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I’m Not a Piece of Meat, Guys…

Ok, I know I’m an attractive young girl. I eat right and I work out. I am writing today to enlighten you perverts who, day in day out (please, don’t get aroused by the words in and out in the same sentence), whistle at me or stare at me like rapists. I’M TIRED OF IT.

Let me tell you something, when I did Anal Sluts 18, I did it for me… I did it to open doors in my journey to become a famous actress. I did NOT do it for you sick, twisted individuals to pleasure yourselves to. I just don’t get it. Why don’t people appreciate art anymore? When I did Soaking Wet Schoolgirls 69, I did it because I like the wardrobe choices and the director was someone I wanted to work with forever. Now, when I walk around a crowded city street, you sick child molesters approach me with questions like “So, barely legal, huh…?” or “Why don’t you sit on Daddy’s lap and tell me what present you want in return for keeping our secrets”. Ugh, if I wanted to relive my childhood I’d go back to that fucking asshole counselor who put me on those mood stabilizers that turned me into a fat couch potato. NO THANKS, JEFF.

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Cash for Gold

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The Greatest Story Ever Told

More unfunny content below:

The title of this one is both a terrible movie and also an excellent record. And probably some other stuff, but this entry will be fueled by pure emotion and less google.

Today it occurred to me that ‘The Greatest Story Ever Told’ is a collection of tens of billions of stories all at once. It is everything you could ever imagine because it’s, at its core, the stories we tell ourselves. One can write a pretty compelling account of a person suffering from a myriad of delusions and make it worth reading, but I don’t think there are many writers that can capture the disconnect between reality and our own internal dialogue as well as we can read them through our own experiences. (I’m sure you assholes can parade a shitload of books that disagree but I don’t actually know how to read so this is where I’m at.)

This could relate to that diet you told yourself you were sticking to, or how, fuck man, you really should cut back on that drinking or whatever, but at the end of the day sometimes you gotta look at yourself and go, shit, I fucked up… It sucks but it happens. It is life and it is always fucking weird. A story can be told many different ways. Sometimes you aren’t the hero. But truthfully, that is ok. That IS life. Our lives are pretty much a kind of twisted choose your own adventure that sometimes leaves bad tastes in our mouths or the mouths of the next motherfucker. What do you do? Keep learning. Keep a super detailed mental journal of your journey and keep your stupid head up and keep moving onward. Fuck, I cant tell you how many times something has happened in my life where I thought, well that sucked, and tried to blame something or someone else to kill whatever shitty feeling I had or whatever dumb choice I made on something else. It works sometimes. It does, but you aren’t actually living until you come to terms with ownership of those things.

I had sold myself a pretty exciting story that, when told out loud sounded as fantastic and ridiculous as anyone elses fucked up dreams. I realized today that I was rehearsing this one just a little too over the top, complete with a rickety stage and some makeshift scenery that when put to the test just fell apart like the dream itself. It is what it is. I’ve been too scared to dream for too long. When I do the sandman comes and smothers me with my own pillow. Then I go to this dark place for what seems like forever and then emerge slightly different. Then the scientist in me changes methods and tries again. Over and over until someday one will stick. This particular attempt just polluted my view like a car fire though.

The Greatest Story Ever Told WILL be filled with emotions both great and terrible. There will be smooth seas and choppy waves that sometimes swallow some part of you if not you as a whole. It will feature what could have beens and what is truly reality. It will be different from the story the other participants are reading/creating inside themselves. I find that incredibly frustrating yet exciting.

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Sometimes I wish I was still a child

In the recent weeks I have been called “sir” on two separate/unrelated incidents. One was a polite young man holding his girlfriend’s hand in a corn maze I encountered as I frantically tried to regroup six excited children running in different directions. I called him sir back just to be an asshole. The second was this weekend when I ran into my cousins step dad (who was an intimidating dude when I was a child). Here is why this frustrates me. I’m so fucking juvenile it makes the sir moniker sound absurd.

I get that people universally bitch about their own moments in their lives when they became this, older, whatever it is that people see when they decide they are going to call you something weird and point out that their genitals are presumably less wrinkly than my genitals. As the title suggests though, I kind of long for the days when I didn’t have these visible signs that life takes a little something away from you each year you endure it.

