Month: December 2017

Out of the Bubble & Into the Future: Contemplating 31 Years of Life

In several days, this Sunday to be exact I will be turning 31. While a lot of my friends in and around 30 complain to me about how they are getting old and how we are getting old, I see this as a new beginning for myself.

I have come to realize that too often in life I am not the person defining myself. I have far too often let others opinions define me, far too often have lived up to every role and stereotype they have defined for me. I am very tired of this.

I am very tired of the label placed on me as being depressed or being bipolar or as being epileptic. I am tired of being the quiet one, the drunk one, the slut, the alcoholic, the compulsive gambler, the unstable.

I have been all of these, yet I have been none of these. They run in and around and through me again. Still I am not as simple as any label. We label people far too often as to characterize them. For the purposes of public opinion this is a great thing but for society as a whole it truly sucks.

THE BUBBLE

I have been living in this rather unfortunate bubble that I fully put myself in, that I believe I wanted to be in for a very long time. I have let people tell me that I am consistently depressed. Maybe I am. I am not as book smart as I should be and I am not as street smart as many of the things in my life I have done should have made me.

The vast imperfections of the world have made me rather sad. If I thought about everything wrong all the time, well of course I would be sad. I am too educated of a person to not be effected otherwise. When you have had your hand in as many cookies jars as myself, it is only wonder that I have all of fingers remaining.

So there has always been something holding me back. Most of the time myself, but a great deal of the time it is something legally or financially. Now I am on the cusp of freedom and frankly I am very nervous. Not freaking out but very soon I will have the ability to pick where I want to live, to go where I want to go, and to be who I want to be.

I am not sure what town to go to or what city I should somehow surface in or if the people will be nice or if be there at all even. I firmly feel I can do this. I pretty much just showed up in Niagara Falls, NY (of all places) and made friends the first real chance I gave myself. They wanted me to move there and I wanted me to move there but I got myself into a mess by not thinking for myself, not being myself.

I wish it was just as easy as me going back to Niagara Falls and reclaiming what I feel that I somewhat lack in my current surroundings. It’s probably all still here inside of me but this getting 5 hours of sleep a night is not enough for me.

I wish I could just take an Ambien but most sleeping pills cause me to blackout and bring out my inner fat girl. Some of us don’t remember and wake up with a mustache like the Pringles guy, I wake up covered in Pringles.

Anyway I cannot wait to get my license back in PA. I have been talking about soooooo many creative ideas with one of my friends that I am going insane not being able to do anything about them. Well I can do something about them but I’ve done enough dreaming. I am ready to cascade the dreams into action.

Well I believe the zzzzzzs are calling me now. I actually think the wind is calling me as well. Where I fall I know not.

By SpaceDog 

Pot Pornography 5: Cannabis & Coitus

By Les “Or More” Sober 

My Decade of Debauchery : The Foreshadowing Preface

After High School I didn’t have a fucking clue what the hell to do. I was young, and hated authority in any form. Needlessly to say I was jobless and had NO DESIRE to ever enter the Workforce. I had no desire to become one of those poor people who waste the prime years of their life at work only to retire and resent it. I drank like a fucking fish while smoking cigarettes excessively from the time I opened my eyes to the time I passed the fuck out. I was on numerous illicit substances usually a combination of several daily morning, noon or night. I was what is referred to as a “Functioning Drug Addict” which simply means I can party my ass off and still function.

I  was EXTREMELY Opinionated and not afraid to state it no matter where or when I had an opinion on every fucking thing there was or is. My Mother I remember took me aside one day and said,”You have to watch your mouth because unless someone REALLY knows you at some point you’ll insult, offend, shock or anger someone, and their going to turn around and punch you in the face.”

I lived at home with my Mother as by then my parents had been divorced for a couple years. I also had the habit off pissing off one of my parents after a few months and then bailing to go live with my other parent. This was great for at one point I was living with my Father in a Dope Apartment in the center of town over a fancy ass restaurant, and was never there because of work and he was dating a good bit ( I met several women who’s names and faces I forget and don’t mind that I’ve forgotten.) So I had the place all to my self I had the entire run of the place. I digress for now that that is a completely different set of Stories all together, and I plan to save for another time.

I also had an extreme impulsive control issues as I had none at the time, with a horrendous temper I inherited from my Father (R.I.P) Whatever I thought to say I said and whatever I thought to do I did immediately without a single thought about any possible consequences. It was also true I had a Knack for getting in trouble, but ultimately I never suffered any serious side effects (Example: Getting Arrested Numerous Times)

I knew I needed cash to fund my” Low Life” life style and feed my various addictions as the grew bigger and badder over time. I was what is referred to by Narcotics Anonymous as a “Garbage Can” meaning we didn’t have one particular drug we craved and indulged in as opposed to others. I did them them all. I did whatever I could get my deviant hands on because my true drug was MORE. I never cared what it was just give me MORE AND MORE, but I”ll never be satisfied. I did Cocaine (I snorted and injected it), Smoked Crack, Shot/ snorted Heroin, Dropped Acid (Paper or Liquid), Ate Ecstasy and MDMA, Crystal Meth, Peyote, Micro Dots, PCP, and the some pills such as Vicodin, Xanax, Valium, but thank fuck I got out of the drug game before Pain Pills became EXTREMELY POTENT and READILY AVAILABLE. The one addiction I’m glad I narrowly avoided is/was gambling as I’m positive I suck at it from the get go, and would have lost even more shit in my life than I did with the Drink and Drugs.

I don’t include Marijuana because I don’t consider it a drug and remain a daily smoker.

With no prospects for a future outside of our shitty little town that we both despised with people we fucking hated Armenian and I decided to Sell Drugs. I don’t personally consider Marijuana to be a drug, but unfortunately the DEA decides these matters. With that said we dealt mainly in Pot, LSD and PCP. If we didn’t have what you wanted at the time we knew where to get it. This lead to a  good bit of middle man work done on our part and of course charge a finders fee which could be paid in cash or stash we weren’t picky per say.

