Wednesday, December 20, 2006

Top 10 Incidents Involving Urine

I want to get a few things off my chest before we get to the list. First- fuck Steve Jobs. Fuck him in his stupid faggot ass. I'd like to step on Jobs' neck and tear his fucking eyeballs out. I purchased a Macbook on Thanksgiving, and it has been nothing but trouble. After spending hours on the phone with customer service/support, I had to send it back about 10 days ago, and it's still being repaired. This leaves me without a computer, which makes doing these posts a much bigger pain in the ass. Hey Jobs- CUT YOUR FUCKING ADVERTISING BUDGET AND TRY SELLING COMPUTERS THAT ACTUALLY FUCKING WORK! Second, I'd like to give a big FUCK YOU to any young people getting married who don't plan on having kids in the near future. Newsflash, cocksuckers: marriage is a business contract. There's no point to enter into it unless you plan on taking your relationship to the next level. Ordinarily, I don't give a fuck about anyone who's not in my immediate circle of friends/family, but this week I'm forced to sleep on the couch every night because of the poor decisions of some corporate cocksucker (that's as much of an explanation as I can give). So, fuck him, and fuck you too. Third, I was finally able to see the Tenacious D movie last night, and it was fucking awesome. I knew we were in for a treat when the pimple crusted teenager who took our tickets said, "It's in theatre 11, to your left- and it's a kickass movie!". This is not a movie for everyone- in fact, if you're not a stoner, don't see it. But, John- definitely see it.

Also a few words about these urine stories- I'd like to thank Ramon, without whom, most of these stories would not have happened. In fact, Ramon was physically present for 5 of the 10 incidents, and I give him credit for the genesis of involving urine in our carousing. It all began during soccer practice one day, when Ramon pissed in a bottle of Gatorade and then watched his friend Adam Eyesler drink it. By high school, Ramon had honed his urine craft, and we had even had a game. If one of us went into a public bathroom, the other would sneak in after him and try to piss on his shoes. And by college, Ramon had an amazing technique which allowed him to continue drinking at the bar, no matter how badly he had to urinate (see below). Finally, without further ado, the top 10 piss stories:

10. Sphinx' Chest
Cousin Sphinx and I were both very young, say 10 years old. I was staying with him and his family at their beach house in Hull. It was dusk, and nobody was left on the beach. Sphinx wanted to be buried in the sand, and I complied. When I realized he could not get up, I unleashed a hot stream of piss on his chest and ran away.

9. Hull Piss II
Sphinx and I were older now, and more advanced with our urine trickery. This time, we joined forces against our sisters, who were engaged in a prank war with. We each pissed into a misting bottle and sprayed a light film of urine all over their sheets. The piss rotted quickly in the summer heat, and before long, their bedroom smelled like a mens' room at a football game.

8. The King and I
I was 17 years old, and it was a Friday night. King and I didn't have plans, but we wanted women. We bought a bottle of Rumplemintz, a 30 pack of beer, and a funnel and drove to the beach. We walked up and down the beach funnelling beers and looking for babes. King found one, and I didn't. Neither of us got play, and we walked back to my truck completely shit-housed. We went to sleep in the back of my Tahoe and woke up drenched in piss. We found some of the piss-soaked clothes outside of the truck. We still don't really know what happened.

7. Ramon at Bars
As mentioned above, Ramon developed an ingenious technique for avoiding the bathroom at bars. He would stand or sit at the bar, drink his drink, chat it up with the people around him, and surreptitiously pull his cock out and piss all over the bar. This was one of his signature moves. It only backfired once, during the Blackface incident, which will be chronicled here at some point. I have used this technique many times as well, and I highly recommend it at crowded bars. To the best of my knowledge, Ramon still does this.

6. Allman Brothers Concert
This was my first experience pissing on a live human being who wasn't related to me, and it was very enjoyable. About 10 of us had piled into Rob's van for the concert. We were 17 (some of us 16) and we got completely destroyed. Quaze was sleeping face down on the grass. When we later harrassed him for missing the whole concert, he famously replied, "I heard the whole thing". On the outskirts of our circle of mayhem, there was a hippie girl who seemed to be on heavy hallucinogenic drugs. She was dancing by herself, barefoot, eyes half-closed, really feeling the music. I pulled out my weiner and started pissing right next to her. The pee was splashing all over her feet, but she didn't care, and so I began to piss directly on her feet while swirling my hips and laughing like a lunatic.

5. Administering Striker's Piss
Striker and I were at Proof in NYC with a bunch of the Cornells. It was a Thursday night, all you can drink for 20 bucks. Obviously we were out of our minds. Striker finished his gin and tonic, and filled his cup back up with piss. He even put a new lime in and added more ice. He dared me to get someone to drink it. I approached some nearby college asshole and challenged him to a chug-off, and handed him Striker's cup of piss. He downed it like an animal and noted that it was so easy, just like water. Then we got the hell out of there.

4. SARS' Roommate
This occurred one year after the Manson-inspired events described in "Raynok in DC". Ramon, Johnny, Quaze and I were all at SARS' apartment. SARS was Quazar's girlfriend at the time, and we were completely laying waste to her place. Ramon was tearing around the place with his pants at his knees and headphones on, annihilating SARS' apartment while listening to Justin Timberlake's first album on his Discman. Johnny and I were behaving more low-key, encouraging Ramon's destruction, and using SARS' roommate Dana's room as a toliet. We each took several pisses in the corner of her room, for absolutely no reason*.

