Creative Writing – Page 11

A whine, a whine, and cake

This month has been incredibly hard for me. With my new found dedication to my mind, body, and spirit which includes sobriety, health, and meditation has come a lot of new found pitfalls. Not really new just that I thought quitting smoking would come very easy to me like quitting drugs or quitting drinking, but those did not come on the first try so why should this have.

It has kept me from writing as much I would have liked. But changes need to be imminent, otherwise change will never occur.

That being said. I started writing this yesterday however I needed a bit of a kick in the ass, a nice taste of stupid people, and a little bit of eye candy.

Unfortunately all I saw at the gym were five foot tall power lifting gym rat muscle heads. I’m pretty sure one stood at maybe 4’4″. I always find it cute with double numbers, just not with those two. I guess if I liked women I would like 44 better. I mean Pam Anderson does have a nice rack.

Ugh so all these people that think they can drive the speed limit or better in the snow are amusing. It’s not that bad out yet, maybe two or three inches and people drive like they are God. I am waiting for someone to crash into the median in front of me at some point. It would be pretty funny unless an airbag went off or glass broke. Most silly accidents like that are relatively funny.

OK I’ll stop being sick in the head. The funniest thing about the snow is there is always someone on TV shoveling it way, way, way too early. In this case about 15 hours too early. And he looked 70. I wish there was a way to broadcast to all elderly people when they are cutting up.

Or anyone really. Like sometimes my conscious mind seems to take a trip to a far away galaxy. There should be a chip in my head. Bad Spacedog, Bad Spacedog!!!! And transport me to some shackles.

That all being said…..I am not in the mood to bitch a whole lot more.

I am in the mood for cake. An entire cake…. decadent, lascivious, homemade, mouthwatering.

Men are like cake.
If I could I would eat cake everyday.
For every meal.
Then I would waddle eventually.
Overly indulged I would not want cake ever again.

Men are like that. You have too many, you will end up waddling or walking with a certain slant or strange visitors in your nooks and crannies.

Yet there are so many kinds of cake. It’s easy to find any old piece of cake. A vanilla with vanilla frosting or a chocolate cake. Minors are kind of like cupcakes. When you are a little cupcake, they are nice and tasty and big cakes are rather frightening or daunting or cumbersome. Hopefully we grow out of cupcakes.

Sometimes I still feel like a cupcake or I feel like eating one but I like a biT more satisfaction. And besides cupcakes don’t come in as many flavors.

And my favorite cake. I’m not really sure. My favorite cakes changes from year to year to year. Right now it probably would be Black Forest. But if I went around looking for a man that was black forest I would probably find something similar but not the same. Like a chocolate cheesecake covered in cherries.

But it’s easy to find cheesecake too. In fact most of the men in this world are cheesecakes. You can top them with strawberries, cherries, blueberries but guess what? They are still cheesecake underneath it all. Maybe if I liked cheesecake I would have been the type of person that has had a piece of cake under my grubby little fingers since I was 16 years old but I’ve never really been the biggest fan of cheesecake. It probably would be easier. But why just settle for the cheesecake?

I’d even take my second favorite cake, Triple Mousse. Then I find Triple Mousse and realize that cake is no longer what I want. I suddenly am allergic to chocolate. I suddenly am allergic to you. I ponder and I plot and I worry about what I am supposed to do. It would be nice if I could put a rain check on the Mousse or the Black Forest.

But then some days I want pie. And on those days I hide. I love lemon meringue and I love key lime, but the pie sometimes symbolizes what is wrong with life. It is so convenient and so easy, like the crack cocaine of sweets. Hostess and Tastycake and Drakes offer it for a dollar or less at times and it is so accessible. It calls right there and screams my name. It is easy to resist but hard like all other bad things can be at times.

So I sit here on this post snowy day wondering what exactly Christmas cookies are.

Then I wonder about Advent calendars. Why can’t their just be a man hiding behind the many days leading up to Christmas? That I can take with me and wake up under the Christmas tree and then just put him away a few days after New Years and forget about him and throw him in the crawl space until the following December.

I suppose some things will never be perfect in the world.

