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Monday, September 25, 2006

Farewell, East Coast

It's Monday morning, September 25th. Time for the Eggman to set sail. I apologize in advance for the lack of posts this week, but I anticipate being very busy with my cross country road trip. If you are reading this at your soul-crushing job with your shirt tucked in and face cleanly shaved, take a moment to imagine Raynok cruising down those good old USA highways. Sun on his face, blunt smoke in his lungs, and wind blowing through his morass of tightly curled hair as he makes his way to the American Southwest with nary a plan nor a care. With that thought, I bid you to make sure to nourish your inner caveman. Do not shun or ignore him as he is likely to burst out of your humanoid shell at the most inopportune time- or more likely, the next time you are drinking. Eggman also invites you to come forth with questions. If you have a problem or situation and you'd like a caveman's advice, please email me at raynokeggman@gmail.com. Furthermore if there's a particular story you'd like me to relate or just something you'd like to hear my opinion on, you can let me know that, too. Again, sorry for the lack of posts, but I promise to regale you with the complete roadtrip chronicles as soon as I can.

Thursday, September 21, 2006

My Dead Baby

It was Fall of '04 and Boston was alive with the power of conception. The humble townsfolk were out and about enjoying their last days of mild weather before the frosty winter would restrict them to the indoors. I was in town visiting my cousin whose face had just been smashed in by a male assailant (no joke). Some troglodyte had attacked her for no reason, so understanbly she was a little shaken up. It was a Friday night and she went to bed early so I went out with a couple of her friends. We got very wasted, as they were still in college and I have an alcohol problem. I liked the appearance of the one named Dolphin Face so I charmed her with my modern caveman ways. I held her hand to show her 'Raynok like mate with you'. She squeezed back, so, like any other mammal, I escalated the physical contact. Soon we were back at her place drinking wine, taking pills and listening to Hole's classic Live Through This at an outrageous volume. We initiated homo sapien mating rituals like frenching and 2nd basing and before I knew it we were engaged in homo sapien procreation mechanism, 'intercourse'. Obviously I was in a very compromsed state of mind. The tortured wail of Courtney love mixed with the brisk Fall air, slowly giving way to the hollow chill of winter. It was all compounded by the fact that I was shit-canned and all pill-ed up. It was a spooky night to say the least. Listlessly pumping on top of this perfect stranger, the noose of evil tightening around my distended genitals, she moaned, "Come in me...I want you to come in me". Now, anyone who's seen Boyz N' the Hood knows that even if a girl tells you she's on the pill, you use a C anyway. Anyone who's graduated middle school knows that when you're already inside of the girl with no condom and you ask her if she's on the pill and she says (!)'No, but it's okay', you definitely DON'T come in her. But what did I do? I threw my web deep inside her, releasing a hard charge of genetic material into the cavernous reaches of her insides. We engaged in mating a few more times that weekend, but those other times I was in better command of my faculties and sensibly pulled out, making my mess all over her bed sheets and/or body. The weekend ended and I headed back to New Jersey, where I was, of course, living with my parents. I kept in touch with that wild Dolphin Face, and over the next couple of months we met up twice more. It was in Mid-November that I got the call- Dolphin Face had my young growing in her belly. To my delight she was extremely reasonable and wanted to kill the baby, which obviously I was all for. It turned that the she had actually been pregnant and killed that baby on a previous occasion, which shocked me, on account of her admirable safe sex practices. I didn't go up to Boston to be with her during the vacuum session, as I was vacationing in Miami. Although I did send her a somewhat thoughtful care package, she was nevertheless pretty pissed off at my lack of calls and general handling of the situation. We haven't spoken since, with the exception of a few irate messages she left on my voicemail. But although she charged the abortion to her father's credit card, the whole experience was not without a price. In fact, this incident left a real mark on me. In the eternal words of Fast Times at Ridgemont High's Mike Damone, "75 dollars and a ride? Doesn't sound free to me". Soon after this debacle, I penned the following poem which conveyed my feelings about the whole thing. It is aptly titled My Dead Baby.

My Dead Baby

upon a heap of moldy earth, your flesh will rot away
inside a yellow biomedical waste bag
in a place i will never see

born of boredom, desperation and carelessness
you never had a name, and you never will
i could never afford you because i sell mortgages and i am bad at it

you rest like a lead weight on the ocean's floor
in a morass of rancid filthy trash
a peacefullness i envy

you will not grow up big and strong, you will never learn to ride a bike
but maybe someday space dinosaurs from the future will eat your bloody guts
and that would make me happy

Let this all serve as a public service announcement to my readers. This particular story had a happy ending: my offspring's young life was extinguished before it could do any damage. But that's only because I was lucky. Dolphin Face was crazy, but not crazy enough to unleash that hellion upon this unsuspecting earth. The moral of the story is, men: be mindful of that liquid gold which resides deep in your testicles. Do not simply assume that because she lets you in there raw, that she's on the pill. And under no circumstances should you ever release your goo into a woman unless it's your girlfriend, a menopausal woman, or a nameless hitchhiker.

