Random Thought Of The Day #676

Day 676

It's weird to think about how long I've been involved in the public scene now.  I saw that 2 of my friends celebrating their 7 year anniversary of being together today and it made me sit there and think "how long have I been around?"

I went to my first munch in about spring of 2005. And I was the kid there. I didn't know anyone. I don't even know if FL existed at that point (which is strange, considering that I'm like... member # less-than-3000 or something out of over a million and change at this point) and I got my info from a random OLD calendar. Even before the google calendar that still is somewhat used.

I don't even remember which munch group it was. I only remember being kinda looked at like "who the fuck is this guy?" by a bunch of people old enough to be my parents. It was really awkward. I don't think there was anyone under 50 in the room that night and I kinda wanted to just walk right back out the door when I was there.

I didn't go back. I took only one thing out of that first munch and that was "the kink world here isn't for young people". I didn't talk to anyone that night. And nobody talked to me. I sat in a chair & listened to people and got really fucking bored.

See... here's something you might not actually know about me. I'm painfully shy.

Yeah... I know. It seems antithetical. I'm loud. I'm outspoken. I make a spectacle of myself. I put the spotlight right on me. There's no way that a guy that does that is shy, right?

You'd be shocked. Try putting me one-on-one, with no audience, and someone that I don't know at all. I'm guarded. I'm kinda quiet. I become un-Joe-like. I'm shy.

Here's the secret. I want the audience. I want the spotlight. But I want it because it allows me to play the odds better. I look from person to person. I find that person that I'm connecting with through my words or actions. I find that person that's vibing ME and I feed off that. I try to keep that connection. I don't need to get any sort of "approval" from a group as a whole. I pick it apart and get it piece-by-piece. Systematically.

I try to get that one person "on my side" and like an ally. I make that connection and it almost becomes a self-sustaining thing. It grows from there. I get one person that I start feeling more comfortable about and it gives me an audience to play to more. And then I seek that next person. And the next. Until I get more "connections" that I have than those I haven't yet made in that group. It spreads. Like a virus.

Remember how many times I've told you that I infect people with myself? yeah... exactly. That's how I do it.

Now granted, sometimes I'm only seeking that "connection" from that first person. Like a first-come-first-serve counter. I find that connection & build it because that's all I want at that moment. Just one person to connect to and find some form of comfort with. I find that person in a group & it relaxes me to make that first connection.

Plus... my method of making a spectacle of myself works in a different way as well with other people. It provides a strange form of self-fulfilling prophecy. Awesome people get the spotlight put on them all the time. Well... and some attention-whoring asshats too, but still. In this case we're talking about me. And I'm fucking amazing.

But as I was saying... putting the spotlight on me gives people the inital impression of "he must be kinda awesome to have that much of a spotlight on him" before they even get to know me. It's like my first-impression without actually having to make a first impression. It creates a positive pre-concieved notion that I intentionally foster.

The thing is... none of it is inherintly dishonest or anything. It's just my way of compensating for naturally painful shyness. I had to find a way around it to meet people & make new friends. I needed to find a way to show how awesome I was without it being a one-on-one thing.

I'll tell you another thing. It's why I've always sucked at picking up girls at the bar. Well, not so much sucked as just been too shy to generally go up to a cute girl by herself and strike up a conversation. I'm no good at it. I can approach a group of cute girls and use my normal approach and be funny & charming and all that just by finding that one initial connection. And build it until that cute girl to the right of the girl in the middle starts to notice me. I might have been too shy to go straight up to her athte beginning, but I can get her to come to me in a way because of this.

Is it a little manipulative? Sure... but it's not dishonest or anything. I'm not being untrue to who I am. I'm just avoiding an uncomfortable way to approach someone and make friends by doing it in a more comfortable way for me. We all do it in some ways. This is just how I do it.

Maybe it's because I've been on stage since I was a kid. I've been on more big stages and performed in more things than I could even count. And I loved it. Sometimes I was the center of attention, sometimes I was one of many. But I was always comfortable with people looking at me while I did something & performed for their "approval". The spotlight has always been comfortable. Even when I can look right back into the audience.

But how was that first munch different then? What was it about that time that was different?

It took me a little bit of time to realize it. But it's because it was mostly couples and not so much a group. There was no other 3rd wheels that I could connect with. There was nobody close to my age to connect with. There was nobody that I saw anything about that I could really connect with to get that first foothold to climb that mountain of being entirely comfortable. It wasn't really a GROUP that was functioning in that dynamic. It wasn't the same as a just a group of people with some couples mixed in. I wasn't just the 3rd wheel, I was the 15th. There was nothing to connect with.

So yeah... about 6 or 7 years ago, I hit my first munch and hated it. It took me about a year or 2 more before I came back to anything. I don't know if I can really say that I stuck around but I've been involved in the public world since then & probably will be for many more years to come. As much as that might piss some people off.

I guess I eventually answered my question to myself there. In a really meandering & oddly personal way that probably gives away FAR too much about me. Heh... even in writing, I'm still a little guarded, ain't I?

Random THought Of The Day #675

Day 675

Serious thing.

So Artemis Fallen's car died the ther day. The engine is shot (crank shaft bearing) & not worth repairing. So we're going to scrap or salvage it.

Now, the salvage yard isn't willing to give a lot for it, so we came up with an idea:

Sledgehammer Party.

I'm not joking. $5 a shot to take a swing at it with a sledgehammer. You can hit it wherever you want. But it's $5 a swing.

I'm not 100% sure it's even worth going this way or if she'll make more from the salvage place. But please reply and show your interest if you would be willing to join in & spend a couple bucks to participate. We're trying to gauge interest before making any decisions

Please... only people seriously willing to spend the cash. I know you kinky fucks can be kinda cheap bastards sometimes... but $5 to hit a car with a sledgehammer? When do you get that opportunity without getting sued?

RTOTD #674.1

Day 674.1

Freegans are stealing food out of the mouths of legitimate homeless people! Because of their own selfish desires.

See how that one can get turned back on you, idiots?

It's also the stupidest idea in history. I still think we should limit them to only the dumpster behind planned parenthood.

And you're welcome for that mental image that will stick in your head for... well... ever.

Random Thought Of The Day #674

Day 674

Here's a bunch of quick thoughts:

1. With how fucked up and poorly researched a lot of online articles from "legitimate" news sources are anymore, I'm wondering... How long until my blog accidentally gets cited by someone because they didn't do their research? And then... how fucking hilarious would that be?

And that's the end of my flights of fantasy for the day.

2. Wait... so the female Keanu Reeves... that chick from the glampire movies and the shitty snow white movie... she was actually dating the sparkly piece of lumber that is still trying to convince... well... everyone... that he's an actor and not just a bad haircut covered in glitter that shimmers in the sunlight?

♫♪♫♫♪ He's so dreammmyyyy ♫♪♫♫♪...

Wait what? I didn't say anything!

First of all... I guess that makes sense on a lot of levels. Neither of their careers are going to last much beyond those shitty movies and their acting range is about the same. With as vast of a range as "dour" to "more dour", both of which mixed with a little bit of "confused at their surroundings while moderately shocked but kinda meh about pretty much everything going on in the world around them" on a face that just screams "I really need some more sleep".