By SpaceDog

Lee Jonitis: Professional People Watcher (1/365)

Lee arrived at work half an hour late. He then proceeded to unlocked the door, walked in, and switched the lights on. Slowly the rows of Florescent Lights that lined the ceiling flickered to life initiating Their Trademark and incessant Hum. Lee made sauntered lazily to the back office that was in fact a converted Janitorial Closet, and the stench of Bleach and Industrial German Disinfectants still hung in the air.

As Lee counted out his cash drawer he glanced at the Calendar that hung on the wall that was one of the free Chinese Food Restaurant freebies. The Owner was such a fucking cheap bastard he made Scrooge look like a fucking shopaholic.

17 more days Lee noted 17 more days until the day he had decided previously to getting the job to quit. You see Lee was a self-proclaimed Professional People Watcher, and in planning Lee had set a standard 90 day time limit for every job he would have along his expiration of Humanity in all its shapes and forms.

Lee excited the shitty excuse for an Office and navigated the row of X Rated DVDs with covers that depicted every sex act imaginable (well the legal ones anyways). He past the racks of Various Sex Toys from Dildos to Cock Rings lined the shop walls. Lastly Lee walked his way through the small assembly of Mannequins dressed in all types of Fetish Wear to the Cashier’s counter.

Lee looked at his watch to check the time which was 9:30 am on a Wednesday. Lee took his post on the rickety Bar Stool behind the Counter, Cracked open a Adrenaline Energy Drink, and sat back since business wan’t going to pick up for another several hours at least.

Stay Tuned for Tomorrow’s Next Installment of LEE JONIS: PROFESSIONAL PEOPLE WATCHER (2/365)

Thanks for Reading,

Les Sober

1/365

All through out My Life I’ve heard various People parrot the cliche “A Writer Writes” which is a pompous way of saying Never Stop Writing. I mean it sounds like something that a pretentious asshole like James Lipton would fucking regurgitate in an attempt to look Intellectual.

Also I never fails to astonish Me that People can’t seem to wrap Their fucking heads around the Fact that it doesn’t matter how fucking creative someone is CREATIVITY CAN NOT BE TURNED ON AND OFF at will like a fucking Light Switch for fucks sake. No to mention the ominous and every present Writer’s Block lingering over every writers shoulder just waiting to strike.

I know it’s called Writer’s Block but thats kind of bullshit. Writer’s Block is like being asked a question You damn well know You know the answer too, BUT Your mind goes completely Blank. Writer’s Block only gets worse like fucking Quicksand. Once You fall in the Harder You try to think/create Your way out of a Battle with Writer’s Block the more amnesia like it leaves You feeling.

Thats wasn’t My point though. My point is that this temporary creative paralysis can happen to EVERY TYPE OF ARTIST in the World NOT just Writers, but Painters, Sculptors, Graphic Designers, etc. Unfortunately They don’t make a Medication for Creative Impotence.

Fast forward to a few Days ago. I was driving around completing a list of Lives more mundane tasks (such as buying fucking Dog Food) and found Myself pondering the Principle behind the saying “Writers Write”. I started playing with My perception of the subject at that current time to see if I could get a better understanding. Then it suddenly occurred to Me perhaps that it wasn’t an Egotistical Statement but rather a Piece of Advice.

What if I simply took the saying Writers Write at Face fucking Value, and didn’t try to read shit into it (something have NO GREATER MEANING They are what They are and thats all They are) to find a deeper meaning or intellectually analyze it to the umpteenth degree?!

I believe as of now that the Point of this particular saying is You don’t have to Write a fucking Novel, or fucking Shakespearian Sonnet or a Super BlockBuster Screen Play on a Daily basis just because You’re a Writer. Basically don’t Pressure Yourself as Pressure Crushes Creativity.

Thats why I could never write for a Magazine or Newspaper (online or otherwise) because the Dead Lines would inevitably destroy the quality of My work, and more than likely My Health and Remaining Sanity as well.

Getting back to the Point that You don’t have to be Shackled to Premeditated Creative Ideas/Concepts (Large or Longterm Writing Projects) A Writer can just Write for the shear sake of Writing and the Enjoyment of doing so.

It also helps fight Procrastination since the number one cause of Creative Procrastination is Not having a /any Creative Subject Matter to work with. If You don’t have proper tools it makes Building something not Impossible Yet it DOES make it Insanely fucking Harder as well as MUCH MORE Time/Soul Crushing for the Artist/Writer (I thinks its fucking Stupid that People “And Or” Writers and Artists. Writers are Artists and Artists can Tell Stories Through The Visual Art Mediums. They’re the SAME.)

