Did I Just Fart?

Have you ever sat in a cold car with heated seats and wondered if you had just shit your pants? 

I'm asking because it happened to me today. 

My car was having "issues" and I needed to replace the flasher relay under the dashboard.  No problem, really.  But I wasn't going to drive it to work in that condition because I really do try to avoid accidents and cops. 

A coworker named Thomas agreed to give me a ride home.  He went outside, started his little car, and I got in the passenger's seat.  The leather seats were cold but I felt a growing warmth spread from under my ass. 

So let's review.  It's a very small car packed with five people and I'm terrified I've just crapped my pants in a fit of incontinence.  I wasn't worried about my beige pants so much as the people I was with having to be in a car with somebody that just fouled their drawers like a little kid. 

This is where my mind began to race.  How does one tell a person they just shit themselves while sitting in their car?  It's a rude thing to say to somebody.  First, Thomas was kind enough to give me a ride.  He didn't have to.  He could have just said, "I can't, I'm full."  But he didn't.  Instead he had the other folks in back squeeze together and give me the front seat.  And nothing is worse than a fat guy dropping a runny pile of heiny gel in your car in the first mile of a 20-mile trek. 

But I wasn't feeling a squishy lump or any sort of object, so I figured I must have broken a fierce wind, and since it was quiet nobody would know unless it smelled.  But it was so warm under my butt I figured it would have been a deadly cloud of mustard gas or a juicy lucy.  In my mind, I went over the best way to break the news of this chemical attack hadouken to Thomas and my fellow passengers. 

"Hey guys, I had one break out of me without warning and you'll want to roll down the windows.  I think this one's got some meat on it." 

OR

"I don't know what I ate but we're all gonna find out in a second." 

OR

"I know it's winter time but you're gonna want to roll down the windows instead of smelling what just came out of my ass." 

OR

"Sorry guys, whatever crawled up my ass and died is off-gassing and I'm pretty sure I've solved the winter heating bills." 

OR

"Please forgive my ass for its trespasses as it forgives those who have sinned against it." 

OR

"Bonzi!"  


Either way, I had to come up with something quick, because the heat was growing hotter and spreading all around my backside. 

But then a thought occurred to me. 

"Thomas," I asked.  "Are your seats heated?" 

"Yeah," he said.  "Feels good, doesn't it?" 

"Oh thank God!  I thought I'd shit myself."

Please remember, folks.  If you have heated seats, you have an obligation to tell your passengers about this, because I know I'm not the only one who wonders about these things.  

The Best Video Game Ever!

Have you ever wanted to torture somebody?

Who hasn't, right? 

That guy at the bar who kept rubbing on the women...

That person at work who left greasies all over the toilet seat and didn't clean up after himself.

The driver who pulled out in front of you on the highway.

The woman who stole your man.

The man who stole your woman.

The list goes on and on and on.  At some point in your life, you have wanted to torture somebody--to hurt them.  If for no other reason than to really drive home the point they could make better choices in life.


I wish a game developer would create a game where we could torture somebody.

The premise of the game would be simple--we are interrogators for hire and we get contracted out to extract information from various people.  Male and female.

The first levels are for us to learn our trade.  We get our people, bind them, and go to work for some basic info.  The more we hurt them, the more information we get.  If the person dies before we get our information, we lose and have to restart at the beginning.  Plus, sometimes they'll give us anything just to make the pain stop.

Torturing people is an art form.

One of the biggest problems with games is how we are so limited in what we can do.  In my game, we would have the entire body to work with and a vast array of tools to use.  The higher the levels, the more parts of the body we would have available.  At first, we might only get the hands and feet, maybe an eyeball.  But in higher levels, we would get every square inch of their skin, and we could do anything we wanted.

A few years ago, a movie came out called Unthinkable.  I thought it was the most namby-pamby, candy-assed movie to come out in years.  Samuel L. Jackson just yells a lot.

But I did enjoy the premise--there are nuclear weapons out there and this guy knows where to find them.  so we have to torture him until he talks.

And let me assure you folks, I'd make him sing.  You got nukes?  I have ways of making you talk!

So my game would include all the special extras that you can use in torture.  The informant's bio, complete with family members and special acquaintances.  In higher levels of the game, we could bring them in on the project, too.  No rules, no limits.

