The New York Times did a story on remembering the Apollo Mission some 50 years later. Featuring a picture of many old and dead men staring longingly at a picture of their projected pricks. Here’s the pic: . Yes it seems that since the circumcision of NASA’s budget, hype is being produced to revisit the issue. Rather than look for ways to bring down the cost of food, Americas long for glory and longer pricks.
The world is apparently in search of a new ho story. My personal theory that accompanies this is that society needs that sweat tart to look at who walks between lust and virtue, showing enough ankle to enable American gasping. Admittedly my country has not emotionally evolved passed an eighth grade level and as such risqué behavior gathers as much attention as it did in 1870. When Brittany Spears came along people marveled at her many positive attributes. By attributes do I mean her backing of women’s suffrage like Susan B. Anthony, social activism and awareness like Lady Gaga, or re-defining the role of music like Madonna? No. Perhaps more akin towards, as Cletus T. Judd put it, “You can be famous and never know what talent is”. When Brittany attempted a return, critics didn’t focus on her lyrics or range, they picked on her appearance. The midriff wasn’t flat anymore, she was older and it seemed to impact her performance.
Now we move to a more pleasant genre, motion pictures. I will once again
refrain from my rant about how Hollywood can’t find a good title with a Searchlight and an MGM Lion (that incidentally a director and his trainer). The new ho story is “Burlesque”. The new attempt to place risqué in the palate of the people along with music, while juxtaposing respectability and good intentions with women who are basically strippers, is naked and cheap – no pun intended. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m all for women taking their clothesoff and even having sex with multiple partners (so long as they do in a responsible manner and with me). But this constant need to re-hash this dynamic kills me. People’s need to believe that someone who takes their clothes off and is noble will never be accepted by society. But we still need to make movies about it, with singing of course.
Let me not even mention the movie about this same subject that’s been remade no less that sixteen times since 1918 – “Cabaret”. The number of times people have told me that these are about more than hookers, strippers and burlesque dances is almost as much as the number of times hikers have gotten lost in Dolly Parton’s cleavage. I know it must be really entertaining to watch these street people risk everything emotionally and professionally, overcome the odds and keep on doing the same thing.
Of course this isn’t something we promulgate in real life. We don’t forgive. People can’t change. Criminals will always be criminals, much like Katie Couric posing as a journalist.
And all those naysayers out there in their white couches covered in cat fur let’s examine the case of Melissa Petro. Ask yourself if you would want her teaching your kids? This woman was a prostitute, made something of herself and was fired for no good reason. Don’t we teach our kids forgiveness, that your past is your past and you can make good choices in the future? I don’t, but I’m asking the questions here.
My role in my readers’ lives is to bring them to the cathartic place of not lying to themselves. My belief is that a person should admit what they fear and learn from it, embrace what they are passionate about, and indulge in their erotic fantasies in a moderate manner moderately and consistently, not sporadically. Now it really doesn’t matter if she’s a prostitute, however you just can’t shake the “what if”. It would be like talking rationally to pagan neighbor about their beliefs, talking to a homeless guy, or watching the new comedy wih Julia Louis-Dryfus. The “what if” says that Ms. Petro might be more inclined to rip off her blouse at the first sign of lunch money than say Mary Kay Latourneau, Abbie Jane Swogger, Abigail Holloway, Andrianne Hocket, Adrienne Laflamme, Alison Mosbeck, Allison Peck, Allena Ward, Melissa Snow, Rachel Burkhart, and Yvette Stazyk (complete list found here ) . Of course Abbie Swogger was a former exotic dancer, but that’s not important right now. The point is that the fear carried of the “what if” is more powerful than reality most times and yet we seek examples of this very change for entertainment and escape.
I guess thinking that it’s a perfect world out there isn’t such a bad thing. That’s what we want. Movies are an escape away from things like gun violence and rape. A place where kids grow up safe, have parents who don’t beat them and go strip for sweaty men, objectifying their bodies and in pursuit of a hollow, material end that has no basis in attainment. Hell yeah!! Where’s my cigar? I always wanted to sleep with my teacher (turned out to be a lesbian). I think there should be a sex class lottery where you can sleep with a hot teacher and the popular kids are not able to participate because the point of sex education is to educate. The nerdy kids are the socially challenged and…oops.
