Posts Tagged ‘writing’

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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Where your sorry ass been at?

Thursday, 15 January 2009

The first meatlights post of 2009 and Jan is already half-over, a case of so much happening that nothing has happened.

Things are in motion and this time I’m going with them.

Even without writing for almost a month, meat-hits remain constant because of posts referring to ‘norpography’. I should send Marc Wallace an e-card.

We’re less than a week away from the Obamessiah taking the reigns. I’m betting it will take less than 4 years for the peeps who voted for him to understand why the other half of the country voted against him.

I see no reason to give His Highness “a chance”. If someone stated his intention to jump off a cliff and meant it, I wouldn’t need to see him do it to believe he was nuts. Obama’s laid out his socialist “plan” and it’s an ‘end justifies the means’ thing. You’ll see. Buy a gun if you haven’t already.

As for the other side, I deem the Bush presidency overall to be a failure (this from someone who supports the Iraq War) because of the bailouts, which are inexcusable; it would’ve been better to let the whole fucking thing collapse. Instead of “saving the free market” Bush cut the ribbon on the road leading to tyranny, and now Obama as Grand Marshal begins the march.

My friends, my friends, let me remind you that it wasn’t deregulation, free markets or freedom that caused this mess, it was government, which treats its citizens’ rights and money like a subcompact rental car.

Enough about pollytix.

Hope you’re enjoying the new year. It’s ridiculous that a man-made invention like calendar time has the power to transform people (more like resetting a computer with a virus) but it seems to help, a little.  New Year’s Day is a symbolic bullet in the head of the corpse of Xmas to assure it’s dead.

Blessings to my 3 readers of the non-sex posts and to the tens of people who read the dirty stuff. Here’s to more sex and filth in oh-nine.

Random Shit

Sunday, 18 November 2007

What you call Thanksgiving I call Thanxgetting. It’s not really a ‘giving’ for me since I don’t cook anything, just set the table and do the dishes later. It’s the greatest holiday of all, and the most sincere.

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For Playboy readers: is there a cartoon with a post-coital Pilgrim buckling his belt (or hat) alongside a sexy Pilgrim maiden every year? The capton is always the same: “Thanks!”

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My rant/review about Bushite Fury’s The Virus seems to get a lot of hits. The longer I go without re-reading it the more ridiculous the novella seems. At the end, hero Aaron Winters is laughing with his family about shutting down the entire government’s computer grid. So with the entire government angrily threatening to hunt him down, Winters thinks he’ll be safe because he’s in the woods of a national park aka federally-owned property. Author B. Fury also doesn’t take into account that the feral Black gangs, once the food in the ruined cities runs out, will ALSO soon be scouring the woods. Fury states his case, but his conclusions are wrong: the real war is a war of ideologies. There’s nowhere to run.

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Although I’d love to be a positive voice promoting White history as noble and proud (inexorably linked with American history like DNA) I do have some Jewish blood, which means no Aryan Discounts for me. 😦 Maybe my role is to help divorce the legitimate and necessary Whiteness movement from the taint of goose-stepping morons.

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GTA IV. Graphics? Holy shit.

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The “Word-Maker”, a dedicated keyboard with tiny LCD screen, arrives Tuesday. It arrives on a day-off, hopefully early enough that I have time to get familiar with its controls. Like a recovering alkie, I’ve already admitted I have a problem. The internet to me is a fifth of Wild Turkey at the center of an AA circle.

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Man-made global warming is a religious belief, unsupported by factual evidence. Those that smirk at the priest’s sermon as being fiction are yet ready to throw away their freedoms because some asshole in a white lab-coat tells the biggest lies possible about the weather to win his government research grant. This is the folly of our age.

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Never invoke the gods unless you really want them to appear. It annoys them very much. –G.K. Chesterton

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