Friday, August 29, 2008

On Salesmen and Bullshit Artists

Let’s talk about salesmen for a minute shall we? I have been a salesman for about a year now but I have been a bullshit artist my whole life (or at least prior to writing this nonsense). I hate sales as much as I love it, 90% of the time it is miserable and I want to tell the rude traffic managers (the assholes I solicit) to take their shitty attitudes and shove it. The other 10% of the time puts you on top of the world. Landing an account and having your grumpy ass boss tell you “good job,” (even though he is grumbling) is a great feeling. Ok I’m getting off track, believe me there is a point here.

Now any good salesman knows that you are not selling your product, you are selling yourself. Now you can do this a number of different ways, some salesman lie, some try to flirt, some try to be suave and some just plain don’t get it. My approach is no bullshit. Now, my angle only works with certain people, but they are the ones that I’m targeting. They are the ones who have been dicked around by countless other trucking companies and are fed up with empty promises and bullshit excuses. They ask me every time, “Why are your rates so much higher?” “My rates are high because I quote a price which I know will enable me to do what I say…I don’t bullshit.” Now their ears are perking up, “Why did this guy just use that word and why is he not talking circles around me?” The answer is because I come in with the truth and I talk straight, my rates might be hard to swallow and they certainly aren’t what they want to hear, but in the end they get what they needed. They need to swallow a little pain in order to make things better in the long run.

Wanna know the best salesmen in the world?


I fucking despise politicians; they are the absolute wrong kind of salesmen. They play by the “tell me what I want to hear” philosophy which is the ultimate worst way to sell, it works in the beginning but when your shit starts crumbling they see right through you. Yes I understand it is the only way to win an election and yes I know at this point 95% of you are skimming this post…fuckers. I, however, think that both of these idiots running for president are full of SHIT. I don’t care what any of you have to say about “The Straight Talk Express” or the fucking “Time for a Change” bullshit…open your goddamn eyes. Open your eyes and see you are being sold. The problem you have to realize is that you are being sold the PERSON and not the PRODUCT. Think about the product these two are passing off on you, what do you really know about it? You know what they want you to know…bullshit.

So when I see these dumb fuckers on the TV talking about how many houses one owns or where the other launched his political career all I can think is…fuck the both of them and fuck the parties they represent. Stop talking about this “Swiftboat Veteran’s” bullshit and talk about the actual product you are selling. Tell me the things I don’t want to hear but know are for the best. Make me want to vote for you…

…so far you haven’t been very convincing.

Besides, if I don’t vote, P. Diddy will kill me. SO GIVE ME A FUCKING REASON TO…ok?



Thursday, August 28, 2008

On Pit Bulls

TBF’s legs went all Gumby and he fell down with a thud as the sound of broken glass falling on the sidewalk violently mixed with people screaming. Ike hit the guy square in the nose and he dropped to the pavement like a ton of bricks, blood flowing from his fresh wound. Ike starts to head over to hit this guy while he’s on the deck.

“Oy…fuck him we have to get TBF out of here before the fucking cops show,” I scream.

Ike and I get him into the front seat of my car and put some of my dirty clothes down to keep him from bleeding all over the place. Holy shit that’s a lot, I almost forgot what that much blood looks like. I’ve seen someone get shot and I’ve seen people severely mutilate themselves when I worked at the butcher, but this was the first time in a while. Ike is fucking screaming in the backseat about going back with one of his assault rifles, I share the same sentiments. Luckily TBF doesn’t live far away, we stop at his house and I tell Ike he can’t come to the hospital, he’s too drunk. I…am…sober…totally…fucking…sober.

“HEY! Dude, you need to stay awake, you probably have a concussion.”

Luckily he can walk halfway straight (albeit with my holding him up) as we exit the car park into the hospital. It is slow in the ER and they admit him almost immediately, I tell him I’m going home to get a toothbrush and some more cigs and I’ll be back in an hour.


I have been thinking all day that it is time to make a change. I’m not so much worried about the smoking pot as I am about the massive quantity of alcohol I must consume in order to get me drunk. I have been getting progressively more insane and as the weekends go on I drink more and more. I need to set it down for a bit, but I have failed so many times before. I have to try this time.

I got my phone charger from Ro’s house, stayed for a smoke and headed home. I plugged the phone in and called the Stranger/Girl on the Phone, and we chatted for a bit before she told me the inevitable, “I’m rubbing my thighs together.” I’ve been waiting for this all fucking day. In no time I was laid out on my couch playing with myself while telling her all the horrible things I was going to do to her when I finally meet her. She can be a horrible cunt when she wants to be, but now her voice is soft and lower as she tells me what she wants to do to my body. I tell her it is only a matter of time before I’m ruthlessly pounding her pussy with my hand on her throat squeezing until the last second and then releasing to the sound of her gasps as she cums. I told her I want to empty myself inside of her; she told me I have to feed her our mixed together juices with my cock. Then inevitably we switch to talking nice, she tells me how she wants to tell me she loves me when I am fucking her…I’m getting close. She tells me she wants to tell me she loves me while she cums…really close. “P, I love you,” oh shit…there it goes…honestly she makes me cum so hard it’s un-fucking-believable. Shit, it is EVERYWHERE. Poor couch.

I make my way out to the front stoop to have a cigarette wearing nothing but a pair of mesh shorts and sporting a still hard-on that any of my neighbors could clearly see. Fuck them anyways; they must think I’m utterly insane from what they have heard come from my apartment since I moved in there. Between the shouting, pot smell, extremely loud fucking, drinking at 11 am on a Saturday, walking around in the parking lot half naked or talking to the kids that live in the projects behind my building…well let’s just say that they think I’m fucking bat shit crazy. Like I said, fuck them.

I sat there on the stoop with the smoke circling my head, thinking that this was the first night in as long as I could remember that I wasn’t halfway in the bag by the time the sun dipped below the trees. It actually felt good…surprisingly good. I don’t plan on quitting drinking all together, mostly just staying away from bourbon…I promised her I would be good to myself and that is what I intend to do.

More trivial events pass before I meet up with the boys at Randy’s…TBF and his girlfriend TGF are already there and already drunk…it’s roughly nine o’clock. He is aggressive tonight, much more so than usual…staring people down and slamming pints. It is so strange to watch this from the opposite side of sobriety, I never realized how utterly retarded we are.

A few hours pass and he is literally out of control, meanwhile I’m spending most of my time watching Sports Center and trying to avoid the looks from Pam, my bartender, wondering why I’m not drinking. She’s probably pissed because I spend a pretty penny there and always tip well. FUCK this is not at all easy, look at the bottles sitting there…they are calling my name.

This is where it all goes pear.

There is this white trash fuck who keeps hitting on TGF…blatantly. I told this fucker to leave it but he just laughs me off. The asshole is probably twice my size and drunk as shit, so naturally he tells me to stuff it up my ass. Fuck it, I’m in no mood for this. I’m going out for a cigarette.

Aw shit. Walking back into the bar I see TBF in White Trash’s face. The guy is sitting in a chair and TBF is standing right in front of him screaming at him. Ike tells me that he saw the guy hitting on his girlfriend when he came from the bathroom and just fucking lost it. Next thing I know TBF shoves this fucker backwards over his chair, his head smacking against the linoleum. I rush over and grab TBF by the collar and drag him out to the street, Pam screaming at us to get the fuck out.

“What the FUCK is your deal, man?”

“Don’t fucking talk to me Cheese you fucking hypocrite.”

I really can’t say anything to that…he’s exactly right; normally I’m the one being dragged out by the collar. I light a cigarette and hand it over to him, lighting another for myself. Ike comes out and explains that he tried to calm the guy down but to no avail, so he just told him to piss off or we would kill him. Good old drunk decision making. I was off in another world and they were so drunk that none of us noticed White Trash make his way outside with a pint glass in his hand.

I turned around to the sound of the glass smashing over the back of TBF’s head. He hit the ground hard and Ike lunged for him, fist cocked back.

Fast Forward

I have been sitting out here in front of the ER for about twenty minutes and there are four cig butts lying on the ground in front of me, I’m about to flick the fifth one. I am fucking irate right now, so mad my hands are shaking. I want to go home, grab my piece and go looking for this guy. I am the most loyal friend, I would die for my boys and I would kill for them in a heartbeat. I feel like shit for not backing him up, for not noticing that fucker sneaking up behind him.

You see, when it comes to sticking up for my real friends, I am a pit bull. I go for the throat when you threaten them, and if you hurt one I will smash your skull under my boot. Don’t fuck with me ever…EVER, but if you fuck with my friends I will kill you. Flat out, I will blow your face off and never regret it. Believe me, if I see this guy again, he will realize that size isn’t what matters…psychosis wins fights. If I would have been drinking this story would have been much different.

I flick the last cigarette in my pack and head back inside to wait for him.

Good thing I wasn’t drinking…

Tuesday, August 26, 2008

The Stranger

I had something that I was planning on posting today, but after last night I feel like I need to go in a different direction. I went to the bar last night and I did not have drink one.

