Sunday, March 31, 2002

Easter Morning

Whenever I think of Easter I think of two things. First is this stupid fundie Baptist preacher who didn't know why Easter changes every year. And he had a doctorate in theology/divinity! That's what you get for not studying actual history, but believing that the Bible is the only history he'll ever need, thus look especially stupid in front of students. And it happened when I was in junior high! He was one of these real extremist types who claim that since the Bible says Jesus spent three days and three nights in the grave, he counted backwards and said Jesus died on Wednesday, not Friday, especially since the Bible mentions that the next day was a holy day, and not specifically the Sabbath. And he disregards the whole other parts of the gospel which displays that Jesus was the perfect Jew, so he wouldn't celebrate the passover (last supper) on Tuesday night, but on Thursday night, like all other good Jews. Ignorant bastard. And being an ignorant asshole apparently is good for longevity, since that guy is still alive, in his late 70s.

And then on Easter, I remember all the Easter egg hunts I participated in when I was a kid. Since I was one of the bigger kids, I was the motherfucker who would beat up other kids and appropriate their eggs as my own. But I never won any awards or anything, since I usually gave most of mine away to chicks. Too bad not of them were ever impressed, even back then.

Friday, March 29, 2002

Off With His Head

MOTHERFUCKER! Just coming back from getting my hair cut right now. Jun’s hair, which formerly flowed down to the middle of his back, is now all cut off, since I don’t usually do anything halfway. I mean, I slow to actually do something, but once I’m at it, I’ll go all the way, to the hilt, up to my elbows. So when I came home and looked in the mirror, I almost felt like weeping, since all my hair is gone, but didn’t, since I BE MANLY! I just fell on the sofa and whined and moaned and keened for about 20 minutes, that’s all.

And is it just me, but I feel a lot older when my hair is short. Like 10 years older than I wanna be, or 5 years older than I actually am. Like I bowed down to THE MAN™ or something like that. Consequently I’m even more crankier and surly than usual. So I bid a tearful farewell to various rubber bands, ponytail bands, hair bands, etc., relegate them to the back of the drawer, and hope I will see them again in the near future. Goodbye, hair. ::sniff::

Thursday, March 28, 2002

Killing Spree

Whoa, nelly! News out here in island is sure interesting today, although it reads as if it was written by a 5th grader on crack. And just as accurate, or inaccurate, I should say. Anyways, there was a fatal hit and run a couple of days ago, and 5th grader on crack writes that police say they arrested the cocksucker who ran over the pedestrian a few hours later in a supermarket parking lot sleeping it off. Now, I drink and drive all the time, but I ain't running over nobody. If you can't handle the liquor, then stay the fuck home and drink at home. Funny thing is, though, most people here only drink Lite beer, since they claim that hard liquor is only for the alcoholic. Problem is, they drink about two cases in one sitting. Not good, especially if you drink everyday. At least it's only beer and not real liquor. No one's got any problems then. Suuuuuure.

But the biggest buzz about town (island) is that someone either hacked someone to death with a sashimi knife or shot him dead with a .22 caliber rifle. I don't know, since there's two papers here, and each says different, perhaps because they're written by the same 5th grader on crack, who alters the stories to read like different people wrote it. Anyways, murder's rare enough here, and rarer still is when police actually catch the mutt who did it. Well, can't give police credit here either, since the guy who either shot someone dead or knifed someone dead with a sashimi knife gave himself up at the police station a few hours later and confessed. But if no one claims responsibility, police here be speculating on international criminal organization and the victims connections to them and how the certain international criminal organizations were able to send a hitman to the island all the way from Mozambique. Hell, that's exactly what happened two years ago, when middle aged man eating at a restaurant at three in the morning with his twenty something girlfriend was gunned down. At least, that's the story the police is sticking to.

Wednesday, March 27, 2002

Seventeen Again

I turn on MTV this evening, and lo and behold, MTV is actually airing videos. In the evening! And I do believe they’ve been airing videos in the afternoon as well! Instead of the 50 thousandth rerun of road rules, real world, cribs, game shows in which I don’t understand the point of, some documentary which has the informational value of a very slim and large lettered brochure, or any other horseshit like that. Hmmm, I think the fifth horseman of the apocalypse just tooted his horn.