Now the Armenian was dating this girl E which meant it wasn’t just me and Armenian it was a goddamn package deal. On top of that bullshit we found out an acquaintance of ours named Guru who happened to be selling the same shit in the same area. Armenian and I decided joining forces was better than fighting for turf and customers, yet E was highly opposed to the idea and protested loudly. In spite of her opinion Armenian and I proposed to Guru our merger idea and we partnered up.

Thats Enough of That Now with More to Come.

Les Sober 

Telemarketer Berserker

During My long and illustrious job history I have worked as a dreaded Telemarketer 3 times. My first Telemarketing job we didn’t do sales (thank fucking God thats the fucking worst by far) we did surveys for different companies that contracted us to do market research essentially. It was the same with the second time I was a Telemarketer so again not so bad. The last time I was a Telemarked though it was a bizarrely surreal experience. It was so absurd I decided I had to write about it, and this was MANY, MANY Years down the line.

This story is so utterly strange in nature I’m not sure where to start exactly. I suppose I’ll start with the simplest thing first, and that would be the actual office building that housed a so called Call Center. The office was located out in some remote part of the sticks (most likely because land is cheaper out in the middle of no fucking where USA) so it was a long and tedious drive just to get there. The building itself was bleak and depressing looking like something out of 1950’s Russia (Russia has had several name changes so in the 50’s Russia may very well been called The Soviet Union or The USSR).  It was a single level office building whose walls were a Prison Gray with a stark pitch black roof.  the inside was not much better I assure you. The Inside was the seriously most generic, soul sucking, bland, mundane, and lifeless. Of course there was the mandatory Florescent Lights we all know and love. The Lights that seem to have an odd murky white (with a blue tinge) the kind of Lights that make your fucking eyes roll back in your head, they melt your will and break your spirit. Buildings with Florescent Lights always remind me of living in Maine. Maine is one of those states (next to no sun all year, and the sky is always a over cast.)

Once I entered the building (that looked like a through back Mental Hospital   ) I’d walk down a long hallway with  White Sterile Walls,  with the ever present Florescent lights buzzing and humming away. I walked all the way down the hallway to the very fucking end and there on my  right was a plain white door that lead into the again so called “Call Center” which was like nothing I had ever seen in my past Telemarking jobs, it was for one insanely quite. As we all know when Telemarketers call you there basically sitting in one large room surrounded by fellow Telemarketers who are all fielding phone calls. This creates a good bit of background noise that is identifiable to most people. This place was a quite as a fucking Tomb I kid you not.

Once through the door I found myself in a very small room (about the size of an average bedroom) where Telemarketers lined the perimeter of the walls instead of straight lines in cubicles as is the common practice. There were only a handful of employees most looked like fucking teenagers. I would walk across the room to a open doorway into a minuscule hallway about 3-4 feet long max. At the end of that mice hallway was the Supervisor’s Office.

The Supervisor was a fat, cranky, middle aged woman (50-55 years old approximately. She had a shitty attitude to boot. She was one of those type of people that act like they hate their job and their lives resenting both in the end. She reminded me more of a fucking Taxi Dispatcher than a Supervisor of any-fuckig-thing at all. Her fashion sense was non existent as she wore these hideous sudo Tommy Bahama shirts, the ones made from the cheapest of fabrics in a Sweat Shop by Children. Not only was the fabric of the lowest grade they had equally hideous patterns on them such as Tropical Themes, Loud obnoxious colors, and ridiculous abstract patterns that made you go “God thats fucking horrible, who the hell would wear that shit???” Anyway point is she was a badly dressed Asshole.

Across the tiny hallway there was another even smaller room that resembled a large bathroom (say in a Master Suit or Penthouse) and it too had Sterile Sanitarium White, there was absolutely nothing on the walls. There were no tacky motivational posters or crappy “Waiting Room” paintings. This was made more depressing by the fact there wasn’t a single fucking window so you felt sort of trapped like you were stuck in a Military Bunker not a Office. This almost claustrophobic room was where I was stationed so I didn’t have any real contact with my fellow Telemarketers it felt like being in fucking solitary confinement. My “desk” was just one of those run of the mill tables you see all the fucking time at large functions, Church events, School Fairs, Town Hall Meetings, for catering events etc. It was the mass produced piece of general use particle board with a fake wood top kind of like the Old School Station Wagons that had the bullshit wood side paneling. On my desk was only one thing a phone nothing else what so ever. It was like down at the Prison where they have the special phone for executions that is a direct line to the Governor.

Now this Telemarketing Firm didn’t do sales nor did it do surveys. I’m not honestly sure what the fuck they do as I wasn’t employed there long. While I was there though we were cold calling High Schools across the entire Nation. Why you may ask and with good reason. We were calling High Schools to Talk to a Gym Teacher because they teach Sex Ed/Health Class, and we were offering LARGE AMOUNTS of FREE SAMPLES. Now I know your interested because why would Telemarketers call High Schools to contact Gym Teachers due to the fact they teach Sex Ed/Health Classes. We were calling to offer these High Schools loads of Free MAXI PADS. Yes Maxi Pads, motherfucking Maxi Pads.

Every Gym Teacher I contacted told me ABSOLUTELY NO THANK YOU, and they all has the same reason too. The reason was simple logic see what do you think a High School worth of Students are going to do with Free Maxi Pads? They’re going to use them. Use them to Vandalize the Holy Hell out of the School I’m talking Floor to Ceiling, Wall to Wall, and End to End. This made perfect sense of course because if I was one of those High School students thats exactly what my Friends and I would do.

