I have a theory. I think at any given moment, at least in the state of Florida, you are surrounded by at least ten idiots. From the idiots who can’t handle the lofty task of flipping on a turn signal, to the idiots who’s retirement plan is nothing more than ‘buy lotto tickets,’ we are all swimming in a veritable pool of idiots.
I want to drain the god damn pool.
Today, I got stuck behind what I like to call a “Mr. Nice Guy” in traffic. Traffic was heavy, and Mr. Nice Guy decided to slam on his brakes so he could let not one, not two, but four people in front of him.
I had to wonder, do the idiots that do this realize that while they’re making four dudes happy, they’re also pissing off the 50 fucking people behind them? No joke, while this dude was thinking he’d done his good dead for the day, he had no idea that I was behind him, fantasying about strangling him with the alternator belt that’s about to snap on my car.
Idiots are the reason that bleach comes with the warning ‘do not drink’. Idiots are the reason kids have to wear helmets for everything from rollerblading, to jerking off. Idiots are the reason Nickelback is still touring.
And us smart people, we’re enabling the idiots. We’re the ones who put the warnings on bleach in the first place. We’re the ones who design the helmets these idiot kids wear. We’re the ones that teach these idiots how to use a computer so they can buy those Nickelback tickets. Half the problem is the fact that idiots don’t understand sarcasm, so they don’t know they’re being idiots. Let me give you an example.
The other night, I got an email from a webmaster who wanted me to write some articles for him. But he didn’t want to pay me for these articles. As he pointed out, because he was such an impressive webmaster, the exposure alone would make me as a freelance writer.
The subjects he wanted me to write about? Penny stocks and anal bleaching. Not joking, this really happened. Here’s how I responded.
Dear (name redacted)
Thanks for contacting me about your project. It’s super ironic, because I actually don’t do this for a living. It’s a hobby. See, I actually write articles about penny stocks and anal bleaching just for the fun of it. Just recently, I was forced to shut down my website “Full Bank Account/Clean Asshole”, which was a website for enthusiasts of the ‘pump and dump’ on two different levels. I thought I was going to have to get rid of all the articles I wrote on the subject, then I got your message. What luck!
I figured no one could miss the sarcasm in that, but I vastly underestimated the idiocy of others, because all I got back was a two word message.
I ignored it, thinking the dude was fucking with me. Then today, I got a follow up message.
So are you still interested in working with me?
So I sent another response.
Sorry. I recently died of cancer.
I can only assume that in the next few days, I’ll receive another email offering his condolences for my untimely death. Because I am indeed, surrounded by idiots.
Now if you’ll all excuse me, I have to go. Full Bank Account/Clean Asshole needs updating.
I’ve never been a particularly religious person. That’s probably because every major religion I’ve ever looked into (with the exception of Wicca, which I just find strange) tends to treat women more like accessories than people. Those of us without dangly bits are expected to make babies, clean houses and listen to men.
I hate babies. I haven’t cleaned anything since 1996, and judging from my hate mail, most men are far too stupid to be worth listening to. To me, being a religious woman is a lot like being a black Republican. I just don’t get it.
But I feel like I’m missing out. Aside from having an imaginary friend to talk to, free spaghetti suppers, and unlimited bingo nights, I’m also missing out on those sweet, sweet tax incentives.
So I’m creating a new religion. It’s called Agnostic Apathy. Our main creed will be as follows.
“The only people who know what happens after you die are dead people. So we should all worry about what happens after we’re dead when we’re actually dead.”
Of course, a platform of apathy is no platform at all (literally) so here are some guidelines to help you all live a pure and godly Agnostic Apathist lifestyle.
#1 – Every religion needs a book, but I don’t feel like writing one. It’s probably the apathy. So our bible will default to my favorite book “Valley of the Dolls.” There are many valuable life lessons to be learned in “Valley of the Dolls”, including;
- Never mix amphetamines with sedatives. You’ll break even and ruin your buzz.
