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

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

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

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)

All type of Home Maintenance/Handyman Services including but not limited to:

Apartment/Home Renovation

Interior & Exterior Painting, Plastering & Insulation Installation

Tiling, Hardwood, Tile & vinyl flooring, cabinet repair & installation

Building & Repairing decks. Deck cleaning, staining, painting, repairs of stairs, steps & railings

Wood rot repair, framing, shelves & cabinets, trim work & molding

Window & door install & repairs, Caulking windows and doors, screen installation, removal & repairs, glass install & replacement, plaster repairs

Yard Work, Install Shelves & Organizers, Raking, Snow Shoveling, Picture & Mirror Hanging, Basement & Garage clean up specials, child proofing homes, install knobs & deadbolt locks, repair drawers,repair & install all house fixtures.

FREE ESTIMATES - NO PROJECT IS TOO SMALL (IF YOU DO NOT SEE THE SERVICE YOU ARE LOOKING FOR LISTED HERE, PLEASE INQUIRE)
QUALITY GUARANTEED - REFERENCES AVAILABLE UPON REQUEST

JP 617-416-7448

Getting in touch with the dead

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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My pissing ground

"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)

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

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

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

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

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…

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

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)

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

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

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

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)

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

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

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!

Michael Phillips: Portrait of a loser – Part 7 (mailbag)

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

The only part of smog.net that I used to read was the mailbag section where MJP would publish mostly angry and often inappropriate e-mails, mostly coming from poetry traditionalists. But this was not always the case. MJP would sometimes publish an e-mail for no reason other than to be sadistic:

Subject: smog.net site feedback
From: Pat
Reply-To: UNDISCLOSED EMAIL

Hi,
Im a french male living in Chile, and I offer myself as a nude model for Art works.
You can contact me at UNDISCLOSED EMAIL
Thanx.

Note that unlike MJP, I have not disclosed this guy’s actual e-mail. That would be inappropriate because the poor guy hasn’t done anything wrong. He’s a nude model. It’s a job and an honest living. Selling your own so-called art like MJP is demeaning, not being a nude model.

You might argue that I too am a sadist. I am a sadist. But I only enjoy hurting assholes. I am not the terrorist that MJP is. I’ve never gone after someone who didn’t have it coming.

This mailbag entry I loved:

Subject: My work [new blood]
Reply-To: hickeystudio@hotmail.com

alot of the fine art on your site is absolute dogshit compared to my work. such an obvious abundance of forgettable mediocrity. You deny your own eyes. I clean more soul from beneath my fingernails every day than you can comprehend. I thought the day I got on your site would be the zenith of my career. Quite frankly, I'm surprised. My life is too short to be filled with so much shame. three cheers for the banal masses. Pussy. I'm picking my nose as I write this. Fecal peanuts for you. You've fucked with the wrong shitty painter. Come to NY and see me so I can step on your throat. Put this entire letter up. It would speak volumes if you would just listen. Go ahead you sorry little cunt. Let's see what happens.

Yours,
Matt

“I clean more soul from beneath my fingernails every day than you can comprehend.” That’s a great line. I think this guy Matt is a vastly better poet than MJP. Though I think Matt could use a few pointers on how to be scary. It’s best not to threaten people online because you leave behind all that evidence. If you really must invite MJP to visit you in New York in order for you to step on his throat, you should give him your home address. Or better yet, give him the address of the half-way house that you will be staying at when you have served your prison sentence.

Michael Phillips: Portrait of a loser – Part 6 (datapimp)

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

MJP created a web hosting company called datapimp™. Its slogan was “email with attitude”.

You could sign up for a free e-mail at datapimp, with these domain names:

Nigga-Please.com
Crack-Whore.net
Sorry-IFuckedYourWife.com
QueerMotherfucker.com

as well as many more obscene and offensive domain names.

With such a lofty concept, who could have foreseen the demise of such a noble enterprise?

How does human shit live with itself without killing itself? How does it live without dignity? Help me. Help me, MJP to understand?