I still think they totally could have made a better series of movies with a group of hand puppets or marionettes. Come on... shitty glampire marionettes? How fucking great would that have been? Paint one of the back-up marionettes in glitter paint and boom... makeup is done. Just do a quick cut to her expressionless face (you could use a close-up of the wood or of her face. result will be about the same.) and watch the entire absence of any emotion when he gets hit by sunlight for the first time. It would have been tearless-jerking to no end. So many no-feels.

And now I don't care about that either anymore. I just wanted an excuse to remind you all of how shitty Twilight and sparkle not-vampires are. And how fans of those movies should kill themselves because of how poor their taste is. You have no taste at all. I bet you also liked Ben Affleck movies where he wasn't being directed by Kevin Smith (or in Dazed & Confused. Cause that's just got pretty much everyone in it). Because you're soulless cinematic masochists.

3. Also... has anyone else noticed that the one other guy that's in there... I don't know what the fuck role he plays. The real tan dude? He's tried to be an "action star" kinda but he's like 12 and Bruce Willis would beat him half to death if they ended up in an action movie together.. Does anyone else think that guy looks like a tan version of Tyler Kennedy? And kind of like a fruit-bat?

For anyone who doesn't know what I'm talking about... he's a winger for the Penguins. And he looks like a fruit-bat.

I'll be so happy when these movies disappear forever back into their obscurity.

4. So hotels are now offering conceirge service for the teenagers that come on family vacations.

Yes, because what we needed to do was somehow give more validation to the self-absorbed, spoiled children of the  instant-gratification generation to their notion that they actually matter. To the point of the hotels pretending that they actually are important enough to be catered to. Because the hotels believe that these kids have "purchasing power". No... they don't. Because they don't have an income. You have to have income to have purchasing power. And a way-too-fucking-high allowance from mommy and daddy isn't an income.

5. I think I had a dream about one of my friends reading a series of books that I'm in the process of re-reading. I remember seeing the book in their hand, but I don't even remember what the gender of the person holding it was. And I remember saying "oh, I enjoyed those books. Are you reading the whole series?" and then conversing about it for a bit. It was strange though. Because it felt like I actually had that conversation.

Did I? Have I told someone recently "oh yeah, I read that and I'm in the process of re-reading it right now." recently? I can't actually can't tell if this was a dream or if this actually happened. Normally, I can always tell... this one? Nope.

Random Thought Of The Day #673

Day 673

@ElitistFucks munch tonight.  7:00 at Dunnings.

Seriously... someone else can call one of these and make the post in the future. I don't run this shit. I'll just throw it on Twitter once someone else decides "hey, we're totally having a munch like... tomorrow" and call it a day, ok?

That's the end of my announce-y-ness for the day. Unless I win the lottery or someone just decides to pull up to my house with a dumptruck full of cash. I'll totally announce the shit out of that. Cause who the fuck does that happen to? See?

And that's also the end of my things to talk about today.

Actually... no. I feel compelled to talk about this stupid Chick-Fil-A thing that everyone is in such a fucking uproar about.

Ok. Dude that runs it doesn't agree with gay marriage. I get it. I don't agree with him. I mean, that's kind of a dick move, right? Totally agree there.  I've always been in support of everyone's right to marry whoever the fuck they want. Know why? Cause it doesn't affect me. And I'm all for equal-opportunity marital misery.

Wanna marry a squirrel? Ok... maybe not a squirrel. That would be weird. And they can't really consent at all. Plus... oh god... I just had the worst shiver/wretch from even the first hint of a mental image and I kinda wanna forget about ever even writing those words down. Fuck.

But want to marry someone of your own gender? Awesome.

Wanna marry someone of the opposite gender? Great. We kinda need the re-population it often leads to. Just don't ask me to be part of it. Unless you're paying me for my genetic material and don't expect anything from me later.

Want to marry a half-dozen people of one or both genders? Cool.

Wanna marry family members? Ok, now that's kinda crossing the line, but if you're adults and it started after you were adults, I guess I can't really argue. But don't expect us to take care of your 3-eyed, hermaphroditic, Egor-looking, half-witted Satan spawn because of the lack of genetic diversity that comes with your family tree not having any branches and looking like a broom stuck in the dirt.

Want to marry your car? Well... you kinda can't, cause a car isn't a person. But some cars are kinda fucking sexy. And I think I'd still fuck an Acura NSX. That car is kind of my white whale. I will own one... one day. Somehow.

Wanna marry... well, I can't really think of any other combination of consenting adults that could marry other than same gender, opposite gender and multiple people, so I guess there's not really anything else that can be said there.

But you get my point. Marry whoever the fuck you want. I never understood otherwise. But I also realize that other people feel compelled to butt into the lives of everyone else. And some of those are the people that are douchenozzles that disagree with what I said above and start thumping their bibles or whatever.

This is one of those cases. Some douche with a big mouth that doesn't think you should have the right to choose who you marry. I mean... first of all, should we even be surprised that the company that doesn't even open on Sundays for religious reasons ends up having an issue with gay marriage. They are so religious that they won't operate their for-profit business on a particular day because the BIBLE SAYS THEY SHOULDN'T WORK THAT DAY. And we're fucking shocked that the guy doesn't agree with gay marriage?

Shouldn't we have chalked this up in the same category as when scientists say that the sun gives off light and heat? Or when we stick our hand in water and find out it's wet? Maybe more along the lines of "unprotected sex can lead to unwanted transmission of disease, infection, or genetic material leading to pregnancy"? Maybe?

But you know what? Who the fuck cares? He's slinging chicken nuggets. He doesn't actually have the authority for his opinion to matter. He's an ass. But that's it. And if you don't wanna support a company that holds a public sentiment like that, awesome. There's better chicken out there. And their fucking waffle fries suck. So don't go there.

What I DO have an issue with is the attempts to ban the opening of new stores and trying to get them kicked out of cities. Chicago is trying to kick the whole company out of the city. Boston is trying to as well.

Want to boycott? Awesome. Want to protest? Great. Have fun. Know what I'm gonna do? I'm gonna keep not giving a fuck and eating elsewhere.

Random Thought Of The Day #672

Day 672

I think I want to adopt a War Dog.

I haven't done any major research yet as to how they get along with other dogs yet. It may turn out that war dogs don't get along well with other, non-war dogs and the idea might have to be forgotten. I do know that they often have forms of PTSD similar to humans that have served in active battle zones and this can lead to slightly more erratic behavior than even your standard rescue dog, and as a result, they don't understand "play" with other dogs in the same way that a shelter or breeder or run-of-the-mill "neighbor's dog knocked mine up & now we have puppies to give away" dog might understand it. I'm really not sure. I haven't don't much research on it yet. But assuming there's no major issues, I really would like to get on the list to adopt a War Dog.

These dogs are fucking amazing. They are full combat veterans. They've served on the front lines. They've been trained to near perfection & if they had been human, often would be wearing a number of combat-related medals and honors. Jesus.. They often even get dropped into hot zones like any other soldier & are immediately in the shit. They are part of special operations teams. They are soldiers. They are amazing.

