Sunday, December 28, 2014

I'm Real


I'm the realest person I ever met.  It's not east being real.  Someone tries to make me laugh, I don't, and then I'm a jerk.  Most people will let the fake laughter flow to avoid awkwardness: not me.  I can't go along with this believing in god stuff.  I could just lie, say I believe in god and love Jesus, and then I'd be a part of this huge club.  But I refuse to lie about it.  I have depression.  I'm on antidepressants, but I don't think they are working any wonders for me.  I'm still depressed.  I had a scary thought.  Is there an antidepressant that exists that is strong enough to fool me into thinking that life doesn't suck?  I doubt it.  Everyday, I think about life.  Everyday I think that life sucks.  It  has been a lifelong study.  I keep coming to the same conclusion.
Being as real as I am can hurt your employment situation.  What if my boss tries to make me laugh, but I don't?  If he gets the chance, he might replace me with a fake laugher.  I've thought, plenty of times, "They aren't paying me nearly enough money to laugh at this bozo's jokes."  Obviously, being this real isn't good for making, and keeping, friends.  I'm currently not speaking to my best (human) friend.  I feel as though I've taken a ton of crap from him.  I don't even really understand friendship.  If I don't feel like calling someone, I won't.
I haven't been able to stop drinking.  I've been trying to drink less.  I just get so bored of being sober.  I don't care if it's bad for my health.  I don't want to live to be 100.  I'm not looking forward to my mind and body deteriorating (further than they already have).  That's what old age is: coming undone.  I took a DVD out from the library and popped it into the DVD player.  I had seen it before.  That's not the only time that happened.  That's a "senile" type of thing to do.  I'm losing my marbles, and there is no keeping them.
At this point, I no longer live for myself.  I don't want to live.  But I want to change the world, which is hard to do when you're dead.  I want to improve things for animals: especially those living under the cruel thumb of humans.  I want to convince people to adopt kids that already need a home instead of bringing more into the world.  At least I have 2 good reasons to live.       

Saturday, December 20, 2014

Pain


Pain in my brain
Pain in my heart
Pain in my hernia
Pain in my knees
Pain in my back
Pain in my soul
Pain in my soles
Pain in my stomach
Pain in my head
Pain in my legs
Pain in my hands
Pain in my life
Pain in my liver
Pain in my throat
Pain in my feet
Pain in my ankles
Pain in my lungs
Pain in my pancreas
Pain in my gall bladder
Pain in my rectum
Pain in my neck

Pain in my ass

Sunday, December 14, 2014

Mind Alive

 
My mind is alive today.  I spent yesterday with my closest human friend (My friends consist of dogs, cats, and squirrels as well.).  He is a biological parent.  I finally told him my true feelings about biological parenthood.  I think it is "messed-up" (edited) for people to bring other people, and animals, into this brutal world.  This resulted in a spirited discussion.  My friend, who I'll call Herb, is an intense debater.  If he disagrees with something I said, he'll tell me.  He disagreed with the statement I made.  He said that he thinks "virtually everyone" is happy.  Now I disagree with that statement vehemently.  Just take a look at the suicide rate.  Suicide is consistently a leading cause of death worldwide.  Forgive me if you're aware I've written this here before, but it's only one sentence, and I think it bears repeating.  The American media, by and large, does not report suicides (with the obvious exceptions of stars like Kurt Cobain and Robin Williams), because the CDC has asked them not to.  Why?  Because when the media reports suicides, it leads to more (copycat) suicides. 
Forgive me, I believe I'm currently experiencing hypomania, which has been redlined here (and "redlined" too, but I'll use it anyway), but The New York Times uses this word, and if it's good enough for them, it's good enough for me.  I'm irritable.  I think it's becasue I smoked with Herb yesterday.  According to him, he and "virtually" everyone else are happy as clams (Which is a good one.  Do you think clams are happy?  I don't.), but, as he himself has admitted, he self medicates.
When I told Herb how I feel, and he disagreed, and I admitted my philosophies are based on my own experiences, his response was predictable: "Boo-freaking-hoo. (edited)"  I'm a cry baby.  I'm a whiner.  I'm not afraid to be called a whiner.  I used to be a whiner, then I realized that nobody gave a damn, because everyone has their own problems to deal with.  So I stopped being a whiner.  But I recently thought that "Don't be a whiner." is just a way for the insanity to continue.   "I'm miserable, my life isn't going the way I want it to, but I won't whine about it.  Then I'll bring one or more people into the world, and if they're miserable, I'll tell them to stop whining."  And the vicious cycle continues.
Herb also said that people aren't gonna wanna hang out with someone who thinks that life sucks.  That's understandable, but it's more important to me to be REAL.            

