FART ON MY COCK

Forewarning: This is, without a doubt, THE WORST SIBHoD EVER. A Total Roflcoaster Wreck. There's absolutely stuff in here I should never be saying before the world. Stuff that might cost me a cushy, stable, Pullworthy full-time US Gov't job with benefits and pension. However, I've been known to say that kind of stuff before, so I'd actually costed that job long ago. This is what happens when you Stop Censoring Yourself. You also get The Longest Post Ever.

My excuses: poor sleep / disturbing dreams on a regular basis; and: anger, rage, Anhedonia, Ennui, and social awkwardness brought about by the Endocrinological Changes in response to the UBERABRUPT shifting of the seasons into Xtreme Summer.

Forewarning 2: There is plenty of disturbing, offensive language and invective in here, but nowhere does it encourage/advocate the reader to participate in Violent or Antisocial Behaviour. So, Please Do Not Flag the SIBHoD for Removal.


You like writing.You like drinking. You like writing about drinking, and drinking about writing. What separates You from Average Alcoholics is that You make a concerted effort not to drink on Work Nites, and, sometimes, you're successful at self-control. So much change for the better from the days when you would impose your bad behaviour upon your friends and fall asleep in a nihilistic, drunken heap upon their floor. For that you credited the general lack of purpose/focus from a particularly taxing and Fail-Filled Job Search: One too many bombed interviews.

But once in a great while, you might "cut loose" with a "Room-Pop" or, god forbid, a "Park-Pop."

Or there's days like today, which is Summer Solstice @ the local Craft Brew Haus; which is much like St Patty's Day in that there will be a Ton of people in there drinking a Ton of beer. Things have the potential to go awry, but you'll be keeping your fingers crossed on following-through with your goal of keeping it really low-key (Update: this was a miserable FAIL). And you're a bit dazed today anyway.

Things All Men Hate About All Women:

They (All Women) don't really write anything. When they do write a blog/journal post, it's usually only one sentence long, with some stupid picture or video, as if to point out HOW FUCKING PROFOUND that one stupid sentence is. It's not profound. It's intellectual laziness. So it makes perfect sense that Women love twitter so much: the 160-character limit is the perfect method o' delivery for GLIB MEANINGLESSNESS, which, paradoxically, is the only form of communication that carries any currency with Them. THEM.

Or maybe how All Of Them pretend to be enjoying your company and conversation, and are smiling and laughing and even sometimes being pleasant and nonobnoxious....and so you end up enjoying yourself, and thinking they're enjoying themselves too, but they secretly hate every minute of it and can't wait to get away from you and never talk to you again.

The ONLY INDICATION of sincere interest on the part of the female is the Eyebrow Raise. Smiling, Laughing, Eye contact, Asking about Your Day, "open" posture: THEY MEAN NOTHING without the Eyebrow Raise.

There's a reason "tramp stamps" are called that. Because they're trashy. And the people that have them are Huge Fat Fartsluts.

It was great. When we went to the bar this one time, literally every young woman there who was with a man, was with a man who was a huge, affliction-shirt-wearing, goateed, tattooed, sunglasses-on-the-back-of-the-head Douchebag. Gauchy Guido My New Haircut Fucks. It stopped being tragic and started being hilarious. Well, as hilarious as being Completely Impotent can be.

I bet there's a lot more Impotent men out there than you think, they're just "in the closet" of shame. I say, be OUT and PROUD! Although there are negative connotations to the word "Impotent" i.e., "not powerful," "less than a man."

Ok. Gonna change horses on the middle of a moving train. Gotta love it: yet another Rant in which I say nothing remotely interesting, or even offensive.

Normal people go out on "dates" and get tons of "action" and get antsy if they go a little while with no action, but the situation always naturally resolves itself before too long, and then they're back to normal again. "Really unique" people like Your Writer have fundamental personality/behavioural issues which actively repel "the attractive gender" (Best "Euphemism" we've heard lately, other than "dating", see below), such that it is truly out-of-the-ordinary for them to ever get ANY action.

Which is fine by me. Most of "the attractive gender" is hugely unattractive anyway. The real frustrating ones are the ones who aren't (unattractive), however. Then you turn into The Kid who gets called to the board to do a math problem in front of the class with a RAGING BONER.

Hmm. I can't seem to keep my mind out of the gutter today. I nearly called one of those Hookers listed in the back of the weekly paper. Why the hell not. I've got a job, I can drop $100, right? It'd be something good to WRITE about!

But...A HOOKER? Really? That honestly is a little sleazy.

The worst is when you're really exhausted and grumpy (see: H-Over) and you're dying to take a nap and then you lay down to take a nap, but you just can't get there. Now that's frustrating.

Almost as frustrating as being GOOD at something you don't really LIKE. For me, that's Skool. I've always been REALLY GOOD at Skool, but I've never had a raging LUV for school. It was just something I felt obligated to do because it was more tolerable than the alternative. Which it is. But right now I just don't feel like studying for this exam. I feel like laying down and trying to take a nap. Blame it on the Alcohol. Never a good long-term decision. Short-term fun, long-term agony.

During the summer, and well into the fall, I like to wear Sandals so as to eschew godawful Socks, which are uncomfortable, hot, and smelly. But, now I have reached the point where the Sandals are starting to smell like Feet. Not Good. It seems to have crossed that threshold overnight.

Sometimes, if you're an extreme asshole, you do try to consciously tone it down so people will want to invite you places and not ban you from places. It can be weird having a reputation as "A Drinker", because even if you're drinking Moderately/Responsibly, everyone's Watching you drink. The Gaze.