3. Mardi Gras
Ramon went to school in New Orleans, so I spent the '00, '01 and '02 Mardi Gras' with him. I have no clue what year this was, but I know it was 8 or 9 AM- it was definitely broad daylight. We were still partying from the night before, and I was under the influence of several drugs. There was a man passed out on a couch which sat on the front lawn of Ramon's fraternity house. From the second story of the house I unleashed a long stream of urine onto this man, emptying the entire contents of my bladder on this slumbering stranger's face.

2. Senior Prom
As per North Brunswick tradition, we spent the weekend following senior prom at the beach in Wildwood, NJ. I was ejected from the house after just one day for my outrageous behavior which included dying myself blue, breaking bottles, refusing to wear any clothes at all, and pissing on Paul Rosavere. Paul was passed out on a pile of his own clothes when I decided to piss on him. I aimed at his chest, and after a few seconds he woke up to see a howling Raynok standing above him dousing him in urine. He was still groggy, and so he slowly tried to inch back from the stream of piss. Despite his efforts, I kept stepping forward to ensure that the piss was localized entirely on his torso region.

1. Some Girl Drank My Urine
It was my senior year of college, and I was at the local bar with a bunch of friends. The bar had excellent specials on pitchers of beer, so that's pretty much what everyone drank there. I was seated comfortably in the booth, and though I had to urinate, I did not wish to leave my seat. I grabbed a pitcher in front of me which was about 1/5 full, held it under the table and pissed into it. All of my friends and the other people at the table realized what I was doing, except for one girl. She was a crappy looking know-it-all, and very annoying. Too self-absorbed to realize what was going on, I poured her a nice tall glass of piss which she drank without flinching. She never realized why the table erupted with laughter with each sip that she took.

*I can't say I regret any of the above stories, with one small exception. Instead of pissing in Dana's room, I wish I would have polluted SARS' room instead.

Saturday, December 16, 2006

A Friday Night

The pre-work hours sail by, the minutes whisked away by the December desert breeze. I down the last of the beer from my can of Busch Light and munch on a pizza crust as I pull on my blue hoodie and khaki workshirt. One more bowl to smoke before I leave to ease the transition, the streetlights guiding me from the glitz of Scottsdale to the working class charm of Tempe. A Camel Light sits between my lips, a flashlight rests in my front pocket. The windows are down and I play the Drive-By Truckers' "Dead, Drunk and Naked" on repeat. The song's Southern protagonist is at once tragic and proud, and it's persevering nature is comforting. The night air is cool on my nose and fingertips, brisk enough to know I'm alive, but not entirely unpleasant. I park the car, administer Visine and head into the bar. Only 8 pm, but it's filled with drunks- button-ups and corportate whores, college kids and local dirtbags already feeling the flow from happy hour. It's a Friday night, but it's not my Friday night, and the next 7 hours belong to the bar. Amid stares and various comments on my appearance, I lug out the tables, chairs, and unwieldy pool tables to make room for the dancing which will pick up in an hour or two.

I am stationed outside the side patio for the moment, a brief respite from Akon's "Smack That" and "I Wanna Love You", Timberlake's "My Love", and the abhorrent "Fergalicious", all of which I have heard more than any sane man can take. Leaning against a lightpost, watching the Rockets/Lakers game on a TV mounted from the ceiling, I hear a drunken woman's voice bitching something about a "crazy guy staring". I lower my eyes to locate the source of the sound and find a pretty mid-thirties whorebot glaring at me. "What are you pretending to watch? Football, basketball? I know all the lines so don't even try to fuck with me," she snarls. Before I can answer, she barks, "You know what- instead of wasting your time staring at me why don't you take that energy and get a fucking job!". I feel a smirk cross my face as the other members of her party lower their heads in embarrassment. Apparently she had not seen the bar logo with the word SECURITY emblazoned on my shirt. "I am working," I say, "This is my job". It takes her a long second to process this information and, with a little help from her friends, she realizes her folly. Her next move? Inviting me to sit on her lap. I shake my head 'no' and she tries to engage me in a conversation about the woes of her love life, stating that I would probably be the "nicest guy in [her] world". I largely ignore her, which is easy to do since I am already standing 15 feet away from her, and continue watching my sports program. I have no remorse for whores. If this woman didn't surround herself with 'roided out apes and rich pricks then the dearth of nice guys in her 'world' would probably be less of an issue. But I suppose that's what happens when you pack all of your self-worth into a fast-fading pretty face and fat pair of tits.

About an hour later, I'm standing in the same spot. The game is now in overtime. A young, drunk Asian man motions for me to come over, presumably to answer a question. As I approach him, he holds out his arm, and to my confusion, tries to dump and handful of coins in my hand. "We can't accept tips," I start to stammer, when I suddenly realize that this young Samaritan actually thinks I am homeless. He notices my shirt at the same time, and we share a laugh and shake hands.

And it's not even 10 PM yet; the real drunks are still at home pre-gaming. 5 more hours to go. 5 hours til I can finally get off my feet. The streets will be quiet and empty by the time I leave, the wide roads easily shared by the other lonely riders and drifters of the night. I'll smoke the last bowl of the day and join my friends Stan, Kyle, Kenny and Cartman who are patiently waiting for me on Quazar's DVR. Every other living soul that I know will have long been asleep by that point. And soon I'll lay down as well, for a dreamless slumber on a bed that's not mine, in an apartment I don't pay for.

Wednesday, December 13, 2006

Denver Nuggets T-Shirt Aftermath/Hawkman

Cornelia was obviously not well, and she was in some sort of mental health facility for a while after that episode. I couldn't really blame Corny for what happened, but at the same time I wasn't very eager to speak to her ever again. She did send me a text which said "sorry for raping you" which I thought was pretty funny, but again, really did not want to see her ever again. And I didn't see or speak to her for a long time, but eventually, Corny, Grasleak and I all ended up living in New York City. Corny was one of Gras' best friends, and Gras is one of my best friends, so a reunion was inevitable.