This is the most frustrating thing about games--you just can't go off the rails and do whatever.  You can't grab an informant's brother and waterboard him while the informant watches.  Why would you do that?  Because hurting the ones somebody else loves makes them realize how serious you are about getting your information.

In my game, you could use blood transfusions to keep the person from dying on you.

But nobody wants to make this game.  Nobody has the courage or is crazy enough.  But here's the real reason I suspect--they know it would be popular and they don't want so many people to realize how horrible we humans truly are to each other. 

Plus it might give some people ideas.

But if there are any game developers out there, let me know if you are interested, because I really feel this game would take off.  

I Survived 2014! What do I win?

I'm not going to lie:  2014 was a meat grinder. 

In this past year, I have endured all kinds of emotional trials and shit I didn't think I would survive.  There were nights I was afraid to sleep because the nightmares were stacked up two and three deep every single night for days on end.  There were e-mails I knew I didn't want to read and tons of calls I ignored because I knew it would just tear me up. 

This past year was a new lesson in poverty. 

This past year was a new lesson in just how much I can endure. 

This past year taught me I can do more with less. 

This past year taught me I can't ignore problems forever. 

This past year taught me to face a demon I never wanted to acknowledge even existed. 


It's a funny thing facing your demons.  You can wall them up in a corner someplace for a long time but eventually they get out.  Maybe your brain decides it's time to let it out so you can free up the space.  Or maybe the demon figures out how to pick the locks. 

For me, it was a trigger.  Something happened to me that triggered a series of memories and suddenly I was right there again.  But I ignored them some more. 

My brain didn't want that, so it reminded me with repeated clubs over the head, until I faced it. 

Good friends can lead you up to that platform where you stand face-to-face with that big, ugly fucker but in the end it's just you and the demon. 

And sometimes the demon wins.   Maybe mine did, I don't know.  I'm still here, but that doesn't count for much these days.  Survival is the slowest form of suicide and I feel so very old these days. 

This past year has made me feel like I have sat at a river and watched several lifetimes roll by while I wasn't participating in any of them.  I felt like I was in the cheap seats. 

At some point 2014 will make sense.  I have no idea right now.  I'm still dealing with it like the remnants of a bad flu bug that you just can't shake.  The emotional curb-stompings, the financial dirty sanchez, and all the other shit in between. 

2014 gave me a Cleveland Steamer. 

But in a few hours, it'll be over with.  I can start fresh and new.  And I will do just that. 

Out with what isn't working and in with something new!  New everything!  If it is causing me emotional or physical discomfort, then it is leaving my life, and I do not intend on looking back.  There is a checklist and I'm going down it item-by-item. 

Maybe 2015 is for redemption.  I feel like I owe it to myself.  Not for any other reason than because I simply have not done enough for Me. 

So that is going to be my theme for 2015.  Redemption.  We'll see how that works. 

An Indictment of December

December is the cruelest month. I have always found it to be far worse than April.

December is a time for alienation. Those of us who are less-than and too much just don't enjoy this time of year. It always feels like the Christmas Joy being spread is for other people and not us. We don't get that in our lives.

Not us. We less-thans and too muches don't fit in all of that. We know that when we drive by a tavern at night and see it lit up with people inside laughing, that's not for us. We know that none of our friends are inside and if we went in, nobody would even know who we were.

House after house full of people, lights, trees, candles and laughter. None of it for us. And if we were invited, it would feel like sandpaper on our teeth. Instead, most of us go home to our empty apartments and houses, only to watch a movie or surf the web.

We less-thans and too muches simply do not belong. The happiness, the joy, the comfort—all of it is for those other people.

We are at our most vulnerable in our loneliness.

December is when we remember those we've lost. There is a gaping hole where those people should be and nothing can fill it. But the loss isn't nearly as bad as the memories. Those shadows that sing to us and re-create those wonderful times we once had only to remind us that we were happy once. Yes, a long time ago, we were happy.

December is when those empty spaces next to us are canyons. And as we see happy couples around us, we are reminded of just cold and dark the nights can be. 

December is when we realize all we were promised in the previous months, all that was held out for us to have and be, was nothing more than bullshit.  