Did you know that if you go to The Club and dance with Random Women, they will grind their buttocks against you, and take your hands, stick your hands down the front of their pants, where you will discover that they are blatantly not wearing any underwear of any sort, and invite you to play with their stretchy, gristly genitals right out there on the dance floor?

I know it's just me, but I think that's kinda sleazy/trashy. I don't think it shows a lot of self-respect. I just cannot get it up to that.

Another one of men's fatal flaws is that they tend to get "one-itis" and put particular women on a Pedestal - i.e., giving preference to particular women over other random women, e.g.,

"I'd prefer to take this woman to a movie, rather than any other woman." Or "I would have more fun having action with Woman A rather than with woman B thru Z."

How stupid and gay is that? People are basically all the same - interchangeable. So why the preferential sentiments? This has Always been a problem for men. But they just can't get over it.

My friends used to have this stupid evil dog which always used to attack me, and only me. As soon as I came over it would start biting me. It would always tear at my shirt and bite holes in them. That was the absolute worse. I'm not averse to wearing a t-shirt with a small hole in it, but I acknowledge that this looks very scrubby, and I'd prefer to have holeless shirts. And you certainly can't wear such a thing when You're trying to make a Good Impression: i.e., at work, people-watching, etc. So the shirts are essentially ruined. It got so bad that after a while I would purposely wear a shirt with holes in it, because it was inevitable that the dog would bite another hole in it.

I'm just kinda grumpy today (note: "today" refers to a day a long time ago; I've been hoarding this pablum for weeks). I am not in the ideal mood at all to go to the Bar. But it will be a good chance to see a lot of people I want to see. Best case-scenario: go to the bar and LEAVE EARLY.

Some days you wake up grumpy and then gradually get more grumpy as you go through the day. That's not reassuring.

One of the greatest things ever is when you really get dealt the Heartbreaker for the first time in your young life, and your friends try to console you by saying, "Don't let it bother you, Forget about that dummy hobag, they're just one in a long series of lovers you will have, and the Next Ones will be much better too. In a few months you'll wonder why you were even with that person at all", and, as you age into an old man, it turns out your friends' prediction was blatantly false. Although the bonus is, by that time, you'll have the Objectivity to realize that that person was pretty stupid and gay; you just haven't found anyone better yet.

Note: It doesn't count as "pining" unless you've been doing it for many years.

Classwar is a total BAD BOY. He's a cocky, arrogant, selfish, abusive, manipulative asshole-douchebag. (Not to mention a decent "fixer." Women could complain about him to their girlfriends all day long.) The only thing(s) that keeps hordes of cute young women from dangling off his nuts:

1. He doesn't wear Affliction shirts

2. He's not tall, or with a huge chest and arms

3. He's White

4. He doesn't have a "manly" job

5. He hasn't been to Prison

6. He thinks Gay Tattoos and Gay Goatees Are Gay

7. He refuses to get his Back waxed

8. He's extremely smrt, funny, and a good writer.

When One has an H-Over, they sometimes like to to push themselves to be Uberproductive. This way, they can get a lot of good stuff done, but feel no sense of satisfaction or accomplishment.

Here's another tip for the H'd-Over: shave the stubble off your face before you go out. No one will ever believe than a nicely clean-shaven man has an H-Over.

Oftentimes people are like, "Classwar, you can't honestly really be THAT hateful. That's gotta be some sort of act that you do just for the internet."

And I'm like, "What's really the act is when I act all friendly and easygoing and pleasant and nonobnoxious."

Damn. It might just be a taco bell sort of day today.

Getting back to "normal" here, finally. It continues to be painfully obvious that I must adopt a strict, teetotaling, straight-edge, 100% Dry lifestyle, which will likely alienate me from all of society, but at least it won't alienate me any more than the veryugly alternative to str8-edgeness.

TUFF DECISIONS, TUFFER ACTIONS.

Anger has been the order of the day lately. Channeling the anger in a healthy way has been extraordinarily difficult; really the only thing to do is just take it one angry day at a time, and then, after a few days, the baseline rage slowly begins to subside. Blame it on the A,a-a-a, a-alcohol.

At any rate, it's better to be outwardly angry/violent rather than inwardly so. Anger's gotta go somewhere, and inflicting it on yourself is more self-destructive than inflicting it on The Outside World.

I love talking about Rape all day, but, in my gut, I know it's not something I'd actually do. I may have "undifferentiated anger" against "All Women", but it's not pointed/"purposeful" enough that I'd ever feel compelled to act out in violence, or to advocate such violence. I realize that would be just stupid and wrong and Gauche.

Plus I've been thinking a lot about "effort." It wouldn't even be worth the effort. Even good intentions are rarely worth the effort.

That's the ol' Perfectionism talking, though. As a Hardcore Perfectionist, one of the most useful pieces of "advice" I've come across is: It's better to just give a half-ass effort than to give no effort at all. Because your half-ass effort might just be enough to do some good.

I've been finding it to be too much effort to even watch movies lately. I don't really want to watch them. I put a sincere effort into trying to watch "Battlestar Galactica" but I gave up within 20 minutes of the end of the pilot episode. But that still was more than a half-ass effort, though, as the pilot is like 3 and a half fucking hours long.

But I'll rent a movie, like "Iron Man," or especially "Encounters at the End Of The World", and it'll sit there for weeks, and I can't drum up the effort to just pop it in and watch it.

I'd rather watch some TV show like: one of the "Big Three" on the Disney Channel (Wizards, Zack 'n' Cody, Hannah M), or "The King Of Queens", or "Wife Swap", or "House", or something.

So, needless to say, I am Real Excited for the "Wizards On Deck With Hannah Montana" mash-up special they're doing next month, and the "Wizards" MOVIE coming out in august. (I would have preferred a feature, in-theatres movie, though, but I guess I'll take the made-for-tv movie.)