So anyways, since MTV is actually showing actual videos, my TV is naturally tuned to it, except of course when they’re showing rap videos or porn, er, pop, which watching of I loathe even more than watching Dog’s pink and veiny dick. At least Dog’s dick has some practical use. Speaking of crap, did anyone else ever notice that in Enrique Iglesias’s videos, they never show the left side of his face? According to pop up videos, motherfucker doesn’t like his left side, and thinks his right side of his face is the “good side”, whatever the fuck that means. And what’s with the cocksucker like him, making out with Anna Kournikova in the bathroom and getting kicked out of the bar? As if he has the balls to, neuter that he is. Lemme just say…Been there. Done that.

And during one of the commercial breaks, which is even longer than a sermon by a senile preacherman with no concept of time and keeps losing his place in his crib sheets, they air a promo about Tom Green’s new show. And lemme just say that although the man is brilliant, he basically just boils down to a one trick pony. Hysterically funny with his one skill, lame ass on the rest. Even before when Freddy Got Fingered came out, when I saw him on Charlie’s Angels, I thought out loud to everyone within shouting distance that this asshole should stick to what he does best: making an ass out of himself on cable television. And to prove that Jun is never wrong when he’s loud, here comes Tom Green, slinking back to MTV.

Mucky Muck

Some people are so stupidly and arrogantly stubborn that sometimes I have a hard time resisting the urge to beat some sense into their dumb ass. I got this client who knows he’s wrong, nay, even admits he’s wrong, but is too pigheaded to make any concessions to his position, despite the good, sensible advice everyone’s giving him. Motherfucker’s got to get his way, or else. In this case, I think, thinking with one’s dick is not a good thing, and his brain pretty much went the way of Enron.

Oh well. I’m not getting paid to be a keeper for some retard. And perhaps I do not have to do this line of work for long. I mean, I like and enjoy my work, but in times like this, dealing with brain dead zombie with a hard on is definitely not fun.

Tuesday, March 26, 2002

A Mutt Is A Mutt Is A Mutt

Although Dog is a total food addict, he is very particular about what he eats. First of all, since he is under the impression that he’s human and dog (except when there’s a bitch around, then he’s all-Dog), he hates it that he can’t eat when I eat, at the table. In fact, he never leaves my side when I’m eating, intently staring down the food and drooling, most times. That’s when a swift punch to side of head comes in handy. Or whenever I go to the kitchen in the morning and haven’t fed dog yet, he always tags along to see if I’m ready lay down some food for him.

One of the side effects of Dog mistaking himself as human is that he hates dog food. Oh lemme rephrase that, he hates dry dog food. Won’t touch it unless he’s starving, about to pass out of hunger. Otherwise, when I fill his bowl, it stays there for days on end. But he likes dog biscuits, just not the cheap brands. Milkbone all the way. And he likes canned dog food, but not just any generic brand, he prefers Alpo. To top it off, he doesn’t like it as is. He needs some rice, onions, peas, carrots and other vegetables thrown in and sautéed together, or he won’t eat it. And he loves sandwiches, but not just meat and bread either. He prefers a slathering of mayo, a hint of mustard, and a sliced onion or two. I never seen a dog before who likes onions so much, he sometimes even eat raw ones.

Occasionally I think that it’s too much trouble to keep a mutt, even a first generation mutt, pampered like this. Then again, remember, hours of enjoyment!

Sunday, March 24, 2002

Off Day

After a morning of "research" and IM'ing a few friends, I spent all afternoon Saturday sleeping, waking up at 1:00AM to engage in more "research". And I've been up to it since. I'm nothing if not dedicated to my craft. Anyways, I was awake long enough to torture Dog a bit. I recently found these forceps that I thought I had thrown away. You know, the kind that looks like long scissors with skinny yet blunt ends. I won't say what the original purpose of me swiping the forceps from the local ER was, except to say that I'm somewhat of an explorer, and the forceps offers a clearer view than my fingers.

So I figured out that when I twisted the ends closed, then it doesn't open until it gets untwisted. So I attached that in that state to Dog's head, with it bouncing around his snout. And laughing my ass off. It didn't hurt him or anything, just bothered him alot. Had a great old time watching dog shiking his head, scratching it with his paw, and rubbing his head against various surfaces in an attempt to wrench it off. Heh, I never knew until now that having a dog can provide such enjoyment. I can be sooo evil at times.

