I feel this is appropriate today. And that everyone needs to watch this:
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
Random Thought Of The Day #671
Day 671
I feel this is appropriate today. And that everyone needs to watch this:
I feel this is appropriate today. And that everyone needs to watch this:
Monday, July 23, 2012
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.
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.
Friday, July 20, 2012
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)
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)
Thursday, July 19, 2012
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.
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.
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
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.
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.
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.
Tuesday, July 17, 2012
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.
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.
Monday, July 16, 2012
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.
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.
Friday, July 13, 2012
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
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"
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"
Thursday, July 12, 2012
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*
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)