- If you catch your possibly gay husband sleeping with your assistant in your cabana, make sure to disinfect your pool with plenty of rum
- Suicide attempts are a great way to earn public sympathy and movie roles
- All your friends will eventually turn on you if enough money is involved.
I’m sure that there are a lot more life lessons to be had in “Valley of the Dolls,” but I’m a bit too buzzed to look them up. That’s because I’m following one of “Valley of the Dolls’” best life lessons of all.
There is no problem so big that alcohol can’t fix it.
#2 – Every religion needs a god to pray to. That’s why I’ve decided to cut out the Hollywood middleman and start praying to Morgan Freeman.
Morgan Freeman is a great messiah. He’s friendly, yet stern. He has a delightful speaking voice. And he knows a lot of penguin trivia. As an added benefit, he’s played the role of god like 400 times, so he has experience.
#3 – Door to door recruiting is encouraged. Not a lot of credible ‘non-crazy’ religions go door-to-door trying to recruit new members. Think about it. When was the last time you opened your door to a bunch of Hasidic Jews who wanted to discuss the Torah with you?
That’s because the Hasidic Jews already have a fan following. The newer, wackier religions don’t. But they also don’t have a good marketing policy. It’s my understanding that the Jehovahs and the Mormons both have a standard script and procedure manual for door knocking. So I’ve created my own, and it’s going to be much more effective, using an easy step-by-step method.
- Get loaded. It’s so much easier to talk to people when you’re loaded.
- Bring beer.
- Knock on the door.
- Use a powerful greeting that will get your prospect’s attention. I recommend “What’s up, bitches? Can I interest you in some free beer?”
- Get prospect extremely intoxicated.
- Ask for money
I’m estimating at least a 90% success rate with that method, as opposed to the 0.005% success rate of other door knockers.
Suck it, Mormons.
#4 – We’re going to borrow the stuff I actually like from other religions.
Jews, nice call on the ‘no hell’ thing. Of course, it doesn’t make up for the big thing you got wrong; i.e. killing Jesus. But it’s still a good idea.
Catholics, I love the heavy focus on wine. Of course, I imagine the ratio of kid diddling to priest goes up significantly once everyone is buzzed, so let’s remember to drink responsibly.
Muslims…um…ahhh? No booze, smoking or bacon? And for all that, I get virgins in the afterlife? Why the hell would I want virgins? They have no idea what they’re doing! Sorry bros, you can keep the Quran. It kind of sounds like a downer.
Wiccans, I dig the clothes. They’re very forgiving, which I need after all that Catholic wine drinking. Sure the earth worship thing makes you all look like nutjobs, but at least you look sexy and bohemian when you do it.
Buddhists, your messiah is a giant brown baby. I love it! Note to all, correction on the Morgan Freeman thing. Our messiah will now be played by a giant brown baby, narrated by Morgan Freeman.
If I missed any other major religions, you should know I just didn’t care enough to look you up on Wikipedia. Sorry.
Ok, I’ve put a lot of work into this new religion. By work, I mean I drank four beers and spent an hour insulting as many people as I could. In my world that’s work. So I’m hopeful people will get on board. If you’re interested in becoming a member, there is only one important thing you have to do.
***Note to family – The title should have turned you off, but if it didn’t, don’t say I didn’t warn you. This post features more than you will ever want to know about me. Turn back now before it’s too late.***
Ever since I came clean about writing porn under the name of Charlene McSuede, I’ve been getting a lot of emails from readers telling me “I know it’s porn, but I’m thinking about checking out one of your Charlene McSuede books.” Or even worse, “I’m reading one of your porn books because I like your writing style.”
To which I can only say…
I have a feeling a lot of people are picking these things up, expecting a Harlequin romance or even something like 50 Shade of Grey. Let me make this clear, people. The books under my porn name make 50 Shades of Grey look like the fucking Veggie Tales.
These books are not simply books that feature extensive sex scenes, or even some light bondage. They are hardcore spanking fiction.