But the thing is, they get older. In a similar way that a K9 officer is assigned to be partnered with a human police officer, War Dogs  are assigned a trainer/partner that they live with and work with and sleep with while they're deployed. However, the War Dogs aren't always discharged and get to go and retire to live with the family of their partner as a domestic pet once their service is done. They reach a certain age and are obviously discharged, but it's often while their partner/trainer is still deployed. In some cases, they may also lose their partner/trainer to enemy fire. Or they're injured themselves in battle and, while not life-threatening, make them unfit for combat situations. But the military often doesn't bring them home and had previously enthanized them once their tours of duty were complete.

That's changed and they can now be adopted. From everything I've ready, they're some of the best-trained animals you could ask for. Fuck, they've been trained to jump out of god damn airplanes and into the ocean at hundreds of miles per hour while wearing a parachute... how much more well-trained do you want? My dog is well-trained and I still can't get him to jump the 6 inches into a pool.

I think that, assuming they aren't any more likely to have an adjustment issue to living with playful dogs than any other dog would, I would really like to adopt one.

If anyone has any info that is not 2nd or 3rd hand stories... I mean can send me info or know someone who has adopted one and would talk to me about the experience, let me know.

RTOTD #671.1

Day 671.1

It's come to my attention that it's National Family Planning week.

So remember to do your proper family planning... blow it on her face instead of using that condom.

And if you don't... well, support your local Planned Parenthood and go set yourself up with an abortion.

Pssssshhh... who needs safer sex practices. I've got all the solutions. This is also why anal is better. Can't knock her up, up the ass.

Random Thought Of The Day #671

Day 671

I feel this is appropriate today. And that everyone needs to watch this:

Random Thought Of The Day #670

Day 670

I don't understand the appeal of the Summer Olympics. I really never have. It's a glorified highschool Track & Field competition. That's pretty much it. There's nothing there that really appeals to me. A bunch of people running around and jumping over stuff.

I've always been a bigger fan of the Winter Olympics. I always thought there was a lot more skill on display. And there's hockey.

Except Curling. That has always been more of curiosity for me. Nothing really else. I remember sitting in my apartment during the 2002 Winter Olympics and being wildly confused about what the hell was going on with these people basically playing Ice Bowling meets Darts and people with brooms running down beside the big rock thing. It made no sense. I still don't understand that game.

But hey... we have Olympics starting this week. So I guess some people are going to care.

But Track & Field, soccer, and people in a pool have virtually no appeal to me. The only thing that I could even potentially care about would be the pool part. But only if it was ditzy beach bunnies in bikinis doing a sun-bathing competition.

Random Thought Of The Day #669

Day 669

Currently listening to:


Deadmau5 - Ghosts N Stuff



Swedish House Mafia vs. Knife Party  - Antidote




Nero - Me & You (Roksonix Remix)




Magnetic Men - I Need Air




Adventure Club (ft. Kali) - Need Your Heart




The Bloody Beetroots - Rocksteady




Rusko (ft. Bonnie McKee) - Thunder (Tantrum Desire Mix)

Random Thought Of The Day #668

Day 668

I've dated my share of trainwrecks. And yours. And your cousin's. And the quota for the next 14 people you randomly see on the street. I'm a magnet for them. These emotionally damaged & generally broken people. And if you've ever dated me, well... what does that say about you? And maybe what does that say about me?

My track record runs the gamut from "stripper with daddy issues seeking validation from boys by taking her clothes off and getting us horny to make up for daddy not hugging her enough or telling her he was as proud of her as he was of her brother" broken to "how is this bitch not in a rubber padded room with her shoelaces taken away?" type crazy. Granted, there've been a handful of quite sane ones thrown in over the years, but I think they're just the exception that reminds me of the rule. Because total immersion in crazy makes you lose your perception of what not crazy looks like to date. The sane ones are the anchor to the not-crazier-then-a-badger-in-a-dress level dating world.

Fuck, I probably have enough crazy bitch stories to fill a book or 2. But I've always felt compelled to mostly keep them to myself or to tell short stories about them to close friends but never make it into a thing.

But I digress. I have been telling stories here recently and wanted to tell you one about one of the most generally creepy stalker crazy girls I've ever fucked.

Her name was Sonya. Or Angelina.

I'm not actually sure. No really. Not an "I don't remember"... I'm actually NOT sure which was her real name. She went by both. Even her parents called her by both. I have no idea how the interchangable-first-names thing works. Not nicknames or shortened versions like Joseph to Joe or Joey... but completely different fucking names. In everyday life. So I'm really not sure what the protocol was on this one and I'm still not.

So I just called her that goth slut.

Well, when a girl is perfectly OK with you calling her slut at any time, and in any situation, with anybody around, that should have been a huge fucking red fucking flag of the emotional bear trap you're sticking your dick in. It's one thing to be OK with it in bed or private, but when it's in the middle of a mall or when talking to random people, that should have really been a red flag. But like an alzheimers patient with sticking their finger in a lightsocket or a moth to a bug zapper, I stumbled into this one like a moron. I blame excess bloodflow to the poor-decision-making head and lackthereof bloodflow to the one designed to do those complicated processes of recognizing sociopaths when they're obviously acting like obvious sociopaths. But regardless, I still have a story to tell here.

I met this girl while I was living in Cleveland. I was 22. She was 19. And had not yet graduated highschool. Yes, remember when I mentioned huge red flags? Protip: This is one of them. But like all sociopaths, this one had learned how to present themselves as exactly what you want. Namely, anything but who they actually are. And this girl presented herself as just that. Entirely not who she was. You know... sane.

Well, I met her through a friend's girlfriend's friend's cousin or something. I don't exactly remember the details as vividly as I probably should. Too much blocking out of this chick in the last 10 years to forget about how scewy things got. I believe she met up with us at some bar one night and seemed marginally fun, somewhat funny, and kinda cute. However, in one very important way, she was totally my type: Whorish, in a pretty obvious way. That one trait caught my attention and I liked it. She and I hit it off ok, and started talking a little bit more before the end of the evening. I didn't really make any attempts with her, but I was still only about 21 or 22 or so at the time, and not really all that good at reading signals. I still suck with them, but I'm better than I was back then. Though apparently my ability to identify gigantic red flags is the only thing that has drastically improved in the past decade.

We exchanged contact info at the end of the evening and went our seperate ways. But the next day, I saw an e-mail from her and replied. We talked for a few days before losing track of one another and being unable to schedule something to get together.

Fast forward about 3 months and I get another e-mail from her. I was single and had been on a little bit of a dry spell since shortly after the last time she & I had spoken, so I replied and we made plans. Thankfully, it was the summer and I didn't have class and hadn't had much luck finding a part time summer gig so far. So I had the time to spare, if not the money to really do a lot.

Well, we decided to keep it simple and I invited her over for dinner.

The problem was that she didn't drive. This seems to be a weird recurring thing in my life with girls that don't drive. PlayboyBunny didn't drive. Nurse didn't drive. A lot of them didn't drive. I guess I did have a phase of codependent girls. Ugh.

Well, the other problem is she lived 45 minutes away. No big deal, really. But a minor inconvenience.

