The War Project is interfering with the Nice Project. Here I am, sitting and practicing being nice while no one is around in the middle of the night, and memories of war shake in my bones.
Upstairs, it's the War Channel. It's on most nights. Screaming and yelling bloody murder. Hate and rage, crashing and smashing, mad screams of insane people. This is normal. The War is normal.
There's an Hispanic couple upstairs who are at war. There may be others at war too. I think people are on drugs. I hope no one is armed. I hear them screaming and yelling bloody murder at each other, crashing and burning across the room, like a herd of antelope on an African plain. The cops got called. A couple of times.
Inquiries are met with smiles. There are no blows exchanged, the woman is a fighter, everything is fine. Don't believe it. When people scream like that, fists and objects fly. They are trying to kill each other. Nothing will happen until some day, someone may end up dead. This is how these things tend to end.
Next to them, upstairs, are Black people. A young Black woman and her huge Black boyfriend are trying to kill each other, or at least trying to beat each other up.
It was on earlier tonite, the Fights. You can turn on the Fights here just about any nite. Just open your ears.
The war went on on the sidewalk before, earlier in the night, but I looked outside and could not see. Only voices, I heard, disembodied voices. Fighting, fighting, yelling and fighting.
The war went on outside, earlier in the evening. The police pulled up outside my window, three cars, stayed there half and hour, talking to some young Hispanic men. I opened the window and watched the friendly people in blue.
The news just came in, two local kids locked up, the War goes on, two soldiers off the streets. You cheer for the blue men who take away 16 year old POW's. Where? Anywhere but here. Anywhere.
The gangster rap pounds away a good part of the day, from computers and radios. It's not exactly a message of peace and love. It's a message of hate, rage and crime, sociopathy packaged as art. It gets into your bones if you're not careful, your inner psychopath emerging in your tensing veins.
You shut all the windows and tell everyone not to look outside. The world out there and the world in here, and never the twain shall meet, or at least not tonight.
Dammit, I'm trying to be nice.
How can anyone be nice in a place like this?
Video killed the radio star, and the War Project is killing the Nice Project. What's a guy to do? Pour another glass.
Note: Readers should carefully read the Commenting Rules before commenting to avoid having their comments edited or deleted and to avoid being banned from the site.
Showing posts with label Sociopathy Is Fun. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Sociopathy Is Fun. Show all posts
Wednesday, October 17, 2018
Saturday, May 18, 2013
Trolling IRL
I think I committed a crime tonight, or was a conspiracy to one.
Oh, no, that brings on the Cops Project. Bad trip, bad trip, no way. Last time I was in Cop Land, I got thrown against a wall and got my head banged into the car roof and got the cuffs twisted on my wrists in a failed attempt to cause wrist damage for a lifetime.
The cop stood over, and threatened to grind my brains into the pavement. It was a pleasant moment, to be threatened with murder by a cop with your hands cuffed. If only he would try it, then I might have died and you would not be reading this.
Oh God, cops love to fight. I've been arrested two whole times in my life and both times I was a Goddamn psycho. Once I screamed as I was being bailed out, "FUCK YOU!" with acrobatics, while the people who bailed me screamed at me to shut up. And I didn't even get re-arrested. That shows we have an incredible amount of civil rights in this country.
In the one jail, it was entertaining. There were these guys, White guys, wasted out of their minds and in jail, of all possible places. It was at the beach, where I always lived and hung, of course.
"Whaooooooooo! Fuck you fuck you fuck you! Fuck you fuck you fuck you! Fuck you fuck you fuck you! Fuck you fuck you fuck you! Fuck you fuck you fuck you! Fuck you fuck you fuck you! Fuck you fuck you fuck you! Fuck you fuck you fuck you! Fuck you fuck you fuck you! Fuck you fuck you fuck you! Fuck you fuck you fuck you! Fuck you fuck you fuck you!"
It was a song, you had it admit. They sung it to a tune. The jailers would come by once in a while and order them to shut up, and then the band would start again.
No one sympathized with me. I told everyone I knew that I got arrested two times for starting fights with cops who bugged me, and everyone agreed that I deserved to get popped and that I was an insane and stupid scum of the Earth moron.
Actually, I thought it was a glorious act of defiance.
The cop knocked on the door of the car. I looked out the window and the cop was there. I knocked the cherry off the joint, made sure it was dead, and swallowed away, no problems. Most everyone to this day insists I was insane for doing that. It was smart, I swallowed the jay, and the evidence was gone, ha ha piggers good one huh?
There is another crime called destruction of evidence. I had never learned that, but it was pure theater anyway.
I spit at the shoes of the cops that towered above as I sat. I spat right between their shoes and missed and missed. I was informed that if the spit hit the shoes, I was going to die. That made it even more fun.
The Get Arrested Project worked, twice in a row, and now my whole world hated me. It was supposed to be a joke, but now I had a criminal record.
Oh, no, that brings on the Cops Project. Bad trip, bad trip, no way. Last time I was in Cop Land, I got thrown against a wall and got my head banged into the car roof and got the cuffs twisted on my wrists in a failed attempt to cause wrist damage for a lifetime.
The cop stood over, and threatened to grind my brains into the pavement. It was a pleasant moment, to be threatened with murder by a cop with your hands cuffed. If only he would try it, then I might have died and you would not be reading this.
Oh God, cops love to fight. I've been arrested two whole times in my life and both times I was a Goddamn psycho. Once I screamed as I was being bailed out, "FUCK YOU!" with acrobatics, while the people who bailed me screamed at me to shut up. And I didn't even get re-arrested. That shows we have an incredible amount of civil rights in this country.
In the one jail, it was entertaining. There were these guys, White guys, wasted out of their minds and in jail, of all possible places. It was at the beach, where I always lived and hung, of course.
"Whaooooooooo! Fuck you fuck you fuck you! Fuck you fuck you fuck you! Fuck you fuck you fuck you! Fuck you fuck you fuck you! Fuck you fuck you fuck you! Fuck you fuck you fuck you! Fuck you fuck you fuck you! Fuck you fuck you fuck you! Fuck you fuck you fuck you! Fuck you fuck you fuck you! Fuck you fuck you fuck you! Fuck you fuck you fuck you!"
It was a song, you had it admit. They sung it to a tune. The jailers would come by once in a while and order them to shut up, and then the band would start again.
No one sympathized with me. I told everyone I knew that I got arrested two times for starting fights with cops who bugged me, and everyone agreed that I deserved to get popped and that I was an insane and stupid scum of the Earth moron.
Actually, I thought it was a glorious act of defiance.
The cop knocked on the door of the car. I looked out the window and the cop was there. I knocked the cherry off the joint, made sure it was dead, and swallowed away, no problems. Most everyone to this day insists I was insane for doing that. It was smart, I swallowed the jay, and the evidence was gone, ha ha piggers good one huh?
There is another crime called destruction of evidence. I had never learned that, but it was pure theater anyway.
I spit at the shoes of the cops that towered above as I sat. I spat right between their shoes and missed and missed. I was informed that if the spit hit the shoes, I was going to die. That made it even more fun.
The Get Arrested Project worked, twice in a row, and now my whole world hated me. It was supposed to be a joke, but now I had a criminal record.
Friday, November 28, 2008
Sexmaniacman On Seduction
Sexmaniacman just told me the following:
Hey Bob, a woman just told me that I have a take it or leave it attitude. I was interested, but obviously, I said, "Yeah, so what?" Then she said, "See? That was take it or leave it right there." I said, "Sure, I know. So what." Then she said that was what she loved about me (this take it or leave it attitude that she says she actually dislikes), and then mentioned how she wants to have sex with me.
For some reason, I thought, "Ho-hum, she wants to have sex with me, yawn." And I like this woman. But this "I can take it or leave it" attitude towards sex feels really liberating. Make them work for it. I'm a privileged catch and you have to work to get me. I think women really despise guys who crawl all around trying to kiss up to them and accommodate them.
I never realized I had such a dicky attitude, but I think it's the best. On the other hand, you should also try to be accommodating to others to some extent, and I do.
I'm reading this guy's blog here, which is all about picking up chicks. It's for young guys in their 20's who are upper middle class yuppies. Everyone else needn't bother to read.
I disagree with some of the stuff he says, but he does have some good points.
He says never complain about a lousy kiss from a woman. I disagree. You go to kiss a woman at the end of the date and she turns her cheek and lets you peck her cheek. Lean back and say, "Wow," real sarcastically.
Most of the time, that will get her back up and she'll start kissing you for real. If that doesn't work, make fun of her. Say, "You call that a kiss? Where'd you learn how to kiss? You don't even know how to kiss." But say it humorously, not angrily.
Women actually like to be provoked. It works pretty good to suggest they can't kiss worth a crap or they are probably frigid and lousy in bed. That's a direct challenge, and a lot of the time, they will respond to it by showing you, "Damn right I know how to kiss/fuck, etc, baby!"
The mistakes he is talking about are guys who don't know how to read women. You have to read women. You need to be an expert in verbal and nonverbal communication. I'm still learning this stuff every day, and I figure it's a Lifetime Course. I can't emphasize this strongly enough, because you really do need to learn this stuff in order to deal with women.