State of Bastard Nation

Dear fellow bastards,

Bashing smog.net’s Michael Phillips has at least temporarily reinvigorated me and given me purpose to blog. I have so much to say about this asshole that I literally need to organize all my ideas and write them down in a notebook. I am not sure I will be able to make the July 1st deadline of closing down the blog, so I’m granting this blog a temporary stay of execution. I am not however optimistic about being able to maintain this blog beyond the MJP Bashathon because I have quit dating, and have divorced myself from the FastCupid asshole blog community. So there is no drama in my life that I can think of which is worth mentioning. There is just a lot of despair and loathing. This stuff is good for fiction, but I don’t see it making good blog. Unlike MJP, I quit writing a long time ago because self-publishing and publishing in ass rags like Mother Road is just plain beneath me and undignified. What does it matter if ten people read your shit in an ass-rag? It is really pathetic.

Believe it or not there are human shit vastly worse than MJP. These people are called Literary Agents. I refuse to deal with them. Unfortunately I will probably have no outlet after the MJP Bashathon and my existential crisis will only worsen. But fortunately I have discovered this great, cheap, psychopharmacological drug, that you don’t even need a prescription for called Malt Liquor.

I am formally declaring that followers of Bastard Universe are members of what I am coining as Bastard Nation. (Very original concept, eh? Well, at least I’m honest about my sexuality and my religion, unlike other people in “Nation” marketing campaigns.)

You, my four readers, are my bastards, except for Camus Girl, Beverly, and IOG (Iraq Occupation Guy). So, actually, that leaves Michael Phillips as the only actual bastard.

What I would like to do is be able to host images (some of them copyrighted) on another account that is free, and link to them from here. I used to have a lot of fun mocking people (mostly Republicans), and the war effort in the early days of this blog, but I had to remove the images because billions of assholes on the Internet were linking to them and stealing my bandwidth. Any ideas?

Your Head Bastard

Dick Richards

Michael Phillips: Portrait of a loser – Part 5 (Grammar)

Okay, let’s go back to the letter. This issue is not what really pissed me off about the letter (we will get to this, believe me), but let’s examine Michael Phillips’ dis of my spelling:

p.s.
that's "ceased", not "seized". you can't even complain properly...

I find it puzzling how a fucking cocksucker who calls himself a writer is disrespecting me about spelling when he can’t even use grammar correctly. For example, right on MJP’s About page, he writes:

At it's peak, the site attracted one new visitor every minute.

I suspect that this error will be fixed very soon now that I’ve pointed it out, so if you click on the page the error will probably be fixed. However this error was there at the time this blog post was time stamped. The grammatical error is that you don’t apply the apostrophe to “it” when indicating possession. I have corrected MJP’s error below:

At its peak, the site attracted one new visitor every minute.

I am a terrible speller. I also have terrible grammar, but I was deprived of oxygen at birth and probably suffered brain damage. I had to go to this asshole special school. Most of the kids at this school could barely read. I’m not asking for sympathy. My point is this: I have brain damage – what the fuck is Michael Phillips’ excuse? He is a big shot published writer. Shouldn’t he be able to use grammar properly?

Again. Michael Phillips is a living contradiction. An unbelievably pathetic loser. This will be Michael Phillips’ pathetic legacy: My pathetic blog about him. This is the most fame he will ever receive. Michael Phillips is truly an embarrassment to me, and I think a disgrace to the human race.

Michael Phillips: Portrait of a loser – Part 4 (Resident poet)

You can read about Michael Phillips sucking up to The Man at his job as Operations Manager for PowWeb.

In this Q&A thing, MJP is asked what his favorite hobbies are. He says he “writes,” “paints,” blah, blah, watches “girlfriend paint,” watches “(way too many) shows on Tivo,” blah, blah. MJP later goes on to say, “I read once that Steve Jobs said every company should have a resident poet, and I think he's right.”

MJP never overtly says that he is the resident poet, though it is implicitly clear that he is calling himself the poet.

I don’t write poetry. I never have. I don’t read the stuff. But let me tell you about poets. Real poets. Poets never call themselves poets. Poets don’t suck up to and work for The Man –- at least not for as long as he is saying he does (2 years). Poets can’t tolerate The Man for any length greater than 3 months. Tops! Poets don’t own Tivos. Poets don’t have girlfriends because they’re interested in cock, and even if they happen to like girls, they cannot obtain girlfriends, because they never make enough money for them. The true poet is a man who feels like his nuts are in vice and his asshole is violated. The true poet has nothing left but agony, despair, and anger. (Of course a true poet can be a woman too. I don’t mean to sound sexist. It’s just different for a man.)