No, it's really NOT a Paedo type thing. Yes, some of the youngggg girls are sorta cute, but I see these shows primarily as "innocent, no-strings-attached good times". I like the kids' sassy attitudes and stupid little adventures. Perhaps there's a little bit of "wanting to regain lost youth" in there; but I certainly don't J-O thinking about these girls. I wish it were that easy!

My "debate" over "should I really get a hooker or not" really isn't a debate, because I know in my guts that I don't really want a hooker. I don't want to get laid; I'd rather Span Time and Hang Out and have Good Times. And You just can't do that with a Hooker.

I have the most useless degree of anyone I know who has a degree. I would have saved myself a lottttt of trouble by not getting it at all. I'm in a summer class with a bunch of teenagers and when we had our "introductions", I was as vague as could be, and, getting through the class, I can see clearly I'd never want to disclose my "story/situation" to anyone, because they'd look at me like I was not only totally insane, but a Huge Personal Failure as well.

At any rate, it is becoming clear that my Intro To Accounting class is not going to propel me to a Lucrative Accounting Job In The Big City after 6 weeks. RATS.

But that hasn't stopped me from absolutely PWNING it. As of now I probably have the highest grade in the class. I intend to use that to my advantage, and corner the instructor with My Documents next week sometime. That's always been a big challenge for me, for whatever reason.

It seems like every time I Go Out I hear another story about a Yet Another Man getting laid off. Damn, Times are Tuff. I have to keep constantly reminding myself that Women are probably getting laid-off too. (But definitely not the pretty ones.)

I haven't been to the Theatre in Forever. I think it's time to finally get back on that horse. Again, it's a matter of sucking it up and putting forth the effort. I'd tried inviting a person to the cinema and was kinda disappointed when that didn't work out, but I guess it's best that it didn't work out sooner rather than later. The longer you live in La-La Fantasy Land, the harder it is to get out and move on. It has reduced my willingness to just suck it up and go by myself, but, Transformers is coming out tomorrow, and I think that's a good omen.

Although I'm not saying that my previous plan will NEVER work out, esp if I Play It Cool.

Bwahahahahahahahahahahahaha.

If I'm going to be an Angry man, I'd prefer to be a good-looking angry man. The trick is never to allow yourself to fall into the trap of Escapist, Hedonistic Eating. I've done that before. It sucked balls.

It seems like All Women (haha) can always "fall back on" Babysitting/Nanny jobs when times are tuff. It might not be what they Reallywannadowitheirlives, but they have some family friend where they can babysit the kids for 50 hours a week and get paid more under-the-table than Many Men get paid over-the-table. I would totally be a Babysitter for this reason alone. It seems to be good, solid, reliable work. But Men can't be Babysitters.

Wah, wah. MEN'S RIGHTS ADVOCATE FTL.

Yeah, I would never Pull as a Male Babysitter, but I'm not Pulling as a Male Library Aide anyway, and I'd definitely make more money. You can live without Pulling; you can't live without Money.

So. Not in a great mood, but I can feel myself actually making the effort to pull myself out of it. Cognitive Reframing. Better than Nothing.

So on the County Paper they usually give a "teaser" of the Jobs "Section" by having one jobs posting right on the front page. For the past MONTH they have had the SAME job posting on the front page: for an "administrative assistant" with experience in sales and knowledge of Construction Bidding.

The exact same posting for a month. With a kinda suspicious email address attached.

How has this not been yanked? How could this NOT be some sort of bait-and-switch? This is not a real job! This is some craigslist bullshit!

But, to the paper's credit, there are like 3 or 4 new job postings a day. 99% of which are construction/landscaping/heroin addict men's work, or medical office women's work.

I was watching some pbs news show the other day and they did a segment on a young college grad (male) who did a year of service with Americorps. It was the "NSP" program I saw all over when I was "researching" Americorps. The show framed it as "American's new generation of graduates who really want to be the change they wish to see in the world." And the show totally downplayed the "The economy sucks so bad that I'm doing godforsaken Americorps as a last-ditch resort to have a full-time position, health insurance, loan deferment, resume-building, and NOT COMPLETELY WASTE my education" angle.

I would have played up that angle. I almost moved to Bumfuck Oregon to do just that. Sometimes I wish I had decided to move to Bunsfuck Oregon. (No, it wasn't anywhere near Portland or Eugene, it was in the middle of Nowhere. It'd essentially be like moving to a dirt-poor, rural community Up North.)

Not that there's anything wrong with wanting to help dirt-poor rural people. I just was concerned that the downtrodden nature of the community would cause me to blow my brains out rather than to do anything really useful.

But I would have gotten health insurance, an education grant, a full-time Position with Resume-Building Responsibilities, and the privilege of not living in my parents' house. And really, why are these "the wrong reasons" for doing "service"?

But that's the past. About 3 years past, actually. So let's let the past be the past.

I still might do something like that if my "career" hasn't taken off by the time I'm 30. I'm ecstatic I've stayed at the same job for almost 8 damn months without being reduced to a mental case. I haven't been able to say that in at least 5 years.

So that's the plus side.

You know what looks REALLY Bad? This new reality show on Fox called "MORE TO LOVE." This is "good" enough to be a bad joke.

So we all know about the "representation of women in the media" vs "real women": TV women are attractive and thin, real women are morbidly, disgustingly obese. Like all the "real" women on this new show.

I don't like this "implication" that "Real Women are Fat." It's one thing to Not Be Anorexic, and to Have Curves; it's a completely Other thing to be Fat. My mind has been blown in that I see attractive women almost every day, and not just on TV. I'm talking about the young women at the School. AND THEY'RE NOT EVEN SOCIAL-CLIMBING, INTELLIGENT BOURGEOISIE!!!