Anyway, my point is that instead of going to see another imaginary story about deep personal change that isn’t taking place. Why not go down to your local strip club and get a dose of some real change, like fifty for singles. Enjoy.
The other night I had insomnia. My mistress couldn’t get the dildo with the suction cup to stick on the side of the tub. Banging away at it (no pun, swear) she kept ramming it (sorry, damn adjectives) into the side of the tub. I gently instructed her that, much like the real thing, she would have to lick the end in order for it to get sticky. She made a face and adamantly told me she doesn’t like performing rusty trombones, which I know to be the contrary.
Anyway, overcome with awakenings I stumbled to the computer. Where else does one go? For several months of I have been living undercover in the town of Believe, Maine. I have recently joined the CIA, the details of my interview process of which I will outline later. Initially I worked at Subway® trying to blend in with the local culture but I believe my choice of mustache style gave me away; I haven’t mentioned it to my superiors. Several spectacles dominate the area – some mystical, some mundane.
In the mundane arena is the Squash Speedway, dominating the region with pseudo-NASCAR entertainment. Sightings of moose, the large forbidding creatures shaggy and formidable, as well as elusive are the most sought out. This was communicated to me in the Solresol language as established by François Sudre in 1827 that nobody speaks anymore. Obscurity and national security seem to go hand in hand, yes??
Moving into such a small community, though I am unable to tell the reason, nay can I fathom the reason, there are inevitably some cultural norms to become accustomed. One of these is walking in the middle of the street when there are clear sidewalks. Though in my previous assignment, West Denver, the practitioners of this were gang members looking to assert their presence and position.
“Yes mutherfucker, I see you in you eyein’ me in your tricked out Dodge Neon with your baby mama walkin’ down the street neck tattoo and all.” And so forth. There is also another custom that escapes me – parking on the lawn.
So, one must get as close to the door of their domicile as possible without actually hitting the door? I see. Would it be too much to assume that the training of any children would be as an automobile mechanic. That they may go and check the vitals on the machine parked on their lawn. Stealing hub caps would be a secondary task.
Speaking of beloved offspring, they seem to have adopted a primal tradition of not only traveling in swarms but screaming. I know I am getting on in years, barely meandering in my thirties, but when they have a yard sale I need not go outside. The screaming advertisements reach my spine as I relax on the couch with my many minions. Feeling like W.C. Fields, settling in with my second martini, his hatred for children comes to mind.
Before we left my last assignment my wife, knowing we would move to Maine, sought to tell all in sundry that she would be within reach of a former lover. This reach was always to be paramount every two years and consummated regardless of relationship status. This anecdote was communicated to all her friends in front of me. At first I really didn’t care, but then I asked her of what import it held that she need tell it upon every opportunity. She informed me that these boundaries needed to be established. I have been forbidden to discuss nay speak of my previous relationships and liaisons as such since our vows. My maturity level seems to surpass my wife’s as I would have us become a polyamorous couple and be upfront with these whimsical delights and fanciful pursuits, rather than shelter them in the dark. Speaking of all temptations, ravishings and subscriptions of attraction there are, than to hide them away in the semblance of a obsolete propriety.
Please visit the Impropriety Society if you happen to be in California. Their website is: http://www.humboldtimps.com.
The lesson, kids, is to embrace that which brings you pleasure so that it does not hurt another. Not to hide it in the cellar, crying out for it inside your chest. No heaving the wanton desire in your breast until you burn. Do what you wish, though it should hurt no other.
Until next time.
You get married to the eldest sister. She has one brother and one sister.
The Brother is in the armed forces and likes to bring all his buddies to the house on the weekend to relax. The result is the house is trashed, the booze is gone and the TV is roaring til 5 A.M. Oh and there’s no offer to help clean or pay for anything. Yes, I realize that these people lay their lives on the line for us. But at what point does it become mooching? I will tell you. When it happens more than three times. In my opinion a good soldier is able to act in wartime and peacetime. Yes, I spoke that sentence, out loud, in the voice of a HIPPY.
