A brief spike in traffic

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.

Better Off Nuked

 

Where to rank Rabbi Trump’s Raytheon Shuffle on the Presidential Scale of Humiliation? Mercifully lower than obozo bowing like a punk to leaders of lesser nations, on par with Bush 43 holding hands and kissing the Saudi King like a faggot.

Western Civilization’s failing caretakers should never legitimize islam, which proves disastrous wherever it dominates. There’s no difference betwixt “radical” islam and any other kind, it’s all sharia. These dumb fucking towels couldn’t even get the oil out of the ground without the White Man’s genius.

While we Trump voters wait for ANY update on the The Wall we won’t be getting (fuck you Paul Ryan and fuck Trump for not getting rid of you) we’re supposed to dance with joy at selling 110 billion worth of deadly hardware to the LAST assholes on Earth who need more weapons, not just saudis, ANYONE in the Shittle East.

This isn’t the 1940s folks, massive new factories hiring thousands of workers to build these weapons will never exist again. If the 110 billion went straight into the pockets of every man, woman and illegal in America it would average $300 bucks, and so what?–American taxpayers fork over 113 billion EVERY YEAR to pay for illegals’ welfare.

Those are the numbers, it’s the human cost that adds injury to insult: we’re selling weapons to these oily fucks which will end up in jihadist hands, and there is no saudi army, it’s OUR troops, Americans, who die fighting for towel “royalty” (or Israel).

Western Civilization continues its downward spiral. There was one last pause, the election of MAGA Trump who died from cancer after only 100 days. The saudis in that gay-ass sword chorus line could’ve beheaded Trump and nothing would change: lunatics run the asylum.

The world would be better off nuked than just given to muslim and feminist swine.

In the Spirit of Bill Hicks

Jesus Christ versus a pococurante

When I first saw him he reminded me of a failed auditioner for a boy band, mostly because of the his white t-shirt underlying a thin print-pattern shirt with open sides billowing as if underwater as he paced, seemingly lost.

When I saw him again he was loudly singing songs referencing Jesus. Those around him seemed disturbed by this, but he was in his own world. He was there because he had a problem with something, and because I was at work, it was now my problem and job to help. As I helped him he asked, “Have you been Saved?” I wasn’t looking at him when I answered, “Well, I’m working here…” Meaning “Fuck No”.

Up close, Boy Band’s face was smooth and fresh but his eyes were puffy and tired. He explained how he was now 25 and had done every drug possible and hit bottom before trying God. And lo, Jesus had Saved him!

While not technically a Christian myself, I believed that Christ Jesus had indeed helped Boy Band, along with the peer pressure of the church, but I didn’t think the experience made Boy Band any smarter or more lucid; whatever potential he had before frying his circuits with drugs would remain lost. Well shit, he was only 25. Why judge?

I was mildly insulted that a “ki-dult” (25 is the real beginning of adulthood) would preach to someone older (me) but Boy Band’s torpid joy seemed real enough, and those Saved early on have a much harder road ahead of them than those who convert later (after fucking and drugging, sins denied me due to hating people).

Being at work, I only offered grunts of acknowledgment. As a customer, Boy Band could say whatever he wanted, while I was a slave. No employee enjoys this imbalance but then, I really didn’t have anything to add to his sluggish exuberance. If I wanted to risk losing the job I would’ve told Boy Band my minority opinion, which as a fundamentalist/former-druggie-now-Saved he would’ve found unacceptable: Jesus Christ is the answer, but not the only answer, there are infinite paths to God.

Boy Band said he’d say a prayer for me that night.

That was yesterday and I feel no different. I hope the positive effects of his prayer are delayed because tonight is another lottery drawing and the pot is 37 mil.

** ** ** ** ** **

Christ alone will never do it for me. I’m personally offended that He would deign to heal broken hearts when He Himself never tasted the pain of a variety of human failures, including rejection from a woman loved.

Now older than Christ at the time of his exit, I await death with the curse of a healthy body. Suicide would just leave God with a way to change the subject for calling Him out on the many, many fucked-up and stupid ways things are run around here.

So I wait, while somewhere out there Boy Band plans to be a counselor helping drug addicts. I am confident God has a few surprises left for both of us. It’s why I own a gun.