I'm not into the whole "media" thing. I could care less about "attractive celebrities." I have never, ever said anything like "megan fox is so hawt" or etc. Never. I PREFER Real Women all day long. And it's really quite reassuring to know that there are Real Women who are not disgustingly obese, but honestly really rather attractive. You won't find them on this "More To Love" show, though.

It's skewing the perception of reality towards the other extreme. I can't believe the idiots who are on this show. Think about it. Yeah, the majority of amerikkkans are overweight, but I'm sure you know enough people who aren't fat fucking fucks. Unless you're all a bunch of fat fucking fucks who get together every night at the Fat Fuck Club to stuff your fat fucking faces.

Plus there's the "implication" that men who like "big girls" must have some sort of "big girl fetish." And, in many cases, they absolutely do. What I'm offended by is the implication that men who like big girls necessarily have to have a "big girl fetish."

Make no mistake: a "big girl fetish" is no better than an "anorexic girl fetish." You've got a fetish for a body type. Your interest in the person is not in the person, but is conditional upon their body. So when I see guys on Tyra or whatever who don't want their Big Ladyfriends to lose weight because they "like them the way they are", I want to incinerate everybody on the fucking show. You're not doing anyone any favours, Guy.

I've liked bigger girls, and I've liked skinnier girls. There is no "type." NO HAY TYPO. It's all contingent on the situation, the timing, the context, the aether, the position on one's life's timeline.

So Jon and Kate are finally getting divorced. How is this news? How is this suprising or interesting? If you've seen 2 minutes of any episode it's obvious they have ALWAYS bitterly hated each other. I'm surprised they didn't get divorced 10 years ago. Way to drag 88 kids into it.

Why haven't I commented on the Iranian election that's been all over the news? Because I just don't give a shit if it doesn't have to do with me, my Cock, the local Economy, or "intergender interactions." Call me apathetic. What's the worst that could happen? I don't give a shit if the WHOLE WORLD PERISHES IN A NUCLEAR HOLOCAUST RIGHT NOW. Why should I care?

Looks like 7 to 9 people died in a train wreck near DC. I was once in "social networks" with many people who moved to DC, and I'm sure it wouldn't take too many degrees of separation to connect me to one of the people who died. I just hope it was someone I hate, and not someone I didn't.

Apparently the type of cancer that Farrah Fawcett is dying of is "ANAL CANCER." I didn't know there was an anal cancer. Just rectal. or Colonic. (This post is so hoarded, much of it precedes the high-profile deaths we've been slammed with lately.)

I'm slightly jealous of people who regularly stay up till 5 am getting laid and then don't get fired from their jobs for being crazy sleep-deprived incompetent buffoons. But not really jealous. Because what kind of a person would do that?

The Scarlet "S", baby. EVERYBODY'S got one! But not me!

Even a 2 minute glance at any job site proves that it really doesn't get much better than my current job. All that stuff I'm either still not qualified for (Physical Therapy, Occupational Therapy, etc); or is Part Time with even Less hours than I'm getting now; or is Sales. Because it makes perfect sense that people are going to be buying lots of shit real profligately right now.

You just cannot trust all these immoral pigs who don't agree that Abortion is the #1 Political Issue. If you don't condemn Obama as a "Babykiller" every time you talk about him, you're missing the damn POINT. You're Hellbound.

More Misogyny:

I know Women want you to be Happy and Funny and GLIB ALL THE TIME, but I, for one, enjoy blog posts with a little bit of anger in them. I respect the FACT that human beings can feel anger, and I choose to show solidarity with Other Angry Men!

Although the patina of professional courtesy I evince is both effective and convincing, the fact remains that it thinly veils a not-so-inchoate MAELSTROM OF HATRED AND ANGER. I really need a reliable way of "managing" this anger, and, as far as I can tell, the SIBHoD is that way. So no. I'll never give up the N-gazing. You CAN actually N-Gaze in a productive way, though, and that is what I'd prefer to do. Or else the ticking of the time-bomb will become ever more frenetic.

(polishing gun)

"I AM THE ANGEL OF DEATH, THE HOUR OF PURIFICATION IS AT HAND"

Str8-edge in 2-week increments. Let's be realistic here. Set ourselves up for success. The challenge is to be around casual, fun, responsible Drinkers and to keep it casual, fun, and responsible oneself. And being around irresponsible Drinkers is just out of the question.

I guess I could dig ditches or go for Brisk Jogs. I used to go for Brisk Jogs! I just bought a Bicycle, for god's sakes! The problem is drumming up the motivation and the effort to do these things. I HATE brisk jogs. And, from the looks of things, I hate riding bicycles. I might do boxing, but some experts (don't want to find the citation now) suggest that Violent Activity produces not catharsis, but an actual intensification of anger. I dunno. It can't be not worth at least one honest halfarse effort.

I'll just be driving down the street, and look out the window and see a "plastic and cosmetic surgery" office and get angry, and think that everybody is a plastic, hideous fake.

I wish I had gone to see that controversial new steven soderbergh movie "the girlfriend experience." The GFE actually does exist; I read some newspaper article on it a while ago before the movie dominated the search results, and I really should do some more research and linkage for this SIBHoD.

But from what I can gather, and spliced with my own perspectives, the GFE is when desperately lonely men pay hookers to pretend to be their "girlfriend". I imagine this would be a LOTTT more expensive than the standard 15 to 30 minutes of sex, because you'd probably need a few hours to go to dinner and the movies and walk in the park or whatever. Plus the fake "tender, intimate" sex to cap-off the night. I can't imagine a GFE date-night running less than $500.