As you might imagine sitting in this half assed excuse for a office for 8 fucking hours a day 5 days a week hearing No after NO (even if there is a damn good reason to say NO) gets fucking depressing. Now this is what happened that led to my Firing. We had contact sheets and on the top was the Company offering Free Samples and what the promotion was all about. The lower half of the contact paper had a space for the High School and the Gym Teachers name that we spoke with. Lastly there was a final blank space for the total number of Boxes of the Free Samples to be shipped to said Schools.

After a while I decided if I got a Gym Teacher’s answering machine I’d write their name down and make up a number of orders. This went on for quite awhile. Then one day I got in and managed to find out (no thanks to my anti social introverted fellow employees) that the new girl was hired as a Fact Checker. Her one and only task was to double check our orders to make sure they were legitimate. Obviously my bullshit was catching up with me. I could have just quit the job (as most people would have at this point) cut and run before the shit hit the fucking fan, but I didn’t. I’m not sure why I remained there knowing the noose was tightening so to speak.

What I assume with great confidence (its the only logical reason for the Fact Checker Chick) that my bullshit orders were being shipped out to Schools who had not fucking clue, and the Gym Teach’s names were on the shipping label. Now either they were personally annoyed by this stunt or they were anxious because the Principle was pissed, and the Teacher wanted to avoid being fired. For whatever reason the Teachers were calling my Employer and demanding to know what the hell was going on. Then of course my befuddled Boss would have to apologize her ass off while simultaneously kissing the angry Gym Teachers ass as well. Needless to say my shenanigans were now pissing everyone from the Teachers to my Boss to Her Boss and above. Thats why my Boss and other Middle Management Morons had a brain storming session to find out how they could resolve the issue at had. Inevitably they came to the solution of hiring a Fact Checker to hunt down the guilty party at which point my Boss would take the hell over, and that employee would terminated immediately.

Finally my day of reckoning arrived rather swiftly I must say. The Fact Checker Chick had at last found the answer to the “Who is fucking around and causing Management a huge pain in the ass, and that guilty person was me. I got called into my bosses office and as I walked there I felt like I was the one in High School getting called into the Principal’s office. As I walked past my fellow feeble minded employees I made sure to let them know that I knew they knew and didn’t give a flying fuck. I did this by walking with a smugly sarcastic grin and if we made eye contact I stared them down like a dog with a “I’ll fuck you up, fuck anything or everything up and I SIMPLY DON’T CARE NOT IN THE LEAST.” glare because truth be told I didn’t. I fucking hated the job, the oppressing office, the bunch of brain dead dips hits I worked with, the Idiotically inconvenient commute, the miserable  Management, and my Bastard Son of a Bitch Boss Lady. I didn’t care about being fired I’ve been fired almost as much as I have quit jobs on the spot so I relished the whole overly dramatic display of inner office asshole authority.

My Boss walked me into her hoarder looking office and sat down behind her desk. She instructed me to sit and I said no I’ll stand thanks. That didn’t help her growing rage and thats what it was intended to do. She then launches into this tirade about the Company and their policies pertaining to shit like this. I just stood there looking at her with the “I really could care less about whatever it is you babbling about” look painted across my face. My soon to be Ex-Boss then started ranting about her personal views on the subject at hand which I found rather unprofessional. Since I didn’t give a Rat’s ass about what the Company had to say I sure a hell didn’t give a good goddamn. I thought to myself why not take the opportunity and tell this asshole what I thought because I was getting fired anyway so fuck it right?! I interrupted her mid speech and blurted out that as far as I was concerned this place was a fucking two bit, half assed excuse for a Telemarketing firm. Not even close to being done I continued on. Next I told her that she was a total shit and that her pissant Supervisor job at this 3 ring shit show was menial at best, and that she apparently hated her life (and that I couldn’t blame her) and took it out on other people because no one cares about her. Lastly I informed her I had absolutely and utterly NO REMORSE for my actions in fact I found the whole thing funny as fuck even me being fired. After that I just walked out and left fuck her, fuck them, fuck it not like there aren’t other jobs out there so ultimately I didn’t need this one.

Thanks For Reading,

Les Sober  

Early Am Insanity: A Texting Tirade

 

Here is the Latest installment of Les’s Late Night Text Bombing Spacedog with Utter Absurdity.

Text Bomb Drops at 3:14 am:

I dip my balls in Vino and Tea Bag Alcoholics.

Phil was Drunk & Nude making Scrambled Eggs and accidentally Scrambled his Scrotum.

Lets Fast Forward to the Fucking.

Chastity Belts were known at the time as Beaver Blockers.

She terrorizes the Tiny Town with her Tremendous Tits.

WTF is/are Mummeries?

CLUSTERFUCKS: The ClusterFuck Club, The ClusterFucked Friends, The CLusterFucking Fiends, The ClusterFuckable Family, The ClusterFuck Factory.

New Anime Cartoon The Fantastic Fuckery of Tittie Fuck-Fuck.

Theres as Serial Rabbit Rapist running loose in The Woods of Wisconsin.

Farmer Phil got so fucked up Drunk he Butt Balled a Bull.

Tubeless peter Pecker The Marvelous Merkin Maker of Manchester.

The Bastards & Bitches Society’s Ballroom Bash.

Shemale Shoe Shiners Union Local 447.

New Porn Film Title: Granny Tranny

The Sausagefest Sword Fight or the Clashing of the Cocks.

Clit City.

Meth Mouth Mark sucks dick for Dope behind the 8-12 dumpster out back.

Phil got so fucked up he Dicked a Donkey.

The Electric Dildo Experience of 1888.

My new favorite insult followed by alternatives: Bite My Taint, Lick My Taint, Suck My Taint, Toung My Taint.

Horse Humping Harry The Racetrack Rapist Strikes Again in Cook County Connecticut.

Phil got fucked up & stuck his pecker in a Prize Pig.

LadyLand The Menstruation Nation.

Phil got Shitfaced & sucked a Sheep’s Schlong.

Frederick got fucked up & Gargled a Goat’s Gonads.

Leisure Suit Silvia & The Land of the Lesbian Lounge Lizards: Leisure Suit Larry.

Pot Paraphernalia plus a Dildo = The Schlong Bong “The Bong with Balls”

Derricks favorite new Ska Band is called Bag of Dicks.

Karl is a cock cracking cunt or Karl is a cock kinking cunt.

The Cunty Cowboy’s of Salt Lake City.

My new band is named The Salt Lake City Slut System.

Early 19th century Sailors used to refer to a Womanizer as a “Clam Cracker” or “A Slit Shucker”

Phil is Pounding his Pecker to Porn.

Pete is Pounding Off to Low Budget Pittsburg Produced Porno.

Japan has a Sex Doll Disposal Service.

New International Porn: Getting Gash in Guam.

Phil got fucked up and Banged a Water Buffalo.

Frederick got fully fucked up and fingered a Ferret.

Phil got fucked up & sucked a Whale’s Wang and Had Six Way Sex with Sharks.

Richard suffers from Rectal Rage Disorder

Grits & Shits with a side of Eggy Anus.

Betty’s Beefy Buttocks.

Porn Title: Naughty Necrophiliacs: Coitus with Corpses

Alt Terms for a Pornographic Movie: A Fuck Film, A Dick Flick, A Pussy Picture, a Fuck Flick.

Samuel’s smoking Weed & Wanking Off Wildly.

Spiritual Soul Sex.

 

Time Now 4;20 am: 

4:20 Smoke It if Ya got It.

The opposite of Wake’n Bake is Smoke’n Sleep.

Thats All This Bombing,

Les “Than” Sober 

Frienenemy

We all have one at one point in our life. The true intention of the start of an attempted friendship is never that to purposely gain an enemy. We as people truly have good intentions the majority of the time.

I know. There are some people that only become your friends because of your position in life, because of your circle that they want to penetrate, your looks, your car, there are endless countless reasons that you could be used for your friendship. Maybe we all do this to some degree or another, even if you substitute these replaceable material things with that of someone’s personality. With that of a person’s inner most soul.

No, I know again. We can’t see the soul on the surface. That is why friendship can be a trial and error process. As we are younger, we are less cautious until we get hurt by another. It is very much akin to baby animals (and baby humans for that matter) who will go up to another and have unending trust in them.

That is why I believe not in original sin. Sin is taught, sin is learned. Behaviors around us are emulated. What is a sin to you, may not be a sin to me. And vice versa. Yes there are sins which an overwhelming majority knows are wrong, like murder, because they feel wrong and you would not want this happening to you. However, there are smaller things on the grand scale of things, that some people do not consider wrongs.

This therein lies where we come about the phenomenon of known as frenenemy.

You see it does not really matter, hide nor hair, of what a person’s upbringing is. It is what you surround yourself with. Your blood family can only be so much a part of this. Most of this is up to you and what you can tolerate.

I have had a few frenemies in my day. There is that old expression, “Keep your friends close, but your enemies even closer.”

But how much can we tolerate? Where is the point where we must draw the line in the sand and say stop? I am beginning to the see where this ends and where this begins on the great precipice known as reality. There is a fine line between everything sane and rational and everything “insane” and irrational.  When the line is visible to all those around you sometimes it is time to call this to an end.

Yet, I wonder to myself. Were my motives selfish for associating with this person in the first place? Was there something I wanted to get out of it? Obviously I was getting something out of it as it filled my need for evil, that was mainly learned by society. There was a hole in my soul that needed a temporary patch job like putting ambisol on a cracked tooth or putting a tiny snoopy band-aid on an arm gushing with blood.

My most famous frenenemy (no he was not really famous, more like imfamous) started as my friend but after many years I only stuck around for reasons to this day I am unaware of. Perhaps I liked the pain that he brought me. Perhaps I liked the element of surprise that he brought to my life because I never knew what city I might be in or how much money he could bring me in the next night. He turned into my boss, but wow now I’m really rambling.

The point is. How long would you stick around for a frenemy? Is there any point to the mayhem?

I say. If no one is bleeding, then no one is hurt. But once you have ripped open my wounds and created new ones on top of that well then I listen to my friend Tori Amos. She says maybe it’s time to say goodbye now.

By The One and Only

SpaceDog 

Yet Another Reason Not To Visit Mexico

One day my good friend Danka and I were drinking on the stoop of Danka’s house playing the “Most Fucked Up Story Game”. The game is rudimentary and simplistic. The goal is to tell the most fucked up story of the evening thus becoming the winner.

Dana served a short time in the United States Navy before being discharged for being an Alcoholic who was “Derelict of Duty” or some stupidly phrased bullshit statement. You see Danka had a habit of going binge drinking while on shore leave which resulted in a semi concous Danka being dragged to returning to the ship for check in by his fellow soldiers. Finally Danka out did even himself by missing Check In in favor of chilling at some waitresses’s apartment he was hooking up with in Tijuana, eating Captain Crunch cereal, and watching American cartoons in Spanish. Well that was the final straw that broke the preverbal Camal’s back, and the Navy booted Danka instructing him never to return to any branch of the United States Military ever again.

Before being unceremoniously kicked out of the Navy Danka had spent several months down in Tijuana Mexico were he was temporarily stationed for some fucking Navy related reason. While in Tijuana Danka learned some  tactics for day to day safety and survival that weren’t taught in the Navy. It was simply how to navigate daily life in Tijuana without running into trouble with Thieves, Drug Dealers, Pimps, Gangs, Cartels, Muggers, Car Jackers, Con Artists, Drug Addicts, Hookers, Ex Convicts, Militias and Corrupt Cops.

