Fucking Just Do It Already; Let The Chips Fall Where They May - Day 109


Every once in a while, God squats down and farts in your mouth. He doesn’t do it because he’s a bad entity. He does it to remind you that something you need to take care of, something important, needs to get taken care of. Like, if you don’t take care of it soon, he’s going to make sure you die soon, then probably He'll send you to Hell. The fart is your wake up call.

6 am, I hop out of bed, walk the dogs, then pace in the kitchen for a little bit. You ever seen a lost kid in a mall or something, looking for his mom? That’s what I felt like. My routine has been disrupted by moving and also by erratic get up out of bed times. And also, the loss of knorbi, my dear Qt application that is no more. There’s a void that needs filling and I’m not quite sure how to fill it yet. In the meantime, I’ll be pacing a lot trying to figure out what I should be doing.

After my brain calmed down, I packed some boxes because Saturday we’re moving into a house house, with a yard, and a fence, and a mailbox, and a garage. That’s probably another reason I feel lost.

The good news is, today is a “work” from home day. The first day after a beat down day is always light, so what better way to celebrate the lightness than by “working” from home. I’m sitting in a Starbuck, watching the olds and jobless going about their boring lives, while writing this. #humbled


I’ve always wanted to be a rock star. I’m too old to fulfill that dream now, and also too talentless and too scared and too, whatever. But I’ve decided that’s it time to do something around the very generic concept of music. So I did my very first recording for the Human Harvest music podcast/broadcast and other stuff show thing. I don’t have a good subtitle yet. Stay tuned for that.


I've been beating my head against the wall trying to figure out what the Human Harvest show should be about, and more broadly, what the fuck I should be doing since I nixed knorbi (poor little fella, I miss it). Since I tend to be all over the map with things I like to talk about and stuff I'm interested in, it's hard to nail down a single subject line. This had prevented me from getting started. How can you start something if you don't know what's it's all about?

Then I remembered a thing I'd written a long time ago about just getting started. The whole, "ready, fire, aim" mantra. And that's when the light bulb went on and I got in the (now mostly empty) closet and recorded some stuff for the first episode. My thinking was, "just get started and let it sort itself out."

It's kind of like this blog. I started with one idea in mind and it's morphed into this thing, which may change eventually again if I get another wild hair up my butt.

So, if you're thinking of doing something, anything, and you're floundering around trying to figure it all out, just get started doing something and let the game come to you.


I fell asleep on the couch watching football. I felt like I should have been doing something productive; these days, sitting on the couch and watching TV while NOT doing anything else makes me feel uncomfortable. It makes me feel like a loser or something.

Take That You 3rd Place Sports Sports Talk Man - Day 108


I remember a time when 8 am was early. If I was up at 8 am, then something important was going down. Now, 8 am seems late. It's like my whole morning gets fucked up if I wake up after 7 am. Old age sucks anus drops.

I got up, put on the clothes I wear during warm weather to go outside and do workout things, and took the dogs for a short walk. I came back, fed them, and did my little warmup workout, which now includes a set of kettlebell swings and kettlebell snatches. It makes me feel good that I've been able to keep this thing up for almost 3 weeks now.


It was another beat down day. I couldn't help but think about how life is a cycle of mounting tension. Like, you plan a vacation or something else exciting, then you feel the excitement build inside you as the day approaches. Then you release the excitement and go back to being a boring person after it’s all over. It’s like coming, or eating when you’re hungry.

That's what a beat down day is, except whatever the opposite of excitement is (dread?) builds. Immediately after the two hour shame session, I feel relieved. I still go back to being a boring person, but the anxiety has squirted out of my body to make room for the next round of anxiety to build. What the fuck am I talking about?

Today was especially painful. We keep this spreadsheet that has a number that indicates how well you performed during the beat down cycle. It's color coded so managers and other scrutinizing types don't have to put any thought into how well you've done. Red is bad, yellow is not so bad, green is good, and purple is outstanding. I came in red this time. And when it's red, the boss looks at me and furrows his eyebrows together and says something like, "can you tell me what happened." Then I have to write a little note in the red box that explains why the number is highlighted red. It feels like any work I did accomplish during the beat down cycle was a complete waste of my time. I mean, if it's a binary thing, I either did good or bad, and if it's going to be bad, why not take the zero?

The corporate world seems to operate in this binary dimension. You're either a good employee or bad employee. The task you just completed is either good or bad. Your performance over the last year was good or bad. I want to fucking blow it up.


I got in a Twitter war with one of the local DJs of the third place sports station in town. He tweeted something stupid which got retweeted by someone I follow. He was plugging something on their stupid show that no one listens to because we’re all busy listening to Ticket AM. So I replied to the tweet something to the effect of, “too bad no one will ever hear [whatever thing they were going to broadcast].”

He made an angry response, then I made a smart ass response, then he made another angry response, then I made another response, then back and forth. He eventually gave up after realizing that his station, and his shitty show, were last place dogs in the sports talk genre of Dallas radio. I speculated that he hadn’t known this fact and showed him a couple of articles that explained how poorly their station was doing compared to Ticket.

I kind of felt bad for giving him shit, because really, I don’t give a fuck about him and his stupid show. And I also know how fucking hard it is to do a talk show for longer than 10 minutes. Plus he’s going up against a station that has had a strangle hold on the Dallas sports market for the past 20 years, with no signs of ever letting up.

So I Twitter apologized to him, then inserted one more smart ass shot, just to keep him in his place.

Home Is Where You Can't Be Controlled - Day 106


I was lost last night. Usually, I'd work on knorbi and watch football. But since I've pretty much mothballed knorbi in favor of the thing that's been eating at my ass for so long, I didn't know what I should be doing. So I starting reading a book called Art & Fear. It's in the same vein as Ignore Everybody, but on a deeper level.

I also experimented with a thing on my phone called Impaktor. It's a cool little app that turns finger drumming on a desk or whatever surface into tones. It's like a drum machine, but cooler. I have no idea how to incorporate it into anything, but it's fun to fuck around with.

I woke up around 7 am, feeling the effects of ingesting horrible food at the fair yesterday. My girlfriend said it best as we were walking out, "I feel like I'm covered in oil." Well, all that oil came rushing out of my body this morning, like a firehouse of filth and shame. And the food wasn't nearly as good as I remember it. And it was fucking expensive. I don't know how all those poor people afford to take their entire family there for a day.

I took the dogs for a good walk, got home and ate some leftover soup and some chicken sausages that I think are delicious. They're the kind that promises that there's no bad stuff in them. Who fucking knows. I don't trust anything that comes in a box and/or comes out of a grocery store. Basically, anything that uses marketing tricks to get you to buy it, I'm skeptical.

I drove to work and started work on changing some bad habits I've formed while I'm here. Habits that have caused my waist line to get bigger and the scale to read a higher number than it used to. We'll see how it plays out, but all my other attempts to change the habit have failed so far.


The modern world has changed the way, or rather, changed our options regarding where and when we work. For some jobs, not all jobs. Mostly the office jobs where a majority of the work goes through a computer.

We have the technology now to work from pretty much anywhere in the world as long as there's an Internet connection available. And in some cases, you don't even need the interweb. You might at some point, but the work doesn't have to be performed while connected (unless all you do is answer stupid emails, in which case, I'm sorry).

So it shouldn't be a big deal for a company to allow their employees to work remotely, right? Fucking right, but a lot of companies don't like it, because they lose a little bit of control over someone who is working remotely. The boss doesn't have the ability to walk by your cube, look in and see what you're doing, and in the process make you feel uncomfortable. Like, "oh shit, I better get back to work because there's the boss." When you're at home or wherever, you can look at the facebook on the Internet, do something else in the house, like dishes, or cook, or clean, or whatever, without worrying about the boss looming over your shoulder. And those moments when you are performing work have a lower possibility of getting interrupted by other office sloths, who seem to make a living walking around chit chatting with everyone all day.

Companies don't like allowing you that kind of freedom. The boss is the person in control, the person responsible for making sure you get your work done. And a lot of places feel the only way to ensure you get your work done is to have a boss in the vicinity who can crack the whip if you get distracted.

I think this has to do with the old way of thinking that equates time spent on a task to the amount of work produced. 8 hours equals X amount of output, where X is some arbitrary number the boss decides is the standard, probably based on how much money you make.

We all know this is fucking stupid. I've known people who spend 8 hours a day slaving away hard on a task, and I spend an hour working and get just as much done. Not that I'm smarter or more competent or whatever. It has nothing to do with that and everything to do with focus. 8 hours is a ridiculous amount of time to expect someone to remain focused. I'd say 2 hours is just about the upper threshold of human attention span before a break is needed. For me, it's about 45 minutes to an hour before I need a little break. And I can't keep it up for an 8 hour time span. No one can. Fuck these old school assholes.

There's also a more sinister thing going on. It's not about getting work done, it's about control. When you're away from the job, you tend to not think about the boss and his bullshit. You feel somewhat free. And that makes bosses uncomfortable, because they feel like they need to make sure you know they're in charge. And the only way to do that is to keep you in their presence, to walk by your cube from time to time, just reminding you that you're the slave and they're the master.

Maybe I'm fucking crazy. Maybe my company and your company and all the companies and bosses on Earth have nothing but the best intentions towards their employees. But I suspect there's a deep mistrust between the employers and employees that will never be solved as long as we have the whole corporate structure hierarchy thing going on.

You'll never convince me that my company and my bosses don't hate me. They hate me because they have to pay me, and have to babysit me, and have to provide me with equipment to do the work they pay me to do, and think they have to keep a strong management structure to keep me in my place, and they have to provide me a place to perform my work, a controlled environment where I become a resource in their machine as soon as I walk in the door. 