The Sister is a borderline manic-depressive (true) who can’t get her shit together. Every time my wife moves, she’s moved with her (5 states) and it ALWAYS ends badly between them. Whenever she comes to “stay a while” (meaning more than three months) she doesn’t pay rent, doesn’t contribute by buying food, and doesn’t do her own dishes. She’s employed and spends most of her time stretching her twat with dick. Too soon?
Attempts to set boundaries with either sibling prompt my wife to become her alter ego – The Enabler. Yes, though she goes through life as a mild-mannered spoiled child, my wife leads an exciting career as a secret fighter for freedom. The response, “I don’t want to create a negative environment” to my suggestion that we not let people just leave garbage lying on the floor. I know, I must be such a tight ass.
Hook, Line, & Fucker
This will teach you how YOU can get rid of mooching in-laws like these. Yes, friends you too can curtail the suckling that Veronika Robinson perpetuates and set healthy boundaries at all times.
- Let the Well Go Dry: Pay all the bills ahead of time so there’s no money to buy more food or alcohol. If questioned simply state you are being proactive with the bills and have future financial security on your mind. Also, if you are being sent to the store every five minutes for cigarettes,spirits and food you have two choices – 1) Get busy or 2) Get something out of it.
- Get Busy: If the wife asks you to go to the store you simply release a litany of events which will positively impact your life, including: washing the dog, business networking meeting, working late, ran out of gas, picking up the prints of wedding photos for a new album you had in mind, finding just the right nipple ring for your daughter before she goes into her second year at college.
- Get Something: Hey, if you like Swedish Fish and Jolt Cola as much as I do then every time you go to the store, you get a consolation prize. When questioned why you have to be such a child and get something every time you go to the store, simply ask if she would like something. Or if you want to pick a fight so you can leave the house, ask her what the problem is with spending your money on yourself. Or buy her flowers. Or tampons. Depending on the timing.
- A Little Help From My Twats: Mostly dishes don’t get done and cleaning follows the frequency of Haley’s Comet. They stop, so you stop. “Oh there are no forks left?”, “I’m not sure why the internet is not working.”, “We’re out of marshmallow Fluff?”, “You’re out of toilet paper.” Too bad, not your problem. The responses veer into, “There’s some in the sink you can wash.”, “There’s a coffee cafe down the street.”, “Yea, sorry. We had the house payment this month.”, and “Use your left hand.” Too lazy to help themselves, they’ll go somewhere else. Again if questioned, “I think we need a new router honey.”, “Sorry, I was helping the kids with their homework and doing laundry.”, “Did you want to run to the store quick?”
- Bring in the Dark Forces: The hoodoo spell for getting rid of unwanted guests is to wrap an onion in red ribbon and set it under their bed. Either the smell or the dark forces will get them out. My favorite is to write their name three times on parchment paper, put it in a vial full of Four Thieves Vinegar and either drop it in the storm drain or down the toilet. Adios, suckas.
- Fear: My sister-in-law is afraid, deathly afraid of snakes. Even saying the word in front of her gives her chills. The dollar store sells the rubber equivalent for..well, a dollar. Plus tax. She’ll never come back and I’ll never again have to hear her ask for clean towels again. Even though there was a giant pile that needed to be folded directly behind her. My brother-in-law hates certain friends of mine. They are invited over whenever he is and thus dwindle the resources even further.
So remember friends, if you have to put up with this crap you might as well enjoy yourself. The most important thing of all is never, Ever, NEVER, get mad. Always be pleasant and helpful. Always have a smile on your face. Always say, “I’ll do my best” in the best impersonation of a Boy Scout giving his oath as his Scoutmaster drops trou. This will put you above suspicion because you never complain. If you have the cunning to inflict your significant other with the behavior where she has to pick up every toothpick, run for beverage after beverage, and clean the carpets constantly, the cycle will slow itself.
If you need more suggestions, please let me know.
Was banging this girl with a back tattoo. Unfortunately it was Vagina Monologues. How distracting.
The summer is progressing rather well. Got some amazing stuff going on. Submitted it to a publisher who basically told me to “Pick a format”. Sticking with either short stories or prose. Not sure yet. Found myself writing a lot of erotica this summer. Could be the influence of literary versus the copulatory – who knows. I blame the short blond. But then again who doesn’t when they sign their divorce papers in Vegas. Digression arrives unannounced and that soon.