I tried many times to avoid a meeting with Corny, but it happened one night in the winter months. Johnny was in town for the night, and we ended up at Black Door in Chelsea where we met cousin Brad, cousin Gras, ex-girlfriend Violet, Corny, and Striker, among other friends that were meeting us there.

Cornelia and I exchanged polite greetings, only after I had gotten myself pretty boozed. I didn't spend long talking to her, but I had an excuse since there were so many other people that I knew in the bar. As the night wore on, John and I got extremely wasted off gin and tonics, as was our style in those days. I was a full steam Raynok and John had become his alter ego as well, Maniac Jones.

The combination of Raynok and Maniac Jones is pretty formidable. When we have a certain level of alcohol in our bloodstream we become an unstoppable two-man team, committed to destruction and laughter in equal measure*.

It was late in the night and most of our friends had gone home with babes or out to other bars. Maniac, Striker and I were still going strong. It gets a little hazy here, but Cornelia invited the three of us up to her apartment to get high. Grasleak came too, and she seemed to be running the show with Striker. Maniac and I didn't really know what was going on.

We got to the apartment, which was very close to the bar, and Cornelia's roommate was still up. She was a large, brutish fat whom I continually referred to as "this guy". I asked who 'this guy' was and proudly stated that I didn't like 'this guy'. I was being a real dick. Neither Jones nor I felt comfortable in the apartment, and we both wanted to leave very badly. We were complaining and trying to leave the whole time.

Suddenly, Gras, Corny and 'this guy' went into the bathroom for a girl conference. Jones and I locked eyes for a hard second, and that was it- we destroyed the place. We threw coasters and smashed a salad bowl on the floor, dripped candle wax everywhere, overturned various objects, and annihilated a deck of cards, all while laughing like hyenas. I took the sash from a red silk robe and tied it around my head like Rambo as we continued the mayhem, pausing only to catch our breath from laughing.

When the girls came back from the bathroom, they could not believe what we had done. I was ice skating around the floor on some oily lettuce, and Jones was pouring candle wax into the cracks of the floor. We stopped in our tracks like deer in headlights when they saw us, and Corny's face twisted up with anger. She burst into tears and slapped me across the face and started screaming at me. Jones and I looked at eachother, turned on our heels and sprinted out of the apartment. And that is the last I have seen of Corny.



Hawkman has been a prominent character in our mythologies for many years now, dating back to the days of the Dibs postings. Not much was ever known of this Hawkman, except that he eats necks. This is the story of how I met Hawkman (twice), who turned out to be a woman.

The night that Cornelia and I got a hotel room in the City, we arrived to the front desk very late. We were both very drunk. I remember some kind of confusion ensued, where I was led to believe that I had to purchase the room for two nights instead of one. Corny had to leave the next morning, but I luxuriated in my fine surroundings, enjoying the plush hotel bed.

When I was finally ready to start my day, around noon, I met up with Quazar, Noomin, and Ramon at their Tribeca apartment. We went out that night, and ended up on the roof of the Gansevoort Hotel which I think is called Plunge. I met a young lady of average beauty (a "straight 5" as Noomin would say) and after some heavy frenching, I invited her to go back to my hotel room. The girl protested, saying we could just go back to her apartment which was closer, but I insisted. We took a cab to the hotel, walked through the lobby and got into the elevator. It was then that I realized something was wrong. I knew I was on the 22nd floor, but this hotel only had 15 floors. I had taken her to the wrong goddamn place. We inquired at the front desk and they gave us directions to the correct hotel. The young lady again suggested we go back to her apartment, but again I rebuffed her. We took another cab to the correct hotel, got up to the room, and tried the key. It didn't work. Why? Because contrary to the ramblings of my booze-soaked brain, I had only purchased the room for one night. This girl was pissed off. She wanted nothing to do with me at this point, but she let me stay at her apartment since I had nowhere else to go. On the way to her place, which was now in walking distance, I stole her a loaf of wheat bread from a truck that was making a delivery. Unfortunately, this did nothing to soften her anger.

When we finally got to her apartment, she was most definitely NOT in the mood for love, and we parted ways the next morning, never to speak again...

UNTIL more than a year and half later, around Christmas time last year. I was living in New York, and one night I was out with Quazar and Noomin, and John. Noomin was meeting a friend at the bar, and she had brought many of her friends, who were also girls. One of these girls was tall with a strong and sturdy bird nose, and all of a sudden, to John and I at least, she became Hawkman. We did not speak to her or even get physically close to her, but the rest of the night was spent singing songs and laughing about Hawkman. Noomin later commented that I couldn't hook up with Hawkman, and a bet was born. Quazar said he'd buy me lunch every day for a month if I could hook up with Hawkman. The catch was, while fucking her, I had to moan, "Oh Hawkman, you feel so good, Hawkman!". I accepted the challenge.

A week or two later, we had word that Noomin's friend would be with Hawkman at some bar, so we headed over there. Sure enough, there was Hawkman, minding her own business at a table. I went over and we started talking, but before too long, Hawkman said, "You don't remember me, do you?". I told her I didn't remember, and so she recounted to me the whole story of the hotel misunderstanding- it was the same girl. I apologized and told her that I now I lived in the city, so nothing like that would happen again. Then, to my shock, Hawkman came home with me again! I blacked out most of what happened, and although I woke up naked, I'm 99% sure that I didn't bang her, and I'm 100% sure that I didn't say, "you feel so good, Hawkman". The next morning, Hawkman had made a comfy nest in my bed. She did not want to leave. I made up a lie about having to go somewhere, and walked her out to the subway, and that was the last I ever saw of Hawkman. But for those of you who still live in the City, keep an eye out for old Hawkman, for she still flies about on her magical wings, ridding the streets of worms and mice, and whatever else hawks might do.