I picked her up and the first evening was pleasant. She was nice. Flirty. Nothing really raising the red flags or anything at least. And we ended up in bed.

Well, the downside was it was about 2:30 in the morning when we got done. And she lived 45 minutes away. So that's an hour and a half of driving that I didn't really want to do. But I gotta take this girl home, so I dragged my ass back up off the bed and told her to get dressed and took her home.

We talked in the intervening week and made plans for the following weekend.

When I arrived to pick her up, I told her she could crash at my place that night. Mostly because I kind of expected to nail her again and really didn't feel like driving her home and not getting back to my own bed before 4am again. Apparently, she took this to mean something else. Something else entirely.

Of course, we ended up fucking like rabbits again and then I passed out. Because that's what I do after I get off.

We woke up saturday morning and I took my morning shower. She followed after me and got herself cleaned up. Washing the cum out of her hair and all those other things that whores do, while I was getting myself dressed and cleaning up a little while preparing to take her home.

After she was done and dressed herself, she came out of the bedroom and said that she didn't feel like leaving yet. I wasn't in any gigantic hurry, so I showed her where things were in the kitchen and she offered to make some lunch. I wasn't going to complain. And any excuse for me to have someone else make me a sandwich was fine with me.

The day progressed and she seemed to be in no rush and showed no interest in going home. And with me being a 21 or 22 year old guy on a pussy dry spell, I wasn't really complaining after she blew me while I was watching tv that afternoon. Sadly, it was the summer and there wasn't anything GOOD on tv so that I could enjoy the "Sporting Event/Blowjob/Cigar" Trifecta-Of-Champions, but even with just some golf or a bad network movie on, I was getting head. It felt like a win. And I figured that even if she stayed, I was getting laid again that night, so it wasn't a major issue.

This was a huge mistake. I'm not going to get into the entire long-term consequences of this mistake, but I'll just leave it at "don't do this".

Well, she of course stayed the night. And of course, I got some good sex again. But, I wasn't nearly as much of a dick as I am now. I've since learned the lesson of knowing exactly when to say "get the fuck out". Even if I'm getting my dick wet by a girl being there. And when Sunday morning rolled around and it was a repeat of Saturday morning, I really should have seen all of the god damned warning signs.

But I was an idiot and got pussy-blind. It's something that happens to young men from time to time. Especially young-men on a dry spell. Like an oasis in the desert, or a man lost at sea that knows he shouldn't drink the sea water but is so parched, that he does. This was my lost at sea moment. And even vagina that had all of the signs of being problematic became OK when it really should not.

So Sunday night she stayed again. But as I said, it was summer, I had no job that summer and wasn't taking classes. So I didn't care. I was getting laid. I justified it as being OK because I was getting laid. And on monday morning, it was another repeat of Saturday and Sunday.

And then it was Tuesday.

And then Wednesday.

And then Thursday came.

This is when I realized I was over my head. Well, I actually realized it when she said something in passing on Wednesday night, but it wasn't until Thursday that I really realized it. She said something about the future the night before. It was on Thursday that she brought it up again, but I could tell that it wasn't just some off-handed comment like I had chalked it up to the night before. She was actually starting to plan our future. Holy fucking shit! I know I'm fucked now.

She started talking about getting a job in the area. Moving in. STARTING A FAMILY!

Oh my sweet jumping green christ on a pogo stick! What in the world do I do about this?

It wasn't until I got a luckily timed phone-call from my mother that I worked out a plan.

The goth slut was in the bathroom at the time when I got the call and my mother and I hung up from our conversation just before this girl came back out of the bathroom. Thankfully, I had my plan figured out pretty quickly. I needed this call. And I knew she had heard the beginnings of the call right before she went into the bathroom.

I took the cowards way out. Mostly because I didn't know any other way to do it that didn't leave me at risk of her going insane. And I lied.

I told her that my mother was coming to visit. Like... today. As in she was going to be leaving her house in about a half hour or so and it would take her about 3 hours to get there. Which gave us 3 1/2 hours or so before my mother got there. This meant that I'd have to talk her home before my mother got there. She obviously got deflated when I told her that she couldn't be there when my mother got here. I think she somehow managed to forget that, even if she had been there for 6 days now, it was still simply Day 6 of DATE #2!!!! And yeah, it would be really weird to explain that. So she got bummed for a few moments, but within about 10 minutes she was OK with the situation.

Well, because I had given a 3 1/2 hour window, she wanted to wait until the last possible moment before I took her home. So about an hour and a half or 2 hours before we left for me to take her home. This window would also become an issue. So let this be a lesson to anyone else that ends up with a crazy girl trying to move in on the second date... Don't give them a window where they can stay one second longer than when you make the move to get them the fuck out. You make it clear that we have to leave now. Like right the fuck now. Like there's-a-team-of-killers-on-the-way-to-the-house-to-torture-and-kill-her-in-order-to-get-me-to-talk-about-where-the-microchip-is-hidden kinda now. 5 minutes ago kinda now.

You get the idea.

Well, this window was something that I was ignorantly OK with. And it gave me a good opportunity to do some badly-needed cleaning, under the auspices that I was cleaning the apartment for my mom's visit. It was a good enough excuse. So I got to it.

Well, long story short... I cleaned, she fucked around on my computer and left me some really nasty letter (as well as a few other surprises that I didn't find out about until much later) with threats about how I'm going to get what I deserve and blah blah blah simply because I was taking her home. Wow. Yeah. She was a piece of work.

She was pleasant on the way back to her house, but was obviously bummed that she was leaving. I was relieved, but still tense. I was hoping this was going to work.

Well, when we arrived at her parents house (she lived with them), apparently she didn't have a key. And they weren't home. How the fuck do you not have a key to your own house? How does that even happen?

Well, I was trying to be nice and not leave her just sitting there, looking around for the hidden spare key, when I got another call. This time, it was PlayboyBunny. She was my ex, but we were still friendly. And appreantly she wanted to know what the fuck was up with some e-mail she got from my address but with some girl warning her to stay away from me. I told her I'd call her back. I had put 2 and 2 together in my head and was now officially tired of this bitches shit. So I hung up as she was walking back to the car with this "I don't know what to do?" expression on her face.

I think this might have been one of my earlier asshole moments were I just stopped giving a fuck about being nice. And I told her "Hope you get in, but I gotta go. Bye" and simply threw the thing in reverse and pulled out.

I left her sitting on her porch. I have no idea if she ever got in, or what happened to her. I just know that she, intentionally or otherwise, caused a lot of problems for me in the following years. Not thru active means, but in the form of repercussions from that one week. I'm not getting into them all here. But it's just fucked up enough that "unbelievable" almost barely covers it.

But fuck it. That's enough writing. I just know that I never want to see that bitch again. And don't wanna know about her. I've never even tried to find where she ended up. I don't want any part of that crazy back anywhere near my life.

Random Thought Of The Day #667

Day 667

I've been on an EDM kick recently. Electronic Dance Music, to clarify. I don't know if there's anything else that EDM stands for other than the abbreviation for the Edmonton airport. And that would just be strange. Who gets on a kick for Edmonton? 80's Hockey enthusiasts? I mean, I know Gretzky, Kurri, Fuhr, Coffey, and Messier all being on the same team at the same time is pretty fucking wild to think about in this modern age, but I don't know if anyone would be fanatical about it like 25 or 30 years later. That would be a little excessive.