I found this New view of the cliche saying “A Writer Writs” to no longer being a constrictive load of crap, and now found it quite Freeing. The idea of Writing again without the bullshit Drama like Deadlines, Writers Block, Assorted Outside Pressures, Continuing Creative Concerns, and all the other annoying/troubling Hullababullshit.

So here’s the Deal I will be writing a Complete Story 1 Page a Day for the following Year. I have NO IDEA what it will be about or how it may or may not Evolve over the Span of a Year BUT, that’s the fucking Point isn’t it. I’m just going to sit down, and start writing with NO FORETHOUGHT WHATSOEVER . The Literary equivalent to Throwing Paint at a Blank Canvas with Your Eyes Shut.

I will Start this Little Acid Test Tomorrow Wednesday March 27th 2019 as it is 2:23am as I’m writing this.

Thanks for Reading,

Les Sober

Linger

Someone is watching over me.

They glance at me from over my shoulder.

I know not who or where or how they got into this position.

I’m unsure if I am in a predicament that is of a favorable nature. I do not care. The warmth shinning over my skin, from the tips of my fingers into the core of my being, is overwhelming at times yet extremely comforting at others.

You are right here waiting. I close my eyes and open them. The mirror is not showing me what it usually shows me. I see peace. I see comfort. I see freedom.

Lady Godiva on her horse beckons me with her chocolate. And Jack LaLane is there with his juicer, as Mr-T is telling me I should wear lots of gold. He tells me I’m Italian and I need to represent better.

Sorry Mr-T, I like the silver. Just like sorry I don’t make my own turkey sandwiches I can only deal with the ones they make fresh. And just like sorry green grapes and white grapes, I cannot consume you without a guilty conscious. I cannot be you because it rips apart the essence of me.

There is no food left for you in my valley. There is only an empty glass. My kitchen does not have free refills. Your currency smells of Monopoly, like a pigeon took a dump in your top hat and the rats all died on the footsteps of your temple. Bargain by the river she neatly whispers in my ear. So I slowly proceed.

There’s a knock on the door. It is you. Dampened by the rain, you wander into my home. You tiptoe through the alarm system and you reach around me oblivious to the bells and whistles I have set. Foolhardery can be your only saving grace. I wish to save you but then I disconnect. You are not starring at the frightened mouse who crawled into your cheese hole.

Cold swiss cheese morphed into a warmed brie. The vessel appearing entirely the same. Hell appearing before you is wrapped into a red ribbon. But i’m no longer wearing the garb of the devil. I’m naked spread before you. Before all.

No one recognizes. No one can see past the blank. The void. I am void. Everything is expired. Everything is reborn.

As I slowly grab your hand to greet it with a kiss, you pull closer. I pull back. I am taking in the scents of your cheap perfume, the soft feel of your velvet skin. It is too much. I collapse.

I go off into another world. It is easier to stay here, not that your world was so bad. The subway was broken. I didn’t want to get stuck.

But just love me until the next earthquake. Til the next scent of Hugo or Giovanni or Jean Paul or Coco blasts through my furnace of a heart.

No, that was only the one inside the mirror. I blink several times and I see the inner half of the onion.

This could have been pure bliss.

By SpaceDog

Letting GO

We all need to learn to let go at some time or another. We first learn to let go of our mother’s hand on the first day of school. We learn to let go of old pets who die, sometimes at very young ages. Or learn to let go of friends.

My friend just died. He wasn’t particularly close to me for many years but everyone we were close to at some point or another still holds somewhat of a space. Even if we haven’t been to that part of our mind or heart for a very long time.

But some of the hardest things to let go are not people. They are not pets and they are not letting go of other people’s hands. It is letting go of the very things in our own characters that hold us back. It is hard not to lean on these crutches in times of boredom, in times of anxiety, in times of doubt. But we all go back eventually to something that may hold us back.

While it is holding you back though, you may not even realize. Who the heck realizes that a bad hobby or a bad friend or a bad partner is bad until after it is over and you think to yourself what the hell was i thinking…. Unless it is something obvious like drugs or alcohol, well even that may not be obvious to some. It is certainly becoming obvious to me.