“What’ll it be Mr. Cheese?”

“Um…….Dr. Pepper?”

“What is it your period?”

“Very funny…I’ll get a cranberry later.”

I laughed and hung out while the boys got drunk and I stayed painfully sober, but the night would turn out for the worst. Shit went completely and utterly pear shaped but luckily I was sober enough to take TBF to the hospital (I’ll explain tomorrow). I was fucking angry but I was also completely sober, not even one pint. It actually felt good to go to sleep (granted it was on the bench outside of University of Cincinnati Hospital) instead of pass out for once, I’ll tell the story of what happened some time tomorrow. Now, however, I’ll get to the real point of this post…the stranger…the Girl on the Phone.


It’s been getting worse everyday; we have been talking more and more. We blew away her 500 text plan and then the 1500 and she was forced to up it to 5000, we talk all day everyday.

See I told you I was getting gay on y’all, I’ll tell some drug or fucking stories to make up for it, how bout that?

She came along when I was at my lowest, drinking myself to sleep and driving around piss drunk with a death wish, a complete stranger to myself…an empty face in the mirror. She had the nerve to get mad at me for my behavior; a complete fucking stranger telling me how to live, are you fucking joking me? I didn’t think it was going to turn into this, hey, I tried to push her away with drunk EZ but she just wouldn’t give up (psycho). The more we spoke, though, the more I realized that this stranger, this Girl on the Phone, actually cared about me. At that point I was under the impression that no one gave a shit and I was reasonably certain that I was going to drink myself to death within the next few months. This stranger helped me realize how disgusting it was to live my life like this.

“Don’t do it for me, do it for you.”

Meg always wanted me to do everything for her: quit drinking for her, quit smoking for her, quit using drugs for her etc, but the stranger told me to do it for myself. She told me that seeing me happy made her happy, she is one of two people who have ever said that to me. Making other people happy at any cost has been one of my biggest weaknesses in my life, noble, but still a weakness, I tried to please others no matter the price, even if it meant telling them what they wanted to hear or being someone they wanted me to be...the stranger…the Girl on the Phone, she doesn’t want that…she wants me to be me. She just wants me to be happy, more importantly she makes me want to be happy.

And that, my friends, is why I’m all gay and happy today.

Plus I landed another account about an hour ago…let’s just be honest here, I’m the fucking man.

So, Girl on the Phone I will say this to you…Thank you, those words don’t cut it but its all I got. You earned my heart and that’s why it’s yours.


Your extremely gay, sappy, feminine, douchey and queer friend Cheese.

Ps. I promise I’ll be back to my asshole normal self tomorrow.

Monday, August 25, 2008

Oh My Head

Here we go again…fuck…not again. My head is splitting and I threw up in my bed again, this time while I was sleeping…disgusting. Not again, Jesus, not again. I change my sheets and get back in bed, pulling the covers over my face…there is a tear rolling slowly down my face. I don’t want to be me today, I’m going to bed and I don’t ever want to wake up again. But, the phone vibrates.

“you ever call me when youre in that condition again, don’t even bother…”

I don’t even need to read the rest of that, I know what it says. I sent something back along the lines of “good morning.”

“I really have nothing nice to say to you right now so forgive me for skipping out on pleasantries”


Great…just fucking wonderful, I can’t hide under these sheets forever but I never want to leave. Today I hate me and I just don’t understand. I really just don’t understand why I keep doing this to myself. What am I trying so hard to drink out of my mind? Countless glasses of bourbon aren’t helping me like I wish they would. Sometimes I really hate myself, I hate this feeling…the aftermath. Just fucking great, there goes the phone again.

“cute. and congrats on succeeding on your mission to piss me off even more”

Jesus CHRIST. What do I even say back to that? I feel like I just got shot. I’m so fucking sick of this…so sick of this emotional hangover. I can’t do this fucking crap to myself anymore, one of these days I’m going to wake up and the phone isn’t going to vibrate…one day there isn’t going to be anyone who cares. Someday I will be alone.

Shit, someday I’m not going to wake up period.

I love how you can just turn me off and on like a light, or maybe you can’t, I don’t fucking know. One minute you’re telling me you love me and then the next the switch flips and I feel like the worst person on the planet. Hmmm, maybe it isn’t you flipping the switch, maybe I’m the one. I really don’t know what to do right now, I just want to be somewhere else, and not here...somewhere no one knows me. Lucky for me, EZ seems to be thinning the ranks of people who care about me on a nightly basis. I just remember her saying, “I don’t want to talk to you when you’re like this.” Know what, love, I don’t want to be like this…

Sanity is like sand, it seems like I have the biggest handful of it and I feel great, on top of the world and so alive, but all the while it’s slipping through my fingers. I wish this wasn’t happening and I know I’m not powerless to stop it, I know it’s my choice to stop doing this to myself…sometimes I just feel like I have none. I just lay here in my bed, occasionally putting a sentence on this screen, wishing this would just all stop…wishing I could just float away. I can’t do this to myself anymore.

Who is this person staring back at me in the mirror…I don’t know who he is. Oh wait. I’m staring at shit in the toilet again, somewhere Jake is chuckling. Ok, now I really don’t recognize this person I’m looking at. Who is he? What did he do to deserve this? Why am I trying to kill him?

Normally I would just pick up the phone and call you, say I’m sorry and tell you I love you. Today I know you just don’t want to hear it…you don’t want to hear my voice, do you? This makes me feel less than a person, like I’m not even human anymore. I hope you know I really am…I really am sorry. I’ve got a letter here that I’m writing you, one that tells you everything…I am about to set it on fire. Ok maybe setting off the fire alarm isn’t such a good idea.

My destructive side has grown a mile wide / And I question myself again / What is it about me?

The phone isn’t vibrating anymore; I guess being alone hit quicker than I thought it would. I wish I could just see your name on it…but not today, I guess. This sucks. This really really really fucking sucks. Glass half empty or glass half full? HA, the glass is broken on the floor. I feel like the glass was always empty.

This scares me. It scares me to know that if my mother saw her son like this, so misguided and so alone, she would cry. What scares me even more is that I know my father would cry as well. What is your son becoming? Is it really like Benedict Smith says, “This is what you were always going to become,” is it really like this? I really don’t want to believe that. “To each his own,” he said, and I value that advice like you wouldn’t believe. This isn’t me; I just wish I could convince myself to believe that. I don’t know what to believe anymore.

This house of cards is falling down and I only wish I had a friend to help me put it back together. I understand you don’t want to deal with my volatility but I didn’t think you would just cut me off…the phone just rang, I flew to the other room, knocked over my fan like a fucking douche but…it wasn’t you.

“Are you ok, Cheese?”


“You know one of these days this shit is gonna kill your ass.”

“I’m aware”

“Why don’t you come over, I just rolled a blunt, we’ll talk?”

“I’ll be there in 10.”

Only a real friend could say that to me…“its gonna kill your ass.” As much as I might say the opposite…I want to keep waking up. This has got to end. If you are going to threaten me and say you are walking out of my life I will change. Or at least I’ll give it my all…I promise you I’ll try. I’ll be back in a few hours.


The afternoon shaped up to be halfway decent, probably thanks to the obscenely massive blunt at Ro’s house and a two and a half hour movie called “The Green Street Hooligans.” Um…fucking see this movie TONIGHT, if you don’t like it I’ll pay for the rental (and you have no taste). We hung out and shot the shit for a few hours, I told him about Girl on the Phone, he said I was fucking nuts…I agreed. He also told me that if she really does care about me she would be pressuring me to stop fucking drinking myself half to death. I told him she already did.

I told her it scared me that one of these nights my drunken ass is going to drive off of a bridge. She said, “Who cares,” and asked me how it would feel if I plowed into someone else and killed them…she started to cry. She asked me how I would live with myself and I wanted to say I would go home and stick my AK-47 in my mouth and paint my apartment with brain and skull matter. Before I could say so, she told me that living with it would be my punishment for life, I dropped my head into my hands…she was right, blasting myself would be the coward’s way out. We kept talking about why I do this to myself and how disturbing it is to listen to me when I call drunk…apparently I don’t sound like the same person. We hung up and I took a deep breath and started thinking, I need a totally Trojan plan right now otherwise I am going to die. She called back not five minutes later.

“I forgot to tell you…I love you………………..fucker.”

Now its time to scheme, time to plan and figure this shit out. Its time to get this head straight and stop pissing on my life and everything I have worked (moderately) hard for. Its time to go, get up and stop fucking puking in my sleep (she pointed out that had I been sleeping on my back I would have pulled a Jimi Hendrix and choked on it…yet another close call). Its time to get up off my moping ass and get shit done…its time to prove that this is not who I am…

…its go time mother fuckers.

Friday, August 22, 2008


Ain't it funny how we pretend we're still a child
Softly stolen under our blanket skies
And rescue me from me and all that I believe

I won't deny the pain,
I won't deny the change
And should I fall from grace here with you
Will you leave me too?

Carve out your heart for keeps in an old oak tree
And hold me for goodbyes and whispered lullabyes
And tell me I am still the man I`m supposed to be

I won't deny the pain,
I won't deny the change
And should I fall from grace here with you
Will you leave me too?