This is just pathetic and sad. It's for dudes who are lonely but don't really want 15 minutes of hooker-sex; they sincerely want the GFE, but since they're too socially fucked-up to get a GF, they have to pay a hooker to Playact. I imagine the hooker does all the things The Lonely Losers would like to do with a GF: sit around, cuddle, hold hands, really faggy homosexual girlyman stuff, be like "how was your day honey" and talk about the days of their lives and their families and their dreams, and go to dinner and drink wine, and watch a movie or some ridiculous tv show like "House" or "lost", cuddle some more, have laughter-filled conversation, maybe fart on their cock, and then have not-so-rough, not-so-hookerish, tender, emotional buttsex, and the guy pays the hooker a $HITLOAD of money because she's just been hanging out for the past 5 hours, and then she leaves and does the GFE all over again with some other lonely loser, and makes a shitload more money from other pathetic, desperate suckers who are clamouring for the same pathetic, desperate experience.

This is really disturbing, but it's also quite fascinating, no?

Myself, I'm not ready to commit to just any young'n'pretty woman, but I also don't really want to pay a hooker for boring hooker-sex. Sometimes when I'm in a faux-relationshit, then I like to playact as if it were the GFE, because there's some mysterious "it-factor" there which I get-off on: hanging out with somebody and pretending like there's actually potential for "more" (even when there's not.) Way back in the day, I faux-dated a woman I had a stupid immature crush on, and we would sometimes take naps together and go out to dinner together and just act like we enjoyed each others' company ("Span Time") before we had raging, stenchy heterosexual non-26-year-old-virgin buttsex.

It was a fun, if not overly realistic Role to role-play. I'm not sure if it can be anything more real, though.

So it makes perfect sense that hookers are doing this nowadays. Guys need to stop watching the Disney channel and being so goddam idealistic. Get with the program suckaz!

So yeah. I'm curious for getting a hooker just to see what their performance of the GFE is like, but uh, I'd rather pay the sex-price than the GFE-price, dig?

I got "I STAND ALONE" in the mail the other day and watched it twice in two days. This is easily one of the best movies of all time. I can really relate to that guy. He is so angry and hateful the entire movie long. People compare it to "Taxi Driver", but The Butcher makes Travis Bickle look like Mr. Rogers. Because Travis Bickle is clearly a nice - but misguided - guy: see how he woos Cybil Shepard and shows genuine, fatherly concern for Jodie Foster.

The Butcher, in contrast, hates all women - indeed, all people - bitterly ("I've whacked a few retarded cunts in my day." "If that cunt who laid my daughter on me got hit by a bus, I wouldn't say she didn't deserve it." "I let the jissom flow, and today my daughter exists." "A man is no good unless he's a cock wagging around in holes. A woman is no good unless she's a hole getting reamed. Me, I'm a big, nasty, hard cock." "Friendship? Filial love? It's all bullshit. Everyone is alone. A narrow life leading to a shallow grave.") and even - especially! - his concept of "fatherly love" is classically perverted.

And that theme music is just classic. My Cover Solo Project is gonna do a cover of it.

I crack up in laughter whenever that "gunshot/zoom" thing happens. It's emblematic of Noe's absolutely ungetawaywithable boldness. NOBODY makes movies like this. NOEBODY.

One of the most important/significant lessons I've learned in my time is that you can't MAKE anybody be "interested" in you. They either do, or they don't. There's nothing you can do about it, Whitey. And if you foolishy attempt to "convince" them, then you push them even further away.

Still, I believe anger at rejection is justified. Nobody likes to be rejected just for being themselves. But it happens to everybody. Many times. The positive spin: It's the best character-builder there is. The more it happens to you, the better of a person you become: provided you take the MORAL HIGH GROUND and don't transform your Justified Anger into Unjustified Anger by taking it out on the other person. This "little" caveat is SO crucial.

The best thing you can do is just stay away, spend time alone, and try not to D. Do anything but D. Watch the world's most boring movie. Do homework. Look at the stupid gay "jobs" on the stupid gay jobs sites and pour your money into getting another degree. Write angry, hateful blogs. Take a nap. Anything but D.

I hate people who hate on haters, like it's not ok to hate. HATE IS HUMAN. Socially stigmatizing people who hate is both wrong and naive. If you yourself, presumably a citizen of this endlessly fucked-up world, don't have at least a few things you hate, then you, sir, ARE A NAIF.

This has been my mission as of late. To remove the anti-hate/r prejudice that plagues our social interactions.

HATRED is a sign of INTELLIGENCE.

Although I guess the real challenge is not to ram hatred down others' throats. I have two hate-filled blogs (THINGS I HATE plug). That should be enough, no?

Sometimes you need to do some electroshock treatment like the lady in "Requiem for a dream." Just turn one into a drooling, mindless idiot already. "Change me back to the Blissful Boob I was!" Exclaims Intelligent Homer S before getting the crayon shoved back into his brain.

Some tend to get more angry during the summer. Something to do with Channeling Libido. "Things I Hate" was a Summer thing, note.

Speculation In re Libido: yet another reason hooker-sex might not make one less angry is that one might say: "That was disappointing. Totally not worth the $100. I feel disgusting and filthy. That was SO not as good as I remember it. And I don't even remember it being Real Good to begin with. All these things make me angrier."

Which means one then has to shell out $500 for the Role-Playing Time-Spanning Hooker.

But We've heard reports that you can get a B.J. from a hooker for $20. Which is pretty reasonable. So maybe you could get Heterosexual Buttsex for, say, $50 and the Time-Spanning Hooker for $250. This would push it more realistically into the realm of possibility.