I accept this role. It keeps me just on the edge of comfort. I know that at any moment, this whole job thing could come to an end and I'll have to get out there and find another. And I'm fine with that because it keeps me on my toes. I just wish it was a little bit more acceptable to work remotely, that's all.


Fantasy football was pretty good to me this week. I love you Fan Duel, at least this week.

Stop Ignoring Your Calling - Day 105

Forget practicality.
Forget the possibility of making money (almost impossible).
Forget worrying about whether or not people will like it.
Forget about right and wrong.
Forget about thinking you need this and that to get started, especially talent. Talent can be learned.

If you was going to be dead in a year, guaranteed, what is one thing you’d want to create?
When you remove the desire for commercial success (money), and the need for approval, and the distraction of things lesser important, what is left?
What have you done in the past that you seem to get lost doing, where time doesn’t matter, where you feel like you’re in your own little bubble (the zone)?

Forget what you should be doing.
Forget what other people tell you you should be doing.
You should be making money and saving for an uncertain future, for old age, for the day when you stop being able to be a productive and desirable member of the work force.
We all know that.
We’re told that from the day we step foot in kindergarten (aka brainwashing academy).
That’s what we should all be doing.
That’s the wheel we can’t seem to step off, even for a few minutes.
But that’s not what’s in our heart.

If you didn’t have to worry about money, if you had all you needed and then some to live comfortably forever and ever, what would you spend your time doing?
Probably a lot of things, right?
You’d write books, make music, start a podcast about how awesome it is to be a person who never has to worry about money again, maybe something stranger, something darker, something that pushes the envelope of what’s possible a little further out, something that influences a 7 year old, something that no one on Earth will ever “get,” maybe they’ll never see/hear/read/experience it, but it will deeply satisfy you.
Or would you just spend your money and be a person who consumes as much as he/she can until they are dead?

What if you had to do this thing?
What if someone came up to you and put a gun to your head and said, “pick one thing you’d wished you’d done before you died. You have 3 seconds!”
What would you say?
That’s the thing you should do.

My answer would be, “so many things!”
Then he’d pull the trigger and all those things would spill out of my head and soak into the Earth and no one on this planet ever again would be able to reconstruct those thoughts and execute them.
They’d be lost forever.

And who knows if one of those things might have changed or influenced the world in some way.
Even if it was in a tiny way.
Even if it was in a destructive way.
Your thing doesn’t have to make the world better, or worse, or have any effect at all.
(It's OK if it makes it worse.)
It only has to effect you.

Then there’s that gun, still pressed against your head, and you’re trying to figure out what the right answer is.
Because maybe you think you need to say something profound, like something that if done to its fullest, will make the world a better place.
Because that’s what we’re all here to do, right, make the world a better place?
We’re here because we have no other choice.
We’re here because billions of years have past and billions more will pass, and somewhere in that timeline, if time is even a real thing, stuff came together in a unique way to create you.
There’s no right, there’s no wrong.
There’s only that fucking gun and that lunatic pressing it against your head, asking you what your one thing is.

It doesn’t have to be big.
It doesn’t have to be unique.
It’s the one thing that’s been sitting in the back of your head for last 30 years, poking you every once in while, “how about now, is now a good time to give me a try? C'mon you fucking asshole, let me out!”
It’s that thing that won’t shut the fuck up, no matter how much crap you try to pile in front of it to shut it up.
Kids, marriage, bills, sickness, global hunger, your boss, your job, your mother-in-law, your fucking opinions about, whatever the fuck it doesn’t matter.
All of that shit goes away as soon as the bullet enters your brain.

But you still can’t answer it.
You keep trying to figure out the logistics of it all, how to fit it into your regular, boring life.
And you can’t, so you stammer, trying to think of an alternative that’s a little bit easier, a little bit less intrusive, a little bit less likely to get criticized, a little bit more likely to make money, a little bit more likely to be looked upon as something normal.
But you know that alternative thing that fits neatly into your boring life, the thing you'll dabble in from time to time but never really take seriously, is not going to satisfy you.
The asshole with the gun demanding an honest answer won't buy it.

You know what the true answer is.
You already figured it out years ago, before you could even make memories, but you buried it because it's scary.
You buried it because you're afraid.
"What if I suck at it? What if no one pays attention? What if I get criticized? What if my wife/husband/father/mother/[insert the rest of the human population here] doesn't approve? What if, what if, what if, ...?"
What if you're fucking good?
What if you suck for a long time and produce a lot of garbage, but you get better?
What if you don't give a fuck and just enjoy doing it, regardless of the rewards that may or may not come?


Fuck it, it’s too late, you’re dead.

Day 104 - The New New Thing & How To Get Arrested In Dallas Without Killing Someone


I’m still stuck in the mixed emotions of whether or not I should continue with knorbi  I’d hate to wake up a year from now and regret not sticking with it. Maybe it could organically grow into the greatest writing tool ever known to man? Maybe it could be something special, just for me, an instrument, an advantage that no one else has? Who knows, but I think for now, the lure of the new new thing is driving me off course. I should stick with knorbi, but maybe re-think the premise, re-think the design (again), and come up with something unique, artistic, and above all, useful.

I woke up this morning and thought of a clever come back I could post in the great troll war of 2014 Facebook group  But I held back. I’ve unjoined the group and turned off notifications, but that hasn’t stopped me from checking back in and catching up on what’s going on. I so bad want to get one more shot in. But I know that one more shot leads to wanting one more shot which leads to wanting one more shot. I just can’t stand the feeling that they got the best of me, that they won. That’s exactly what I’m trying to force myself to do. I’m going to be OK allowing someone else to believe they beat me.

I took the dogs for a slow walk this morning. I feel so bad for them. They’ve been couped up in a crowded, noisy apartment for 9 months now, with little sunlight, and not nearly enough outside time. Next week we move into a house, with a yard, and we’ll regain the ability to open the windows and leave the back door open so they can go in and out. I’m more excited for the dogs than I am for myself.

I got back home and made breakfast for the family. Bacon, eggs, and avocado. It’s was a big hit.

I’ve been doing some work out type stuff in the morning, grease the groove type shit. I’m not calling it a workout, more like a warm up, because eventually I’d like to get back in the weight room, but still be able to continue getting better/stronger at these things:

  • Pushups x 11
  • Squats x 11
  • Pull ups x 1.5 (I’m really struggling to get up the second one. It’s like my body just has this block halfway up and quits on me. I feel like I have the strength, but my brain is like, “uhhh, no.”)

That’s it. My plan is to keep increasing the number of reps and incorporate other movements, like kettle bell swings, kettle bell snatches, and other things as the warmup progresses. I’m excited where this might lead.


I’ve always thought that I should get good at marketing, but I’ve never really taken the time to learn the ropes and apply what I know. Like, I feel like there’s this invisible barrier thing, a voice in the back of my head maybe, that prevents me from convincing myself that I might actually be good at it. So, I never put in any but the most minimal effort.

I was thinking this morning about trying to find readers for the two books my alter ego has written and self published. This may be one of the hardest things to market, because it’s hard to explain exactly what benefit someone will get from reading the books, other than, they may laugh a little and get a little entertainment value.

Hmmm, I just had a thought that maybe I could position the books as being something you can read while you’re taking a shit. I could even create a site called toiletbooks.com, or an app, or site or something specifically designed to be reading material while you’re sitting on the toilet. And especially while you’re sitting on the toilet at work. Something to think about.

Anyway, the marketing thing has been something I’ve dabbled in from time to time but have never really committed myself to getting good at. And I feel like it’s a skill that is a cornerstone to making money outside of a job. If you suck at marketing, it doesn’t matter what you’re selling, no one will want to buy it.

So as part of my possible rebuilding plan, i.e. what to do post knorbi, maybe I should pull my head out of the stuff I’m working on and spend some time trying to figure out how to sell the stuff I’ve already made? I know I’ve kinda halfway dedicated myself to Earn 1k again, but maybe this marketing thing is more important? Or maybe, Earn 1k is a good gateway to getting started? I don’t know. My head hurts thinking about it. It makes me want to punch a donkey in the taint, if donkeys even have taints. Do they?


I went to the park and sat on a bench and watched things. I was thinking about what my next move should be, since I’ve pretty much decided that knorbi is dead to me. I feel like I might be making a mistake, but the fact that I’m in this place again, in search of the new new thing, makes me believe that building something like that isn’t for me. In other words, I’m just doing it for the money and that’s not enough of a motivation to keep me going.

Anyway, when I rolled into the park, there was a homeless looking dude standing on the other side of the street screaming, “NI*&ER!” It didn’t look like he was yelling at anyone in particular. He was just jacked up on whatever drug and walking around randomly screaming it. He was white, and probably picked the best spot in the city to scream such a word.

I sat down on the bench and started churning the gears in my head, as if I’m going to come up with THE answer while sitting doing nothing. I came up with zero answers, only more questions. How can you possibly solve an existential problem by being existential? How the fuck should I know if I’m going to enjoy doing something or not unless I’m fucking doing it? YOU CAN’T FUCKTARD!

Anyway, the dude makes his way across the street and into the park. He’s still far enough away that I don’t feel like I’m going to have protect America, but close enough that he’s scaring the Quinceanera party that looked oddly out of place.