But I'm also a firm believer that too much of a good thing is bad, so I took it off after like 20 minutes or so. But whenever I need a laugh....Bwahahahahaha!

Friday, March 22, 2002

Poke In The Brain

I was IM’ing my friend last week (who will remain unnamed to prevent creeping that person out, you know who you are), when the topic came up that I’m a virtual poison in regards to relationships. I mean, I have personally broken up at least 7 relationships as far as I know, and may have broken even more that I wasn’t aware of. The most serious instance was when I broken up an engagement of a couple who were together for like 2+ years. And believe me, none of it were intentional, well, except maybe for one. It’s not like I’m a curmudgeonly motherfucker who can’t stand to see other people happy because I’m not happy. Nor is it because I can score with those chicks on the rebound, since it never happens. I actually am very glad when my friends find that “special someone” and if somebody else that I know gets some on a regular basis, more power to them. It’s just that a lot of times, I can’t help myself from fucking with peoples’ minds.

Maybe it’s because I always operate on the (probably mistaken) assumption that I’m so god damned smart, that I can’t resist but to play mind games with other people, confuse them, doubt their self worth, and/or make other people look bad, which in turn would make me look good. I can’t stop myself unless I control myself tighter than a 20-inch corset, and even then it takes supreme alertness to prevent it from leaking out, which it does, nonetheless. And the trick is to make it subtle enough to prevent actually insulting people, but to make sure that my suggestions implant itself in the person’s subconscious and gnaw at him/her for weeks. I realize that it’s not nice, but as I said, I can’t help myself. Of course, it’s always helps when I’m with a chick, since I can fuck them to the fullest extent of the word.

Thursday, March 21, 2002

Any Other Name

There's a new tittie bar opening tomorrow on the island. As always, I'm on the alert for any establishment that provides my favorite things: naked chicks and booze. Anyways, I don't think I'll ever visit the place any time soon, since the nudie bar carries the moniker of "Classmates Club". Anything that has to do with school, especially high school, carries bad connotations. I'm not sure how I would feel about it if I see one of my classmates shaking her moneymaker at a tittie bar. To begin with, those chicks were mostly frigid, in my opinion, and in any case, even if they had turned the corner on their libido, most of them are gonna be old enough for their anatomy to begin...sagging. And although on real women, I don't mind a bit of sag, in fact sometimes enjoy them immensely, eye candies should at least be pert and perky. Otherwise, it wouldn't be worth it, just watching it without any access to the goodies.

Wednesday, March 20, 2002

Shallow Overwhelming

Surprisingly, I was one shallow motherfucker when I was younger. I only went for the prettiest chicks around, and was very critical of women as for as their appearance was concerned, and no smallest defect escaped my penetrating gaze. And I say surprisingly because unless you stumbled on my blog like today, you probably heard very descriptive entries about my indescribable appearances, or the lack thereof. It’s a wonder how I ever managed to score.

Fortunately for me, a few years ago, I had learned a valuable lesson, one I should have learned in college, but as everyone knows, no one ever learns anything at college. What I learned is that a willing chick is much, much more valuable than pretty arm decoration, even if the said arm decoration is supermodel caliber. Of course, if a really beautiful chick fell into my lap, I would do her just on general principle, but my preferences don’t run there anymore. I’d rather have a chick that’ll…I don’t wanna get too explicit here, to maintain the high quality of my blog. Let me just say lots of lubrication, insertable objects and food, a cane, a whip, my open palm, restraints, and an occasional cigar or two are involved.

Anyways, there’s nothing more frustrating than a chick that expects me to finish all the activities in 30 minutes or less, since I view women as I would an amusement park. And let’s face it, no one wants to go to an amusement park to just spend 30 minutes there, or even an hour. It’s gotta be an all-day affair. And perhaps most of the night, as well. And if the amusement park provides lots of, well, amusement then the next few days and nights as well.

Tuesday, March 19, 2002

Hate Filled Donut

I guess one of the onuses of keeping a public blog is that the people that tend to like the blog usually are quiet, while the freaks who hate it can’t seem to keep their mouths (fingers?) shut. And this blog tend to generate quite a bit of hate mail, considering the number of actual visitors to the site. I generally get about one hate mail every three to four days. And it’s all my fault.

