.
I didn't have milk as the recipe called for. I substituted a cup of heavy cream for the milk. (You might also describe what I made as Artery Blocker Cakes.)

The Johnnycakes were incredibly awesome. I'll never eat another regular pancake again. They're too doughy. The addition of cornmeal removes the chewiness from pancakes and gives them a nice granular texture. You barely need any maple syrup because there's no need to compensate for the blandness of regular pancakes. Here's what Johnnycakes look like. Not too bad for a first try.

Got the recipe here:

http://southernfood.about.com/od/cornbread/r/bl01002g.htm

Grilled at 375 degrees.

I added one tea spoon of baking soda, not called for in the recipe.

Review: River Ale — Pretty Gamey

2009-10-03T12:42:00.000-04:00

Actual price in store: $4.34 (1 PT 6FL. OZ)
Actual worth: $2.00

Some people like wild salmon. For me it is funky tasting. Uncivilized. Drinking River Ale is sort of like eating a gamey, wild salmon. While there are worse things, the experience is slightly revolting.

There is this weird, oily texture to this ale. It’s very viscous. Sort of like a very heavy cough syrup. If you look at the ale, the contents don’t look uniform. It looks as if someone took a ladle and scraped it against the bottom of the fermentation tank and bottled it.

But this is okay. Really. Forget about how it looks. It’s taste that matters and River Ale is, how can I put this gently — an ale for people who are in touch with their feminine sides. River Ale is sweet. Way too sweet for what I would consider appropriate for an ale, yet not sweet enough for you to appreciate the aesthetic of sweetness. I think that had this ale been sweeter it might possibly have been interesting.

Some people love wild salmon and prefer it to farm-raised. Some people like their alcohol with plenty of sugar in it so it tastes like liquid candy. That’s okay. It’s just not my thing. I think River Ale has a serious identity crisis. I think the makers of River Ale are out of their minds to charge as much for their ale as they do.

The low rent district

2009-09-23T03:05:00.001-04:00

Recently moved into the low rent district of OKC Casual Encounters

A bombed out slag heap

Not even running water

Refuges of barren emotional lives scavenging for a morsel of something soft or hard

Our rent is so low

Probably subsidized by the government

Or God knows

But it's an honest living

We know that we will probably bore you

And that you will probably bore us

To death

It’s not that we don’t care about you as a person

It’s just that we don’t care

We have gonads for the grinding

It's strictly business.

End of a dark and savage age

2009-09-22T14:55:00.001-04:00

Cave men & women around a Facebook campfire.

Master's & phD's our clubs.

Pointed words our spears.

Social cohesion forged through smilies and LOL's.

A new world is on the horizon.

We are crawling out of our virtual caves and learning to live off the land through FarmVille.

A man’s guide to post first-date rejection

2009-09-15T01:20:00.002-04:00

While some so-called experts might say that you need to take risks in dating, I believe that most post first-date rejection risks can be avoided and are actually detrimental to your psychological health. If you feel there is a chance you will be rejected, don't try because you probably will be rejected.

1.) Don't trust what you hear on dates. Trust what you see and feel. While this is counter-initiative, a woman expressing interest in seeing you again, no matter how sincere sounding, is more likely a sign of rejection than acceptance.

2.) The key indicator of acceptance or rejection is parting physical contact. If the woman extends her arm to shake your hand, I don't care how much interest she expresses in seeing you again, she has little or no desire in seeing you again. If you get a tight hug -- especially a prolonged tight hug, you have been accepted and can safely ask the woman for a second date (but do it the next day.) Anything stronger than a hug like a kiss is also a sure sign that you've been accepted.

3.) Pay close attention to body language. If you receive the slightest scowl at any point, uncomfortable look, or closed stance such as arms crossed, you better get a tight hug before asking the woman out again. Also, keep a close look out for distractibility. When women time slice a good share of attention to small children or want to know the score of the ballgame playing, it is often a sign that they really don't want to be on the date.

4.) Traumatic Exit: If a woman starts to complain about symptoms of discomfort from any type of illness, very, very politely give her the option to leave. Offer to walk her to her car. Don't embarrass yourself by not taking a hint. Play it cool. Walk her to her car. Be nice. But don't let on that you're interested in her.

5.) Formal Exit: When women want you to walk out with them, this is most likely a rejection. Like the traumatic exit, play it cool. Often the Formal Exit is preceded by a lot of very choreographed sounding bullshit about how much she enjoyed seeing you and how great it would be to meet again. When I woman does like you, she generally doesn't want to leave. She wants to keep talking for dear life.

6.) Rude Dates: These are very rare dates where the woman is either being rude and/or insulting to your intelligence. For example, if you haven't been eating very long and the woman (who has been complaining or rude throughout the date) says something to you such as "It's crowded. The waiter is eying us. I think he wants us to leave." Say to the woman that she is free to leave if she wants but you're going to finish your meal. She'll probably exit on the spot. As she exits, smile and say and very earnestly say, "It's been great meeting you." But don't get up. Keep eating. Don't look angry. Don't look upset. You're just a guy who's trying to eat his meal who doesn't give two craps about the woman.

7.) No matter how good a date seems to be going, never express interest in seeing the woman again on the same date. It just looks bad. Express your interest the very next day. And don't wait more than the very next day so to look cool. Don't screw around.

8.) When a woman decides to terminate a date after only a short time, extend your arm out as you get up to shake her hand, give her a friendly smile and tell her it was nice to meet her. Make sure to get that hand out fast, you want to preempt her handshake. She might even feel guilty at this point at give you a hug and instead of a handshake. Be very careful not to give her a tight hug. Give only as much hug pressure as she exerts on you. Try to release from the hug before her. Sit right back down. Don't offer to walk out with her, even if she requests it.

9.) Look for any signs that the woman is trying to indirectly tell you that she would like to exit. BUT BE COOL. Very politely tell her that if she would like to go she could. The reason why I cannot express enough that you should be cool and polite about this is because she might actually want to stay. There is so much indirection used in dating that is like navigating through a minefield of bullshit.

10.) If you do get rejected, never ever ask why or ask to be friends or any bullshit like this. Be a man. Don't embarrass yourself.

11.) Not all of these rules are universal. Once in a great while they will fail you. You're the ultimate authority on your date, not me. The key is to trust your instincts, be cool, and if you get rejected, take it like a man. If a woman doesn't want you, no matter how much you want to deny this, you'll never have her, so again, take it like a man and find a better woman.

Review: Budweiser American Ale

2009-08-09T22:12:00.006-04:00

Don't be fooled by the name "Budweiser American Ale." There's nothing remotely American about this product. Budweiser is now owned by a mega euro-beer conglomerate. Budweiser American Ale was probably invented by Nazi scientists. It was probably one of Hitler's secret weapons.