Now with the corrupt Cops it was basic Extortion. If a Tourist per say wandered into the wrong neighborhood the Cops would arrest them, and then drive them directly to an ATM. The Police Officers would then demand a bribe of usually $300 U.S., BUT if you refused to pay they would take you to jail on some bullshit trumped up charge. While it goes without saying that Jail fucking sucks, and is one of the last places anyone would want to find themselves especially in a foreign 3rd World Country. Mexican Jails have a foul reputation for being filthy, over crowded, understaffed, Bribing of Guards, Murders, Rapes, and inhumane living conditions for the most part.

This is what happened to Danka’s buddy named Blackburn. Blackburn was on shore leave and had had a few drinks when he wondered off the main fairway into a shitty neighborhood. While desperately trying to find his way back, which was complicated by his intoxication, Blackburn was picked up by a couple of Corrupt Cops looking for a quick pay day. The Cops drove Blackburn to the ATM and demanded payment ($300 U.S. per Officer times 2 for a total of $600 U.S.), and Blackburn told them too fuck off because he wasn’t giving them a single goddamn cent. So the Cops threw Blackburn into the back of the squad car, but instead of taking him to the nearest shithole jail they drove him to a sleazy Dive Bar on the outskirts of the city that featured Nightly Donkey Shows (if you don’t know what a Donkey Show is Google it) The police shoved Blackburn into the dimly lit backroom of the Bar and tied him to a rickety wooden chair. The Police then proceeded to sell Blackburn to the Bar owner for $775 U.S. and then left quickly.

The Bar owner had one of his cronies take Blackburn out back to a Small Barn located next to the Bar. Once there Blackburn was stripped buck naked and tied to a barn post. The Bar Owner’s henchmen then ground up 3 or 4 bottles of Viagra and mix them with a quarter ounce of Crystal Meth. Once the concoction was full mixed together the Side Kicks laced a 32 ounce Corona with it, and then fed it to a Donkey that was penned up in a cramped stall. About 50 minutes later the Donkey had a raging 18 inch erection and was violently kicking the sides of the pen. One of the Cronies then untied Blackburn from the post, and then tied his hands behind his back while the other crony aggressively lassoed the inscenced Donkey. The 3 men and the doped up Donkey then made their way over to the Bar and entered through a side delivery entrance.

The Bar smelled like hot stale beer and body oder mixed with piss. There were a handful of patrons spread out through out the Bar that was so smoky it was like being trapped in a fucking mist or some shit. The Henchman responsible for Blackburn took him over to a worn out Pummel Horse that was held together with Duct Tape. He then bent Blackburn over the Pummel Horse and bound Blackburn’s wrists and ankles together. Next a shitfaced MC comes on a beat 1972 PA System to announce the Nightly Donkey Show is Starting. After a short pause to allow the Bar Patrons time to freshen their drinks and light a smoke the 2nd Henchman dragged the Donkey over fighting it every step of the way. As the Donkey was being brought over the Bar Owner came over to Blackburn and sprayed him with Female Donkey Pheromones and Menstrual Blood to get the deranged drugged up Donkey’s attention. It worked. It worked extremely well. In an instant the Donkey got a whiff of Blackburn and galloped over to him, and mounted Blackburn placing its front legs on Pummel Horse on either side of Blackburn. As soon as the Donkey penetrated Blackburn it went fuck wild, this Donkey wasn’t playing “Just The Tip” with Blackburn he was slamming shaft balls deep in Blackburn’s battered butthole. It took about 17 minutes before the Donkey finally completed and its semen was seeping out of Blackburn’s broken butthole like a garden hose.

Blackburn was about to be loaded into a car and left to die of his injuries in the Desert to die when the a group of American Military Police busted in the front door of the Bar with a vengeance. Blackburn had to be taken out on a fucking stretcher and Medivaced by Helicopter to a Special Surgical Trauma Hospital in Seattle Washington. Blackburn lived after spending the better part of a year in the Hospital where the Surgeons removed just over 8 feet of his intestines, rebuilt his bowls, reconstructed his rectum, and stitched up his sphincter. Blackburn was discharged from the Navy Under Section 8 Status due to his Donkey Rape induced PTSD. He moved home to Shasta South Dakota and lives in his Mom’s basement on permanent disability watching Anime while drooling on himself while playing with his pecker making guttural sounds.

Needless to say there was no fucking way I could top that Tale of Terror in Tijuana so Danka went home that night quite drunk and the most fucked up story winner.

Thanks For Das READ,

 

Les Sober 

Madness Beyond Midnight: Les Unleashes Atomic Text Bomb

 

I’m not a morning person, nor am I an Afternoon person. I am the typical Night Owl exemplified a thousand fold. I get my so called second wind around 10:30-11:00pm and by say 2 am I’m up and running firing on all cylinders.

I have a tendency to text bomb Spacedog since he doesn’t mind fielding an avalanche of texts at all hours of the night, and more importantly Spacedog is one of the very few people I can write/text/say anything to. Thus I text the most extremely perverted, obscene, Absurd, Foul, Offensive, Insulting, Outrageous, Raunchy, Demented, Insanely Crazy, Controversial, Unorthodox, and “WTF” texts his way.

Last Night was no acceptation. The following are texts I sent to Spacedog starting at 1:49am with the last text sent around 3:00am.

1:49am The Insanity Ensues:

My Feet Wreak Of Scotch

It was actually a decent dinner party until Eric tickled Theresa’s twat, and one of his sausage fingers slipped through her beef curtains ending up knuckle deep in her happy humping hole. At that point we were all kicked the hell out drunk as drunk can be into the nefarious night.

Bollywood has an emerging Pornography industry that has actual 4 hour long fucking musical orgies of Singing, Sexing, Dancing & Dicking with the Super Slutty Cunny Sutra.

My New Favorite Insult: “Go Fucking Fist Yourself” or “Go Fist Fuck Your Face”

Karl got his cock cut off down at the Slimy Sausage Packaging Plant by humping on a Industrial Disemboweling-Internal Organ Processing Machine.