Sorry... tangent.

But yeah. I've pretty much haven't paid attention to any DJs in about 5 or 10 years now. And I've been really feeling that pull.

It's strange. I dont' really dance. Don't get me wrong, I can dance like a motherfucker and I got rhythm like nobodies business. I just don't dance. It takes a really special kinda drunk to get me to dance. I might groove to something while I'm playing pong or tying someone up or talking to people or grilling food or something. But I don't really dance.

And when I DO dance, I'm not much for dancing to hip-hop and I fucking HATE pop. Pop just sucks. I avoid dancing to hip-hop most of the time because you inevitably end up looking like a douchebag at some point when dancing to hip-hop. I mean... look at pretty much every metro Guido fucktard on the planet. The guy who owns the patent on the floating neon signs with the arrows pointing at the asshat underneath while flashing "DOUCHE NOZZLE" every 2 seconds... that guy is probably making a killing.

Wait... what do you mean those aren't a real thing? Are you sure? Because ask anyone and they will swear that they saw it over the head of every person to ever appear on an episode of Jersey Shore and every splooge stain that still wears a visor or gets in a tanning booth. I challenge you to prove me that they aren't a real thing. Because I know I've seen them a billion times.

Consensus reality.

Wow. I really got off subject again. Fucking tangents, yo.

So yeah. I don't really like dancing to hip-hop, even when I'm special drunk. And I just hate pop music in general, much less wanting to dance to it.

But there's always been something different about being trashed and dancing to electronic music. I don't know why. Maybe because when I was doing it in my teens and early 20's, I was out of my god damned mind on pills, pot, and alcohol. Often at the same time. My heart, liver, and kidneys will never forgive me for the beating it put on them for those 5-10 years. I just feel a helluva lot more comfortable grooving and dancing to electronic music than pop or hip-hop. Maybe it's just me. Or maybe it's just that electronic dance chicks somehow manage to wear even LESS clothing and look more slutty than even hip-hop club chicks. Though they're often not as hot. Or as bimbo-ish.

Cost/benefit analysis. Heh... I said anal.

Now, it may just be a fondness for that time, but I've been really reconnecting with and vibing on a lot of electronic dance music in the past few months. More and more, it seems, almost every day. Like... to the point where I actually contemplated playing with old turntables again. Until I realized that I sold my gear like 9 years ago and have no god damn clue how to spin on my laptop with mp3's.

Music is weird like that for me. I might drift around in my tastes, but I always come back to a lot of the same stuff. Industrial influenced Metal, Punk, some Ska, laid-back hip-hop, gangsta rap, and a lot of different house/trance/grime/etc stuff. It's always comforting. Even with new stuff out there.

Or maybe modern rock just does suck.

Random Thought Of The Day #666

Day 666

Happy "Mark Of The Beast" Day

Oh... and while I'm at it...

Simple letters for the @ElitistFucks that want them. I think we need to get T-shirts printed.

Random Thought Of The Day #665

Day 665

I need a cigar and a beer. Badly. It's the only thing that I'm certain will keep me from a killing spree today.

Foul mood. Nothing to talk about. I'm tired of giving away some of my really good stories here for free when I really should be saving them for the book. And I'm hating my job a little more each day.

So fuck you all. Eat a dick. And unless you're offering me sex (where I don't actually have to do anything other than lay there and let you masturbate me with your vagina or mouth), alcohol, food, money, or cigars... don't cross me.

RTOTD #664.1 - To The Girls I've Fucked Part II

Day 664.1

Letters to the girls I've fucked - Part II

*To the Dead Ex*

You're dead. So you probably can't read this. It would be really weird if you were. But if you weren't dead, I'd still call you a drunk. You made me look like the sober one. You were a complete trainwreck. I only really kept fucking you cause your husband was a douchebag and a cop and I felt like fucking with him a little bit. And I enjoyed the shit out of that part of it.

Why am I still talking to a dead person,
Joe

*To BlindGirl*

You got me 1/3 of the way to a Helen Keller. Thanks. You had a smokin hot body. How does a blind girl stay in that good of shape? I'm guessing treadmill. Cause you had that runners body with the super tight legs but well... blind running probably doesn't work that well. Do you need someone to get all the settings right on the treadmill for you ahead of time?

Does this letter sound like a speak-n-spell when your blind girl computer reads it to you,
Joe

*To D*

You were the first girl I loved. You were sane, fun, wildly hot, and pretty much awesome. And then you just disappeared. While we were dating. For 3 months. With no call or anything. That kinda fucked me up. And I kinda went thru a few years of abandonment issues with insecurity after that. Thank christ I was only 18 at the time and able to deal after a while. But you probably were the main reason why I ended up with a shitload of codependent girls after that. I have no idea where you are anymore, but I'm over that.

How did your dad NOT know I was fucking you in the other room that one time??
Joe

*To Ginger*

Your shit was so loose, it was like throwing a broom down a hallway. I'm not huge, but I sure ain't tiny and I've never felt a looser pussy than that before or since. Even fucking barsluts that had more cock that weekend than the hooker down the block. I couldn't stop laughing at how much air got inside there, cause every time I pumped in, your cunt farted louder than my dog after eating a block of cheese. That noise was so funny, I was crying from laughing that hard. And hearing you get pissed off from my hysterical laughing was even better. I offered to switch to anal to avoid the noise and my ensuing laughter, but you didn't want to. So you had your chance to avoid getting laughed at while you were still getting fucked.

Fucking commie,
Joe

*To that girl I was about to fuck but walked out of the room when you got naked*

Fucking shave. You were almost as hairy as me. I wanted to fuck, not go on a god damn safari.

Joe

*To Platinum*

Holy jesus. I have no words for the dumpster fire worth of insane that you were. I've stuck my dick in crazy before... but never like this. Beg me to come over to fuck. Tell me when I got there that you didn't want to fuck. Then spend the next 2 hours doing everything in your power to get me to fuck you, including, but not limited to, begging, sticking your hand down my pants, blowing me, playing with yourself in front of me. And then you'd cry later when I finally gave in and did it. And to top it off, when I'd suggest actually doing something that wasn't fucking, you'd just want to sit in your bedroom and play that stupid little game.

Clean your fucking house & I hope your neighbors got a nice show of you getting used like a $3 whore in the bay window with the lights on at night with your whole upper body pressed up against the glass.

Joe

Random Thought Of The Day #664

Day 664

The conversation I just had with my brain:

Me - "What do you want to write about today?"

Brain - "I don't know. Fet's been fucking dead and the news is boring. And short of stealing stories that you're holding back for the book, there's no real stories to tell. Well, maybe a couple small ones, but still."

Me - "You're not very fucking helpful"

Brain - "And you're not very pretty. So fuck right off, thank you very much"

Me - "Don't you know that I have an adoring public to entertain with my genius?"

Brain - "You mean my genius, right?'