*This will be further explored in the forthcoming New Jersey Chronicles.

How I Lost My Denver Nuggets T-Shirt

It was a beautiful T-shirt: royal purple with fine hand stitching; snug-fitting in all the right places, with the brightly colored majesty of the old-school Denver Nuggets logo adorning the chest. I loved that shirt, and it was an artifact from my Miami heyday, a simple reminder of happier days past. It had always brought me luck, and so I packed the shirt for a weekend in Cape Cod where I would stay with my aunt and uncle in a house they had rented for the summer.

Cousin Sphinx flew into the Newark airport. I picked him up and we set off on our journey, stopping at Foxwoods Casino on the way. I'm not much of a gambler, but Sphinx wanted to hit the tables, so I ambled around the facility, leisurely killing time. It was then that I received an ominous phonecall.

It was Cornelia, a good friend of cousin Grasleak. Cornelia was a pretty girl, although you could tell she was insane just by looking at her. She resembled Glenn Close in Fatal Attraction, though Cornelia looked both more crazy and less evil than the famous bunny-boiler.

I had met Corny a few months prior to my Cape Cod trip. It was early summer, and I was just starting the mortgage business. I had to go up to Hartford for a few days of training. A few hundred miles north in the city of Boston, a different set of events were unfolding which would eventually result in free sex for me. Cornelia had just broken up with her boyfriend, and, being a lunatic, she wished to start up some romance immediately. She had heard various tales of my exploits and had seen a few pictures of me; apparently, this was enough.

Corny presuaded Grasleak to put us in touch with eachother, so Gras told me the story. Basically, I needed to make a phonecall and I could bang this girl. Of course, I was in. I gave Cornelia a call, which went well enough, and soon we had to plans to meet- in my hotel room in Hartford. Nothing explicitly sexual was stated but obviously the lay was mine to lose.

I got to Hartford late. It was a dark, rainy night and I was tired and stoned. I checked in and threw my bag into the room. Corny was on her way, but luckily I had enough time to take a blow dryer to my armpits. She pulled up and I got into the car to show her where to park. It was the first time I had met her and the whole thing was very strange, but I was able to keep my cool. I was pleased with her appearance.

We both needed a drink pretty bad so we hit the bar first. I was drinking bourbon in those days, so I got a double on ice. She got some sort of fruity shit. We were only a couple rounds in before it was last call (stupid doodytown Hartford) and neither of us were really boozed enough to bang a complete stranger, but alas, we did anyway. We got a little high and fucked twice. I got up early for training, and she had to work or some shit like that, so she was gone when I got home.
Not long after, Cornelia and I had some vigorous hotel sex when we were both in the City one night. I had put the hotel on my credit card, which resulted in a strange episode with Hawkman*.

A couple weeks, perhaps a month later, I had another training session in Hartford, and this time I took the detour into Boston. Corny and I would have a phone conversation every now and then, but mostly we communicated by text or sometimes IM. It was a casual affair, both of us content to see eachother for short bursts of intermittent fucking.

But wandering the casino on that summer day, something about Corny's voice made me uneasy. She seemed determined and way too anxious. Cornelia was living with Grasleak in Boston, and they were both supposed to join Sphinx and I in Cape Cod. However, Gras was feeling very ill, and this put a monkey wrench in the plans of Corny, who was anticipating a weekend full of cock. Cornelia was jibber-jabbering nonsense to me about forcing Gras to go to Cape Cod. I wasn't paying much attention. I told her that I hoped she could make it but if not then we'd see eachother another time.

Sphinx finished up gambling and we got back on the road, arriving in the early evening. We had dinner with my aunt and uncle and relaxed at the house. Then, Corny and Gras arrived like a hurricane.

I was not prepared for the scene. Corny had gained about 10 pounds in the 4 weeks since I saw her last and she was wide-eyed and rattled, greeting everybody with big theatrical 'hello's. She had also brought a large amount of toys for us to play with. I mean like actual toys, children's toys. Sphinx knew I had been banging her, but this was the first time he met her. His face was priceless. Any casual observer could tell that this person was insane. I was embarrassed.

Behind Cornelia was cousin Gras who was feeling horrible and had endured hours in the car with this maniac. The two of them were basically in a fight, which put me in a very strange position. Gras went to the doctor and then went to bed, leaving Cornelia to hang with Sphinx and I on the porch. Sphinx and I were torched, just sitting outside enjoying the night air. At one point, Corny screamed at Grasleak, then cursed at my uncle who asked her to stop yelling. Then she threw her phone into the woods and curled into my lap ferociously crying.

This was not the same person I had been fucking. She was obviously in a manic state, but nobody knew how to control her or why the hell she was at the house. When she finally settled down, Sphinx and I escaped to my car where we smoked a couple bowls. The house was quiet and dark when we came back in.

It's necessary for me to explain the unique structure of the house. The front door opened to a main level which contained the TV room, kitchen and master bedroom (where my aunt and uncle were staying). There was also a small second story which overlooked the TV room like a balcony. It was a small, open room at the top of the stairs with no closing door and basically no walls. There was also a basement which had 3 additional bedrooms. Sphinx had one room, Gras had another, and Corny took the room that was supposed to be mine. I was relegated to the open, defenseless second story.