Wednesday, September 20, 2006

The Pole Hang






Those of you that know me personally have likely seen me demonstrate this brawny feat of strength. I think the photos are self explanatory. I once held that position for 30 seconds for a bet of 'one drink' at Mardi Gras '00. The man actually tried to welch on the bet, but I had won the favor of the crowd, and they urged him to settle up, which he did then. This story can be verified by Ramon, Rob Aaymes or possibly Newman. Thanks to Nick Vegas for capturing this amazing feat of strength on film!

Welcome to My Blog/Disclaimer

This is my blog. MINE! I have created it because I have alot to say and, frankly, I think the world needs to hear it. You may think the world is doing fine. Afterall, you still have your Monday Night Football or your Sex & The City DVDs. You eat your nice chicken sandwich and chuckle at the president's latest blunder. But let me be the first to tell you: You are in great danger. You live in a world which views vapid celebrities as gods, prefers style over substance, and, worst of all, chooses religion over truth. In fact, if you are religious, let me just warn you now: I think you are stupid and I don't respect you. In fact, I think you and your kind are the single biggest problem plaguing our fragile planet right now, but that is fodder for another blog at another time.
I think that our government is fatally flawed and completely incapable of doing any good. I am aware that fixing the system would be a truly monumental task, but does that mean we should not try? Should we instead watch as our great country crumbles and the very idea of freedom evaporates into thin air? I bet you'd be cool with it as long as you got to see pictures of Paris Hilton fucking Tom Cruise's baby, wouldn't you? You pathetic piece of shit.
But seriously, this blog is going to contain some offensive shit. I want to warn homosexuals upfront- I often use the words 'faggot' and 'homo' but generally to emasculate straight men. I have nothing against gay people, and I have often found them to be among the most tolerant individuals one could hope to meet.
But I don't want you assholes to go thinking this whole thing is gonna be me shoving my radical beliefs down your throat. I'm also a real funny dude. A little about me:
Much like your average crocodile, sea mollusk or any other organism on planet Earth, my chief interests are eating, sleeping and reproducing (fucking). Beyond that, my most favorite things are laughter, alcohol, drugs and art (art meaning music, movies, books- not museum shit). I get into a great many adventures, usually several per weekend, and those will all be chronicled here as well. Just to whet your appetite, here's what you can look forward to in the near future:

In 4 days I will embark on a cross country road trip with one of my intelligent dirtbag buddies. We will be partying in 5 different cities, including New Orleans, LA and Austin, TX. In 2 of the cities we will be staying with college students. I think this is a good time to mention that I'm 26 years old and living with my parents. In fact, this is the 2nd time since college that I've been forced to move back home after moving to expensive cities (Miami and NYC) and spending every cent that I have- all while adhering to a strict diet of not working. My destination at the end of the trip? Beautiful Scottsdale, AZ where I'll be moving in with a man named 'Lunatic' Jim who only drives Cadillacs. My other roommate will be Lunatic's 65 year old father whose Southern accent is so thick that I can only understand the curses.

So what will I be doing when I move out there? I don't know, man. But I do know I'm not cutting this wild mane, I'm not shaving this beard, and I'm not tucking in my goddamn shirt. Yes, I realize that's somewhat limiting. But Raynok will make something happen. He always does.

Bringin' HairyBack

(obviously to the tune of Timberlake's SexyBack)

I'm bringin' HairyBack
You waxed up homos don't know how to act
Check out the mane growin' down my back
I'm how a human looks and that's a fact

I am a hairy man. Not freakishly or uncomfortably hairy; not like one of those guys at the beach who appears to be wearing a football jersey of dense matted hair- but certainly hairier than your average man. I liken myself to a young Tom Selleck or Sean Connery. Sexy Hairy. Badass Hairy. Sadly, this image of the natural virile man has been all but wiped from existence in today's Hollywood. I can't tell you how many times I've seen a ridiculous waxed chest or bald asscheeks on grown men in movies. It looks absurd and it creates an unrealistic ideal for people in the real world. A particular scene in the movie Along Came Polly comes to mind. In the very end there's a sight gag where you see Ben Stiller's slick bald asscheeks. How much funnier would that have been if you saw the ridiculous pattern of that guy's asshair?