Budweiser American Ale is a fucking great ale. It has high-end, hard-to-find microbrew quality taste, with a very modest price. I don't remember the six pack price. I believe it was under $7.00 USD. I paid $25.00 USD for a case. This is extremely reasonable considering the quality of this ale.

What struck me after my first sip is the very impressive lack of aftertaste. It has just the right amount of fizz for me, which is a lot, but not so much that it burns my tongue. Its flavor is not overpowering, yet not too weak. If you're in the mood for an easy drinking yet flavorful ale, Budweiser American Ale is perfect. I don't know exactly how much alcohol is in this ale, but judging by my subjective level of sobriety after drinking it, it has a very low alcohol content. Contrary to popular belief, high alcohol content does not enhance flavor for beer related beverages. If anything it takes away from flavor. This ale also has low acid.

Budweiser American Ale goes down almost as easily as ginger ale. Accordingly, you have to be careful. You could drink a lot of these ales without even realizing it.

As you may know, I am against capitalism. I am a socialist. But I'm fairly convinced that socialism, as we know it, could never offer an ale of this quality at such a reasonable price. People are being horribly exploited somewhere to make this ale possible.

Kim Basinger flirted with me at Fast Cupid

2009-08-07T14:59:00.002-04:00

Wow, I must be really handsome! Kim Basinger flirted with me at Fast Cupid. And although she lists her age as 40, she looks so young! She looks the same as the way she used to look 20 years ago!

And, she's living in Boston too! Wow. A real life Bond Babe interested in me. I hope Kimmie won't think me odd if I suggest we go Canadian Goose watching...

The desperate failed mission.

2009-08-07T10:11:00.001-04:00

I saw Wolf Blitzer yesterday talking about George Sodini, the psycho who shot up a bunch of women in a shooting spree at a gym.

Blitzer described Sodini as a “man on a desperate failed mission to meet women.” I thought this was funny because Blitzer could have been describing me.

I’ve read part of what Sodini wrote. This is an unscientific statement, but there appears to be a correlation between racism and psycho killing.

Personal ad of the week

2009-08-02T16:49:00.001-04:00

I wish I can assure this 48 year old woman (below) that no man is looking at her as a “vessel for his seedling.” She does not even require birth control anymore to prevent pregnancy. This woman doesn’t lean far enough left for my tastes as she’s a fucking financially-stable-guy seeking bloodsucker. Yeah, I’m angry, what are you gonna do about it? I blocked commenting. You can’t touch me anymore.

YOU SHOULD MESSAGE ME IF

You're absolutely unmarried (as in never married or completely, fully, totally divorced). You're a left-leaning, dog-loving, non-smoking, socially aware, financially stable guy who is an excellent communicator and not looking for casual sex or a vessel for his seedling.

The last and final Cheryl entry

2009-08-01T23:45:00.001-04:00

Cheryl responded to the message I sent her, published in this blog. Here’s what she wrote:

Hi Dickie,

All of the photos are the real me--or not. I'm multi-faceted. Perhaps also uncapturable--even when caged.

Where did you get the impression that I hate goat's milk? I grew up on the stuff (sort of). Maybe you are mixing recollections of another gal.

I did think it odd that the one and only bird you were interested in observing was the Canada goose. I wouldn't call that botching per se, but I did come away overall with a bit of the feeling that our "energies" were not a good match. It's true my energies have been fluctuating a bit over the past several months, but while I do believe you are a decent and clever man, I haven't hit a point where I've thought we should repursue meeting. If by chance I came across you in the world, tho, I would approach and greet and chat. I wish you well.

Cheers,
Cheryl

Okay, first of all, let’s clear up a few facts. My memory borders on idiot savant. People who know me know that I remember EVERYTHING. I suspect it is a byproduct of whatever causes my learning disability.

Cheryl and I got on the subject of goat’s milk because I asked her about the farm she was raised on. I asked her specifically what farm animals there were. There were only chickens and goats. They milked the goats. I asked Cheryl specifically what it tasted like. She squirmed. She said it tastes like the stuff goats eat. I was not confusing her with another girl. She made it very clear to me that she didn’t like goat’s milk.

Now, regarding the bird watch I had suggested for our second date, it was technically an “aquatic” bird watch, though it was very clear that Canadian Geese would be looked for. I take exception to her statement that it was odd that I was looking for Canadian Geese. There’s nothing odd about this. This is a fascinating animal and they are in abundant supply. Canadian Geese seem to share many more similarities with us than most mammals. They don’t make nests. They have nuclear families. They are good parents. They congregate in large social groups where there is both a lot of conflict as well as a surprising amount of tolerance. There’s something very primordial and beautiful about these animals. I go to see these guys with my friend Renaissance Woman all the time. I don’t think I’m odd. I’m eccentric yes. Certainly Renaissance Woman is pretty cool. We just appreciate these animals because we are animal lovers. Certainly a zoologist like her can appreciate that. Cheryl had read my blog entry about my Canadian Goose watch on Fast Cupid. That’s one of the first things she talked about when we first exchanged e-mails. She specifically told me we could exchange Canadian Goose stories when we met on our first date, and that’s what we did. Perhaps the Canadian Goose watch wasn’t a good second date idea, but it was an extension of a thread from our previous encounters and that’s why I chose a Canadian Goose Watch.

Having cleared up all this facts, fuck her! I have absolutely no desire for her anymore. I don’t like fickle people. They burn me out emotionally and waste my fucking time. I don’t like people who put out mixed signals. If you have mixed feelings or you’re just not interested, don’t express your interest so earnestly. It’s just not cool to do this.

Frankly I was put off by the tone of her whole letter. What is this horseshit about “energies”? Is that like auras? What kind of 70’s hippie crap is that?

What I resented is this: “I haven't hit a point where I've thought we should repursue meeting.” I hate assholes who talk this way. Just fucking say you’re not interested. Why does she have to insult me with this excruciatingly sensitive language? This is a very nasty way of rejecting people, because some people would actually be waiting around hoping for the day where she hits the point where she’s going to “repursue”. I don’t know if people who talk like this realize this or not. In any case, it’s an asshole way to communicate.

And I hate how she says “Cheers” at the end. I hate Americans who try to affect (British) English ways of talking or writing. You come across as a real pompous asshole.

Also, I am not “clever.” I am not remotely clever. I am smart.

I don’t think Cheryl really means she would “approach and greet and chat” with me if she came across me in the world. This is part of the sugar coat. If I saw her I would pretend that I didn’t recognize her and B-line it for the nearest exit.

Fuck Cheryl. I mean, really, really fuck Cheryl. I’m forgetting her already. It was my loneliness and desperation that fueled my obsession over her. I see this now. Had I made money which would have enabled me to secure relationships with desirable women, Cheryl would have been no big deal. I would of ran from Cheryl at the first scent of her ambivalence, which I suspected very early on. I failed to trust my instincts. Desperation and madness ruled the day. These are powerful forces.