I was in the hazy purgatory between waking and sleep, just about to drift off, when I was stirred by an unfamiliar presence. Corny appeared hovering over me, whispering. She was wearing nothing but a towel and she was holding several orange ice pops which were melting all over her hands and dripping on the bed. She dropped the towel and climbed onto the bed, advancing toward me. I drew back, horrified. I smelled the stench of fish, and sand was sprinkling all over the bed, falling from her nude body**. "Your aunt is right downstairs," she hissed in my ear, "You better keep quiet or she'll hear us". I said nothing, lying on the bed frozen with fear. Cornelia told me she needed to get off, and if I wouldn't do anything about it then she would. She began to furiously masturbate like a monkey on a movie set, thrashing around the bed. I calmed her down and she climbed on top of me, sliding my terror-stricken boner inside. Many have asked me how I was able to get a boner in such a situation, and it seems the expression "scared stiff" is appropriate; incidentally, it's the only way I can explain it.

The horror lasted for a decent while and I tried to keep her as quiet as I could for the duration. After 10 minutes or so, she disengaged from the cock, informed me that she came three times, picked up her towel and left. I lay shivering in the bed, staring at the ceiling and trying to forget what happened. I could not sleep. Later that night, Corny reappeared, this time wearing a pair of my boxers and the aforementioned Denver Nuggets t-shirt. She was babbling some sort of nonsense about driving her car to the hospital because she wanted to take a pregnancy test. I just stared at her. I was on no sleep and everytime I shifted in bed I felt the sand or the sticky ice-pop drippings to remind me of my shame. Finally she disappeared back into the night and I was able to catch a couple hours of sleep.

When I woke up the next day, I found out the horrifying news about my t-shirt. Cornelia had indeed driven her car to the hospital (wearing my clothes) except somewhere on the way to the hospital, she pulled onto the shoulder, got out of the car, left the door ajar, and took a nice nap right there on the pavement. Before too long a cop saw this absurd scene and brought her to the hospital she had been seeking. And the doctors cut the goddamn shirt off of her body.

*The Hawkman story will be told in the next post, Denver Nuggets T-shirt Aftermath/Hawkman.

**I later found out the source of the fish smell: Cornelia had been pouring cod liver oil all over herself. As for where the sand came from, that is still a mystery.

Sunday, December 10, 2006

The Orange Oil

I spent every dime I had in Miami, so I was forced to return to my humble hometown in central New Jersey. The transition was not easy for me. I was used to partying 5 nights a week. My body ran on booze. And now I was having to shave my face, tuck in my shirt, and talk about mortgages. It was most unfavorable, and so my penchant for booze carried into weekends and often spilled over into the weekdays.

But New Brunswick was not the same as Miami. I was getting just as smashed, but hitting on uglier, dirtier girls and driving a much farther and treacherous distance. On most nights, I was getting even more annihilated than in Miami since I was depressed, plus I had less time to get the alcohol into my body. Bars in New Brunswick close at 2, so I really had to work to pound that sauce into my belly. I had been absolutely abusing my body, and one day, it gave me a wake-up call.

I was sitting in the kitchen of my parents house, eating the healthy breakfast which my Mother had fixed me. It was a nice bowl of blueberries with yogurt and low-fat cottage cheese and a tall glass of orange juice to wash it down. My clean white button-down shirt was tucked into a sharp-looking pair of grey slacks. I was watching my music videos and conversing with my mother as I leisurely breakfasted, trying to delay leaving for the office for as long as I could. There was a bit of a rumble in my stomach, and I let a couple of warm, silent farts ease out of my asshole. I didn't think much of it, as several farts are expelled from my anus on a daily basis, and so I continued eating.

When I had eaten my fill, I got up to retrieve something from my room. "What's that on your chair?," my Mother called out. I told her I didn't know, as I walked back into the kitchen to inspect the chair. My Mom was bending over the chair, looking closely at the large pool of orange oil which lay placid on the seat. She touched her finger to it and smelled it. "It smells like motor oil," she said, wincing. I went over to take a closer look as she washed her hand. "What the hell is that?," I said. "Is it on my pants?". When I turned around, my Mom told me that it was indeed on my pants. All over them, in fact. I hurried into the bathroom and removed my pants to inspect the stain, and saw that oil had passed through to my boxers. That's when I realized that the oil came from me, through my asshole in the form of two hot farts. The oil was so warm and fluid that I hadn't even felt it. I sat down on the john and more oil came. A lot more. When I was done, the toliet looked like someone was doing a bad job of making a vinagrette with pizza oil. I was scared. I thought something was seriously wrong with me, that after all the years of abuse I had finally harmed myself in some terminal, irrevocable way.

I told my Mom what happened and, after getting mad at me for letting her touch the oil, she became very concerned too. A brief wave of happiness washed over me when I thought that I might get to stay home from work, but it was not to be. I still had to go into the office; my Mom would call her best friend who was a doctor and let me know what he said.

I was uneasy the entire day at work, and shat out oil a few more times, each subsequent shit containing more and more solid portions of doody. When I got home, my Mother told me that her doctor friend had never heard of anything like the orange oil. He told her something about how both fat and alcohol are processed in the liver, and he suspected it had something to do with my heavy alcohol intake.

I was scared straight, at least for a few days. Unfortunately for me, when I get wake-up calls, I tend to stay awake and alert for only a few hours before going right back to sleep. I seriously cut down on the bottle for maybe a week. Soon after, I started going out again, but I was getting slightly less hammered. And of course, before too long, I had eased back into my regular rampage style of drinking.

Wednesday, December 06, 2006

On My Appearance

I have been cultivating this appearance for a good 5 months or so, and the results have been pretty interesting. It all came about from some talks I had with my girlfriend, when she revealed that she found it very attractive when my hair was big and full, and my beard was thick. Jokingly, I told her that I would not cut my hair or trim my beard until I reached my goal of resembling Tom Hanks in Cast Away. To my surprise and delight, she actually thought that was a good idea. But since that time, this appearance has taken on new meaning. To me, it symbolizes the the refusal to compromise or kowtow to the demands of this misguided society; I feel a great freedom in having this appearance.