To late to turn back now I'm running out of sound
And I am changing, changing
And if we died right now
This fool you love somehow
Is here with you

I won't deny the pain,
I won't deny the change
And should I fall from grace here with you
Would you leave me too?
Would you leave me too?

"Galapagos" The Smashing Pumpkins

Thursday, August 21, 2008

This Morning

Ok the real post for today is below. That being said I have had a kick ass morning today, landed a new account and shit...BOO YA. So hopefully this will help turn over a few new leaves, here's hoping.

This morning, I woke up
Feeling brand new and I jumped up
Feeling my highs, and my lows
In my soul, and my goals
Just to stop smokin, and stop drinkin
And I've been thinkin
I've got my reasons
Just to get by

On Taking Inventory Of What Matters

There comes a time in a man’s life when he needs to take inventory of what is real and what is merely an illusion. Sometimes you just know where you stand with certain people or, rather, how you stand with them. After you take a shot to your pride, it really prompts you to think about who really matters and who’s just along for the ride. When a group of guys sit in front of you and tell you they are sorry, you must beware, not all of them mean what they say. The question I ask myself is, “Would he die for me?” That’s a serious question, not one to be taken lightly. I thought long and hard about that question and it only led me to meaningless speculation. I decided that I was asking the wrong question, I needed to be asking myself something different.

Who would I die for?

It’s the only way to know who truly matters, the only way I can possibly be sure. If I were to ask all of my friends if they would die for me, they would most likely lie and say yes, but those types of answers don’t help me. When you are trying to take stock of who really matters you can only deal in honesty, no matter how little information it leaves you with. No matter if you have to do all the decision making on your own assumptions, the choice is too important to leave to lies or chance. I’m cleaning out my closet here, throwing away all the clutter and bullshit that is holding me back.

I’m sitting here thinking about who I would jump in front of a pistol for, or who I would push out of the way of an oncoming car. Who would I lay down my life for? No ordinary person is going to get me killed, no way. I have seen a few people die in my time, enough to know it isn’t really high on my list of things to do at this juncture, but I know if the time came it would be a split second choice. Yes or No?

Think about that really hard, for whom would you take that bullet? Don’t think about your family, friends or your legacy; just ask the question. Is this person worth my life? You can’t go back, the only thing you have left now is the piece of your soul that you gave to this person, and know that they are now your legacy. Are they worth it?

I’m taking stock and going through the inventory today, going to clean out all the bullshit. I am going to figure out the friends from the snakes and the wolves in sheep’s clothing. No more betrayal, no more Trojan horse and no more facades. Its time to take inventory…

It's like...Yo, there ain't too many people I would die for
That I would lay down for, you heard...
It's like my family, my closest friends that's here in my circle
My moms and 'em, my babies, man
That's word to mother, son, that's what it is...
(I'll die for you, I'll die for you)
Uh-huh...That's right, man
(I'll die for you)
Just some real shit...

Aiyo, I'll die for the prophets and I'll die for the Lord
On the battlefield, wounded badly, holding a sword
With no questions asked, I already know, it's all for the cause
Just laying me facing the East, when I'm under the floor
I might've sinned in the process, from being, in the projects
Eyes swept from all the anger, that could've fucked with my conscience
And more or less, I'm a man of my word
My body is holding a couple scars on it, though I was never a bird

For Martin Luther and my brother Malcolm (I'll die for you)
And my ancestors picking cotton (I'll die for you)
My close homies that get it popping (I'll die for you)
You what time it is, nigga what?

Aiyo, I'd die for my moms, and I'd die for my kids
If you, really my Queen, then I'd die for my whiz
Even my mans, if we that tight
Jump in front of a biscuit, snuff money with all of my mics
Or we can brawl it out and take his life
By taking his gun, no problem
Just make sure we eating when we on the run
Like slaves that's chained together, who've killed master
The dogs is coming, the pigs is gon' blast ya
I'd die for you, I'd die for my brother
Die for the babies who can't eat with bare feet who need they mother
I put niggaz lights out like Con Ed, my verbal is barn
My bread'll blow you, show you who's real with the arms

Do you want revenge on that devil Satan? (I'll die for you)
We could do it now instead of waiting (I'll die for you)
We don't have to wait for revelations (I'll die for you)
We'll sort this out in other conversations

Yo, I'd never jump out the window, lose my life for a lame ass nigga
That scene is bogus, it's not in the picture
You just can't feed me anything like "Yo, Tone it's beef"
Expect me to go all out, jump in and bust my heat
First off, drunk, you not my peeps
Yeah, I know you, we from the same town and shit, but we ain't that deep
We never stuck nothing, oxed something, ran together, popped something
I thought ya team was Wolves, cocksucker, stop fronting
You barking like you got the town in a smash
I'd never lay down for you, faggot nigga, you ass

Watch them niggaz that be yelling that (I'll die for you)
When they broke you be heating that (I'll die for you)
Just stick 'em for they packs, they be crying (I'll die for you)
And just bitch mothafuckas burn...

"I'll Die For You" by Ghostface Killah

Wednesday, August 20, 2008

On Cold Calling

Now I might have mentioned before how I work at a trucking company and that I serve a few different purposes here: mechanic, salesman, operations and the occasional local delivery (yes I know the thought of me at the wheel of a 53' semi is frightening, just be glad you don't live here). As of late I have been wearing the sales hat a lot, we are losing money and I have been unofficially charged with saving this company...tall fucking order, huh?

In any case, how do you make money for your business? The answer: cold calls. Here's one of my more humorous experiences calling on prospects from this morning.

P: Hi this is P with ________ Trucking in ­­­________, may I please speak to your traffic manager or person of the similar position

Stupid: (laughing condescendingly) Sir, eh, we don’t have a traffic manager.

P: Is this ______ Paper Co?

Stupid Ass: (continuing to laugh) This, sir, is not a paper company, we make septic tanks and we certainly don’t have a traffic manager or a desire to have telemarketers calling.

Now at this point I decide that I have had enough of her fucking snide little laughs and nose in the air attitude.

P: Listen I’m just doing my job lady, see…don’t make sales…don’t have job, see how it works?

Dumbfuck: Well I personally hate telemark—

P: --Lady, I’m not a telemarketer I’m a salesman, am I asking you to change your phone service or calling you at dinner or during your TV time? No, I’m not and quite frankly there is no freaking reason to be rude.

Dildo: Same thing.

P: I don’t have time for this shit…have a nice fucking day lady.


My sales manager turned to me after that call and said, “You tore that bitch a new one, huh?” Sometimes this job isn’t all bad.

Tuesday, August 19, 2008

Text Messages

So after last weekend’s drunken rage filled insanity Jen and I have been a bit on the rocks. I don’t quite remember what I said but I can assure you it wasn’t pretty. I tried to talk to her the other day but she didn’t respond until today while I was on lunch…

Jen: Ur kind of a dickhead.

P: How insightful.

Jen: R u done being a dick?

P: Possibly.

Jen: Sexy time 2nite?

P: I might be able to pencil you in.

Jen: Call me later, asshole.

A Quick Commercial Break

I’ll be quite honest here that I really feel weird writing this. I debated long and hard and I hope you know that this is not something that I take lightly.

Look, when I started writing this nonsense it was my space my space alone. Don’t get me wrong, this is still my space, but it seems I have the opportunity to share it with people who find this interesting enough to read.

I am never going to write something like this again, but last night really got me thinking. I want to say thank you, to the people who care enough to write and tell me that shit isn’t as fucked up as I think it is. I’m not going to go through and name people, you know who you are.

I just want to extend my thanks, for your opinions, arguments and advice.

If you think what you say doesn’t matter to me, you are a fucking moron.


Monday, August 18, 2008

Fuck You

You know what? I’m really sick of all you motherfuckers out there who think it a stellar idea to kick me while I’m down.

Fuck you.

I’m getting real fucking sick of your shit.

Look, from now on if I don’t look happy, don’t fucking talk to me. If I walk in on Monday morning with a fucking hangover and start getting bitched at by my customer before I even have my computer on, don’t fucking tell me what I should have said or should have done. I don’t give a shit about anything you could possibly spew from your fucking face right now, so again…don’t fucking talk to me. Let me sit at my desk and growl, don’t even look at me…its taking every ounce of restraint to not throw my fucking Swingline at you.

If I don’t look happy, don’t fucking talk to me. If I walk outside to smoke a cigarette and hurl a beer bottle against my car, don’t fucking talk to me. If I decide to put that shit out on my arm, don’t fucking try to stop me. If I want to punch my hand through the wall, don’t get in my way. You assholes are all a bunch of fucking snakes anyways so go fuck yourselves.

This is addressed to all of you cunts I see on a daily basis…I fucking hate every single one of you, so…don’t fucking talk to me.

Friday, August 15, 2008

On Judas Iscariot

The knife had been there for a long time before I really began to feel the pain. It was so sharp that originally I did not notice when it sunk into my back, until you started to twist. I’ve been stabbed in the back plenty and have returned the favor countless times. This time, however, it nearly killed me. This time, I really didn’t deserve it.