The guy then starts screaming, louder, “FUCK YOU, NI%*ER!” He’s yelling it as loud as a human can yell it. So loud it’s echoing off the surrounding buildings. I’m sitting there trying to figure out what this asshole’s motivation is. Most likely, he was just blasted out of his mind on something, probably prescription, probably in too high a dose, probably prescribed by a doctor who only gives a fuck about increasing his bottom line. That’s when I decided to call 911, because this guy was either going to say the thing to someone who wouldn’t like it none too much, or he was going to exercise his retard strength on some poor schmuck who was just out having a boring day.

The cops showed up and there was a bit of a standoff. I was rooting for chaos, of course. I was hoping the cops would do something crazy so I could break out my phone and record it then post it to the internet and become a 10 second celebrity. But he went quietly, and so did I, disappointed that even the exciting times of my life are still pretty boring. Thanks, Obama.

Day 103 - Victory For The Nazi Troll & The Great Rebuild Of 2014


I realize I've made a mistake. A fun mistake, but still, fuck me.

In an impossible quest to prove myself a better writer and human being than a handful of digital entities I've never met, I've proven myself a fucking failure. I just can't let someone else win. I have to keep going and going and driving things into the dirt until someone gives up. Because I'm not fucking giving up; I can't let someone else who I think I'm superior to win, I'm better than that. I should have played sports or something where there's a clearer line between winning and losing.

Regardless, it was fun while it lasted, even though I lost in the end. And I don't mean I lost in the sense that they got the best of me, but I got the best of myself, if that makes any fucking sense (I'm not sure it does). I can't help but think that successful, hard working, quality writers, musicians, whatever, don't get involved in digital nonsense. They have no time or patience, or just don't feel that they have to prove how smart or how right they are all the time, and especially to a bunch of digital idiots. It's the equivalent of wasting your time trying to convince a die hard Yankees fan that they should switch their allegiance to the Royals. Yet every once in a while, I run my head into that wall.

Anyway, I'm past it, I think. I'd really like to catch myself getting sucked in, but it all starts as a stupid gag, poking a little fun at people who are entrenched in an old way of thinking (or just a way of thinking that is different than mine). Just like I'm entrenched in whatever way I think. It's a can't win situation. And it upsets me that it's an argument with people that don't matter, about subjects that don't matter. I mean, they don't matter to me. Whatever. Back to this blog thing and other things that matter only to me.

Without the fiancée to disrupt my sleep, I woke up at 7:45 am. The dogs tried getting me up earlier, but I ignored them. They seem to be easier to ignore than the human.

I took the dogs for a short walk, shorter than usual. I saw a person walking a dog coming towards me and it's one of those days where I don't feel like interacting with other people, so I turned around and went back in. Plus, my morning was running late since I actually got to sleep in.

I made one more response to the facebook troll session and unjoined the group. I can't keep allowing myself to get roped in. I've cut off the digital drip that lures me into insanity. I keep telling myself, "I know better, let 'em jerk off to arguing about minutiae," but as long as that drip comes every few minutes, I'll still be opening my mouth to swallow their jizz.

I took a shower and thought about how I want to go to the state fair, because I haven't been in years. I think I'm going to push to go tomorrow so I can stuff my face with the most horrific food humans have ever invented, adding to this layer of fat accumulating around my waist. Six pack abs seems like such a pipe dream these days, because I can't get out of my own way.

I double birded the Ebola ground zero location on the drive to work. Hopefully we won't see any more cases here in Dallas. Who gives a fuck about the other places.


I’m in a bit of a dilemma. I’m not sure if I want to keep going with knorbi or not.

I’ve been thinking lately about the next year and whether or not I’m going to write another book. And even if I do write another book, why not just use Word, since it’s very compatible between Mac and PC, which is the whole purpose of doing knorbi in the first place, right? I don’t know. I feel like there’s something else that I could spend some time on rather than trying to develop something that already has in existence a bazillion tools to get the job done.

If I back up a level and go meta, the question really is, should I keep doing what I’m doing? Is the important thing to finish what I start? Or is the important thing to iterate through things until I find something that sticks. Like this writing thing has stuck. Over the past couple of years, rarely have I missed a day where I haven’t done some sort of writing task.

This always seems to happen to me after I get sucked into reading Ignore Everybody for the 85th time. I love that damn book. It forces me to ask myself these types of questions. Is knorbi really the thing I should be working on, or is it something else, something that no one else has ever done? I think with knorbi, my eyes see dollar signs. Like, I’ve always viewed the computer science thing as a way to make money, even though I love having the freedom to do what I want, to express myself in creative ways, but still have rules. I’m not sure knorbi is fulfilling that purpose.

But it’s hard to figure out if I’m scared of producing something that no one gives a fuck about, which is a high probability regardless of what I build. Or do I genuinely want to free up the time to work on something else, something a little more out there? I don’t know, but it does feel more like the first thing. I think I’ve elevated my hopes up to the point where I don’t want to get hit with that blast of disappointment, and this whole, “I should be working on something else,” is just an excuse. It’s never a good place to be in when you tie success to how other people are going to respond to your work.

Perhaps what I need is to re-think what knorbi really should be. Right now, it’s a markdown editor, plain and simple, packaged as a writing tool. Maybe I should develop my own proprietary format? Maybe I should think bigger, like change the way people write in general? I don’t even know what that would be like, because I feel like I write the traditional way. What does it even mean to write? What’s the purpose, the end goal? For people to read, or for the writer’s own edification? Both? Something else?

I think simply making a markdown writing tool isn’t big enough, it isn’t artistic enough. In other words, I think I’m better than just making a thing that any junior level programmer could slap together over a weekend. I think I’m looking for something to really show my ass, something that’s almost impossible to duplicate, something hard, forward thinking, but still artistic. Then again, maybe I’m not good enough? Maybe I’m better off sticking to the common things, rolling with the common crowd, being a person who stands right at the top of the bell curve?

Whatever. Fuck me. I guess I’m heading back to the drawing board.


In the aftermath of the knorbi dilemma, I had a couple ideas…

  • Create the world’s first automated novel writer. It would kinda be like the HAL 9000, but it’s sole purpose would be to churn out fiction novel after novel. Almost impossible to fully automate this, I think, unless it just randomly generated grammar that could then be filtered by real people. Surely if it ran 24/7 that it could spit out something good in a few years? Imagine a program that produced a novel every minute. That’s 60 an hour, 1440 per day, 525,600 per year. Imagine flooding amazon with each of these novel?
  • Several years ago I created a website for people to promote their blog posts. it was a simple concept: people submit their blog posts, they go in a queue, then are “rotated” in and out of the main page, which only displayed 10 at a time. Kind of like redditt, but scaled down to a consumable level. This new idea would be something similar, except it would act as a ranking system for self published novels, where, hopefully, the best would bubble to the top. So a person could submit their novel. It would go into a waiting queue. Then when its time came, it would be displayed on the main page and readers would read it then give it a score. There’s a ton of logistical problems with this, but if I could pull together a small team of initial readers, there’s no shortage of self published authors hacking their crap. It would be the ultimate clearing house.
  • I could start a podcast called Your Boss Hates You or The Slavecast, where I spew my insanity about how much it sucks to live and work in the modern world and how we need to collectively go back to survival of the fittest. Whacky, but probably fun.

Day 102 - The Great Troll War Of 2014


I couldn't help but wake up thinking of witty responses to lure people even further into my trolling scheme. I came up with some good ones too. One of them even ryhmed. But, I forgot all of them when the time came to write them in the little facebook box. That seems to be a recurring thing for me. My best thoughts fall right on the floor and die. C'mon Google and invent and thought recorded already (no, seriously, don't do that). I still managed to put some good stuff in there (see below), but it never felt as good as the ones that fell out of my head earlier.

I woke up at 5:30 am again. This time, not so pissed off because I was in bed by 10 pm last night. I checked the email on my phone and had about 87 new messages, half of which were from people getting sucked in to my trolling of the trolling Ian Richardson. I've never met this person. I have no idea who he or she is, but I already hate them. I know we could never be friends. Isn't that weird how facebook gives me that sort of power, to just hate someone because I don't like their digital manifestation? But we're all better for it, right? Right?

The girlfriend is headed to another state for a job interview. I hope she gets it and gets paid a shit ton more than she's making now in her shitty situation, so we can move away from all this Ebola mess. The more that comes out about how the CDC and the hospital and all involved handled this thing, the more it scares me that we're all doomed at the hands of arrogant fuck-tards. I'm not that scared, yet, but it's getting to that point.


More from the facebook troll war...

Here's something I said down in the discussion after someone else said something about being a part of some "bona fide Writer's Guild," whatever that means. I guess he/she was trying to validate that they are indeed a good professional writer, since they were a part of some guild, not a group, that engaged in serious discussions about the craft of writing, or whatever. Then Ian made some comment about how he's bitter about people not siding 100% with him and whatever. Anyway, here's what I wrote...

"I submit to you subpar authors proof that Ian Richardson is the chosen one: 

"After a near fatal incident a few years ago I went back and I've been lucky, I've had a couple of things in community production and some wonderful rehearsed readings, but the Holy Grail of traditional print still wafts tantalisingly before me because to me it means validation of quality and 'professional'."

The most brilliant sentence ever written. Notice the use of tantalisingly, a word Ian has invented to mean "profound stench; a fart that doesn't dissipate." Genius. 

And we all know you're being modest. "Lucky," come on. Was Jesus "lucky" when he rose from the dead? Was Abraham Lincoln "lucky" when that guy shot him in the head and prevented him from turning into Julius Caesar? Were all the digital trolls of the last half decade "lucky" when they goaded so many suckers into wasting their time responding to tantalisingly posts about superiority, arrogance, and self aggrandizing? I don't think so. This is calculated genius.