My blah morning

2009-07-30T11:35:00.001-04:00

I woke up obscenely early at ten o’clock a.m. with a horrendous headache. At first I thought it was a hangover headache, but I rarely ever get hangovers and when I do they are very mild. I made coffee even though I didn’t feel like it. I thought the coffee might make me straight. I had not drunk any coffee yesterday because my stomach was horribly acidic. I made some coffee and after one coffee my headache was magically cured and I was straight again.

I looked at OkayCupid and looked at all the women I would (sort of) like to write but don’t because I’m pretty sure I don’t make enough money for them.

I’m listening to Democracy Now. I do it every morning. They are going on interminably as usual. Amy Goodman is so whiney. I can’t stand her. Why don’t they make the show a half hour? There’s no need to do a full hour.

There was some kind of nasty rash on my ass that had kept swelling and hurt when I sat down. The swelling went down today. Thank God. I was afraid I was developing a staph infection.

I’ll try to get some work done. Another day, another no dollar.

I needed closure

2009-07-26T22:49:00.001-04:00

When I was online at okaycupid not too long ago I saw that Cheryl was also online. I had originally met her through Fast Cupid.

I would be very surprised if Cheryl writes back. That’s not really why I wrote her. I wrote her because I needed closure. Everything that I said to her in my message to her below is genuine. I do worry about the poor woman’s back. She had cancer and had a tumor surgically removed very shortly before I saw her.

What I find so weird is that OkayCupid reports that Cheryl hasn’t been written to in a week. I know her profile is very ambiguous but I would think that a woman as beautiful as her would have her inbox overflowing with solicitations. You normally only see unattractive women getting few responses. Am I the only one who sees her beauty? Had I not met her in person first, would I have not considered her beautiful? She certainly does not look beautiful in her Fast Cupid photos. When I first gazed upon Cheryl I was shocked by how beautiful she was. It took me a good few seconds before I was able to utter “hi.”

Maybe I will wake up tomorrow, horribly regretting what I did. We shall see. For now I feel a great deal of emotional relief. She will at least know how I felt. I will absolutely not contact her again unless she writes me.

Dear Cheryl,

You look very beautiful in these photos. This is the real you. The Fast Cupid photos don't begin to do you justice. I'm so sorry for botching things.

I still worry about your back. I still want to offer to buy you a bottle of goat's milk (knowing full well that you hate that.) I had a lot of trouble letting you go as you really impressed me. I won't bother you anymore. I needed to get this out of my system.

-Dickie

Remembering Rice

2009-07-26T17:23:00.001-04:00

I think Jim Rice might have been inducted into the hall of fame today. He was the big star of the Red Sox when I was a kid. You would see him constantly in between innings in cheesy ads, I think for Fenway Franks.

When I was about 14 I was sitting in the bleachers before the game during batting practice. No one was there except for me and these girls who were perhaps a little older than me. Jim Rice came up to the bleachers. He had been in the field taking balls. I think he tossed in a ball for the girls. He told one girl who was wearing this funky hat that he would give her a ball if she would take the hat off. She became really upset at Rice, refusing to take the hat off. Rice threw up a ball anyways and ran off.

It took me many years to realize that Rice was just kidding around with the girl with the funky hat. I thought he was a real asshole at the time but if he was he would not have thrown her the ball, even though she refused to take her hat off.

Excluding the opposing team, Rice used to be the only black guy not only on the field but in Fenway Park. I think that blacks were probably scared shitless to be in Fenway, and I don’t blame them. Boston is not as bad as it used to be. But Boston was one mean city for blacks.

I think Rice would have been vastly more popular and celebrated had he not been black. Looking back at Rice I see him as a very professional athlete and of course a very dangerous slugger. I’m glad he got into the hall of fame, finally.

The not-so-black-and-white-world of me against them

2009-07-25T18:24:00.001-04:00

After all my ranting and raving against the Fast Cupid blog community and all the venom I spewed against them, IQ invited me to the blog party in Lowell. I called her on the phone and told her that after all the bashing I did, I could not possibly show my face. The party organizer called me later on and personally requested that I be there. She was very cordial. I had criticized her grammar on this very blog.

After masturbating for well over a half hour this morning -- or rather this afternoon, because this is when I get up these days, I was too spent to drive up to the blog party in Lowell. I was also worried about not getting work done and anxious about my work. I decided to devote my remaining energy into my work. I am taking a break now. I will go back to it. I will try to meet up with the bloggers tomorrow but my work is like a dark cloud hovering over me, so I don’t know...

I continue to berate myself for botching things with Cheryl. I felt like she was my last chance and I blew it. I wasn’t cool with her just as I wasn’t cool with the Fast Cupid blog community.

The world dealt me a bad hand. But I bare full responsibility for these fuck ups. The world is much safer when it is evil and I, living outside of it, is not. Now it is becoming increasingly clear to me that the lines between good and evil have blurred. My paranoia, while it protects me, also fucks me.

I will become increasingly angry at myself. I know myself too well not to know this. And I will become increasingly more depressed and miserable.

The new mellow me

2009-07-18T14:40:00.001-04:00

I do not know whether Citalopram will help me with driving anxiety as I haven’t yet been on the highway. Yet I’m fairly confident that it will as I am much more mellow now. My new attitude towards life is, “fuck it.” When I think about the prospect of homelessness now I just shrug it off and say fuck it. The other day my sinus temporarily reverted to the state before my surgery last year. It was so awful. I thought about suicide for the first time since before the surgery. And I just said to myself, fuck it. Fuck it I say to the massive train wreck of my life. Why wig? There’s little I can do.

There’s a price to be paid for everything and I pay for the new mellow me in the currency of sexual dysfunction. I have a lot of trouble coming. It is so much work to masturbate now. I was out of breath after delivering myself one single orgasm yesterday morning. I got up out of bed and I was woozy. This would make sex difficult for me, though not for the woman as I still have good erections. Sex would not be pleasurable for me as my penis is desensitized. I know this because I have had sex under similar conditions when taking Nardil. Sex becomes work, like masturbation is to me now. I am trying to avoid it. I will do it every so often to stay straight or when I’m extremely bored. If I wasn’t taking Citalopram this sexual dysfunction would really bother me, but now I don’t really give a shit. It’s not like I’m having sex, so fuck it.

Another thing that I’ve noticed is that my pupils are unusually dilated. I look at my those big black round circles in the morning and I wonder if I am really from outer space. Or perhaps an android. It’s rather beautiful actually. All that black against the army green of my eyes. I’ve never really seen the ascetic beauty of my eyes until now.