If you look at yourself thinking what the hell am I doing, then you need to be doing something else. I wonder that frequently with some of my actions and some of my inactions. Once you start having to build a web of lies around yourself in order to keep out some of the lesser desired elements of yourself or of your past then well it is not right.

So I sit here writing, my body is in 2020 and my mind is in the spring of 2010 picking flowers and my heart is somewhere floating around in 1997 wondering if maybe we could all meet someday for lunch. Frankly I would prefer fish and chips but I already have a party of three booked for fish and chips so my level 2000 body parts will have to come up with something more creative.

So as I embark on my soon to be new set of eyes, well Lasik surgery, I wish that the new eyes could somehow bring me a new me. I mean it will be a new me, I will be able to see at night and live the night like I never was able to before. And I am so excited.

I’m up all the time at night anyway, this will just be a rather much needed addition. I really haven’t know for about five or ten years whether my lack of going out at night relates to my getting old and boring or the fact I get blinded by other drivers past 7pm. Again I’m ready for cartwheels.

Even though all my body parts and organs may not be in the same kind of place, I see something no one else sees inside of me. Hopefully my new eyes give me another kick in the ass in a world full of fat asses with no kick left in them. That is far more important then ever having my heart, body, and mind in the same room for a cup of tea.

By SpaceDog

Growing Up & Getting Even

Phil never felt the need to grow up. Thats not to say He wasn’t aware he was going to get old and one day die because Phil was quite aware of this. For His entire childhood Phil had been told that People graduate High School, GoTo Collage, Graduate with a Degree, Get a Job, Get Married, Buy a House, Have Kids, Commit to a Career, Work, Grow old, Retire, and Die shortly there after.

This plan for ones life was absolutely unappealing to Phil. Phil didn’t want to live a Ridged , and Pre Structure Life, Phil was far too Abstract for all that traditional Social Norms Nonsense. Phil was what People refer to as a Free Spirit, a Person Who walked to the Beat of Their Own Drum, and Cut from a Different Cloth. It all inevitably all lead to the fact most Friends/Family of Phil’s all agreed He suffered from a wicked case of Peter Pan Syndrome.

Peter Pan Syndrome isn’t a real Syndrome like Downs mind You. Its some stupid bullshit that Conformists created to define Those Who walked free from the Flock. PPS simple means that a Person for whatever reason(s) doesn’t grow up to be what is commonly called Mature.

The way Phil saw it Mature was just a fancy way of saying falling in line. Why should He watch what He was Saying?! Who gives a shit if something is “Not what People Do”?! Why not do something Unusual?!

Phil truly felt that if He was born a totally unique one of a kind and that there was no one exactly like Him Why would He then opt to Act, Dress, Behave,and Live Life like Everyone fucking Else?! Be a Leader Not a Lemming was Phil’s personal motto since He was 13 years old.

So Phil did in fact Graduate from High School, and gave Collage a Try. Collage was far more free flowing than High School had been, BUT Phil couldn’t seem to figure out a Educational Path to Follow.

Since Collage was’t in Phil’s future He did the Only Other thing He could do ACCORDING to His Parents, Family, Teachers, Guidance Counselors, and all Other Authority Figures.

It took next to No Time for Phil to realize He detested Working for Another. Phil always had a Extremely Strong Aversion to ANY AND ALL AUTHORITY FIGURES. Just like other People Phil resented Someone having the Power and control over Him, BUT unlike the Others Phil didn’t hide His feelings just the opposite.

Phil was VERY Outspoken about his Views, Opinions, and General Thinking. Phil didn’t have this fucking “Filter” as They say though Phil always thought Filters were for fucking Pools not People.

One Day Phil decided to relocate to Florida as He hated Cold fucking Weather with a passion, and there was nothing keeping Phil tied down as He wasn’t married, No Kids, Didn’t own a House or Business, wasn’t attending Collage, and He had come to hate pretty much everyone in His Home Town of Phukuville. Thus Phil could simple up and move with little notice or planning involved.

Once Phil made it to Florida He settled in Orlando renting a Small Apartment in a Cheaply Built Apartment Building off of Orange Blossom Trail. Phil’s crappy Apartment had one perk if You will as it was just a mere 8 minutes from Disney World.