Me - "Fuck you,  you know what I mean"

Brain - "well then, you can come up with shit to talk about today all by yourself. Cause I'm officially checked out for the day until someone does something to stimulate me again. And don't even THINK that someone else throwing a temper tandrum about pronouns, consent, or any of that typical bullshit from the past few months is going to wake me up. Cause I've given up caring about that shit"

Me - "You and me both. So why don't you try to think of something that might amuse you? Cause you always seem to do your best work when it's something YOU want to talk about and don't give a damn who wants to read it."

Brain - "You're fucking pandering, dude. I told you, I'm pretty much checked out for the day. And good luck trying to actually do some work at work. I think this might be a long ass day to sit at the desk and do nothing"

Me - "Well, I can find something to do. I can... um... I can finish making sure the fillable PDF file with the Play Partner Application is done. Or I can work on writing the book some more. Maybe finish actually writing the Myrtle Beach Roadtrip story. And I can stare mindlessly at the hockey rumors sites and watch nobody actually sign anywhere. Or ... um... I can read comic books on my phone."

Brain - "I'd stick with the comic books today, man. Cause I'm not helping you out with much else."

Me - "Well, I could write more letters to people. Like to the girls that gave exceptionally remarkable and memorable blowjobs or the ones that I really wish I would have fucked when given the opportunity. And maybe play a little game of gay-chicken in there too."

Brain - "Dude, just give it a break and read some comics. That's pretty much the best you're gonna do today. And I'm still not giving you any assistance today. So fuck off and let me go back to old episodes of Loony Toons from memory. And then just sitting on a becah and lounging with a beer."

Me - *pouts*

Brain - "Dude, change your tampon, walk around the block once or twice and then see if you're still gonna be a little bitch about this."

Me - "Fine. We'll try this again tomorrow."

Brain - "And fuck you very much too"

RTOTD #663.1 - The Girls I've Fucked Edition

Day 663.1

Since everyone else is doing it... I'll do mine.

**Letters to the women I've fucked:**

*To whom it may concern:*

I fucked 53 of you. But I don't remember your names. Most of you were batshit crazy. But hey... some of you were ok in the sack. And a number of you were 1-night stands. Some of you I saw multiple times and still don't remember your names. You were the ones that weren't very memorable. Hope you got better in bed.

Sincerely,
Joe


*To the one that I imaginary fucked (but didn't really):*

You were hot. You were also crazy. And you made up an imaginary relationship. But if you would have just said something, I'd totally have nailed you like a 2x4.

Please give my regards to the orderlies at your eventual asylum,
Joe


*To the 1/2 a fuck*

It was my first time. I don't really remember it. I was too young to drive still and way too drunk and have no idea if it happened or not. I'm pretty sure it did, but we can't be sure. We were both really drunk and at a highschool field party. But the tent was rockin & my friends threw me back in with my pants around my ankles and you were passed out naked. So I'm counting it as 1/2.

Thanks for that,
Joe


*To TheDevil*

The anal story was fun. The fuck in Detroit was good too. But the "intimacy kit" in the hotel mini fridge was way overpriced just to get some rubbers without going anywhere. Good luck with the next meal-ticket.

Don't call. Ever,
Joe


*To A*

You're cool. Just way too high-maintenance for my tastes. Enjoy married life, kiddo. Congrats.

See you at the wedding,
Joe


*To TheScreamer*

My roommates wanted to gag you cause you were so fucking loud. But hey... you went ass-to-mouth and drank piss like it was a beer chugging contest. So awesome.

Take care,
Joe


*To that GothSlut*

**FFFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKK YOU**. You tried to move in on the second date and you fucked up my life for a long long time when I dropped your ass like a bad habit. I hope you die in a fire. I'd be happy to set it if I saw you again. Non-consentual diesel fire play sound as much fun to you?

I should have gotten that restraining order,
Joe


*To M*

You're my fucking Kryptonite. And have been since we met 15 years ago. Shit... there's a reason we don't see each other. Because we still end up in bed every time we do. So I guess I'm your Kryptonite too. Too bad more than that will never be an option.

Love you,
Joe


*To the StripperTandem*

That was a fun summer. Start sleeping with 2 different strippers and find out they're fucking each other too. So thanks for going along when I suggested it would be more time efficient if we all just fucked at the same time.

I hope you all finally stopped doing coke but it kept you skinny & energetic in bed,
Joe


*To El Hefe's Cousin*

Dude... you went from dating ME to dating a fucking Spanish prince. Then you produced porn. But hey... you were hot and Spanish and a good summer distraction for 2 straight summers in highschool. And I could pick on El Hefe for fucking his cousin.

Are your still working for MTV Europe?
Joe


*To K*

That one night when I was house-sitting for PrettyBoy & Rage where we got stoned and fucked was fun. But I'm still pissed about when you walked out on me at Eat N Park when I told you I was nuts about you.

Heard you got fat... so I guess I dodged a bullet there,
Joe


*To PlayBoyBunny*

I fucked you before you modeled for Playboy. I was always more of a Hustler kinda guy. The girls were sluttier. But I'll never forget the Cookies story. That's totally going to end up in my book.

I bet you couldn't even read THIS letter,
Joe


*To Half the hot girls in Cleveland*

You're easy. And a number of you are in the 53 listed above. I still don't remember your names. I lived there for 2 years and fucked 25 of you in that span. You were fucking sluts. It was the only redeeming quality of Cleveland.

Go Steelers,
Joe



*I told you I knew way too many girls with variations on the name Christina*

Random Thought Of The Day #663

Day 663

I miss the days of cheap gas. And by cheap gas, I'm talking late 90's where I actually got pissed off when gas went from 82.9 cents to 83.9 cents a gallon.

But not for what you might think. Yeah, I mean... Saving a shitload of money compared to the 400% more we pay for it now (in the last 12 years. Thanks, washington political assholes! And thanks to you enviro-douches too. This is your fault) but that's not really why.

No, the reason why is because it's no longer really an option of just getting in the car and getting lost. Intentionally. Like, get in the car, and start driving and then start taking random roads that you've never been on before and just exploring. It's just not really a feasible option anymore. And that sucks. Because I always loved exploring. So much.

And well, I also loved that I could hit Sheetz, fill up my Jeep from the needle on E and still get a couple hotdogs and a pack of smokes for under $20. Once again... fuck you, politicians. I couldn't do that for under $50 now. Assholes. I'm not talking about the 70's here. I'm talking about a decade ago! Fuckers.

But I digress. I'm starting to get pissed about how much these motherfuckers have messed with the cost of living in just a decade. And that's not what I'm here for today.

Now, I could keep going with like another 2000 words on WHY I love exploring, but I think I'll tell you an exploring story instead.

It was near the end of the "able to just get in the car and drive forever and not worry about the gas" phase. About summer of 2000 or so. A pretty clear night. Warm but not hot. One of those just really awesome nights to be out and doing shit. Well, we were bored as fuck. My buddy PrettyBoy, and I (I've got to get myself in the habit of using nicknames now. I'm not paying anyone fucking money for using their real names in the book and I need to get used to doing this now) decided to just hop in the car and go for a drive.

