Anus

I am at an age and stage in my life where I no longer have to work for a living. I do, however, work a part-time job at our local mall selling chocolates. I do this because I like to have a few extra coins in my pocket. I work two or three shifts per week, just enough to pay for a little extra amusement here and there.

Of course, that still leaves me a lot of free time. One of the hobbies I have picked up in my old age is writing to prison inmates. Of course, I only write to the famous or infamous or notorious or whatever you want to call them. I don’t write to just some random thug who sold drugs or shot his neighbor.

I like to ask these inmates to reflect on their lives, if they believe they understand themselves and what led them to act in the ways that led them to prison.  I also ask if they have a philosophy or theology, and if they are able to find any meaningful way to spend their time behind bars. 

Most of the inmates either aren’t capable or aren't inclined to engage in any meaningful correspondence. I've had some interesting conversations with a few, but most of them ignore my questions, and, instead, ask for some form of aid.

There is one inmate who is his own *category,* if you will. He will try to answer my questions in a serious fashion, but becomes frustrated with his own limited understanding, and then moves to a series of random research questions.  I don’t know if he doesn’t have access to a computer, or really doesn’t know how to research on a computer, but, for example, he will ask me to look up details on the figures associated with his case, lawyers, judges, police detectives, psychiatrists, etc. He likes to know if they are still alive, what they’re doing etc.  He also asks me about relatives of his victim. It seems to me he’s hoping to outlive them all, which would give him a sense of satisfaction.  "I may be behind bars, but I am above ground, which is better than you." 

But the overwhelming primary interest he wants me to research is celebrity women, singers, actresses, porn stars. In his latest letter he gave me the names of four porn stars and asked me to find out in the photographic and video material that is available on the internets how much detail you could see of their anuses.

Well, for me, it's a pleasant way to pass the time. And I feel good that I’m helping somebody in prison, that I am bringing a little joy into their otherwise dreary gray life.  Doing good for others is a tonic for the soul.

A Penny For Your Thoughts

Besides my two sons, my only living blood relative is my first cousin Mike. I never particularly liked him. When we were kids, he stole a 1909-S VDB penny from me. He was always very materialistic. He always had more money than me. When I was an adult, I wouldn’t give him the time of day.

My ex-wife, my sons’ mother, was very big on family. She pushed and pushed for me to have our family meet Mike’s family. He was married to some broad and had four kids of his own. I finally relented. Over the course of three or four years we probably got together as families five or six times. It wasn’t as bad as I thought it was going to be.

Then Mike became a MAGA. That was fine with me, do whatever the fuck you want, but it wasn’t fine with him that I wasn’t a MAGA. The cocksucker proselytized me more than a Mormon or Jehovah’s Witness, but I would not relent.

I should also say that at this point in his life my cousin Mike thought he was quite a Christian and quite an expert on the Bible, but in reality he didn’t know shit about the gospel. He tried to tell me you couldn’t be a Christian if you didn’t support Trump. I tried to gently set him straight, but of course he didn’t hear a fucking thing I had to say. Then when Trump lost his election to Biden, I sent my cousin Mike an email in which I said ‘don’t worry, it don’t matter who the president is, your day-to-day life won’t change at all.’

He was furious. He said he could no longer have ‘fellowship’ with me.

I resisted the temptation to email him back and say ‘I never liked you, anyway, you fucking cocksucker.’

I bet that worthless cocksucker still has my 1909-S VDB somewhere.

The Ronald Wilson Reagan Effect

I began to closely observe the external world in the late 1960s and 1970s. I have no reason to doubt the authenticity of my memories, and I am confident in asserting people are much uglier than they were in my youth. It was not unusual to see an attractive person in the late ‘60s and ‘70s. In fact, it was quite common.

It’s hard to look at most people nowadays. It’s not just because most of them are fat. Even those who are of a somewhat normal weight are unpleasant to look at.

What could be the reason for the deterioration in physical appearance? Lack of sunlight? Radiation from all of our electronic devices? Environmental and psychic pollution? Micro plastics? Exponential increase in the intake of pharmaceuticals?