December is when we recall being the victims of others. The slurred speeches from drunken people claiming to love us still ring in our ears.

December is when people tell us about all the crap they bought and in our heads we convert it to rent payments, tanks of gas, groceries, power bills, and all the other stuff we need to survive. And then we realize that no matter what we wanted to do for somebody, we never could, because we're a less-than and a too much and too broke.

December is wrong for all the wrong reasons. It's a time we're told to be happy and we simply are not. It's a time when we're supposed to feel close to the people around us and somehow that distance seems stretched. December is when we count down in anticipation of a day that means cramped, stuffy rooms full of people we normally would never associate with while we are told to feel emotions we do not feel.

December reminds me of the dystopian futures where evil tyrannical governments place signs everywhere that scream at us to be happy no matter how unhappy we feel. And only if we submitted ourselves to the to the insanity around us we would feel comfort and joy.

Every day in December feels like the morning despair after a failed suicide attempt.

There is no Santa Claus. No special elf will come save us. No Father Christmas or magical snowman will show up on our front lawn. The ghosts of Christmas are only in our memories and serve only as our tormentors. No angels will visit.  Nobody will come in at the 11th hour and save us. 

There is nothing.

This is my last December. I'm not going to die, but instead I'm going to re-name this fucking month and make my own holidays. No more of this shit. I realize now that I cannot walk away from the past if it keeps coming back up every 12 months like a shitty Friday the 13^th sequel. And I will never have the reality being force-fed to us as soon as Halloween ends.

Those of us who are less-than and too much can change only so much, but this is certainly in our power and grasp. We don't have to live like this. And as I write this, it is Christmas Eve and I am so emotionally drained I simply no longer care about much of anything.

We are at our most vulnerable in our loneliness.

I am already working on a new paradigm for the final month of the year. It is one that doesn't include a lot of the gibberish and bullshit we've become accustomed to and replaces that with something more creative and relevant. Those of us who are less-thans and too muches don't need to spend this bleak midwinter feeling like hungry ghosts. It doesn't have to be like this.

Fuck December.

Fuck Christmas.

There is nothing.

We Less-Thans and Too Muches: Life in the Friendzone

I could never date a woman who had standards so low that she would go out with a guy like me.

Groucho Marx said something similar and I stole it. It just seems to sum up how I feel about dating.

I'd like to say I'm dating again but that's misleading. 

I'm not dating I'm looking for a woman I can dupe and con into going out with me, because she obviously doesn't know me very well.

Such is the life of having no self-esteem and a dark sense of humor. I have always had trouble with these things. I've always been less-than the right things and too much of the wrong. And a lifetime of being a Less-Than and a Too Much has left me gun-shy.

Dating is stupid, anyways. But I don't do hook-ups so this is the next thing available for guys like me. Instead, lately I've been falling for friends, which is always a great idea. Even better, they've been friends who live a considerable distance from me, making even the best-case scenarios painful and doomed. I've been keeping my mouth shut about this because I've been in enough train wrecks and would rather just sit back and watch others go through them.

Nobody wants to participate in a train wreck. And being a Less-Than and a Too Much has given me a perspective that allows me to see into the future. I see failure. Lots and lots of failure.

Long-distance relationships are doomed to fail no matter what. Sure, we hear a few stories once in a while, but for the most part it is all crap. The usual way it happens is, the women are afraid of real intimacy and the men are nutjobs, lunatics, and basement-dwelling neckbeards with emotional issues. Horrible, horrible.

I've been in a series of online relationships and even at the best of times, it felt like I was on fire. It felt like I was burning up because I liked her, she liked me, and we were so many miles apart we wouldn't see each other for a long time.

And then there's the jealousy of them having fun without you, or you knowing guys are hitting on them while you're not around, or worse they might even be satiating their physical needs with somebody else while connecting with you emotionally. I've had that happen before. I was her emotional fluffer. I built her up, some other guy would take her down.

The worst part of long-distance emotional connections in The Friendzone is hearing them tell you about what they did with the guy they chose over you. Love it! Spent the night cuddling? Had great sex? Outstanding, I'll be over here with the razor blades carving shit into my legs because it feels like my chest is about to explode. Tell me more!