Here the guy asks his date to kiss him. I've always thought that's the stupidest thing in the world to do. Never ask a new woman if she wants to have any kind of sex act. Don't even ask your girlfriend if she wants to have sex. Let her ask you or take the initiative.
I've always just been a Rapist and an Attacker. I just grab at them or needle them with my feet or make rude sexual remarks. I always make a big joke out of it and I'm laughing and screwing around the whole time.
It's hit or miss that way, but I've had sex with scores of women. The only new woman you should ask if she wants to have sex with you is a whore. Any other female is probably going to say no, and they don't get better as they get older.
Generally, you have to wait until you get the proper signals that it's ok to assault her. You might have to wait a while. The signals might never come, in which case you probably don't assault her. Just figure she's a lost cause and don't date her anymore.
If you try to assault her and she pushes you away or threatens to call the cops (Yes, it's happened to me) just shrug your shoulders, forget about her, and then act mildly put out the rest of the night. She'll feel bad and try to make up for it. Act like, "Gimme one reason why I should date you again?" Not angry or anything, just "take it or leave it."
Assault can be very soft, slow-motion and tender, like a movie that's in slow motion, or you can just push her up against the wall and kiss her really hard. I've done both many, many times, and I do recommend this approach.
Bob, I remember one time I was out with this rock band. I was trying to screw the lead singer, whose name was Ann.
I won't give you the name of the band because there were sort of big around LA for awhile (she's still kind of famous and there are pics of her on the Net)and this might get back to me.
I just Googled her and it turns out that later she went solo and formed her own band and released some albums. She also played with some of the big LA punk bands. You can order her records on Amazon and some other places. She's still performing up til 1989, then she's gone.
There was another woman there, Linda, and I'd already had sex with her, but now we were sort of through. I think Linda and Ann were having sex at some point.
They were all a bunch of goth rockers and I was a punker with a leather jacket and an attitude. The goth guys were mostly fags or bi or might as well have been. If you were good looking, confident, cocky and didn't act like a total queer, you could clean up with the goth chicks, who were mostly bi themselves, by the way.
You just had to play this role of arrogant, old-fashioned guy disgusted by all the rampant homo/bi-sexuality in the scene. The chicks all thought that mean and horrible and disgusting, but then they wanted to have sex with you too, because you know, you were really the only real man around.
I was in the back seat in a car full of this punk band's members, and I kept reaching up in front and grabbing Ann. She was reaching back and we were playing games with fingers and grabbing or some shit.
Everyone else was talking and watching us like, "What are they doing, anyway?" I was partly doing this to piss off Linda, and she didn't like it too much. But she wasn't putting out anymore anyway, so I was a free man, and she needed to avert her eyes and shut up.
We were walking into this Denny's at like 2 AM and I finally realized how pissed I was at Ann. She'd been teasing me like this for way too long. As we walked into the doorway, I suddenly grabbed her and shoved her up against the wall and kissed her real hard. Then, just as quickly, I let her go and smiled like nothing had happened.
The whole party (the band members) was like, "Whoa!"
Linda asked with a weird smile, like I was acting extremely weird, "Sexman, what do you think you are doing?"
Duh. What do you think I'm doing? Ann acted like she didn't know what hit her, but she liked it of course. The guys in the band were like, "Whoa, this dude's hardcore, man."
We went to the table and everyone made sure Ann was out of reach of me because now I was a confirmed public assaulter-rapist, and they didn't want any more scenes. But Ann was smiling and chatting me up the whole meal.
It's good to give women orders too, Bob. Have you ever done that? Do. I picked up this woman in a bar once within like three minutes of walking into the joint. It was a place called the Anti-Club in Hollywood. It was 1985, the show was Christian Death, and it was too awesome.
Three minutes, I bought her a drink, had my arm around her and was feeling her up. We left the club for a while, drove around and sort of had sex in the car while driving around Hollyweird, then went back to the club.
At the end of the show, the date had gone sour, and she tried to ditch me.
I looked at her and said, "Hey, look, you don't understand. You're not going home with them. You're going home with me." Smiling the whole time.
That got her back up good. "Oh yeah? Who says?"
"Says me." Still smiling.
"Wait a minute. Let me try something." She tells me to stand up straight on the sidewalk and looks me up and down lasciviously for about a minute like it's some kind of test.
"OK," she said. So I drove her home from LA to Orange County and we managed to have sex in the car on the 5 Freeway in downtown LA going 55 miles an hour at 2 AM, which is always interesting.
She had the same name as my Mom. I told her that, and she acted disgusted, like, "Fuck your Mom, you wimp. Obviously you're abnormally attached to her."
Another time I had a new woman in my bedroom. I had her top off and was feeling her tits.
She whimpered, in this totally lame voice, "Please let me go home."
Obviously she didn't mean it.
I said, "No way, you're staying right here." Not real psycho-like, but firm nevertheless.
She was free to leave, as the cops say, and her car was in the driveway. At some point there was an argument.
I said, "Get over on that bed right now." Same way, not real crazy, but firm nevertheless. She was free to say no.
Of course, she scurried over to the bed very obediently like a little puppy. Then, later, at some point, she didn't want to have sex or something.
I just got out of bed, walked over to the couch and said, "Fine, if you don't want to fuck, I'll just sleep on the couch. You sleep on the bed. See you in the morning."
And closed my eyes.
Not two minutes went by and I heard this little bird chirping, "Come on over to the bed." You can guess what happens next.
So a proper mixture of assertiveness and indifference can sometimes work wonders.
I'm sitting here, Bob, thinking that I have to get rid of this take it or leave it attitude, but the major part of me says, "Who cares? This is the way I am, and I'm not out to kiss up to or accommodate everyone else. This is me and this is my style, like it or not, I'm not making any major changes to suit you or anyone else."
This Roissy guy is going on and on about alpha males and beta males. I confess I don't get it. What's the difference? Do betas get lots of women, or is that impossible? I have a huge ego, I strut around like a rooster, I'm cocky and vain, and I think I'm Joe Hotshot With the Chicks and King of the World combined, even though it's not true at all anymore. So is that alpha or what? I'm not sure I understand what he's getting at.
Hey Bob, a woman just told me that I have a take it or leave it attitude. I was interested, but obviously, I said, "Yeah, so what?" Then she said, "See? That was take it or leave it right there." I said, "Sure, I know. So what." Then she said that was what she loved about me (this take it or leave it attitude that she says she actually dislikes), and then mentioned how she wants to have sex with me.
For some reason, I thought, "Ho-hum, she wants to have sex with me, yawn." And I like this woman. But this "I can take it or leave it" attitude towards sex feels really liberating. Make them work for it. I'm a privileged catch and you have to work to get me. I think women really despise guys who crawl all around trying to kiss up to them and accommodate them.
I never realized I had such a dicky attitude, but I think it's the best. On the other hand, you should also try to be accommodating to others to some extent, and I do.
I'm reading this guy's blog here, which is all about picking up chicks. It's for young guys in their 20's who are upper middle class yuppies. Everyone else needn't bother to read.
I disagree with some of the stuff he says, but he does have some good points.
He says never complain about a lousy kiss from a woman. I disagree. You go to kiss a woman at the end of the date and she turns her cheek and lets you peck her cheek. Lean back and say, "Wow," real sarcastically.
Most of the time, that will get her back up and she'll start kissing you for real. If that doesn't work, make fun of her. Say, "You call that a kiss? Where'd you learn how to kiss? You don't even know how to kiss." But say it humorously, not angrily.
Women actually like to be provoked. It works pretty good to suggest they can't kiss worth a crap or they are probably frigid and lousy in bed. That's a direct challenge, and a lot of the time, they will respond to it by showing you, "Damn right I know how to kiss/fuck, etc, baby!"
The mistakes he is talking about are guys who don't know how to read women. You have to read women. You need to be an expert in verbal and nonverbal communication. I'm still learning this stuff every day, and I figure it's a Lifetime Course. I can't emphasize this strongly enough, because you really do need to learn this stuff in order to deal with women.
Here the guy asks his date to kiss him. I've always thought that's the stupidest thing in the world to do. Never ask a new woman if she wants to have any kind of sex act. Don't even ask your girlfriend if she wants to have sex. Let her ask you or take the initiative.
I've always just been a Rapist and an Attacker. I just grab at them or needle them with my feet or make rude sexual remarks. I always make a big joke out of it and I'm laughing and screwing around the whole time.
It's hit or miss that way, but I've had sex with scores of women. The only new woman you should ask if she wants to have sex with you is a whore. Any other female is probably going to say no, and they don't get better as they get older.
Generally, you have to wait until you get the proper signals that it's ok to assault her. You might have to wait a while. The signals might never come, in which case you probably don't assault her. Just figure she's a lost cause and don't date her anymore.
If you try to assault her and she pushes you away or threatens to call the cops (Yes, it's happened to me) just shrug your shoulders, forget about her, and then act mildly put out the rest of the night. She'll feel bad and try to make up for it. Act like, "Gimme one reason why I should date you again?" Not angry or anything, just "take it or leave it."
Assault can be very soft, slow-motion and tender, like a movie that's in slow motion, or you can just push her up against the wall and kiss her really hard. I've done both many, many times, and I do recommend this approach.
Bob, I remember one time I was out with this rock band. I was trying to screw the lead singer, whose name was Ann.