State of the Insanity is as follows:
Mentally: I’m bored out of my friggin’ skull. There were some interesting developments. Maybe even an exodus to the Coast. But alas, stagnation accompanies relaxation in overzealous devotion.
Physically: Eating healthier is all well and good for when you’re on a meth binge, but those Vegan motherfuckers talk about nothing. How many ways can you dice an eggplant?
Emotionally: Detachment is abound. Security and boundary issues have given way to wanton stimuli. This is what boredom does. In the past I’ve raged against the machine and injustice, dragged hypocrisy by the foot into the spotlight of condemnation and masturbated with a crucifix. Okay, the first two are true. However, satiation in required for this malady.
Spiritually: We continue with the Voodoo. Holiday is this weekend. Preparations will be made accordingly, with the appropriate sacrifices. Deity does not seem pleased. Perhaps it was my attempt to sleep with my sister-in-law. I love those pussy-shaped candles.
Contemplating a move lately. There are pieces in play. Kind of like the rolls of fat I see from Wal-Mart(R) patrons. Seriously I was at a gas station and two fat chics waddled towards me. In my head I said to them, with my hands raised, “Sorry. I don’t have any doughnuts.” And sure as I am writing here I saw them twenty minutes later down the road with a box of doughnuts. It’s like a scene out of “Stranger Than Fiction”.
Until next time…
Been sending my mistress pictures of Guy Friday from all over the place and have been running into logistical issues. The first time I was at work, receiving her pleasantly pornographic picts, I got a little hot under the collar. After choosing the method of reciprocity I needed a little privacy.
Cubicle – out. Two walls missing. Might be seen by ugly manager and she may think I’m offering.
Parking lot – out. Things like my ex-‘s vagina, hourly arrivals and departures. Or like an airport. Take your pick.
Bathroom – in. Private booths. Limited traffic.
Picking the first stall I whip out my member of the Man Club and get a stiffy. Taking the first pic I notice that there’s not a lot of light to get detail. My cock looks like a creeping zeppelin along a coordinate plane with the tiles. The other light source is against the back wall of the stall and is considerable. Turning around I start framing the shot, all the while the toilet’s been flushing. Because it has a sensor with automatic flush I paid it no mind. Turning around I realize that the toilets stuffed and will overflow in about three to four more flushes, soaking my shoes and the bottom of my pants. Survival instinct, and not wanting to smell like a stranger’s stool, kicks in. I rally. Snap the pic, pull up my pants and send it with the caption, “Close One”.
Later on that week I wanted to get a little artsy with the next portrait. Mixing some agave syrup with water, I figure I would drizzle it on my member resulting in it glistening and dripping. Putting down a towel or two, I rise, drip the mixture on Guy Friday and steady myself to take the picture. Without warning my 2-year-old pit bull comes bounding into the room to say hello, smells the mixture on my trickster and tries to lick it off. Evasive maneuvers take place and I wind up in the shower, removing evidence.
So boys and girls, if you want to do something nice for your mister or mistress – Buy Them Something!!
Just registered for the anti-Twitter. You can follow me at jimwitness. What is Twatter?? Here’s a blurb taken from their About page:
“Twatter is a micro-blogging service based on the Free Software StatusNet tool. If you register for an account, you can post small (140 chars or less) text notices about yourself, where you are, what you’re doing, or practically anything you want. You can also subscribe to the notices of your friends, or other people you’re interested in, and follow them on the Web or in an RSS feed.”
My day was a little hectic. Spent most of the morning reviewing some old writing I wanted to broaden. The shining sun brings its refreshing warmth, to me, the lizard stuck inside all day. Reminds me of the time when I was laid off from my first job. I would wait on hold for an operator at the unemployment office to pick up. This used to take 2-3 hours. Applying for jobs online used to take all day because after uploading my resume, I would then have to fill out each piece of the application again. This could take up to at least thirty minutes. Hence, I would be inside all day. Occasionally, while on hold I would look at porn and rub one out. Tempting Fate with the possibility that the operator would come on the line at the same time as me, hearing Jessica Carrboro writhing and moaning in the background.
