After a six hour midday nap I woke up to a cell phone beeping. It seems I had a message. Low and behold if it wasn't another HR proletarian with an enticing interview offer. I am still pondering whether or not to call back. Regardless, it appears that there is really significant chance that I will be gainfully employed in the near future. Life isn't fair. I just want someone to give me money due to my innate sense of worth. Of course I could just fake a severe back injury the first couple weeks, and then collect disability the rest of my life.


Sounds like a good plan.

go to hell

I woke up at 5:00 pm today. Needless to say my nights and days are mixed up. Best solution is to go back to sleep.

As I mentioned yesterday a great evil has taken residence next door. She actually came over early this morning, used a spare key and began screaming at me. Thankfully there were no easily accessible sharp objects. It seemed that the phone service had been shut off next door. Of course it was my fault. Well for once it partly was due to me. In order to save papa a little cash I opted to shut off my phone, and use the cellular as my sole means of communication. I placed the termination order a week ago. The young lady who keyed in the information made a mistake, one that I had to suffer for. Several phone calls and a half hour later the problem was rectified.

My descent into trailer trashdom hastens. I have no phone. Next the electric will go and then finally the water.



go to hell

Note to self: Do not leave mom sitting in the car at a gas station, without the keys, and head home. Even though it seems like a great idea at the time, ultimately her thirst for revenge will overshadow giddy feelings.

Yesterday was really interesting. I decided to take my mother, a.k.a. source of all evil, to dinner at Red Lobster. We both enjoying eating at the seafood Mecca, so in theory it seemed like a great idea. Dad asked me to take his car, since it had air I agreed. Also, as a favor he wanted me to fill it up and put in a quart of oil. I am not terribly familiar with where the oil goes; usually a mechanic or daddy takes care of it for me. Though, for whatever reason, I took one on the chin and agreed to his request.

Upon arriving to the gas station I proceed to fill up the tank. Five minutes, and twenty-five dollars later the deed was done. After paying the attendant for the gas and a quart of oil it was now time to face destiny. I have put in oil a grand total of four times previous, never in this vehicle in particular. Popped open the hood, searched for the cap for a couple minutes, and then eureka I found it. This was the easy part; all I had to do was pour into the hole. However, fate deemed it necessary to test my resolve, in the form my mother. Shortly after removing the oil cap, she began heckling me. "Is that the right hole? Are you sure it is right one? You are going to ruin the engine? Why would your dad let you do this?" My intestinal fortitude did not waver, even in the face of absolute evil. Nonetheless, every man has a breaking point. Mine was when she blew the horn for five seconds. The sound bellowed in my ear and rhyme or reason no longer applied. I promptly stopped pouring the oil, sat it down beside the van and walked away. There was a voice in the background, vainly trying to apologize, but it was too little, too late. I walked home. A little over half way there it dawned on me that the car keys were still in my pocket. Should I leave the banshee where she was? Most assuredly yes, but the leaving the van was another matter. Father would be angry. Therefore, I pushed my anger deep inside, where it would fester, waiting until another day to come to fruition, and walked back. When I arrived she was sitting there chain smoking, screaming and nearly in tears. For a fleeting moment I was happy. I took her home listening half-heartily to the threats of bodily harm.

The story doesn't end here. Later that evening, around 9:00 pm, mom called. She would have revenge for embarrassing her so. I turned off the phone, but it was for naught. I am fairly sure she lurked around the trailer all night, waiting for me to come out. My anger was nothing compared to her loathsome hate. Even today, with the light still shining I am afraid. Monsters do in fact exist, and I happen to live next door to one.


go to hell

I slept fourteen hours. It felt like five. I really need to become active, as the allure of sleeping, eating and defecting has faded.

Hope you all have a wonderful weekend full of friends, drinks, flirting, car accidents, DUI's, and permanent paralysis.

By the way the diet log is ready, though due to a little accident with some doughnuts the daily entries won't kick into force until Monday.


Asking a working writer what he thinks about critics is like asking a lamppost how it feels about dogs.
Christopher Hampton

This is the reason I never want to get old. Good thing I am eating myself to an early grave, so the golden years will never apply.

Nonetheless I do want to make age thirty before my first heart attack; therefore tomorrow begins a new healthy lifestyle. In other words I am starting a crash diet, involving voodoo science and lots of water.