I won't give you the name of the band because there were sort of big around LA for awhile (she's still kind of famous and there are pics of her on the Net)and this might get back to me.
I just Googled her and it turns out that later she went solo and formed her own band and released some albums. She also played with some of the big LA punk bands. You can order her records on Amazon and some other places. She's still performing up til 1989, then she's gone.
There was another woman there, Linda, and I'd already had sex with her, but now we were sort of through. I think Linda and Ann were having sex at some point.
They were all a bunch of goth rockers and I was a punker with a leather jacket and an attitude. The goth guys were mostly fags or bi or might as well have been. If you were good looking, confident, cocky and didn't act like a total queer, you could clean up with the goth chicks, who were mostly bi themselves, by the way.
You just had to play this role of arrogant, old-fashioned guy disgusted by all the rampant homo/bi-sexuality in the scene. The chicks all thought that mean and horrible and disgusting, but then they wanted to have sex with you too, because you know, you were really the only real man around.
I was in the back seat in a car full of this punk band's members, and I kept reaching up in front and grabbing Ann. She was reaching back and we were playing games with fingers and grabbing or some shit.
Everyone else was talking and watching us like, "What are they doing, anyway?" I was partly doing this to piss off Linda, and she didn't like it too much. But she wasn't putting out anymore anyway, so I was a free man, and she needed to avert her eyes and shut up.
We were walking into this Denny's at like 2 AM and I finally realized how pissed I was at Ann. She'd been teasing me like this for way too long. As we walked into the doorway, I suddenly grabbed her and shoved her up against the wall and kissed her real hard. Then, just as quickly, I let her go and smiled like nothing had happened.
The whole party (the band members) was like, "Whoa!"
Linda asked with a weird smile, like I was acting extremely weird, "Sexman, what do you think you are doing?"
Duh. What do you think I'm doing? Ann acted like she didn't know what hit her, but she liked it of course. The guys in the band were like, "Whoa, this dude's hardcore, man."
We went to the table and everyone made sure Ann was out of reach of me because now I was a confirmed public assaulter-rapist, and they didn't want any more scenes. But Ann was smiling and chatting me up the whole meal.
It's good to give women orders too, Bob. Have you ever done that? Do. I picked up this woman in a bar once within like three minutes of walking into the joint. It was a place called the Anti-Club in Hollywood. It was 1985, the show was Christian Death, and it was too awesome.
Three minutes, I bought her a drink, had my arm around her and was feeling her up. We left the club for a while, drove around and sort of had sex in the car while driving around Hollyweird, then went back to the club.
At the end of the show, the date had gone sour, and she tried to ditch me.
I looked at her and said, "Hey, look, you don't understand. You're not going home with them. You're going home with me." Smiling the whole time.
That got her back up good. "Oh yeah? Who says?"
"Says me." Still smiling.
"Wait a minute. Let me try something." She tells me to stand up straight on the sidewalk and looks me up and down lasciviously for about a minute like it's some kind of test.
"OK," she said. So I drove her home from LA to Orange County and we managed to have sex in the car on the 5 Freeway in downtown LA going 55 miles an hour at 2 AM, which is always interesting.
She had the same name as my Mom. I told her that, and she acted disgusted, like, "Fuck your Mom, you wimp. Obviously you're abnormally attached to her."
Another time I had a new woman in my bedroom. I had her top off and was feeling her tits.
She whimpered, in this totally lame voice, "Please let me go home."
Obviously she didn't mean it.
I said, "No way, you're staying right here." Not real psycho-like, but firm nevertheless.
She was free to leave, as the cops say, and her car was in the driveway. At some point there was an argument.
I said, "Get over on that bed right now." Same way, not real crazy, but firm nevertheless. She was free to say no.
Of course, she scurried over to the bed very obediently like a little puppy. Then, later, at some point, she didn't want to have sex or something.
I just got out of bed, walked over to the couch and said, "Fine, if you don't want to fuck, I'll just sleep on the couch. You sleep on the bed. See you in the morning."
And closed my eyes.
Not two minutes went by and I heard this little bird chirping, "Come on over to the bed." You can guess what happens next.
So a proper mixture of assertiveness and indifference can sometimes work wonders.
I'm sitting here, Bob, thinking that I have to get rid of this take it or leave it attitude, but the major part of me says, "Who cares? This is the way I am, and I'm not out to kiss up to or accommodate everyone else. This is me and this is my style, like it or not, I'm not making any major changes to suit you or anyone else."
This Roissy guy is going on and on about alpha males and beta males. I confess I don't get it. What's the difference? Do betas get lots of women, or is that impossible? I have a huge ego, I strut around like a rooster, I'm cocky and vain, and I think I'm Joe Hotshot With the Chicks and King of the World combined, even though it's not true at all anymore. So is that alpha or what? I'm not sure I understand what he's getting at.
Monday, August 04, 2008
Sexmaniacman is a Rapist
Updated August 23:
I thought this definition of a the crime of sexual violence was interesting:
Sexmaniacman:
I thought this definition of a the crime of sexual violence was interesting:
Regarding the "incapable of giving consent" hypothetical you posited, my response is, violence and/or a crime occurs when anyone's body is touched beyond incidental contact or for more than a brief instant unless the person being touched affirmatively gives permission for such contact.Along the same lines, the feminazis says every time you have sex with a drunk woman, you are raping her. I decided to ask Sexmaniacman his opinion on this definition of rape.
It is not the "responsibility" of the person being touched to give permission. It is the responsibility of the person doing the touching to ensure that the other person has voluntarily given permission. If the other person is "incapable" of giving permission, for whatever reason, that means no permission has been given, and a crime has been committed.
Sexmaniacman:
According to that definition, I've been raping women and girls all my life! I've always touched women, I've reached around and jumped them and started kissing them, I've grabbed them, thrown them up against walls in public and kissed them, I've done all these things. I always grabbed women or touched them, and I never asked permission first.Note: Readers should carefully read the Commenting Rules before commenting to avoid having their comments edited or deleted and to avoid being banned from the site.
In general, most of the time, permission was granted, though sometimes, when I tried to go beyond kissing, she stopped me.
I picked up a hot 20 yr old woman at a Hollywood nightclub, the Anticlub, two minutes after walking in the door, then had sex with her in my car while driving around Hollywood at 1 AM (to the extent you can have sex with someone while driving a vehicle) then after the show, she tried to weasel out of coming home with me.
I pointed to her, pointed to the car, and said, "You are going home with me. Now get in the car." It was an order, but she was free to refuse, and I was laughing. I sneered at her like Johnny Rotten. She smiled, sneered back, and said, "Says who?" I said, "Says me." Women love guys who give them orders and they love to follow orders. So she got in the car. Quite willingly.
I drove her home and we had sex on the 5 Freeway in Downtown LA at 3 AM while going 55 miles an hour, to the extent one can do such a thing. Good thing I didn't crash the car. I deny that this was either kidnapping or rape, but it was pretty fun.
Another time I had sex with a drunk 14 yr old (I was 16) on the rooftop of an apartment building at 2 AM, and later she went around telling everyone I raped her. I didn't rape her; she was drunk. I deny that this was rape.
Another time I went to a punk rock show with this beautiful 20 year old named Linda and we both came back, drunk, to my house. I got her on my couch, pulled up her top and started feeling her breasts. "Pleease let me go home," she whined unconvincingly in her best little girl voice.
"No!" I said. "You're staying right here!" I was pissed that I went to all this damn trouble and she was trying to weasel out of the dicking, like they always do.
Plus, earlier in the evening, both of us drunk, she had put me in a shopping cart and raced me up and down some 2 AM streets. She kept "dropping her lighter" on my groin in the cart, and then "having to fish around to find it". Now she was trying to get out of the boning. Well fuck that. The Hell you are, woman.
She was free to leave at any time, as the cops say. "Now get over on that bed right now!" I said, half-smiling and not really threatening. I'm not sure what happened later. Finally I just said, "Fine, you don't want to have sex, I'll just sleep on the couch. You take the bed. See you in the morning."
Then I lay back on the couch and closed my eyes. Next thing I remember, she was saying, "Come on over to the bed." And so it went. I deny that this was false imprisonment or rape, but it was pretty fun, except when she started to puke in bed while we were having sex, grabbed her mouth, and ran to the bathroom and puked for a while.
Basically, with women, you have to read their minds. At some point, via telepathy, you figure you can make your move. At that point you just grab her and start kissing her. You can do it really aggressively or you can do it real soft and nice. Most of the time, it goes just fine. Having to ask permission for everything you do sexually is insane. If we had to do that, no one would ever get laid.
I've been having sex with drunken women most of my life, and I hope to continue doing so. A lot of women are way less inhibited when they're drunk.
I'm embarrassed to admit that there have been quite a few times when I grabbed at women and they did not want to do go along, so they pushed me off or said no in some way or another, along the lines of, "Hey! Knock it off, asshole! Get your hands off me!" Most of the time, I did just knock it off right then, though sometimes I kept trying my luck, and she kept knocking my hands away, raising her voice.
I deny that this is rape or attempted rape or any crime at all. It's actually something called "dating", and I never got any sex any of those times anyway. Once they brush you off once, you might as well give up, because you aren't getting any.