Personal ad of the week

2009-07-18T00:55:00.001-04:00

ok hi!!!to be honest i dont like these sites but i guess ill give it another try,,a good man is harddddddd 2 find!! am i so niave 2 think i could find a decent honest cool guy,, proabably but what the hell right??ok a bit about me, im a complex type of girl,, lol,,

This woman is very complex. She seems to have invented a new grammatical rule that I have dubbed the double comma. I am not sure what the double comma does but I have a linguistics experts working on it…

Should I really be mocking these poor people? No. But I am feeling very nihilistic right now.

Nicole Revisited

2009-07-15T02:22:00.001-04:00

My cyberfriend City Kitty (a.k.a Black Mamba) wrote an entire blog post about my last blog post. I was impressed! I thought she had some good insights. I have decided to write a blog post about her blog post about my blog post. I hope she doesn’t mind that I am reproducing her blog post in full below:

Interesting to see what is on a man's mind when dating. This is a comment on my cyberfriend Dickie's post, who would not let me comment on his blog so I post it here.

I thought Nicole's original email was really funny with the comment about the kayaking and changing into a tux in no time. I see profiles of men who love the "outdoors" all the time. I am an indoors type of woman and when I get to the "outdoors" part in men's profile I just lose interest almost instantaneously.

Sorry to hear she was carrying a 'big gulp' (and that it was so unattractive) and that she refused to accept a drink from Starbucks. Why did the big gulp bother you?

I disagree with your conclusion that she was a woman who wants her cake and eat it, too. What she wanted was reciprocity. If you want her to support her as of now, then, hypothetically speaking, could you do the same for her when the table turns? You clearly would not have any of that (but you can't yourself get to admit this). You probably would have been thinking "if I had money I'd want to date a babe with breeding potential, not you, you poor mediocre, unattractive woman with Big Gulp - you are supposed to be an answer to my current woes, not a source of headache-inducing puzzles and cross questions". Maybe the woman was smart enough to figure this out with her questions?

Regarding Big Gulps, you just don’t bring them on dates. It looks tacky and cheap and I’m pretty sure it violates the international rules of dating and decorum as decreed by the UN Charter. You just don’t bring big gulps into Starbucks. It’s just totally weird. This was not however the showstopper. It just bothered me a little.

I offer Nicole and plenty of women like her reciprocity. I can give women like this love that they would never dream possible. Entertainment. Stimulating conversation. Excitement. Adventure. I can show them what it truly means to be alive. I am fairly convinced that most of the Nicole’s of this world will never find a Dickie. Some, and I mean (some) will find second-rate men who happen to live well above the poverty line. Doesn’t make them better. In the grand scheme of the universe they’re really not. But most people don’t consider all the features of a potential mate. Paper wealth is treated sort like the way colleges treat SAT scores. It’s a method of easy screening. But it doesn’t give the complete picture. My loving capacity alone is worth a good $100,000 a year. I’m very low maintenance too. Having me around the house would cost little more than your average goldfish and yet I give so much back. I would even clean their houses and cook their meals. And I am a good cook. Do you have any idea how much maids cost these days? Do you think these women are going to find anyone sweeter than me? I can assure you that that’s not going to happen. Almost all the women I date live very comfortable lives. I date the cream of the crop. Why? Because only the most well-educated can begin to understand my genius and extraordinary modesty. I am a PhD magnet. These women can afford me.

Moving on to breeder and looks issue. I think even good looking, fertile women should make me their man whore and be grateful because my real worth vastly exceeds my paper worth. I have Grade A DNA. My children would kick ass. I am convinced of this. Women should be grateful to get the good stuff. Would I have dated Nicole if I made money? No. I would be going for fertile women who wanted children, and I would certainly have a preference for good looking women. Does this make me evil to want children? If so, then you would have to say that the majority of the human race is evil. Does it make me evil to want beautiful women? No more evil than most other men as well as women. People like beautiful people. It’s not evil. It’s an evolutionary force. It’s the randomness of change and adaptation.

I don’t think Nicole figured out what you think she might’ve figured out by me as evidenced by the fact that she wrote me this a week later:

Hey,
I meant to tell you that I enjoyed meeting you. I hope it wasn't too weird for you. Meeting a new person can be awkward. Thanks for making it easy.
Nicole

Maybe I’ve been too defensive with you, Kitty. Nicole scared the shit out of me. I ran away in terror. Her interrogation tactics wore me out. She seemed controlling and potentially manipulative. I felt like potential prey. I don’t want to be on guard all the time wondering if I am being manipulated. I don’t want to be controlled. She wanted to get to know me too quickly. She should have slowed it down. I cannot deal with all of that intensity when I first meet people. I really don’t think I made enough money for her anyways. She made it very clear to me that she was looking for someone who was economically independent. It would not have been wise for me to go for her, even if she didn’t scare the shit out of me. It would only be trouble because I would never be able to give her what she wanted.

Nicole

2009-07-03T16:46:00.001-04:00

The reality is that I do not have enough money to appease women who want to breed. I have very grudgingly accepted this reality. My date with Nicole was a product of my new dating agenda. I would no longer seek women who wanted children, and in fact I now lie in my profile and no longer designate that I want children. Now I only seek women who have no desire for children I don’t know why they don’t want children. Maybe they are selfish, do not see the beauty of children, are too old to conceive .. who knows? … but this is what I’m stuck with.

Nicole is one of the rare women who solicited me. This is what she wrote:

I thought your profile and posts were very entertaining. It is refreshing to see someone state he is sloppy and lazy. Sometimes I wonder, who are these strange people constantly kayaking and hiking and switching between jeans and a tux. There seems to be a lot of tux-wearing going on when nobody is looking. I rarely meet these people in real life. I must admit that I finally succumbed to the pressure myself (nobody seemed interested in me when I admitted I watch reality tv) and changed my original profile today into the one I've posted now, but I could not bring myself to write "little black dress" or "partner in crime" or "..all that Boston has to offer." Just couldn't do it.

So are you having any luck on this website? I have not done this in awhile and am finding it harder than I remember.

Nicole

I wrote her back:

Hi Nicole,

I don't read men's profiles, but women also like to boast their versatility in being able to go from formal to casual clothing almost instantaneously. There is the "partner in crime" stand by, and my personal favorite, "I see the glass as half full." I love the women who are looking for men to fly off to Paris on a whim for the weekend. It's a severely recessed economy. Shouldn't these people be putting all that traveling money into an emergency fund?

I'm having a lot of luck on Okay Cupid as evidenced by the fact that you wrote me. Would you like to meet for coffee or a drink?

-Dickie

I saw Nicole in a Starbucks inside of a Barnes & Nobles coffee shop in Braintree. I took my 5 mg of Valium in order to survive the drive as per orders of my medicine man.

Nicole was 43 years old. She looked her age. While she was not ugly she was physically very unimpressive. She might have subtracted a little from her height also, but perhaps her clogs made her appear taller.

