Tuesday, September 30, 2003

I have a new friend. His name is Hamster. I really enjoy playing with him.

Just wanted to share.

go to hell

Saturday, September 27, 2003

Dear Middle America,

I once idolized you; in fact it was my dream to walk upon your golden paved roads. A world where riches were plentiful, work was meaningful; all the while life was surrounded by a white picket fence. I really believed in the American dream, and you know what? I am the butt of a colossal joke. The only thing at the end of the rainbow is a muddy puddle. It is on your backs that American culture is founded. You ultimately drive every market, be it commercial, social or other. That power has gone to your collective heads. Instead of innovation you settle for stagnation. You collect stuff, and more stuff until the house is full. And, then in your perverted wisdom, you buy a bigger house and fill it with even more useless stuff. It was once thought that you were the saviors of society, the cogs that drove capitalist machine, but in reality you are nothing but mindless lemmings that buy into everything and understand absolutely nothing. Money is the not of root of your evil, rather abject stupidity is the cause of your demise. The wealthy are greedy for more wealth, similarly the poor are as greedy for the wealth they do not have, but what about you? You are just as greedy as the wealthy, while equally as impoverished as the poor. You were supposed to embody the perfect American ideal, a life that allowed for modest luxury but tempered by a sense of fiscal restraint. The demagogues wonder why morality is a thing of yesteryear; well it is not hard to figure out. The modest live like tyrants, sitting upon their golden thrones demanding more all the while giving oh so little. You live well beyond your means and it shows in the children, a generation of spoiled brats who have the world at their fingers, who choose to spend their time emulating your meaningless decadence. Therefore this letter is my official resignation from the Middle American cause. I can't make it better, but I sure as well am not going to make it worse.


Go to hell
The wicked itch is dead. Turns out I had the mother of all yeast infections, which my entire body had a violent allergic reaction to. The cure may have been worse then symptoms. In order to diagnosis my condition the doctor had to stick his hand inside my anus.......I almost remarked that he should feel honored as he was the only the second person to have ever stuck an appendage in my rear, but decided against it. He then made out a prescription for a single pill. Said medication came in a small pink box that specifically stated it was used for vaginal discharges arising from yeast infections. So it seems my mother was right, I really am a giant pussy. Anyway, I feel much better now, even though my dad is probably going to kick me out within the next few days.... Battered women shelter here I come.




Go to hell

Friday, September 19, 2003

You are all whores to the man.


go to hell

Wednesday, September 17, 2003

Found a doctor, it is only going to cost 150.00 to have my ass examined. I had to beg and plead since I am not insured at the moment. I always thought cash was good, but guess you can't beat milking insurance companies who in turn fleece their customers. The cycle of life I guess.


anyway fuck you

and

got o hell

Tuesday, September 16, 2003

My ass still itches. I tried to set up a doctor’s appointment, and boy was that ever a fun experience. I tried to delicately detail my condition to a young nurse aid via the telephone. She asked "Can you see what the problem is?" and of course I had to inform him that it was nearly impossible for me to look in between my butt cheeks. The hilarity didn't end there though. After revealing my "condition" it was time to set up an appointment. However, I found out that it would be impossible for me to see the doctor since I had a delinquent bill. To be precise, I was not allowed to see the doctor under no circumstances.....WHAT THE FUCK??? I wanted to cry, not only did I have to discuss an itchy rectum with a young lady but also had to be informed I am a deadbeat who is not welcome at the premises under no circumstances whatsoever. FUCKING HORSE SHIT. I politely excused myself from the phone, and proceeded to question my father as to why I had a delinquent balance due to my doctor. My father did not know but stated in no uncertain terms it was my responsibility and he had more important things to worry about it. MY ASS FEELS LIKE A LEGION OF ANTS HAS TAKEN PERMANENT RESIDENCE UPON IT AND I CAN'T SEE MY DOCTOR BECAUSE I OWE HIM MONEY AND DAD DOESN'T THINK IT IS A BIG DEAL.................fuck fuck fuck fuck fuckity fuck fuck fuck.

Upon further reflection, and a subsequent call back to the doctors billing department I discovered that the bill in question should have been covered by my insurance at the time. Yet, for some reason my insurance company had me down as being married to my mother, born on my birth date but father to my little brother. In other words according to them I was part of a twisted incestual mess, which would be fine if they still covered my fucking doctor's visit. That is/was not the case, since they have me confused, in part, with my father they had me listed on his policy. Again if they paid the bill that would be fine, BUT NOOOOOOO THAT WOULD BE TOO EASY. In order to be covered under my father's plan I had to demonstrate collegiate attendance. Yet again that would be fine except the doctor's visit in question occurred one month after my graduation. Complicating things further I am no longer covered by the aforementioned insurance agency for other reasons/incompetence. Basically I am fucked, and have to pay the bill. With interest it is only sixty-five dollars so it is not a huge deal and actually one that I could even afford to pay myself. The problem is in order to pay it I have to go into the doctor's office, and after this circus I really never want to show my face there again. Furthermore even if I do pay there is no guarantee that the doctor will see me, as the billing agent inferred that our "business" relationship was all but severed. And, since the account was over a year late it had reported to one/all of the credit bureaus........


Boys and girls I am an asshole, and for the most part I have reaped what I sowed in this life. But, Jesus Christ there is bad karma and there is situation. God/Krishna/Satan/Azhamda/Babli/My Mom/Buffy must really hate me....... I officially give up. My only options left are to the do ignoble thing and shoot all you fuckers or be noble and fall on my own butter knife.


In other words

GO TO HELL


P.S.