Yesterday I thought about my kids and how they see the same situation I am seeing. Like, they don’t know that there is a bowl on top of the fridge, or these two people who just met at this party totally want to fuck each other. They don’t have to look at a room full of people and dislike them because you just instinctively know that most people are self absorbed pieces of shit who would definitely drive off if they ran you over on your bike and no one saw it. I do know that though and it makes things sort of stale and unpalatable. So lets imagine I get to go to my kids fall concert last week and I’m sitting there next to my daughter trying to record my sons little concert and I look around and see nothing but a bunch of people in their forties and fifties with kids the same age as mine who live these charmed lives in their sheltered community and I just cant relate to them. My daughter is in fifth grade now so I’ve been seeing this same group of “sirs” and ma’ams” for five years at this point. I’m certainly not anything like that (although I do drive a Honda). When I go to pick up or drop off a child at one of these places the parents want me to hang out with them and church up their boring lives. I’m interested in that as long as their is free beer. I will drink your beer and tell you stories you can freely pass off as your own all day long. If not though, you are on your own. I can’t stand it! I get that dorkiness and social skills are some sort of personal journey or exercise, I am just not entirely sure its not contagious and I’m not going to take my chances.

*It should be noted that dorkiness and age are not related in anyway. You could be a cool old guy/girl. They totally exist. (holy fuck google images and I have some differing views on what ‘cool’ is) My friend HB is a bit older than me but he is one of the coolest dudes I know and he feels this same way! Also dorkiness is not related to nerdiness either. Some nerds are out there doing some amazing things making all of our lives way easier. It’s about this undefinable thing that just makes me not like a person for no tangible reason at all.

So, yeah, uh, this went in a completely different direction than I had envisioned. Innocence is weird and valuable and dorkiness is not acceptable.

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This Shit is Sobering

Alcoholism- Alcoholism is when you have signs of physical addiction to alcohol and continues to drink, despite problems with physical health, mental health, and social, family, or job responsibilities. Alcohol may control your life and relationships.

The following questions are used by the National Institute on Alcohol Abuse and Alcoholism to screen for alcohol abuse or dependence:

Do you ever drive when you have been drinking?

Do you have to drink more than before to get drunk or feel the desired effect?

Have you felt that you should cut down on your drinking?

Have you ever had any blackouts after drinking?

Have you ever missed work or lost a job because of drinking?

Is someone in your family worried about your drinking?


I dunno folks. That short list doesn’t seem to capture the essence of it though. Here is a quick and dirty as it comes outta my mind and onto this screen. I have to rush this because I am at work unfortunately.

Anyone who knows me in real life would put me up real high on their list of “that guy loves to/can drink a shitload”. There is not a day (seriously not one day) that goes by that I don’t wake up feeling like I’m not operating at 100 percent. There is not an afternoon that goes by where I think, maybe I should take a night off. At the end of the day though, I grab a beer after work. It’s the first thing I do.

I am apparently more of an alcohol abuser than an alcoholic by definition. I guess.

Unfortunately, other people that I know and love are not as ‘fortunate’. I have watched alcohol fuck my family up. I’ve now watched it literally kill people I grew up looking up to as they were my parents friends. I’ve watched it turn my mother into a ghost of the person she used to be. Sadly, I don’t believe there is anything I can do about it. I had to put in some serious serious time and energy into understanding this and radically accepting that.

Its not necessarily about “do you black out” or “do you have more than five drinks in one night”, it’s more about “have you hit rock bottom and broken yourself physically and mentally?” That’s more of a realistic standard in my opinion. That kind of looks like alcoholic ‘bargaining’ though.

At some point, it becomes too late to turn back. I believe this (unfortunately). Once you’ve lost your family, your job & your house, once you’ve completely shattered yourself physically and spent a bit of time in jail to think about your actions, if you still look at your hand and go “fuck it, I’m all in”… no one can help you. I have already mourned the loss of my mother as if she were already dead. It’s bullshit but that’s pretty much what life seems to be about. Just grab a stick and try to scrape between the lines on the bottom of your shoe until you get back outside and step in some more or it smears all over your brand new carpet.

If any of you can relate I’d venture over here:

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Lindsay Lohan and I Spend the Afternoon

Anyone who knows me knows that I have been drawn to disordered relationships and people for as long as I can remember. With that in mind, follow me as I harass a pretty (busted) girl into letting me interview her over lunch.

It all began innocently enough. Years ago, after the movie Mean Girls, Lindsay began to waste away to nothing which is when I began to actually take notice. I mean sure, she was attractive enough in that movie I guess. I dunno, I kind of prefer the hooker/addict look she works with now. Although all of the cocaine had made her too skinny, I knew she would bounce back into a woman I could be into. So I mailed a letter to her manager.