What I couldn’t get over was the big gulp she carried with her. She said it was diet Pepsi. She assured me it wasn’t spiked. This was a joke. She was a lame joker. I said I didn’t care if it was spiked, which was the truth. But I could not get over that big gulp. I couldn’t see what the big gulp cup was. She had napkins around the big gulp cup. I’m not sure why. To sop up the condensation? Who knows? I asked her if she wanted anything. She said no, she had her diet Pepsi. “Are you sure? I can buy you a cup of coffee? Something to eat?” “No.” she said. “I’m fine.” She wasn’t going to actually sit down in that place without ordering anything and suck on a big gulp? This isn’t a bus depot. It’s Starbucks inside of a Barnes & Nobles.

This was one of those dates where the topic of conversation is dating. And it wasn’t my idea. I never like to talk about dating on dates. Nicole had some astute observations about dating and people. She wasn’t as sophisticated as me, but I saw a real potential for creative thought, observation, and insight. She seemed to view the world from the unique perspective of an outsider just as me. I believe I was dealing with someone unique and interesting yet this woman was wearing me down with her progressive onslaught of questions. “How long have you dated?” “Do you like dating?” “How often do you date?” “What is the worst date you’ve ever had?” She even asked me if she was asking me too many questions. I of course denied this. She said at one point, one of her dates told her that she was too intense and that she should stop asking him questions. She claimed she was a socialist, but I doubt if she had ever even read Marx. She seemed to have a very trivial understanding of politics.

Maybe an hour, hour and a half into the date I took a bathroom break and ordered some gruesome tasting lemonade/strawberry concoction from Starbucks. So many dates have ended abruptly after I’ve drank something from Starbucks that made me ill. I asked her again if I could buy her something. No. She was fine. She held up her big gulp.

She started making her move. She started talking about how she didn’t like friends. She was “anti-social.” She wasn’t into that. She liked to be with one person. I had no problem with this. She said that she was looking for someone who was financially independent. (Socialist my ass!) She was officially axed as a potential mate right there. I didn’t meet her criteria of financial independence. Why had she not stated this on her profile and saved me a lot of trouble? And then she said, “I hate debt. How do you feel about debt?” I didn’t know how to answer this. She helped me. She said, “If I was with a woman who had acquired a lot of debt, how would you feel about paying her bills?” I told her “I don’t have any money.” She said, “Well, hypothetically.” I had no idea how to answer the question and my mind was too mushy to think. The Starbucks concoction was officially make my stomach queasy. She had mentally exhausted me. I said I had to go.

I hugged her. Our cars were parked side by side in the back of the lot. We walked to our cars together. Her car was not a car, it was the biggest SUV I have ever seen. What the fuck was she doing with that thing, using it to haul bodies?

Nicole wanted her cake and eat it to. She wanted someone cool like me who rejected sameness and cliché and triteness yet she wanted that person to be a part of the animal factory. Can you have both? I’m not sure. If I were part of the animal factory I’m sure I would be an ordinary boring asshole like everyone else, like all the boring men she complained about that she dates and sees on personals. It’s being apart from the factory that gives me the qualities that she was attracted to. And she was attracted to me. I had no doubt about that. Women want too much. She is 43 years old. She is not beautiful. What does she think she is going to find?

Density

2009-07-01T18:35:00.001-04:00

Depression makes the world much more dense. You’re no longer operating in the free environment of air, but of liquid. You cannot cut through liquid as you can air. It takes force to move through liquid. The smallest movement takes energy and the body goes into a sort of starvation mode. It refuses to waste energy. It refuses to move. Only through the sheer will of the mind can the body carry out actions, and even then willpower often fails you. The more severe the depression, the more viscous the fluid is that you are stuck in, and the less will you have to move in it. You can’t fight the increased weight of existence. To do this is to invite more weight. The only thing you could do is be one with it. Go with the liquid’s current, as if it were a riptide and hope for an opening so that you could make it back to shore.

I cannot travel anymore without freaking out. I freaked out in the middle lane driving on Route 128 this weekend. There was a lot of traffic. My heart was racing. I was afraid I was going to have a heart-attack. The more I thought about it the more I panicked. The madness was seeping in something bad. I needed to get into the slow lane. But there wasn’t an opening. If I could get into the slow lane I would be alright. I was trapped in the middle line. I was going to have a heart-attack in the middle lane at 65 miles per hour, and lose control. I white-knuckled it for a mile. What the fuck? Where is an opening in the traffic? GET ME THE FUCK OUT OF THIS LANE! Another mile of sheer madness and terror. Fuck this, I was switching lanes. I could not take this anymore. The cocksucker in the slow lane would either have to let me in or there was going to be a multiple car pile up. I have seen drivers bully their way in front of me like I was going to attempt to do. They expect you to apply your brakes in order for them to pass into your lane. Most of them probably live out their natural lives playing chicken with other drivers. It’s still insane. It’s still horribly dangerous. It’s something I would never ever dream of doing. I put my right signal on. I gave plenty of warning that I was switching lines and proceeded to switch into the slow lane. There was no problems, but what I did was horribly dangerous. It would be okay in the slow lane. I would be okay.

My heart was still racing twenty minutes later when I got to my destination. My friend was upset because I needed to take a Valium. She had work to do. I needed to be gone in three hours. She kept asking how long the drug was going to last? I did not answer her. I did not agree with the question. I cut 1/4 of 5 mg of Valium, not enough to take the edge off a mouse. I cut the pill with my pen knife. I cut my finger cutting the pill. My friend didn’t see that. She was too busy wigging about the Valium. I should of left right then. I never want to make a scene because I never want to be like my mother.

I told my psychopharmacologist that I might be having panic attacks. He seemed very familiar with my symptoms of freaking out on highways. He told me many of his patients report this. I didn’t exhibit all the classic symptoms of a panic attack, though racing heart was one of them. He wasn’t sure if I was having panic attacks. He suggested citalopram, an anti-depressant to be used for anxiety. I asked him if I didn’t take this drug if what I was experiencing might go away. He said, yes, but it will come back. He also said I should take 5 mg. of Valium 90 minutes before I drive. I decided to follow the doctor’s recommendations.

He said the citalopram may cause me to have reduced interest in sex, make it more difficult to climax and have less firm erections. He assured me though that it would not effect my ability to reproduce. I felt like laughing and saying, “Shit man, I can’t even get a woman to fuck me let alone reproduce with me.”

My pissing ground

2009-06-30T12:57:00.014-04:00

"And you make fun of people who work at Walmart and have bad teeth? You should be ashamed of yourself."

This is a portion of the third comment left to my last blog entry. I have supplied a photo of my teeth as evidence that this commenter is entirely wrong about my teeth. My teeth are perfectly fine. As you can see, it is my head which is the problem, not my teeth. This commenter, who is probably a former friend of mine with the initials C.R., is completely clueless about me, and has none of his facts right. None. He is also a megalomaniac. But I will not get into that or him as I don't want to stir up memories of this annoying person who I had blissfully forgotten up until he started to reappear as an anonymous commenter, pushing a volunteerism religion.