There are frequent news stories about young people losing interest in sex. Most young people don't fuck. Can you blame them? Even an ugly person doesn't want to fuck an ugly person. The human race will disappear due to ugliness. Sad.

Well, now that I think about it, it’s a not only human beings who have declined aesthetically. A similar decline can be observed in architecture, landscape, literature, cinema, music, economics.

I don’t know if it’s a coincidence, but all these declines began with the increase of Ronald Wilson Reagan in 1980.

The Gospel Of Jesus

For the first sixty-four years of my life, I thought I had to do something, accomplish something, behave some way. 

No. 

We simply exist. In the hive. Subject to supernatural forces.

Our temporal actions are inconsequential. Vanity. Fruitless. Masturbation. A delusional outburst. Schizophrenic ideation.

Setting an alarm to make sure you are on time for your lord the world is soulicide.

This is the gospel of Jesus Christ: The function of existence is the revelation of truth. What is your position in Christ?

The only freedom is to be called out of the world by the Lord Jesus Christ.

The worst sin a person can commit is to be called out of the world by the Lord Jesus Christ, and then still continue to set an alarm.

I wasted my whole life on sin, when I could have been free.

One of Paul’s most idiotic pieces of advice was when he advised those Corinthians who had been called out of the world by Jesus Christ to then remain in whatever situation in the world they were in.  ‘Go on setting an alarm. Keep performing the role the world assigned you.’  LOL!  That’s the mistake, the sin I committed.

Paul always wanted to set masters over people, both in the church and in the world. 

Malarkey! 

Those who are called out of the world by the Lord Jesus Christ have only one Master, Jesus.  They are set free from the world. To remain in the world is sin. Did Jesus tell the rich young ruler to remain rich?

LOL.

When Jesus calls you out of the world, you are to give up everything of the world and begin doing the labor of the kingdom of God. 

The Lord Jesus Christ said: 

‘Because strait is the gate, and narrow is the way, which leadeth unto life, and few there be that find it.’

Paul’s idiotic advice to stay in your current position in the world is not the narrow way, LOL!

If Jesus has called you out of the world, you are free. This freedom can only be actuated by being contrary to the world. This is the gospel of Jesus. 

Darling Strange

Watched a movie today.  The title: Strange Darling.  It's a serial killer thriller with a lot of modern takes on identity and gender.  Pretty good movie.  Well-acted by the two leads. BUT. . .

It has one of those *non-linear* scripts.  You know, the fucking movie starts with the middle, then jumps to near the end, then goes back to the beginning, flip-flopping all the way through.  So tired of this gimmick.  This shit ain't even remotely avant garde or interesting anymore.  It's tired.  Just tell the fucking story from beginning to end, already.   And it's a very crude chop job, anyway.  It ain't even truly non-linear.  If you want an example of true non-linear cinema, watch Last Year At Marienbad. This shit in Strange Darling is just amateurish, and it made me annoyed at what was a decent-enough flick.  

Saturday At The Park

I am sitting on the bench at the Square, Cascade Square, you know, the one with the statue of the naked lady.  I have my lunch with me.  An applesauce cup. There is an empty coffee cup on the bench left by some previous deadbeat. I think about swiping it away, but I lack the required energy.

I stare at the statue of the naked lady for quite a while. She was modeled in what I guess they call a Rubenesque fashion. She has big fat titties and a big fat ass. 

I continue to stare at the statue.

If I were going to make a statue of a naked lady, Kate Moss would be my model.

I continue to stare at the statue.

Anyway, when the statue was first erected(!), it was probably milky white, but now time and pollution have muddied it up. This used to be a statue of a white woman.  Now it looks biracial. So I guess this fat broad, no matter what time in history, always reflects the make-up of our great nation.  Ten years from now an earthquake will probably rattle it enough to crack a piece loose from the belly and it will hang down like a cock, so that the statue looks like a big fat nude tranny.

After staring at the naked lady a while longer, I open up my little applesauce cup. 

My teeth hurt. Decades of eating pussy. The germs and bacteria and filth from a 1000 vaginas dripping into my mouth and infecting my gums and corroding my teeth. Now I can barely chew anything. I eat mushy foods.

The End