Twist it

Twist it

Does it hurt?

Of course it hurts. I found out the hard way, someone finally broke it to me. At least I don’t have to miss you now, I only hate you…you are hate to me.

You must think that I am stupid; I thought you knew me better than that. You must have thought I would never find out. You must have thought that the wool you pulled over my eyes was opaque…you were wrong. I could see right through it the whole time, I just didn’t realize what I was looking at until I pulled it off. You and him fucking...I should have known.

Look, I cheated a lot, I know that and I understand being left over it, I asked for it. But what the fuck, you cheated too, but not like this...not like this. This was a whole new level of betrayal.



It hurts badly now, doesn’t it?

The pain can be blocked out and bottled up, or it can be shouted about and let go (I blacked out while screaming at Girl on the Phone about it). The pain can be forgotten, but the knife you have slipped in snugly next to my spine…that will never leave me. The thing is that I thought it was just your hand on the handle of the knife, but I was wrong. He places his hand gently and lovingly over yours as you both grip the handle and your morbid rotation begins.



It is excruciating now, isn’t it?



My mind will now attempt to fight off the urge to shove my knife into your back, The Mass. You were such a good friend, I took you in when you had nowhere to live, remember that? The Mass, I can’t believe you did this to me…you took her hand and you helped her twist the knife. You’ve managed to create a large hole in my spine; the blood pours ever so beautifully out of my wound and drips onto the floor. The pattern is intricate and ornate; staining the carpet as the blood you have spilled flows from my soul. My pain, laid out for all to see. I am unable to hide from the everyday stares; I am unable to hide from concerned friends (why in fuck’s name would I talk to them after they kept this from me for THREE FUCKING MONTHS). I am only able to properly function when I divorce my mind from this issue…it is difficult; especially since I can hear him screaming from his cage in the back of my mind:

“Look at what you let them do. YOU LET THEM! LOOK AT IT…LOOK AT US! LET ME OUT! LET ME KILL THEM! Release me and let me wash the blood from our wounds.”

This time…this time, you cunt, I will not give into you. I will kill you a million times before I would ever kill them.

This offense is unforgivable, you have burned this bridge, The Mass…fuck, you nuked it. I can only say that you are lucky, my friend, luckier than you can possibly imagine. She is beautiful, witty, a bitch, funny and she was mine, but little did I know while I was stuffing myself into her cunt…you were doing the same thing. You are lucky to have her, I suppose in some sense I deserved this for treating her so poorly, I just didn’t think it was you. Like I said, you are luckier than you will ever know. Lucky that there is still a part of my heart that cares for her, because if I didn’t want to see her happy I would buy a bottle of bourbon and drink the fucking thing while I torture you Devil’s Rejects style.

The Mass, you betrayed me.

You are Judas to my Jesus.

Here I hang.

You betrayed me with a kiss.

So here I sit, I cannot lie down due to the placement of your knife, and I wonder…why? What did I do to deserve this? Why are you doing this to me? My lover and my close friend both laughing in my face, but this is how it always happens, isn’t it? It is always the closest friend who hangs you out to dry, I let you get too close…close enough to shove in the knife. Emerging from your Trojan horse to destroy me…and I opened the gate to let you in.

What are friends?
Friends are people that you think are your friends
But they really your enemies, with secret identities
And disguises, to hide they true colors
So just when you think you close enough to be brothers
They wanna come back and cut your throat when you ain't looking

Don’t think that all this is going to be bottled up and forgotten, you two should know me better than that. I put my first foot on the floor this morning and realized that; yes…I am standing on the ground. Sure my head is in the clouds, thanks to someone else, but my feet are right here below me, solidly on the ground. I will not trip this time, I will be more cautious. There is a promise of rebirth here in this tale of despair and betrayal, the promise of not being so careless. I will, henceforth, choose my friends ever so carefully because now I fucking know…one day they could be my enemies.

This is the last thing I’ll say to you, the last time either of you will hear my voice. You have betrayed me and may your sins never be forgiven, not now and not in eternity. May you both rot in your happiness. May you both cry your eyes out and think about death as the only option. May your relationship crumble painfully. May your children die at birth. May your fields be scattered with salt. May your names be forever forgotten. May your tears stain your cheeks. May your pain exceed anything you have ever imagined.

And when you both die, in some distant future…

…may you both die knowing that the betrayal you have committed will never be forgiven.

Thursday, August 14, 2008

The Hollow

For the girl on the phone, if only she could read it.

run, desire, run
a sexual being run him like a blade
to and through the heart, no conscience
one motive: cater to the hollow

screaming feed me here
fill me up again
temporarily pacify this hunger that's so cruel

libido throw
dominoes of indiscretions down
falling all around in cycles, in circles
constantly consuming, conquering, devour.

'cause its time to bring the fire down
throttle all this indiscretion
long enough to edify
and permanently fill this hollow

screaming feed me here
fill me up again
temporarily pacifying
feed me here
fill me up again
temporarily pacifying

"The Hollow" by A Perfect Circle

On Learning How To Take A Punch

I was going to tell you a really hot story tonight, but you can thank the girl on the phone for prompting me to think about heavy shit.

Hey dad, it’s me, the older one. I hope you know I would have died a long time ago if not for you. I love you Dad.

He had a pretty thick Irish accent, but it has faded with age. He used to drink a lot, a habit he seems to have passed on to his eldest. Dad used to beat us up pretty badly, but I never faulted him. Go ahead and call him abusive and you just might be lucky enough to find my .45 jammed down your throat. I love my father.

I got beat up really bad a few years ago, really bad. I thought I was going to die (the fact I was quitting smack didn’t help either), but you…Dad…you kept me going. I will never forget those words you said to me that night, all bruised and broken.

“Did you cry?”

“No sir I took it like a man.”

“That’s my boy.”

I cried when I went to sleep that night, but not because I couldn’t open my eye…because he validated me as a man. As I write these words I am tearing up, because to hear you call me a man (without using the words of course) was the most reassuring thing I have heard so far in my life. He told me, without saying, that I was still the man he wanted me to be on the day I was born.

No, Dad, I sure didn’t cry when they took me, when they beat me. It was the worst pain ever, but not as horrible as letting you down would have been. I love you Dad and I will never fail you.

I remember once when I was younger. My Mom didn’t like something I had said and balled her fist up to knock me on the head. She reached her hand back and let go, but I caught her hand in mid swing before it hit my head. I looked over…THWACK.

I woke up five or so minutes later with my Dad standing over me, holding his fist. “Don’t ever touch yer mother again, boy, or next time yeh won’t get back up.” He stuck out his hand and helped me up; I never laid a hand on a woman again.

See, Dad beat us pretty badly, but we needed it…I needed it. Those punches helped me grow up. I went to school, covered in bruises, plenty of times, but I never told on him. I know he loved us. There were kids that showed off their bruises and got their parents into trouble…never once did I do that. Every beating I took, I deserved. I despised those kids, thought they were so special…we are nothing alike. I earned my beatings, I asked for them and I wanted them. Those beatings made me a man.

So, like I said, call my Dad abusive and I’ll shoot your stomach out of your asshole, I love the man. When he quit drinking as much, he told me on my 20th birthday that he was sorry for hitting us. He didn’t believe me when I said that it made me a man. He was drunk and cried when I told him; it made me cry to see my father as scared as I was. Don’t worry Dad, I will always love you. Everything I do is for you, good or bad; I am living my life just like you told me to.

“Fick me and fick yer mother, this is your life boy, so live it.” No one gives advice like you do, except the people who matter the most, the people who love you so much it makes you cry…

...I love you Dad, I’m sorry for becoming the man I have become. I’m sorry for the drugs and the drinking; I am trying to help myself, but sometime I just need a good ass kicking to set me straight. Sometimes, as weird as this sounds, I wish you still drank every night. I miss the ass kicking; I know you love us, that is why you beat us. Know what Dad? I need a good ass kicking right now…

I love you Dad…beat my ass up please, I need it.

Wednesday, August 13, 2008

Fucking Brett

<---Fucking asshole traitor

I have a good story, but I can't type it as I got yelled at for emailing too much today. Tonight I'll give you the full story. Until then, a little ESPN excerpt...

If Favre can retire then nonretire every year, why not every week? Below is a weekly agenda for the Jets' season:

Sunday immediately following game: Favre tells reporters he's "considering"
retirement. Says he will come back if all networks agree that cameras will show no player except him.

Monday morning: Favre's agent says client feels "not appreciated" because New York City has not been renamed Brettopolis. Holds tearful farewell news conference, says "I would never go back on my word unless there was something in it for me." Thanks teammates for not coming between him and cameras. Returns to Mississippi.

Monday evening: Hosts vigil in Hattiesburg tent. Tells Oak Grove High School players, "Always be a self-sacrificing team player."

Tuesday morning: Invites hundreds of reporters and cameramen to his farm to see him happily working the land.

Tuesday lunchtime: Tires of working the land.