Sometimes, when one sees young people, all one can think of is "them getting laid." It's nerve-racking. But, and this is a well-researched fact, other people are usually NOT getting laid as much as one thinks they are. I should really find the source for this one, cause this is a source that needs to be cited 6,000,000 times a day during these dogged days of summer. Sheeeit. Just google "pluralistic ignorance."

Having fun is harder than it sounds. Many times one loses their willpower and ends up Drinking to excess, and for an hour, that is genuine fun. But Then One loses Any Capacity to Have Fun for the following 4 Days. The Costs clearly outweigh the benefits.

And a lot of times, random people (bars, parties) just makes one angry. So it is best to spend time alone.

It's a hard line, between presenting yourself as a Eunuch, and presenting yourself as a Creep. Say one's professional demeanour is friendly, easygoing, and completely nonsexual/thus-slightly-homosexual. So All Women thus think one is gay. It can then be challenging for one to find that Happy Medium of presenting oneself As-Heterosexual-but-not-in-a-misogynistic-creepy-leering-hateful-rapist way.

We at The SIBHoD are so obsessed with this women/libido/sex/gender "thing" simply, exactly, simply, exactly because WOMEN ARE EVERYWHERE. They're at work, at school, in bars, in cars, at the store, hanging-out with your friends, sucking their dicks, EVERYWHERE. EVERYWHERE. THERE ARE NOW MORE WOMEN IN THE WORLD THAN MEN. THEY COMPRISE OVER HALF OF THE WORLD'S POPULATION. MORE THAN ONE OUT OF EVERY TWO PEOPLE YOU SEE WILL BE A WOMAN.

Just because of the sheer magnitude of Their - All Women's - numbers - that's why all the sex stuff is such a big deal. And that's why this is a Sex Blog. (And An Anger Blog.)

TV Tropes presents one of the Acceptable Lifestlye Target as the Basement Dweller: a man who still lives at home at 30 years of age. And there is NO EXCUSE FOR THAT, unless you are seriously handicapped somehow. It doesn't matter HOW bad the economy is. The economy could get 6,000,000 times worse, and there will still be tons of 30-year-old men going deeper Into The Red to live in their Own Places. It is They Who Will Pull.

I just wanted to stand up for the Basement Dwellers. Everywhere They Go, They are the Walking Butt Of A Joke. Imagine how that feels! Young women-students refuse to go to coffee/lunch/movies with them, and gossip behind their back about That Creepy Old Guy. Who becomes more IRREVERSIBLY CREEPY with every passing second. Every second pushes them further into pathetic desperation, and with NO WAY of getting that precious lost time back.

There truly is a dark side to basement dwelling. The Man of Absolute Power and Common Sense, however, argues that many Basement Dwellers are only basement-dwelling until they can "ride out" the recession, and that the dwellers possess BOTH a desire to move out of The Basement, AND a sense of gratitude for the privilege they're being offered of not having to go Irreversibly Deeper Into The Red with another exorbitant monthly expense.

Men don't need to Rape women to prove how much they hate them. All the proof needed is in the knowing. Plus this allows men to hold the Moral High Ground, if you are moral enough not to advocate physical violence except in direct reciprocation to physical violence visited on one's own person.

It's best if one's hatefulness is tempered with some sort of humour - sarcasm, most naturally. The sarcasm needn't dilute the sincerity of the hate, either. WIN WIN!

Here's a weird dream: I was in some sort of "alternative lifestyles allies" group, surrounded by a bunch of gays and lesbians. I had to reassure them that yes, I was heterosexual, but even still, I was a strong ally of alternative lifestyles. Because I am. I relate better with homos than heteros simply because I, like them, am so damn gender-role-defiant.

There was also another hilarious scene where I was sailing down a river (another common dream-scenario!) and shouting hateful, hilarious epithets at women: "So! Jew chugga lotta cum today? Ya Little
Baby-Batter Burper!!"

Then there was another dream where I was blatantly bombing an exam in school. I've had so many of these dreams. The teacher was my old "AP" Chemistry teacher from high school, who also happens to be a family friend. Good guy but definitely eccentric.

We were there for the final exam, which was written out on the blackboard: "300 Questions about The Police". (the band.) You had to put the numbers 1 through 300 on your piece of paper in a VERY CONFUSING/nonsensical pattern: you make three columns of numbers. In the first column you write 1 through 9, vertically. In the second column you write 6 thru ???. In the third column, you put the Average of the two numbers to the left. And, in the end, this is supposed to include all the numbers from 1-300. Somehow.

It understandably took the class some time to get used to this strange numbering system. The teacher had an example on the board but it was illegible and noncomprehensive/incomprehensible. I turned to the guy next to me for help. He explained it a little better but I still couldn't understand. I asked the teacher but he wouldn't give any help. He just said "think about it" or something stupid.

I also didn't have any paper. So I found a dirty piece of paper on the floor, with writing on one side, and a big grease spot on it. That would have to suffice.

I just couldn't figure it out. All around me the proverbial "light bulb" was turning on for many students, and they were clearly breezing through the exam: apparently figuring out the numbering system was the ultimate key to knowing 300 facts about The Police. (None of this stuff had nothing to do with the class material, of course.) But I was just getting frustrated and scared.

After a little while, this dorky guy I went to high-school with got up and turned in his paper. "I can't figure it out. I give up."

The teacher nodded his head sternly and accepted the paper. The kid had just flunked the whole class, because this Final Exam was so grave it determined you Final Grade. And he wasn't an idiot, either; to the contrary, he was an academically-achieving Dork, like me.

About 10 minutes later, I was even more frustrated and anxious. I could think less and less clearly. This was hopeless. I sighed, got up, and handed my scribbled-covered paper to the teacher. "I just can't figure this out. This is hopeless. I CHOOSE TO FAIL THE EXAM," I said with a quivering voice.

