Generally I'm loathe to post twice in a row with pictures, but fuck it. Whenever I look back at this site I want to remember how a previously unknown, genious photographer captured the essence of fear.

Looks like Michael wasn't such a... smooth... criminal... after all. Tee hee, tee hee. I'm so god damn clever sometimes that I wish my carcass was up on meet hooks.

Yes! X-Ray Porn! I've been waiting quite a while for this shit.

It won't be long now before I get some X-Ray porn of dudes puking up chick's assholes, which is of course my dream. It's a marvelous time to be alive.

On Tuesday I left the seminar fashionable early, of course. Fashionably early means I didn't see the latter half of the presentation. With haste I sped back home, crawled into the biscuit, and passed out. Around 4:30 I woke up and groggily stumbled to my computer to watch porn. At 6:30 I began cooking hotdogs for some in-home chili-cheese dogs that would rock my indigestion. Half way through the dog making process I got a call from Il Duce. "We're coming to pick you up, me and Touchdown." "I'm cooking hotdogs", I said. "Jesus Christ boy that just won't do!", he proclaimed, then I heard him mumble, "he said he's cooking hotdogs..." I then heard from the background, "Hotdogs!? That's fucking bullshit."
Fifteen minutes later I was in the back of Il Duce's Mercedes racing to some dining establishment in west/central Big Funky. The establishment, while small and hot, delivered excellent food and service. Our waiter was French or at least used a fake French accent. I would have been angry but who has time to hate the French anymore? As an aside, if you think you're hardcore and you still hate the French, then fuck you! I hate more in an hour than you'll hate in your entire miserable existence.
After dinner Touchdown suggested we retire to a gentlemen's club. Il Duce declined, he has grown weak in his old age, but who was I to refuse? Touchdown, being from the North East (Not New York mind you...hate) had never been to Treasures. Treasures is one of the very best gentleman's clubs in a city that by many accounts has the best gentleman's clubs in the United States, plus it was Treasures' 7th anniversary.
For a Tuesday night, Treasures was packed. I guess the 7th anniversary fliers drew a big crowd. Touchdown and I were seated at the front of Stage 2. Generally, I don't like being seated so close to the stage since it leaves my back open to any fucker with a shiv in the audience, but none of the better seats were available due to the aforementioned crowd. As soon as we were seated a new dancer was called up on Stage 2. The bitch that started dancing was a husky lass, massive fake tits, bleach blonde hair, and an expression on her face easily read as an inability to feel.
Touchdown got up to use the facilities. I used the time while he was gone to text message Lucas, "I'm at Treasures". His reply, "I guess I would be too if you had answered your phone at 8:39 when I called you…ASS!!! HATE!!!" So full of hate, it's marvelous.
Touchdown returned from the WC and not 30 seconds after he sat down were we approached by a burly gentleman in a suit. I eyed him warily. "Do you have a camera phone?", he asked. I instantly knew what had happened. "No", I replied, and turned back to the stage. "Sir, may I see your phone?", he continued. I turned back around to face him. "Sure.", I said, and handed him my phone. You see, I used to have a camera phone but last week I got a new unit lacking the camera feature. Smugness was dripping off my face as he inspected the phone. He opened up the phone, looked at the screen, and pointed it to the filthy bitch who had just been dancing on Stage 2. "Is this a camera phone?", he asked her. "Well… it looked like a camera phone from on stage…", the stripper blathered. The bouncer handed the phone back to me and apologized before walking away. The accuser bitch stood there for a second or two looking ridiculous before wandering away. The table immediately next to mine and Touchdown's was occupied by 3 dudes and a couple of strippers, they had heard the entire ordeal. One of the strippers leaned over to me, talking into my ear, "Even if that was a camera phone it's too dark in here to take a picture without a flash. Stupid fucking bitch!" Then she licked my ear before returning to her table. I was pleased with her hate for her co-worker and the tonguing.