Wednesday morning: Calls ESPN, New York Times to plant comeback rumor.

Wednesday afternoon: Calls ESPN, New York Times to deny comeback rumor.

Thursday morning: Demands immediate reinstatement. Grants "exclusive" interviews to ESPN, ABC, CBS, NBC, NFLN, CNN, MSNBC, BBC, Fox College Sports/Pacific, CSPAN-2, Planet Green, Oxygen, Toon, Home Preview Channel, HBO Signature HD, SOAPNet, Canal Plus and the MHz4 Nigerian TV Authority.

Thursday evening: Demands New Jersey annex Delaware and give it to him, also demands USM change its sports nickname to the Golden Fours. United States Senate stages all-night emergency session to debate Favre return.

Friday morning: Congress offers $600 billion bailout if Favre returns. Senate Majority Leader Harry Reid explains, "We don't care who gets the bailout, we just like to give away borrowed money. Hey Nancy, they want more. OK, $800 billion."

Friday afternoon: United Nations Secretary General Ban Ki-moon flies to Hattiesburg in the space shuttle to accompany Favre on his return to New Jersey. Manhattan casting agency hires hundreds of extras to pretend to be adoring Favre fans at arrival.

Saturday morning: Favre attends walk-through, disabled children allowed to touch his garments.

Sunday morning: All other players' names removed from program in order to print Brett Favre in 72-point type across every page. Governor of New Jersey washes Favre's feet during player introductions.

Postgame: Favre hints game may have been his last.


Edit: Plagiarism is bad..therefore...this article by Gregg Easterbrook

Tuesday, August 12, 2008

Story Time Part 4

I'm going to tell you a story. I have owed you this story for a few weeks now and the procrastination is finally over. I forgot about it until I read Unbroken's pizza place post, I had to get in on the pizza action. This story is about a girl named Angie...and one named Megan. I met the two of them when I was 17 and I worked at a pizza place called Rocky Rococo's in a suburb of Milwaukee. They 19 and were both shift managers and therefore my superiors. They were also bisexual and dating each other and I was a horny 17 year old skateboarding stoner.

Originally I worked at the bakery next door, I worked long hours after school sometimes until one or two in the morning, but other nights we got out early. The kids at Rocky's were all from my grade school or the other ones in the area, so we had all grown up together. On the nights we got out early we would sit in the alley behind our respective stores while we skateboarded, listened to music and got high in the cool summer evening air. Those were some of the best nights of my life. A few weeks later Angie got me a job at Rocky's, I was sick of the 3 years I had put in at the bakery since I was 14 working crap hours and I needed a change. I had just bought my first car and was developing my taste for bourbon albeit with Coke in those days (now considered a cardinal sin), I didn't have a care in the world.

Within the first two months of working there I had made out with, fingered, got head from or slept with all but three female employees in our store (Angie, Megan and our 45 year old head manager), the place was a veritable fuck fest. We drank on our shifts, got stoned in the walk in cooler and fucked on our breaks in the back of the store: everyone was fucking everyone else in that store. We all went out together and spent many nights camping out by some of the lakes just west of the city. It was weird but for that summer the 15 or so kids who worked there were like family.

I always wanted Angie, we would flirt constantly and make out in the walk in cooler, trouble was that she was dating Megan, who was supremely jealous...or so I thought. I was constantly telling Megan, while intoxicated, that I was in love with her girlfriend. Most of the time she just ignored me or rubbed it in that she was fucking Angie and not me. First a little more back story.

When the girls would close the store down, we would often sit in the back (out of view from the front windows) and drink or get high. Normally it was a bunch of us, but one night it was just Angie, Megan and myself sitting in the back booth getting high. They were asking me about one of the cashiers who I had fucked a week or so earlier. I said, "I didn't fuck her, she fucked me," and they laughed and asked for details. I told them that she had asked me to cum on her face, in response Megan said, "You can cum on my face." I started laughing, thinking she was kidding, but they both sat there and just stared at me.

"Jerk off for us," Angie finally said.


"Jerk off for us," Megan repeated.


"Right here," they added simultaneously.

You might have to tell me twice, but three I took out my cock and started stroking myself, Angie put her arm around me and Megan leaned across the table to watch. Megan said that she had never seen a guy cum before, that they had made her cum but she never returned the favor. I can assure you, it didn't take me long. She told me to stand up and shoot it across the table, I happily complied, streaming out my load onto the floor and table. They were both giddy and making out telling me I had a pretty cock. Believe me, that shit does wonders for your self esteem.
Now, the next few weeks were fucking confusing as hell. Almost every shift they would grab my ass, put their hands down my pants and drag me into the walk in cooler to make out. Then afterwards they would leave me with a hard on and go fuck at one of their apartments. Now like I said, I was confused as shit. One minute I thought they were lesbians, the next they were telling me they wanted to fuck me. Megan had never been with a man more than letting guys at Rocky's eat her out for hours on end at our lake shore parties, she had never even touched a dick. Angie had been with a guy for three years before her and Megan hooked up but she claimed she liked girls more than boys. I was 17, horny and fucking anything with two legs and a cunt, shit I would have fucked someone with just a cunt...legs or not.
This frustration of wanting to rail the shit out of both of them was beginning to boil over. One night at the lake I drank an incredible amount of bourbon and spilled all my frustrations out to them. We talked and I think they genuinely cared about how I felt and that I was upset. When they took me home later that night, after dropping off Megan, Angie leaned in, kissed me and said, "We were only teasing honey, I'm sorry we got you worked up." I went to bed pondering just what the hell that actually meant.
The next shift I worked wasn't for a few days and for the first time in a while I hadn't seen either of the two of them. Work was kind of tense, probably because I made it that way, but they were sweet, giving me little brushes on the ass or standing really close to me. My head was swimming so I went out for a smoke trying to get my head out of the clouds. All I kept thinking was that I couldn't believe that they were doing it again, knowing I could not willingly resist my urges. I was pissed for the rest of the shift trying, unsuccessfully, to fight off their advances.
"Dude, what the fuck," I asked as they locked the place up. "I thought I said to stop-" I was interrupted by Angie, mid speech, sticking her tongue into my mouth and pulling me in close. Megan locked the door and came over, reaching her hand into my pants and wrapping it around my always hard cock...I shivered. "Let's go to Megan's house," Angie interjected...I could only nod. I sat in the back of the two door Ford Focus while they fingered each other in the front going down the highway, I had my cock out and was stroking it, making a precummy mess on my hand.
We burst into Megan's apartment and Angie pulled off her top as soon as the door closed, she was curvy and had a wonderfully toned body. Megan immediately went to her girlfriends round tits and started sucking, I walked over next to them and sucked on the other one, Angie laid down. I could wait no longer, I slid my hand down inside Angie's waistband but Megan grabbed my wrist and stopped me, "Wait...she is mine, I'm only letting you borrow her." I nearly came when I heard those words, she let go of my wrist and I heard Angie sigh as my hand met her wetness. Megan pulled Angie's panties and sweatpants off and we each went for one of her legs and began to kiss our ways down to her pussy. I made out with her as she placed my hand on Angie's pussy, I broke her kiss and my mouth found her, she groaned.
I felt Angie getting more and more worked up as I trailed my tongue around her pussy while Megan kissed her thighs. I felt a hand in my pants again, spreading my mess around, she went down and freed me from my zipper, taking me into her mouth. It felt good to know that I was the first cock she had ever tasted, so it was easy to overlook the bad job she was doing, besides I was 17 and getting naked on the floor with two older lesbians, what fucking more could I reasonably ask for?
We got totally naked and all climbed onto each other kissing and sucking on the piece of flesh nearest to our faces, I was eating pussy, sucking on breasts and making out with the whoever was in my face. One minute I felt a mouth on my cock, then a hand, then another mouth, I couldn't keep track, it felt amazing. I remember them cumming and shoving their pussies in my face for me to lick them clean. At one point I was laying on my side sucking on Angie's clit while Megan straddled me and rubbed her pussy up and down my ribs and side. Her juices were running down my chest and back while Angie's were covering my face. Eventually they pushed me onto my back and both crawled between my spread legs, Angie put my cock in her mouth and Megan whispered, "This is for teasing you."
They took turns running their lips up and down my cock, switching off flawlessly so that the pleasure never ceased. They were running their nails up and down my stomach, legs and ass, forcing my cock deeper into whichever of them was sucking me at the time. When Angie started deep throating me while Megan sucked on my balls I uttered, "I'm gonna cum." She only jammed my cock further into her mouth as I let loose the pent up cum that I had been saving for them. I pumped in and out of her mouth until I was finished and then collapsed back down onto the floor. I rolled over and lit up a cigarette as they crawled up my body, each resting a head on either one of my shoulders. I was in heaven, probably the happiest I had been in my life up to that point, we laid there for a while, basking in the afterglow of our cumming.
They each gave me a kiss as I got out of Megan's Focus, I was walking on air. I laid down on my bed and jerked off two more times before going to bed, I couldn't stop running the event through my mind.
Eventually my stoner ass got fired along with most of the other kids who worked there and our summer of fun was over. I saw Angie about 3 years ago at Summerfest (the eternal "meet people you haven't seen in years" spot) and we talked for a while, sitting on the lakefront smoking Camels.
"So, you still smoke menthol, huh Ang?"
"You still look at me like a kid, but something has changed."
"I still think about you, I hope you know."
"I do, I knew you would."
"So you've been thinking about me too, I see?"
"Hard not to go back to that summer."
We talked for a while before her friends started to wonder where she was, she gave me a kiss on the cheek before walking off into the night to disappear in the crowd. Her perfume hung on the air momentarily before a lake breeze carried it away. I lit another cigarette and walked back into the sea of people to meet back up with my friends. All I could think about was that summer, that wonderful was the best one I've ever had.
Edit: I have no idea what the hell is wrong with my editor so forgive the lack of spaces in between paragraphs I can't fucking fix it

Monday, August 11, 2008

On Playing The Lottery

When I was back home in Milwaukee I met up with three of my best friends for a four day camping trip in the North Woods. We talked about countless subjects, but the one that kept coming up was all the dead kids we knew. Three more died in the past six months that I didn't even know about until this weekend.