I don't believe I've ever raped a woman according to the legal definition of the word. If she's not interested, no problem. She has ownership of her body and the right to decide not to do this or that with me. As far as the feminist version of rape law above, well, they can just fuck off.
Wednesday, July 09, 2008
They Were Committing Crimes
And no one ever caught.
Thrillseekerman sold dope for 14 years, and the cops never caught on. He finally quit, and now he's scared to do it again, but the temptation is always there, because he so loved the outlaw dealer life where you never get caught and outsmart the law.
He also loved being a dealer because he loved being a criminal. As a dealer, you can be a criminal without hurting anyone else, so if you have a shred of guilt left, and Thrillseekerman does, it's a great Catholic profession.
I mean, a few months ago, or 10 years ago, Internetman met 15-year-old girls on the Net, and they sent him nude pics without him even asking, and said they wanted to have sex with him right now, but they were too far away.
So what did he do with the pics? Delete them, call the cops and turn himself in, or keep them in an evil secret file to show it to his most evil friends? I bet they are gone now. Internetman is paranoid. Were they illegal?
Internetman went into a chatroom the other night, or was it five years ago? There was a teenage girl in there masturbating on cam, and everyone in the room was watching the fun. Well, she was 13, but she looked like a full-grown to him. The chat room was full, mostly kids but some adults too, both sexes. Was it illegal?
It was seven years ago, or seven weeks ago, or seven months ago, and 14-year-old girls came to talk to Internetman in the chatrooms and ask for cybersex. What's a man to do?
It was a while back, or the other day, or some time ago, or 4-7 years ago, and Internetman did the cybersex thing with them, the 14-yr-olds, the 15-yr-olds, and the 16-yr-olds, and of course the droves of legal-aged women as well, and it was all in good fun.
One of them begged and begged for him to send her porn, so he broke down and sent porn to a 14-yr-old girl. Was that illegal? Now he's paranoid, and he'll never do it again. Or will he? Maybe he better not.
In a chatroom, five days ago, or last year, or five years back, the 17-year-old girl saw he had a cam and asked him to turn it on. Internetman did so. She started whining for him to take his pants off so she could see his stuff, because she had never seen one before. "But I've never seeeeen one before," she whined into Internetman's headphones, but he chickened out again.
Internetman went into these really evil chatrooms, just on a wild dare, and people were all trying to do horrible and illegal stuff in there, men and women of all ages, normal folks and weird. Internetman tried not to do anything illegal. Will he go there again? He doubts it.
Internetman went to this chatroom last year, or eight years ago, or yesterday, and met this guy in Kentucky, a psychopath I guess, who wanted someone to rape his wife. You had to break in, tie her up, rape her, and get away with it.
He described the sex acts he wanted Internetman to engage in with his wife. He said you could not hurt her in any way, and that she would secretly love it. Getting away with it was Internetman's business, and the guy would not call the cops and report the rape.
So Internetman sat there and wondered whether or not he could be a criminal rapist and try to get get away with it, under special circumstances of course in which at least the victim's husband consented, but he chickened out at the end.
Internetman met a girl once on the Net a few weeks ago, or was it seven years ago? She was 17 years and seven months old, and wanted sex right now. She kept demanding and demanding, and she would not knock it off. She was a lesbian, but she wanted to try it with a guy to see what it felt like. Internetman figured it was an evil plot by one of his enemies trying to get him arrested for child molesting.
Good thing he was paranoid, so he never took her up.
The Internet is the most evil place Internetman knows.
You can do just about anything on here, and who knows if it's even legal or what. Where are the cops? What's a cop? There are bulletin boards right now where people are asking for child porn and bragging about their antisocial acts, and Internetman knows where they are. He's been to them, lurking, but he didn't do anything illegal.
Internetman went to chatrooms where sex perverts traded porn pics. Mostly it was fun, but some people sent Internetman really illegal pics without him even asking, and he freaked out and deleted them about as quick as they hit the screen. Was that illegal? Did Internetman commit a crime?
One of his drug addict friends, Killerdude, came over the other day, or was it 22 years ago? He asked Thrillseekerman to be the getaway driver for an armed robbery, and Thrillseekerman considered it, but thank God he didn't do it.
A few months back, or 18 years ago, one of Thrillseekerman's doper friends drove the getaway car for an armed robbery and he told Thrillseekerman all about it.
Then the armed robber himself came over to Thrillseekerman's house with his girlfriend and they sat around and took drugs. He seemed like a smiling psychopath, and those guys are always charming in a way. Later Thrillseekerman called the cops and told them the guy's name, but there was not much they could do.
Last week, or 21 years ago, Thrillseekerman called the cops on his friends and tried to get them busted. Once for selling heroin, because Thrillseekerman thought that was shitty. The other time because Thrillseekerman was mad at his friend who sold pot and wanted to burn the guy.
Dopers work with narcs all the time, mostly for revenge reasons. Most people don't know that. Without dopers to work alongside them, every narc in America would be unemployed.
Once, 11 years ago, or a few weeks back, Thrillseekerman stole Killerdude's car, not to be a criminal or anything, but just because he was furious at him, but he brought it back when the cop's son across the street was going to have him arrested.
One time, it was last month, last year, or it was 20 years ago, and Thrillseekerman drove by a business at 5 AM with a slingshot and blew out a window in a business that because he hated it and it was evil.
Committing street crimes like that, which was actually a revolutionary act in favor of people's power and against the crooked businesses that rip off the people, is one of the biggest rushes that Thrillseekerman knows. You will shake like a leaf. You will shake so hard it will be hard to steer the car after you do it. You will be terrified and thrilled all at the same time, and when you get away with it, there will be no better feeling.
Killerdude came over a while back, or 25 years ago, or the other day, and said he was considering taking an offer to kill some guy, from a woman who was offering big money to have her husband knocked off. So they, Thrillseekerman and Killerdude, sat around for hours blasted out of their minds on dope and talked about whether or not you should murder someone for the money.
They discussed Christianity, as in whether or not a Christian should kill, and whether or not the would-be murder victim deserved it since he was a wife-beater, and Thrillseekerman tried to spy on Killerdude for the cops, but it did not work. Thrillseekerman didn't like the idea of killing for money (even Thrillseekerman had some basic values) and thought his friend was degenerating morally.
They took lots of drugs, Thrillseekerman and Killerdude, while they talked about all this insane and evil stuff. It was last month, or was it 15 years ago?
They sat around for hours at night stoned out of their minds on chemicals, saying, "Yeah! I could play the role of the insane serial killer! I could play that role! I could play any role! I could play as many roles as you could! And that's a lot of roles," as they shook their heads and laughed demoniacally but didn't really consider it, just fantasized about it. About what? Being a serial killer? How many people do that?
It was really weird back in those days, or the other day, or whenever it was, but not too many crimes happened.
Once they got loaded and made some bombs. It was a few months ago, or 13 years ago, or back in the 80's. Thrillseekerman had these antisocial maniac friends, some of whom seemed like they might snap, but Thrillseekerman wasn't worried, and they liked to make bombs, like all maniacs do. It's so fun making illegal bombs. The psycho dudes showed Thrillseekerman how to make bombs, which is so easy it's scary.
Then they took the bombs and blew up this dude's windshield (who deserved it) with a fused time bomb, and they slashed his tires, then they took another bomb, this time sort of a firebomb that shoots up a flame, and threw it on some other guy's lawn (who deserved it), and it burned a hole in the lawn.
Making little bombs is the easiest thing in whole world to do, and every revolutionary and maniac of any age might want to make them and set off them in the street at least, that is if you have the nerve, just to see what an explosion looks like and to piss off the neighbors.
They called themselves a gang and sat on the front porch of Thrillseekerman's house and shot BB pellets and rocks and dirt clods at the neighbors' house (who deserved it) and dared them to call the cops.
The people did call the cops, but the cops hardly cared because they thought Thrillseekerman was doing a civic duty by getting rid of the real criminal (the neighbor) he was attacking. In other words, Thrillseekerman was a public service vigilante ridding the neighborhood of scum as he saw fit.
The cops paid him a visit on the phone, told him to watch it, and told him to spend $10 to repair the door Thrillseekerman had smashed in with a baseball bat after laughing maniacally and running across the street in broad daylight as a joke just so the whole world could see it and to dare them to call the cops. If you're doing a public service crime, do it in broad daylight. It was just the other day, or long, long ago.
Another time Thrillseekerman sneaked into the ladies room to take a crap because the criminal, feral, 13 year old Black youths were in the men's room threatening with their eyes to attack anyone who came in. A woman called the cops, and the detectives threatened to kick Thrillseekerman's ass if he did not confess to a perverted crime he did not commit.
He only wanted to confess to taking a crap, which was the only crime he did. Well, he was also trying to see if he could get away with it, so there was a thrillseeker aspect. The detectives quickly figured out he was not a pervert, but they kept on torturing him anyway and trying to get him to confess. Don't you just love detectives? How many people in the US just confess unless the cops beat the shit out of them?
He was 20 again, or was he 50, or was he 35? He was jogging in the park, and Thrillseekerman met a 12 year old girl he had known from an old job for a long time, and they chatted a bit and smiled and laughed, and then she flat out asked Thrillseekerman to have sex with her, and smiled when she said it, just like that. Not only that, but she was beautiful, brilliant, wise and athletic.