He nodded his head sternly. EPIC EXAM FAIL.

This is recurring theme in my dreams. Probably something to do with when I had a real-life Epic Fail in my own educational career more than 5 years ago, to which I attribute my professional/economic/existential failure now. So that's the underlying meaning, Herr Doktor.

I am the weirdest person I know. If I'm getting up early in the AM, I try to be IN BED by 9:30 pm. And I'm often crabby the next day if I'm not.

I'm at my healthiest and most well-adjusted when I'm having a Good Day at Work. Unfortunately, this is not the side most people see of me.

I've started looking more and more at the job sites / craigslist / classifieds / etc, and becoming directly-proportionately more-and-more grateful to have the job that I do. There's still the same crap out there as there was last year. I'm still just as unqualified because I still don't have a bachelor's/master's degree in something useful. The Accounting Temp jobs all call for 2 or 3 + years of experience. Or at least extensive medical billing knowledge. And as much as I like to mock Medical Billers, it's not the type of thing you can just walk into. You need to take at least 2 or 3 classes and memorize a shitload of confusing, specialized terms.

The only leg-up I have on 2008-classwar is that now I can put my current job at the top of my resume: a job which I have enjoyed and excelled at for the past 7 months. That in and of itself is a huge boost to my resume, considering how terrible it was before:

"Oh, that was an unpaid internship with a communist organization. I didn't really gel with the spirit of the organization but I took it because I figured it would fill in a gap on my resume better than...an even longer gap."

"Oh, that was a job I had before I realized how terrible the recession was going to get, and I quit after THREE MONTHS because it was too stressful and I hated the boss. I really should have begged him to rehire me but I was too proud and scared."

Of course I want to make more money, but without some sort of certification, I'm unlikely to. And most jobs seem to be part-time, anyway. And I guarandamnTEE you any other job wouldn't be NEARLY as chill as the library. You cannot put a price on this chillness. When you have a basket-case of psychosocial disorders, you can't work JUST ANYWHERE for a substantial period of time.

In other words, there ARE NO better jobs out there to trade-up to.

I've been trying to pay more mind to my "style". I know what looks gauche or scrubby, and what doesn't. It's just that I'm forced by fundage to get all of my clothes at the salvation army. I'm trying to do the best I can with what I got. Although I really need some new shoes.

Generally, nice-looking clothes are really, really expensive. Even more expensive than going out to the bar. Which can already keeping one from moving out from "The Basement". Which is, in turn, can keep one from socializing/"closing" with attractive women. Who one may be obsessed with.

Who the hell is "chace crawford?" He looks like an idiot. Bet he gets his D S'ed. I could care less.

You can tell when somebody's genuinely interested, like when you can tell when somebody has a good hand in cards. They smile and make effort and generally seem genuinely interested, rather than distant or UBERflaky (but still a little flaky. You can't avoid that.) E.g., Like this one woman. Classwar was lonely once and pretty much put in ALL the effort, and she was too passive to reject him at the outset; waiting until they'd moved past the outset, and the discrepancy between their levels of mutual interest/effort was too obvious to ignore any longer. Classwar shouldn't have even gone there, But he was lonely and thought he liked her.

Whereas, in contrast, some other woman might be throwing herself at him (i.e., telling of effort), and her interest here is much more clearly marked. Doesn't mean it'll last for any period of time, though.

Sometimes, men only get women on the mind because it's summer and they're lonely and their hormones are Raaaaaging.

I'm eavesdropping on this guy asking this girl to study and it's so obvious what he's trying to do, and she is totally not picking up on it at all: "Oh. you mean me and YOU studying? together?" (so hilariously embarrassing)

Or, insidiously, even more likely: maybe this is just her way of pretending not to know. Because supposedly women are supposed to be better at "reading cues" than men are. You wouldn't be able to discern/"tell" their keenness at reading-between-the-lines from what they say and how they act, though.

THE PERFECT SUBTERFUGE.

Tattoos are so stupid I can't even begin to explain. The most I would ever do is draw a huge inverted cross on my arm with a marker. That's much more my style. Certainly nothing permanent!

You know, sometimes you really would prefer just to get a hooker. Because Real Women are so annoying and obnoxious, You don't want to be around them, and you certainly wouldn't want to make an effort on people you don't want to be around. They're all (All Women) just so stupid. Even when They seem tolerable for a few minutes. At the root of it all, they're all stupid and intolerable.

But Sometimes You vacillate though. Sometimes some women seem fun.

But you do know this: you almost don't want to "get with" a woman ever again, because then you won't be able to smugly, angrily, self-righteously say: "It's Been X,000,000 Years Since I've Had Anything To Do With Women. Haw-Haw." If you end up having recently gotten Some, then you lose your grounds for hating women (because, by giving you Some, Women have served their one and only function, and then you're obligated not to Hate them so much.)

In the Fake Bourgeois World, when Classwar was obsessed with the concept of Graduate School and Academia, he was thusly obsessed with writers/thinkers like Foucault and Lacan. Not saying these two have anything in common; they were just two of the "biggest" names. Ever since living in The Real World, he's heard neither name mentioned. In years. And he's lost any inchoate insincere interest in them. They can eat a fat dick.

I hate it when women Say remarkably blunt, rude, and inappropriate things to your face with that "fake sarcastic" tone: "Yes, I know this is an incredibly rude thing to say, but I'm just joking.....hahahahahaha but no. really. Did anyone ever tell you you have a Sweating Problem."

People can be so excruciatingly Rude that you just don't want to be around them.

Michael Jackson is dead. I thought it was a joke when I first heard it. But it's not. We joked that he "had a heart attack from molesting too many little boys." Then I made another improper remark about Farrah Fawcett dying of ANAL CANCER.