For your enjoyment I am writing a "food diary", it should provide a boat load of laughs. Also, it should make you feel significantly better about yourselves. My own unique spin on the "point and laugh at fatty" phenomenon.

Look for a link tomorrow.



go to hell

I spent the last three hours rotting my brain as usual. But, for once it was well worth my time to sit in front of the tube, simply because of a special, little green guy. Yoda's acceptance speech was one the funniest fucking things I have ever seen. My inner nerd was overjoyed.


Oh, I almost forgot bi-sexual teenagers dressed like little school girls turn me on.

Can't wait till my fiftieth birthday when I am officially allowed to be a dirty old man.

I am

going to hell

I remembered the strangest instance while showering today. A couple months ago while visiting the local nerd emporium, a group of three ex-dungeon masters were discussing the merits of "pussy" over video games. They seemed to have first hand knowledge of both topics, which was very disheartening. I had hoped to be the only guy who has both touched a young lady and logged in a couple hundred hours to Everquest. These chaps made me look like Brad Pitt's much better looking younger brother. Back to their conversation. Each troglodyte was very animated about the value of sex, going as far as to say it superseded even video games in terms of importance. Of course their reliance on hand gestures was problematic, the use of hairy digits to simulate nerd sex is not something one wishes to see. As I examined the memory a scary thought crept from subconscious, an idea that goes against the core of my very being. I held video games in higher esteem then "relations"

First let it be known that physical intimacy with a woman has been highly enjoyable in thepast. When available I tried to engage in it as much as humanly possible, reaching a peak of 5 times in day. But enough about my torrid love life, the issue at hand is my assertion that video games are more enjoyable than sex. Electronic entertainment provides an escape, one requiring minimal introspective thought. Usually, all that is necessary is to follow the little white rabbit while admiring the beautiful scenery.

Superficially sex follows the same guidelines. It is an escape from the mundanity of everyday life, where one experiences pleasure with little energy left to devote to thought. The problem is the before and after period. It requires immense energies and work. Doesn't matter if the act occurs during a one stand or in the 10th year of marriage. If you are a "player" all the energy is directed towards creating a false image of the self, one that impresses the object of desire, hopefully leading to coitus. Conversely a married couple spends decades lulling over the same humdrum issues, fighting, making up, making love, abstaining, etc.

I don't feel like getting into all the particulars, because my point is probably baseless. Admiringly I am single, bitter, and full post relationship angst so my vantage point is colored in such a way that it may appear alien to you.

by the way when I write "colored' it doesn't refer to darkies, redskins or albinos.

go to hell

Addendum to June 4th Log Entry

It seems I have a stick stuck up my ass as well.

Oddly enough I kind of like it.

Does that make me a butt-pirate?

Oops I did it again.

Well at least my imaginary friend, Mr. Gary Thompson, who happens to be a monkey midget, will love me no matter what filth spews from my keyboard.

I wasn't going to post today due to my fascination with becoming a 50th level werewolf wizard but something came up and needs clarified.

A friend of mine, whom I think the world of, apparently has a stick stuck up his ass today and took offense at yesterdays post. Read Tuesday's comments to catch up. Considering this is a medium where people post things with little forethought or consideration, I take very little of it seriously. As you very well know most of my entries have been stupid, asinine and downright silly. The post yesterday sparked controversy, leading someone to use the term racism. No sweat off my back. I usually don't take offense when a ridiculous charge is levied against me, especially on the internet but today is a little different.
The point of this website is to entertain MYSELF. Hopefully along the way others find little tidbits they can relate to, perhaps even laugh at. At the end of the day I write for personal satisfaction. Not everyone will like my style, substance and especially sense of humor. Their loss. But what I can't tolerate is wanton ignorance, which is the same as stupidity.