And Thrillseekerman considered being the ultimate criminal that you can be, a child molesting sick evil scumbag piece of dirt, but then he decided against it. There are Lolitas and teenage girls that want it, 12 and up, with adult men, 18-45. And if you do it and get caught, you are going down in the worst way.
It was yesterday, or long ago in another lifetime. A whole crowd of gangsters came in the door. There had just been a gang fight, and people were hurt. The gangsters were underage, some of them, but they used an 18 year old girl to get in the door because they knew Thrillseekerman's fatal weaknesses.
Later there were shots fired 50 yards from his door, and the cops didn't even want to take any witnesses. They never do in gang crimes, and besides, in Greater Tijuana, here in California, there are pro-gang Hispanic spies everywhere.
Thrillseekerman's White, and he claims Norteno, or does he? Or does the whole neighborhood? After all, he lives in a Norteno hood, so everyone more or less claims in a way. Thrillseekerman wears jogging shoes with N on them for a reason, or does he?
Three weeks ago, or nine months ago, or 12 years ago, someone came by and flashed a United Farm Workers shirt (Do you get it?) at Thrillseekerman and asked him to go out with a shotgun and kill some Surenos. Thrillseekerman had to think about it for a bit, because nothing would be so thrilling and dangerous, and Surenos probably deserved it anyway, but thank God he declined.
There were criminal opportunities all over the place for decades, right under your nose, people enticing him here and there to break the law and commit serious crimes, some of them felonies, if only one was psycho enough, and they seemed to dare you and egg you on. In the barrio anyway, no snitching was the rule, so you might even get away with it, but you could still get caught.
Note: Readers should carefully read the Commenting Rules before commenting to avoid having their comments edited or deleted and to avoid being banned from the site.
Thrillseekerman sold dope for 14 years, and the cops never caught on. He finally quit, and now he's scared to do it again, but the temptation is always there, because he so loved the outlaw dealer life where you never get caught and outsmart the law.
He also loved being a dealer because he loved being a criminal. As a dealer, you can be a criminal without hurting anyone else, so if you have a shred of guilt left, and Thrillseekerman does, it's a great Catholic profession.
I mean, a few months ago, or 10 years ago, Internetman met 15-year-old girls on the Net, and they sent him nude pics without him even asking, and said they wanted to have sex with him right now, but they were too far away.
So what did he do with the pics? Delete them, call the cops and turn himself in, or keep them in an evil secret file to show it to his most evil friends? I bet they are gone now. Internetman is paranoid. Were they illegal?
Internetman went into a chatroom the other night, or was it five years ago? There was a teenage girl in there masturbating on cam, and everyone in the room was watching the fun. Well, she was 13, but she looked like a full-grown to him. The chat room was full, mostly kids but some adults too, both sexes. Was it illegal?
It was seven years ago, or seven weeks ago, or seven months ago, and 14-year-old girls came to talk to Internetman in the chatrooms and ask for cybersex. What's a man to do?
It was a while back, or the other day, or some time ago, or 4-7 years ago, and Internetman did the cybersex thing with them, the 14-yr-olds, the 15-yr-olds, and the 16-yr-olds, and of course the droves of legal-aged women as well, and it was all in good fun.
One of them begged and begged for him to send her porn, so he broke down and sent porn to a 14-yr-old girl. Was that illegal? Now he's paranoid, and he'll never do it again. Or will he? Maybe he better not.
In a chatroom, five days ago, or last year, or five years back, the 17-year-old girl saw he had a cam and asked him to turn it on. Internetman did so. She started whining for him to take his pants off so she could see his stuff, because she had never seen one before. "But I've never seeeeen one before," she whined into Internetman's headphones, but he chickened out again.
Internetman went into these really evil chatrooms, just on a wild dare, and people were all trying to do horrible and illegal stuff in there, men and women of all ages, normal folks and weird. Internetman tried not to do anything illegal. Will he go there again? He doubts it.
Internetman went to this chatroom last year, or eight years ago, or yesterday, and met this guy in Kentucky, a psychopath I guess, who wanted someone to rape his wife. You had to break in, tie her up, rape her, and get away with it.
He described the sex acts he wanted Internetman to engage in with his wife. He said you could not hurt her in any way, and that she would secretly love it. Getting away with it was Internetman's business, and the guy would not call the cops and report the rape.
So Internetman sat there and wondered whether or not he could be a criminal rapist and try to get get away with it, under special circumstances of course in which at least the victim's husband consented, but he chickened out at the end.
Internetman met a girl once on the Net a few weeks ago, or was it seven years ago? She was 17 years and seven months old, and wanted sex right now. She kept demanding and demanding, and she would not knock it off. She was a lesbian, but she wanted to try it with a guy to see what it felt like. Internetman figured it was an evil plot by one of his enemies trying to get him arrested for child molesting.
Good thing he was paranoid, so he never took her up.
The Internet is the most evil place Internetman knows.
You can do just about anything on here, and who knows if it's even legal or what. Where are the cops? What's a cop? There are bulletin boards right now where people are asking for child porn and bragging about their antisocial acts, and Internetman knows where they are. He's been to them, lurking, but he didn't do anything illegal.
Internetman went to chatrooms where sex perverts traded porn pics. Mostly it was fun, but some people sent Internetman really illegal pics without him even asking, and he freaked out and deleted them about as quick as they hit the screen. Was that illegal? Did Internetman commit a crime?
One of his drug addict friends, Killerdude, came over the other day, or was it 22 years ago? He asked Thrillseekerman to be the getaway driver for an armed robbery, and Thrillseekerman considered it, but thank God he didn't do it.
A few months back, or 18 years ago, one of Thrillseekerman's doper friends drove the getaway car for an armed robbery and he told Thrillseekerman all about it.
Then the armed robber himself came over to Thrillseekerman's house with his girlfriend and they sat around and took drugs. He seemed like a smiling psychopath, and those guys are always charming in a way. Later Thrillseekerman called the cops and told them the guy's name, but there was not much they could do.
Last week, or 21 years ago, Thrillseekerman called the cops on his friends and tried to get them busted. Once for selling heroin, because Thrillseekerman thought that was shitty. The other time because Thrillseekerman was mad at his friend who sold pot and wanted to burn the guy.
Dopers work with narcs all the time, mostly for revenge reasons. Most people don't know that. Without dopers to work alongside them, every narc in America would be unemployed.
Once, 11 years ago, or a few weeks back, Thrillseekerman stole Killerdude's car, not to be a criminal or anything, but just because he was furious at him, but he brought it back when the cop's son across the street was going to have him arrested.
One time, it was last month, last year, or it was 20 years ago, and Thrillseekerman drove by a business at 5 AM with a slingshot and blew out a window in a business that because he hated it and it was evil.
Committing street crimes like that, which was actually a revolutionary act in favor of people's power and against the crooked businesses that rip off the people, is one of the biggest rushes that Thrillseekerman knows. You will shake like a leaf. You will shake so hard it will be hard to steer the car after you do it. You will be terrified and thrilled all at the same time, and when you get away with it, there will be no better feeling.
Killerdude came over a while back, or 25 years ago, or the other day, and said he was considering taking an offer to kill some guy, from a woman who was offering big money to have her husband knocked off. So they, Thrillseekerman and Killerdude, sat around for hours blasted out of their minds on dope and talked about whether or not you should murder someone for the money.
They discussed Christianity, as in whether or not a Christian should kill, and whether or not the would-be murder victim deserved it since he was a wife-beater, and Thrillseekerman tried to spy on Killerdude for the cops, but it did not work. Thrillseekerman didn't like the idea of killing for money (even Thrillseekerman had some basic values) and thought his friend was degenerating morally.
They took lots of drugs, Thrillseekerman and Killerdude, while they talked about all this insane and evil stuff. It was last month, or was it 15 years ago?
They sat around for hours at night stoned out of their minds on chemicals, saying, "Yeah! I could play the role of the insane serial killer! I could play that role! I could play any role! I could play as many roles as you could! And that's a lot of roles," as they shook their heads and laughed demoniacally but didn't really consider it, just fantasized about it. About what? Being a serial killer? How many people do that?
It was really weird back in those days, or the other day, or whenever it was, but not too many crimes happened.
Once they got loaded and made some bombs. It was a few months ago, or 13 years ago, or back in the 80's. Thrillseekerman had these antisocial maniac friends, some of whom seemed like they might snap, but Thrillseekerman wasn't worried, and they liked to make bombs, like all maniacs do. It's so fun making illegal bombs. The psycho dudes showed Thrillseekerman how to make bombs, which is so easy it's scary.
Then they took the bombs and blew up this dude's windshield (who deserved it) with a fused time bomb, and they slashed his tires, then they took another bomb, this time sort of a firebomb that shoots up a flame, and threw it on some other guy's lawn (who deserved it), and it burned a hole in the lawn.
Making little bombs is the easiest thing in whole world to do, and every revolutionary and maniac of any age might want to make them and set off them in the street at least, that is if you have the nerve, just to see what an explosion looks like and to piss off the neighbors.
They called themselves a gang and sat on the front porch of Thrillseekerman's house and shot BB pellets and rocks and dirt clods at the neighbors' house (who deserved it) and dared them to call the cops.