To: Jason Weinberg
Untitled Entertainment
331 North Maple Drive
3rd Floor
Beverly Hills, CA 90210
Phone: 310-601-2100


I am writing today because I would like to conduct a non invasive, feel good, interview with Lindsay. What do I need to do to get her to grant me this interview.

“Go Team Lindsay”


To: Team Lindsay
DBA Dollar Drafts HQ
10 Inches Dr.
Put it in Your Mouth, IL 65555


We were pleased to receive your letter. These days it feels more like a public lynching whenever Lindsay steps outside. Its refreshing to hear from a true fan. So what sort of media outlet would this interview be shared on?




To: Jason Weinberg
Untitled Entertainment
331 North Maple Drive
3rd Floor
Beverly Hills, CA 90210
Phone: 310-601-2100


Hey thanks for the response! I would simply post it on my blog. A quick Q & A over lunch. I have planned a picnic. Does Lindsay have any allergies I should be aware of? Although I haven’t posted in months, I believe this would drive tons of unique traffic to my page and I would paint her in such a positive light it could hopefully kick start her career. I mean, lets face it, type her name into Google today and it looks like you are doing a pretty shitty job managing her. Anyway, my blog got two hits just yesterday. Two visitors who after all this time giving any sort of shit what I have to say is two people I believe we can convince that Lindsay is still growing up as opposed to full on psychotic.

Unrelated note… “Untitled Entertainment” kind of sounds lazy. Maybe you should give it a title.

“Go Team Lindsay”


To: Team Lindsay
DBA Dollar Drafts HQ
10 Inches Dr.
Put it in Your Mouth, IL 65555

I tell my team all the time that I hate the name of our company. These guys say that they are “simply hanging on until Lindsay finally dies and the ship sinks” so they don’t see the point in changing it.

Lindsay has agreed to your interview. How does September 4th sound? I will call you to confirm so we don’t have to wait for this terribly outdated method of communicating.




The day was upon us. I was completely nervous. I think it was mostly fear though. You see, with Lindsay, she actually IS a psycho. She can arrive and be any number of different personalities we have seen over the years. I have to be ready for all of them. I prepared a checklist:

-Picnic blanket and basket
-fresh veggie sandwiches as well as turkey and cheddar (mayo and mustard packets, salt and pepper)
-strawberries and blue berries
-an assortment of chips and cookies
-freshly squeezed juices
-cell phone with voice recording app already installed

On the surface it was shaping up to be a lovely afternoon. However, in the event bad Lindsay arrived I was prepared for that as well.

A cooler in the trunk packed with seasonal beers and a 750 ml of vodka. Glasses as well as a water bottle so she could pretend she was sober. I left my wallet on the dashboard to tempt her. I slid my watch off and put it in the unlocked glove box. I rented a car and left the keys in the ignition and parked next to it when we arrived at the park. Her management team surely was bad at what they do.

She arrived this morning (Sept 5th) fashionably late by about 24 hours. I was still wearing the same clothes from yesterday and clutching the flowers I had purchased for her which had now wilted as I had not moved to water them. Her make up was smeared and she smelled like cigarettes. I think there was cum in her hair. I was into it though. Hell, I’ve had worse first dates.

She asked to use my bathroom before we head out. I obliged. I watched her as she walked down the hallway toward the bathroom. I had forgotten to hide my medicines. As a general rule of thumb though, I switch my antibiotics and painkillers into the others bottles. Who needs antibiotics.

We arrived at the forest preserve shortly after 11 am. I selected a great spot and laid the blanket down. She disagreed and wanted to move. She turned the blanket about four inches clockwise and declared it was now perfect. I didn’t see the point but I also didn’t argue. And so we began.


I hadn’t even asked a question when Lindsay began to ramble.

Lindsay: So yeah, things are great… I’m currently reading three scripts for some major roles!

Me: …

Lindsay: In one role… I would be playing a princess… I would live in a huge castle made of drugs and jewelry and fancy cars piled on top of each other as though I crashed them just so to form a functional wall. There would be a handsome prince pursuing me romantically, as well as some second princess or whatever in case I feel like being a lesbian for a while.

*I shifted in my Indian style seat. The box of condoms in my back pocket was too bulky and I was uncomfortable. Apparently a manic Lindsay had arrived. She wasn’t gritting her teeth and her pupils were tiny, but it was also pretty sunny out. I had surmised this was indeed mania as opposed to a coke bender.

She continued on. I still haven’t asked a question.