In the beginning, I thought it was a good idea to get my blog well publicized. So I registered it with all the search engines I can think of. So now, I get fairly high search results for things like “Christianity and abortion” or “Minister registration” or “child day care” or something like that. And imagine the ire of said people who comes across this little blog after a search like that. Actually it’s quite funny, except for all the death wishes and prayers for rare diseases I receive in my inbox. So nowadays, I tend to keep quiet about my blog, and not link mt blog to my name or use pseudonyms when I’m commenting on other people’s blogs.

Perhaps that’s why I’m kinda hard pressed to think of things to put in my blog. That basically is my attitude towards my blog, since I know how fucked up life can get, so maybe I can give people a chuckle or two. But now, I have lots of topics I wanna talk about, but they all be grave and serious, dammit. And I know that the world doesn’t need to hear my half-assed beatitudes and lame philosophizing.

I think I’ll shut up now.

Monday, March 18, 2002

Night Life

Ohhh boy, do I have alot I wanna post about... But first, another post about living on an island.

I went drinking with a few buddies on Friday night, and every time I go out, I can help but get a sense that everything has been done to death before. I mean, it's so small here that all the bars I like I basically went like hundreds of times. When I first realized this a few years ago, I really didn't know why, since even before when I was living in a larger place I only frequented the places I went to alot, and didn't really try to go to different places all that much, unless I'm taking some strange chick out and it was imperative that no one spotted me.

Last week, I realized it was more of a sense of options, rather than the reality itself. Y'see, in a bigger town, I always had a choice between a familar place and a new place. If I had desired, then I always can go to a new bar. But here, all such choices are closed. There's nothing else. That's what probably gives me the sense of claustrophobia. Same thing with women. If I go doing a chick regularly, I usually don't actively go chasing other chicks. But the thing is, it's not like I'm inherently unfaithful or anything, but I would like to have a choice, y'know. Like if some sweet thing falls into my lap, I would wanna take advantage of it instead of being inhibited by any relationships or other chicks or what not. But I'm honest about it, and that's all I expect from chicks too. Not necessarily fidelity, but honesty. Like telling me about it afterwards.

Anyways, much as I abhor condoms, I use them on one night (or one week) stands. So should the chicks. As long as we return to each other afterwards...

Friday, March 15, 2002


Recently I've had an influx of clients, and unfortunately I haven't been able to blog much, since I don't have computer access at work. To top it all off, there's this new board up and it's been eating at least three hours of my time every day, which is basically all the free time I have, unless I give up sleep.

Anyways, Dog update: that bastard found himself a new bitch. Son of a bitch. While I sit here and whine that I can't even get a complete dream, let alone a chick. So the retard's been spending all his time outside, and only come home at night to sleep. Let's just say, I take all my frustrations out on Dog, and he receives an ass kicking on a daily basis now.

Wednesday, March 13, 2002

Cursing Fate

Last night, I had the most realistic and vivid dream ever. I know everyone, like me, loathes hearing about other people’s dreams, but it’s my blog and I gotta talk about this. So in my dream, I was doing this hot chick, and I wanna keep the high quality of the content so I won’t get into specific details, but suffice to say an inexperienced but very curious chickie had wanted me to show her the way to her bad girl self. So after long and fruitful endeavors in the ol’ missionary and chick on top varieties, I was just turning her over into my favorite position when I fucking woke up. I tired going back to sleep again, but all I got was some nasty nightmare about work, waiting for a late client.

What the hell did I ever do in my past life to deserve this shit? Did I ever torture and kill little animals? Was I a rapist? Did I ever molest an underage chick? Jesus H. Christ, if I can’t score in the real world, why the fuck can’t fate just allow me to get some at least in my dream? That’s it, I can’t take any more of this fate playing it’s cruel joke on me shit. I’m unfurling my dick, RIGHT THE FUCK NOW.

Ok, ok, I feel a little bit better now, after that rant. But I’m still fucking pissed off.

Show Of Affection

Love is her going down on me whenever I push her head down towards my crotch.

Love is a chick wearing a short skirt and no panties.

Love is spending more cash per month on toys than food.

Love is doing her four times a day.

Love is a chickie actually enjoying my death grip and nose pinch technique.