Equally as bad is seeing the person you care about being treated like crap by the guy she chose over you. Once again, nothing I can do but type fucking platitudes into a chat window or text message. That's the limit of what I can do--Go Me!

I once had a girlfriend who would leave me for men who abused her. She would come back for a time only to leave me again for some other horrible asshole and suffer all kinds of terrible things, then come back to me again. Her stories tore me apart because I would ask myself over and over again one question—what was wrong with me that she would choose such terrible men over me every time?

Nope! I won't do it anymore. If she can't slap me or spit on me, then we ain't dating. No lead time getting to know somebody anymore. Down n' dirty the whole way. Do you like creepy guys? Yes? Great, let's go out!

When you meet face-to-face, nothing is hidden, and you know what you are getting yourself into. A few extra pounds? Fine. A high, squeaky voice? I can deal with that. Feet like a Hobbit? Um...we can always work on that. Just keep them covered up for now and I won't talk about my van until we get to know each other better.

As I've said before, I work in a sex club. Everybody hooks up and dates each other. This is all well and good but most of the women there are barely legal, or way too young for me, and they know it. So when I say something as simple as, “Hi, how's it going?” I am laughed at or worse. I don't think of myself as my real age, but they sure do, and just talking to them creeps them out.

One thing I'm happy for is how I no longer find myself hopelessly infatuated with my lesbian friends. That used to be a problem. I could spot a lesbian from 100 yards and instantly think she was The One. It was a nightmare. And the worst part was, I knew they were gay, I just figured there was a bit of bi thrown in as well, and I could be that part of their lives. Hopeless. No use. That was college and I blame it on a phase.

So yes, I am back on the market, as it were. I find nothing exciting by it. I'm terrified. And because I'm a Less-Than and Too Much, it opens me to far worse things than rejection. I've been teased, catfished, laughed at and the butt of all kinds of cruel jokes.

But I'm back on the market. Let's see what horrors await!

Nothing's Funny. Well, Wait a Minute...

After yet another weekend of my favorite team shitting the bed, I feel obligated to pay some attention to my blog, but it has been hard because nothing has been very funny.

My love life is beyond DOA.  Dead bodies, I can handle.  Oh Baby, can I handle dead bodies.  You have no idea what...

Sorry, I digress.

Well, no...I won't digress, dammit!  I have an idea!

People donate their bodies to science all the time.  You can even fill out cards so that when you do kick the bucket and leave this shitty existence, various parts are cut off, and stuffed into somebody else.  After all, parts is parts, right? Sure, it saves lives and whatnot, but what about lonely people who want some company?

Instead of simply burning a body and adding more carbon to the air, people should have the right to allow their bodies to be sold or donated to necrophiliacs. 

Funerals are expensive and let's face it, most people just get cremated anyways.  It is such a waste to throw out a perfectly good body when somebody can get so much enjoyment out of it. 

Now I'm sure a lot of families would be upset about this.  Nobody wants to think of their dear sister or brother getting some special lovin' after death.  But what about all of those unclaimed bodies?  Jane Doe and John Doe? 

Furthermore, what if somebody actually signed a waiver or legal form of some kind allowing for their body to be auctioned off upon death for the purpose of making some very lonely person happy?  After all, it is their body--why not let them decide? 

These kind souls would be reaching out to all kinds of lonely people who need a companion but for various reasons can't find one with a heartbeat.  Loneliness is the killer of our society and what better way to help them than by allowing them the one thing they need? 

Imagine the Hollywood elite signing the waiver and asking for an auction where the proceeds would go to their favorite charity?  Anna Nicole Smith would have made more money in death than in the last few years of her life. 

The problem is, I can see a major opportunity for bad people to do bad things.  There's always the greedheads who want to fuck up a good thing.  Once word gets out that certain celebs have signed the waiver and legal forms, they become targets, where killers would pop them just so they could go on the market.  It would turn into a huge disaster as good-hearted celebrities who wanted to only make a lonely person happy would become the targets of assassins trying to poison them.  Well, I assume it would be poison, because who wants to reconstruct a face that pretty?  It's a messy job and it never goes back together again the right way.

I guess those poor, lonely necrophiliacs will have to keep finding their lovin' the old fashioned way.  And that is truly a sad thing.