Now... the thing to keep in mind about PrettyBoy was exactly how apt of a name for this dude that is is. He is the definition of suburban yuppie. If you don't know him (and even if you do), he's one of those dudes that you see and instantly hate. The kind that you just have an uncontrollable urge to punch. Wildly self-conscious about how he looks. Would spend an hour on his hair to do the same thing that I, at the time, could manage to do with mine in like 8 seconds. Delicate features. Almost feminine in some ways. But more male Abercrombie model, but a little skinnier. Kind of yuppie meets hipster, without being fucking dirty. Wore scarves like 2 years before even the hipsters decided that was "cool". Spent way too god damn much money on clothes and was always stylish. As I said, totally image-conscious and was about half-way on his way to being Patrick Bateman (seriously. If you don't get the reference... go google that shit) before he was even 20.

I had no idea how you could be that tightly wound at that age and not go on a killing spree. Well, his method for avoiding that was to smoke pot. A LOT of pot.  And by a lot, I mean everything got celebrated with "let's smoke a bowl!". There was the "I just woke up" bowl. There was the "I made breakfast (cereal)" bowl. There was the "I got in the car!" bowl. There was the "I just smoked a bowl" bowl.

Yeah. A lot of pot.

What does this have to do with the story? You'll see.

So this given evening that I was starting to write about, PrettyBoy and I got in the car and just kinda started wandering around. He was driving, which was weird, but I kinda let it go. To this day, driving aimlessly and NOT being the driver is still weird to me. Hell, just not being the driver is weird to me. But I was ok with it this night. But whatever. We started driving.

A few weeks earlier, we had come across one particular back road out in the middle of bumfuck nowhere. And we kinda wanted to go back to it. There was about a half dozen really cool looking roads off of it, but we had picked one the previous time and kinda wanted to explore the other ones now.

So, we ventured off in that direction, but not entirely sure exactly where we were going. Through the magic of my awesomness, and potentially some blood and oxygen and other useful things mixing in with the little bit of THC and alot of alcohol coursing thru my veins and brain, we managed to find our way back to this road. Maybe that's why I wasn't driving. Already drunk before we left.

I immediately decided that this road on the right looked fucking awesome to drive on. And I wanted to be on it right the fuck now. So instead of simplly saying "turn here"... no... that would be too easy. No, instead I reach across the god damn car and grab the wheel and just turn the car while he's trying to light a cigarette. Looking back now, I have no idea how we didn't die. Or how I managed to do it without us even going out of control at all.

Well, somehow, he just reacted as though this was as normal as him turning the wheel. And calmly kept going. I'm pretty sure that, had anyone else been in the car, they would have lost their god damned minds. But nope... was perfectly normal. What does that say about my life or my friends?

Well, after another half hour of driving and just picking random roads and becoming completely and totally lost, we realize that we haven't seen even a house in at least 15 minutes. No houses. No lights. Nothing. We're really in bumfuck nowhere. And almost as soon as we realized this, we came upon a stretch of road that had 8 foot corn stalks on both sides of the road.

Fuck. I've seen too many horror movies that start like this. And by start like this, I mean the idiot 20-somethings that get killed in the first 15 minutes of the movie before someone either 1) comes to look for them; or 2) get used as the story that some dude, 2 years later, tells his buddies as he takes them there and he tries to scare them by talking about the people that got massacred in the cornfield a year or 2 back. Yeah... fuck. Those idiot 20-somethings were us. Great.

Well about half way thru this gigantic clusterfuck of corn that we can't see over, we hit a 4 way insteresction. 3 of the ways to go... it's more fucking corn. The other way? No corn. Trees. Yeah... I wanted nothing to do with the fucking corn anymore. I'm picking fucking trees. I can deal with trees. Fuck corn.

But so, as the road winds thru the trees, we all of a sudden see a sign for a town. Kinda. It's made out of a 10 foot sheet of plywood and nailed between 2 trees. And someone had spraypainted a name on it.

Brownstown.

They even spraypainted a population. That had been sprayed over in black at least once and then re-painted with a brush. Classy. Or wait... fuck. This is where it turns into the horror movie. Sonuvabitch. That was why all the rest of the ways were corn. So you'd get fucking lost when you came out of the tree road. Cause you'd forget which fucking way got you home. Yeah... we're totally screwed.

Well, in my infinite wisdom, and with absolutely no fear of consequences... and probably a deathwish based on the shit I'd done in the prior few years and would keep doing for a few more years beyond that, I decided that we needed to investigate this place. Brownstown. I'd never heard of this place. Granted, I didnt' have a fucking clue where I was, but hey... that's what exploration is about. Finding new cool shit.

We turned down this road and a few seconds later are presented by ... well... I still dont' know how to describe it. It was trailer park meets campground meets scrap yard meets dirtbike tail. And then someone managed to spill the rest of the bottle of redneck on it. I was waiting to find the Thunderdome in the middle of this place. Everything was just totally ghetto. The only thing that prevented you from confusing this place with Compton or Detroit were the trees on the perimeter... well, and the white people.

We quickly learned that "this place" was only about 4 streets wide with 3 cross streets. And the way we came in was also the only way out. Except this motherfucking place was a god damn maze. We started driving thru it and quickly realized, even with it being a grid, this place was like the god damned bermuda triangle. My internal compass just started spinning. Everywhere was north. I had no idea how to get out. So we kept driving.

Oh, and that's about when we fianlly stumbled upon the natives. Fantastic. And by natives, I mean natives. You ever hear about those tribes in South America in the Amazon that have never even had contact with the outside world? They don't trade with the outside world They've probably never even seen a white person?

That's how this felt. I don't think they'd ever seen anything like PrettyBoy before. I think he had more teeth showing when he smiled than they all did combined.

And that's when I decided that we needed to party here. Because this was going to be awesome.

We had just about past a trailer that had a detached garage and light pouring out of the open garage door. And as we're approaching, I hear this awful twang of hillbilly sister-fucking music coming out of some musical contraption that I didn't even want to ponder the shock hazards of. And as we're passing, I look at the garage and see a half dozen people inside, playing beer pong. And another half dozen on the porch. Oh, we definitely need to party here. And I'm going to make this happen.

I force PrettyBoy to pull over. Well, force might be a little off base. We were doing about 5 mph on this shitty dirt horse path that passed for a motor vehicle thruway and I simply opened the passenger door and stepped out. While moving. I didn't give a fuck. I didn't even say anything to him. I just got out and started approaching the chainlink fence and barking dogs that really weren't held back by the fence, since the fence only covered about 1/3 of the front yard.

I guess my ridiculous exit caught everyone by surprise... PrettyBoy included. Because he slammed on the brakes and stopped and parked in the middle of the road just as I was getting to the front porch and being stared at by natives with a look of shock and curiousity. I could see the gear in their brain working. They only had one. And it was trying to process a number of questions at once.

"Who dis guy in dem fancy britches wit them perty teef and mouf?" "What he want?" "Where's my sister? I want a blowjob" and any number of other hillbilly world problems... like "copenhagen vs skoal" or "Is my daddy my brother or my brother my daddy?" or whatever else they think about.

But I walk over and wave and loudly say "Hello! We were just driving past and wondered if we could join your game of beer pong?"