The Sergeant, a two tour Iraq war infantry veteran, died in his bunk while stateside. The Army never did tell his family what happened to him, but we know that he ended up overdosing. See, he got straightened out when he joined the Army, but Iraq fucked up his head and he got back into using. He was 23 years old.

The Delivery Guy was a real troublemaker, but a good kid nonetheless. He had been a pizza guy ever since I had known him, he fucking loved it. He probably loved it so much since he sold dope on his routes. Well, unfortunately for him, he owed some people some money and they shot him twice in the face when he stopped to get out on one of his routes. He was 22 years old.

The Hookup was one of my former dope dealers, not really a savory character but someone I would call a friend. They didn't know a lot of the details on it other than they thought he OD'd. He was 26 years old.

It made me think, strangely enough, of playing the lottery. Now I don't play the lottery for money, necessarily, I have played for other...more important things. People play the lottery, for example, when they have children. Any number of things can come from childbirth, and the beauty of the process is that it cannot be rigged (for the most part). You could end up giving birth to the cure for cancer or giving birth to a shooting spree way down the line, you can never tell. One such lottery which I have played is the drug abuse lottery. I managed to come out on top of the experience ie came out with my life, health and most of my sanity. These three, and the few others who have gone on, were not so lucky.

I feel like I almost owe them something but I could never put my foot down on just what it was so I carry their memories with me wherever I go. When I see some of the kids I used to run with, these days, they look at me with disgust. Disgusted that I sold out, betrayed them and gave up the life. It confuses me because I look at them and am disgusted that they are still stuck in the same old mud. They didn't learn from all the ones who died or got locked up or shot.

I'd never change what I did, I won the lottery...I'm still breathing. I would not be the same person I was today without these stories. I know you probably get sick of hearing all of them, but I can't write about sex when I'm not getting laid so come out here and fuck me if you don't like it. I don't know, it seems like everything I have making me happy right now is finally working but I always need something to bother me and keep me down. It just helps that I have a lot of dangerous and self destructive friends to give me shit to be upset about. Its alright though, I'm doing fine, even though they are gone I'm doing ok...besides I just won the fucking lottery.

Wednesday, August 06, 2008

And So It Burns...

"The larger gauge of a Camel Wides cigarette makes for the smoothest most flavorful way to enjoy Camel's distinctive blend of the finest Turkish and Domestic tobaccos."

Yeah, and it also leaves a huge fucking burn too.

Normally I burn myself when I'm drunk, but this time I was totally sober. I leave this scar on my arm as a reminder of my mistakes, the people who have hurt me but most importantly the people who I have misled and betrayed.

I do not yet understand what this one means to me, I'm only beginning to get an idea. This one is so much more important than the other times. So much more pain behind this one. Scars are my tattoos and they are self inflicted. I love them but I cry when I look at them.

When you throw a rock at a window common sense tells you that it will break, but here I sit throwing stones and expecting the opposite. Wounded animals are dangerous. If I didn't have my friends I would have gone swinging from my ceiling fan long ago. They help me pick up the pieces and keep me on the path I need to be on, but when I betray them I feel like trash.

So, my friend, this is directed straight at you.

I am sorry I betrayed you.

Edit: Fuck it all.

Phone Sex / On Having One And Wishing It Was Another

I had left my phone on vibrate and missed three of her text messages. She had woken up from her nap and was playing.

“Call if you want to listen.”

Jen took me out to watch the Brewers clobber the Reds at Hooters (her choice) and we were back sitting on my couch watching TV. She was, unsuccessfully, trying to get me to fuck her (Hey my balls are still broken, lay off alright) and had already convinced me to let her stay the night; after all I didn’t want to be alone. I just was wishing it was someone else staying with me; no, not Meg…someone else. I saw my phone light up with that text message and didn’t even bother to come up with a decent lie, “I…uh um…gotta go…uh…make a phone call…uh yeah, I’ll be…uh…right back.”

“Sorry I took so long, my phone was on vibrate.”

“Mmmm, oh, that’s ok I waited for you.”

I could immediately feel my hardness growing in my pants as I sat out on the stoop in the humid air. She told me to talk to her, to tell her what I wanted to do to her if I had the opportunity. I lit up my Camel Wide and started my seductions.

“My beard would tickle you ever so gently as I trail my kisses along your thighs.” Fuck, she was breathing so heavily and moaning into the phone it was hard for me to even speak, I just wanted to listen. “Don’t stop talking,” she commanded and I was more than happy to oblige. I spoke and listened, but it was as if the two functions were divorced from each other in my mind, as if there was more than one person operating my body. I told her how I would kiss her thighs and how I would suck her entire pussy in my mouth. I told her how I would make her scream and how badly I needed to be inside of her. I could feel my precum running down my leg and could see the stain it was leaving as it soaked through my boxers and onto my jeans. I was rubbing the head of my throbbing cock through my jeans as she moaned.

We had done this once before, but she only wanted me to text her, “I’m not comfortable on the phone – yet.” Last night the comfort level was upped and I listened to her cumming over the phone with me. She was thinking about me while she was cumming; there is nothing sexier than that. I could see it so clearly in my mind, her back arched, a bead of sweat rolling down between her breasts and my cock buried inside of her. My mind was on fire and I couldn’t have cared less that I was being rude to my guest who clearly wanted me. The woman on the other end of the line was the only thing I was thinking about. My legs were all buttery and I felt like I was going to cum, the gentle rubbing through my jeans was enough, my balls didn’t even hurt.

I could hear her getting close and her words turned to incomprehensible sounds of pure ecstasy. Fuck! It was so hot, my precum was down to my left knee by this point (I am a very messy boy when I get worked up, which makes it kind of shitty at work when I read y’all’s sexy blog entrys and stand up with precum all over myself…assholes) and I was breathing heavily. My words were hitting her right in the pussy and I can only imagine how beautiful the sight of her fingers jammed up her cunt must be. I must fuck her…I MUST FUCK HER. The pictures were spinning around in my head: our two bodies intertwined as one, her cum running down my shaft, her words and moans hanging in my ears. By this point my lust was insatiable, I was telling her how badly I wanted to cum all over her and she said she would rub it in.

She let go, I heard it happen. She was probably the most vocal woman I have ever heard while she was cumming, it was incredible. It just about sent me over the edge, by now I needed to cum. I needed to cum on her, in her, all over her, cum for her, cum with her. I just needed to cum and I needed her to do it.

“Mmmmm, thank you sweet boy.”

*Head spinning* “It was my pleasure.” FUCK was that ever hot, I could honestly not believe how incredibly sexy she was when she came…if only I could have seen her face. We said our goodnights and I went back inside to Jen after about 15 minutes of pure arousal and build up. She asked me what was up and I just told her I was talking to a friend from somewhere not Cincinnati. I honestly didn’t even care; I wanted her to be the woman I just hung up with. If it was I would have fucked her brains out regardless of the stitches in my crotch, no matter how badly it hurt. I sat there looking straight through the TV and responding with one word answers. She laid her head in my lap and could feel my erection in my pants, it had been almost 45 minutes since my little phone call ended and I had been hard the whole time. “What’s this in your pants little boy?” I was wishing that it was not her; I was wishing it was YOU. If you could read this you would know how fucking badly I want you, it is incredible. Jen took my cock out of my pants, against my will, and began to suck on it ever so gently. She told me it was all she wanted and that she wouldn’t hurt me. Honestly the only reason I let her was because I had gotten so aroused by that call (and the past week of no orgasm) that my blue balls were unbearable. As she put me into her mouth I closed my eyes and let my head fall back. I never ever close my eyes when I am having sex or getting head, I am too visual I love to watch, but tonight was very different. I didn’t want it to be her at all, so I closed my eyes and imagined that it was my sexy woman on the other end of the phone. I forgot Jen was even there and just imagined someone else’s lips working my cock carefully and slowly. When I came I unloaded into her mouth, and it felt like I had just burst a levee into her mouth. It was one of the longest orgasms I have had; she could barely swallow it all. It felt incredibly good but I was disappointed beyond belief when it was not my phone call’s face when my eyes opened.