Of course it is not without its drawbacks. Contrary to what my mother believes, I am not doing this to stand out. In fact, on many occasions, it is a great burden, as I have to answer the exact same questions day in and day out. Anytime I meet a new person, I can be sure that the topic of discussion will eventually settle on how I look. This can be very annoying when I'm in a bad mood, high, or just want to be left alone. But at the same time, I am happy to see the overwhelming enthusiasm people have regarding my hirsute countenance, and I am really starting to believe that people enjoy it on a deeper level than merely, "Whoa that guy is hairy. He looks funny". I think that people identify it with my plight of remaining in individual in this homogenized world.

Strangers often come up to me and want to introduce themselves, telling me how awesome I look, and associating my appearance with however they view themselves. I can't even tell you how many times a man has come up to me and made some sort of comment to the effect that we are allies, fighting for the same cause. What's remarkable is that many different people with vastly different styles all seem to identify with me. Hip-hop kids, tattooed weirdos, old drunk men- they all see something in me which they feel inside themselves. At first I found it bizarre, but now I am starting to understand it.

When I looked like the rest of you, it was for two main reasons: a) I was a slave to pussy and b) I was a slave to the working world. If I never cared about getting laid or making money, I would have looked like this years ago. And I think that is what all these envious dudes see in me: a great unflappable freedom- the freedom to look like a natural man.

I understand that for most of you, letting your hair and beard grow untamed is simply not an option. Even for me personally, it doesn't come for free. I cannot get hired at normal job. The goddamn head shop wouldn't even call me back. I was only able to land the job that I currently work at because my friend (a bartender there) convinced the managers to give me a chance. And although I enjoy the job, I am making 8 dollars an hour and I work very late nights- two things which have very adverse effects on my personal life. But I'm not complaining, and I actually feel a greater sense of happiness than I ever have before. It is a sense of happiness that can only be achieved by taking on the world on your own terms, and I am pleasantly reminded of that every time I look at this ridiculous face in the mirror.

Saturday, December 02, 2006

In Response II

I like you, Bob. I don't know you, but I dig your style, and your comments are well-written and insightful. In regards to your first comment, I am doing my best to become a writer the only way I know how, which is admittedly poorly. While writing a book seems like a good idea, I am hesitant to commit to such a mammoth undertaking without specific knowledge that I'll get paid for it. As a poor man, I have go for whatever seems most likely to net me a paycheck, which is why I've been working on scripts and development concepts for television programs; my friend Hollywood Ramon is in a position to help me out in this area, so I feel I have to take advantage.

What'd I'd really like to do, my ultimate dream, is a sort of update/overhaul of Carl Sagan's landmark TV series, Cosmos. I believe that a tremendous percentage of today's religious people are by-products of shitty education. I think that if you REALLY understand basic astronomy and biology, atheism is par for the course. Unfortunately, the way science is taught is so incredibly dry that it's tough for even smart people to pay attention, let alone the idiots which comprise the vast majority of this country. So my goal is to explain biological and astronomical properties in a manner that even a retard could understand, while at the same time ensuring that the entire affair is entertaining, funny, and controversial (with kick-ass computer graphics/animation). But for now, that remains a distant dream, and I must do what I can to earn my stripes as a writer, which, for now at least, means focusing on that hollywood shit.

And now on to your comments about religion. You make an excellent point- that before the Big Bang there was dust and gas, but where did that dust and gas come from? And what came before that? Difficult, thought-provoking, maddening questions to say the least, but I am hesitant to say that it is beyond the realm of science. Simply because we cannot yet explain something does not mean that it's unexplainable, and to leave these lofty questions to religion for lack of another option is a crime.

Furthermore, it incenses me that the religious will actually use this as an argument for their cause. They argue as if their childish fantasies are the only alternative; as if the failure of science to explain anything MUST mean that their little storybooks and rituals are right. You'll find a great example of this in the article linked below, brought to my attention by the inimitable Meat-head:,9171,1555132,00.html

For those of you who haven't read the article, or have terrible reading comprehension, let me sum it up for you. Dawkins has a debate with a scientist named Francis Collins, a guy who is apparently very well-accomplished, yet, for reasons beyond my comprehension, he is a devout christian. Dawkins proceeds to give intelligent arguments, but Collins uses the old impenetrable religious argument, which is impossible to debate against because it's really not an argument at all. He uses god as a trump card, forcing reason and logic out of the debate. Here's an example: As a scientist, Collins is well aware that things like virgin birth or coming back to life 3 days after death are laughably absurd and physically impossible. So how does he justify it? He says that god can do anything, and god just decided to bend the laws of physics to make miracles. In other words, Collins thinks that god set certain unbreakable physical laws which everything in the known universe has obeyed since recorded history (the stupid bible is NOT history). Then, just to fuck with us, god decided to break those immutable laws for a few isolated incidents thousands of years ago. It's peculiar that god wouldn't break those laws again now that we have advanced science. Stranger yet- Collins actually believes in evolution. How does he reconcile that with god? He claims god set the whole thing up- that god set evolution in motion. So god apparently knew that we'd figure evolution out, but hoped that we'd still subscribe to the idea of a divine creator, even in the face of this damning evidence. This leads me to believe that god only wants gullible cowards in heaven; those who make decisions based on evidence and facts would seem to be unwelcome. That's all very well and good- great argument, Collins!- but unfortunately, that argument can be applied to literally any belief system. Consider the following example, as I have a debate between myself and Larry Rollins, also a scientist, and a devout follower of the little known Church of the Anus, as well.