Phil needed work quick to get some positive cash flow coming in. Phil first took a job as a Short Order Cook at a Country Themed Restaurant call The Black Eyed Pea. The Black Eyed Pea is essentially a Poor Man’s 3rd rate Cracker Barrel rip off. Phil had a blast partying with His coworkers, BUT inevitably Phil ended up Quitting on the Spot on Day due to the fact He felt the Manager was just being a dick for the sake of being a dick.

Phil then took a Job as a Telemarketer and absolutely hated everything about the Job. His employer was some vaguely shady company with a token cliche name referencing America. The hours were odd, and the pay was less than appealing. Phil didn’t speak to His coworkers as He felt They were all fucking Basket Cases, had legit Mental Health issues, had Drug issues, or some sort of unscrupulous Scumshit (a Low Life Piece of Shit).

When Phil got so sick of the Job that He wanted to Burn the fucking Call Center Down decided to just never go back fuck’em. After that Phil eked by one His meager savings, and small loans from Family Members. Finally the Bank Account ran dry and there was No More Family to ask for a Loan Phil had a moment of clarity.

Phil went out bright and early the next morning to purchase a Newspaper. Phil then went home and proceeded to open the paper to the Classifieds where something absolutely amazing. Phil saw an Advertisement for Help Wanted at Disney World, and this NEVER HAPPENS. The reason that a Help Wanted ad was so rare it was like spotting a fucking Bigfoot riding on the back of a Unicorn was this.

First and foremost NO ONE currently Employed by Disney World would quite unless They HAD NO OTHER CHOICE BUT TO DO SO. Why You ask? Simple. Disney World payed REALLY WELL and the Benefits were fucking UNREAL. Second the rarest of occasions that a Job at Disney World did open up it was filled almost instantly. Hiring at Disney World is identical to the Auditions for American fucking Idol as in HUNDREDS of People Apply.

Taking the Want add as a sign Phil boarded the first Bus headed to Disney World. Once Phil arrived it took Him 90 fucking minutes to locate where the Hiring Office actually was as Disney World is Big as Hell.

In spite of the massive delay in locating the Hiring Office Phil was the first one there as the Office was just opening. Phil was released as he had hailed ass through the Parks and all because as He was looking for the Hiring Office He say a multitude of Other People doing the same. Perhaps this was part of the Hiring Process Phil wondered as sometimes Employers do weird shit like that to see You is determined and Who preservers.

The Job was for a Wild West Restaurant Actor which was described to Phil in the following way. There was a Huge Wild West Themed Restaurant in one of the several Disney World Parks that had Actors working there in addition to the Servers and Kitchen Staff. Actors/Actresses dressed as Cowboys in 18th century Wild West Attire and Acted out various Storylines.

NOW THIS WAS NO DINNER THEATER At Least NOT in the Conventional Sense. Unlike normal Dinner Theaters were Dinners filled a Dinning room and the Actors put on They’re performance on a Stage. There was No Stage at the Wild West Restaurant.

Instead the Actors and Actresses preformed the set Stories/Story Lines while roaming through out the Entire Restaurant among the Dinners. And this being a Wild West Theme there were Bank Robberies, Foot Chases, Ho Downs, Town Meetings, and Yes Gun Fights happening around the Visitors as They ate.

Phil aced the interview which was far from surprising as Phil was blessed with the Gift of Gab,and could seriously turn up the Charm when He needed too. Phil was given the Job as “Cowboy ” who would do all sort of cool things from playing Poker at a Table mixed in with the Diners or Having full blow Gun Fights. The Roles He’s play would change Daily to keep it fresh for the Visitors and more Interesting for Actors and Actresses.

Time ticked by as the weeks turned into Months and Phil feel head over heels for His official Job as a Fictional Cowboy. He had money in the Bank. He moved to a much nicer (but still cheaply constructed) 2 Bedroom Town House. He bought a New Car. Life was good.

Christmas came around and for the very first time in Phil’s life he mailed out Christmas cards. Phil had never put much thought into shit like Christmas Cards because they didn’t register as important a thing as they did for other People. So Phil hit up the local Hallmark Store and bought a slew of Christmas Cards.

Phil headed home and started filling out the Christmas Cards He had purchased to send to ALL His Friends and Family back home as well as Several Other Key People (one being for example His High School Principle Mr. Witless) As soon as He was done the last one Phil mailed them immediately without hesitation.

When Phil’s Seasons Greeting Christmas Cards arrived to His Entire Family, Every One of His Friends, and Some Others (His first Boss Dick Pickler from Samuel Goody’s a Chain of Commercial Record Stores) They all happily oped the envelope, opened the card, took a deep breath, and read…..

Hello and Happy Holidays Assholes,

For years You all told Me relentlessly time and time again to Grow up, Act My Age and Get a Job. Well I’m a full grown Adult now ,and I have a full time Job with Excellent Pay/Benefits.

What is My Job? What do I Do?

I dress up in a Authentic Cowboy Costume and Play Cowboys & Indians for 12 hours 4 fucking Days a week. Thats what the fuck I do for a Living so Fuck Your Bad Advice, Merry Christmas and Happy New Year Shitheads!

See Ya Later PHIL!

Thanks for Reading,

By Les Sober

Absurdia’s Billion Dollar Beer Club Selections

Welcome Dear Customer to Absurdia’s Billion Dollar Beer Club,

Below You will find a unparalleled Selection of Ten of the World’s Most EXPENSIVE BEERS hand picked by our Elite Bartender’s Bartholomew Godfry and Beatrice De Massard.

The Ten Featured Beers are not just some World’s Most Expensive Beers, but are the Only Beers deemed to uphold Our Highest Caliber of Quality.

In Our undying Quest to provide only the World’s Most Luxurious Experience here at Absurdia on August 8th 2000 Absurida’s BILLION DOLLAR BEER CLUB was Born. The concept is quite simple indeed.

The First Absurdia Customer to Purchase $1,000,000,000 worth of Our Exclusive Billion Dollar Beer Club Selections will Automatically WIN FREE BEER for Themselves, and One Additional Person at Absurdia FOR LIFE.

The Winner will also receive a SOLID 24 CARAT GOLD BEER MUG (weighing 2,738.4 Grams of 24 Carat Gold Valued at $112,986.35 and COVERED IN 500 ONE CARAT HAND CUT FLAWLESS DIAMONDS (Total Worth of Diamonds $3,659,500)

The Billion Dollar Beer Club Selections:

Sapporo’s Space Barley: $110 for a 6 pack of 12oz Bottles (ABV 6.0%)

Crown Ambassador Reserve: $90 for 750ml Bottle (ABV 10.2%)

Tutankhamen Ale: $75.00 for 500ml Bottle (ABV 6.0%)

Brew dog’s Sink The Bismarck $80.00 for a 375ml Bottle (ABV 41%)

Samuel Adam’s Utopias: $150.00 for a 700ml Bottle (ABV 27%)

Schorschbrau’s Schorsch Bock 57: $275.00 for a 330ml Bottle (ABV 57.5%)

Carlsberg Jacobson Vintage: $400.00 for a 375ml Bottle (ABV 10.5%)

Past Blue Ribbon 1844: $44.00 for 720ml Bottle (ABV 6.0%)

Brew dog’s The End of History: $765.00 for 330ml Bottle (ABV 55%)

Nail Brewing’s Antarctic Nail Ale: $800-$1,815 for a 500ml Bottle (ABV 10%)

Congratulations are in order for Our Current Billion Dollar Beer Club Leader Tristen Chitterlings III with a current Total of $189,357,044.01

If Absurdia acquires any Future Additional Selections for The Billion Dollar Beer Club they will be Added to the Menu Immediately, and Club Members will be Instantly informed of the New Selection(s) via Twitter.

Until then Just Relax and Enjoy 10 of the FINEST and EXPENSIVE Beer the World has to Offer.

Thanks for Reading,

By Les Sober

Hatepocrisy : Domestic Abuse Vs Rape

In a World full of Hypocrisies there are a few out there that just confuse the living hell out of Me to be honest, and this is one of Them.

This Hypocrisy lies with The Police.

Cops are SUPPOSED to be Completely Objective as a Law Officer, and NOT allow Personal Feelings or Biases to interfere with Them doing on Duty. The problem is the Police Officers are People. They’re Human Beings, and thus They are flawed as fuck. We all are Flawed its just a matter of Who admits it and Who the fuck Doesn’t.

Its this unhealthy blend of Power and Humanity that breeds this bizarre, (and completely contradictory) reaction from Police when it comes to the Crimes of DOMESTIC VIOLENCE & SEXUAL ASSAULT/RAPE.

With that said heres the Hypocrisy I’m talking about:

Now when it comes to Domestic Violence where statistically the Victims are Female and the Aggressor is Male. Thats just an unfortunate fucking fact.

The Police I have known (Along with The General Public and Myself) feel that a Man who lays His hands on a Woman is a exceptional Piece of Shit which is ABSOLUTELY RIGHT (the only way it could get worse is if a Child is being beaten).

AND ITS BECAUSE OF THIS PERSONAL OPINION that when the Police respond to a Domestic Violence call They readily assume its the Man’s fault NO MATTER WHAT may have occurred. The Man is swiftly detained, handcuffed, arrested and taken to Jail Wham Bam Done.

The Police then bender over fucking backwards to assure the Victim that they will do everything possible to make sure the Accused is out of the picture for good, going to jail or whatever. Its as if the Officers have some sort of “White Knight in Shining Armor” image of Themselves in this situation. As if They have rode in Valiantly to save the Fair Maiden in Distress from The Vilest of Villains.

Outside of Child Victims this is the only time that to their credit Cops show empathy and concern for an actual Victim. That is they treat the Victim like a Victim instead of just a fucking pawn in a Crime.

Not only that but while being booked and awaiting bail the Accused is treated like He’s been CONVICTED ALREADY without His God Given Right as an American to have his Day in Court.

REMEMBER KIDDIES PEOPLE ARE PRESUMED INNOCENT IN AMERICA UNTIL PROVEN BEYOND A REASONABLE DOUBT IN A COURT OF LAW THAT THEY ARE IN FACT GUILTY.

Point: When it comes to Domestic Violence The Police act as Gallant Defenders of the Sovereign Lands preserving Peace, Justice, and Truth through out the fucking American Empire.

BUT WHEN THE CRIME IS RAPE THE POLICES REACTION AND BEHAVIOR DRASTICALLY CHANGE for the WORST.

When it comes to the Crime of Rape again the Victims are Mainly Women and Men are the Attackers. Another truly shitty statistic.

NOW when the Police answer a Rape Call They virtually IGNORE THE VICTIM leaving Medics, Social Workers, and Therapists to tend to the Traumatized Victim.

Then when the Victims are interviewed (INTERROGATE IS MORE FUCKING LIKE IT) by the Police Officer(s) or Detectives THEY ARE TREATED AS THE GUILTY PARTY.

Victim Blaming BEGAN WITH RAPE.

Instead of trying to find the sick fuck who’s responsible the Crime the Cops spend AN INORDINATE AMOUNT OF TIME making EXUSES FOR THE CRIME.

And Every Excuse is the fucking VICTIMS FAULT. They fucking demand to know if She was drinking, The location She was at, The People She was with, What She was Wearing, What Her Make Up Looked like and MORE POINTLESS FUCKING SHIT LIKE THAT.

AND if the Police actually arrest some demented asshole ITS LEFT TO THE VICTIM TO PROVE THAT A CRIME WAS COMMITTED because in Court Shack of Shit Lawyers will run the “Was it actually Your Fault?” routine described above BUT FAR WORSE.

Lawyers take the sexist bullshit line of questioning to a whole far more fucked up level, BUT I’ll get back to those bastards later in a Post devoted solely to Them. (REMEMBER KIDS THE ONLY GOOD LAWYER IS A FUCKING DEAD ONE.)

Heres a fucking idea for the Police SOME SICK ASSHOLES RAPE POOR INNOCENT PERSONS BECAUSE THEY’RE FUCKING TWISTED EVIL SCUMFUCKERS.

Its fucked up BUT I can’t help wondering if the Difference in Reactions is due to technology today We are learning about more and more RAPIST COPS.

Well of COURSE I’M RIGHT. Police Protect Their Own even the so called “Good Cops” PROTECT Criminal Cops.

SO COP OR CRIMINAL REMEMBER KIDDIES BAD PEOPLE DO BAD SHIT.

ITS WHAT MAKES THEM BAD PEOPLE.

Thanks for Reading,

By Les Sober

Word Play Redefining Definitions

Do those who ay Not Know the Washington post has a Yearly contest for it Readers. Readers are asked to come up with New Alternate Meanings for Commonly used Words.