Saturday, December 6, 2014

Got to Give It Up

 
I haven't been posting much original stuff here lately.  It seems like my page views took a nose dive when I shared my thoughts about god and religion.  People will be offended by my thoughts on this subject, but I'm likewise offended when a Christian says that anyone who hasn't accepted Jesus as their lord and savior is going to burn in hell.
I had a very uncomfortable psychiatrist appointment this week.  As usual, I met with her and the director of the mental health place I've been going to for a while now.  The appointment was going the way it usually does, when the director asked if I'd gained weight.  I admitted I had.  They began to interrogate me about the weight gain.  I was asked if I still exercise.  The answer was yes.  Then I was asked if I drink.  The answer was yes.  How much?  About 5 times a week.  This is where the mood in the room changed.  How much do you drink?  I had to do a little math in my head, because I usually drink vodka, and I measure out 1 ounce of it into each drink, which is 2/3 of a shot.  I answered that I drink about 5 drinks a day (5 times a week) or more.  The mood really got dark from that point on.  After all, it was clear that I was a fat drunk: definitely not the best day of my life.  Both of them stopped smiling and looked very concerned.  Then it was established that I've been drinking like this the entire time I've been on Prozac.  I was told that the combination of Prozac and the alcohol I'd been drinking wasn't good for my health.  They are concerned about my liver.  I need to see a doctor and get my blood tested.  It was also established that my friend thinks I'm annoying when I drink too much, and I black out regularly.  I was told these are enough good reasons to quit.  I was asked about other drugs.  I admitted to smoking weed a few times a month.  They seemed to be much more concerned about the alcohol.  I asked if I could finish what I had left: 4 beers and less than 1 bottle of vodka.  I was told I should pour it out.  I probably won't do that.  I plan to give it to a friend.
I haven't drank any alcohol since that meeting, which was 2 days ago.  I want to quit.  I'm much more likely to feel better the day after not drinking than if I had drank.  I don't like going to the liquor store.  I think liquor stores are evil places.  When someone goes into business manufacturing alcohol, or they sell it in stores, they are, in my opinion, involved in evil activities.  People drink themselves to death.  People drink and drive and kill others as a result.  People get drunk and become violent.  I'm hoping I can quit.  Unfortunately, alcohol is everywhere.
These are lyrics to a song by the great Thin Lizzy that are applicable:

       "Got To Give It Up"

I've got to give it up I've got to give it up
That stuff
I've got to give it up I've got to give it up
That stuff

Tell my mama and tell my pa
That their fine young son didn't get far
He made it to the end of a bottle
Sitting in a sleazy bar

He tried hard but his spirit broke
He tried until he nearly choked
In the end he lost his
Bottle drinking alcohol

I've got to give it up I've got to give it up
That stuff
I've got to give it up I've got to give it up
That stuff

Tell my brother I tried to write and
Put pen to paper but I was frightened
I couldn't seem to get the words out right
Right quite right

Tell my sister I'm sinking slow
Now and again I powder my nose
In the end I lost my bottle
It smashed in a casbah

I've got to give it up I've got to give it up
That stuff
I've got to give it up I've got to give it up
That stuff

I've got to give it up I've got to give it up
That stuff
I've got to give it up I've got to give it up
That stuff

I've been messing with the heavy stuff
For a time I couldn't get enough
But I'm waking up and it's wearing off
Junk don't take you far

Tell my Mama I'm coming home
In my youth I'm getting older
And I think it's lost control
Mama I'm coming home

I've got to give it up I've got to give it up
That stuff
I've got to give it up I've got to give it up
That stuff  

Wednesday, December 3, 2014

Mad World


 
"Mad World" (Tear for Fears song)

All around me are familiar faces
Worn out places
Worn out faces
Bright and early for their daily races
Going nowhere
Going nowhere
Their tears are filling up their glasses
No expression
No expression
Hide my head I wanna drown my sorrow
No tomorrow
No tomorrow
And I find it kind of funny
I find it kind of sad
The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had
I find it hard to tell you
I find it hard to take
When people run in circles it's a very very
Mad world
Mad world
Mad world
Mad world
Children waiting for the day they feel good
Happy birthday
Happy birthday
And to feel the way that every child should
Sit and listen
Sit and listen
Went to school and I was very nervous
No one knew me
No one knew me
Hello teacher tell me what's my lesson
Look right through me
Look right through me
And I find it kind of funny
I find it kind of sad
The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had
I find it hard to tell you
'Cos I find it hard to take
When people run in circles it's a very very
Mad world
Mad world
Mad World
Mad world
And I find it kind of funny
I find it kind of sad
The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had
I find it hard to tell you
'Cos I find it hard to take
When people run in circles it's a very very
Mad world

Tuesday, November 25, 2014

Dog, Human, and Cat

dating
Dog, human, and cat.

Ichi the Killer

Koroshiya 1 (Ichi the Killer)

Movie review-see Ichi the Killer: unless you're a puss.  It is ultra-violent.

Adam Ant

Adam Ant
 "Strip" (Adam Ant song)


It's at times like this the great heaven knows
That we wish we had not so many clothes
So let's loosen up with a playful tease
Like all lovers did through the centuries

We're just following ancient history
If I strip for you will you strip for me?
We're just following ancient history
If I strip for you will you strip for me?
Uh-huh-huh

When it gets so hot, the end of the day
You may find your clothes getting in the way
If a pretty dress hides your true desire
Fold it nice and slow, throw it on the fire

We're just following ancient history
If I strip for you will you strip for me?
We're just following ancient history
If I strip for you will you strip for me?
Uh-huh-huh

We don't need to see what the butler saw
Or a mirrored room with a mirrored floor
All those sneaky looks gazing down on you
Are no substitute for our rendezvous

We're just following ancient history
If I strip for you will you strip for me?
We're just following ancient history
If I strip for you will you strip for me?
Uh-huh-huh

It's at times like this the great heaven knows
That we wish we had not so many clothes
So let's loosen up with a playful tease
Like all lovers did through the centuries

If you think it's cheap or a bit risqué
Please don't say a word I'll just slip away
I am not a man who believes in lies
Like an octopus with big x-ray eyes

Don't freeze up girl, you're looking quite a sight
Be generous, I want it all tonight!

We're just following ancient history
If I strip for you will you strip for me?
We're just following ancient history
If I strip for you will you strip for me?