PrettyBoy is just stepping out of the car at this moment. And think of the look I just got... multiply it by a billion and that's the one PrettyBoy got.

They were in shock. I don't think they had a clue how to respond. And simply nodded as we walked right into the garage and stepped up to their recently finished pong game.

"Who's next?" I say and I grab the cups and set up.

I have no idea how the fuck we got out of there. The actual evenings events were rather uneventful. It was a typical night.  We ran the table on these guys a couple times. And I'm pretty sure someone's mother/sister/daughter/alloftheabove tried to talk to me at some point. But I couldn't hear her over the amount of cum probably still swirling in her mouth from her cousin and the gigantic side-chew she had in. Or maybe that lump was from someone punching her for not having dinner ready. I don't know. But eventually, we decided to be off.

PrettyBoy never even moved the car out of the middle of the road. For 2 hours. And nobody ever drove by. We'd have known. Cause it was barely wide enough for 1 car, much less 2.

It took us about another half hour to find out way back out of this fucking place. Only one road in or out, but this fucking place was a maze. Finally though, we ventured out and manged to somehow get home after a while.

A few days later, I decided to figure out where the fuck we  had been. I remembered the sign saying "Brownstown" on the way in and decided to google it. Nothing came up on google. This was the early days of google, but it existed. I checked mapquest next. Nothing. I checked every motherfucking internet resource available and this place does not exist. Anywhere. There is no brownstown.

Where the fuck were we drinking? Was it really an imaginary place? I mean... it was nearly unbelievable that this kinda place exists, but wow. Apparently this place was like... mythical.

It has since been added to the list of mythical places in western PA. Alongside such wonderful places as the Magical Disappearing Lake and the Gateway To Indiana. And Ma's Laundry.

*EDIT*

Fuck all you motherfuckers. I found it!

Random Thought Of The Day #662

Day 662

Maybe I'm missing something here with all this bullshit but I have question...

What the fuck is with all this "we" shit when it comes to "healing"?

When did "we" become party to the issues between other people? When did "we" start becoming involved in the shit that happened between other people at times that "we" weren't around and weren't directly involved? And why in the green hopping Christ in a pogo stick did "we" decide that this was anyone else's business other than those that were involved?

What the fuck do we have to "heal" from? Did I miss a trauma-by-proxy rule somewhere? Why is this shit any of our business? Even if someone decides they're going to make their interpersonal issues public knowledge. Because I'm kinda sick and fucking tired of these drum-circle, touchy-feely, kumbaya bullshit expectations of empathy where when something fucked up happens to 1 person, every single person that knows that person has to "heal with them". No you fucking don't.

Do you know what you gotta do? Give em a hug and be there if they need to talk if they're your friend. And if they aren't, why the fuck do you care? But do you know what you don't have to do? Heal. Know why? Cause nothing fucking happened to you.

Hell... in some ways... this "we all need to heal" bullshit is even more insulting to those that are involved in a shitty situation.

This is why I can't fucking stand the intarwubz sometimes. I said it once and I'll say it again... Deal with the shit between you and someone else between you and someone else. Don't turn it into some kind of fucking spectacle.

Cause you know what all this sounds like? It sounds like a YOU problem and not a ME problem. And certainly not any sort of "we" problem.

But hey... I guess some people just feel the need to make use of those pitchforks and torches sometimes. I mean... Why buy them if they just sit in the shed?

Random Thought Of The Day #661

Day 661

I'm going to reiterate and explain something that I've said a couple times recently. Because I REALLY fucking think you people aren't listening.

Play is NOT therapy. The community should not be your therapy group. It shouldn't even be CLOSE to your therapy group. It shouldn't be a supplement or a form of continued care.

None of us are exactly well-adjusted individuals, however there should be some form of baseline criteria to meet. Not something that is decided by some arbitrary board or anything. Simply a degree of self-awareness that comes with a long, hard, look in the mirror and says "hey, I'm doing OK" or "I'm not yet OK" before jumping into the public scene or pick-up play arena. Hell, even jumping into the public scene in general should only be done after being at least moderately certain that you are not going to freak out at any minor infraction. But sicne crazy often doesn't realize it's crazy... might wanna get some second (and third and forth and thirty-second) opinions of if you're mentally stable enough.

I mean... I have a trigger too... it's major. When someone hits it, I go ballistic. I lose my god damned mind.

Hanging up on me when we're arguing on the phone.

Nothing gets my fucking Irish up like that. But you know what? It's not something that is a major area of concern when dealing with the public bdsm world. So I don't have to worry about it.

But when you are going to flip out about being touched. When you're going to lose your mind about a pronoun. When you're going to do your best Exorcist kid impression because something that you. don't. like. happened in your presence AND there is a risk of that thing happening just by leaving the house, much less venturing into a group of people whose respect for personal space and ability to communicate their own quirks is sometimes lacking? Well... maybe you might wanna spend a few days, weeks, months, or years on the couch at some Shrink's office first. Or medicate the fuck out of yourself.

I really don't care which one.

But deal with your shit and THEN call me. That's the way this used to work. The rules aren't really much different from that of normal vanilla society. As much as everyone seems to think they are sometimes. But being a functional human being IS one of those baseline requirements that need to be met. Nothing special. Just don't be someone who loses their mind over simple shit. And by simple, I mean fucking retarded. Like short-bus kinda stuff.

We keep wanting to create some sort of separate rules for the kink world and the vanilla world. We want to define assault in ways that differ from the vanilla world. We want to pretend that the baseline mental illness acceptance levels for vanilla society are somehow different from our own. We want to basically create some sort of separate value structure for the kink world... but we can't. You know why? Because the existing ones are good enough. They're there for a reason.

You might say that "in that case, the kink world would be ostracizing itself as a result, in the same way that the vanilla world does to it". But you'd be wrong. Because in this case, those in the society that collectively act as the arbiters of those values have an understanding of the kink world that the vanilla society does not. We have an understanding and ability to see the nuances without the same biases.

That doesn't invalidate the rules. It makes US better at arbitrating who meets them and who does not for acceptance into the "society".

The problem has never been with the baseline that are already established. They've been with the implementation and interpretation of them by people that don't understand how to apply them to the kink world. That's it.

You might not like it, but the kink world is NOT a way to escape the rules of acceptance for the vanilla world. It's simply a place where, generally speaking, being kinky or gay or non-gender-binary won't create the preconceived notions and bias against you from the start that happens in the vanilla world. We simply disregard that adjective in forming a consensus of if you meet the general baseline standard of acceptance and being a functional human being. Cause douchebag is douchebag, no matter if you like dick or pussy. And crazy is crazy, whether you have natural or artificial boy/girl parts. And creepy is creepy no matter if you're into feet or just want a romantic date. Well... being into feet makes you creepy no matter what. Because feet are gross and you should kill yourself if that's your kink. Because feet are gross. It's not QUITE as much of an assisted-suicide-resulting offense as wearing leggings as pants, but close. Really close.

What I'm saying is... Crazy, however... is still crazy. No matter what community you are in that is generally made up of functional human beings. Though if a whole community is crazy, crazy'll fit right the fuck in.