Read This

Yeah, that's right – read this goddamn blog. It's the best blog in the history of everything and you should be honored to read it. Print it out and wallpaper your home and/or office with this wonderfully crafted piece of art. Put this blog on T-Shirts and tattoo it on your children. Ladies, fashion this blog into a pleasure device to use when I am too busy to have sex with you. Men, lament at the fact that you are inferior to my manliness. Take this blog and load it into a bong. Get high from this blog. Do it. Do it right now, I say! Take this blog and replace your church's bibles with it. Worship this blog. Drink this blog mixed with apple cider on a crisp winter morn. Take this blog to the top of Mt. Everest and the bottom of the Mariana Trench. To the ends of the Earth, this blog should go! Empty your bank accounts and burn your money. Use this blog as currency. Buy and sell your partner's parents with this blog. Use this blog as a prophylactic. Neil Armstrong, take this blog to the moon. Write movies, essays, and odes to this blog. Ask this blog to marry you. Have children with this blog. Enjoy 4,000 sunsets with this blog. Tell this blog how you get lost in its eyes. Use this blog to get out of traffic tickets. Have this blog represent you in a murder trial. This blog should guest star in a CSI. This blog is your next American Idol that Dances with the Stars and is the One that You Want. This blog will never take the "deal." Vote this blog for president. Send this blog eighteen dozen tulips. Rename a state after this blog. Use this blog as your operating system. Leave your spouse and children to only be spurned by this blog. Send tithes to this blog. Do not anger the blog. Use this blog as a floatation device. Tell this blog its shoes match its eyes. Kneel before this blog. Cower in fear over the sheer ferocity of this blog. Use this blog to pick your teeth. Take this blog to your Senior Prom. Nominate this blog for a Nobel Prize. Write your congressman about this blog. Go to Pueblo, Colorado for this blog. Write this blog a 45 minute song. Destroy a Fiat in the name of this blog. Use this blog to cure any ailment. Water the blog when I am out of town. Go on a romantic stroll with the blog. Thank you.

Tommy Tutone Never had to Deal with This

I was married when text messaging was invented and never really learned the etiquette. I personally just started using it last year and am slow as hell. One thing that threw me though was the role text messaging plays in dating. For example, I went out with a girl probably around ten times and the only time we made plans by telephone was the first time I called her. All plans afterward were made via texts. On one hand, it is a good thing since I write much better than I talk. I usually say stupid shit and immediately regret it, but if I am texting, I can delete the faux pas and no one is the wiser that I'm a dumb fuck. On the other hand, if you have psychotically low self-esteem such as I, texting is bad news.

First off, I feel like I shouldn't call the girl; I should only text her. That means, the task of asking her out stretches a two minute phone conversation into a three hour text-off. Here is an example:

Me: What do you want to do?

Sent at 7:45pm

Her: I don't care. Up to you.

Received at 7:49pm

Me: Well, are you hungry?

Sent at 7:52pm

Her: Yeah, I could eat.

Received at 7:59pm

Me: What are you in the mood for?

Sent at 8:02pm

Her: I don't care. Whatever.

Received at 8:17pm

Me: How about Mexican?

Sent at 8:20pm

Her: No, had that for lunch. Anything else is ok.

Received at 8:42pm

Me: How about Theo's?

Sent at 8:45pm

Her: Sorry, going there tomorrow.

Received at 9:12pm

Me: I went to Wendy's.

Sent at 9:15pm

Her: That's cool. getting late anyway. let's do something later this week. :)

Received at 10:35pm

Me: Sounds good.

Sent at 10:38pm

That leads me into my main problem with texting and dating. I'm a pretty cool headed guy and it takes a lot to get me truly angry. However, the one thing that pisses me off more than anything is a non-reply. I mean, it takes like two seconds to reply. From there, I start to wonder, "Maybe the text didn't go through," or, "What did I do wrong now?" and stew on it until I'm good and sauced and start sending out dickhead texts about how I really can't believe how I'm not worth two seconds of someone's precious time. Which results in them never talking or texting me ever again.

Teenage Wasteland

Aragorn_13: dood! wutz up? havent seen u online in a while!!11!