Volunteerism is a right-wing plot to divert attention away from the horrendous inequities that exist in our society. It is not the obligation of individuals to take care of the needy. It is the obligation of society to collectively take care of the needy, but more importantly, to intact legislation to protect people from becoming needy to begin with. People reading this will probably accuse me of being a Marxist. And you know something, that's okay. Perhaps I am a Marxist after all. Why do I have to be embarrassed by this label when I am in agreement with so many of Marx's views? Volunteerism is really part of the religion of right-wing greed and backwardness. My personal experience with volunteerism is that people who receive your volunteer help are indifferent about it at best. Institutions who hire volunteer labor, in my experience, treat volunteer labor like shit. They're just as exploitative as capitalists and perhaps even worse. To suggest that I am some selfish, cold-hearted person is really pure shit. I probably give more money to the homeless than most people reading this. I do a lot of good things that go completely off the record. One good thing that is still on the record is my defiance of Bush's war. While the whole country was waving their flags and the left went into hiding, I was out there with my podcast and my blog blasting the right-wing neo-con fuckers who perpetrated this war. I was putting my ass on the line to do this. People forget "Freedom Fries," and how crazy this country became after 9/11. Did I single-handedly save the government from being taken over by neo-fascists? Of course not. But I did what I could to demonstrate to people that you do not have to shut the fuck up. Obviously the anti-war movement failed and continues to fail, but at least now, dissent is acceptable. I was a very small part of the I-don't-have-to-shut-the-fuck-up movement and I'm proud of that. I refused to wave flags around unlike most of the people reading this. I can live with myself. I'm not sure how you my readers can live with themselves after supporting this fucking heinous atrocity of a war, either overtly or passively by shutting the fuck up.

Like many other people, this commenter solicits simplistic advice about what I need to do in order to improve myself as if I'm interested in his or anyone's advice. When I want advice I fucking ask for it, and there's very few people who I consider wise enough to solicit advice from. This is my pissing ground. Not yours. It's mine. This is not group therapy. I'm not interested in your feedback, especially the banal idiots that come on here to tell me that I bore them or I complain too much, and yet they keep coming back to read my blog entries. You're not paying any money for this blog. If you don't like it, either cut me a fucking check so I could have the time to write better blogs or move the fuck on. This is why I hate people, because they're such incredible fucking dumb-asses.

I'm officially prohibiting commenting on this blog. When I'm trying to work in the middle of the day and some dumb-ass posts some inane comment, I feel compelled to put the motherfucker in his place immediately. It seriously interrupts my concentration and wastes my time and energy.

People can still contact me through e-mail via my profile. I check my e-mail once or twice a week.

I hate you all (well, most of you)

2009-06-27T01:20:00.001-04:00

I have very little more to say. I just want to crawl into a hole and die, very discreetly.

I have no business dating. I hate people. I have always hated people. I hate everything about them, especially their petty little lives that they take so goddamn seriously. No one gives a shit about their fucking children. Why do I need to hear about them? No one gives a shit about their rock hard abs or their firm breasts. Nobody really gives a shit. I hate their careers. Their houses. Their obsession with exercise. Their Jesus Christ. Their optimism. Their environmentalism. Who gives a shit about their world. Only them and their bastard brood. By giving a shit about the planet I am giving a shit about their planet. Not my planet. It’s not mine. I don’t really live here. I’m just here for the ride. It’s like I crash landed here. It is an incredible miracle that I didn’t freeze to death sleeping in my car 25 years ago. That’s what should of happened. None of this shit happening now is really happening. It’s happening, but it’s not real. That is what I say to myself each morning. I am still in denial. I still cannot believe how badly my life has been botched. It’s not someone else’s life. I’m not some fictional character. This botched life is happening to me.

Max penis enlarger pills

2009-06-25T16:38:00.006-04:00

This woman is so into this guy's chest. If he had a small penis would she say, "Nahh, too small, not gonna fuck ya' now." Is Dr. MaXman a real doctor? If so, did he get his M.D. from an accredited institution? What if my penis grows grotesquely large and women become frightened by it? What if my penis develops big bulging blue veins in order to provide it a larger blood supply due to its increased size? What if it grows so large that it needs its own blood supply and develops a heart and lungs and perhaps the ability to communicate? If this were Star Trek, would my penis qualify as a separate life form? Is my penis enlargement reversible? These questions aren't answered.

The real question is, who actually buys this stuff? I would think that men who were getting sex would not give a shit about how large their penises are. And why would a man who doesn't have sex buy this? If you cannot persuade a woman to have sex with you, then the least of your problems is the size of your penis. Who buys this crap?

You could eat it ... probably

2009-06-24T20:44:00.006-04:00

My mother got this thing in the mail from Cabot Cheese. Cabot asserts that aged cheddar and some other cheeses are lactose free, and that you can tell if a cheese is lactose free by looking at its sugar content. They assert that if the cheese has no sugar in it, it is lactose free.

This information is put out by a member of the cheese industry so one must use critical thinking. I am lactose intolerant. Pizza and ice cream I know severely fucks me over. I decided to put what they said to the test. I ate an entire block of 50% Reduced Fat Cabot cheddar cheese in one sitting. It had 0g of Sugars. I suffered no intestinal distress. I will replicate the experiment some other time. I'm still not entirely convinced that this is kosher.

The agony of defeat

2009-06-22T18:21:00.008-04:00

I could no longer get into size 34 pants. My plan was to stop drinking beer. Theoretically, the bulk of my calories came from my beer binges, which are always accompanied by food binges costing in the range of 3000 to 5000 thousand calories (not including the beer). If I cut out the beer, there would not be food binges as I rarely binge on food without beer. That would be how I lost weight. So I stopped drinking beer and some weight came off, and then the damn digital scale stuck at 190.5. I just couldn't break the 190 barrier. Every day I got up and weighed myself in my underwear and then -- damn, still 190.5.

And then I came into some serious woman problems and got really depressed and said fuck it, I'm buying some malt liquor and a pumpkin pie and a block of goddamn cheddar cheese. If you add in the beer calories and all the other crap I ate which I really don't quite remember, we're probably talking around 6000 calories beyond what I already ate that day, so that should have gotten converted to about two and a half pounds of of additional weight. (I don't remember the exact formula.) The next day I was too terrified to look at the scale but decided to just say fuck it again and peel open a whole can of mixed nuts. Of course I deluded myself into thinking I would only eat a few. The nuts were 2040 calories alone. I also made six hard boiled eggs and dipped them straight into a whole crap load of mayo. (Who says mayo is a gentile thing? I could eat this stuff straight.) My stomach was so acidic from the beer the previous day and probably screwed up from the bitterness of the nuts that I took my whipping cream that I use for coffee, poured it into a jar, shook it up until it was viscous and drank it. This counters acid very well and tastes really yummy too. I did this several times. Probably drank several cups of cream, totaling well over a thousand calories.