Lindsay: In another roll, I will be a trophy wife of some super famous sports player. I forget what sport but its supposed to be based on a true story… OJ Simpson maybe? Does that sound familiar?

(I secretly look forward to this one)

She droned on and on and on and I honestly just stopped listening to the tape because it was so boring. I fast forwarded to this part here where I was finally able to break in with a word in edge wise.

Me: So Lindsay… why do you think your arms and face are breaking out into hives?

I smile knowingly.

Lindsay: I dunno but I didn’t take those painkillers.

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Well Are You?

Imagination – $20 (Elk Grove )
Date: 2012-07-11, 12:37PM CDT
Reply to: [Errors when replying to ads?]
I’m (sadly) selling my summer home. It is a popsicle stick home that I assembled with love and dreams (and glue and popsicle sticks). Every day, when I get home from work, I gaze longingly at this piece and imagine myself living an entirely different life in this beautiful home on some sort of endless vacation. A life where I am a retired baseball player. Or a massively famous celebrity who has finally found solitude and seclusion. It could be placed at the foot of a mountain range…on a farm, surrounded by crops and animals… your own imagination is your only limitation.

This dream generator can be yours for a paltry 20 dollar bill. Are you courageous enough to explore yourself?

2 bed 2 bath



Help! – m4w – 31 (Nw burbs)
Date: 2012-07-10, 10:27AM CDT
Reply to:
I am looking for someone to come over two or three nights a week to masturbate me. Last week, in celebration of Americas birthday, I drove over to Indiana and bought a whole trunk load of fire works for my party. It was supposed to be an awesome gathering of all of my closest friends and family. However due to the heat, nobody came. So I attempted to drink my way through the five cases of beer I bought. Beer and fireworks = bad. I started tying m80’s together thinking more is better. Somehow, I fucked up and didn’t throw the twelvem80stiedtogether (that’s what I called it) and it blew off my hands.

So, if you would be kind enough to help me I’d appreciate it. I kind of smell like shit because wiping your ass with no hands is also hard.


Whoever this Terri Aki person who responded is, I love them. Thank you for playing with me today!

TA: Are you serious? If you are I might be open to it. It’s been too long since I have had a man in my hands. Ever since my feet were run over with a lawnmower by my stupid ass ex boyfriend, nobody wants to go out with me. If you don’t mind mangled feet, maybe we can help each other out?


DD: I like your style Terri. Is it hard to drive?

TA: You can’t even imagine. I have to duct tape small crutches to my calf to push the pedals down. It’s tough, but it gets the job done

DD: When my grandpa lost his leg he had his car outfitted so he could drive with just his hands. seemed cool. I wanted to get that just for fun but now it seems dumb.

perhaps you can sit on my lap and ill deal with the pedals and you do the steering?

TA: Sorry to here about your grandpa.
That sounds like an idea. Maybe we could practice in a parking lot first to get our rhythm down. Maybe a bumpy parking lot 😉

DD: we can just drive around my yard if you want. I have a gopher problem. the yard is extremely uneven

TA: Sounds like a deal. I would have replied earlier, but I was at lunch. I had crab legs, I know, ironic since I don’t have feet either. How do you manage to eat? It must be tough to make a peanut and butter sammich.

DD: lol i missed you. I had lunch at this thai place by my work. I usually just mash things together with my stumps and shovel it in. Ive been thinking about a captain hook type hook but with a fork attachment.

I find pants to be difficult. Buttons are the devils practical joke on the handsless.

TA: I bet the buttons are a problem. You don’t have a John Deere mower do you? That’s what ran my feet over. I’m deathly afraid of those now. I try to run, but I only look like someone trying to run on ice on stilts. It’s not pretty. I’ll have to be careful of the gopher holes too. Are your stumps healing well? I have this amputee fetish and I kind of want someone to stick their stump in me. I know that sounds strange and understand if you wouldn’t want to try it. Maybe I could give you a stump job with my ankle stumps.

DD: Ive just got a craftsman pushmower. Which, come to think of it, will be yet another challenge. I can totally appreciate your “fear of the Deere”. My family out in Moline used to talk about that phobia all the time (since they all worked there and heard horror stories often). Should be another few weeks before my injuries are sterile enough to stump you. I’m into it though. I recently wrote an article for my blog where I explored acrotomphilia. Turns out Im like the hipster of fireworks accidents having somehow predicted our meeting today.

TA: Oh good. I like Craftsman. Maybe we can zip tie each other together, you walk, and I’ll push. I’m glad your into stumping me, I’ll definitely enjoy it. Can you wiggle the ends a little too? I bet that would drive me wild. I have a few others I would like to explore too if you are interested.