The people did call the cops, but the cops hardly cared because they thought Thrillseekerman was doing a civic duty by getting rid of the real criminal (the neighbor) he was attacking. In other words, Thrillseekerman was a public service vigilante ridding the neighborhood of scum as he saw fit.
The cops paid him a visit on the phone, told him to watch it, and told him to spend $10 to repair the door Thrillseekerman had smashed in with a baseball bat after laughing maniacally and running across the street in broad daylight as a joke just so the whole world could see it and to dare them to call the cops. If you're doing a public service crime, do it in broad daylight. It was just the other day, or long, long ago.
Another time Thrillseekerman sneaked into the ladies room to take a crap because the criminal, feral, 13 year old Black youths were in the men's room threatening with their eyes to attack anyone who came in. A woman called the cops, and the detectives threatened to kick Thrillseekerman's ass if he did not confess to a perverted crime he did not commit.
He only wanted to confess to taking a crap, which was the only crime he did. Well, he was also trying to see if he could get away with it, so there was a thrillseeker aspect. The detectives quickly figured out he was not a pervert, but they kept on torturing him anyway and trying to get him to confess. Don't you just love detectives? How many people in the US just confess unless the cops beat the shit out of them?
He was 20 again, or was he 50, or was he 35? He was jogging in the park, and Thrillseekerman met a 12 year old girl he had known from an old job for a long time, and they chatted a bit and smiled and laughed, and then she flat out asked Thrillseekerman to have sex with her, and smiled when she said it, just like that. Not only that, but she was beautiful, brilliant, wise and athletic.
And Thrillseekerman considered being the ultimate criminal that you can be, a child molesting sick evil scumbag piece of dirt, but then he decided against it. There are Lolitas and teenage girls that want it, 12 and up, with adult men, 18-45. And if you do it and get caught, you are going down in the worst way.
It was yesterday, or long ago in another lifetime. A whole crowd of gangsters came in the door. There had just been a gang fight, and people were hurt. The gangsters were underage, some of them, but they used an 18 year old girl to get in the door because they knew Thrillseekerman's fatal weaknesses.
Later there were shots fired 50 yards from his door, and the cops didn't even want to take any witnesses. They never do in gang crimes, and besides, in Greater Tijuana, here in California, there are pro-gang Hispanic spies everywhere.
Thrillseekerman's White, and he claims Norteno, or does he? Or does the whole neighborhood? After all, he lives in a Norteno hood, so everyone more or less claims in a way. Thrillseekerman wears jogging shoes with N on them for a reason, or does he?
Three weeks ago, or nine months ago, or 12 years ago, someone came by and flashed a United Farm Workers shirt (Do you get it?) at Thrillseekerman and asked him to go out with a shotgun and kill some Surenos. Thrillseekerman had to think about it for a bit, because nothing would be so thrilling and dangerous, and Surenos probably deserved it anyway, but thank God he declined.
There were criminal opportunities all over the place for decades, right under your nose, people enticing him here and there to break the law and commit serious crimes, some of them felonies, if only one was psycho enough, and they seemed to dare you and egg you on. In the barrio anyway, no snitching was the rule, so you might even get away with it, but you could still get caught.
Note: Readers should carefully read the Commenting Rules before commenting to avoid having their comments edited or deleted and to avoid being banned from the site.
Friday, June 20, 2008
Psilocybin Doesn't Cause Brain Damage
Updated July 7:
Told you so.
Hell, I've only taken it, what, 30 times or so? It never fried me, or at least I don't think so. I never noticed any long-lasting harm after taking this drug. One time, I had bright colors for about six months after I took it. Another time, I got depressed and sat around alone on Saturday night feeling sorry for myself. Next morning, I woke up and was not depressed anymore.
One time, I took some, got in my car, and drove from Los Angeles to the Owens Valley, then turned around and drove home again. I think the whole trip took me about 12-14 hours. You can drive great on the stuff if you have a nice, clear, open road in front of you, and the towering Sierra Nevada sure looks great when you are frying. Plus, the stuff keeps you awake for many hours somehow.
I used to sell these mushrooms, and boy was it fun. I was a student, a schoolteacher, a paralegal and a drug dealer. I would sell quarter pounds and pounds and make insane profits like $300 for an hour's work or so. Plus you get to feel like a spy and feel some real terror when you carry the dope around and do the deal itself.
You get to drive past lots of cops with a car full of dope that could send you to jail for a long time. You look at the cops and just drive right on by like nothing is happening. You carry the dope in a briefcase and dress up like an office worker, or you carry it in an athletic bag and dress up like you're going to gym.
There's nothing like the rush you get being out in public with a car full of felonious dope or a wallet full of tainted drug money.
My friends and I dealt dope in the smart way, and most of us never got caught. We were not all totally White, but most of us were raised in a mostly-White beach town. We dressed up like college kids, office workers, gym enthusiasts, and conformed to White middle class society in every way.
Yet we sold dope right in front of the cops and society's noses for years for years and never got caught. There's a luscious feeling in that.
A friend of mine made so much money selling coke that he bought two homes in San Fransisco, one to store the coke and another to live in. He was so hot I didn't dare even look him up. You don't even want to hang around some super-dealer like that.
I just checked him out and he's resurfaced in Southern California, fit, healthy and fifty, selling real estate. A survivor. I guess he never got caught either. Even my Mom shakes her head in admiration of him. White society always respects someone who can outsmart the cops in a not-too-evil way. Why? It places a premium on not being stupid, and not being caught.
I often wonder if other ethnics share this value.
Sometimes I think that these young Blacks and Hispanics nowadays place a premium on getting caught, and therefore being a moron. This I will never understand.
These Hispanic kids around here are the biggest idiots on Earth. They do dope deals, albeit for small amounts of pot, right out in the open in front of everyone. The seem to take special delight in doing an obvious drug deal right out where anyone can see it happen. I guess it's a macho thing.
White middle class me says it's not a macho thing, it's a stupid thing. No wonder they are always getting hauled in on dope-selling charges. They dress up like gangsters and criminals and then wonder why they get stopped by the cops. Duh.
There really is an art to being a criminal.
All in all, psilocybin is a fun drug. You keep hearing horror stories about this stuff, about people who took too much of it and are mentally ill, or people who took too much and are fried in some way or another. Problem is that there is not the tiniest evidence that this stuff damages your brain, unlike almost other drugs of abuse. Yes, the drugs that make you feel the most insane of all do not do the slightest harm to your brain in any way.
I'm not saying take them every weekend. I haven't taken the stuff in about 21 years, and I'm not sure if I will ever take it again. All those stories floating around about people taking too much hallucinogens need to be taken with a grain of salt. If it's harmless to the brain, how is it supposed to create fried-out acidheads? Answer: it's can't.
Taking these kinds of drugs is one of the most bizarre experiences that one can have on this Earth, though, and you can have some really terrifying bad trips. Psychological harm can occur from traumatic experiences.
By the way, it's not harmful to any other organ in your body either. Plus there are long-lasting positive effects, apparently.
On the other hand, this drug can cause HPPD, so I'd advise against taking it. I have HPPD, but I only have bright colors, and it's really not so bad. You're living in a Technicolor world, and if you just accept it, the world looks a lot better this way.
Note: Readers should carefully read the Commenting Rules before commenting to avoid having their comments edited or deleted and to avoid being banned from the site.
Told you so.
Hell, I've only taken it, what, 30 times or so? It never fried me, or at least I don't think so. I never noticed any long-lasting harm after taking this drug. One time, I had bright colors for about six months after I took it. Another time, I got depressed and sat around alone on Saturday night feeling sorry for myself. Next morning, I woke up and was not depressed anymore.
One time, I took some, got in my car, and drove from Los Angeles to the Owens Valley, then turned around and drove home again. I think the whole trip took me about 12-14 hours. You can drive great on the stuff if you have a nice, clear, open road in front of you, and the towering Sierra Nevada sure looks great when you are frying. Plus, the stuff keeps you awake for many hours somehow.
I used to sell these mushrooms, and boy was it fun. I was a student, a schoolteacher, a paralegal and a drug dealer. I would sell quarter pounds and pounds and make insane profits like $300 for an hour's work or so. Plus you get to feel like a spy and feel some real terror when you carry the dope around and do the deal itself.
You get to drive past lots of cops with a car full of dope that could send you to jail for a long time. You look at the cops and just drive right on by like nothing is happening. You carry the dope in a briefcase and dress up like an office worker, or you carry it in an athletic bag and dress up like you're going to gym.
There's nothing like the rush you get being out in public with a car full of felonious dope or a wallet full of tainted drug money.
My friends and I dealt dope in the smart way, and most of us never got caught. We were not all totally White, but most of us were raised in a mostly-White beach town. We dressed up like college kids, office workers, gym enthusiasts, and conformed to White middle class society in every way.
Yet we sold dope right in front of the cops and society's noses for years for years and never got caught. There's a luscious feeling in that.
A friend of mine made so much money selling coke that he bought two homes in San Fransisco, one to store the coke and another to live in. He was so hot I didn't dare even look him up. You don't even want to hang around some super-dealer like that.
I just checked him out and he's resurfaced in Southern California, fit, healthy and fifty, selling real estate. A survivor. I guess he never got caught either. Even my Mom shakes her head in admiration of him. White society always respects someone who can outsmart the cops in a not-too-evil way. Why? It places a premium on not being stupid, and not being caught.