In the afternoon my dogs would go ballistic as the neighbors, and suspected drug dealers would let their dogs run around the neighborhood. Their scampering around my driveway created a piercing symphony of yelping, barking and whining. I would go out, shewing them back to their own property. After a while this became more than a nusance and more of a respect kind of thing. Speaking to my neighbors about it would have no doubt resulted in bullets extending my air conditioning or a miracle of conflagration happening while I was out. Contemplating a solution, I first thought of a pellet gun to give them a good sting. Thinking better of it, I had previously utilized my hose to scare away perspective tresspassing pooches. However this would be too obvious and cumbersome having to turn the hose on and off. Then, I hit upon it. I would fill a Super Soaker ® with a mixture of artificial deer urine and water. Hiding between the cars in my driveway I would steathily soak their asses and be able to retreat under the cover of my car port to the back door of the house, undetected. The dogs, being drenched in scent would return to their master who would be befuddled and unamused at the smell.
How do I know they’re drug dealers? I think it was the posse meetings every day at three o’clock. Or perhaps the guard car full of guys overnight outside their house overnight. His family lives there so he’s not dealing out of the house, just orchestrating. Roughly every three weeks a black Mercedes ® with unfriendly tinted windows rolls up. Never really see anyone get out of the car. It just sits there. But I’m sure they are running a peer mentoring group for young men in the neighborhood. Speaking of which a kid about the age of fifteen or sixteen in a security company shirt and hat came to the house three times (I ignored the first two attempts) to tell me about break-ins in my neighborhood where the perpetrators are cutting the phone lines so when invaded the people can’t call 911. Um, yeah. Apparently he doesn’t live around here. Fighting down the urge to ask him where the incidents took place (I live four blocks from a police station), I smiled and told him that the barking he heard belonged to a 120-pound Rottweiler. And, THAT, was my security system. What I didn’t tell him is that I only have cell phones in my house. Company scare tactics are awesome when they want you to buy something.
The day goes on. Social events surrounding the Kentucky Derby are about this weekend. All required tasks must be complete by end-of-business today. And so I go.
1) Make a Decision
If you are going to cheat, go all the way. Don’t do it half-assed. Commit yourself mentally or it’s never going to work. Be prepared to lie, steal and, cheat well. Next, decide how far you want to go, whether it’s a hand job at your local non-union massage parlor, or a threesome with you, a midget and a dog. You must align your will with your actions. Removing your delusions will eliminate roadblocks; allowing you to connect directly with your desire. Don’t half-ass it, don’t second guess yourself. Regrets are for those who have no wish to live a full life.
Make a decision to deliberately deceive the person you swore to love, honor and cherish for the rest of your natural life to the best of your abilities and without buying into the bullshit that it’s wrong. You’ll hear it all the time and the rationalizations that go with it; but truth be told if your wife was as devoted to your happiness as you are to hers you wouldn’t even be thinking about it.
2) Prepare and Execute
Find out your wife’s favorite flower, plan a girl’s night, start doing little things a little at a time, and ask her opinion about every subject. The more little things you do, not big things, the more comfortable she will become. Compensating does not eliminate her looking at your cell, sniffing through your email, surprising you at the office for lunch. The way you think you can’t get caught is the way you will. Do not be conspicuous. When she’s around focus on her or what you have to do. Give her no reason to suspect that you are doing anything else, but what you are doing. If you are spending a long time “checking your email” then you probably aren’t. If you want to be crafty, draw her a bath and check your Ashley Madison account after she’s been in about ten minutes. Make sure she doesn’t have a towel.
MySpace, Facebook, Tagged, Xanga, LiveJournal, Friendster, etc. will record everything you do, along with your computer. Get a laptop and password protect it. If she sees it, she will suspect it. Learn the ways of concealment.
Second, do not shit where you live. Do not leave anything undeleted, un-erased, un-destroyed. Do not mess around at work. Don’t go after the altar boys in your own parish. Do not keep mementos, do not give mementos. Pictures, letters, panties, broken condoms, should all be disposed of promptly and properly. Never use credit to pay for anything and always get rid of the receipt. Pack a bag and leave it in the car. Develop a hobby as an excuse as to why you went somewhere. Make it something you enjoy so she’s none the wiser. Know her schedule backwards and forwards, and any reason why she would deviate. If it looks like trouble, abort. You can always re-schedule or find another person to play bump-bump with. Getting caught is the last thing you want. The motto I constantly live by in these situations is, “Don’t Be Stupid.”
