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.

Kylo Ren, don’t make me feel gay

 

I don’t like feeling gay.

Gay in this sense has nothing to do with homosexuality, it’s a kind of shame or embarrassment by association with an object or idea ruined by obviousness, obnoxiousness or nescience.

The word “ghey” has been offered as a way to describe this feeling but it’s bullshit for two reasons:

1) ‘Gay’ had several other meanings before homosexual, and gays from that time forward didn’t offer an alternate spelling to separate themselves from the original meaning.

2) The well-intentioned but foolish adopter of “ghey” is left having to spell G-H-E-Y after saying, “gay” so as not to offend nearby gays. Who needs extra work?

Saw this today at the supermarket and yes, it made me feel gay:

I understand putting other SW characters on the boxes, including the fucking soccer ball that doesn’t need to eat. But how can Kylo Ren, wimpy-named villain and Vader groupie give a fuck about nutrition or pleasing kids, especially with a product name as GAY as GO-GURT?

More laughable is the new SW movie is rated PG-13, which means there’s a possibility of KR decapitating some poor fool with a lightsaber. This could be the Madonna/Pepsi controversy of this decade, especially since the new lightsaber looks like a burning cross.

 

 

 

 

And then there’s this:  

 

SLURP SABER.  

Slurp Saber…is funny.  

 

VITAL UPDATE:  The Force Awakens has been out for a few weeks.  By featuring Kylo Ren, Go-Gurt is advocating patricide.  Seems about right. 

 

Fuck The Simpsons, right in the neck

“I’m old enough to remember when The Simpsons was funny!” I whinged, shaking my cane at the sky as my long white beard billowed in the breeze.

To answer your first question, I “tape” the show and half-watch it during dinner. Force of
habit after 2.5 decades. I do not expect to laugh and am never disappointed. The most I get
out of an entire episode is a slight chuckle.

TWELVE screenwriters worked on The Simpsons Movie, including Matthew Groaning, esteemed creator. The result was mediocre at best. I barely laughed in the theater and have never watched it again. Marge said, “Somebody throw the God-damned bomb!” which is something Marge would NEVER say.

What prompted me to write about The Simpsons now after a decade(s) of unfunny shows? I was horrified by the episode “Puffless.” For some reason, the “comedy” writers went on a tangent where Maggie communicates wth woodland creatures, which is straight-up Merrie Melodies nonsense. The Simpsons is supposed to be an ‘adult’ show so I wondered who the hell the “writers” were targeting with this cutesy unfunny story arc (the main story of Patty and Selma quitting smoking was absolute shite as well).

I cringed throughout the entire battle where Cletus’s poor hound dog is tortured—FUCKING TORTURED—by Maggie and a gang of animals in order to free a possum. It must be “funny”
because other animals are hurting the dog and not a human.

Simpsons shite is so out of hand there are critics analyizing every episode like it’s Masterpiece Theatre. Once upon a time the sight gags were funny, now rubes are expected to DVR-freeze every other frame looking for inside-jokes-within-inside-jokes, not just Bart’s writing on the chalkboard.

The show continues because somehow it’s still making money, but for most fans it’s now a matter of morbid curiosity, how much longer can they milk this shit-show before cancellation?

Since obozo was elected twice by grubers, it’s going to be awhile.

Whatever happened to that girl?

I should probably say a few words about this post.

No, I didn’t eat her pussy, because I never met up with her, as predicted.

On the appointed day I texted her the website of the sushi/buffet along with a time to meet. I have a pay-as-you-go cell so it took forever.

Her response was: “Huh?”

So I canceled.

Hours later she texted, inviting me to go for a walk on the beach. Usually with the ladies that’s a good thing, but she wanted to go around 5 pm; she’d already told me, “If I really liked you (romantically) I would be so shy I wouldn’t be able to talk to you.”

I didn’t answer her invite. I wouldn’t put up with this shit from friends therefore I couldn’t put up with it from her.

Besides, after her reject I got stoned.  Being stoned, I wasn’t about to go to the buffet alone.

I’ve seen her since. She’s mad at me, of course. A Japanese-Irish girl.

Imagine how bad it would be if I cared.

I’m 40, she’s 20

Don’t know how I did it but I got the cute Japanese girl with big tits from this post to go to lunch with me this Monday.

“Platonically!” she all but yelled.

Oh, that’s how.

It’s an all-you-can-eat Chinese buffet with a huge sushi zone, not that I’m being racist. No, really!—she doesn’t like pizza or wings.

I’ve been trying to lose the same 10 pounds so I’ll eat light all weekend and make my “cheat day” the day of buffet. I also plan on being slightly stoned. I expect her to be fully horrified by how much I put away. I don’t care.

Not caring is how I got her to agree to lunch. And I’m not caring in the best way: I truly don’t care. I told her three times before I got her number that it’s OK to cancel if something comes up.

“Like what would come up?”

“I don’t know, you win the lottery or something.”

She claims she is shy, and the only reason she’s able to talk to me is because she’s not interested in me ‘that way’.

“If anyone falls in love,” I warned, “it will be you with me.”

I’m using this non-date as a test, to see if I remember anything about table manners and listening skills.  

The girl is beautiful with perfect teeth, and such fierce, callow energy you have to witness to believe.

I would love to fuck her with ultimate tenderness or even just eat her pussy for an hour, but the price would be terribly high.

Whether she chickens (or sushis) out or not, I’m going to that motherfucking buffet and eating till the manager says, “YOU GO ‘WAY, WE CLOSED, ALL FOOD GONE, WE LAUNDRY NOW!”

Poetry Corner: “I will fuck your wife”

Her knees depress a pillow on the floor as I slide it hot past her glistening lips
and slowly pull out,
her saliva surf washing over the thin skin,
soaks her own sealed mouth and slithers down her chin, a swaying line of spit that strikes between her huge breasts.
I massage her shoulders, happy for her finally getting some
attention
even if it’s just
thick ropes of man-yogurt
hot down her throat.

A preemptive rant

Might as well get this in early, since the closer we get to X-day the less relevant the rant:

 

 

FUCK XMAS.

 

Hell yes, I’m one of the Xmas haters! If you’ve read my stuff you already guessed this rant will be harmonious with the overriding hatred-of-everything theme around here.

Xmas is just buying crap for yourself through other people. Too often it’s crap you would never buy for yourself, so you have to pretend you care about the lack of thought that went into it. I hate wrapped gifts, cause then you have to feign surprise on top of disappointment. Give me a portable x-ray machine this year so I can be prepared.

Xmas is unnecessary. Living in America, we can get just about anything we want at any time, including non-seasonal fruit. To counter this obvious point, stores on Black Friday have been slamming prices to the mat like pro-wrasslin’ midgets, turning Best Buy parking lots into wealthy squatters’ camps.

December is my favorite month. It’s cool and cold but usually not freezing where I’ve lived most Decembers. Even if my birthday was hidden in some other month, I would still love the word “December”. I’d name my daughter December if I was ever going to have kids (I won’t). But Xmas vomitus overshadows the glory of the month itself.

The whole fucking thing stinks. If you hate Xmas as I do, you agree. If not, so what. Most people cherry-pick what they like about the hellidays, just like they do their religions. I’m not condemning them, it just is.

FUCK XMAS SIDEWAYS! Asshole Santa agrees: