Protected: My resolve

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I am NOT a pervert!

Oftentimes I’ve been unfairly and wrongfully accused of having a perverted mind.  Once in awhile I think, “Hmm, maybe she has some validity.”  Now I summarily reject the argument.  How can I be perverted when 99.95% of the time when I tell a chick I’m going to be good or try to walk away, they expressly want me to bad?  Methinks, it’s a simple case of transference and denial on the women’s behalf.  Yep, I said it.

Case in point, I had a conversation with Val.  She has a way of emphasizing certain words that makes them sound dirty and it seems this emphasis happens strongest when I might possibly be a bit randy, that’s horny to you unimaginative, no vocabulary having set.  Anyway, she was sexually assaulting Dick with her words when I finally had to step in and call her on her perverted behavior.

Me:  You so nasty!
Val: I just said saturate. There’s nothing nasty about the word.
Me: Ok, first off it’s how you emphasize certain words that make them sound nasty.
Val: Um, no, you just have a dirty mind.
Me: Oh whatever! It’s like me saying, “Let me come over.”
Val: *laughs* Nope.
Me: Yes, it is.
Val: No it’s not. Besides saturate is not nasty. [Methinks she's challenging me to find a way to use it in the form of a nasty sentence, like she did.]
Me: Yes it is. Here I’ll show you.
Val: Go ahead.
Me: Let me saturate your ass with my babies.
Val: [pause] *laughs* You are so nasty.
Me: [I wonder if she knew I had at least a few more instances of how to make saturate sound nasty.] You started it.

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People & things I’ve been pondering

What’s up?  Not much is going on and I don’t really have a whole lot to say.  I just felt like putting some things out into the universe.  Most of it probably won’t mean a whole lot to you and I’m not sure I really want to elaborate on anything.  It depends on how the wind blows me I guess.  So without further ado…

It seems like I’m out of the loop in all aspects of my life.  I’m not sure if it’s by mistake or by design.  At this point I’m really contemplating turning my back on damn near everybody, throwing up deuces middle fingers, and just going the rest of my life by myself.  I feel like I’m at some sort of crossroads on a precipice of the abyss.  One path is being closed off and the abyss is inviting me to dive in.  I’ll admit the invitation is very tempting.

I understand love can be a wonderful thing and makes people do a lot of stupid things but enough is enough.  A line was crossed and those actions can never be undone.  They sure as hell shouldn’t be forgiven or forgotten.  Sure, I’ll never be the poster boy for forgiveness.  I don’t like subtlety, uncertainty, or leaving things open for interpretation or anything else.  I’m the type of guy that believes in finality.  I gleefully burn my bridges and bring plenty of gasoline and matches while doing so.  With that being said, I don’t think going halfway in your situation is good enough.  I agree with the saying, “In for a penny, in for a pound.”  I realize that at the end of the day it’s your life.  I realize that the dance between your mind and your heart is probably a lot different than mine.  You’re one of the strongest willed people I know but if you ever take him back I don’t think I can be around you.  I’ll lose as much respect as I gain contempt for you.  Do what you have to do but realize it may be without me and that it’s completely your choice.

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S.T.F.U.

I got my oil changed last week.  I should’ve went to the dealer because the check oil light won’t go off and according to the manual I may need to go to them.  *sigh*  If I felt like going to the dealer then I would have.  That light issue alone makes me kind of not want to buy Pussy when my lease expires.  The guy that changed my oil was the first person I’ve seen with a G1 out and about.  Why the fuck was he trying to pitch his side hustle to me?

Mechanic:  You know anyone trying to buy a house?
Me: Um, nope.

A house?  Really?  What type of bullfuckery is this.  Look you may be a nice hardworking, honest guy and if my trust issues and dislike of males is unfairly clouding my judgment of you then I’m sorry.  With that being said,  I don’t really trust you guys not to bend me over and ass rape me silly while changing my damn oil. I do mean that figuratively, by the way.  Do you really think I’m going to trust you enough to buy a house from you?  Kind of like a used car salesman trying to sell financial management services to me or a woman trying to sell her fidelity.  No thanks, not going to happen.    Dude is finishing up on the oil change and hands me the receipt.  He tells me I need to go up front to pay it.  Why in the piss blue fuck did the dude at the counter ask me if I was from the hood?  If I was from the hood I would’ve pistol whipped your dumb ass while running your pockets and the register.  Am I from the hood?  Da fuck?!  Do you have a pet camel?  Do you not believe in using soap?  Do you cover your bitches from head to know in a prison of fabric even no matter how goddamn hot it is outside?  Choke on piss, Abdullah!

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Happy belated

I’ve been bad.  I forgot that yesterday was the 2nd anniversary of the official opening of Freakytopia.  My bad.  Happy birthday Freakytopia.

So what’s up?  Well, those of you with the neat blogroll that updates you to when people have updated may have noticed that mine hasn’t updated or updates sporadically.  Well, the deal is I’ve been having problems with Google Reader.  Google Reader shouldn’t visit a blog more than once an hour and that visit should pretty much update everyone who uses it to check my blog and I believe the newer blogrolls are updated by the same mechanism.  Anyway, someone’s reader has been overactive.   I’d get multiple queries at first and then I’d check my stats and see that Google Reader was on my site every 10 minutes and eventually every few minutes so I blocked that particular URL.  Since blocking it it has tried to access my blog a few thousand times over the past couple of months.  I don’t know what’s up with that.