Thank you Ian for being you. I will worship you, until I find someone better or I lose interest, which I tend to do because I have the attention span of a hummingbird. But for now, yeah, you're the best!"

Then he wrote back...

"I submit you've failed to understand the difference between expressing opinions, having discussions and making assumptions about your own rightness. You really need to read in the posts that I'm trying to present balanced views and personal opinions, and try to demonstrate why I think they are valid, not making some universal pronouncement of correctness - what the hell is it you are trying to do except be a not very funny smartarse?

I did, as you requested, read the intro to your novel. As I have ADD myself it's not hard to spot in either the novel or your postings. It can lead one to be a bit of a dick sometimes in dealing with other people."

More pretentious posturing. What he really meant to say is he thinks I'm an asshole for trying to sabotage his pissy complaint about people posting their garbage books to the group (there is a lot of garbage that people think is good, and they feel the need to just spam the facebook group, which does make it hard to stay in, but fuck this Ian asshole).

Here's what I wrote in return...

"Ian, oh great one, thank you so much for taking time from your busy day of petting your five cats, watching Wendy Williams, sipping loudly your triple expresso, and having serious conversations with other intellects about the literary merits of Sam Pink's most recent novel, Witch Piss, to read the intro to my novel. I think if you, and everyone else participating in this lesson in trolling, would pay $1.99 for my novel and download it to their Kindle and read it to completion, you would all see that I'm not nearly as good a writer as you, and how just about everyone who has written a word is better than me.

Ian, oh God of literacy, I would love to read some of your drivel, so I may learn how to be a better human being.

In case y'all have forgotten, the novel is titled [edited], and not to be a spoiler, but [edited] are hand guns that the "hero" forms a relationship with. Here's that link again..."

He didn't like that comment. I think it was calling his writing drivel, which I've never had the chance to read because he's too much of a pussy to put it out there for criticism. This is what he wrote in return. The proverbial, "good day sir!"

" I made a decision fairly recently that continuing to be adult or reasonable with people who are neither is both a waste of time and pandering to them, so my decision is to call them out. 

So I will: you are being a total and absolute dick. 

Your comments are nasty, uncalled for, vindictive and have no base in anything I've said except that you clearly find people having discussions a rebuke to your inability to join in.

Since you have also decided you can proclaim that my work - which you have never seen - is drivel. I think I can comment that your novel, which I have seen, is deeply boring, peurile and not funny.

You clearly have some major chip on your shoulder about you own inadequacies and you are also clearly either too stupid or too lazy to bother with trying to put together a rational comment. If you are going to be such a total and absolute prat as to start making attacks on someone on the basis of some imagined assertion of superiority why should anyone bother to listen to anything you say? Indeed in what way are you not just another loser troll? 

Just keeping listening to the voices in your head, I'm sure they will agree with you.

Seriously if you can't play nice with the adults in a discussion just go back to the sandbox."

Notice his use of big fancy words like "peurile" and "rebuke." To me, it's a tell tell sign that he's trying really hard to be the kind of writer he thinks everyone agrees is how a writer should be, instead of just being himself. I love that about him. Here's my responses, which ended the conversation so far. He must've run out of big words.

"It was the cats comment, huh? And you probably have no idea who Wendy Williams is. But that other stuff, that's pretty accurate, right? The whole coffee sipping nonsense? No?

As an olive branch, I'm going to give you all a FREE copy of [edited], since Ian seemed to enjoy it so much (I assume puerile and deeply boring are right in line with Ian's tastes), but he probably can't afford the hefty price of $1.99.

Here's the link...

Oh, and also, I'd love to still read some of your drivel Ian. I could use some good reading to fall asleep to. Thanks. I'll await your opening yourself up to the same criticism you seem to like to dole out. I love you. <3"

I love being a digital cancer. It makes my heart fill with, whatever, love or something.


I watched football and hockey and regretted my involvement in the troll war. I can't believe I let myself get sucked in. Regardless, I couldn't help but continue being an annoying prick. It's what I do best I guess.

Then I watched a thing on HBO about Russia having a problem with homosexuals. Mainly, "vigilante" groups hunt, harrass, and humiliated suspected homosexuals. Why? Who the fuck knows, because it's fucking Russia and they've got nothing better to do? Or maybe they're all homosexuals and refuse to accept it. I just don't understand how someone can spend their life hating on some other group of people because of how they choose to have sex with. Oh well. The moral of the story is, don't go to Russia, whether you're straight, gay, bisexual, trisexual, whatever. Just leave them alone.

Oh, and I learned through the news that Dallas is now Ebola free. We shipped all the infected off to other places that are smarter and less MERICKA! than we are. Cause you know, nothing can fuck with MERICKA! Except Ebola, and hippies, and hopefully, eventually, gun laws.

Day 101 - Trolling For Ebola


I can't help but think that one day, if I'm able to keep this daily blogging thing up, if I'm able to keep experimenting with format, that one day I'll be the baddest ass blogger that has ever lived. You remember The Beatles, the band that practically invented modern music? They weren't the first, they were just the best. Like Michael Jordan, Roger Staubach (fuck Joe Montana), Quentin Tarantino, all those humans are/were the best at what they do. Not just in the current generation, but of ALL time. That's my goal. But I'll hold off sucking my own dick until say day 1000 when people send me emails of their nipples and ask if they can send me all their money for being whatever new word means better than amazing at the time.

I woke up, again against my will, around 5:30 am. I rolled out of bed, suited up, and took the dogs for a walk. I hate these colder mornings because it requires I put on more clothes than just a pair of shorts and some thin t-shirt. This whole four season bit is getting old.

I made some soup yesterday to eat as my breakfast for the next couple of days. It's just a bunch of vegetables, some buffalo burgers that were sitting in the freezer, and a handful of spices, mainly garlic salt. It's delicious. I made some bacon and cut up an avocado as a compliment. I feel the nutrients scrubbing my cells clean.

I drove to work and learned from Ticket AM talk show host Gordon Keith that Ebola is still going strong here in Dallas, as there's another person infected. I truly feel bad for those people who cared for that asshole who brought the shit over here. So far, I think they're doing OK. Not great, but no signs that they're not going to make it yet. I'm pulling for them. I wonder if I could do something awesome for them and/or their family besides write words about them in an obscure blog that no one reads?

In the meantime, I continue to be paranoid of anyone around me. And the hand sanitizer companies are going to make a fortune off me as long as this is a thing. But I have hope that we can squash it, because if Nigeria can do it, so can we. And if not, I'm moving to fucking Nigeria.


Notes from the video:

  • Once again, Ramit spends 10 minutes trying to explain why these fucking lessons are so important and how people who don't use them are stupid. What an asshole.
  • What are three things your client wants?
    • For the yoga thing
      • They want more steady students, i.e. people paying monthly for long term
      • They want more recognition
      • They want more re-usability of their classes
    • For the resume thing
      • They want more interviews
      • They want impressive bullet points
      • They want to stand out from the crowd
  • Features vs Benefits
    • Features are things, stuff
    • Benefits are results, what your client gets from using your product/service
    • Benefits to working with YOU
  • Rule #1: Freelancing is a relationship business
  • Write down as many benefits as you can in 2 minutes, go!
    • Higher class consumption rate = more repeat business = more money
    • Expanded reach, not just people in the area
    • More exposure
    • Higher potential
    • Increased student satisfaction
    • Better performance
  • People pay more to do it for them than to understand their problems
  • Common benefits
    • Make more money
    • Look good
    • Save time
    • Avert disaster
    • Lower risk
    • Give them an out
    • Zero management
    • Initiative
    • Long term vision
    • Understanding the business
    • Accessibility
    • Accountability
    • Clarity
    • Organization
    • Reliability
  • Now take these and come up with more benefits for your thing


One of my biggest pleasures in life is trolling. I've always been told by people who think they've elevated themselves out of the noise, the self proclaimed judges of what's right/wrong or good/bad, that I have a bad attitude. So I like to reassure everyone from time to time that yes, I embrace your opinion that I have a bad attitude, and here's some proof.

I got sucked into this facebook group for "authors," which contains a lot of digital posturing where everyone in the group, at least a few, think they are above it all. Like their writing and work is so much more important and good than the rest of the fodder that other people put out there. They all want to get published and become the next, whoever, insert some lame ass, self important writer here.

Here's the leading post...

"I don't have much time for drama queen flouncing off fb groups, but I will say that I'm too frustrated with this one to be able to stick what is effectively a parade of spam.

The endless misplaced promotion of, mostly very poor, self-published books, and the parade of 50-shades clones and religious nitwittery is just a pain when it clogs up the fb feed.
Self-publishing can clearly be a way of getting work out there - especially non-fiction -, but the reality is that the vast majority are books that are just not good enough for a mainstream publisher to look at and I just can't see the point of being on a page that seems to now be overwhelmingly about that.
it's a shame as there is a crying need for fb meeting places for writers." - Ian Richardson

I love it when digital entities lob softballs.

Day 100 - Sorry I Breathe Air & Make A Lower Salary Than You

Keep it one hundo playboy!


I woke up this morning, again, against my will. These shorter days and longer nights dictate I sleep more, but fucking modern life says, “nope, fuck you, I don’t think so.” I can’t help but think The System is designed to shuttle people from birth to death as quickly and painlessly as possible. It’s like cars and other stuff that isn’t designed to last. Their designed to fail eventually, so they can keep selling the newer models. I can feel the newer models stepping on my heels.