Darth_George: i knows dood!! my dam mom grounded me from teh internets. >:(

Aragorn_13: o dood, that sux ass hairs!!! :oO whudjado?

Darth_George: i totally jacked her credit card and went to the Star Trek auction.

Aragorn_13: fuggggggggin A, dood!1 that's some str8 hax0r shit right dere!!!2

Darth_George: yeah, i dont gives a dam about nuthin. i do what i do and thats all i do.

Aragorn_13: hells yeah dood! u r teh king of rebels. didja get anythang cool?

Darth_George: i got Picard's codpiece from STNG episode 108-976B!

Aragorn_13: OOOOO! that is some killer shit! how mcuh it set yo' mamma back?

Darth_George: well dood, since i am such a savvvvvy auctionteur, it only costed $12,000.

Aragorn_13: wow, u r teh auction master. u should own ebayz and shit.

Darth_George: i totally know dood. still my dumb bitch mom got all YOUR BASE ARE BELONG TO US and shit.

Aragorn_13: LMFAOGDIOAIUDMAERIAPKSDJFP! classic meme.

Darth_George: i wuz like MOM, I PAY FOR STUFF AROUND HERE. I GOTS A JOB AND SHIT.

Aragorn_13: yeah boi! tell dat ho-bag.

Darth_George: Jeff, that's my mom.

Aragorn_13: sorry. go ahead.

Darth_George: newaz, she was like SCREW YOUR HARD WORK DOWN AT THE FROSTY FREEZE! I ONLY CARE ABOUT MY BITCH ASS TIVO SHOWS. AND QUIT RECORDING ALL THAT SCIFI & CARTOON GARBAGE!

Aragorn_13: aw, harsh dood.

Darth_George: i knows dood! i was like, HEY, WAIT A GD MINUTE MOM. THAT'S SOME BULLSHIT. I DO WHAT I DO AND YOU KNOWS THAT SHIT!

Aragorn_13: fuggin beastie boyz dood.

Darth_George: i knows. but she was raggin or some shit and went to the den and took the cable modem adn locked it away.

Aragorn_13: oh noes!!! she didn't do that.

Darth_George: srlsly

Aragorn_13: o rly?

Darth_George: srlsly

Aragorn_13: o rly?

Darth_George: srlsly

Aragorn_13: o rly?

Darth_George: srlsly

Aragorn_13: well, at least ur back on.

Darth_George: yeah, so wuts new wit u?

Aragorn_13: aw dood. im in some serious trouble.

Darth_George: o rly?

Aragorn_13: srlsly. i was doing what i do when im alone on sat.

Darth_George: yah? that thing?

Aragorn_13: yah. newaz, i get a nice young hunney all ready to go. hot and horny, ya knows?

Darth_George: oh yah. so wut's the trubble?

Aragorn_13: well, she invites me over to party. asks me to brings some beers and condoms and shit.

Darth_George: hells yeah. hooooooooobag city and yur tha mayor.

Aragorn_13: i wish. no i get to her house, her parents r out of town. i walk in and she sayz shes in the shower and to make myself at home.

Darth_George: nice...

Aragorn_13: well, i takes off my clothes and shit and start eating some cookies on the table.

Darth_George: mmm, i likes cookies.

Aragorn_13: me too. so i'm chewin on some cookies, playin with my junk and all the sudden, goddam Chris Hansen walks out with cameras and shit. >:(

Darth_George: OH NOES!!111eleventyone!!11

Aragorn_13: srsly!!!

Darth_George: u on the TV?

Aragorn_13: yup, next tues on Dateline. me and my junk gettin tackled by some goddam camo-cop.

Darth_George: oh noes! wut'd ur wife do?

Aragorn_13: hell dood, she took the kids and moved the fug out. she was all like I WILL NOT BE MARRIED TO A GD PEDOFILE!

Darth_George: wut a biznatch!

Aragorn_13: George, that's my wife.

Darth_George: sorry dood. so will you be able to make it to our class reunion. 25 years dood.

Aragorn_13: probably not. trial is next month, so wish me luck.