Love is a chick who let me do other chicks while she watches, and perhaps eventually participate.

Love is waking up to some morning head.

Love is an all-day 69.

Love is watching a particularly demented subject matter porno with a chick.

Love is inviting ME to a nudie bar.

Love is thinking my desires are perfectly normal and ordinary.

Love is not feeling clean unless we engage in some shower action.

Love is blind. And gagged. And tied up.

Love is either doing it, or thinking about doing it 95% of the time we're together.

Monday, March 11, 2002

Big Melon

In the past, I had described the effects my face has on various objects. I was watching television the other day, Beat The Geeks on Comedy Central, and noticed I looked like the TV geek, only uglier. You know, the fat guy with the chin. Fortunately, I don’t have the chin (yet), have longer and better looking hair, and I’m ever so slightly less tubby. And oh yeah, I don't have those god-awful sideburns. I gotta be thankful for small favors, I guess.

Sunday, March 10, 2002

Public Apology

Study says teenaged girls sexually harassed on the net.

I would like to take this time to issue and apology to all teenaged chicks I might have molested in the past, or will molest in the future. I swear on my own grave that I did not, or will not, know your real age. So please disregard any comments I made about frozen, water-filled condoms, or being tied up spread eagle to the bed, or any remarks involving hairbrushes, ping pong paddles, a riding crop, two large cucumbers and a bundle of carrots. And trust me when I tell you that sodomize is a town in West Virginia, really.

Anyways, once again, I'm sorry. I'll try my best to let it not happen again. Unless you like that kinda thing, of course.

The Offspring

I spent many hours amusing myself last night when I discovered a puppy, perhaps a couple of weeks old, that looks exactly like my Dog in my neighbor's house. Identical clones, except that the light coloring on the chest and legs are a little bit darker on mini-Dog. So I shoved the puppy on Dog's face just so that he can experience fatherhood, but since he's retarded, I don't think he learned very much. I noticed he doesn't make for a very good father, since that sumbitch just ran away when I tried making him give piggy back rides to his son.

By all rights, I should be pissed off because aside from the fact that he's been getting alot more tail than me, he always comes back home covered with fleas after one of those rendeavous with those skanky bitches. But I couldn't help but feel a slightest bit of pride when I saw Mini-Dog. Go figure.

Saturday, March 09, 2002


That motherfucker with the kitchen knife is bothering me more than it should. I mean, even hearing about some dude losing his temper and slapping his wife around or throwing something at her or punching her once or twice puts me in a funk, and this is perhaps the worst wifebeating case I've heard about in almost a year.

In fact, I heard on IM that a friend might found that "special person" but the news only cheered me up for a little while. And I went to a bar yesterday and tried to pick up Korean tourist chicks and failed miserably. Then I went to the beach today and tried to pick up Japanese tourist chicks and failed miserably as well. Reaffirmed the fact that my MANLY-ness doesn't work when the chick has no clue what I'm talking about. Anyways, normally, getting shot down two days in a row should bother me, but today it doesn't. That's how down I am. I've had depressions like this before and nothing really helps but time, usually about a week or two. Oh well.

Moral Grounds

You know what, I understand that God disapproves of divorce. I also understand that all major Christian denominations have strong words against divorce in their doctrine. And I'm aware of the fact that your father is a minister. Furthermore, I sympathize with your desire not to raise your kids without a father. But lady, if your husband comes after you with a kitchen knife, I don't think God will mind very much that you're kicking the sumbitch out on his ass. After all, you need to be alive to fill up those offering plates at church. And everyone knows God needs his money.

Thursday, March 07, 2002


I'm depressed. I hate those wifebeating cocksuckers who go after their wives with a kitchen knife. Especially if they only get off with a fucking misdeamenor. Fucking shitheads.

Freaks And Geeks

or Guaranteed To Offend, Part 5

Back in the day, it was shameful to be labeled a geek. A geek was liable to get his ass kicked, get shoved inside a locker, have his head in the toilet while it is violently flushed, and stand along the wall at school dances while all the other kids had dates that they can dance with. Not anymore. Now geeks are proud and respected. And I don’t think that’s such a good idea.