I took the dogs for a long walk. It was a nice morning. A little brisk, but not too bad with sweats and a long sleeve hoodie. I got back to the house, fed the dogs, did my pushups and squats and pull-ups of the day, then jumped in the shower to scrub the stink off my taint and asshole. I scrubbed extra hard this morning because it felt like it needed it. But I didn’t wash my hair. I think shampoo is slowly turning me bald. I swear my hair is thinner than it used to be, and I don’t have the bald gene.

I debated whether or not I was going to go in to the office today or work remotely. It’s an easy choice. Work remotely. Any day not spent in a brightly lit, depressing, coma inducing office is a good day. It’s like when Ice Cube doesn’t have to use his AK, today was a good day.

I’m currently sitting at the Starbuck’s watching the jobless types go about their lives. There’s so many of them. Old, young, middle aged, all looking happy that they’re not sitting in an office with a boss yelling in their face to get reports and shit done. Also cute girls. The stretch pant is on full display today. God bless America!


Have you ever been working with someone, maybe on a team, and realized at some point when your work depends on their work, that they haven't done shit? Have you ever thought something like, "do they make as much or maybe even more than me?"

It's the great inequality in the workforce. It's the reason you're not supposed to talk about salary. It's a method used to keep you repressed, an accounting trick, because it doesn't matter who actually does the labor, who puts their body through the stress and anxiety and sacrifices the hours of their life to get it down, as long as the collective gets it done. Managers can say, "see, the team produced X for Y dollars." Fuck if Paul makes $20k more than everyone yet produces 30% less.  It's the mythical lure of a higher salary, a raise, a bonus, that keeps the under earners performing.

Fuck that. I lose sight of that at times and get lost in trying to get shit done, trying to be an over performer. And it's times like these that I'm reminded that I shouldn't be striving to be the best, because the difference between the best and the absolute worst is only a couple of percentage points, if anything. It's just not worth it. So time to scale back slightly and allow the other part of the team to get exposed.


Knorbi took a big step forward today. While I was supposed to be doing slave work, I finished up some loose edges on the file handling portion of Knorbi. I'm somewhat proud of this, but I'm still caught in the thought, "is this something I should be investing my time on?" The answer is yes, because I know what a pain in the ass it is to try and write a book between a Mac and a Windows PC. The world needs this cross platform tool because the current offerings are either unreliable or fucking overblown bullshit.

So get on your knees, open wide, and feel the blast.


I learned Revocation has a new album. Yeah!

I took the dogs out for the final piss of the day, and as I was coming out of my apartment door, this cute girl was not paying attention walking towards me. When she turned around and saw me, she jumped and said, "you scared me." I smiled, thinking, "that sounds about right, sorry for existing."

Day 99 - The Fucking Creative Bug That's Sucking My Blood Like A Symbiotic Leach That I Can Never Get Rid Of


Yesterday, I was walking the dogs and saw a butterfly dying on the sidewalk. I assumed it was dying, because it was just laying there, flapping its wings a little. I picked it up and looked at it, then threw off to the side to let it continue dying. Later, I thought, "maybe I should've just squashed it or something to put it out of its misery?" But then I thought, "what if it just fell out of the cocoon and was going through the boot up sequence?" If it would've been a spider or scorpion or something, I would've squashed it without remorse. But I'm glad I let it live. It made me feel like a sort of God, or whatever. I imagine it living a kick ass life, fucking other butterflies, and becoming the most important butterfly to ever live.

I've had three things on my mind the last few days. Ebola, relationships, and little Astro, the poor abused dog that we did nothing about.

I can't help but think this Ebola thing is on the verge of becoming an epidemic. Maybe it's because it's so fucking close, like literally, right down the street from me. I seem to be hyper vigilant checking my symptoms and scoping people out when I'm out doing stuff. It's not time to panic, but if there's more and more cases, then it might be time to get the fuck out of dodge. I'm not ready to go live underground like those people in 12 Monkeys.

I got up around 7:30 am, wondered what the fuck I'm doing with my life, then took the dogs for a quick walk. It was nasty out the night before and still this morning. I hate this cloudy, rainy, coldish, bullshit weather. Where the fuck is Summer? Come back Summer!

I ate a piece of cake for breakfast, caught up on all my fantasy football failures over the weekend, then drove to work without incident. Actually, this may be the first time I've driven in without having to break out the virtual machine gun to take out my frustrations on some idiot asshole other driver. I still have little Astro on my mind. I hope he's in a better situation. I'm going to find out this weekend.


I've been doing some thinking about the whole recording yoga things. I have a logistical problem in that I can't be in two places at the same time. So, either I record only one or two sessions in a studio per week, which means I can cover more studios, or I focus all my efforts on one studio at a time. Or maybe I just set them up to record the thing on their own?

With that in mind, I've decided to also pursue the resume consultant/makeover service as well, and see which one rises to the top. Or maybe they both float to the bottom and I'll fucking get so defeated I rob a convenience store then have a shootout with the cops where they shoot me while all my friends run towards me screaming, "he's just a kid!" Remember that from that movie?

Here’s the exercise on defining my target market for the resume thing…

Target Market: Experienced developers looking for better job opportunities who would like help crafting a superior resume.

Ideal Client Profile: Developers, between 30 and 50. Married, maybe with a kid or two. They own a house. They're looking to change jobs for either a salary increase or because they hate their current situation. They've got an OK resume already and a pretty typical linkedin profile. They spend time on stack overflow. They're shy and are a little afraid to venture outside their comfort zone. In other words, they're comfortable following the same old tired resume formula, yet they hope for more interest. They're probably not seeking help, because they're engineers, they'll figure shit out on their own.


For some reason, I was looking out of my office window thinking about the ideal client profile when I got the feeling that all of this is wrong for me. I got that urge that I should be making music instead of trying to make a stupid side service business work. I get this urge at least once or twice a week.

I think I was watching this Foo Fighters video when the urge hit. It always comes on when I’m watching some of my musical heroes and I can’t help but think that I should be doing the same. I’m not jealous or anything, just envious.

I can’t help but think of #31 from Ignore Everybody. “If you have the creative bug, it isn’t ever going to go away. I’d just get used to the idea of dealing with it.” Allegedly, that’s what Tim Burton told Hugh Macleod when Hugh was wondering if he should do the whole creative thing for a living. That’s the way I feel. And it’s the fucking truth.


Fantasy football sucks bloody nut sacks. I mean, bleeding, AIDSed-up nut sacks. The first couple of weeks in the season, I couldn’t lose. Now, I can’t fucking win, although I did squeak out a win in my Yahoo league. A desperately needed win.

I ate leftover pizza for dinner. Exciting. I also sat on the couch and looked at television for the entirety of the evening. Then I went to bed. My night seemed to float by. I couldn’t tell if I was half asleep or awake or just zoned out. Probably that last one. I think it’s a symptom of needing more sleep.

Day 97 - Stupid Dirt Balls Need To Die


I took a melanin supplement last night before bed. It’s supposed to knock a person out, or more medically speaking, gently build the urge to sleep. It worked, I think, or I was just dog fucking tired.

Then the thunderstorms rolled through. The dogs hate thunder. I imagine early humans hated thunder also, because they thought it was some God trying to punish them or something. The dogs got through it though, as they always do, and I was able to sleep again.

Then the drunk idiots came out and yelled outside my bedroom window. I swear, every Friday and Saturday night, there’s at least one or two drunks who like to just stand outside my bedroom window and scream at 3 am. And every time I want to get my baseball bat and go outside to split their skulls open. I’m afraid I might kill them though, then I’d be the bad guy on the news who took out my frustrations on some poor kids who were just trying to have a good time. I’d be the guy everyone shakes their head at and says on Facebook something like, “what’s the world coming to?”

I woke up feeling somewhat refreshed. I took the dogs out intending to go on a long walk, but the fucking weather dictated I not do that. I could’ve, but I hate the cold. It wasn’t THAT cold, but you know, the first cold of the year is like, “ahhh, fuck, where’s Summer?” I cursed God for being a dildo and took the dogs back inside.

I cleaned the kitchen, which seems to be my favorite household chore. It’s relaxing in a stupid way. It feels kinda like all those mindless jobs I’ve had where I’m expected to perform a repetitious task over and over for a set amount of time. Mindless work seems to be good for the nerves. There’s no time to worry about anything. There’s no thought required to accomplish the task. It’s like an active rest. Maybe one day, when I’ve gotten over the whole extreme comfort addiction thing, I’ll go back to doing work that doesn’t require anything other than muscle memory and time.


We met this couple on a flight to Vegas a couple of months ago. Me and the dude share the same birthday, so hey, that’s a thing. I’ve never met someone who has the same birthday as me. Maybe we’d be destined to be best friends forever? Maybe even gay lovers at some point? Who knows?

We met up with them tonight as a sort of joint birthday dinner. We had a good time, talked shit about football and stuff, and blah blah blah. Who cares.

We learned they have a mother who had a stroke. The mother has a dog that they are supposed to be taking care of while the mother is gone, wherever. And also, they hate dogs and wish the mother’s dog was dead, and probably secretly wish the mother was dead also. OK, looks like this will be the last time we/I hang out with them, because I am an animal lover and don’t understand people who just hate animals because.

They mention they keep the dog in the garage, because they don’t want it in the house and the backyard isn’t suitable either, so the garage is the best place for the dog. No big deal. I know plenty of folks who keep their dog in the garage, especially when the weather starts getting cooler.

We get back to their house after dinner and my girlfriend insists on seeing this dog. We go out to the garage and the dog is in a crate in the corner of the garage. Hmmm. The lady opens the crate and says she’s kept this filthy dog in the crate all day. She’s left him in there for almost 24 hours. No water. No bathroom breaks. In the dark. In the garage. My blood pressure rises just a bit. How fucking stupid and callous can a person be?