A little background on the Analists: they have a similar belief system to christianity, except they don't think that Jesus is the messiah. According to their great book, a man named Creamus is the messiah- Jesus is simply his little brother. The story goes like this: back in those biblical days, there was indeed a woman named Mary, and she was a virgin, but strictly in the vaginal sense. You see, Mary got fucked in the ass all the time. Mary, mother of Jesus, simply couldn't get enough cock in her asshole, and her signature was that she always wanted the man to blow his load deep in the shit-covered walls of her colon. Her favorite lover was Antwoine, an extremely large black man with a massive cock, so large as to occasionally rupture the sensitive lining of the asshole. Then, one day, Mary became pregnant. She soon realized this was no ordinary pregnancy. Mary had a duplicate uterus, fallopian tubes, and all that other crap, except that this equipment happened to be up the ass rather than up the vagina. Then, one magical day, she shit out a beautiful, shit-covered mulatto baby. This baby was Creamus. As it would happen, Antwoine was actually a servent of Shark-cock, the all-knowing supreme being, creator of the universe, who lives in the deep abyss of our oceans. Shark-cock had morhped into Antwoine to impregnate Mary, so that he could have an heir on earth to do his bidding. Here's when things got complicated- some faggot named Joseph fucked Mary- but not in the ass. To Mary's dismay, he fucked her in the vagina. The result was Jesus, a thin, weak lunatic who, jealous of his older brother Creamus, traveled the land espousing nonsense. When Shark-cock noticed Jesus gaining power, he called upon Creamus to murder him, afterwhich Creamus joined Shark-cock deep in the ocean to help sit in judgement of man. Someday in the future, Shark-cock is going to end the world by creating a great flood and eating all of the people, except for the faithful, who will be saved by a second coming of Creamus. All pious Analists regularly deposit cumshots in their wives' assholes in the hopes that they might be the father to the rebirth of Creamus, the messiah. Rather than a cross, the symbol of the Analists is wide-spread anus, dripping with cum. This might sound odd to you, but trust me, the idea of a virgin birth sounds just as ridiculous to the Analist. As you'll see below, Larry can use the exact same argument as Collins to justify his beliefs.

Me: Larry, we have explored much of our oceans and have found no evidence that Shark-cock exists. As a scientist, how can you explain this?

Larry: Shark-cock cannot be completely contained within nature, and therefore Shark-cock's existence is outside of science's ability to really weigh in.

Me: Well played, Larry! Great answer. By saying that Shark-cock is outside the realm of science, you make it impossible for me to argue against it. But what about evolution, how can you reconcile that with your beliefs?

Larry: By being outside of nature, Shark-cock is also outside of space and time. Hence, at the moment of the creation of the universe, Shark-cock could also have activated evolution, with full knowledge of how it would turn out, perhaps even including our having this conversation. The idea that he could both foresee the future and also give us spirit and free will to carry out our own desires becomes entirely acceptable.

Me: Dude- why the fuck would Shark-cock do that? Just to confuse things? Your entire argument is utterly illogical, and it completely contradicts what is written in the Book of Shark. All in all, it's just a stupid way to behave. Why would he create the world and then to lie to us about it?

Larry: Who are we to say that that was an odd way to do it? I don't think that it is Shark-cock's purpose to make his intention absolutely obvious to us. If it suits him to be a deity that we must seek without being forced to, would it not have been sensible for him to use the mechanism of evolution without posting obvious road signs to reveal his role in creation?

Me: No. It would not be sensible at all. Are you kidding me? He already posted obvious road signs to reveal his role in creation with the Book of Shark, which is 100% contradicted by evolution, which as a scientist, you know is valid. You're hanging on by a thread, buddy. Let's get to your last argument in support of Shark-cock. You say that the laws of our universe are so finely tuned, that if they were off just slightly, life as we know it could not exist. However, there are many theories that try to explain this. For instance, all of the constants could be locked in like the circumference and the diameter of a circle. That reduces the odds of them all independently just happening to fit the bill. The other way is the multiverse way. That says that maybe the universe we are in is one of a very large number of universes.

Larry: Barring a theoretical resolution, which I think is unlikely, you either have to say there are zillions of parallel universes out there that we can't observe at present or you have to say there was a plan. I actually find the argument of the existence of Shark-cock who did the planning more compelling than the bubbling of all these multiverses. So Occam's razor--Occam says you should choose the explanation that is most simple and straightforward--leads me more to believe in Shark-cock than in the multiverse, which seems quite a stretch of the imagination.

Me: Larry, at least these people are trying to explain things instead of harking back to the old trump card of Shark-cock. You seem to favor ignorance. What shocks me is that you say the multiverse is a stretch of the imagination, but a shark-man living in the ocean, controlling every aspect of the universe makes perfect sense. Sure, it's simpler to say "Shark-cock did it", but you are forgetting about the major question of where Shark-cock came from. The idea of a supernatural being controlling everything is far more improbable and far-fetched than any scientific explanation, and furthermore, it only brings up more complex questions- namely, what the fuck created this super-complex thing that created all of us?

The Z-man suggests I call myself agnostic, and in a manner of speaking, I am. As I said while addressing Bob, I don't know where the dust and gas from the Big Bang came from. I don't claim to know everything, and certainly I am open to any explanation that can demonstrate evidence to support itself. If you want to call that unknown 'god', fine- I am agnostic in that respect. But in terms of the ridiculous gods that we humans have invented, I am straight atheist. I KNOW that there is no zeus, no raging dick-head named allah, and no all-controlling yahweh. I believe that Jesus existed, but I don't believe that that lilting pussy, the AJ to god's vengeful Tony Soprano, had any magical powers. I think that the idea of Shark-cock and Creamus is just as reasonable as any religion that exists today, with the possible exception that it's more creative.