Yeah, you read that right. Hardcore spanking fiction. That is what these are. While the books are romance, and might even feature a story with a decent twist, that’s only because I think anything worth writing is worth writing right.
But do not go into them thinking you can just skip the kink. You can’t. The books start out tame because I actually have to build character relationships first, but do not be lulled into a false sense of security. Let me give you a metaphor to explain what is going to happen.
You hear a light knocking at your front door. You can’t tell if it’s a visitor or the wind. The rapping continues, almost eerily calm. Tap. Tap. Tap. The tapping is almost soothing in its gentleness. You approach the peephole, to see if you do indeed have a visitor, or if it is nothing more than a wayward tree branch. Ever so softly, you get up on your tiptoes and put your eye right up to the peephole and…
BAM!!! A FUCKIN BULLET RIPS OFF PART OF YOUR HEAD!
If you like my writing style, then read the books under this pen name and be patient as I work on publishing more. If you want to support me, again, this pen name.
The only time you should be reading my hardcore spanking fiction is if you’re into hardcore spanking fiction.
Also, no need to mention you’re reading it. This in no way benefits me. Think about it. If you hate it, chances are you think I’m a sick perv. If you love it, you’ve pretty much told me that we enjoy masturbating to the same things. That’s way more than I really need to know about my readers.
I’m not ashamed of the porn. That’s why I mention it here. It sells and it’s good…if you enjoy hardcore spanking fiction. If not, then avoid it. But either way, let’s never mention it again, k?
I’ve been in denial for awhile, but it’s time to admit it. My neighborhood has become a ghetto.
When I first moved in, it was a simple, quiet gated community on the edge of a wealthier town. Most of the people who lived here were middle-class, white collar workers who spent their days in the offices right up the street. Even when the signs started to appear that this place was going down hill, I ignored them.
When one of my neighbors tried to burn his girlfriend’s apartment down, while completely stark naked I just said “Hey, it’s already hot enough here. If you’re going to light a fire, you need to stay cool.” When a man got into a police standoff a few blocks over, complaining that he was getting messages from the children’s show, “Yo Gabba Gabba” I took it as par for the course in being a Floridian.
When a man drove his car into the 2 foot retention pond and tried to commit suicide, I just assumed he was really bad at suicide.
But I can no longer ignore it, the way I’ve ignored the fact that my neighbors are drug dealers. I can no longer ignore it, because just this morning, I saw ‘ghetto mattress”.
Ghetto mattress never happens in a nice neighborhood. You don’t hear about a lot of residents in Coconut Grove calling the city to have someone’s 16 year old posturpedic removed. No, a mattress on the side of the road happens only where no one really gives a fuck.
Let’s explain the evolution. A ghetto motherfucker wakes up one morning and realizes he needs to get rid of his mattress. Maybe it’s filled with burns because of his crack pipe. Maybe his Rottweiler peed on it. For whatever reason, the mattress is persona-non-grata in his one bedroom apartment.
So here is what he does. He drags the mattress outside and tosses it on top of his 1998 Honda Civic. You know the one. It has a sound system that’s worth more than the car, pitch black window tint and spinning rims.
He makes it about 25 feet with the mattress on top of his car, before he slams on his brakes and the mattress goes flying and lands in what will be its final resting place. This guy then gives himself a hearty pat on the back and walks away, saying ‘well, the mattress is society’s problem now”.
Ghetto mattress will never be moved. It will sit on the side of the road, being used as a trampoline by ghetto motherfucker’s children and as a waste disposal unit for feral cats. It will sit there for decades, and everyone who drives past it will say ‘who the hell just leaves a mattress on the side of the road?”
Eventually, ghetto mattress will get some friends. He might get some ‘ghetto tires’, or one of those old steel barrels that bums use to light fires in. He might even get a few more mattresses.
Homeless people will discover all these wonderful mattresses for sleeping on, and all these wonderful tires for sitting on. They will make fires in the discarded steel cans until the area where ghetto mattress started looks a lot like this.