DD: who needs zip ties? Lets play gimp porn twister… you stuff your ankle stump into my butt and Ill wrist stump you in the love canal and we can just roll around like a beach ball at a concert. I also have a tazer. So when Im inside you I can just shock myself in the shoulder and my wrist will vibrate

TA: Mmm, that sounds like a good time. You have a tazer? That is awesome, I was going to hook up small jumper cables to each of your balls with a battery. Maybe we can get all oily and tazer the both of us with one blow. I like electrical play, it turns me on. I’ll bring a big plastic sheet, between the oil and electric shocks, there could be some involuntary messes made.

DD: One time, about ten years ago, a power line snapped and fell onto the wooden over hang out behind my work. I was afraid it would catch fire so I grabbed it to pull it off but it shocked me so hard I shit my pants. I had a boner for like two weeks after that. Years later I reflected fondly on that experience and picked up the tazer to recreate it. I need a new shower curtain liner anyway. We can just use that if you come to my house. Ill grab some oil later

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The Difference Between Us and Them

We’ve all read countless entries about how kids these days are sheltered, undisciplined, and out of control. Parks these days don’t even have wood chips anymore, let alone tall metal slides. In sports, everyone gets a trophy (that we pay for). But recently it occurred to me that, perhaps, its not the outlawing of corporal punishment that is entirely to blame. I think it’s because kids are smarter than we were.

Yes, I left all of my toys out… I also hacked your Wi-Fi and hot wired your car.

In the before times, you learned about EVERYTHING from your older siblings or a drunk uncle. Things that connected to your television were ALL coax, and we did research with dusty old books. Today, kids have the internet. End of argument. If I were the same person I was when I was like 10, in today’s world, my search history would be like:

“what does the word pussy mean” oh really?


“can I buy cigarettes on here?”

“how do I unscramble the porn channel on my stolen cable”

“Santa clause is bullshit right?”

We never stood a chance! The extent of our universe had boundaries based on what your dumb parents told you. Your dad could have told you he was a fucking doctor back then and you were forced to believe it. Today your kid can look up professional licenses. This polarizing difference between us and them applies to EVERYTHING ever. You can no longer just say “because I told you so” to them because its meaningless.

“Clean your room!” we bark at them…

“why, you don’t?” they reply (the balls on these kids)

“I’m always drunk, whats your excuse?”

Can’t win with this asshole…

It’s not entirely their fault that they are the way they are. Everything is cooler now. I, as a parent, have struggled to grasp this concept for a long time. At this point, the only thing you have over them is that you pay the bills, except you can’t not do that. Trust me, I have internally debated all sorts of Draconian punishment when my kids try to mutiny. Now I’m thinking, we should just have them apply all this knowledge they have for our own benefits.

“Son, if you can shop my insurance online for me and save me money I will take you to that stupid Cheesy fucking Mouse place you love with the horrible pizza.”

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Wow! Has it been this long?

Hey folks! Turns out I fell asleep at my post. Here I was supposed to be leading you guys (by the cobra hairs) into the wondrous unknown and instead I’ve been just laying out on the rocks soaking up the sun like the cold blooded creature I am. So what should we talk about? Let’s not talk about the weather. That’s what people do when they are bored with each other. Um… today I made fun of a pastor from Liberia…? That was amusing. He (predictably) mentioned that Jesus died for our sins. Now, I’m not going to do a religious blog because who cares… but I really wish that Jesusheads would shake it up a bit and stop regurgitating the same bullshit rhetoric I have already tuned out. And also… the internet is a preachers nightmare. I can type “ridiculous things in the bible” into google and make you look like a fucking idiot. The sad part is I am committing all these to memory at this point. I want to intellectually wrestle one of these cash grabbing pieces of shit on my tv on the weekends.

Hmm. What else? I have been sick for a while here. I feel like Doc Holliday though most nights when I’m all hammered so that’s cool.

Last week tried my patience at work. I actually wrote a huge entry on that but it turned out a bit to mean for me to share. It was called “A is for Asshole/Race Ya to the Grave” and it was about really shitty people. I often think about the lifestyle that I lead and how I have made some poor choices and how, perhaps, I shouldn’t stay in situations that make me feel like shit myself, but then I get a sort of “I bet I can endure more than you can dish out” type mindset.

Just fielded a phone call and chugged a bunch of beer and lost my train of thought. So, in closing, I want to feel up my neighbors wife on their hammock.