She opens the cage door and this little tiny dog pokes it head out, then goes right back inside. It’s terrified. It stinks like piss. There’s no blankets or towels or anything in the cage for this dog to lay on. It’s clearly pissed and shit in its cage, meaning it’s been left in there an excessive amount of time. It wants to come out, but it’s too scared. There’s no water in sight, no food, no nothing.

I go back in the house shell shock. I don’t think I’ve ever seen cruelty like that up close. It was almost too much to take. And if I hand’t been in their home, I might’ve killed them both on the spot. And they kept going on and on about how they don’t want to have to take care of the dog, and the mother who owns the dog doesn’t take good care of it, and blah blah blah.

My girlfriend takes the dog out of the cage and out in the yard so it can at least pee and poop. I didn’t go with her. It was too much for me to take. She said the dog peed for about a minute and then pooped a big one and seemed relieved to be out of the cage.

Neither of us slept very well last night thinking of little Astro.We decided we needed to do something about it, but we’re not quite sure what. I think our first goal is getting the dog out of the situation it’s in. Whether it’s taking him ourselves and finding it a better home or reporting them to whoever deals with animal cruelty. If I had my way, I’d do both, and I’d put each one of them in a cage without water or food or bedding or a bathroom and see how they feel after 24+ hours.

Day 96 - The Golden Uterus Baby

On October 10, 1972, my mother squirted me out. I weighed something like 10 lbs. The doctor said it was mostly penis weight. Actually, he didn’t say that. He said something like, “good lord, what is this?” Nothing in my life has changed much since.

I would go on to have a typical childhood. I went to a regular elementary school, where I befriended what I later found out was the fat kid, Jerry. I still remember his name and his fat face and his greasy curly blonde hair. I also remember wanting to be just like him. His jeans creased just perfect where his butt met his legs, and I always strived to get that look. But I was too skinny. My jeans looked like tents on my legs.

Jerry was the leader of the group I aligned myself with. We went to six flags together. But sometimes he chose to take a different friend of his, as some kind of weird adolescent psychological strategy, which would make me jealous. Just the reaction he was going for. Because later, he would try to pit me against the other guys in his crew, trying to get us to fight each other. I did fight once, and lost. I was doing good until I went to my knees for some reason and the other kid kicked my in the stomach.I stopped hanging out with Jerry and his crew after that.

My parents moved us to the country when I was starting junior high. I had to go to a new school, with different kids who had been growing up together since birth. They were tight, BFFs. I didn’t fit in well at first. I hated those years.

In high school, I graduated from hanging out with the lowly crowd to hanging out with the medium tier crowd. The medium tier is where I’ve remained so far, with occasional flirts with the upper tier, but never once coming close to the elite tier. I made decent grades, graduated, and drifted for a while from job to job until returning to college around 24 years old.

I graduated college, got a job, and here I am. About 14 years has passed since I got my degree and not much has happened, outside of drunken rampages, pathetic sexual encounters, and the occasional moments of clarity. I’ve been living a normal, ordinary, boring life, which, to me, feels not OK. It sounds arrogant, but I feel like I should’ve been something more than just another person occupying a seat at the Starbucks. Like I should’ve become an important musician or famous artist or something.

I suppose I’ve had the opportunities, but never really made a real attempt because of fear. Just general fear. the kind they teach you in school and the kind they use to control you in adulthood.

But I have no complaints. Being ordinary and normal is pretty great. It’s comfortable at least. And maybe it’s just not my time yet. Who knows. All I can do is keep plugging away.

Day 95 - Impaled On The Digital Void


There's this game for the iPhone called Two Dots. It's the new Angry Birds. If you don't know what either of those games are, then congratulations, you're living life the right way, like a normal, well adjusted creature who isn't constantly wrapped up in distracting, life sucking activities.

Anyway, I've been playing this game religiously for the last couple of weeks. I started my day today, laying in bed at 5 am, playing a round or two. I see dots in my dreams. It's infected my brain to the point I think it's fucking up my sleep. But who fucking cares, I love it. It's worth the destruction of my health to get in a game or two. #YOLO

I finally rolled out of bed around 6 am, feeling good about the day. But also feeling that little thing that I'm not sure how to describe. It's that feeling you get when you know you need a change in lifestyle, but you're not quite executing the change or making much of effort to effect the change. I talked about this a little bit on Monday about my Quest For Abs  which was supposed to start this week, but since it's my birthday, I decided to punt off the start date to this coming Saturday, the day after my birthday. So I've been feeling that twinge of "guilt," for lack of a better word, for the better part of the week. I guess my desire to not be a soft slob is not enough to overcome the pain of the actual effort it's going to take to change. I still hold out hope that this year will be different.

I took the dogs for a quick walk, avoiding the hypodermic needles laying on the sidewalk unattended. It's reassuring that the very expensive apartment building I pay to live in has either an illicit drug addict or two, and/or a diabetic, or someone practicing medicine on the side of the road. I kicked the needle into the street and kept walking.

I got back, fed the dogs, made myself some bacon, eggs, chicken sausage, and an avocado for breakfast. Then I took a shower, carefully lathering my nut sack area and making extra scrubs across my anal region, for undisclosed reasons, then got dressed and drove to work. I sat in traffic on the tollway, a road I pay to drive on regardless of the efficiency it's supposed to provide me. I thought about the whole Ebola thing again and how it's more than highly likely that something equivalent will be a thing that cleanses the human population. And I further thought about how important it is, right now, to get my body into shape just in case such a scenario plays out and I have to lead an army of survivors against the mutated undead kangaroo people.


Tonight, I ventured to the local hockey arena and took in a game of professional hockey. The first game of the 2014-2015 season for my hometown Dallas Stars. They lost, in overtime, in a shootout.

I didn’t stay for the shootout. I left at the end of regulation. I paid $120 to stand in a square at the top of a section right behind a row of grown mens who were taller than me. They weren’t really taller than me, it just seemed that way because when they stood, they blocked my view of the rink, which I was forced to look down on. When are we going to build an arena where we look up to watch the action? I don’t know. Probably never because Earth sucks.

I witnessed an interesting phenomenon. Since the digital age, the age of the personal communication device, everyone now experiences most of their life through the digital portal. I include myself in that category, but it seems the younger you are, the more time you spend staring into your device.

Anyway, when the mens in front of me stood at the exciting moments of the game, they immediately took out their phones and stared at them. It’s like they were splitting their attention between cheering for the home team to score a thing that makes us win and doing whatever, texting, checking Twitter/facebook, griming (aka posting to Instagram), etc. I found it incredible that a real life sporting event, featuring the best of the best athletes from around the world, are competing in an arena on ice, doing amazing athletic things, and the tiny screen of the communication thing is more interesting.

I’m as guilty as anyone of spending way too much time staring into the digital void. I’m doing it now, while writing this, but isn’t things that are happening live, in person,more interesting than reading that text from your buddy that says, “I’m totally stoned playing Halo while jerking off to a girl shitting into a guy’s mouth.” That’s a better thing to experience than a small group of guys on ice doing amazing things with their bodies?

On a positive note, I was standing feet from the cheerleaders, who seem to have two moves. The first is just moving from side to side in a bubbly, bouncy fashion. The other is quickly bending over and slowly standing up. Like every generic stripper move you’ve seen in every movie that features a stripper. Yes, hot young girls contorting their bodies in a vague sexual manner is WAY more interesting than a bunch of dudes running into each other on ice.

Day 94 - A Terd Between The Tits


Blasted awake at 5 am. I laid in bed for 30 minutes trying to go back to sleep. It was no use. I got up and started the broken routine, which is becoming my new routine. Walk the dogs, wonder around the house wondering what to do, shower the anus, drive to work, be productive.


On the drive to work, I had an idea for a book or TV series. It’s going to be called, Let’s Drive To Work. The premise revolves around a guy who has to drive to work every day, sometime in the near future, where highways are almost fully automated. I can already here the sound of eyeballs across the nation shutting in unison and moving on to the next thing that might be something good to use as a distraction.

He’s like a zombie. Everyone in this world is. Every episode, he drives to work and we learn something new about the future he lives in. Like, we learn that there’s a syndicate of anonymous, former heroes, who single handedly eliminated organized crime and terrorism, but then some of them broke off and became a new version of organized crime, because they can build super intelligent robots, more intelligent than the regular robots normal people own. They’re at war with each other, kinda. It’s hard to distinguish who the good guys and bad guys are. It’s hinted at that it’s just one person, or something, but it’s just sort of thrown out there as a tease and never really pans out (i.e. we never figure out who this person, or persons, are). And maybe, on occasion, the story paths cross.


Today was a beat down day. That means that I had to go sit in a meeting for 3 hours and justify my existence to my masters. And others get to sit around and make money while judging my value as an employee. It’s all part of the plan.

I couldn’t help but think, as I always do during beat down days, that enslavement has come such a long way. Our man in the future will be an even bigger slave than me. He probably won’t get to spend his money freely. He’ll probably be directed through almost every instance of life. From what time to get up, to what, when, and where to eat, to when to go to the bathroom. And he won’t think anything of it. It’ll all be normal. He’ll quip about one day not being able to think of a naked girl’s tits whenever he wants. Those tits will come at pre-programmed intervals, and will be a pair that is not of his choosing, like some sort of advanced matrix-like simulation.

During the beat down, I did make a joke about terds (aka floaters) that was a big hit with everyone but the only girl in the meeting. Girls just aren’t dumb enough to understand scat humor.