“DAMN THESE ELECTRIC SEX PANTS!”

Masa Clitty world renowned Scottish Folk Singer and Exquisite Anal Gaping Artist

Look Into The Eye Of My Ass To See What Shit IS Going Down.

Feel the Wrath of a Drunk Skunk Rage Humping Your Leg and Cumming on your socks for Spite.

Over Time How Far Do Vaginal Lips Sag as they head South?!

I’m suffering the onset symptoms of Saggy Senior Scrotum Aging Disorder, so I scheduled an appointment to Botox my Balls Tomorrow at 5:30 the AMs

Phil was a generally smart motherfucker who was killed by a Cannibal when he mistakenly told the Cannibal to “Eat My Ass”

The Young Cocksman Vs. The Salty Yogurt Singers for the Best New Porno Punk Rock Group 2017

If He Be a She and She Be a He then aren’t we just back where we started?!

New Porn Title: Licking Lot Lizards: The Trucker Fucker Union

Boner Toner For All Your Porn Star Needs.

I’m not giving coal to the people I deem to have been naughty this year. Instead I will be giving them 3 Pounds of Unwashed Wild Pif Pubes.

Sci Fi Porn is just Fucking With Phasers.

SciFi Pornos: All Alien Anal 11

HOLY ANAL GAPING GOPHERS BATMAN!

Can Drag Queens hide their Balls by sticking them in their butts?!

Justin Bieber’s Man Beaver

My New Death Metal Punk Band is Called THE MANGLED MANGINAS

Get It Up, Get It In, Get It Off, and Get It Out

They be Swank Fucking Fancy.

TODAY AT 5:56am Text From Spacedog

Hi. New Blog? Lol

Thanks for Das READ,

Les Sober 

 

Joy & Gary: An Exercise in the Psychotic

Lets be real we have all had them before and chances are we will have them again, and no I’m not talking about Crabs. I’m talking about NEIGHBORS oh yes my friend Neighbors those people living next door to us all. We are all pretty familiar with the different types of Neighbors one can have noting that the best Neighbor is either no Neighbor at all or an Anti Social Neighbor.

You have the Nosey Neighbor always lurking around looking for something to fucking to find fault or issue with. The Young Neighbors those special first time apartment dwellers who run rampant because they haven’t realized they no longer live at home, and thus have to clean up their own shit, and act like a fucking adult not a feral 18 year old. Then there the Overly Friendly Neighbors the ones that want to be your BFF for LIFE and go one family vacations together or celebrate the holidays with. Theres the Party Neighbors who live in a eternal frat party blaring shitty EDM while playing endless games of beer pong. There’s the Arguing Neighbors who make the assholes on Jerry Springer look like the Micky Mouse Club, and are willing to fight morning, noon or night because apparently they have no jobs to go to. The Geriatric Neighbors who complain incessantly about anything and everything you do, how loud you do it, and when you choose to do it. The New Parent Neighbors/ Multiple Child Neighbors are not the same ,but are closely related as the bottom line is their annoying kids become your problem as well as you hear every goddamn temper tantrum.

Alright enough of the example listing bullshit. The point is Neighbors are annoying and a constant nuisance that honestly we all rather not have to deal with at all.  I have encountered every extreme when its come to my past Neighbors from Almost Dead to Crackhead, and every deviant in-between. Thats Why I consider myself extremely lucky now a days that I have absentee Neighbors. They only show up a couple times a year for a few days to hang out with family and shit. But when the question arises “Who was the Worst of the Worst” pertaining to my past Neighbors the answer hands down without a doubt is Joy & Gary .

I was living Phase 2 of my life in The Great Southern Swamp, and was living with my good friend Nightmare. My Wife and I also where spending more and more time together during this period as well. Nightmare and I lived in a typical Swamp Condo with a mundanely generic floor plan. Essentially you walked into a small enclosed courtyard (enclosed by a 8 foot privacy fence) and straight to the front door. Once you entered the condo you were facing the stairs up to the bedrooms. On the right was the Living Room and to the left was the dinning room and down stairs bathroom. The kitchen was located around the corner past the dinning room. Now in true Swamp fashion the condo had NO WINDOWS which is really fucking weird to say. Instead of windows the architects used Sliding Glass Doors like the kind you commonly find in a house leading to the backyard/pool/deck. Once you went upstairs the guest bedroom was directly in front of you and the master was to the left of a small landing. The bedrooms both had Sliders leading out to a  balcony overlooking the courtyard. That meant essentially that 4 walls of our condo where made of fucking glass.

Ironically Joy & Gary lived 25 feet to the right of our condo in a separate set of units that neighbored our building seperated only by a narrow sidewalk running in-between the two units. Joy & Gary fell into the “Arguing Neighbor” Category. That though my friend is just the tip of the iceberg. Joy & Gary would fight any hour of the day or night with ALL 4 SLIDERS OPEN. Their arguments were fucking epic and lasted for HOURS (I mean 3,4,5 or more hours) NON STOP I swear they didn’t fucking stop to breathe. To make shit crazier Joy & Gary had a young son about 7 if I had to and am guessing named Albert and his best friend a cocker spaniel who’s name I do not recollect. During Joy & Gary’s hellacious fights you’d never hear a single peep from Albert or the Dog. In fact 95% of what we were subjected to was solely Joy’s tirades as Gary seldom spoke and even in the heat of battle when he raised his voice it was only a grabbled mumble sort of like Charlie Brown’s teacher. As for Joy aka the star of the shit show more than likely had some serious and legit mental health/ emotional issues, well it sounded that way to us. Joy would SCREAM BLOODY MURDER at the top of her lungs like a demonically possessed savage warrior, and the stamina of a Track and Field Olympic Gold Medalist.