Dorothy Parker

http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/0/04/Young_Dorothy_Parker.jpg
Dorothy Parker



Resumé

By Dorothy Parker
Razors pain you;
Rivers are damp;
Acids stain you;
And drugs cause cramp.
Guns aren’t lawful;
Nooses give;
Gas smells awful;
You might as well live.



Tuesday, November 18, 2014

Please Buy My Book

This is the cover of my book.


There are many thoughts, emotions, and experiences I could express right now, but, first and foremost, I'm asking you to please buy my book.  It's an eBook, and it is readable on Kindle, smartphones, and tablets.  It only costs a few dollars on Amazon, and it's here:
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00HQSO9RO
I have no job.  I realize that many writers have had to hold down jobs to pay the bills.  The problem is I can't get one.  Even though I am a vegan, I literally became desperate enough to apply to work at McDonald's.  I did not hear back from them: at all.  I have applied for many jobs and received no reply.  I am broke and living off credit cards: going further and further into debt every time I buy necessities like food.  This is not your problem, and I'm not implying that it is.  I put a lot of work into this book, and I believe it is a very interesting and entertaining read.  It is also available on other countries' Amazon websites.  The title is American Loser: A Memoir of not Even Coming Close to Achieving the American Dream, and the author's name is Zach Murphy.
Perhaps one of the points I made in the book is valid.  The book is a memoir, but I'm a bit of a philosopher, so there's some philosophy in there too.  I've gone on quite a bit here (and elsewhere) that I think way too many people have brought way too many other people into this world.  I think 7 and a half billion (or whatever it is now-probably more) people on this planet is way, way, way too much.  Since so many people procreate, it is common, not special, to be a human being.  I believe it should be special to be a human being.  Perhaps there are only a finite number of jobs this world can offer.  Maybe people are just adding to the population in a way that's out of control and irresponsible.  You can accuse me of being a whining crybaby, but you can't accuse me of being a hypocrite when it comes to this issue.  I have never brought a baby, or animal, into this overcrowded world.  I know, that when I apply for a job, I'm probably competing against a lot of other people.  Back to the main point I was making.  I believe in the law of supply and demand.  I think it applies to people as well.  The more people there are, the less each individual is worth.  So many people apply for a job, that the employer can easily pass me over, because there are so many choices.  Because there are so many people in the world, many, like me, become disposable.
An obvious issue is that life simply isn't fair.  Some parents help their sons and daughters greatly to succeed.  They seem to feel as though if their sons and daughters have failed, then they themselves have failed.  They never give up on them.  Others do only the bare minimum when it comes to raising their kids: not really preparing them to survive in the real world at all.  And, unfortunately, far too many people come from abusive and/or incompetent families.  People have obviously been unlucky enough to have a drug-addicted prostitute for a mother.  I've had lots of thoughts about biological parenthood, but a recent one chilled me to the bone.  I simply imagined how many stupid and/or lazy people have brought babies into this world.        

Thursday, November 6, 2014

GG Allin


GG Allin
If you don't know who GG Allin is, you should.  He is a hero of mine.  Human society is a joke.  Rich people stay rich.  Poor people clean their mansions and serve them in every other way.  GG Allin was a real rock and roller.  He criticized singers who tried to sound tough when they sang, and he had every right to.  Rock and roll is supposed to be dangerous.  GG Allin never forgot that; he lived it.  I used to work with a young guy who liked punk rock, which is the genre that Allin is mostly associated with.  I told him about Allin, and he wasn't impressed, which surprised and disappointed me.
GG Allin is known for his insane performances.  He might beat himself bloody.  He might start a fistfight with one or more of the audience members.  He was known to poop onstage.  He was known to throw his poop at the audience.  I'm not sure, but he may have even eaten his poop onstage.  Google GG Allin and find out about him.  He was a true original.  I also recommend the documentary Hated, which is about him, and it is great.   

Sunday, October 26, 2014

Family

 
There has been much negativity posted here and with good reason.  But this one will be at least partially different.  I've been clear about my opinions when it comes to biological parents.  This is an f-upped world; therefore, it is f-upped to bring someone into it.  That being said, I'm feeling warm and fuzzy toward my mother, my grandma, and my mother's "boyfriend" (He's older than a boy.).
My car died approximately a year ago.  I don't have the money to buy another.  I could have bought one on credit, but I was really just overwhelmed by the thought of it.  Besides, I'm living on credit cards, and I'm constantly going further into debt.  I have resented my parents for bringing me into this world: especially in the way they did-2 kids fooling around and not using protection.  It's far from an ideal situation.  So I was ignoring my mother for a while.  I've ignored her for years.  But she emailed me, asked me how I was, and I honestly told her.  Not too long after, she asked me if I wanted her car.  If I did, she'd buy another one.  I needed help, so I accepted her generous offer.  After some excited waiting, I finally found out that she had bought a used car and was ready to give me her old car.
So I took the bus to New York City.  I took the subway to Queens, which is where my grandma has lived for decades.  I took the elevator to her apartment, and reunited with my mother and my grandma.  They were both kind and generous to me.  My grandma threw money at me.  Then my mother and I went to her house on Long Island.  I was exhausted, so I went to bed early.  The next day, we had a great morning.  We got along very well.  I was so appreciative of what they had done for me.  My mother let me know that grandma had made it all possible by providing her with the money to buy her car, so she could give me her old one.  My mother's boyfriend did some work on the car and told me some things I needed to know about it.
I made the trip back home a couple of days ago.  I hit crazy traffic in NYC (shocker!), but I got home safely, and now I have a car.  I am very thankful toward my grandma, mother, and her boyfriend.  I am understanding why people say family is so important.    