I don't have to defend my views, hell if I want to be a racist bastard; it is will within my rights to do so. But I don't. It requires constant diligence against truth, in other words you gotta act stupid all the same. Yet, racism is not limited to a dominant group discriminating against a minority. It is in fact a tool used by the minority as well. I used the term "white" man's English to be funny. If you want to get serious I am well aware that English mastery is not limited by ones skin color. Sounds like common sense right? Then again plenty of Black leaders disagree. Oakland City Schools started the disturbing trend of Ebonics. In essence they divided the language into two groups, those being urban slang and proper English. The urban variant was spoken, surprisingly enough, in urban areas by the folks who lived there. They happened to be black in most cases. This left proper English to be associated with everyone else Asian, black, white or whatever. As it happens Whites were the majority of this group, another big surprise. All this translates into Ebonics being associated with blacks, with the rest of the language falling to whites. Basically a group of radical blacks instituted a moronic program, one that was by its definition bigoted in nature. I am not sure if Ebonics still exists in Oakland or anywhere else for that matter, though the initial damage is still felt today. Standardized tests are now being targeted as being unfair to urban youths, i.e. blacks, because their insistence on using standardized English. There are plenty of valid critiques against these tests but that is not one of them. Again bigoted black leaders divided the language up. One was spoken by "white" youths, the other by "black". Both examples point out the use of willful ignorance which often translates into bigotry/racism. Rather then set down and examine why their was a language divide, they opted to promote linguistic segregation.
Of course ultra liberal white’s and blacks, who have boatloads of intelligence but very little wisdom, are blissfully unaware of this fact They see it as promoiting racial harmony and equality. A similar argument was made by Southern leaders, who happened to be racist whites, from 1870 up until a few decades ago. Their arguement was centered on seperate facilities but it translates nicely to seperate language as well.

The above paragraph is the entire reason why I am upset. My statement was meant in the spirit of humor. A white middleclass guy took it as being racist. Truth be told it is a racist comment, but only when used by supposed civil rights leaders. Not that he cares, but I am not angry at my friend's unfounded accusations. Just as he shouldn't be upset that I revealed he has a splintery rectum.


This goes for everyone

Lighten up

(By the way this is a true rant, meaning it is my mind to the page, no editing or even spell check since I am using the computer next door and am being booted off as I finish this sentence, so if it makes no sense well fuck off and if it sounds halfway lucid, it is not my fault.)

I had an interview today. After twenty minutes of Q & A, which barely required conscious thought, the human resources woman offered me the job. I had mixed emotions at her pronouncement. First, this woman was barely fit to serve me fries, more less determines my job worthiness. I should have been interviewing her if anything. Through sheer force of will I managed to suppress my superior complex and to seriously consider the merits of the job. It pays $11.00 an hour, with health benefits available the first day. There are sixteen mandatory weekend hours every month. It pays better then some jobs, like dog sitting for example, but it falls well short of my deserved income ($80,000 sounds about right). Of course I have no real world, tangible job skills so perhaps my innate sense of worth is exaggerated. Either that or everyone is jealous of my greatness and simply unwilling to acknowledge it as of yet.

The job entails collecting money from delinquent accounts, also known as milking deadbeats for their welfare money. I shadowed an employee for twenty or so minutes. He explained three job criteria. It requires sitting for extended period times with little movement. Check. Basic computer and typing skills are required. Check. One must be able to negotiate with people in a friendly and persuasive manner. Two out of three ain't bad. Based on my personal experience with credit card companies I have yet to have one communicate in an intelligent or effective manner. Hell, usually Laquisha can barely speak white man's English leading me to think the last job criterion is dubious at best. After listening on nearly three dozen phone calls I also discovered another requirement, the ability to be nonplused by perpetual rejection. Of course my dating life unique qualifies me in this aspect.

Before my job offer could be finalized it was necessary to successfully complete three steps. First I had to pass a drug test. Good thing I kicked my smack habit a few months ago. Then it is necessary to receive a written notification from job references. Since I am the HR director, i.e. the guy answers all business mail, at my dads store that step is easily taken care of. Finally, I have to pass a background check. Thankfully the whole stint as high templar of church Gog and the subsequent animal sacrifices involved are sealed in my juvenile record.

All this leads to the conclusion that I, Bob, am qualified for the job. It is menial, as most work seems to me, but believe it or not tedium has lost its allure. Lying around on my ample buttock is quickly losing its appeal. A job would me good. Maybe even encourage personal growth. Or at the least get me in good with the chubby human resource secretary who appeared incredibly desperate for male attention.

I will sleep sixteen hours on it and decide tomorrow,

in the meantime

go to hell