Resident poet. Is MJP fucking kidding me? MJP wants to position himself as an art fag yet you can’t be an art fag and suck up to The Man at the same time. It is the pressure of living outside of the realm of The Man that gives you the pathos and creative freedom necessary to be an art fag. I can at least respect an art fag, but a weekend art fag disgusts me beyond belief. They are intolerable. Worse than The Man himself.

Michael Phillips: You are a contradiction. Remember when Captain Kirk convinced that robot who was bent on exterminating the Enterprise to blow itself up because it had contradictory programming? You are that robot. You are a living contradiction.  You are living a lie. The lie of nobody going nowhere who thinks he’s a poet. You’re an embarrassment to true art fags everywhere. You make them sick. You must carry out your prime directive, Michael Phillips, just like the robot. You know what you must do.

I still haven’t gotten to MJP’s letter yet. I intend to dissect what the motherfucker said to me, line by line. All in good time.

22 days left…

 

I would like to address this comment posted here:

Do not stop bogging. You have followers who care. Check your stats. We read but never post for fear of your ire. You are loved.
--ur #1frnd

I no longer have statistics. I’m on blogspot. I give you people something very special on this blog –- I give you my soul. Few other bloggers know how to do this. Contrary to what the Church might teach, most people don’t even have souls, they just live on auto-pilot. I’ve also expanded the form of blogging. I am the only person I know of who understands it as a unique art form, that must be treated differently from other forms of writing. 10 or 20 or 30 years from now, assholes will be publishing their blog as books. They will be teaching blogging in MFA programs. These new-wave bloggers will be considered pioneers of the form, and they will do some of the very things that I do, and people will call them innovators. And Charlie Rose will have them on his show and do his usual kiss-ass routine. They’ll probably show up on Colbert too.

Other bloggers who have vastly inferior blogs to me have Followers. I have none. This is unacceptable. I am not a loser like Michael Phillips. I am not so starved for attention that I will sell my soul to a few isolated individuals like some kind of bloggo crack whore.

The 19 year old who conned me out of six dollars at the train station was really symbolic to me of my audience. You take and take and take and give me nothing in return. This has always been the case going as far back as my radio days. What ire do you think you’re going to get from me? I don’t recall ever beating anyone’s ego into the dirt who did not hit below the belt. The Che-Lives and the Wediko assholes who continue to persistently attack me ANONYMOUSLY were both given ample opportunities to state their opposition to me in, in person, on my radio show. They were both sent official invitations which were published on this very blog. Neither of these institutions answered. Yet their minions continue to libel me. What do you expect me to do? I have no option but to pound these fuckers into the dirt.

You don’t have to agree with me. As long as you treat me with respect, I will respect your opinions and you with respect. This talk of “ire” is just plain ridiculous.

My equipment is working again, and is up to at least 90% capacity. This means that I can pretty much masturbate whenever I feel like it, with little or no pain. So I don’t need to blog anymore. I have another outlet for my existential misery. I can put all that wasted blog energy into chocking my chicken. I don’t need to blog anymore. I can take or leave you.

You’re running out of time. I still need ten Followers and you have only 22 days left…

Michael Phillips: Portrait of a loser – Part 3 (Better than booty)

I usually don’t need fodder but sometimes when I’m hard-up I hit Youtube in search of booty. The trouble with booty is that it becomes boring after a while. All those big asses flapping around start to look alike. The booty just wasn’t working for me that day and I was really bored and needed to get off. I remember having looked at some photos of Michael Phillips earlier and I thought about how feminine and beautiful he was. So I searched Youtube until I found this really fem guy called Michael Phillips playing guitar all sad and melancholy-like that sure as hell looked like the smog.net Michael Phillips -- but this guy said he was 26, and Michael Phillips says he was born in 1960. Maybe it was a young smog.net Michael Phillips. Maybe it was the bastard son of smog.net Michael Phillips. Who knows? Who cares? It was some great, girly masturbation fodder.

While Michael Phillips is human shit, and I intend to elaborate on this, I have to concede that Michael is more beautiful than most women.