Friday, October 17, 2014

The Overrated List

 
1. Life-existence is the most overrated thing in the world by far.  Watch the news and see how many horrible things are happening to people and animals.  Read your history and see how people and animals have suffered through the ages.  I'll stop here because I've covered this territory before.
2. Sex-I've covered this topic before as well.  I can go into more detail, though.  Sex is very simplistic.  It's just inserting a peg into a hole: big whup.  It's amazing what people will tolerate to get some sex.  They will marry someone they don't really even like, but is attractive to them.  They'll spend tons of money in an attempt to have sex with someone.  I masturbate and don't have to put up with any of that crap.  But sex is destructive.  It ruins lives.  People are brought into this world of pain as a result of sex.  Sex is evil.  If I'm strong enough, I'll never have it again (with a partner).  Rape, child molestation, and incest are all by-products of sex.  Let's not forget STDs: like AIDS, herpes, syphilis, and gonorrhea.  It is very smart to not have sex with other people.  Just masturbate.  If you do, you'll experience the best part of sex: orgasm. 
3. Watching sports-When I was a kid, I was a huge sports fan.  However, in 1999, the Yankees won the World Series, and I felt nothing.  I was a Yankee fan.  I was watching these multimillionaires jumping around like children, and it did nothing for me.  They had reason to celebrate.  They were being paid very, very well to play a kid's game.  Recently, Derek Jeter retired.  The media made a big deal about it.  People were thanking him.  I got some news for ya.  He's already been thanked: with millions of dollars and he's been banging hotties!  It's so pathetic to me that people who are just getting by financially are rooting so hard for these millionaires and feel like when they win, WE win.  We?  You didn't win.  The millionaires won.
4. Marriage-I've never been married, and I have no plans to do so.  I think I have a good excuse.  By the time I was 13, my mother had been divorced twice.  If 2 people need to break up, NOTHING should stop it.  Let's be real.  Marriage has contributed to domestic violence.  There's no doubt.  Women have certainly thought, "I should leave him, but we're MARRIED."  It only led to more violence: or murder.               

Thursday, October 9, 2014

Poetry


I did not write these poems. 

Richard Cory

By Edwin Arlington Robinson
Whenever Richard Cory went down town,
We people on the pavement looked at him:
He was a gentleman from sole to crown,
Clean favored, and imperially slim.

And he was always quietly arrayed,
And he was always human when he talked;
But still he fluttered pulses when he said,
"Good-morning," and he glittered when he walked.

And he was richyes, richer than a king
And admirably schooled in every grace:
In fine, we thought that he was everything
To make us wish that we were in his place.

So on we worked, and waited for the light,
And went without the meat, and cursed the bread;
And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,
Went home and put a bullet through his head. 

This Be The Verse

By Philip Larkin
They fuck you up, your mum and dad.   
    They may not mean to, but they do.   
They fill you with the faults they had
    And add some extra, just for you.

But they were fucked up in their turn
    By fools in old-style hats and coats,   
Who half the time were soppy-stern
    And half at one another’s throats.

Man hands on misery to man.
    It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
    And don’t have any kids yourself.

Thank god for Suicide

 
I don't capitalize god.  If he or she doesn't like it, he or she can put a lightning bolt through my head.  Come on, god!  I dare ya!  I dare you to put a lightning bolt through me head.  Yeah, that's what I thought.  Kiss my ass.
Anyway, suicide is a necessary evil.  I'm so glad it exists.  It's always there: 24 hours a day and 7 days a week.  I can end my pain at any time.  It's a real comfort to know I can do it, and I can do it in a number of ways.  Variety is the spice of life (and death).  I've pondered suicide quite a bit.  I know it's ugly.  I don't want to do it.  But, according to my beliefs, it effectively ends pain.  One of the things that keeps me from doing it is imagining my body trying to survive.  I think of suicide as the mind killing the body.  The mind attempts to kill the body, but the body struggles to survive.  It thrashes around on the end of a noose and tries to not drown.  Everyday, I try to take good care of my body.  I hate the thought of killing it.  So I don't want to kill myself.  But life sucks.  I don't understand how people can start a whole business by printing "Life is good." on T-shirts (and whatnot) and be successful.  Life is not good.  I feel like I'm living in a Twilight Zone episode.  Most people are miserable, but they say they're happy and life is good. 
Another example of a necessary evil is abortion.  I was definitely born too late.  If I had been conceived in 1974 (or later), I probably would have been aborted.  I would have avoided so much pain: past, present, and future.  I was the unwanted result of teenage sex.  I'm pro-choice.  Countless people have avoided unfathomable amounts of pain because their lives were nipped in the bud.  Because I've had so little sex, and some luck, I've never gotten a woman pregnant.  It really is important to always be learning and progressing.  I saw an excellent documentary on abortion.  I thought I was all for it.  Then I saw the aftermath of one.  I saw the baby body parts on the doctor's tray.  I saw an arm and a head with at least one eye.  It didn't make me agree with the pro-life people, but it helped me understand them more.  Abortion is necessary, but it's ugly.     