3) Look at the Big Picture
For your wife, ask her what her dreams are. Acting in a revival of “Steel Magnolias”, skydiving, and fucking Robert Goulet and Tom Jones at the same time are the top three dying wishes of married women in Arkansas. Buying her a ticket to Las Vegas or getting her acting lessons is the first step to making her think you care about her dreams. Facilitate and plan ahead. She will be taken aback by your thoughtfulness and unaware of you being a shrewd bastard.
For you, go workout. It stimulates the body, the mind and the prostate to see all those hot chicks bouncing on the elliptical. If your wife asks who you are trying to look good for, just reply for her only. Even if she snickers or chortles, she’ll melt a little inside. In reality it is for all the chicks you will be banging while their parakeet takes copious notes.
See where you want to be in a few months, in a year. Knowing where you want to go and how to get there will bring you a sense of purpose and give you the glow of confidence every man with spray tan wants.
In conclusion, as you grope for the details of your affairs, a final warning: Never give direct access to your day-to-day life. Never give your address, your familiar email, your web handle, your dog’s name, the name of your member, not your favorite number, nor your real birthday even. If trouble ever comes to your door the details of your other life will not match causing disconnect, casting the shadow of doubt on the tale.
The psychological service you are providing yourself is invaluable. Sustained released of wanton lust is better than letting it build to the point of boiling over that give way to sloppy, uncontrolled outbursts. You’ll live longer for it. And if it you arrive at a point where your marriage is getting better than you can simply turn this channel of your life off.
Until next time, “Don’t Be Stupid”.
[Fair warning: As always my work is never safe for yours]
I’m here to-day to talk about my fear of matches. Not in the traditional sense, but more in the manner of a metaphor. Matches being ideas of an incendiary nature. I present my fear to you.
As many of you know I have reduced the access to my FB profile extensively due to corporate phishing. I call it that because I feel that I have every right to say what I want online. The flip side being I have been unemployed since December and being in the tech field if employers can’t find me on FB it looks…suspicious.
I resent having to censor myself anywhere. I hate people who judge me without knowing me and I find myself raging against corporations that pretend that the appearance of character has a direct correlation to work ethic. I was reading through some quotes recently which put forth the notion that one should be wary of those without any faults as they have much to hide. I am no pretender. I have faults and they are mine alone. And still I am afraid.
I am afraid because I am not alone. I’ve married and perhaps may start a family some day. I need to support them and be a contributing member of society. But my political and social beliefs are a bit outside what some would call, “normal” and condemnation by the status quo would limit my options. How does one mesh the two?? Through balance and dissembling about what I believe??
Many respond to this question by stating, “That’s right!! Stand up!!” or shrug and sigh, saying “That’s just how it is.” Others have proposed keeping such things separate from my public and professional life. However the meshing of the two seems to be the order of our society. So now, when I apply for a job I give them my LinkedIn page and my public Twitter to reassure them that I am a young upstanding professional of moderate taste and vanilla pretense. I am resentful of this necessity.
Much like the hypocrisy of companies that check your credit when you apply for a job. Anita Orozco, director of human resources at Sonneborn, a petrochemical company based in Mahwah was quoted in the New York Time as saying. “If you see a history of bad decision-making, you don’t want that decision-making overflowing into your organization.” (http://www.nytimes.com/2009/08/07/business/07credit.html).
Yes, because as well all know AIG and Enron, GM and Ford, make truly responsible and non-public impact decisions.
Some time ago I visited my usual political websites. These are offbeat places with a semi-regular following. Many people may not know about them and I like it that way. At any rate I was reviewing discussions and video posts and so forth and I wondered – what if somebody saw me?? An example of this would be viewing anti-Sharia opinions to-wards women on YouTube (or http://patcondell.net/). Am I a racist?? The review of anti-religious and politically charged attitudes I read about on OneGoodMove.Org; many of which slap the established beliefs and jilt even those who would probably call themselves liberal outloud. Am I radical?? For reading things like Crimethinc books and banned books which, allbeit in a fringe fashion, call for lifestyle anarchy, a security society against government and community building at basic levels. Am I dangerous??
I am afraid. And three months ago believed that I would never post this here.