Error handling is one of those things that likes to curl up inside my head and slowly eat my brain, like a parasite or the Ebola virus. I hate thinking about it. I hate implementing. I hate every aspect of it. Why can't programming just not have that as a thing? Like, why can't we build a thing where it never fails, under no circumstances short of an act of God? One day, maybe, the world will be as perfect as I demand it to be.

Until then, I gotta deal with the shit. Qt doesn't seem to support exception handling very well. It's more of a set an error code and go through a giant switch after every method call. Actually, it's not that ridiculous. It's more like a yes or no type thing. Yes, everything went as planned, or No, something went wrong but we're not going to tell you specifically, but rest assured, something ain't right, so...

The good thing is Qt does allow the programmer (that would be me) to implement an exception handling system for dealing with error conditions, which is what I've chosen to do because I love exceptions. They may be slow, but if they're done right, they should only happen under exceptional situations, as an unexpected operation that requires some fall back action, which may be as simple as making a log entry and telling the user something went wrong and they should lean back in their recliner and kill themselves.

My method, on the surface, is going to be to throw errors, then define a centralized error processing system to deal with them, and maybe even, in the future, try to recover from them without alerting the user. I was inspired reading this paper, written by two people I have never heard of. (I didn't read it all, just the beginning, but I plan on reading it all, one day.)

Day 93 - There's Nothing Wrong With Diarrhea


The last few mornings have been anything but routine. I feel out of sorts, like I need to restore order, because this living on the edge of chaos thing doesn't work well for an old man like me.

I woke up feeling somewhat refreshed, even though my sleep monitor thing says I only slept 7 hours 7 minutes. After a walk of the dogs and some wondering around the house aimlessly, I realized that I hadn't slept as well as I first thought. I was still fucking tired. So I had a smoothie, played a game of Two Dots on the ipad, turned on The Ticket AM, laid down on the couch and took a nap.

I woke up around 9 to one of my dogs standing inches from my face looking at me. I swear he's like batdog or something. I'll think he's across the room laying down then I'll turn around and he's sitting right behind me looking right at me.

One time, he managed to drag a pair of my sweat past right past me and into the backyard through the open door. I swear, I didn't move from the spot I was in watching TV and he had to come right in front of me to get out the door. The only reason I knew he was out there because he was dragging the pants through some leaves and it sounded slightly unusual, like a murderer was trying to sneak up on me and cut my head off. But I'm wise to him. He's not as clever as he thinks.

I got up, took a shower, stopped by the Walgreen's to pick up the fresh batch of meds, said hello to a person who was working on the cosmetics counter who just looked at me like I insulted his mother, then drove to work without incident.


It's never a good sign when you walk into the stall at the bathroom and see the toilet paper roll(s) look like they've been shredded by a rabbis-upped Tasmanian devil. And there's remnants of diarrhea caked to the inside of the bowl, and a little smeared on the seat. And there's a puddle of urine in front of the bowl. And there's dried urine on the very top of the tank, like someone intentionally arced it up there.

Good thing I didn't need to drop a load.

This is a daily occurrence, especially around the go home hour. I guess the obesities who inhabit this office complex, who have constant diarrhea, whose every bathroom urge is an emergency, need to clear their bowels of whatever horrific lunch they had to make way for whatever horrific dinner they're about to ingest. I am Jack's raging disgust.

Day 92 - How To Not Be A Worthless Slug


Woke up feeling anxious. Been feeling anxious the last few days. I feel like I'm addicted to the meds I'm taking. I wonder if I've forgotten what it feels like to be the normal, drug free me.  Probably a combination of withdrawal symptoms and a horrible diet. Thank the God for drugs though. Looks like I'll get a refill today and I'll be back to not worrying about anything, for a while.

I took the dogs for a medium walk, then came home and made myself some bacon, chicken sausage, eggs, and a whole avocado. It was good. That's my paleo special. I've read here on the interweb that it's good for you. Who knows for sure.

I washed my stinky ass, got dressed, and came to work, all the while trying to fight back the anxiety. It's like I'm worried about all the worrying which in turn creates more worry. What am I worried about? The worry, that's what I'm worried about. I'm worried that I worry too much. Do you see the insanity? I think I need to incorporate some meditation into my daily routine. Maybe that's the first thing I should do when I wake up? Actually, I shall meditate now, live on the blog as it happens...

OK, I'm back. Now I just need to do that seven thousand more times today and all should be right in my world.


I was thinking the other day about the whole Ebola thing that's going on here, and how, if there was to come some event that threw us fat, lazy, totally spoiled Americans into a lord of the flies slash survival of the fittest situation, then I'd be one of the first to go. Like, I wouldn't be able to fend off the angry hoards of terrorists that came crawling up out of the sewer, or the legion of undead infected with super Ebola who needs to drink my blood and eat my brains to survive. I would be one of those undead. And I don't like the idea of that (unless it feels really good, if so, count me in). I want to be able to kill a chimp with my bare hands. I want to be able to take down an army of highly trained mercenaries with my bare hands, like Batman. And if this is going to happen, things in my life are going to have to change. A lot.

Today marks the first day on a long journey I'm forcing myself to go on to get rid of the excess blubber on my body and turn myself into the type of person that other men fear. This is something that has to happen, because I don't want to need medication for the rest of my life to feel "right," and I also want to be able to wrestle the mutated alligator hippos when they rise from their prehistoric slumber to enslave the human race.

So, the first leg of this quest is simple: build a daily routine of training & only eat three times a day. The training doesn't have to be hardcore, but it does need to be intense, for at least 15 minutes, preferably more. It'll probably involve a lot of kettlebell stuff and body weight exercises and short runs. I think I'll stick with my current regime for a while and see how it pans out. The difficult thing is simply showing up and doing something. That's the most important thing.

Studies have shown that eating multiple times a day is not any more effective at burning fat than eating three times, or less, a day. I know I do better when I don't have the burden of trying to squeeze in six meals a day. Three squares and an occasional snack works the best.

Wish me luck, on this, my 22 billionth time going on such a quest. Hey, I quit fucking drinking two years ago and smoking almost 10 years ago, so this will be, well, ah fuck it. Pray for me.


There's no bigger beating (there is, but when you're in the moment, this feels like the biggest beating a human can suffer) than packing breakable crap for moving. Moving, period, is a huge beating. Where did all this crap come from and why do I have it? It's like the only reason we need more space is so we can fill it up with more shit. Shit we don't need. Shit that serves no other purpose than to fill up the space we have available. It's amazing when the amount of space one has available shrinks, all the sudden, the most important crap, the crap that matters most, bubbles to the surface. Have you ever thought about it?

Day 90 - When You Think About Stuff & Go To REI & Wonder, "What A Burden This All Is"


I’d just like to start off by saying that this blog thing every day is a fucking beating. It’s a burden, a thing that I carry around and fuss and fret over and struggle to comprehend why I continue to do it. It’s all for you, dear zero readers. Actually, it’s for me. I tend to feel like shit on days that I don’t write. It’s like my body is addicted to it or something, like I gotta have it. The guilt is immense when I don’t tell you everything that happened to me during the day, and all my stupid thoughts and fears and shit. You’re welcome.


It was chilly out this morning. I kind of like it, but then I thought, “fucking winter is going to suck.” Then I’ll kick myself in the butt hole for moving back to a part of the world that has 4 seasons.

I braved the cold and walked the dogs. I said hello to the gay man who is always so friendly and has the cutest fucking dog on the planet. He looks like Mr. Clean and talks like Prince. He’s my favorite person in the apartment complex I live in, which isn’t really saying much because I hate most of the people I live around. And now it sounds like a back handed compliment. It isn’t. He really is an awesome neighbor. And if I wasn’t so worried about being cool, I’d get to know him better because he’s probably really fucking interesting.

I had every intention of getting a good workout in today. But when I got to the park, they were having another circus or something. I don’t know. People with numbers on their chest walking around and breathing heavy. Probably something to do with titty cancer awareness since it’s October. So I got defeated and decided to punt the workout yet again, thinking, as I always do, that I need a better system. I need a backup or a sure fire alternate. But I never take any action to create the backup plan. So, fuck me.

I got home, took a shower, and stared at my fat naked body in the mirror for at least two minutes, disgusted with what I saw. How have I let myself go, again? I feel like I’m doomed to ride the roller coaster of weight loss, weight gain. So much for six pack abs.

I went to Walgreens to pick up my prescription. The pharmacist dude told me I was out of refills and they were waiting to hear from my doctor for the OK to give me a refill. I thought, “what a scam.” What a scam this whole health care system is. I go to my doctor. $90. He gives me a prescription. $35 per month for 6 months. When the 6 months are up, I have to go back to my doctor. $90. He’ll refill it, possibly upping the dosage. $35 per month. They’re all raking it in. Is this really the best way to get people healthy? Is this really the best way to treat sickness? The answer is no, it’s not effective, but it is very profitable. Doesn’t matter, because that’s the way it is and it isn’t going to change any time soon.


The guy at REI knew way too much about the bag he was trying to sell me. It has this feature and that feature and it does thing thing if you do this. I couldn’t help but think of a piece of shit door to door salesmen in the 50s going around peddling vacuum cleaners to lonely housewives. I thought, “I could kick this fucker right in his head if I wanted to.” I didn’t want to. He was actually quite nice and not pushy at all.

Oh, and Best Buy hasn’t got much longer to live. I remember how packed their stores used to be on a Saturday. And today, there was only about 5 people in the store. The employees outnumbered the customers. I felt a small tear. Then I thought, “fuck ‘em.”


