Posts Tagged ‘children’

A brief spike in traffic

Wednesday, 14 February 2018

For 3 days running I had over 100 views to the site, akin to a miracle.  I’m not that interesting, so it must’ve all been for recent Jeopardy! contestant Rachel Lindgren.

It’s my duty to warn you thirsty nerds AGAIN that smart women are not a solution to anything and being a sapiosexual is a road to nowhere.  If she’s smart while you’re enamored (subtract 25 IQ points for each boob and asscheek) you’re in QUADRUPLE the danger of being manipulated.  Not that I overly give a shit what happens to you, you’re probably better off than me.

I believe this blog is now 10 or 11 years old, which means little because I rarely posted after 2009, was it?  It has brought me neither joy nor grief, certainly no money or gavina.  I don’t read my own shit so I’ve forgotten most of it, except to remember impassioned movie reviews about Batman (pointless) or politics (far more pointless) and cussing out my wage slave job while doing nothing to improve my lot in life.

Two things happened in the last 5 years which changed the entire arc of my  inclinations, I got out of the shit job and I “discovered” whores.  Also, my father died  at 73 of natural causes, if you count lung cancer as natural.

The whores saved my life.  Once I was getting laid fairly regularly all the Mysteries of Womanhood evaporated, which was bittersweet, but poetry is either written out of your system or it burns you from the inside out like drinking bleach.  Poetry IS drinking bleach, usually for the reader. 

The women’s humanity made me less of a misogynist, and it even seemed a few of them enjoyed the ride beyond getting paid.  (I haven’t been laid in over a year due to health problems so that’s on pause.)

I’m closer to 50 than 40 now.  I’m not better than I was in 2006, but like to think I’ve learned much the last 10 or 11 years.  I wouldn’t trade my scant “life’s work” of writing for falling in love.   

Here are the final lines from a long ago poem.

I know it’s coming, death or a balloon.

The slitted eyes of a petted cat.

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More On Children

Thursday, 1 May 2008

I was mildly stoked to try disc golf (frolf) with “Mac”, a guy from work, until I learned he would have his kid with him.

You’d think from such a reaction and this semi-redundant post that I hate children. Not so! It’s just long ago I had all romantic illusions of childhood stripped away by working with 20 or 30 kids at a time as a glorified babysitter. Not to be a fatalist, but even at ages 5-10 the Lord of the Flies framework is in place; you can already tell who is fucked for life, or will at best have a long, hard road ahead of them. (Years later, I was also horrified/delighted to realize I can legally have sex with any of the girls I once babysat, except that like 99% of the people I’ve met/known, I hope never to see them again).

Not being able to tolerate children is a personal defect as far as this society is concerned, right up there with suspicion at never being married/divorced or a breeder yourself. It’s another way I’ve failed to be normal, one I don’t mind, as I can barely take care of myself, much less another.

I never want to raise another man’s kids or be around them, which is another obstacle to being with the female. I know of a good-looking woman, friend of my friend’s wife, freshly-divorced. She’s good looking, had breast reduction surgery (oh how that pains me) and if she doesn’t already sound like a dream come true, she’s a wealthy heiress to a beer fortune. Seriously. Our slang name for her is “The Beeroness.”

You already know where the problem lies: two daughters, one spoiled and the other who-the-hell-knows.

I just can’t do it.

Problems with children go to far beyond personal ones. These days if someone sees you talking to a child without that child’s guardian close by and you don’t look the part, you’re fucking finished. You are putting your life and reputation in the hands of fate, and if that child decides to lie (or is forced by authority figures to “remember”) you inappropriately touching them…

If this societal paranoia paid off in by actually killing convicted child molesters/rapists/murderers within a week of sentencing, I might support it. But there’s no follow-through there either.

I know many adults that won’t even acknowledge the presence of children for that reason. They’re afraid, with good cause.

And you wonder why the little shits have no respect for anything or anyone.

The greatest mistake this country has made in the past century is allowing federal and state governments to run the schools. How will fucking government, defender of mediocrity and promoter of endless dependency, train future generations to beware of governmental abuses of power? If you have no idea what I’m talking about, you need to take a closer look at your local school system. Why are you barred from knowing your local indoctrination centers’ curriculum? What kind of messages are bureaucrats sending to impressionable young minds about economics and history?

If Mac corners me, I’ll take the hit and go frolfing despite the presence his son, who is 2 or 3 years old. I’m not a shit, or if i am, I’m an observant one: “Mac” loves his kid and having one (and a quality wife) has made him a better, more responsible man.

But all the children everywhere? We have failed them. Drenched in sexual and violent imagery, brainwashed by government schools, “raised” by a parade of moms’ boyfriends (themselves overgrown children) today’s “children” are already dangerous. They are Hitler Youth, only pledging allegiance to the Tele-playstation-Wii-Box and the Next Big Thing. For now.

Pot, pancakes, despair

Saturday, 2 February 2008

Last night (ah, the horrors that follow those words) I reached for marijuana, just a few hits off a joint cig (stuff called “Ultra II” if that means anything) the first time I’ve touched any plants since Xmas.

Pain was (and is) eating me alive, but since that’s going to happen anyway, why not file a few teeth out of the shark’s mouth?

It worked, sort of.  I took 4 small hits.  The shit worked as promised and I waited another hour before driving.  I went to my friend Egg’s house, where he prepared homemade French bread pizzas with fresh garlic  (complimenting the half a giant candy bar I wolfed down on the way over).

Egg is up on my complaints with women.  I explained the latest delusions I was using to keep my spirits propped up.  Women are founts of life and primordial swamps of misery.  You can’t hate what you love, the rose has to be planted in manure, etc.  Egg knew all this already, his hard-working wife fully provided him CliffsNotes on the subject of female capriciousness by forever going out with fags while not fucking him as much as he would like.

While Egg left to take his drunkard older brother home, I stayed with his two young sons, the 5-year-old and me ending up watching Born on the 4th of July.  I hate Oliver Stone but don’t deny his genius, his movie worlds have their own laws of physics, morality and are beautiful to watch.

Of course, we couldn’t watch long because of the horrific nature of the film and fortunately the kid lost interest.  When Ron Kovic was lying down screaming (which as Tom Cruise as he did a lot) I told the kid “the guy was having a nightmare he was being burned with a giant popsicle”.  Maybe it was the truth.

I went from my computer to Egg’s computer and the internet was just as I’d left it at my place.  The rambunctious kid kept playfully attacking me, trying to jump on my lap.  Normally I hate children but as an honorary uncle I wrestled him a little.  It helped remove some of the despair from the air.  Despite the urchin’s cherubic looks someday he too will be going through the same hell I am now, that all men suffer, gay or straight, rich or poor.  Who knows what her name will be or even if she’s born yet.

It finally got late.  Egg returned, his wife came back from partying with the finooks and he and I went to Wal-mart and ate breakfast at an all-night chain (not ihop).

I’m going to fucking die and I’m sorry it wasn’t last night in my sleep, those pancakes were good.

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