Yes, I’m saying it. The journey to having a homeless camp in your back yard begins with one solitary mattress. So it’s looking like it’s time to move again. On the upside, at least I know what to do with all my old mattresses.
God, it’s a bitch to write these things sober. That’s one notable thing I’ve noticed about 2014. I spent a significant amount of it heavily intoxicated. The rest of the time was spent deleting Facebook and Twitter posts made while intoxicated.
Does that mean I’m quitting my drinking and illicit drug use entirely? Fuck no. I’m just cutting back until my ass shrinks down a size or two…same with my liver.
Luckily I do remember enough of the high points of 2014 to review them. So let’s get started.
#1 – I started writing porn
Yeah people, the girl who couldn’t write a sex scene two years ago now makes her living predominantly on books that are nothing more than extended sex scenes. I published my first porn book in 2014, saw 100 sales in a day, and decided to totally sell out.
As a result, my books under the pen name Essa Alroc have fallen by the wayside. So this is my solemn vow. I will publish enough porn this year so that I can go back to writing the books that don’t sell. I actually have two in the works. It’s just, when faced with the option of writing a book that sells, over one that I’m actually proud of, I’ll choose the one that sells every time.
I never denied the fact that I am a complete literary whore. If you’re curious, my porn is under the name Charlene McSuede. Now go look it up and be embarrassed for both of us.
#2 – I went viral
But not in that bad way, like the time I gave everyone at work ringworm. Nope, in the good way where my rantings got shared with a shitload of people, multiple times. I didn’t see an increase in book sales, but I did see an increase in hate mail…which is good, because my hate mail page needed to be updated.
#3 – My overall hate mail went down significantly, while my weird mail went up.
Last year, I was mainly getting messages that told me what a dumb cunt I am. This year, I’m getting messages offering this dumb cunt plane tickets to come visit, promising me money or asking for pictures of my feet.
People, this is not one of those web cam model pages. I don’t want your money (mainly because I am entirely convinced it will be covered in human secretions) but also because I’m not a beggar. I’m doing ok. This is not a Go Fund Me page. I fund myself and I’m good. You want to give to charity, adopt one of those black kids Sally Struthers used to bitch about. You want to do me a solid?
#4 – I made an attempt to home school my kid.
Me and Logan tried it out this year, mainly because of how much I change home bases. It seemed unfair to keep making him move, so I offered homeschooling.
Result? After the first few ‘social studies’ lessons, that mainly involved me getting wasted, showing up in his room at 2 am and spending four hours ranting about the government, Logan said to me, “mom, I think I want to go back to regular school.”
Hey, at least we tried.
All in all, 2014 was a good year. It wasn’t great. It was like one of those filler episodes in a soap opera, where nothing really happens, but they need to advance the plot. That leads me to believe all the crazy shit is going to happen in 2015.
I’m writing my porn with a publisher now and I’m making sales, because let’s be honest, you motherfuckers are perverts. With any luck, I’ll finish my first series, start my second and James Franco will want to make a movie out of it, then get into a huge fight with North Korea, thereby making me go more viral than I already am (and I’m not talking ringworm, people).
I didn’t make the New York Times bestsellers list this year, but I could hardly expect to. I spent it writing spank fodder. With the exception of EL James, spank fodder doesn’t really lend itself to a lot of bookclubs.
But 2015 is going to be a big year for me. I already feel it. Maybe I’ll write some bestselling porn. Maybe it will be one of my real books that actually gets more than 4 sales a month. Either way, I’ll spend 2015 writing and not in a cubicle.
Who could ask for anything more?
I like to consider myself a tolerant person, even though I know, deep down inside, I’m not. I’m a generation Xer, a former military member and a girl who grew up with the threat of Islam leaning over her head. So excuse me very much if I look at you sideways when I see a person in America wearing a head scarf or a woman covering her face. I’m very sorry that my shock offends you, but let’s admit if I showed up in your middle Eastern country with my hair unbound and my face on full display, I’d get a few shocked looks too.