Today I decided to face the music and assess the damage of all the calories I'd consumed. I took off my t-shirt and weighed myself with only my underwear. I had lost over a pound and broken the 190 barrier finally. My weight was 189.3 There was no use in recalibrating the scale and stepping on it again to replicate the results because this scale never contradicts itself.

The weight fairy had magically taken a good four pounds from me, that I fully deserved to have gained. I don't question the wieght fairy or attempt a scietific explanation for this. If she wants to take my weight away, I let her.

I solicited two women from okay cupid today. I was officially skinny enough to get back into dating so I could become more depressed by women and binge some more and have magical fairies allow me to torture myself some more. I think it's been several months since I've solicited a woman. But fuck it. I need the agony of defeat. The excitement and drama and pathos of dating a women. It keeps me going.

I really botched one of my solicitation letters by being overzealous. But fuck it. I'm rusty. (Notice below, in the letter, that I did not mean to call her a "punker" but a punk rocker. I didn't realize this until later. She was a Ramones fan. It did not matter anyway. I had completely botched the letter by saying "please write." Total sign of desperation. But again, fuck it. It's part of the agony of defeat that I cannot live without.)

Hi

"Buttermilk pancakes w/ maple syrup and sausages, meatloaf-n-mashed potatoes." That's the good stuff. O what I would give for a woman to eat stuff like this with without berating me for its unhealthiness or unkosherness.

My parents are both from Brooklyn. I'm from Brookline. When I was at camp in Rhode Island, the kids would ask me where I was from. And I'd say Brookline, Massachusetts. "Brookyn?" They'd say. "No. Brooook-liiine." Eventually I smartened up and just said I was from Boston. Maybe I should've just said I was from Brooklyn. It would've been the same difference to them.

Would really like to meet the hot punker in the photos. Please write.

-Dickie

Not quite everything Che

2009-06-21T18:19:00.003-04:00

The Che Store has everything Che with exception to Che glycerin suppositories. I really wish I could jam Che up my ass when I'm having trouble with regularity.

This is why I quit dating…

2009-06-19T18:37:00.001-04:00

This woman uses the word “great” three times in the first four sentences of her dating profile Self-Summary (below). That’s almost once a sentence. And then she has the audacity to say men should “move on” if they want a casual encounter with her. I wouldn’t dream of having a formal encounter with a woman that has everything so fucking GREAT! Shit I wouldn’t even want a causal encounter or to even accidently brush by her while walking past her on the train. People like this make me squirm.

My Self-Summary

Well I am 36 and very happy with my life. I have a great job and own my own place so I'm doing pretty well. I have great friends and family that I am very close too, I love spending time with them. So basically I have a great life and I am just looking to find someone to spend it with. I am not on here for casual encounters, so if that is all you are looking for please move on.

Sea of madness

2009-06-19T13:12:00.005-04:00

No, this is not an image from the latest Hollywood, dystopian science fiction movie. This an actual Pentagon photo taken June 5, 2009. This is your 106 billion dollars of war funding at work, folks. Your job if you still have one is probably pretty precarious. But don't you feel safer knowing that these people stand ready to kill people in some remote region of Asia? Aren't you glad you voted for change?

Michael Phillips: Portrait of a loser – Part 9 (The victims)

2009-06-18T15:07:00.001-04:00

Michael Phillips (MJP) of smog.net, Professional Loser

I would like to address this comment posted in response to this blog entry:
yes.keep hammering away.he has wronged you and he should pay.you should file a law suit.you have the email.no jury in the land would deny you.get what's yours.this is AMERICA,,this is important.it's beyond important.
I think we must avoid the temptation to accuse me of overreacting. Yes, it is true that I am angered by the fact that I plunked down twenty dollars for a full year’s subscription to ATOM MIND, and 13 years later, I am still waiting for it. There was never even an explanation as to what happened. All I got was one issue containing MJP’s very Bukowski derivative poem, LIFESTYLES, and a whole lot of bad attitude from MJP when I attempted to get him to stop advertising for his beloved phantom ass rag mag on smog.net. I cannot find any evidence that the publisher of ATOM MIND, Gregory Smith, actually exists. It is not out of the realm of possibility, given MJP’s self-described background in printing and proclivity towards self-publishing that he is actually Gregory Smith. But it doesn’t matter who the publisher is -- I am still waiting for the asshole to fulfill his contractual obligation and give me the ass rags I have paid for. I would have even accepted a simple postcard at the time, stating that the ass rag had gone under, provided that I was sent back issues.
But who are the real victims here? The true victims are the children -- the huddled masses of American youth, yearning to breathe free. It is criminal that they must read MJP’s deplorable poetry. Being the innocents that they are, they might mistake it for good poetry. They might even spend their lunch money on it. I can quite honestly say that I speak not for myself when I say MJP is a piece of human shit, but for the children of not only America but the entire world, the true victims of MJP’s poetry.
Don’t cry for me. Cry for the children.

Just say no to vegetables

2009-06-17T23:54:00.006-04:00

Chef Boyardee Overstuffed Beef Ravioli really allows me to stretch my food stamp allowance because it says it contains a "Full Serving of Vegetables." That's one less vegetable to buy. Got this puppy on sale for only a dollar at Shaws! And a single can contains a whopping 500 calories! Chef Boyardee Spaghetti & Meatballs in Tomato Sauce contains 540 calories! That's a lot of good, cheap energy. With my $37.00 a month food stamp allowance I can afford to eat like a king every day. I'm glad the dems approved Obama's 106 billion war funding bill. If we didn't use all that money to kill Asians in order to defend my freedom I'd probably be eating Chef Saddam' s Overstuffed Lamb Ravioli. The horror!

Ever try the big, bulk, generic canned ravioli? It is hard to conceive how anyone could engineer a tomato sauce that tastes that rancid. But Chef's ravioli ... it just kick's ass. And it comes fortified with all that vegetable goodness.

A woman is forced by space aliens to smile

2009-06-16T13:06:00.003-04:00

Veronica Milner from Newton, Massachusetts was abducted yesterday evening by space aliens and forced to smile by means of advanced alien technology.

Last Tango in Bad Sumo

2009-06-16T12:36:00.001-04:00

Hi Camus Girl,

Just got your package. Thanks, Camus Girl. You're awesome!

"The Passenger?" What is this? I've never heard of this film. But it has Maria Schneider in it. I've seen her completely naked in "Last Tango in Paris" a long time ago. She was incredibly beautiful. I hope I do not have to endure seeing her naked again. It would torture me.