Nothing sacred, only the profane, over here.


Wow. The new Goatwhore album "Carving Out The Eyes of God" has just "Dropped." I knew they were working on new stuff but I didn't know they were coming out with the album so soon. I've always liked these guys. Sammy Duet has been somewhat inspirational to me. I had my picture taken with him back when I was fat and real nonphotogenic. Real Cool Guy.

On VERY first listen, my immediate impression is that they sound a lot more laid-back and straightforward and traditionally "thrashy." With a noisy SOLO, no less: that's a first! By the second song we discover that no, that haven't ABANDONED their trademark blast-beats, thank goodness. Overall, this is the most "riffy" I've ever heard them, and the album is a solid bang-yer-head affair. I'm sure it will broaden their "celebrity" and cause some old-school fans to finally jump the ship, because it does demonstrate more "change" than at any point in their career.

But I still just don't really care for Ben's voice. It's just not a great fit with GW. I've always thought Sammy should be the Only Singer of this band.

And Ben still writes obnoxious, meaningless lyrics and drops ambiguous "this" phrases 10,000 times a sentence.

Sometimes one hates seeing all these Young Kids (High-schoolers; 20 year-olds; peoples' younger siblings) doing all this "dating"; meanwhile, everybody just writes One off as the Old Fuck-Up Who Will Never "Date." (Yes, of course "date" is just a euphemism for "fuck", but we prefer the overly-romanticized euphemism, thank you very much.)


I'm even more articulate and ingenious in person than I am on the SIBHoD, plus I'm likelier to to be funnier AND less angry. There's just something about The Written Form of communication that tempts me towards bitter rancour; whereas, actual conversation is muuuuch more amenable to Keeping Things Humourous. So maybe I should Write Less, and Talk More.


Or maybe put myself in a different frame of mind before writing.

I am really looking forward to a super-low-key saturday night. I roundly refuse to go anywhere or do anything. Way too crabby, angry, and sleep-deprived; and I'd rather spend Sunday doing Homework and getting My Game Back rather than Being Dead and having to use Monday to get the game back. I have yet another Accounting Exam to PWN this week, after all.

More weird dreams. I was in a dream-version of "college town" and my car was taking a "grand theft auto" style beating. I was crashing into things and the car eventually became undrivable. I was on the north side of town visiting a female. We ended up listening to Bjork and making-out, which turned out to be a lot of fun, believe it or not. Then we listened to what was widely regarded as "the best bjork song", which had some icelandic title, and really sounded like tom waits in his kurt weill/cabaret mode. Bjork was voicing several characters, one of which was a deep-voiced waits-ish man, another was much more typically bjork. (It wasn't an actual Bjork song, obv, but one that I wrote in-the-dream.)

Then I had to literally run across town to meet my parents, and all of the sudden it was snowing like crazy and I was wearing shorts.

Then at some point I was performing cunnilingus (!!!) on an actually-attractive young lady. She was vocally loving it, and when I touched her clitoris, she gushed all over

I don't quite understand that, because the thought of most women's genitalia disgusts me. The phrase "Filthy,
Stretchy, stenchy, disease-ridden, blown-out, beefy C-Dumpster" comes to mind.

I don't like my Big Macs to Look Like A Cunt, And I don't Like My Cunts To Look Like A Big Mac.

I slept generally quite poorly that night and didn't want to wake up and "face the day."

That would be saturday. I'm looking forward to a quiet night in, as Classwar has been known to make an ass of himself on Saturday Nights. This sends a profoundly, disturbingly misleading message. I've been thinking of making a t-shirt that says:

"The Appalling Drunken Buffoonery You Are Witnessing Is Absolutely NOT Indicative Of How Classwar Spend 99.99% Of His Hours. Thank You In Advance For Your Refraining From Judgement."

Hormones. What a calamitous conundrum.

There's not much to say. When your world revolves around your libido, things like the iranian election, michael jackson, and sometimes even "the economy", take a backseat.

I like how Greg House, M.D. gets hookers instead of Real Women.

I don't appreciate that Greg House, M.D., is a widely-respected medical doctor, though. He'd make a better divorced, alcoholic desk-jockey. Or at least a divorced alcoholic struggling to get through an inglorious occupational therapist assistant program at an inglorious "school."

Sometimes one does get nostalgaic sometimes. For a while way back in the day, maybe you briefly "dated" a young girl who was actually ridiculously, retardedly cute. Maybe You wouldn't have minded boning her about 600,000,000 times more than you actually did, and that you would have familiarized yourself with her beautiful young body until you got bored of it. Better than the alternative, uh?

I'm not saying You'd give her the time of day if she crawled to you on her fat, canklish thighnees. I'm just saying You'd probably pay her $70 to sit on your face for a few hours. After playing a brisk round of soccer.

Thanks for the mammaries.

But here's something good: I just got PAID the other day.

Hope all my Dear Readers out there are getting PAID any way they can, and are sublimating their own raging hormones and rage into a most blissful start of Summer.

Although I will say, the only thing gayer than Fireworks, is Fireworks in Mount Clemens. What a shithole of hick retards and nazi-lovers.

Innocent Underage Cutie O' The Post:

Kay Panabaker



I saw her on this Disney Channel Original Movie called "Read Em And Weep" or something about a girl who publishes a diary. I found her to be really cute. We at the SIBHoD are sure she's still no stranger to getting "tipsy" and stretching her 16-year old asshole around veritable coliseumsful of Black Cocks, but she's still probably smarter and more pleasant-to-be-around than the Average Slut.



Have a decent week, and always remember: if you're not Workliving up to Your Potential, You're just not trying hard enough.