Now this is the strangest part of it all it was the topics of their knock down drag out verbal fisticuffs. For the sake of time for both the reader and myself I have the Top 5 Most Absurdly Savage Argument Topics from the Joy & Gary Wars. Joy’s Quotes are in all actuality virtually verbatim.

Topic 1 Sample: “IF You Don’t Walk The Dog Gary I’m Going To Divorce You!”

J: “GAAAAAARY! Walk the fucking dog Gary, walk the goddamn dog!”

G. (Unintelligible Garbling)

J: “Gary if you don’t walk the dog I’ll DIVORCE YOU! YOU HERE ME GARY?! YOU HEAR THAT GARY?!! I work all damn day and you won’t walk the dog by god Gary you sleazy shit, are you boozing it up at the boogie bar Gary? Sucking down shitty cocktails starring at fake tits?!I’ll divorce you, I’ll take everything, EVERY FUCKING THING! Walk the Dog Gary, WALK THE DOG OR ITS DIVORCE! You don’t DO SHIT GARY, you don’t do a GODDAMN THING AROUND HERE! WALK THE DOG GARY OR I’LL DIVORCE YOU, I’LL FUCKING DIVORCE YOUR FAT ASS!”

Topic 2 Sample: “Don’t Send Your Drug Dealer To My Job”

J: “FUCK YOU GARY, I don’t know what is going on? WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON GARY?! Are you working Gary, I work all fucking day and DON’T SEND YOUR DRUG DEALER TO MY JOB! I won’t be fired for you Gary, I’m not getting fucking fired over your bullshit.(Primal Scream) BULLSHIT GARY BULLSHIT! BIG PIMPING DOPE DEALING THUG!What the fuck is this Gary, Gary WHAT THE FUCK?! WHAT THE FUCK GARY?! You shooting dope in your dick again Gary because I know that dope dick game already! I bust my ass and god knows what the fuck your doing, DO YOU HAVE TRACK MARKS ON YOUR PECKER GARY?! what are you doing Gary WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!(Scream with Unintelligible dialogue) Don’t EVER GARY, FUCKING DON’T its fucking ridiculous DON’T SEND YOUR DRUG DEALER TO MY JOB GARY!!”

Topic 3 Sample: “Where Do You Go All Day?!”

J: “Fuuuuuuuuuuuuck! Fucking stop the shit Gary! (Prolonged Scream) Where do you go, where do you go all day Gary? You working Gary what the fuck you said your working a job, what fucking job? You giving out hand jobs in the Home Depot parking lot or WHAT?! I don’t know where you go all day, you could be fucking off drinking your ass off at the goddamn bar with your bullshit buddies Gary or your slumming at the sex shops on the edge of town like a dirty old perverted man?!. I pay the bills Gary I PAY THE GODDAMN BILLS! BILLS NOT BULLSHIT GARY! You could be on Meth again for all I know pan handling for dope money for fucks sake!! I don’t know where you go all day, what do you do Gary What is it pray tell you do all fucking day as I work till my goddamn back is breaking, ITS BREAKING GARY, MY FUCKING BACK IS BREEEEEAAAAAKING! YOUR BREAKING MY BACK GARY, Where do you go ALL DAAAAAAAY?!!!”

Topic 4 Sample: “Where The Receipts?!’

J:”Where are they? Where are the goddamn receipts Gary? I gave you money Gary money I worked my tits off for and you don’t bring me any fucking receipts? Where the fuck is the money Gary what you spend it on High Grade Japanese Sex Dolls, is that it Gary you fucking dirty old pervert, you a pervert Gary is that where the money is going or what, what Gary (Loud Howling) You banging Bath Salts Gary, You getting fucked up on Flakka again Gary is that it?!  Wheres MY MONEY?! What did you do spent it on what you won’t tell me, is it a fucking secret, WHATS THE FUCKING SECRET GARY,  You financing Cheap Local Porn again at the Welfare Motels Gary? GARY! WHERE ARE THE RECEIPTS!

Topic 5 Sample: “What Happened To Dinner?!”

J:” SO GARY what the hell happened to dinner?! Did you snort our dinner Gary, did you fucking snort it up your fucking nose?! I come home and theres no dinner, you promised dinner you wanted off my shit list GARY. What the fuck have you been up to, you weren’t sure as hell making dinner you bastard! YOU SON OF A BITCH! (High Pitched Wail) YOU SON OF A BITCH! What happened to dinner Gary you spend our food money on porn again, where you at the scummy porno shops again you PEEP SHOW PERVERT! Jerking off in a shitty adult book store like a demented OLD FUCK! I’m starving Gary this shit is bullshit, what happened to DINNER?! You fuck a hooker with it Gary did you bang some crackhead bitch with a std ridden twat under the freeway over pass was that WHAT HAPPENED TO DINNER?!”

Sometimes we would listen and laugh or make a drinking game out of their arguments (drink every time Joy screams GARY!) but most of the time it was a huge paining the ass being forced to listen to insane shit like those two psychos Joy & Gary. But to be honest Joy & Gary’s arguments were deeply disturbing considering this was a almost daily/nightly occurrence. 7 or 8 months before We moved Joy & Gary disappeared. I honestly have no idea what the hell could have become of these two tyrannical twats but here are some scenarios. Somebody finally called in the Cops and Gary or Joy were arrested and the other took the kid and ran for the fucking hills. Either Joy or Gary Died and the other took the kid and split. Gary could have had Joy committed to a mental institution and hit the road with his son in tow. It could also have been a murder suicide, but that shit would have made the news and I think we would have noticed if our psychotic neighbors went apeshit crazy and offed each other. Now with that said Joy or Gary could have murdered the other and fled town and possible prosecution. All in All if I had to make a definitive guess Gary killed Joy and headed to Mexico with his son Albert.