Every once in a while, around my birthday, I get stuck running through my head all the girls I could’ve fucked through the years of me being alive. It depresses me in a way. Not because I missed out on fucking them. Those girls probably weren’t that great anyway. It depresses me because I failed to take action. Maybe they wouldn’t have fucked me and I was just delusional? And maybe remaining delusional, thinking they wanted to, is better than knowing the truth, that probably they didn’t want to.

But I still get stuck going through the list. There was one in particular, when I was 19 or 20 that always pops up first. I don’t know why because I can’t even remember her stupid name.

She worked in the community college gym I frequented, and every time I went in to work out, she was running on the treadmill in little booty shorts. After she was done, she would always come hang out and talk to me while I worked out. I saw her one day outside the gym while I was playing volleyball with a couple buddies of mine at the park. She was riding her bicycle past, with some dude in tow. When she passed, I looked at her and she smiled and said, “hi, a-ron.” She said it in such a way that made the dude dragging behind her look at me with hate in his eyes. I just smiled and went back to playing volleyball with my stupid friends (we won, I remember that).

I know why that moment sticks in my head. I know why that’s always the first one to pop up on the list of sexual regrets. Because I failed to take action. It’s supposed to be a reminder to go after what you want, walk through open doors, take the initiative. Unfortunately, it’s hasn’t been the greatest catalyst, because I still fear walking into the unknown.

Day 89 - It Feels Like Stealing Or Something


Well, ebola is in full swing here in Dallas. People casually taunting the virus, even the CDC, who states, and I quote, “this is a weak virus.” I imagine in one years time, when half the population of Earth has been eliminated by ebola that we’ll remember that quote and scream to God, “WHY?!?!?!?!?”

Despite the threat of a deadly virus invading my body (I’m scared, for sure, fuck you news), I woke up, took the dogs for a quick walk, made myself a smoothie, and sat down to write this. No workout this morning. I don’t have a good excuse other than, “I don’t feel like it.” Didn’t I mention just a couple of days ago about how showing up and doing something is the most important thing?


Notes from the video:

  • Laser focus who you going to market your stuff to.
  • Ways to target people
    • Geographically (limit to a particular area on Earth)
    • Demographically (age group, gender, etc.)
    • Attitudinally
    • etc.
  • Who are you NOT going to serve?
  • Getting in the buyer's heads. Being specific makes it easier to understand and speak to your targets (so violent).
    • What are their objections?
    • What are they worried about?
    • What are their pain points?
  • Ways to segment businesses
    • Industry - if you're familiar with a particular industry, like I am with software development
    • Location
    • Web Presence - online, offline, both?
    • Offering - product based businesses or service based businesses?
    • Their target customers
    • Size or Stage, where are they at in their development? How big are they?
  • Ways to segment consumers
    • Location
    • Income level
    • Demographic - age, gender, education, etc
    • Life situations - getting married, quiting their job, retiring
    • Common interests - hobbies and shit
    • Their big problem(s) - make more money, lose weight, save time and/or money
  • Your target market should be specific but still have a lot of potential clients
  • The two qualifier method: pick a cross section between two markets
    • Students living in Madison, WI
    • Stay at home moms who want to work from home
  • Pick your niche:
    • Qualifier1 ... Qualifier2 who need (your thing)
    • Yoga studios in the Dallas area who are interested in recording their yoga classes.
  • Create ideal client profile: the "perfect" client you're trying to reach
    • Persona design
    • Describe your ideal client in as much detail as possible.

Hmmm, my ideal client is small "mom and pop" yoga studios with a strong student base (i.e. their turning a nice profit) who want to expand their reach. They've been kicking around ideas for serving their students better, and maybe, in the back of their head, are trying to figure out how to get more students, or at least make more money off the ones they got. They've thought about live streaming their classes, or recording them to make them available on their website or on DVD, but don't quite know how to make it happen. They're concerned about the security of their students (they don't want Joe Internet Creeper jerking off at home to their classes) if they were to record and stream their classes. And they're also not quite sure what technology to use or how to even get the videos on their website.

Day 87 - Futility


I woke up at 5:30 am. Not by choice, but by force. I laid in bed for another hour and let my head float through all the bullshit it likes to greet me with when I make first consciousness in the new day.

An idea popped in my head that I thought might be good to throw on the short list of ideas for my Earn 1k journey. Are you ready, because this is groundbreaking shit? Resume consultant/service. I can see everyone's collective hard ons slowly falling limp. More on this later.

I took the dogs for a quick walk, fed them, and headed off to do the workout. This time, I couldn't finish. I passed on running the 400s and only did 1 pull up. It was just one of those days. I kept reminding myself that showing up and doing something was all that mattered. I hope I don't start turning that into an excuse.

I saw a lady who looked like a hired personal trainer for these two humans, probably a couple, probably on the verge of getting married, and probably trying to lose some lbs before the big day. I wanted to go over to them and ask if they wanted to train for real or if they were comfortable paying the chick that was telling them what to do? But I didn't, because I'm a coward who avoids confrontation at all costs.

She had them doing curls with tiny little weights, then they laid down on the ground and did chest flies with the same tiny little weights. Then they did some other stuff that was equally worthless. I couldn't help but laugh at their futility, then I took a couple of steps and felts my belly jiggle. Then I remembered further that simply showing up and doing something was more valuable than what's being done. Who knows, in a couple of months, I might see that couple running 4.4 40s and doing hardcore gymnastics on the monkey bars. I'll still be the doughy fart boy who thinks he's better than everyone. (I'm trying real hard to be the shepherd.)


Ramit says it's important to niche things down. That's usually the general consensus of all make money "experts." In this lesson, he really beats it into your head. So much so, that it almost feels like filler. Like, all he had was, get specific about who you're going after, then spent a shit ton of time spinning it a thousand different ways.

I came up with another idea this morning. Resume writing/critiquing/consulting for software developers. Since I'm really good at getting interviews, i.e. getting hiring managers to notice my resume, I thought I would be good at doing this. Plus, I could turn this into more of an on the line education service, where I don't need to be actively involved unless someone wanted a personal consult. My target market would be active software developers who are looking for a new opportunity and who most likely still have a job that they probably don't like very much. I even saw the headline to the website: "LAND MORE INTERVIEWS." How great is that? Answer: it's pretty great.


There was an electric cable going into the women's bathroom. I imagined a 300 pounder sitting on the toilet holding an industrial strength vibe to her pleasure lady parts. The chord was used to power the device. I don't know if my postulation was true.


Beaten. Defeated. Done.

Day 86 - Target Seems Like Such A Hostile Word


My little sleep tracker thing says I slept for 8 hours and 21 minutes last night. But I know that’s bullshit. “Slept” is too strong a word for what actually happened in the bed, because I don’t feel any more rested than if I’d “slept” for 5 hours.

I decided yesterday that I was going to work from home today. I didn’t forget to bring my work laptop home, like I normally do when I decide the day before that I’m going to work from home. It’s like my brain gets excited about the prospect of throwing myself around my shitty apartment all day that it totally forgets the most important thing that makes the whole work from home thing possible. The fucking laptop. But I didn’t forget this time, so, suck it.

I took the dogs for a walk then hopped on my bike and took a ride. It was a good ride, although I got slowed down by a slower rider who I couldn’t pass because the trail I ride on is the most popular running/biking/walking the dog/casual “hey, look at where we are” trail on the planet. So it was hard to get around him. and he was oblivious, as so many of us are, of anyone or anything around him. He was totally self absorbed. What a shock. (I’m totally self absorbed also. It’s the cool thing to be these days.)

I was listening to some old songs I wrote and recorded a few years ago and decided that God put me on this planet to make music. Maybe I’m biased, but I think those fucking songs are awesome. I feel like it’s my number one talent, even though I also feel like I suck being a musician. Like, I’m a decent guitar player, decent singer, etc. I don’t excel at anything. I just kept wondering where I would be today had I kept at it. Probably sitting in a franchise coffee bar, staring at women’s butts who are way out of my league, and writing this fucking blog post that no one will ever read, unless I die in some newsworthy way. "Our top story, a man dies after being impaled on a decorative fence while wearing women's clothes and playing a fiddle. He was later eaten by escaped hippos from the local zoo. He had a blog, a-ron.me, and that's all we know or care to ever know about him. Back to you Diane."


I didn't watch the video associated with this lesson yet. I was sitting in a crowded Starbucks enjoying the lovely view and judging all the left wing hippie liberals with their mac laptops and iPod ear buds. I never realize that I'm sitting with them, one of them, a major contributor to the stereotype. I would like to thank the Academy.

This lesson is all about narrowing down who I’m going to market my service/products to and who I ain't. I’ve decided to go with live streaming yoga classes. So my target market is going to be Dallas area yoga studios interested in either recording and/or live streaming their classes. I’m not going to market to the studios that do not have a website.

I'll watch the video tomorrow, because the transcript is hard to follow, because Ramit is an arrogant ass farter that likes to go off on tangents and shit. I just want to make sure I'm not missing anything or short changing myself. I paid for the fucking videos. I'm going to watch the fucking videos.


I went to a Yelp event tonight. It was in my old stomping grounds, where I went to college. Free food, free booze, and free social stimulation. How can a person living on planet Earth who lives and breaths air and is an active participant in The System pass something like this up? Answer: they can't.

After I stuffed my face with as much free food as they would give me, my body reminded me that I'm not indestructible, and that maybe, just maybe, I shouldn't keep putting food into my body when my body is screaming that it can't take any more. One day, maybe I'll listen, but I doubt it.