Aside from the fact that everyone needs someone to denigrate, it used to be that sitting inside in front of the screen for 12 hours a day while the skin turns a sickly shade of pasty white was a bad thing, while going outside and getting fresh air and exercise was a good thing. Now it seems to be the other way around. And I’m betting someone better come up with some artificial organs and limbs and bones and shit pretty quick, because I’m certain that in about 20 years or so, all these young geeks are gonna turn into old geeks, and there will be a bull rush on spare body parts like you won’t believe. Like those old geeks breaking their fingers off while typing too hard flaming someone on a message board, dislocating their shoulder while fragging some unsuspecting bastard in Quake XX, getting a herniated disc while lugging the world’s sweetest tweaked system up from the floor unto the desk, or blowing out a knee while jumping for joy that their Tron fansite had just registered its 10,000th hit.

Wednesday, March 06, 2002

Not THAT Desperate

To: The One And Only Sunny
Re: Your Suggestion

Sorry. I think one of my requirements was that the chick be able to speak English fluently. And I've seen Russian chicks, and they're not what I would call fluent. Thanks for your suggestion though. Keep looking!

UPDATE: Now this is what I'm talking about. Thanks! Know her phone number?

Bitch In Heat

I don't wanna toot my own horn here, although I have to sometimes, but I have the best looking dog in the neighborhood. Perhaps it is because although Dog is basically a mutt, he's only a first generation mutt. So the females in the area, hearing from the grapevine that a good looking stud has moved into the area, converge on my house from miles around, and show off their wares, while Dog stares through the window, drooling. By the way, Dog usually doesn't like other dogs, since he's under the mistaken impression that he's human. But whenever a girl dog comes along that happens to be in heat, his dick takes over and he's 100% dog.

So that's what happened for the past couple of days. This particular girl dog, probably came from afar since I've never seen it before, seem to be in a great deal of heat. Now, in the past, my philosophy was that he can get as much tail as he wants, since at least one of us is getting some. But then after a few months, I felt he was getting too much booty, and anyways, I got tired of kicking his ass to bathe him out of the fleas after one of his trysts. So now my rule is he's not getting any until I get some first.

So for the past two days Dog has basically spent all his time alternating from his post at the window or standing in front of the door waiting to be let out, while whining and whimpering at me. Finally the girl left this morning, and dog has been moping around the house all day, all depressed and shit, which necessitated me in giving him several swift kicks in the ass, just to cheer him up a bit. Serves him right. He's gonna forget about it in a few days anyways, that retarded son of a bitch.

Tuesday, March 05, 2002

Fall Of A Nation

On this month's Real Sports, they had a feature in which a bunch of people are trying to ban dodge ball in school. What the fuck's going on in this country, and who the fuck are these fucking faggots who are trying to prevent every kid in the country from having fun? These motherfuckers look like the kids from school who either got picked last, or never got picked at all because there was a odd number of kids. You know, the losers who stood at the sidelines while all of us cool kids actually had a little bit of fun. They grew up, and went to high school, and joined the chastity enforcement club, where they patrolled the local lovers' lanes and kept the rest of us from getting any. They are the kind of people who knock on the windshield when they see you enjoying, uh, attention from, hm, professional women in your car. They're the people who call the cops on your ass when you're throwing a particularly raging rave. In other words, these are the type of people who don't have a fucking life, so they spend all their free time, which is copious, who can't stand the rest of us who actually have some fun once in a while, and spend the bulk of their copious free time in insuring that everyone else is miserable as them. Cocksucking assholes.

Monday, March 04, 2002

Four FUQs And A Funeral

Q: What’s the worse thing a woman can say to you?
A: “Aren’t you done yet?”, in a disgusted tone of voice during sex.

Q: What blogs do you read?
A: I generally tend to read only girl’s blogs. I don’t really enjoy reading about men’s life, what I want to know is what goes inside a chick’s mind, y’know, for educational purposes. Only guy blogs I read any regularly are WWDN and Chris Pirillo and Unrealistic Expectations. Otherwise, I tend to stick to what I like. And I always mark my territory by invading their comments page, if they have one.