I often wonder if other ethnics share this value.
Sometimes I think that these young Blacks and Hispanics nowadays place a premium on getting caught, and therefore being a moron. This I will never understand.
These Hispanic kids around here are the biggest idiots on Earth. They do dope deals, albeit for small amounts of pot, right out in the open in front of everyone. The seem to take special delight in doing an obvious drug deal right out where anyone can see it happen. I guess it's a macho thing.
White middle class me says it's not a macho thing, it's a stupid thing. No wonder they are always getting hauled in on dope-selling charges. They dress up like gangsters and criminals and then wonder why they get stopped by the cops. Duh.
There really is an art to being a criminal.
All in all, psilocybin is a fun drug. You keep hearing horror stories about this stuff, about people who took too much of it and are mentally ill, or people who took too much and are fried in some way or another. Problem is that there is not the tiniest evidence that this stuff damages your brain, unlike almost other drugs of abuse. Yes, the drugs that make you feel the most insane of all do not do the slightest harm to your brain in any way.
I'm not saying take them every weekend. I haven't taken the stuff in about 21 years, and I'm not sure if I will ever take it again. All those stories floating around about people taking too much hallucinogens need to be taken with a grain of salt. If it's harmless to the brain, how is it supposed to create fried-out acidheads? Answer: it's can't.
Taking these kinds of drugs is one of the most bizarre experiences that one can have on this Earth, though, and you can have some really terrifying bad trips. Psychological harm can occur from traumatic experiences.
By the way, it's not harmful to any other organ in your body either. Plus there are long-lasting positive effects, apparently.
On the other hand, this drug can cause HPPD, so I'd advise against taking it. I have HPPD, but I only have bright colors, and it's really not so bad. You're living in a Technicolor world, and if you just accept it, the world looks a lot better this way.
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Monday, April 07, 2008
I Stuck Gumby Christ On the Wall
The latest death toll figures from Hurricane Katrina can be seen on this website here. The famous Russian neo-Nazi video is on this blog here.
Updated April 12:
I put Gumby on the wall. He's a Christian Gumby now, a Christ Gumby and a Jesus Gumby and he's up there to writhe and squirm for a long time.
I don't know why I did it. All I know is it was late at night, I was seriously wasted, and I saw Gumby smiling and I thought as usual he was laughing at me and my idiotic life. This time I got so angry that I grabbed Gumby by the throat, grabbed a hammer and nails, and nailed the sucker to the wall where he can laugh at me no more.
I have Gumbys all over my apartment. Pokies too. And plastic dinosaurs. There's stupid plastic cows and a plastic Batman and Robin the Boy Wonder (except my toy Robin is not homosexual like the real one), all real tiny, appropriate for a 50 year-old manchild.
I really want me some little tiny armymen. Then I am gonna line those suckas up on my top shelves and get some rubber bands and play Shoot the Armyman.
I'd like some creepy crawlers but I can't find any anymore. We used to make em with Plastigoop. It was good times. Then they would go on creepy crawler marches all over the whole house, only moving a few crawlers at a time, and then moving each crawler a few steps forward. In this way, the insipid marches could go on hours and hours.
There were two leaders of the crawlers, Horny and Hornet, and they were two green horny toads. They were husband and wife, but I never saw them have sex or anything. My leader was Tim, a red spider. I'm ashamed to admit that I still love Horny, Hornet and especially Tim more than any girlfriend I ever had, but maybe most guys are like that?
My Mom stood there and laughed at us like we were so stupid. "Why do you only move a few at a time?" she asked. You know females always think they are superior to us guys, but they don't get it.
The crawlers were in formation and they were a marching army dammit. Plus we got to crawl around on all fours and that's always fun. I still do it sometimes. I will even bark at you and pretend to bite your heels if you give me enough alcohol.
Plus, all males come from creatures that walked on all fours. That part of the collective unconscious faded in women, and it's now a distant memory they only remember painfully while they are cleaning the floor like they ought to do when they are not getting us beers from the fridge. But with guys it's a real thing. Bipedalism is a new thing to us, as is rudimentary speech. Many males still communicate mostly in grunts to this day.
Well, Gumby Christ has started people worrying in the complex where I live. Some of them still think I am a criminal, but it's good for people to be scared of you around here in the Hood. Now there is a rumor going around that I am insane because I stuck Gumby Christ on the wall.
As long I don't start worshipping him, I think I will be ok. When I start bowing down in front of Gumby Christ and yelling, "He died for my sins! For yours and his and hers and Pokey's too!" I promise I will try to seek help.
I admit I was seriously deranged when I crucified him yesterday but it had to be done. He was leading all the toys around here astray and fomenting rebellion in my apartment. I'm the High Priest in this damned apartment and I won't stand for any rebellions, so I killed Gumby, and that is that. Go make a religion and say he died for your sins if it bothers you so much.
People look at the Gumby on the wall and they say man, that is so stupid. I agree. That is why I did it. I normally never decorate walls because guys leave walls bare, and also I'm usually too neurotic and terrified to stick stuff up. I'm afraid it won't look right.
Gumby has two old paintings on either side of him that don't really match. On another wall is a Jesus mask from Guatemala with two Guatemalan knives on either side framing it. People think that is weird too, but they need to be quiet about it or I will pull off one of the knives and show them how sharp it is.
People see all these Gumbys around here and they start laughing. There's Pokeys around too, a gum-man's gotta ride something, and this is before the iron horse. Hardly anyone around here seems to be on my side, except maybe these friends who keep coming over, but I even wonder about them sometimes. I figure Gumby's on my side at least, so there is some comfort.
Sometimes Gumby does ride Pokey around here for everyone to watch. Also sometimes people come over and Gumby and Pokey might try to have sex with each other, as much as a man and horse can do that without the guy dying. People think that is childish too, and it is, I admit.
People see these stupid Gumbys and and ask me if I like Gumby. I say no, I hate Gumby. Then they ask why do you have all these Gumbys. I tell them I don't know.
On another wall is an evil Devil mask from Guatemala. It has two worthless university degrees on either side. Everyone hates it and says it's evil and gives off bad vibes wants it taken down, but that's why I put it up in the first place.
When they object, I just laugh diabolically and tell them I am the Devil, and ramble off a bunch of other names for him like Beelzebub, El Diablo, Shaytan, Satan, and especially The Evil One. I say, "The Evil One", really evil-like, and then I laugh real loud and say, "That's my name!" People get disturbed when I do that, but that's why I do it, and anyway, it's pretty funny.
I went over to see a friend the other day at his store. He was doing carpentry in the basement. I walked into the basement and asked, "Is this where you store the bodies?" He didn't think that was funny at all and I had to apologize. Some people just can't take a joke.
Note: Readers should carefully read the Commenting Rules before commenting to avoid having their comments edited or deleted and to avoid being banned from the site.
Updated April 12:
I put Gumby on the wall. He's a Christian Gumby now, a Christ Gumby and a Jesus Gumby and he's up there to writhe and squirm for a long time.
I don't know why I did it. All I know is it was late at night, I was seriously wasted, and I saw Gumby smiling and I thought as usual he was laughing at me and my idiotic life. This time I got so angry that I grabbed Gumby by the throat, grabbed a hammer and nails, and nailed the sucker to the wall where he can laugh at me no more.
I have Gumbys all over my apartment. Pokies too. And plastic dinosaurs. There's stupid plastic cows and a plastic Batman and Robin the Boy Wonder (except my toy Robin is not homosexual like the real one), all real tiny, appropriate for a 50 year-old manchild.
I really want me some little tiny armymen. Then I am gonna line those suckas up on my top shelves and get some rubber bands and play Shoot the Armyman.
I'd like some creepy crawlers but I can't find any anymore. We used to make em with Plastigoop. It was good times. Then they would go on creepy crawler marches all over the whole house, only moving a few crawlers at a time, and then moving each crawler a few steps forward. In this way, the insipid marches could go on hours and hours.
There were two leaders of the crawlers, Horny and Hornet, and they were two green horny toads. They were husband and wife, but I never saw them have sex or anything. My leader was Tim, a red spider. I'm ashamed to admit that I still love Horny, Hornet and especially Tim more than any girlfriend I ever had, but maybe most guys are like that?
My Mom stood there and laughed at us like we were so stupid. "Why do you only move a few at a time?" she asked. You know females always think they are superior to us guys, but they don't get it.
The crawlers were in formation and they were a marching army dammit. Plus we got to crawl around on all fours and that's always fun. I still do it sometimes. I will even bark at you and pretend to bite your heels if you give me enough alcohol.
Plus, all males come from creatures that walked on all fours. That part of the collective unconscious faded in women, and it's now a distant memory they only remember painfully while they are cleaning the floor like they ought to do when they are not getting us beers from the fridge. But with guys it's a real thing. Bipedalism is a new thing to us, as is rudimentary speech. Many males still communicate mostly in grunts to this day.
Well, Gumby Christ has started people worrying in the complex where I live. Some of them still think I am a criminal, but it's good for people to be scared of you around here in the Hood. Now there is a rumor going around that I am insane because I stuck Gumby Christ on the wall.
As long I don't start worshipping him, I think I will be ok. When I start bowing down in front of Gumby Christ and yelling, "He died for my sins! For yours and his and hers and Pokey's too!" I promise I will try to seek help.
