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

Left testicle endangerment

I saw my Internist today for a physical. I like this doctor. The only thing I don’t like about her is that she calls me “Sir." I wish she wasn’t so formal. I don’t mind calling her “Doctor.” She does not need to call me “Sir." I wish she just called me “Dickie.”

In the lobby there are pamphlets that contain mini-bios of the doctors in the office. Under “Personal Interests” she lists very normal stuff like reading novels and cooking. She also says that she often stays up too late rooting for the Red Sox. This is also very normal. I do it too, but my thought is, should she be telling me this? I want my doctor to be wide awake as shit. I can’t have a tired doctor making life and death decisions about me. She should at least say that she always takes a snort of coke before seeing each patient, and for Dickie Richards she does two snorts.

While inspecting my left testicle, she hit a nerve. She asked me if that hurt because I flinched. I said it hurt a little. My testicle hurt for two hours afterwards. I hope that testicle is still good. I really need that left nut to make the babies and make me manly (except of course for my soft and subtle girly skin.)

She said I should exercise. When I asked what type of exercise, she said I should walk four miles a day.  I literally said, “Are you kidding me?”

She was overflowing with praise of how low my bad cholesterol was and how high my good cholesterol was -- and all my other good stats, which I had no idea what they meant. She told me I did good work or something like that. Obviously this woman has no fucking clue that a main staple of my diet is bacon, eggs, pumpkin pie, beer, and fried foods. She probably assumed that I was a health nut to have stats like that. (Maybe it’s the pumpkin filling that makes me so healthy. Maybe years from now they’ll learn that pumpkin pie filling adds decades to your life.)

If I can eat like shit and be so healthy, especially considering the awesome amount of stress that I deal with, it really makes me question her advice of doing cardio-vascular exercise.

No softball for me

Dear Stu and Erica,

It's become impossible for me to rehab my shoulder and play at the same time. I have decided to suspend playing until my shoulder is good enough to play. It is highly dubious that I will be able to play this Summer. I am terribly sorry to leave you short-handed.

I look forward to playing (hopefully) with or against you during the Fall or next year. I wish you the best of luck. I think Team 10 just had a bad outing the last game. I am optimistic that Team 10 will have better days.

-Dickie Richards

Michael Phillips: Portrait of a loser – Part 1 (Introduction)

There are some people in life that are like eczema. They are nasty and grotesque and irritating. When you think you’ve ridden yourself of them, they resurface. Michael Phillips is an example of human eczema. Michael Phillips runs smog.net. Smog.net, as of today, has an Alexa ranking of 2,921,898. This means that no one reads smog.net. Like many freaks that I’ve met, Michael Phillips likes to go by initials. His initials are MJP. I contacted this human garbage called Michael Phillips ten years ago. I will reveal our entire correspondence in the next MJP blog entry. It was posted on a different website called The Fruitcake Outlet, that I have taken offline.

It angered me recently that this piece of shit had come back into my life. It is likely that he posted a comment to my comment on Facebook. Although I cannot verify that the Facebook Michael Phillips is the smog.net Michael Phillips, it’s highly likely that they are one and the same due to proximity to the LA area. Our mutual Facebook friends are Fast Cupid blog community people. (This makes sense that he his somehow associated with this evil, quasi-institution.) Whether the Facebook Michael Phillips and smog.net Michael Phillips are the same or not makes no difference. This blog will be coming to an end soon, and this asshole world has not even begun to pay. I have decided to crash and burn this blog, and we’re going down hard! I am designating Michael Phillips as this world’s symbolic representative. Michael Phillips is the designated asshole.

I believe Michael Phillips to be a loser. He has lost in life. He always will be a loser. His self-published written works are probably already yellowing. I’ve never heard of anyone who listens to his music. His art, if he’s ever sold any is probably eroding at the bottom of some land fill. As much as Michael Phillips so desperately yearns for a legacy as a so-called artist, there is no legacy nor will there ever be, for he is a loser. The most attention Michael Phillips is ever going to get is from my blog, which hardly gets any attention.

Ten followers by July 1st, or no more blog for you!

I was angry today. I aborted a failed advertising campaign and pissed away a lot of money. I had my blood tested in Boston today and pissed away a whole day in the process. I was most angered that I let some plump teenage woman with a nice chubby ass con me out of six dollars with a bullshit story of needing money for a train. At first I thought she wanted directions, then I got a hardship story of being short on money. I smelt a con by the mechanized way she told her story. This woman was well-fed. There was no hunger or fear of desperation in her eyes. I suspected a con yet I forked over money like an asshole. I did not back out because I feared being mocked, as they used to do when I was a kid. At least she thanked me after she exploited her mark. The last con-artist became indignant that I had not given him enough money. There was no question that she had conned me as I saw her seeking another mark later.

Coming off the train I stared down every asshole parked on the bridge waiting to pick up people coming off the train. It was clearly marked: "NO PARKING ON BRIDGE," but assholes do it anyways because they can. I can't because you're not supposed to park on the bridge, because it violates the rules.

Attention Blog Reader:

I don’t know what I look like to you, your personal blog whore? Shit, I thought Fast Cupid was a mean back alley to blog in because of all the cocksucker, duplicitous assholes, but blogspot is simply the blog armpit of the universe. Do you know how much fucking shit I have to take on blogspot from all the anonymous drive-bye assholes who give me shit about my anti-Che Guevara and anti-Wediko blog posts that have been there for years? Don’t they look at the date of the blog posts? I finally had to block Wediko commenters. If one more Che-fan dares fucking post another one of their inane ass fucking comments on my site, I swear to God I'm going to threaten to skull fuck them to death. I am not kidding. Please don’t cause me to threaten and carry out a skull fuck, because I really don’t want to hurt anyone, and I don’t want to have to face prison time for the murder. Che Guevara sucks. Live with it, you dumb-ass, cock-face motherfuckers! And I’m not even mentioning anything about the occasional drive-bye asshole.

Even if I turned commenting off, I don't see what the point is in doing this blog. I am not some art fag shithead who writes because I need to write. I have nothing against gays. I really don’t. Give me a nice clean cock and I’ll suck the poison out of it. I really will. But I despise art-fags. And Bukowski was the greatest art-fag of them all. Nobody writes because they need to write. They write because they need an audience. This notion of writing because of some deep-seated yearning of the soul is pure, unadulterated art-faggotry.

Here is my ultimatum: I need ten followers by July 1st. Scroll down the right column of the page. Click the "Follow" button. If there is not ten followers by July 1st, you can kiss this blog goodbye, and I will no longer maintain a regular blog beyond this date, but will probably occasionally write a blog post when I need to burn an asshole. Why should I waste my time on you? There will be no more charity for you or anyone. You want my money? You want my soul? You better show respect. I better see some hunger in your eye before I fork over anything more to anyone for free. Ten Followers by July 1st, or this blog is done.