I know that sounds pretty bad, like I used her, but look she fucking did it and she wanted to stay over and all that…she pushed the issue, not me. Jen is a very good friend of mine and before the Meg incident I wanted to sleep with her, but I don’t want to anymore and I don’t know why. She stayed the night and it was nice to have her holding me and reassuring me that everything was going to be fine. I know I shouldn’t have gone and let her suck me off while I had another woman on my mind (and while my doctor told me not to) but I couldn’t help it.

I can’t help another thing either, I am fucking falling for the girl on the phone and I can’t help but think about her nonstop. I definitely should not be admitting this or doing this so soon after the Meg incident, but the only thought I have had in my head today is…

…Meg who?

Tuesday, August 05, 2008

Dry Your Eyes

I manned up last night, went to her house and...I got my answer. She didn't cry or flinch, her beauty was paralyzing and my broke.

In one single moment your whole life can turn 'round
I stand there for a minute starin’ straight into the ground
Lookin’ to the left slightly, then lookin’ back down
World feels like it’s caved in – proper sorry frown
Please let me show you where we could only just be, for us
I can change and I can grow or we could adjust
The wicked thing about us is we always have trust
We can even have an open relationship, if you must
I look at her she stares almost straight back at me,
But her eyes glaze over like she’s lookin’ straight through me
Then her eyes must have closed for what seems an eternity
When they open up she’s lookin’ down at her feet

Dry your eyes mate
I know it’s hard to take but her mind has been made up
There’s plenty more fish in the sea
Dry your eyes mate
I know you want to make her see how much this pain hurts
But you’ve got to walk away now
It’s over

So then I move my hand up from down by my side
It's shakin’, my life is crashin’ before my eyes
Turn the palm of my hand up to face the skies
Touch the bottom of her chin and let out a sigh
‘Cause I can’t imagine my life without you and me
There’s things I can’t imagine doin’, things I can’t imagine seein’
It weren't supposed to be easy, surely
Please, please, I beg you please
She brings her hands up towards where my hands rested
She wraps her fingers round mine with the softness she’s blessed with
She peels away my fingers, looks at me and then gestures
By pushin’ my hand away to my chest, from hers

Dry your eyes mate
I know it’s hard to take but her mind has been made up
There’s plenty more fish in the sea
Dry your eyes mate
I know you want to make her see how much this pain hurts
But you’ve got to walk away now
It’s over

And I’m just standin’ there,
I can’t say a word
‘Cause everythin’s just gone
I’ve got nothin’
Absolutely nothin’

Tryin’ to pull her close out of bare desperation
Put my arms around her tryin’ to change what she’s sayin’
Pull my head level with hers so she might engage in
Look into her eyes to make her listen again
I’m not gonna fuckin’, just fuckin’ leave it all now
‘Cause you said it'd be forever and that was your vow
And you’re gonna let our thing simply crash and fall down
You’re well out of order now, this is well out of town
She pulls away, my arms are tightly clamped round her waist
Gently pushes me back and she looks at me straight
Turns around so she’s now got her back to my face
Takes one step forward, looks back,
And then walks away

Dry your eyes mate
I know it’s hard to take but her mind has been made up
There’s plenty more fish in the sea
Dry your eyes mate
I know you want to make her see how much this pain hurts
But you’ve got to walk away now
It’s over

I know in the past I’ve found it hard to say
Tellin’ you things, but not tellin’ straight
But the more I pull on your hand and say
The more you pull away

Dry your eyes mate
I know it’s hard to take but her mind has been made up
There’s plenty more fish in the sea
Dry your eyes mate
I know you want to make her see how much this pain hurts
But you’ve got to walk away now.

"Dry Your Eyes" by The Streets

Monday, August 04, 2008

On Kindred Spirits and a Thousand Mile Stare

I don’t know what made me turn right instead of left out of the parking lot. I was driving slow, listening to the Eagles and smoking a Camel Wide with the windows down and my shirt off. It was hot out today and the sun was bright, I stopped at the stop sign down the street and flipped my turn signal to head to McDonald’s. At that exact instant a little boy, probably 9 or 10, fell off his bike and bailed onto the street. He started crying and his bike was fucked up, I flicked my cigarette, put on my shirt and got out of the car.

“Hey buddy, are you ok?” His knee and elbows were bleeding pretty badly so I reached into my glove box and grabbed some napkins. He was still crying.

“You ok bud?” The chain was off his bike the handlebars were twisted, I put the napkin to his knee, he winced.

“What’s your name?”

“Benny,” he said through his tears.

“Your bike is pretty bad, Benny, where do you live, I don't think you can ride it home?” He told me he lived only a few blocks away, I knew the street, so I asked him if I could take him home.

“What about my bike?” I got him in the front seat and put his bike in the trunk, hanging out the open hatch.

I pulled up to his house a minute later and he told me to stop. He opened the door and ran in through the front porch; I grabbed his bike out of the trunk and walked up. I could hear him settling down and the soft voice of a woman comforting him in the background. I knocked on the door and she came to the porch. She had to be in her mid forties, long blond hair and something in her eyes that said to me that she was not ok.

“Is this your boy, I saw him fall off his bike and just figured he needed a hand?”

“Thank you so much,” type doesn’t do her gratitude justice, “You are a very sweet boy.”

She came out onto the porch and lit up a cigarette, I could hear the kid in the background turning on an Xbox. Amazing how quickly kids forget their pain…if only that characteristic lasted into adulthood. She said her name was Jennifer, I told her mine, and she wasn’t wearing a ring (why do I notice that?). She thanked me again and I started to walk down the steps, I stopped in my tracks, why I will never know, and turned asking, “Do you have an extra smoke Jennifer?”


I sat there for a minute and had a conversation with a total stranger which, even though it is not more than 40 minutes old, will be burned into my brain forever.

“You have a thousand mile stare, P.”

“What do you mean?”

“You stare like what you are looking at is a thousand miles away, like something is wrong with you.”

I thought that she was incredibly forward. “How could you possibly know that,” I asked, almost a little put off by her frankness.

“I can see it in your eyes.”

I heard Benny call her in the background and she told me she had to go make sure he was ok. She leaned in and gave me a hug asking me if he got any blood on my seats. I said no, I was lying. Then she said something to me which completely floored me.

“It isn’t always as hard as it is right this moment. You are a good person, just keep your chin up and know that you aren’t alone. You can do it, I believe in you” I dropped my jaw and felt my knees buckle. The way she said it made it seem like she was some kind of guardian angel, like she knew the bad thoughts in my head and wanted them out and I just plain didn’t know what to say back. I started down the steps. She thanked me again but I didn’t respond I just threw up my hand in a wave over my shoulder, tears streaming down my face. Who was this woman and how the hell did she just hit me so hard? What just happened and how did she know? What just happened?

I drove back to work, no longer hungry and sat there in the parking lot…thinking. What just happened? Everything seemed so vivid, so clear but at the same time it made no sense. She was a kindred spirit, I could see it in her eyes when she opened the door but why had those few words taken the air out of my chest.

What just happened?

Friday, August 01, 2008

This Morning

Read the below post first please.

Damage control starts early in the morning when I wake up and puke off the side of my bed. My stomach feels like someone stuck a knife in it and twisted and I have heartburn so bad I could choke. I have a fat lip and my head hurts...what did I do? Not again. What did I do?

Call log suggests that I went to Maria's and reading what I wrote last night confirms my suspicions. I guess I know where I got the fat lip from. My emails tell me that I was acting like an ass to a friend of mine as friend, I'm sorry. Welcome to another morning of damage control.

They don't even ask what's wrong with me at work anymore. The one day when I yelled, "Nothing is wrong I just fucking hate my life," I think they got the point. I sit here, smelling like liquor and cigarettes, wondering how the fuck to apologize to everyone EZ got to talking with last night. I hate doing this shit, the list is seven people long. Seven people I care about that I get to apologize to this morning because of my drinking and my complaining. I fucking hate doing this.

So, the cat's out of the bag now, I'm not alright with being left. I am sorry I lied and told you I was ok with it. Honestly I wasn't lying to you, I was lying to myself...trying to fend off the demons in my head. Trying to convince myself that everything is going to be ok and I'm sorry so say I just don't believe it anymore. Yeah, so I want to say to everyone out there in my whole life who I piss off, hurt and scare with my irrational bahavior...I'm sorry. I love you people, whoever you may be.