Thanks For Reading,

Les Sober 

The Tale of the Small Town MothMan Mural

When We moved from the Southern Swamp to the Southern Country one of the advantages of the move was there were several structures located out back behind our new home offices. There was a large one car garage which We unceremoniously designated for the usual trivial shit like  Lawn Mowers, Various garden tools, Paint cans, and for a few months 2 large puppies (who now have their own Dog House complete with Heater and Air Conditioning)

The second structure was a run of the mill silver, 10 foot high, 20 foot long, 8 foot wide, sheet metal shed supported by an internal  basic wooden frame. When We purchased the property the shithead previous owners failed to give us among many other things the keys to unlock said shed. We could see through the 4 small windows (2 per side) and do a very general assessment. From what we could see the only real issue other than getting a new lock was the plywood floor was rotten in 2 separate places and would need patching.

Once We got the shed lock changed and were able to enter the structure things looked as if the shed was worser for the wear than We had anticipated. Even if it needed more TLC than We thought it was still a viable option to be My Art Studio (Yes I paint and Draw in a variety of various mediums such as CharCoal or Oil Paints. I have recently decided that it is at this point in my life I will be pursuing Sculpting as creating a 3 dimensional project is going to be fucking awesome and intense.) The first thing I did was load it up with all my various art supplies (Canvases, Paints, Brushes, Assortment of Project Materials etc.), but the floor fix would take time, and I have NO PATIENCE, NON AT ALL. Its A Virtue I was born without and I’m totally fucking fine with that.

It took less than a day before I was wallowing in frustrated boredom and thought to myself that if I couldn’t currently use the shed I could still in the mean time decorate the outside. I drove to the local hardware store in the neighboring town and loaded up on Spray Paint big time. I had no idea what I was going to Paint on the side of the shed so first I selected which side I would do first. The rightsize of the shed made a small alleyway between it and the garage so space to work was limited. The same was true of the back of the shed even more so as our fence came in even closer proximity than the garaged and the sheds right wall. That left me with the choice of either the front or the left side of the shed to choose from. I chose the left side since it was bigger and had the best area in which to work.

I walked around the to the left side of the shed and stood there just looking at the shed without a thought in my mind waiting. It didn’t take long before an idea popped into my head MOTHMEN/MOTHMAN. Now before the first fool blurts out how much they loved the movie “The Mothman Prophecies” shut the fuck up. True it was a some what decent movie, but the Mothman is not solely limited to the Point Pleasant, West Virginia 1967 Silver Bridge Collapse that killed 46 people. The Mothman or Mothmen if you will have been seen in different areas before an impending disaster strikes such places as Chernobyl circling Reactor 4, before 9/11 in New York City, The I-35 Bridge Collapse in Minneapolis, Minnesota, and The Swine Flue Outbreak in Mexico in 2009 for instance.

Now I don’t claim to believe or not believe in such things as UFO’s, Ghost’s, Monsters or Cryptozoology but it all fun food for thought because who actually knows, and all I’m saying is I don’t know. What I do know is I utterly LOVE UNDERDOGS and to me the Mothman is just that, The Underdog of Cryptozoology. The main debate surrounding the Mothman is simply this is the Mothman coming and bringing death/doom/disaster with it OR is the Mothman a supernatural being/creature that comes to WARN US of immediate impending danger?! I hold with the latter of the two believes myself. It all added up to a quick decision that the mural I’d Spray Paint on the side of the shed would be The Mothman. (Yet myths, legends and lore interest me to no end ever fueling the fires of my undying curiosity.)

I should take a moment to add that the left side of the shed faced the street in a small neighborhood in a tiny town located along the Bible Belt. For this reason and this reason alone I wrote “Mothman” across its chest because while the Mothman was enough to turn many a head I didn’t want (nor need for that matter) for the locals to think the new guy was painting Devils or Demons on the side of his shed.

In a few days the Mothman was finished and I decided the silver background was fucking up my visual of the Mothman. I thought about background colors to use (My wife suggested blue and I should have listened, but I was thinking Navy Blue not say Sky Blue) and some how I chose Orange. On top of using Orange for the background I used a VERY DEEP AND INTENSE shade only to realize when it was all said and done the Orange background made it look more demonic than I’d liked or intended. I didn’t want to change the mural so Mothman with Orange background and all remained vigilantly watching the passerby on the road for months.

Unfortunately upon a proper inspection of the shed, the shed was found to be structurally unsound. The floor was completely shot and would need total replacement. The supporting wood infrastructure was compromised beyond belief. This was apparently due to the fact the previous owner had tried to wire up the shed with electricity themselves and fucked it up causing a fucking fire. The fire had burned a majority of the roof supports right through so if you tapped on them with a hammer they disintegrated.

I called my contractor and informed him that the shed was shot and I’d need his help tearing it down so as We could replace it. 3 or4 days later my contractor showed up with a small handful of workers who set off demolishing the rickety old shed. It only took them a few mere hours to reduce the standing structure into piles of scrap.

That evening I was talking on the phone to my Brother in the Great Northern New Yonder and he asked what was new. I told him about the failing inspection of the doomed shed and that it had been torn down and hauled off. I also told him that for a split second I thought about asking my contractor if the Mothman Mural could be salvaged, but in the end I just let it go. My Brother started laughing, not in an at me type manner, but a “He hasn’t figured it out yet” kind of way. Once he paused to catch his breath I asked him what he found so fucking amusing about the whole ordeal?! I had spent all the time and effort to paint the Mothman mural just to have it crushed and carted away in the end.  He responded by saying that if I believed the Mothman was a Warning of impending danger, then painted one on the side of the shed, and then ultimately the shed met its demise then it followed my Mothman belief to a tee.

I couldn’t help laughing because he was dead right. A dilapidated shed, a Mothman Mural painted upon it, and 4 moths later the shed and the mural are gone having been destroyed in the dismantling process.

 

Thanks For Das Read,

Les Sober