Q: You have any plans to add more stuff to this site?
A: Yes. I’m definitely gonna make these a page for these FUQs, when I do enough of them. I’m also thinking about indexing my blogs by topic, but that’s gonna take a little bit of work and time. And it kinda looks pretentious, y’know, like I’m under the mistaken impression that I’m spurting out great works in literary history. And a couple of posts back, my good, personal friend Shell (That’ll creep her out, for sure) commented that I had a rich fantasy life. That made me consider making a page containing some of my fantasies, but then I decided not to, since most of my fantasies will be illegal in most states. And anyways, I would have to go through the trouble of making it a membership only subscription mailing list or web page, lest I get irate letters from parents of children who happen by on the page or spouses of readers who want to try some of the sick shit that’s drifting in my mind. It would be free, since I’m a firm believer in free porn, but you would have to provide some evidence of age. And while I thought up a great way for chicks to prove their age while not revealing any personal information like sending in a copy of ID or something, but for the life of me, I couldn’t think of a way for the guys.

Sunday, March 03, 2002


or Oh, How I Hate The World Let Me Count The Ways, Part 4

Somewhere I mentioned that it sickens me to watch two middle aged men French each other in public. At least I can turn away and not look, since I have neither any emotional attachment nor any interest about men doing other men, no matter what they do, I won’t feel hurt. As an aside, I would like to mention that I am very thankful for gay men of all ages, for taking their fashion conscious, sensitive, good looking, muscular, well-spoken, emotionally in touch with themselves asses out of the playing field. I will always consider you guys as my friends. Just not that kind of friends.

What I’m really hurt by are those middle-aged men who have young 20-something girlfriends. Here I am, a relatively healthy young adult male that have the hardest time scoring this side of a Chicago Bulls team on an off night, and here are these old farts taking the all the chicks. If anyone desperately needs to be struck by lightning, it’s these assholes.

But I’m not without my defenses. If I see one of these pathetic losers who try to hold on to their youth by having really young girlfriends, and if I recognize them, then I would #1, follow them, see where they shack up, and call the police reporting a domestic disturbance, #2, call their friends, tell them what their “buddy” is buddying up to, and #3, call their wives and ask if they know where their husband is, and tell them. So a warning to all those old geezers who try to take my chicks away, if you ever run into me, you better pray to god that I don’t recognize you.

Only way out is giving me all your trade secrets, so that I’ll at least have some hope of scoring some chickies when I turn middle age, many, many, many, many, many years from now.

Words Fail Me

Be sure to watch those two lethal weapons in action in Farkman!

A Question

Hey, Sunny! How do you say "her" and "you" in French? I already know what "me" is in French, so I don't need no help there...

Saturday, March 02, 2002


Earlier today, while I was sleeping, my blog had it's 1000th visitor. And it's reaching the 1500th page view. I got no frame of reference, but I started using sitemeter on January 22, 11 days after I started the blog. Not too bad for a blog that's mostly nothing more than me complaining about how rarely I get to score, if I can pat my own back for a second.

Anyways, The One and Only Sunny posted her FRENCH WORD OF THE DAY and all I can think of is that that's one word I like to hear from a chick after a certain specific kind of activity. Thanks to her I'll be able to understand if I ever do manage somehow to hook up with a French chickie.

Friday, March 01, 2002

Stupid Human Tricks

Top ten list of drunken acts I regret, and not regret at the same time.

1. Right after a blizzard, I was walking back to my room when I passed out in a pile of snow. Luckily, I wasn't too far away from the police station, and they spotted the green coat I was wearing against the snow. I woke up in the drunk tank, and got alot of heat from the pigs for underage drinking.

2. After polishing off almost a whole bottle of Ballantine 17yrs., drove home. I remember getting in the car, and I remember falling in my bed, but I have no recollection of the interval in between.

3. Went to a party, got shitfaced, "forgot" I had a chickie at the time and that she was coming later. She catches me making out with another woman. Took me two whole days of full-on Jun effect before I got any again.

4. Went to a nudie bar pasted, had sex with a stripper in the "champagne room".

5. Went to a Japanese Karaoke bar sober, got wasted there, and received head from a hostess in the Men's room.

6. Persuaded a theology student to go drinking with me, got drunk together, took his virgin ass to a brothel.

7. Got kicked out from a bar when I whipped it out and took a leak on the floor. Hey, the bathroom was REALLY far away.

8. Went to a disco slushed and ended up dancing in my underwear.

9. Tried going shot for shot with my Russian roommate. Woke up on the floor 12 hours later.

10. Went to final exams after staying up the whole night before, drinking. NOT a good idea.