Humm, what happened to Badsumo.com? Maybe it's something else, but maybe it no longer exists because I stopped posting because Winteach didn't invite me to her fucking blog party in Lowell and everyone became so bored with the place that they lost interest. Maybe I made them pay, maybe I didn't. I like to think that I made the bastards pay! Winteach consistently made a grammatical error by not putting the apostrophe in "it's" for contractions. I cannot believe they let people like her teach.

I neglected to mention that I came across a movie only a few years old where one of the characters who was being held captive and being videotaped used eye blinks to convey Morse Code, similar to the character in my screenplay who used eye blinks to convey binary code. Maybe the writer had come across my screenplay. More likely the bastard was also familiar with videotapes of American POW's who attempted to pass on information that they were being tortured with Morse Code using eye blinks. It still sort of bothered me a little that this was my concept. Morse Code is no longer used also. No one would even know Morse Code these days, but they were taking artistic liberties, which I guess is okay.

So you see they've taken everything from me, Camus Girl. Screwing blow up dolls, eye-blinking ... all the great artistic ideas of this century, perhaps the millennium, stolen from me...

-Dickie

Michael Phillips: Portrait of a loser – Part 8 (Horror of Nancy Grace)

2009-06-14T12:30:00.001-04:00

Michael Phillips (MJP) of smog.net, Professional Loser

A horrible thought came to me the other day, which was what if I was actually able to persuade Michael Phillips that he was human shit? The chances of this are remote. MJP is delusional. He writes shit like this, calls it poetry, and attempts to sell it. He thinks he is something that he’s not. There are a lot of people angry at MJP. They may even be more angry at him than I am and want to kill him. If MJP either kills himself or some madman kills him, do you know what’s going to happen? That horrible fish-face, Nancy Grace, is going to whine and moan for at least a week about me, and attempt to implicate me in MJP’s death. She will claim that I stoked the furnace. Under political pressure, The US District Attorney, AG, or whoever, might even try to implicate me as well. And I’ll spend the next ten years in Leavenworth. But It’ll probably be less than that because I’ll probably get shivved to death long before I ever get out. They’ll probably use some obscure clause in the Patriot Act and charge me with domestic terrorism or something like that. Maybe I’ll be sent to a supermax.
Michael Phillips is sort of like the big retarded kid who got held back for three years when you were a kid and took sadistic pleasure in beating you up. You fantasized about learning Kung Fu one day and beating the shit out of the kid, but when you see the retard in BJ’s as an adult with his really ugly wife and his pathetic fat son that looks like a clone of him, and they all have those stupid, far-off looks on their faces that you see in dogs … the scene is so pathetic that you don’t even sneer. You just feel sorry for the fucker.
MJP: While it is true that I would kill myself if I were you, I would also kill myself if I were a lot of people. I just have higher standards. Accordingly, please don’t kill yourself. Instead, try not to be a fucking asshole. Help a blind person get across a street. Give a poor homeless guy a dollar. Don’t self-publish your art anymore. It is very embarrassing.
MJP Haters: Please don’t kill MJP. Please don’t physically harm him. Be cool. MJP is the retarded kid who got held back for three years. He is too pathetic to harm. And if you think I’m exaggerating, take another look at his poetry. Really, folks. Let’s just be cool. I don’t want Nancy Grace complaining about how heinous I am and implicating me in MJP’s death. I don’t want to live in a supermax. I like to take two showers a day. They only allow one shower a week in a supermax. I don’t want to get shivved, and I don’t want to have to shiv people in order to prevent getting shivved or raped or whatever ghastly things my fellow cons might want to do to me … all because of Nancy Grace.
I actually hadn’t even begun to bash MJP. But I want to put the brakes on this before Nancy Grace gets involved. I will however issue this warning: Should MJP or any pro-MJP people defend MJP on this blog, I’m dropping a dime to the IRS. If MJP is actually moving copies of his self-published crap, I want to make sure the IRS is aware of this. Anyone who supports MJP should give careful attention to my warning. I am not a person who takes being fucked with lightly.

I'm forgetting you already, Nance

2009-06-12T21:09:00.010-04:00

All I could think about today was how badly I wanted to drink. I could not drink because I am getting too fat. I never like to drink two days straight anyhow. I like to take at least two days off. It took all I had to get two or three hours of work done. I don't blame myself. Most people would have given up a long time ago.

I saw Nancy's new facebook photo yesterday. I am not her facebook friend but I periodically check up on her facebook photo, because I am looking for the type of thing I just found. In her new photo she is with a tall, dweebie looking guy with glasses, receding hair, late 30's. Dress shirt. He looks like a CPA. He has one hand on her shoulder. They are in what looks like a jewelry shop. It looks like this guy was my replacement. For all I know I was her fallback guy and this was the one she was working on the whole time.

This is going to sound defensive, but Nancy truly looks like shit. Her face looks bloated and misshapen. She is smiling. It is a smile of contentment, perhaps a little excitement, but it isn't the heart-melting, child-like Nancy smile that I remembered from our skype teleconferences. This was not the Romanian Bond Babe I remember. Maybe there was never a Bond Babe. Maybe I created the Bond Babe in my mind. I was actually every pessimistic about Nancy ever finding someone, but I always thought that whoever she found would look a lot like James Bond. What is she doing with the dweeb? I would no longer consider her beautiful but certainly she is still awesomely intelligent. Couldn't she have done better than the dweeb? Is the dweeb more fun and crazy than me? I doubt it. What kind of children is the dweeb going to give her? They will look like dweebs. They will be mocked at school. My children would never be mocked at school because I would home school them. The dweeb could pass on his poor eyesight to his offspring too, and his kids will never have an opportunity to be Major Leaguers. It sickens me to think of the dweeb putting his dweebie mouth to Nancy's. Thinking about the dweeb and Nancy fucking is like thinking about my parents fucking. It makes me cringe. I know Nancy needs to have sex five times a day. I could easily do this. It's highly questionable to me if most men in their late 30's could do this. Does the dweeb know how to touch a woman? Is the dweeb going to lick her vulva properly and voluntarily? What if Nancy needs her asshole licked? Is he going to be able to do this or is he going to dweeb-out?

I don't want Nancy. She is evil. And my feeling is, Nancy and the dweeb can have each other. I actually feel sorry for the dweeb. I just find it fucking bullshit that I live in a universe where a dweeb wins out over me. I so kick this dweeb's ass.

I just removed Nancy from my skype, along with her cell phone number. I'm forgetting her already.

Haffenreffer sucks

2009-06-11T23:53:00.002-04:00

They didn't have any of my beloved Old English Brand "800" and I had to drink this Haffenreffer Private Stock crap. It says on the bottle "Malt Liquor ...with the imported taste." Imported from from where, "Moldova? ... Albania? ... a toxic waste dump in New Jersey?" Good crap this stuff made me unhappy. You cannot deny trailer trash like me their Malt Liquor. Fuck!