Darth_George: good luck dood. try not to get butt raped.

Aragorn_13: will do.

Synapse

I was trying to explain to MJ how a man's mind works and why we do some of the stupid shit we do. In all honesty, the only time most of us think clearly is for five minutes after we have sex. It is kinda hard to explain, so I made a visual aid of my thought process below:

me-me-me-me-sex-me-me-me-me-sex-me-me-chapstick-me-sex-me-me-comics-sex-me-me-drugs-me-me-sex-friends-me-sex with friends?-get them drunker-me-me-need a drink?-me-me-me-dry hands-lotion-sex-masturbate?-yes-me-me-me-sex-email-me-work-procrastinate-me-me-sex-chapstick-sex with chapstick?-yes-me-me-money-sex-pay for sex?-yes-me-me-me-me-there's a nice one-sex-me-me-condom?-no-disease?-curable-pregnancy?-also curable-me-me-itchy-me-that's the spot-me-oh yeah!-dreams-spirituality-ambitions-community-responsibilities-shoulda used a condom-smoke?-yes-me-me-me-me-me-me-sex-sleep-cuddle-sex-sex-sex dreams-goats...

Things I Learned from a Racist Six Year Old Girl on the Bus

*Cardboard boxes are the most multifaceted thing in the universe.
*Your grandmother will die if you don't eat your cauliflower.
*The Internet is full of nice men who like to play with children.
*The witch that lived at the end of my darkened hallway was indeed real.
*Writing in cursive is stupid and for queers.
*Shows like Dora and Blue's Clues insult and retard intelligence.
*Van Halen was better during the Sammy Hagar years.
*The President is a great big dummy head.
*The Tooth Fairy smells like whiskey.
*Eating Play-Doh covers all food groups, including the oft forgotten Pet Dander Group.
*Sticking a paper clip in an electrical outlet is a great way to score free candy.
*While the US/Mexico border wall is a good start, we need to have flying sharks patrol it.
*Babies are made when Mommy is really drunk.
*Sally Miller is a lying little bitch.
*DVD players in automobiles have ensured the lowering of America's IQ.
*Freemasons are super cool.
*There's a rumor that years ago, there were cartoons on Saturday mornings.
*If it could be either a scoop of butter or a scoop of ice cream, it's probably butter.
*Three words: Goober Grape Awesome
*Adults are stupid because they care so much when a golddigging porn star OD's.
*...and then the White guy says, "I'll just have a Coke."
*Dr. Phil got his PhD with 4 proofs of purchase from Fruit Loops boxes.
*Mommy's magic wand smells like the dumpster behind Benihana.
*So does the shower head.
*Learning Spanish is a waste of time. We'll all be speaking Chinese very soon.
*Daddy says a restraining order is Mommy's way of saying, "I love you."
*I look a little too "Jewey" for her tastes.
*I also have stinky breath.

Vision Quest

Last night, while I was cleaning the bathtub with bleach and a SOS pad, I started to see the toxic fumes materialize. If I looked through the fumes, I could make out some kind of scene taking place. Then, all of the sudden, I was falling into the mist towards the alternate realm. I landed in the middle of some restaurant with a thud and my head was throbbing. However, no one seemed to notice me fall out of thin air.

I looked around and the place seemed very familiar. To my right, there was a child's birthday party going on and I was drawn to the gathering. I saw my father and stepmother, along with friends from junior high school. Then, I saw myself. It finally dawned on my fuzzy brain that I was witnessing my 13th birthday party at a pizza place called Mr. Gatti's. I was in shock and wondered if I had finally poisoned myself with my ridiculous attempts at cleaning. If so, why was I reliving this particular memory. I couldn't remember why, but always had a feeling that my 13th birthday sucked.

Seeing my friends and family 16 years younger was a trip. I looked like an idiot, of course. I was sporting a Vuarnet t-shirt and some bright orange and blue Umbro shorts. Which at the time, I thought that was my coolest outfit ever - especially with my Reebok Pump sneakers. What a douche, but it was 1990 for crissakes. Anyway, my younger self was nervously talking to a cute girl that I remember meeting at my Stepmom's basketball camp. I think her name was Kim or something like that. Just hearing my own pre-pubescent voice was enough to make me want to kill myself, but then I remembered that I was dead and probably in Hell for writing that Hitler and Juice thing.