Michael Phillips: Portrait of a loser – Part 2 (First blood)

Did you think I’d forget about my Designated Asshole, Michael Phillips? As you will see from the dates of the e-mails with Michael Phillips below, our  correspondence occurred about ten years ago.  I was bending over backwards to be appropriate at the time. Now I just feel very nihilistic. I don’t think this human shit has been exposed properly as the loser that he is.

The only thing I’ve altered in this correspondence is my name. My real name is not Dickie Richards. If you dig far enough into this blog you will find my real name. I just don’t like it broadcast all over the place. You could always ask mjp what my real name is.

Subject: Regarding Atom Mind
Date: Thu, 02 Sep 1999 17:58:14 -0400
From: [Dickie Richards <Undisclosed>]
Organization: Undisclosed
To: mjp@smog.net, webmaster@smog.net

Dear Michael,

On your web site, subscription information and an order form is available for a journal called ATOM MIND. In 1996 I bought a subscription to ATOM MIND. The last issue I received was Summer/1997, and I am still owed two more issues. I wrote to the editor of ATOM MIND asking why it was that he was advertising for his journal on your web site and yet had not put out an issue for two years. He did not respond.

As a writer yourself, Michael, I’m sure you can appreciate how important it is that small literary journals do not falsely advertise their product. If people are cheated by one journal, they will hesitate before subscribing to another journal -- it hurts the entire business, and hurting the business hurts the struggling writers.

ATOM MIND has effectively seized production of its journal and therefore cannot legitimately sell subscriptions. Advertising for a non-existent product is false advertising and is illegal.

Accordingly, I respectfully request that you remove any reference in your web site to ATOM MIND being on sale.

Dickie Richards
[UNDISCLOSED E-MAIL]

Subject: Re: Regarding Atom Mind
Date: Tue, 14 Sep 1999 02:45:33 -0700
From: Michael Phillips <mjp@smog.net>
To: Dickie Richards <Undisclosed e-mail>

"cheated", "false", "illegal"? -- you're fucked in the head, brother.

if you do subscribe to AM you've received the publisher's newsletter explaining his situation. along with his promise to fill out all subscriptions...listen, *I'M NOT MOTHER ROAD/ATOM MIND*, and i do not speak for them, defend them or make excuses for them. i put the info on the site to encourage subscriptions to one of the best lit mags being published. whether it comes out quarterly or every four years.

perhaps you think publishing a literary mag is like publishing TV Guide, but it isn't. 99.9% of these guys are putting up the bulk of the MONEY for each issue out of their own pockets. to come to me with your bullshit whining and complaints is not only insulting to the spirit of the endeavor, but god damn irritating.

"as a writer" you say - don't give me that shit! don't fucking patronize me. yes, i am a writer. and yes, unlike you, i know how this shit works. maybe *you* are a ("struggling") writer. i would not be surprised, everyone else is. maybe you are uptight, anal and angry because no one will publish your shitty, struggling writing. maybe not. i don't know.

but really - what shit your letter is! what whining, mealy-mouthed, embarrassing, tightass, pussy shit. i feel sorry for you.

i don't speak for ATOM MIND, but i speak for smog.net, and smog.net says;

"fuck you, and the dainty unicorn you rode in on!"

your pal,
mjp

p.s.
that's "ceased", not "seized". you can't even complain properly...

Subject: Re: Regarding Atom Mind
Date: Tue, 14 Sep 1999 16:29:15 -0400
From: Dickie Richards <Undisclosed>
Organization: Undisclosed
To: Michael Phillips <mjp@smog.net>
References: 1

The fact remains that you are accepting advertising for a journal that bills itself as a quarterly and yet has not put out an issue for two years. I have consulted with an attorney over this, and he has explained to me that what you are doing is illegal. Later this month I plan to file a grievance regarding your organization's actions with the Attorney General of the State of California.

Dickie Richards

Subject: Re: Regarding Atom Mind
Date: Thu, 16 Sep 1999 02:48:34 -0700
From: Michael Phillips <mjp@smog.net>
To: Dickie Richards <Undisclosed>
References: 1

At 04:29 PM 9/14/99 -0400, you wrote:

dear dickie,
go fuck yourself.

pjm