I can't even watch Southern California porn anymore- they don't look human. I don't understand how anyone can be turned on by watching this completely hairless roided-out man jackrabbitting over some balloon-titted collagen faced humanoid with a bleached asshole and 2 pounds of whore makeup. Seeing every nook and cranny of the dudes waxed ballies in those close-ups is horrifying. I don't know about you, but when I jack off I want to see something that looks like a human being, something I might actually be able to procreate with. Those other things look like a different species. We might produce sterile offspring like when a horse fucks a donkey to make a mule.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not against self improvement or even personal grooming, although clearly I don't do much of it. I just think we are taking it too far in this country. We all want to look like the beautiful celebrities. Yay! But that's just not a reality for most of us. There is a sickening amount of plastic surgery and altering of our bodies. Here's a good rule of thumb: narrow it down to the one part of your face or body that is the most disgusting and get that taken care of. Don't do any major overhauls, that just makes you look scary. I also think it could carry dire evolutionary consequences for our species. Consider the following example:

Betty is a fat slob. She has a unibrow and a 3 inch mole on her cheek. Her ugly face has no bone structure, her tits lay like pancakes, and her pussy lips look like elephant ears.

Pedro is one of those Mexican wolfmen with literally his entire face and body covered in hair. Of course underneath all of that he's ugly as sin with a bunch of backwards teeth, searing halitosis and a 2 inch dick to boot.

Luckily, both of these mutants have rich parents. Betty gets her stomach stapled, her mole removed and her eyebrows waxed. They nip, tuck and stuff her privates. They cut open her face and shove a bunch of plastic in there to give it some decent shape. They probably throw in some collagen for the lips too, all the bells and whistles.

Pedro goes to the orthodonist and the dentist to fix his repugnant mouth. He gets his skin turned inside out, a couple of nose jobs and part of his ankle removed to make into a longer dick.

They both look great. They meet, fall in love and get married. Now, just imagine their offspring. It would be an absolute beast! A horror! I fear that if we keep deceiving our sexual partners as to our true physical traits, our progeny will turn into repulsive mongoloids, needing more and more surgeries and procedures with each successive generation.

Tuesday, September 12, 2006

Who I am

Let me tell you who I am. I am Raynok. Some call me the Eggman. I'm also known as the Modern Day Caveman- partly for my appearance, partly for my demeanor. But I'll get to that later.
Let me explain what this site is. The world of Raynok contains the stories of my 26 years of life as I've tried to navigate the treacherous waters of young adulthood. My stories are a bit different than most, for I've spent my days avoiding gainful employment like the plague, instead devoting my efforts to drinking, smoking and the pursuit of women.
In my years of young manhood, I've resided in Atlanta (college), Miami (selling weed), New Jersey (living with my parents, selling mortgages), Manhattan (selling mortgages), and Scottsdale, Arizona, having ludicrous adventures in each and every locale.

I moved to Scottsdale, where I currently live, in October of '06, following a strange and unexpected occurrence. I was living in New York City, selling mortgages and running myself into the ground with partying, just like I had done in each of my previous attempts at grown-up life. Then, out of nowhere, I fell in love. Being with my girlfriend has allowed me to quell the demon force which compelled me to party and get women, and I have finally been able to focus on pursuing a career in writing, which has been my dream. This site, among various other odd endeavors, is the result of that focus.
If this is your first time checking out my site, I recommend you start at the beginning, with my first post, Bringin' Hairy Back. On this website, the newest stories appear at the top, so in order to read the whole thing in the sequence I have written it, scroll down to the Blog Archive and click September. Read the posts starting with the bottom one first and move up. The blog will make the most sense in this way.
If you want to jump to around and read stories from the different places I've lived, you can either click on the city name above, or scroll down and check out all the different categories of posts on the right side of the screen. In addition to the stories of my life, there are some rather unorthodox opinion pieces peppered throughout. If you want to find out a bit more about why I look like a ridiculous weirdo, scroll down and read my brief explanation below the picture. To the longtime readers who don't feel like seeing this post every single time they load this page, I suggest subscribing to my feed. Simply click on the orange icon at the top right and each new post will be emailed to you automatically. To the rest of you, please enjoy, but
be forewarned, this is by far the tamest post that has ever appeared on the site; my stories and opinions tend to be pretty ferocious.




I keep this appearance for a number of reasons, the biggest of which is quite simply freedom. I feel wild, free and most of all, human. In my opinion, never have I looked better or cooler than when I decided to stop cutting my hair and beard. In the recent past, I was feeling boxed in by the demands and expectations of society. I was under the impression that one needed to subscribe to the arbitrary grooming rituals of our modern time in order to achieve success with women and a career. This impression is largely true, but one day last summer, I just stopped caring. I no longer wanted to live in a world where I'm forced to be someone I'm not. I knew that I'd be happier as a poor man scrapping for success than a rich (or at least comfortable) man just going through the motions. Now that I look like a wild-eyed vagrant, I'm all but forced to be myself, no matter the occasion. It's proved to be limiting in terms of acquiring a job, but it's also a good litmus test; any place that won't hire me because of how I look is almost certainly a place I would not like to work. As for now, I'm working as a bouncer at a college bar in Tempe, and that suits me just fine. I have no plans to cut my hair or my beard, and the past 6 or 7 months that I've been letting it grow have been among the happiest and most productive days of my life.