Even though she was a foot taller than me, it seemed like this chick was into me. Why didn't I remember this? Then I heard her whisper to me, "After the party, let's go to my house and we can kiss and stuff." What?! This can't be right. I never made out with this girl, because I hadn't made out with any girls yet and would remember the first time. Something was amiss with this memory. Then, the front door violently flew open and over the wall, I could see a shitload of balloons and hear a crazy commotion.

My heart started pounding and my face probably shared the same look of horror as my younger counterpart. The reason my 13th birthday sucked was starting to become clearer. Around the corner, he appeared. The goddamn man in the monkey suit. He was holding the balloons in one hand and a can of Silly String in the other. He shrieked, "Where's the birthday boy?!" and my evil father laughed and pointed my way. The son of a bitch monkey jumped up on the long table and started running towards my teen self. I suddenly thought that maybe this was like Quantum Leap and I was there "to set right what once went wrong."

I jumped up on the table and lunged at the monkey; but instead of taking him down, I passed right through him. There wasn't anything I could do. My younger self was on his own. I laid there on the table wondering why I could lay on a table, but not affect anything else in this world. Somebody said, "plot hole," and I decided to focus on the matter at hand.

The monkey had made it and stood above my younger self, who was frozen with fear and embarrassment. The monkey shook the can of Silly String and then dumped the contents into young Turk's eyes. He screamed and stumbled backwards out of his chair and the monkey pounced on him. Everyone was laughing and no one was doing a damn thing to stop this monkey rape.

I screamed, "Oh noes, young Turk. Fight him off! Somebody fucking help this kid!" Alas, nobody heard my pleas and nobody cared about young Turk's cries for help. Finally, he was able to evasively roll away from the monkey and scrambled up onto the table to make a daring escape. I cheered for my younger, very agile self. Then, I froze. The monkey was back on his feet before young Turk could jump off the other side. "Look out, he's right behind you," I futilely yelled. But it was too late, the monkey was on him and then the repressed memory played out to me in Technicolor. The monkey grabbed young Turk's flimsy bright orange and blue Umbro shorts and pants him. And, only God knows why, I wasn't wearing any underwear that day.

Young Turk and I screamed in harmony while he stood there on the table, naked from the waist down. His eight year old's penis and nuts the size of an acorn on display for all the world to see. The worst was cute little Kim whispering and giggling with her friends at my diminutive manhood. Oh the horror, the goddamned horror! The embarrassing memory was flooding my brain and I started to feel woozy again. As I was fading out, I saw the monkey take off his mask and caught a quick glimpse of my tormentor. She shall pay for her misdeeds one day.

I woke from my haze in my bathtub, amid a pool of blood and bleach. I must've passed out from the fumes and cracked my head pretty good. However, for some reason, I was naked from the waist down.

Miserable Bastard

I'm a miserable bastard. If there's one thing you should know about me, that's it. Just miserable. Now, I'm sure I haven't cornered the market on making dumbass decisions, but I gotta be on the board of directors. Mostly having to do with women. Man, I hate goddamn women. Show me a more heartless animal than a woman, and I'll give you million dollars. My theory is that society associates caring and compassion with women because of our mothers. They nurture us and love us, so we think all women are like that. All you gotta do is ask your father how batshit crazy your mother drove him and you'll learn that she's no different.

Yeah, I was married. Probably the worst thing I could've done. She rectified that situation a few years ago - after all the money was gone. There was a bitch among bitches right there. The worst part is that if she showed up on my doorstep right now, I'd probably take her back. That's how damn dumb I am. If I'm gonna be honest, the one I'm seeing now is way worse. Comparing her to my ex-wife is like comparing a nuclear bomb to a fire cracker. Yeah, this new one is that bad. At least the ex was sweet on a blue moon. Not this one though, she's probably never been sweet for a minute in her life. See, told you I was a dumbass.