Tuesday, September 30, 2014

I'm a Mess


It's true.  I'm a mess.  I don't fit into this world.  I'm not the normal person, and I don't want to be.  The normal person gets married, brings children into this wicked world, and aspires to have the best landscaping on their block.  And, of course, they want to have more money than anyone they know.  I must be crazy, I think the life of one mouse is worth more than all the money in the world, and I stand by that sentiment.
By the way, I was sure about it, and now I'm super-sure about it.  It is cruel for people to bring people and animals into this world.  This is why.  Animals bring other animals into the world, and that's fine.  They are just following natural instincts and urges.  It's completely possible that no animal has ever made the connection between sex and procreation.  They have sex because they are driven to do so.  But humans know what life has to offer on this planet: pain, depression, suicide, bullying, sickness, disease, suffering, paralysis, loss of limbs, rape, pedophilia, war, murder, violence, incest, torture, terrorism, loss of loved ones, deterioration of mind and body due to aging, and death.  But even though we're aware of all this misery, most of us choose to bring people into the world.  I've never brought anyone into the world, and I'll never want to.  Just because it's been done to me, that doesn't make it okay for me to do it to someone else.  I suppose that's what a lot of biological parents are thinking.  "It's good enough for me, so it's good enough for you."     
I can't believe I forgot to post last week.  It was shocking for me to realize that.  I blame being a mess and drinking on that.
I survive mostly for the sake of others.  I am ready to die.  I think life sucks; it's a lot more unhappiness than happiness.  But I try to survive, because I want to help animals, many of whom are living in a hell that's much worse than mine.  I also want to convince people to not bring other people and animals into this world of pain, misery, and violence.  So I have a reason to live, but how much pain can I endure?    

Wednesday, September 17, 2014

God Never Existed

What god would have allowed this to happen?
I've previously written about things I think are backwards.  Two of them bother me every day.  I believe most people should be vegetarians or vegans: not meat eaters.  And I think most people should not bring other kids into the world: not the other way around.
This, to me, is the third most obvious example of a way in which human society is backward: belief in god.  There are people out there who believe every word of the bible.  That is scary.  The bible is full of nonsense.  All sorts of things happened in the bible that cannot be proven in the real world.  So, yes, I think it makes more sense to not believe in god than to believe in him.
I believe that god was created out of fear and ignorance.  It makes sense for primitive people to believe in him, because they were afraid.  They wanted to think some big guy in the clouds had their backs.  It also helped explain things they didn't understand (It's god's will.).  But, in this day and age, I think it makes no sense for sensible people to believe in god.  We should know that horrible things happen to people, and animals, everyday, and that no god is watching anyone's back.  Also, we have science to explain things.
Belief in god is called "faith," because there is no evidence god ever existed.  There is no proof, so you must have faith.  These are the reasons I think people say they believe in god: they are afraid, they are mentally disabled, they are followers, they want to belong, they're afraid of being left out, and they're liars.  Yes, liars.  In America, you can't be the president if you don't believe in god.  We have had some very intelligent presidents: Nixon, Clinton, Obama.  Perhaps one, or all three, of them did not believe in god, but they wanted to be president, so they lied about it.
I think that truly believing in god is a form of mental illness, and this is coming from someone who has depression and OCD.
Religion seems to be responsible for so much misery.  Everyone knows about 9/11, Isis, and radical Islam, but, in the past, Christians certainly did their share of conquering.  I think we'd be better off ditching all religion and worshiping Mother Nature and all her animals instead.  Focus on the real and not the imaginary.           

Tuesday, September 9, 2014

Sex is Overrated


Sex really is overrated.  Have you ever thought about how simple it is?  It is the act of inserting a pole into a hole.  It doesn't get much more simpler than that.  Yet people go bananas over sex.  It's somewhat understandable.  We're hardwired to want to have sex and procreate.  That's how the species continues.  I'm a big fan of hot women.  Last night, I watched a movie in which Gwyneth Paltrow was wearing black lingerie.  It was hot.
On the other hand, we have intellect and reasoning.  We can choose.  We can waste a lot of time and money chasing people to have sex with, or we can masturbate whenever we want to (within reason).  I'm a big fan of masturbation.  I do it nearly every day.  If I wasn't on Prozac, I'd probably do it more.  I find Prozac to be a bit of a sex drive reducer.  Masturbation is great.  It cuts to the chase.  What's the best part about sex?  Orgasm, of course.  That's what jerking off is all about.  As a matter of fact, I jacked off to the aforementioned scene in which Gwyneth Paltrow was cavorting about in black lingerie.  It was very satisfying.    
Sex can lead to unwanted pregnancy.  This leads to kids being born that aren't really wanted.  This leads to lives full of pain.  Sex can lead to diseases: like AIDS, chlamydia, herpes, and gonorrhea.  If one can't keep their urge under control, one might rape, which can ruin the lives of the victim and the rapist.  Some people are sexually attracted to children.  If they act on this attraction, more lives will be marred.  Countless lives have been ruined by sex.
I've written this here before, but I'm so glad I've never gotten a woman pregnant.  I'm so glad I've never brought someone into this cruel world to suffer.  I'm sure I'll never want to.  Too many people, and animals, have suffered horrible existences in this cold world of brutality.
My advice to you is to realize the ways in which sex can ruin your life and the lives of others.  Protected sex is preferable to unprotected sex, but protection can fail.  The only sure way to avoid unwanted pregnancy and STDs is to abstain from having sex.  Fear of getting a woman pregnant is part of the reason why I didn't have sex from the ages of 27-44: 17 years.  I have no regrets about that.          

Tuesday, September 2, 2014

I hate pooping!