I admit I was seriously deranged when I crucified him yesterday but it had to be done. He was leading all the toys around here astray and fomenting rebellion in my apartment. I'm the High Priest in this damned apartment and I won't stand for any rebellions, so I killed Gumby, and that is that. Go make a religion and say he died for your sins if it bothers you so much.
People look at the Gumby on the wall and they say man, that is so stupid. I agree. That is why I did it. I normally never decorate walls because guys leave walls bare, and also I'm usually too neurotic and terrified to stick stuff up. I'm afraid it won't look right.
Gumby has two old paintings on either side of him that don't really match. On another wall is a Jesus mask from Guatemala with two Guatemalan knives on either side framing it. People think that is weird too, but they need to be quiet about it or I will pull off one of the knives and show them how sharp it is.
People see all these Gumbys around here and they start laughing. There's Pokeys around too, a gum-man's gotta ride something, and this is before the iron horse. Hardly anyone around here seems to be on my side, except maybe these friends who keep coming over, but I even wonder about them sometimes. I figure Gumby's on my side at least, so there is some comfort.
Sometimes Gumby does ride Pokey around here for everyone to watch. Also sometimes people come over and Gumby and Pokey might try to have sex with each other, as much as a man and horse can do that without the guy dying. People think that is childish too, and it is, I admit.
People see these stupid Gumbys and and ask me if I like Gumby. I say no, I hate Gumby. Then they ask why do you have all these Gumbys. I tell them I don't know.
On another wall is an evil Devil mask from Guatemala. It has two worthless university degrees on either side. Everyone hates it and says it's evil and gives off bad vibes wants it taken down, but that's why I put it up in the first place.
When they object, I just laugh diabolically and tell them I am the Devil, and ramble off a bunch of other names for him like Beelzebub, El Diablo, Shaytan, Satan, and especially The Evil One. I say, "The Evil One", really evil-like, and then I laugh real loud and say, "That's my name!" People get disturbed when I do that, but that's why I do it, and anyway, it's pretty funny.
I went over to see a friend the other day at his store. He was doing carpentry in the basement. I walked into the basement and asked, "Is this where you store the bodies?" He didn't think that was funny at all and I had to apologize. Some people just can't take a joke.
Note: Readers should carefully read the Commenting Rules before commenting to avoid having their comments edited or deleted and to avoid being banned from the site.
Friday, March 28, 2008
This is a Psycho Blog
That does it. Something has finally driven me to the edge. What was it?
Nine-digit zip codes, what else? I swear to God if I ever have to deal with another of these otherworldly abominations, I will grab a shotgun and climb a tower. I'm so flaky I can barely even keep track of my cell phone, car keys and wallet. How they heck do they expect me to remember nine random numerals?
Nine-digit zip codes, what else? I swear to God if I ever have to deal with another of these otherworldly abominations, I will grab a shotgun and climb a tower. I'm so flaky I can barely even keep track of my cell phone, car keys and wallet. How they heck do they expect me to remember nine random numerals?
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
A Good Host Assaults His Guests
A few years ago, I used to be really nice, and for a long time, no one much came over. I'd socialize with the guy downstairs and with my roommate, but that was about it other than trips to the coffee shop. No one was coming over all that much. There was me, my roommate, and my computer. Long nights writing. It's true I didn't have much of a social life, but I rationalized it all away.
I had friends, but they usually didn't come over, and I did not go over there. I was living a pretty normal introverted life that a lot of writer-types probably lead, but it was dissatisfying.
There is nothing wrong per se with people keeping to themselves, being introverts, having a few friends, or maybe even having no close friends outside of family. Thing is, I'm a bit of an extrovert in a way.
Introvert though I am, I do like to be around people. Visitors coming over every day is a great thing. And it's a good day if I went and knocked on a friend's door. It's nice to hear the cell phone racket ringing with my friends at all hours of the day and night, and it's nice to call a friend on the phone.
All of these things are values, that when lacking, make life seem to me somewhat impoverished and ridiculous. If you go out somewhere, it's better to have at least a somewhat warm interaction even with a clerk or someone in a waiting room than a cold or unfriendly reaction. I even go out every day to a coffee shop just to get my human fix, and hopefully it's not totally unpleasant and rejecting.
So here you have in me a peculiar mixture of introvert and extrovert, which is probably what most folks are. Loners are fine, but it's unsatisfying to me. And extreme extroversion is exhausting to me. I like people around a good part of the time, and then I like to be alone. I'm reading and writing, but others are in my home. It's paradise.
What is odd is that recently I have taken to assaulting my houseguests, and now I have more folks coming over than ever. Plus I went and banned a bunch of people who used to come over, often on relatively minor grounds. Now you have to be 18 to walk in the door, and there is a good-sized ban list. You would think I would be a pariah, but everyone wants in the door, even the underage and the banned. Go figure.
I also made a really hardass, Nazi rule list that everyone knows about. Violations can get a harsh warning or even a temporary eviction. The rule list is not hard - it just asks people to act like humans and not wild animals - but a lot of folks can't seem to manage that these days.
In addition to bans, age limits and rule lists, I have also start to assault guests when they violate the rules. It would be better if I would just assault them at random for no reason whatsoever, but I am not so good at being totally crazy at the moment.
So when guests violate the rules, I assault them with a squirt bottle. Unfortunately there are a couple of squirt bottles around, so the guests arm themselves and fight back. Throw in some intoxicants and it's good immature fun for kids of all ages. You have grown adults hiding behind chairs and leaping out to ambush other grownups. Sometimes nothing beats regression.
Lately I have decided to up the ante. I have a small writing table. In response to some rule bans by my slob house guests, I picked up the writing table, charged across the room, and threatened to assault the violators with it. I didn't actually hit them of course, but the threat alone was a barrel of monkeys. I was hoping they would call the cops, but unfortunately they never did.
Funny thing is since I have been attacking my guests, I have more company than ever. One wonders if folks just need to get attacked every once in a while, either due to a psychological need to just to keep them in line.
I do recommend that you assault or threaten to assault your guests on occasion. Even the best guests get out of line, and a good host runs a tight ship. Anyway, folks can't seem to get enough of it.
Check out the article. It's now a therapy, Mean Therapy. I love it; how do I become a counselor? Let's hope it sweeps the nation. Uncover your inner jerk today!
I had friends, but they usually didn't come over, and I did not go over there. I was living a pretty normal introverted life that a lot of writer-types probably lead, but it was dissatisfying.
There is nothing wrong per se with people keeping to themselves, being introverts, having a few friends, or maybe even having no close friends outside of family. Thing is, I'm a bit of an extrovert in a way.
Introvert though I am, I do like to be around people. Visitors coming over every day is a great thing. And it's a good day if I went and knocked on a friend's door. It's nice to hear the cell phone racket ringing with my friends at all hours of the day and night, and it's nice to call a friend on the phone.
All of these things are values, that when lacking, make life seem to me somewhat impoverished and ridiculous. If you go out somewhere, it's better to have at least a somewhat warm interaction even with a clerk or someone in a waiting room than a cold or unfriendly reaction. I even go out every day to a coffee shop just to get my human fix, and hopefully it's not totally unpleasant and rejecting.
So here you have in me a peculiar mixture of introvert and extrovert, which is probably what most folks are. Loners are fine, but it's unsatisfying to me. And extreme extroversion is exhausting to me. I like people around a good part of the time, and then I like to be alone. I'm reading and writing, but others are in my home. It's paradise.
What is odd is that recently I have taken to assaulting my houseguests, and now I have more folks coming over than ever. Plus I went and banned a bunch of people who used to come over, often on relatively minor grounds. Now you have to be 18 to walk in the door, and there is a good-sized ban list. You would think I would be a pariah, but everyone wants in the door, even the underage and the banned. Go figure.
I also made a really hardass, Nazi rule list that everyone knows about. Violations can get a harsh warning or even a temporary eviction. The rule list is not hard - it just asks people to act like humans and not wild animals - but a lot of folks can't seem to manage that these days.
In addition to bans, age limits and rule lists, I have also start to assault guests when they violate the rules. It would be better if I would just assault them at random for no reason whatsoever, but I am not so good at being totally crazy at the moment.
So when guests violate the rules, I assault them with a squirt bottle. Unfortunately there are a couple of squirt bottles around, so the guests arm themselves and fight back. Throw in some intoxicants and it's good immature fun for kids of all ages. You have grown adults hiding behind chairs and leaping out to ambush other grownups. Sometimes nothing beats regression.
Lately I have decided to up the ante. I have a small writing table. In response to some rule bans by my slob house guests, I picked up the writing table, charged across the room, and threatened to assault the violators with it. I didn't actually hit them of course, but the threat alone was a barrel of monkeys. I was hoping they would call the cops, but unfortunately they never did.
Funny thing is since I have been attacking my guests, I have more company than ever. One wonders if folks just need to get attacked every once in a while, either due to a psychological need to just to keep them in line.
I do recommend that you assault or threaten to assault your guests on occasion. Even the best guests get out of line, and a good host runs a tight ship. Anyway, folks can't seem to get enough of it.
Check out the article. It's now a therapy, Mean Therapy. I love it; how do I become a counselor? Let's hope it sweeps the nation. Uncover your inner jerk today!
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