Her name's Esmeralda. Sounds exotic, but she's about as exotic as a stalk of corn. More hunchback than damsel too. Don't get me wrong, she's a beautiful girl - on the outside. Damn jackal on the inside. I met her at a bar. That should've been my first clue, but she caught my eye and charmed my pecker. Like a goddamn fish going after a shiny new lure, I was hooked. Sex was great; for the first couple months. Lately, I'm lucky if I get a one armed hug. My daddy always said, "God created porn for the married man." I think he would've enjoyed the Internet, God rest his soul, the poor bastard.

Back to the love of my life. She wasn't that into me after that first night and the liquor wore off. She allowed me to buy her a couple of meals because she's such a damn saint. Nope, wasn't until she saw where I lived, that she feigned some interest. Not saying that I have a nice, big house or anything. No, the reason she liked it is because it is only five minutes from where she works. So shacking up with me was more convenient for her and she could sleep in an extra 30 minutes. I guess women choose men like they choose real estate; it's the location that's most important.

Women are smart when it comes to claiming territory. They're subtle. Starts out with a few toiletries, then a few items of clothing in the closet. After that, comes a knickknack here and there. Next thing I knew, all my shit was crammed into the extra bedroom and my clothes were moved from the closet to the garage. Now I got fruity looking pictures of Paris and London hanging up and candles everywhere. I can't sit down without getting a damn candle up my ass. Can't light them though; or for that matter, actually use a hand towel. No, to hear her tell it, the fucking world would cease to be. Well, I guess Esmeralda isn't all bad. No, actually, she is.

I also was given some new rules for my house. First off, I couldn't smoke cigarettes inside anymore. Can't even smoke in the damn garage and gotta freeze my ass off. On the other hand, her and her stupid friends can smoke weed in the house. Shit, Esmeralda would smoke weed in a hospital nursery. She'd probably crawl into my Great Aunt Ester's iron lung if she thought it'd get her more stoned. Man, I hate goddamn potheads. Now, I'm no Mother Theresa. I like the drink and maybe a line of coke every now and again, but these potheads think they're so damn smart and enlightened. Yeah, I bet Voltaire had his nasty finger in the bottom of a jar of Skippy while holding court. I've heard more coherent thought coming out of a drunk four year old. Don't say that to a stoner though. They'll verbally rape you - until you show them something shiny or colorful.

What I don't understand is why Esmeralda hangs out with the people she calls, "friends." She doesn't like a damn one of them. If they're not around, all she does is tell me, or whoever will pretend to listen, how her friends are stupid. They're with the wrong guy, work the wrong job, dress like crap, think they can dance, etc. That's the thing about women; they really hate their friends most of the time. My theory is that they settle for whatever they can get, whether it be their friends, the man they’re with, or their job. Women settle, because something's better than nothing. No matter how awful that something is. You can call me a hypocrite and say that I settle for any woman that'll let me see her naked; but I don't have a choice. Men don't have a choice in anything anymore.

I always thought I was as miserable as I could get, until I met Esmeralda's father. He has four daughters, no sons, and a ballbuster of a wife. All in a house with only one bathroom. What a poor bastard. You can tell his spirit was broken in the early eighties. He just kinda sits there in his JC Penny's suit until one of the women gives him an order. I saw some pictures of him from his Army days and I tell you, the young sergeant and that sad sack sitting in the living room can't be the same guy. Guess I have that to look forward to. Fortunately, I'm already 30 and haven't had any kids yet. Unfortunately, Esmeralda is only 24 and has many child rearing years left. I should take her father and drive us both off a cliff.

I thought that since she was much younger than me, I could have at least a little control in the relationship. Nope, it's like I'm dating the Prom Queen again and she's calling all the shots. Dumb shots that I called when I was her age, but according to her, I'm retarded. I wish I was, then I wouldn't know any better. One of the mistakes she is making, that I made at her age, is that she thinks that success in her career will equal success in her life. I thought that until I was successful in my career. Hell, I was never more miserable. The more money you make, the worse off you are. She doesn't get that and tells me that I'm just a lazy son of a bitch who wants to mooch off her.