Nothing to do with pooping, but it should be seen.
Oh!  I hate pooping so much!  The thrill is gone, and it's been gone for a long time now.  Although, I never get tired of looking at my poop.  I could look at my poop forever and ever and ever and ever.  I hate wiping my ass; that's for sure!  I have OCD, and one of the ways it manifests itself is with excessive ass wiping.  I will wipe, wipe, wipe until I see NOTHING (except for blood, which I've seen on toilet paper plenty of times after wiping) on the toilet paper. 
What a waste of time it is!  I've spent so much of my life pooping and wiping my ass.  Some people are really into juicing.  I Googled, "If you only drink juice, will you still poop?"  The answer, unfortunately, is yes.  The consensus was that you'll have a little, wet poop, but you will poop.  It seems like there's just no way around pooping.  It is a necessary evil.
Also as a result of OCD, I hate pooping anywhere but my home.  I hate pooping regardless, but I despise doing it anywhere else but home.  Public restrooms are gross.  I barely tolerate peeing there.  Those places are germ festivals.  I wear long-sleeved shirts: even in the summer.  The main reason I do it is becasue it covers my arms, so I don't have to put sunscreen on them, which saves both time and money.  But there's another advantage as well.  Whenever I have to grab a handle to enter or exit a public restroom, I touch it with a shirtsleeve instead of my skin.
Ever think about how much poop comes out of all the asses, human and animal, in one day?  It must be tons' worth.  So much poop.  A crazy amount of poop.  There's no doubt in my mind that people have killed themselves because they didn't want to poop, or wipe, anymore.  It's one more thing about life that sucks.
It's amazing to me that people are so sex crazy.  I'm not.  A beautiful woman looks great, but, first of all, she probably won't be into my bald loser ass, and, secondly, she farts and poops, which is gross.  So keep it all in perspective.  The most beautiful people in the world fart and poop out the stink.  They're just like you and me in that regard.     

Saturday, August 23, 2014

Life Sucks.

Pain
Sure, I have depression and OCD.  But, virtually every day, I come to the conclusion that life sucks.  I wish I had never been born.  I wish I could just die peacefully and painlessly in my sleep tonight.  But I cling to life because I have hope.  Also, as Matthew McConaughey's character said in the very good TV show, True Detective, "I don't have the constitution to commit suicide."  At least I think I don't.  I wish I did.  I'm very torn.  I want to die, and I feel like continuing to live is just more punishment.  But I want to change the world by helping animals and convincing people to not bring people and animals into this world of brutality and misery. 
I can't get a job.  Even McDonald's wouldn't give me an interview after I applied.
I have no energy.  I walk, becasue I feel compelled to exercise, but also because I have to walk to get food and other supplies I need.
I don't have a car.  I live in a place where you need a car.
I'm living off credit cards and going further and further into debt.  This is very stressful.
It's not just me.  Tons of people are living lives they hate.  How many of us are truly living the lives we want to?  Mick Jagger, Keith Richards, Paul McCartney, Pete Townsend, Derek Jeter,  and Messi come to mind. 
The good times never last.  You go out with friends, then it winds down and you're alone again.
I'm the result of a teen pregnancy.  My father left when I was 2 years old, so I was raised by a woman in her early 20's.  That's less than ideal.  I'm a mess.  At least I've never brought anyone into this cruel world.   
My pain is both physical and emotional: everyday.  Life is pain.  Life is misery.  This is my experience.  If it isn't yours, you're lucky.
Before you accuse me of being a bitcher or a moaner, do your research.  Suicide is always one of the leading causes of death.  The CDC asked the media to not report suicides, because that just leads to more (copycat) suicides.  I read that, in the U.S., the number of suicides has increased every single year since 1999.       

Monday, August 18, 2014

Violent Youth

Two are better than one.