The difference between you and me? No one is tossing you into prison when you come to America with your head scarf on. I doubt I would be given the same courtesy if I was to go to your homeland.
You’re welcome, BTW.
I’m frustrated by something I shouldn’t be frustrated by. I know it’s wrong. I know it’s not tolerant and my liberal guilt just has me stewing in my own angry juices but I’m going to say it anyway. It’s not my job to make sure the country you chose to live in assimilates to you. It’s your job to assimilate to your country.
I’m on this tangent tonight because of the Australian hostage crisis and the whole #illridewithyou liberal guilt parade that followed. Never mind the two people that died because of religious extremism, or the 10 more that were horrified because of the hostage situation in the first place. Apparently us westerners need to still make sure that people of different religious backgrounds feel comfortable around us.
We say “I’ll ride with you” to our Islam counterparts, so they won’t get harassed. Because god forbid someone who just goes about their regular business gets harassed. Like when they go to a coffee shop or something and then get held hostage for two days. Unless they’re white. Apparently then, it’s ‘fuck you white people. Game on.”
Yup, it pissed me off that this person, an Islam terrorist, was able to take a shitload of people hostage and the first response of everyone else? “Well, it doesn’t mean all Muslims are bad. We should have a Twitter campaign to support them.”
Are you assholes fucking serious?
We ignore the real victims and we avoid getting angry because of our liberal white person guilt. If we were truly being ourselves, instead of “#illridewithyou” we’d have “#illkickthenextmuslimextremistiseeinthenutsnoregrets.”
No motherfucking regrets.
That is a campaign I’m ready to see. All this over zealous, liberal guilt, religious reverse discrimination is just about enough. Right now, the bad guys are Muslim. In fact, for the past decade, the bad guys have been Muslim. Just so you know Muslims, I’m suspicious of you and I feel no need to defend you. Deal with it.
“Oh, I had nothing to do with it. I’m a peaceful Muslim.”
Well I’m a peaceful white chick, but I still get blamed for slavery. Despite the fact that my family never owned slaves and that I believe black people deserve the same rights as white, I’m a villain. That all occurs because of an accident of my birth. I didn’t have a choice.
So welcome to the club, motherfuckers. In this country, you get blamed for every single mistake every single one of your predecessors made. It’s up to you to fix it.
You know what I don’t see enough of? These peaceful Muslims stating their extremist counterparts are wrong. I don’t see them getting on the news like Al Sharpton, defending their race. Instead, I see the allegedly peaceful ones expecting others to do it for them.
So no, I’m not ready to make nice. I’m not ready to defend your right to wear headscarves or not touch pork or whatever, because you are not taking the opportunity to defend yourselves.
So yup, when I see a headscarf, a burqa or anything in between, I immediately think “terrorist”. I think so because history has told me to think “terrorist.” You not bothering to defend yourselves gives me no confidence in your position. I think if you had that much faith in your religion, you’d be a bit more outspoken about it.
It’s not up to me to change my view. It’s up to you to change my perception. So get vigilant about it. Take a strong stance against Al-Qaeda, against Isis, against any religious extremist group. Because people are suffering and they are dying because of the religion YOU chose to be a part of. It’s not your fault but it’s part of your community and it’s your responsibility to fix it. Welcome to the club.
Meanwhile, don’t expect me to defend you religion. Defend it yourself. Otherwise, I propose a new hashtag. Its called’ #getyourowndamnride
Either defend the religion you apparently think so highly of, or let it go. But stop expecting others to defend it for you. Because I, for one, am not ready to make nice. I’m still a bit pissed about the whole 9-11 thing.
And maybe, just maybe, its about time we all got fucking good and mad about it, rather than talking about how much we “tolerate it.” Because I’m a bit sick of tolerating fairy tales being used to drive my life or as an excuse to kill my family and my ‘tolerance’ only goes so far.