You may have noticed that if you try to follow my feed it may ask you for a password.  It’s a necessary evil it appears.  Spammers, sploggers, spiders, and other anonymous things like to read feeds to either mine material or attempt to mine e-mail addresses.  If you’ve been reading long enough then you already know that I’ve had posts jacked verbatim (and weirdly enough brutally misspelled for some reason) to appear on other blogs without my consent.  That’s not cool at all.  RSS readers also have another bad side effect and that’s the fact that people read it from their little readers and depending on how your feed is set up, never even have to visit your blog.  Robbing you of potential hits and comments.  One benefit of the password is knowing who’s reading it since you’ll probably have to ask me for the password.

You may have also noticed that my Twitter account is now private.  Too many lookie loos and Twitlurkers trying to be in my business.  I suppose if you’re really that thirsty you could just camp out on my blog and read my last seven updates but I’d probably ban you sooner or later anyway.  Besides, I’m contemplating closing my Twitter account.  The original reason I opened it was because I was encouraged to by one of my readers as a way to steer more people to my blog and to meet some cool people.  Not too many Detroiters use Twitter apparently, there hasn’t been much upswing in visits or comments because of it, and I haven’t met any cool people since using it.  Apparently, it’s only fun if you have a clique or a fan club.  I don’t have a clique and when your fan club consists of lurkers, not so interesting.  All this to say, don’t fret you’re probably not missing much.  Unless it gets interesting I’ll be gone from there by the end of the month anyway.

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Seven bones

I managed to keep one of my goals for the year.  What’s that you ask?  Reach my 700th post.  Now I only have about 1,029 more to go before I pass Ladynay, who I’m competing with in my mind.  I kid, kind of.   *grabs my brick and glares @ Ladynay*  I will end you!  I swear every time I reach one of these 100 posts milestones I swear I’m going to hang it up and find something else to entertain me.   I’m still looking for the next fun thing to captivate and consume me but I haven’t found it yet so I guess you’re stuck with me for just a little while longer.

I wasn’t really sure what to do with this post.  I figured since this blog is my journal and a representation of myself that I should do what I’ll most likely be doing offline today, reflecting.   As you will notice I’ve turned off comments for it because I’m not really interested in hearing anyone’s opinion on it.  Since it’s another century post and probably my last post of the year I decided to keep it public instead of passworded or private.  Respect my wishes and don’t bother trying to comment on it in the comments section of other posts unless you like having your comments deleted, me talking all kinds of shit about you, and being banned.

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Yeah, yeah, fine, whatever

I chauffeured my mom around because my sister borrowed her car.  Of course she didn’t bring it back when her car got of the shop.  My credit union works my last nerve.   My mom needed to pay on her credit card so we’re at the drive-up.  Why oh fucking why did the teller appear on the monitor.  I had to turn down my music and roll down the window only for her to tell me that she was about to work on my mom’s transaction.  Grrrrr!  Really?!  You do know it’s winter right?  So you make me roll down my window just to tell me what you’re about to do?  What bullfuckery is this?  You really don’t need to involve me in the process, do what you need to do so I can be on my way.  A couple minutes later she’s on the monitor again.  Oh my fuck!  What do you want?!  She tells us that she’s completed the process and our receipt will be there shortly and to have a nice day.  Yeah, yeah, fine, whatever!  I’ve never really been much for saying hello or goodbye.  I have ninja skills and pop up or disappear as suits my fancy.   Just come on already.  My mom acts all nice and thanks her and tells her to have a nice day.  I look at her and think you’re not my real mother!  I ask my mom why the hell do they feel the need to be so chatty?  You’re inside in a climate controlled room, I’m outside exposed to the elements talking, listening, barely holding in my annoyance and contempt for you.   She says their being polite and considerate.  Polite and considerate my ass!  Bah humbug!  I need to fire off a complaint letter to them about that.  If I have to deal with chatty people the least they can do is show me some titties and ass.  I’m just saying, caring is sharing.

Then it was off to the po-pos to renew Tantrum’s license.  If you’re reading this Black Mamba, my city requires cats be registered too, filthy moody mongrel bastards they are.  After my puppy girl got her tag it was off to Target or Targass for those in the know.  Oh yeah!  As I’m leaving the parking lot, my mom suggested when my lease is over that I buy Pussy.  I don’t know.  I kind of had my eye on a Ford (or found on road dead, as Val calls them) Flex.  I haven’t test driven it yet but Pussy’s new car smell is long gone and my new booty ride isn’t so new anymore.  Like all other new booty it’s time to find something newer, faster, sexier, and attention grabbing or new booty 2.0 if you will.

I need to febreeze my leather coat.  It has the distinct smell of  dog in it.  I’m sniffing around Target wondering what the fuck smells like dog only to find out it’s my coat.  So not cool.  Not cool at all.  Don’t know how that happen since I don’t let dogs get all up in my coat like that.  Targass must have heard my complaints and were finally shamed into putting some attractive chicks on the register.  About damn time.  I should’ve made Cluck-Cluck wear her uniform when she worked at Targass.  Mmm Targass.  I love those plush, plump booties being barely contained in those tight tan pants.  Beauty booty like that almost brings a tear to my eye.  It definitely makes Dick cry.  Oh wait, that’s precum, never mind.  I think I have a new fetish.  I want to fuck chicks that work at Target.  Well, not so new but I think it finally constitutes a fetish.

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