My junior high school experience was dominated by sex and violence.  Since the response to my asking someone out for the first time was “no way,” it was hard to imagine a girl going out with the likes of me.  I settled for the next best thing: feeling up pretty girls in the school’s corridors.  I only struck when I thought the hallway was crowded enough.  When it was, I started looking for pretty girls.  Then I'd get behind one and feel the curvature of her ass with my hand.  One of them jumped so high that she landed on the floor.  She was smiling afterward, though.
When her friend helped her up, she asked, "Who did that: Mike?"
She was referring to a Neanderthal football player who made my life a living hell: more on him later.  That's what I was counting on.  The girls wouldn't suspect me because I was such a nonentity.  They would think that I was incapable of such a ballsy endeavor, even though I was right behind them whenever it happened; I never ran away.  I also had my favorites that I felt up more than once.  Later on, in high school, I realized that I hadn't gotten away with it entirely.  The first day in science class, in front of everyone, this girl announced that I have touched the ass of her friend Gail, and the contact had not been sanctioned by her.  I denied it, but I was guilty.  She was one of my favorites, wearing tight Jordache or Sergio Valente jeans that drove me crazy.          
There was one girl in junior high that titillated my young loins the most.  She had a beautiful face and body, but her most remarkable features were her fully developed and perfect breasts.  They were the biggest and the best in the school.  The opportunity that I had been praying for presented itself when I saw her at the outer edge of a crowd in the hallway.  I was so excited, that I literally ran over to her and pressed my whole body against the back of hers.
She just looked back at me as if to say, 'What the f do you think you're doing?' Consequently, I peeled myself off of her.  Regardless, it was a real thrill to have my penis against her sublime ass, even though it was only there for a moment or two.
It has been said that karma is a bitch.  Perhaps karma sent bullies to punish me for sexually assaulting turn-of-the-puberty girls.  Maybe that’s why I was bullied frequently in junior high school.  Three friends, at least two of them were football players, bullied me the worst.  Mike was stocky and ugly.  Clay was taller and uglier.  Jeff was tall, and he had curly blonde hair.  They sat behind me in more than one of my classes.  They smacked me really hard on the back of the head whenever the mood struck them (and the teacher wasn't looking).  They thought that this was funny and so did my classmates.  I was so pathetic, that I even laughed along with them sometimes.  Sometimes they smacked my head repeatedly with a burst of quick, hard ones.  I never fought back.  I was a coward.  Considering what I know about the human brain now, it's clear that I shouldn't have let them batter mine around the inside of my skull as many times as they did.  The teachers somehow never noticed this bullying, or they just ignored it.  All of my classmates knew about it.  Those smacks were loud.
School shootings suck, but at least they have brought attention to the subject of bullying.  Perhaps kids aren’t as likely to get away with physically assaulting other kids as much as they used to.  Such beatings were just considered to be part of growing up.  Hopefully, that has changed some, and kids have the right to not be abused by their peers.  If there was a gun in my house, who knows?  I might have used it against my tormentors.
I was riding my bike near my house one day, and a bunch of kids starting throwing acorns at me.  Apparently, I had reached my bullying limit just prior to this incident, because I snapped.  I went home, grabbed a baseball bat, and rode back over to those kids.  I threatened to hit anyone who threw anything at me.  I clearly meant it, so I saw fear in some of their eyes.  Satisfied, I remounted my bike and pedaled homeward.  Of course, at least one kid hurled an acorn at me as I departed, spoiling my victorious freak-out.
That wasn't the only time this cowardly junior high school student fought back.  This kid in my music class, Freddie, didn't like me.  Join the club.  Well, I didn't like him either then.  We insulted each other regularly.  We eventually decided that we would fight it out.  We planned to get to the classroom early on fight day so we could do it before the teacher arrived.  That fateful day came, and we stood in front of each other and started talking trash.  The fistfight began when I shoved him.  Some girl told me to leave Freddie alone because he was shorter than me.  The rest of the kids wanted blood, and they got it.  Freddie bloodied my lip, but I didn't even feel it.  I got him in a headlock: bad news for Freddie.  However, as an acquaintance of mine who witnessed the bout noted, I was only giving him noogies on the top of his head, when I should have been beating his face in.  Finally, a teacher heard the ruckus and broke it up.  Freddie pointed at my bloody lip and laughed, which was when I became aware of it.
Then he declared, “This is not over,” which was an obvious threat.
Since Freddie was shorter than me, and he gave me a bloody lip, the consensus among the kids was that I was the clear loser of the fight.  Now I was the loser who started a fight with a smaller kid and got my ass kicked.  I'm damned if I do and damned if I don't.  We both received detention, where Neanderthal football player Mike was already serving time (shocker!).  Not surprisingly, he berated me for losing to a smaller opponent.  I can still recall the look of disgust on his face.  Freddie never did finish the job; in fact we became friends after that. 
Violence was all around me in junior high, though.  I'll probably never forget an incident that involved my locker partner, Ryan.  Ryan was a tall and moody sort.  He and I had been randomly assigned to share a locker with each other.  A girl, who took art class with Ryan and I, seemed to have a crush on him.  She was big boned, but pretty.  She decided to tease him by hiding his pencil: bad idea.  Ryan kept asking her where it was while she giggled like, well, a schoolgirl.  He was standing over her and becoming increasingly frustrated while she continued to giggle in her seat.  Then it happened really fast.  His arm was a flash as he hit her nose hard with the palm of his open hand.  Large drops of blood fell from her nose and formed red circles on the table as she started to cry.  Ryan was sent to the principal's office.  Her nose bled quite a bit.  I don't remember, but he might have broken it.  It was a sudden, reprehensible act of violence.
Scotty and I were best friends, but he was very competitive.  When we played sports on the same team, everything was fine.  It wasn't always fun to be on the team that opposed his, though.  For Scotty, the ends justified the means, which is why he lied and cheated.  I heard that he's a lawyer now: that figures.  An example of his Machiavellian tactics occurred when we were playing football.  My team kicked off to his, and the ball hit his hand, then the ground.  That meant that possession of the ball was up for grabs.  Someone from our team seized it, and we celebrated.  Scotty claimed that he didn't touch the ball.  We all saw him do it, so we argued.  Scotty stubbornly continued to deny it though, and he eventually got his way.
He was also very physical.  We very rarely played tackle football on a field; it was mostly touch football in the street.  That didn't stop Scotty from getting rough.  On a day when he and I were playing for opposing teams, he kept running into me hard and illegally interfering with me before I could attempt to catch the ball.  I called pass interference on him every time he did it.  The more I did it, the harder he glared at me.  I had seen him intimidate several kids this way.  Regardless, I continued fearlessly because I thought that our friendship would allow me to challenge him with impunity.  I was wrong.  He treated me especially roughly on a particular play, then he looked at me fiercely, as though he was going to hit me.  He saw the fear in my eyes, and it made him smile with delight.  I don't think I called any more penalties on him that day.