IF TODAYS FREQUENT USE OF CAPS LOCK OFFENDS
GO TO HELL

IF YOU FIND MY LACK OF GRAMMER DISHEARTENING
FUCKING SHOOT YOURsELF IN THE HEAD

AND IF FOR WHAT EVER REASON YOU HAVE A HARD TIME FOLLOWING TODAY’S POST
GO TO HELL, FUCKING SHOOT YOURSELF IN THE HEAD AND KNOW THAT I HATE YOU VERY MUCH.

Monday, September 15, 2003

I am a seventy year old man trapped in a twenty-three year old body. The other day I spoke for over an hour with an elderly gentleman about the sad state of society. The majority of the conversation was very one-sided as I pontificated about the fall of the West. The old man agreed completely with my acid laced observations, and remarked on my maturity. I will spare you the intimate details of our conversation, but it must be said that I had a lot in common with the social security eligible man. What does this mean? Well, basically it means I have fifty more years of bitching to look forward to. You may have always suspected that I am a bitter man but who would have thought a bitter old man.

At least I don't need to use viagra.....well ok maybe sometimes but only when I am really nervous....

Go to hell

Sunday, September 14, 2003

It is true, I am an asshole. And, while I am on the subject of assholes, mine still feels like I wiped it with poison oak toliet paper. I bought various anti-itch cremes which, as I typed this post, are starting to work. My butt has become completely numb. I could actually get used to this feeling, or more precisely lack thereof. Not much else to talk speak to tonight, so in lieu of nonchoherent rambling I am off to bed. Hopefully the bum will remain numb throughout the night because constantly greasing it up with various cremes is not my cup of tea. (damn commas who needs them)


Oh, I almost forgot my favorite European sexpot made into the States A-Ok. She best better have a great time while here.


go to hell

Saturday, September 13, 2003

My ass itches. It feels like there are thousand miniature midgets squirming between my butt cheeks. I mean it did feel good for like six hours but still. Based on previous experiences I am fairly sure it is a yeast infection. ........ Well, my anus is very hairy and moist so bacterial growth should be expected. Of course if the maddening itching continues I will be forced to visit my family doctor and boy should that be fun.

"Hey Doc my ass itches. I am pretty sure it is a yeast infection. Sure, I understand you have to see to make sure. Well, uh yea I know that good bodily hygiene is important and from now I will make sure to properly wipe my butt after pooping. Thank you for all your help sir and I am sure that smell will come off your fingers very soon."


It could be worse at least my groin was spared the unbearable miniature midget assault.

Go to hell

Friday, September 12, 2003

I had an extremely witty post, then I pushed shift and another key. Not really sure what the key was but I do know the result. EVERYTHING FUCKING THING WAS DELETED AND FOR SOMEONE REASON I AM UNABLE TO UNDO IT. So, this means I AM FUCKING PISSED.

GOD DAMN COMPUTERS. I tell you if it wasn't for tentacle related animated porn I would have written off those Japs long ago. Oh wait I was talking about the blog...but still damn Japanese.

go to hell

Thursday, September 11, 2003

I have an interview tomorrow for a job that is right around the corner from my previous employeer/Satan. The job requires working in a call center and answering medical insurance questions. It is very similar to working at the credit card company but does not involve fleecing money from elderly folk. This time I get to explain what benefits they get before dying rather then pestering/killing them as I did before. Anyway wish me luck.

A 300+ lbs man today commented that I better watch out or soon I will be bigger then him. Boy that sure made me feel great. Repulsive fat man points out I will soon be his lard ass successor. Well, at least I will be recognizable for something beyond my freakishly large head.

Well, I am getting tired, just ate two gigantic platefuls of spagheti, which really takes it out a man. Until next time.


go to hell

Wednesday, September 10, 2003

I am fat. No, actually I am morbidly obese. No, I am wrong again. Bob is a fucking lard ass. I stepped on the scales yesterday and felt like I was in a Garfield cartoon. The digital scale seemed to moan before revealing that I weigh more then a baby elephant. Living la vida gorda has been fun but it is time for a change. Of course I have already made similar sentiments several times since starting this Blog, but hell who knows maybe I will luck out and develop intestinal cancer. We can hope.

There is so much to talk about, and I have so little inclination to do so. Someone discovered my AOL IM name and felt the need to mock me. Usually, I wouldn't give two shits however this time it was personal. Whoever has been messaging me really knows how to push my buttons. He/She/It/Cocksucker knew my intimate insecurities, mainly my lack of writing talent. Obviously I am a brilliant writer, albeit a little rough around the edges. My editing skills leave much to be desired, yet Bob's style and substance more then make up for grammatical weakness. Nonetheless, I was forced to block this person's messages as they were taking a toll. You may ask, what does this mean to me? Or, more to the point why the fuck do I care? It means my confidence, concerning writing, was severely rocked. In other words instead of posting on my blog, or more importantly fleshing out an idea I had for a novella, Bob decided to be a bitch and sulk. Well screw that shit. Mes, mights, write; like a fcknig fours yar eld but I am still a witty son of a bitch. So, baring further emotional breakdowns my post should once again be fairly frequent. Also, I am toying with the idea of embracing my inner twelve year old girl and adding a creative writing section to the site. God, I am a little bitch. My manly factor has dipped to dangerous levels. Need to go look at some porn, eat pizza and masturbate into a watermelon.

By the way my favorite British Sex Kitten is visiting the States once again, so yes Virginia there really is a Santa Claus. Hopefully she will honor Ohio with her presence. A boy can hope.

Go to hell joe12533