We are Happy to Present this Years Winning Entries. We only regret We were Not provided with the Author’s Names, BUT We would Love to by Each of Them a Drink or Two or Three.

This is a Excellent Example of Creativity OVER Technologies Inane, IQ Lowering, Mindless Drivel that the Tech Industry Pumps out on a Massive Scale on a Daily fucking Basis, But I Digress.

Winners are Listed in NO Particular Order, Enjoy.

Coffee,n. The Person upon Whom One coughs.
Flabbergasted, adj. Appalled by Discovering how much Weight One has Gained.
Abdicate, v. To give up ALL Hope of ever having a Flat Stomach.
Esplanade, v. To attempt an Explanation while Drunk.
Negligent, adj. Absent Mindedly answering the Door when wearing only a Nightgown.
Willy-nilly, adj. Impotent
Lymph, v. To Walk with a Lisp.
Gargoyle, n. Olive-flavored mouthwash.
Flatulence, n. Emergency Vehicle that picks up Someone who has been run over by a Steamroller.
Balderdash, n. A Rapidly Receding Hairline.
Testicle, n. A Humorous Question on an Exam.
Rectitude, n. The Formal, Dignified bearing adopted by Proctologists.
Pokemon, n. Rastafarian Proctologist.
Oyster, n. A Person who sprinkles Their conversation with Yiddishisms.
Frisbeetarianism, n. The Belief that, after Death, the Soul flies up onto the Roof and gets Stuck There.
Circumvent, n. An Opening in the Front of Boxer Shorts worn By Jewish Men.

There You have it 2019’s Washington Post’s Contest Winners, and again Excellent Job to Everyone Involved.

Can’t wait to Enter Ourselves come 2020.

Thanks for Reading,

Presented by Les Sober

I am not the Wizard of Oz

Dear friends, dear readers, dear non-readers, dear heretics, dear plagued, dear vindicated……

I would like to tell you all something right now that I need to get out into the open. I am not the Wizard of Oz. I cannot be everything, especially not your everything. I am not Mary J Blige.

This is not Emerald City, although there are plenty of poppy plants hidden away in wax paper bags only a few miles away. This is not the yellow brick road, although I have been known to occasionally pee in the snow. I like free form art.

I am not the Cowardly Lion. I may be scared of too many things that are not scary at all and too comfortable with things that most people would be petrified by.

I am not the Tin Man, although if I had it my way, my heart would only be something I carried out of the house maybe once or twice a month so I could give to the little children out in front of a store. Although I’d probably be more likely to give my dollar to a homeless man having the DTs in front of a liquor store. I have been there myself.

I am most certainly not the Scarecrow. I do have a brain, yes. I tried to be the scarecrow for too many years. Society wants us to dumb ourselves down. I trained people at many different jobs and frankly it was cater to the dumbest person and just pray they got fired.

“You are the Weakest Link. Goodbye!!!!!”

I get in trouble when I say those kind of things to people. The last person I told to have a nice life, well I ended up next to him a psych ward. These are not the brightest things to say. Try saying a bunch of stupid things to your friends, to strangers, to lovers. You will get bit in the ass. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but you better hope soon. The longer it takes the harsher the penance.

Maybe it’s my recovering Catholicismic self. Or maybe that’s just life.

So with that being said maybe I am the wizard of oz. I mean I do like the color green. I do like smoke, and I do like mirrors. I’m not particularly fond of curtains though, except maybe shower curtains. My neighbor is outside frequently and I am not in fighting shape right now. But the fight never ends. Thankfully, my fight will never end.

I am not your answer. I may be your solution. But answer not. I can conjure anything that I so desire, but that comes with visualization. If we can see it and believe it, well it will come.

you’ll be given love
you’ll be taken care of
you’ll be given love
you have to trust it

maybe not from the sources
you have poured yours
maybe not from the directions
you are staring at

The words of Bjork. Maybe you agree, maybe you don’t. I do. It doesn’t matter what you love. As long as you love something about yourself, you can love something about another. I know some people can find that statement bullshitty, but it’s a bullshitty fact. If you don’t at least love something about yourself, deeper then the color of your eyes or the size of your breasts or the way you look in the mirror you will find a way to survive and the want to survive.

But still just remember I am not the Wizard of Oz. I am not your answer. This all could be the solution or this all could just be a dream

Decide for yourself.

By SpaceDog