In conclusion, religion is dogshit smeared on an AIDS-ridden corpse. It is vestigial, archaic and embarrassing. I invite you to prove me wrong. I will read and contemplate every argument thrown at me with an open mind, while the religious continue to nurture their frail beliefs in a self-imposed bubble of ignorance.

Friday, December 01, 2006

In Response...

First of all, I just want to say that I'm glad my last post got some of you riled up. I always enjoy your feedback (when it's funny or well thought-out). It's been less than 24 hours, but already we are lucky enough to be graced by the comments of a bishop, saint, pastor, professor, and of course god (it would be wise to check the comments before reading on). Most of you make some good points, and I especially like the guy who spells things differently.

I'd like to address Bishop Ballsack first. Bishop- I see your point, but I have to disagree. I have heard this argument before- that proponents of science and athiesm are just as 'fanatical' and dogmatic in their beliefs as religious people. Let me dispel that for you. I don't think all religions are fanatical. I just think they are all stupid. The only ones that I really have a problem with are islam and christianity because they seek to impose their views on others. In addition, I don't try to force my views on anybody, however, I will continue to maintain that my belief system is ABSOLUTELY the only one that is supported by evidence of any kind.

Secondly, I have merely suggested that all religious people kill themselves; that's far from fanatical when you consider the behavior of the opposition. If muslims and christians merely suggested that we all ban abortion or convert to their religion I really wouldn't care. The problem is the violence and pressure that they exert in order to get their way. While I agree that it's a bit over the top to hope for the death of all people with faith, it's certainly a far cry from actually spreading the blood of the innocent (as religious folks do) in order to emphasize a point. Furthermore, I feel that my argument is more than legitimate, as it is based on evidence and fact.

Pastor- you make a cogent argument (with statistics, no less!), but I disagree with you as well. You are correct in painting islam as the bitch of the bunch. It is a horrifyingly stupid, violent and sexist set of beliefs, and there is no doubt in my mind that our half of the world we be a much better place if this religion was erradicated. But really what choice do we have? Obliterating the middle east and staging a mass genodice? That's not gonna solve any problems, and let me be clear here- Raynok does not advocate genocide. Simply killing these poor brainwashed morons ignores the root of the problem. The problem is that these people eat, drink, shit and live in sand. Their lives are complete dogshit. It is understandable that they would adopt these paradoxical beliefs about life becoming better after it ends. These people are not civilized. They are basically barbarians. I think that if we helped to make their toliet bowl of a region more pleasant and liveable, its fanatics would start to fade away. Consider the following:

The biggest weapon that religion has is childhood indoctrination. These sick fucks pound religious ideals into the minds of children, effectively brainwashing them. But think about religion in our country. Think of most of your buddies and the individuals you associate with. Chances are, there are not many believers. Why? Because successful people don't need religion. It is a crutch of the poor and the stupid. When immigrants first started coming to this country, they were very religious; those beliefs were all they could cling to in this new land. But as they became more successful, subsequent generations relied on religion less and less. Childhood indoctrination then became more difficult. It's alot easier to convince some dirt poor kid to believe in these fairy tales. It's trickier when you're dealing with a spoiled brat who's got a cell phone and a PS3.

But back to the middle east, I believe that if we could somehow convert those barren sand dunes into a liveable environment, if we could bring industry and jobs for these people, their success would eventually start to thin out the religious ranks. If it becomes harder to convince children to believe, religion starts to unravel at the seams. Obviously, this would be a monumental undertaking, which is why I think we need to clean up our own country first.

Pastor, you also mention that we need religion to keep the poors and idiots at bay- the Marxian idea that "religion is the opiate of the masses". Again, I must disagree. I feel that it's never a good idea to purposely conceal the truth. Why should we continue to pretend? When I think of a world without religion, I think of a glorious intellectual paradise. The earth is chock full of beauty and wonder. There are plenty of REAL things to give us hope.

We've reached a critical point in our civilization, and it's time to let go of these childhood fairytales. I dream of a time when here in America, schoolteachers could teach about evolution, and with the same breath completely dismiss creationism without fear of losing his/her job.

That very word, creationism, makes my blood boil. Honestly, I can't think of a stupider concept. How was the world created? Oh, some dude made it. Who made him? We don't know, and we don't really care to question it. But we have an intelligent and elegant theory to explain how the world was created, and we have huge amounts of evidence to support it. We don't wanna know about it. We're gonna stick with the ancient book.

If religious people are so hellbent on maintaining these ancient ideals, why modernize at all? People should be marrying 12 year olds and throwing their shit out the window if they really want to cling to these sadly outdated concepts. What really irks me about religion is its refusal to change or adapt. Can't they just say, "Oh shit. Evolution completely makes sense. I guess we were wrong about that one." Of course they can't. Religion is a living, breathing entity, and like any other creature, its number goal is to protect its own existence. Since the dawn of its existence, religion has always abhorred the search for truth, knowledge, and reason. This is because truth and knowledge eliminate the need for religion. Developed to explain the unexplainable, religion is plum useless when we finally do find the real answers. Well, in case you haven't heard, we found the answers. And unless we put this unruly juggernaut of ignorance to bed, it is going to literally destroy the world. Human civilization is now technologically advanced enough to obliterate itself, yet we still refuse to acknowledge the science behind the technology which makes these weapons. Unless we get serious about educating our species, some fucking moron is going to kill us all. And let me be clear on this: there is no heaven, there is no hell- and if this magnificent planet, so precious and rare to have evolved conscious life forms, is destroyed, there will simply be nothing. Nothing will remain of our incredible human species, capable of so much, and there will be nothing to blame but religion, and those who stood idly by, allowing it to happen.