This time, we were playing street hockey, and Scotty and Rob were involved in an intense physical battle for the puck.  Rob was a skinny kid that we played sports with whenever we could drag him out of his house.  Scotty decided that the game was turning from hockey to boxing.  He had lost his patience and was preparing to hit Rob.  I was mesmerized by this turn of events.  Is Scotty going to beat the crap out of him?  Then Rob looked at me with wide-open eyes that made his fear clear.  His very effective nonverbal communication snapped me out of my reverie, and I got between them before Scotty could demolish him.  Too bad Rob wasn't around to return the favor when I needed it. 
Completely fixated on Star Wars, I wrapped black tape around one end of a neon-green broomstick to create my very own lightsaber.  As I played with it, I imagined that I was Luke Skywalker.  Scotty dropped by.  I showed him my new lightsaber.  I went a little too far and ended up behind him, holding my lightsaber tightly against the front of his body.  I don't remember if he warned me to stop or not, but he managed to turn around and punch me in the eye.  I immediately released him, and after a moment of shock, I lay down on the ground.  It wasn't a knockdown.  I hoped that lying on the ground would prevent him from hitting me again; he didn't.  He apologized, but I wasn't impressed.  I told him to leave.  I didn't want to be his friend anymore.  I was sick and tired of having a best friend that was bigger than me.  I'd rather have a friend who had an ass I could kick, if it came to that.  Scotty kept trying to apologize to me, but I wouldn't take his calls.  He was very persistent, though, so I finally agreed to go to his house.  The bastard gave me a get-well card.  He wasn't sincere about it at all.  He was smiling when he gave it to me; he clearly thought it was funny.  Despite his lack of respect for the major tragedy which had befallen me, I accepted him as my friend again.
Scotty and I visited our friend Carmine.  Carmine and I began to wrestle: just for fun.  Nobody told his dog that, though.  Without even barking a warning, Carmine's dog stood up on his hind legs and slashed me with a paw.  That was it.  One swipe and he was done.  He never made a sound.  I stopped wrestling with Carmine.  I pulled up my shirt and saw a red line that was about four inches long; that’s where one of his claws had broken the skin.  I had that scar for several years.  I had no choice but to admire the dog's action.  That was the coolest, most badass thing I've ever seen a dog do.
            While I was enrolled in high school, something happened to me that left a dark cloud over my head for years.  The homely girl on the block, Rachelle, managed to get herself an ugly, tough-looking boyfriend.  I don't remember his name, so I'll call him Thug; it suits him.  He and I initially got along well together.  He was on our block to see Rachelle, saw me shooting hoops by myself, and asked me if I wanted to play a game with him.  We played one-on-one, and I won.  I've played several sports, but I was probably better at basketball than any other sport I attempted.  Even when there was no one to play with, I could always improve my abilities by practicing.  It was the perfect sport for a loner like me.
            Another time, I was playing basketball with my best friend on the block, Todd.  Thug, Rachelle, and her little brother, Dean, walked over to where we were.  Thug played ball with us for a while.  Then he and Rachelle went back to her house.  Dean started asking me all these loaded questions about Thug.
            He asked me, "Do you think that you could beat Thug in a fight?"  He also asked, "Are you scared of Thug?"
            I was somewhat diplomatic when responding to these questions, but I didn't want to seem like a pussy either.  I didn't realize, at the time, that I was being set up by this instigator.  He went back to his house.  When he returned, he was accompanied by an angry-looking Thug.  I can still picture the dramatic sight of him getting closer and closer.
            "Watch out for this guy," Todd warned me.  
            Thug walked right up to me and started interrogating me about the things that Dean told him I had said.  I suppose that Dean made it seem like I had voluntarily said all these things about Thug when he spoke to him about me: leaving out his involvement.  I tried to explain the situation to him, but Thug was having none of it.  Like a dog, he could sense my fear.  As I kept trying to avoid conflict, he became more aggressive.  He pushed me.  I couldn't believe this was happening!  I hadn’t said or done anything to deserve this.  Then he punched me hard in the mouth.  That was extremely startling, and it threw me into a panic.  I tried to get away from him and go to my house, but he was in the way.  I went left, and he blocked me.  I went right, and he blocked me again.  This is where my football experience came in handy.  I faked left and went right.  I got by him and ran to my house; he chased me.  When I reached the front door, he gave up the chase and left our yard.  I was too scared to venture out and get my basketball, so I asked Todd to throw it to me while I was standing in the doorway.  He did, but he was clearly disappointed by my cowardice.  As Thug walked by my house, on his way back to Rachelle's, he predictably called me, among other things, a pussy.
            I went inside and looked at myself in the mirror.  My upper lip was swollen and bloody.  He had broken the skin just above the lip and left a deep, ugly cut.  I have the scar to this day: a scar of shame.  There was a knock at the door.  I approached it with caution and saw that it was Dean.  I opened the door, and Dean apologized for what he had done.  I accepted his apology and tried to act as though getting punched in the mouth and completely humiliating myself didn't really bother me.  However, because of that incident, I have very strong feelings about people who initiate fights between others and then watch them from the sidelines.  Even if a woman incited a fistfight (for no good reason) between her husband and me, I would seriously consider slapping her once I was done with her better half.  This event crushed me, and I was ashamed of myself for several years afterward as a result.             
            However, when my friend Scotty called me the next day and asked me to play street hockey near his house, I accepted the invitation.  Now, I don't believe in God, but something strange happened.  When I arrived at the location of the hockey game, the face of the opposing team's goalie caught my eye.  It was Thug!  I was very surprised to see him there, because I had only seen him a few times before that day, and only on my block.  It seemed possible that some mysterious force was giving me another chance to hit him back.  I didn't, though.  At least I didn't turn around and run like hell.  I couldn't hear what he was saying, but it sure seemed like he was telling his friends the story of how I got cut and the aftermath.  I suppose that one of his friends questioned the veracity of the tale.  He asked me if I had fought Thug.  I meekly confirmed it without going into detail.  We played our hockey game.  I scored a goal against Thug; that was all the vengeance I could muster.  I hope that scumbag is rotting in a prison somewhere.

Just in Case

if you're here from twitter because i stopped posting, i ask that you NOT ask twitter or anyone to do a wellness check on me. i wouldn&#...