Now, I do have a job. It pays me what I need to get by, but more importantly, it doesn't interfere with my life. I don't have any job related stress. That's a lie. I have to "sympathize" with Esmeralda's job related stress. I have the honor of listening about how her job doesn't value her and doesn't even know how great she is. I get to hear this same damn speech every day for an hour after she gets home. I tell her to quit and do something she enjoys, but she tells me I'm a lazy retarded son of a bitch with no ambition and I should be more like her father. Yeah, that poor asshole is a great role model for happiness.

I remember back in fifth grade, they took all the girls over to the auditorium. They threw all the boys in the gym and said we could punch each other and not get in trouble. No wonder we’re all idiots. What the girls were taught in that special session is the biggest secret in the world. Out of all the women I’ve ever met, none will tell what went on in there. And we all know how women can’t keep a damn secret. That’s why you can’t cheat on them. Anyway, most men speculate it was all about periods and growing hair in weird places. I wholeheartedly disagree.

I believe that fifth grade girls across the country are given an intense psychological warfare seminar. They learn the fine arts of sexual manipulation and crying at will. God forbid, if I have a daughter, I’m gonna home school her during fifth grade and see if she turns out sweet. By the way, in sixth grade, they took the boys to the auditorium. They taught us about wet dreams and answered the myths about girls masturbating with coke bottles and hot dogs.

I wasn’t always such a miserable bastard. I mean, I’ve always been kinda miserable, but not to the extent I am today. No, like any young man, I used to be full of hope. After my high school girlfriend wiped her ass with my heart, I actually bounced back pretty quickly. Mostly because girls in college would fuck just about anything and I was drunk a majority of the time. Those were the days.

The bad thing is that I fell in love after my first year in college. Not to say that falling in love is a bad thing. Love is pretty awesome if you find it with the right person. Or so I’ve heard; I never have. No, I can only fall in love with the worst person. And that’s not so great. She was an alright gal, she was just an evil bitch. Can’t blame her, some asshole guy turned her that way. She got her revenge on him by being an asshole to me and the cycle of awful adult relationships began.

The most absurd part of it all is that even as a younger man, I could see this. However, whenever I’d get fed up with her and decide to leave, that’s the day she’d be the sweetest damn thing in the world and I’d fall even more in love with the two-faced succubus. It’s like women can sense when a man has had enough and they change into the girl of our dreams for up to 72 hours. That keeps us hooked in for at least another six months hoping that girl will come back.

Yeah, the woman decides when the relationship is over, not the man. Shit, I broke up with my ex-wife after the first month of dating and two months later we were living together. How the hell do they do that? Must be some of that crap they learn in fifth grade.

Anyway, after my first adult love decided that she could settle for something a little bit better looking, she ripped out my heart like a Mayan priest. I was a little bitter and played it safer than before, but still had hope. I still thought there was a nice girl out there for me. Yeah, I was still naïve.

The next one was a little better than the first, but again she was turned malicious by a previous asshole. That’s when I began to learn my place in the world. Since I was a decent man, I was the vacation guy for girls who were in between assholes. They left an asshole, went with me for awhile, and then dumped me for an even bigger asshole. Ironically, each time they do this, they turned me more and more into an asshole. That’s a lot of assholes, which makes me wonder: Which came first, the bitch or the asshole. If you believe the bible, it was the bitch; or you could argue that the snake was the asshole. Personally, I think a rule that you can have anything in the world except this one thing is kind of an asshole rule. But that’d make me a blasphemer.

When I met my ex-wife, I was a pretty miserable bastard. But I still had a little hope left in the old tank. All she had been with were really terrible assholes, so she stuck with me for longer than most. She also liked the fact that I made a shitload of dough. So much so, that when she’d spent it all and I decided that money wasn’t important to me, she left me for a rich asshole. Not hard to find; all rich guys are assholes.

And that’s how I became such a miserable bastard and fell into the unloving arms of my beautiful Esmeralda, Queen of the Callous, the fingernails running down the chalkboard of my heart. Hopefully, she’ll decide she can settle for someone better soon and leave me. Until that day, I’ll have to get used to smoking outside and sitting down to take a piss. Damn, I should really drive myself off a cliff.