You're the life of the party everybodys host
Still you need somewhere you can hide
All your good time friends
And your fairwell to has-beens
Lord knows, just along for the ride

You think your a survivor
But boy, you better think twice
No one rides for nothin'
So, step up and pay the price

It's the high cost of low livin'
Ain't it high time you turn your self around
It's the high cost of low livin'
It's bound to put you six feet in the ground

So many here who love ya;
And still, you just can't tell
The real ones from those who drop your name
All the while behind your back
They lift the flesh right from your bones
You should know by now through all their game

Been chasing each dream with whiskey
From here to Tokyo
Using up all your real friends,
And no place left to go

It's the high cost of low livin'
Ain't it high time you turn your self around
It's the high cost of low livin'
It's bound to put you six feet in the ground

Dont look behind you
Ahh dont look back
Don't turn to find reason in the past
The past is gone Gone at last

It's the high cost of low livin'
Ain't it high time you turn your self around
It's the high cost of low livin'
It's bound to put you six feet in the ground

"The High Cost of Low Living" Greg Allman

Last Night

Ok I was honest…if that isn’t enough then go fuck yourself. Call me a dick, I already know I am. Fuck that’s the second time I heard that shit tonight, bitch. Just remember I have no one to send this text message to. No one to fucking calm me down. It is just me. I don’t need to be honest, I just do it. Dick or not, you can shove it up your bitch ass. Don’t be so vain…this isn’t about you.

Yeah I been drinking, so what the fuck you gonna do about it? It doesn’t mean shit to you when the game is over and we go home. Fuck it, it doesn’t mean shit to me either. I just drank 7 pints of Guinness, dare me to drive? Oh, I’m crazy…well tell me something I haven’t already heard before. I just keep doing this shit because I like hearing you people say it. I’m just doing this because I am still hurting, sorry I don’t mean to take it out on you. I really don’t. Or maybe I do, yeah fuck it. Fuck you.

Fuck it, it is EZ time. I’m drinking straight out the bottle, she still hasn’t called. That is why I have nowhere to send this text. No one cares. No one gives a fuck. Not one fucking person gives a shit. Even in this stupid fucking blog world…you only care until your internet is signed off. I am a ghost, not a real person…not black or white; just a ghost.

As much as I like to tell myself that I am fine, I know am only lying. I hate lying to myself…because I believe it. So fucking gullible, “look what’s written on the ceiling.” Why am I writing this, because this is my space…my space to be a psycho. This is my space to be a fucking nut and a whacko. This is where I deal with these backstabbing ass mother fuckers with out shooting any of them. This is my space, understand? Mine. I have no one, remember. I am an island, a wounded animal. Wounded animals are dangerous….

You think I am so weak, don’t you? I hate that. Why does it even matter, I don’t even exist. When I sit here at my computer; drunk and high…I am not a real person. I never have been anyways. I have never been real, truthful or not. You know what, when the fake world turned me away, I turned to you. What a fool I was…thinking you cared. That’ll teach me. Don’t be so vain, this isn’t about you.

How many times do I need to be told I am acting like a dick and need to fuck off in one evening? Why the fuck do you think I called on a Thursday night at one in the morning for? Why the fuck did I walk all the way over here? It is my own fault for fucking my head, but you can go fuck yourself for letting me do it. It is so much worse in person, cunt. I knew what was going on the whole time. Why even bother leading myself on…I ain’t worth a shit anyways.

Know what, TBF, you can go fuck yourself too. You knew what was up and I was honest with you too. Faggot, you narced on me, told her my secrets. I TRUSTED YOU. I was just getting comfortable with doing it in this stupid ass arena, but so far honesty in real life has been nothing but trouble. Why do you even give a shit, because TGF doesn’t want you anymore? Because you have no job? Because your friends are all shitheads? What the fuck did I ever do? Man, you fucking bitch, you KNEW my head was fucked from hurting her and you fucking did that shit out of spite. Go fuck yourself; I am simply text and words to everyone else. But you…you are my friend. Ha, I mean were.

It wouldn’t have been such a big deal if I wasn’t already pissed off and you didn’t fucking lie to me. OH YEAH, thanks you fucking assholes, of course I fucking remember that I’m a liar as well. Thank you for the reminder. Call me a hypocrite all you want, you can go shove a pole up your ass. I don’t give a fucking shit how many times I have lied…I don’t fucking like being lied to. Hypocrite or not, I just don’t give a fuck.

You know what? I’m fucking goddamn tired of trying to convince myself that this shit is cool. Done bullshitting. I’ll fucking lie to you all day and it won’t sweat my conscience at all. That fucker is dead anyway. The one thing I have learned is that I can’t be lying to myself. I am not cool. I am not right in the head. I am a good faker, but I said I would be honest. I ain’t that strong, tough or committed; I just get stoned and drink. Don’t fucking like it? Don’t want to hear me talk about self-destruction. What the fuck makes you think I care? Know what, if you don’t like it I don’t give a fuck. Like I said, go shove something up your fucking asshole.

Look, I’m just a kid…23 years old, don’t tell me to act my age. Don’t tell me to straighten up and don’t tell me what is best. I’m so sick of your stupid ass cunt fucking whore stupid ass fucking bitch text messages. Know what? Every fucking time I feel my phone vibrate I have three reactions.

1. Throw this fucking piece of shit against the wall.
2. I fucking hope it isn’t you…I hope it is MEG…or someone else.
3. I wish it would explode in my pocket.

Go fuck yourself, bitch. Know what, all y’all go fuck yourselves. Fuck you for making me proof read. Fuck you for making me edit my grammar. Reader…go FUCK yourself. I’m drunk and I hope you find a better blog anyway, “there is always someone better,” someone once told me, and I ain’t it. I’m just some fucked up, stupid, wanna be, punk ass mother fucker. This nonsense might make a difference in the short term but when I get in control I just don’t want to hear any of your fucking shit. LET me smash my hand through a glass door and go to the hospital. WATCH me start a fight with a man twice my size and get beat up. DARE me to call that girl a bitch and get slapped. You BET I won’t put that cigar out on my wrist, watch me…it feels good. Believe me that I wish I was lying about. You think this is all a joke to me, don’t you? Well, my friend…it is. This whole “life” game is just a fucking game to me a, “Cosmic joke with no punch line.”

I am not ok and I am not alright and I am tired of fucking lying about it. It fucking flames me that I lied on this stupid fucking blog. I am not surprised…the true asshole comes shining through. Asshole or not, I do owe you an apology. Pretending to be ok…haha, what a fool I am. Well I’m coming clean now, so fucking line up bitches…take your shots. On nights like these, I used to turn to her…now I turn to a bottle and a keyboard. Fuck all this shit.

So yeah, I lied. Get used to it. Apparently this little experiment that my stupid ass set up isn’t going to work. See, when I get control, I make all the lies come true. I am just not alright. I like being sad, I want to be fucked up and I don’t give a flying fuck what it makes me. I have been in one fucked up situation or another for my whole shit life and I am pretty good at figuring them out. Honestly, I am afraid of being happy. I really can’t ever remember being happy so it is kind of foreign to me. All this tough talk and “Fuck you” nonsense spewing out of my mouth is just jibberish. Look at me.


I am just a scared little kid. Afraid to grow up, afraid to succeed. Full of lies and excuses. Why do people even care? I just want to run away but I’m too much of a pussy. I’m not anything interesting or magnificent; I’m just a kid…a scared little kid pretending to be a man. I wonder if I even fool people anymore. I don’t even want an answer to that question. It feels so good to be honest, but then it turns around and slaps you in the face. Go fuck yourselves. Everyone out there, fuck you. All y’all…fuck you. From this scared and scarred little kid to the rest of the world…kiss my ass.

What am I supposed to do, huh? Go to therapy? You must be kidding, take their medicine…now you have me putting up my defenses. Want me to stick it out? Want me to toughen up? Quit crying like a little bitch? Come here, I’ll fucking show you who is crying now. Truth is when EZ gets behind the wheel it is no holds barred baby. No limit. This flesh machine that we ride around in doesn’t mean shit when I am in control. I’ll throw it off a cliff just as soon as I’ll get it laid. It is just flesh and bones to me…and it’s soul? That soul is just a tattered sheet in the wind. Not even worth saving. Let it go…let me go. I can only destroy.

Just fucking remember one thing before you leave…please…you are still talking to that same scared little boy. I’m just scared right now. It all seems so big. To big to be all alone, to be betrayed. Too big to have no one to get my back. Too big to go it on my own and too big to admit when I was wrong. If only the kid would have had heard from you today, maybe we wouldn’t be here right now. All I know is that you are moving back this weekend and I still haven’t heard shit from you. fuck

Well…you know here I live.

Look at me now
I've got no religion
Look at me now
I'm so vacant
Look at me now
I was a virgin
Look at me now
Grew up to be a whore
And I want it
I believe it
I'm a million different things
And not a one you know

Hey, and our mommies are lost now
Hey, daddy's someone else
Hey, and we love the abuse
Because it makes us feel like we are needed now
But I know
I wanna disappear

I wanna die young
And sell my soul
Use up all your drugs
And make me cum
Yesterday man,I was a nihilist and
Now today I'm
Just too fucking bored
And I want it
I believe it
By the time I'm old enough
I won't know anything at all

Hey, and our mommies are lost now
Hey, daddy's someone else
Hey, and we love the abuse
Because it makes us feel like we are needed now
But I know
I wanna disappear

"I Want to Disappear" Marilyn Manson.