Now that we had been seated for a few minutes the other girls in the club began directing their stripper mating dance towards us. The stripper mating dance is not truly a mating dance since "you never get fucked in a strip club but you always get fucked at a strip club"*, but the stripper's attempt to trick you into succumbing to a lap dance. The heifers hit you first because all the better looking ones have no need to search out a dance as dudes are waiting in line for their company. If you're strong and don't have an asshole friend with you it's possible to make it past the first wave of strippers. Of course, you always have an asshole friend with you and the first chance they get they'll send a heifer at you. Touchdown was no exception, I was able to make it through most of the truly disgusting strippers, and then Touchdown crushed my efforts by sending a lower tier girl at me. The girl was probably in her thirties, middle age for a stripper. She was Asian, with the appropriate accent, and sported large fake tits. I began evasive maneuvers as she sat on my leg, not looking her in the eyes and so on. I couldn't shake her. She introduced herself as Tina, proffered her hand, and given that not shaking a proffered hand is the gravest insult one can give in our society I returned the shake. "So, do you want to go to the back?", she asked. I tried again, "Well, why don't you just give me a dance right here? We don't have to go to the back. I'm really only interested in one dance." In truth, besides that time in Vegas, I hadn't been to a gentleman's club since March, when The Incident occurred. The Incident has never been mentioned here, and nor will it ever be. Suffice is to say, The Incident was a fiscally ruinous affair and I had no intentions of repeating it with Tina. Tina rebuffed my efforts, "We'll just wait for your drink to get here." Waiting for a drink with a stripper on your leg who you have no physical attraction to is an agonizing affair, particularly when you can't even summon a topic of conversation. What was I going to do, strike up a rousing conversation about hate with her? I was pleased to see that a true heifer had found Touchdown, she was wrapped all around him rubbing her stomach all over his torso, it was awesome. Our waitress stopped by with our drinks. As if on cue, Tina and Touchdown's girl hopped up and took each of us by the arm. Against my wishes, I was being led to the back. "The back", as it were, was packed. Tina found a chair no one was sitting in and turned it away from its table. I sat down and Tina returned to her perch on my leg. "Let's wait 'till the next song", she said. We waited in silence. The next song began and Tina began her routine. I'd go into detail about her dance but it really wasn't all that special. I poked and squeezed appropriately, feigning interest. I guess she could tell what was going on because half way through the song she grabbed my hand and shoved it under her bikini bottom. I was a little surprised by this turn of events and stared wide-eyed as she masturbated herself with my hand. I suppose I was meant to be turned on by it, really I just wanted to go and wash my hands.
The song ended and Tina hopped back on my leg. "What do you think?", she asked. "I guess we could do one more song", I replied as the next song began playing. Tina hopped off my leg and got down between my legs. She unzipped my slacks and slithered a hand inside. At this point I rapidly went through every conceivable series of events that was soon to follow, they all ended with my penis in her mouth except for a few that ended with a shiv in my ear. Most people would be saying "Yay! Blowjob!", not me. After The Incident I'm no longer willing to face the possible repercussions of a "party favor" (in the parlance) gone awry. So faced with a blowjob in the middle of a crowded, albeit dark, room, my defensive mechanisms kicked in. You see, I wear tighty-whiteys, man panties, whatever, and I always have. My three little piglets are safely enclosed in a house of snug fitting fabric, sperm count be damned. The tighty-whiteys barrier halted all of Tina's forward momentum, she tried to find the panties' pee hole, but she failed. Only slightly deterred, Tina stood up, turned around, pulled her g-string to the side, and lowered herself onto proud Mr. Weinis who could be clearly seen encased in a veil of white through the zipper of my slacks. Tina began simulating reverse missionary on me. Since she was facing away from me I began looking around to see if anyone else saw what the fuck was going on, but no one was paying any attention. Displeased with the situation, Tina lowered herself back between my legs and went at Mr. Weinis again. This time she tried to circumvent the panties and reach her hand under the panties from the side. "Bitch, that's elastic, you can't get through elastic!", I wanted to say. She did manage to get a couple of fingers through, and when her clammy digits brushed against Mr. Weinis he shrank back in horror. Tina extracted her hand and began simulating a blowjob on Mr. Weinis though the fabric of my panties. The song ended soon after, and Tina looked at me expectantly. "I think I need to find my friend", I said. Tina smiled, tucked Mr. Weinis back, and zipped me up. In an effort to please her, I told Tina to bill me for 4 dances even though only 2 actually took place. Tina seemed pleased by this generosity and, after leading me back to my table, left without another word, just the way I like it.
I ordered another cocktail and watched the latest dancer to grace Stage 2, a pale red head with a body like a stick figure. Just as every crazed ounce of my being wanted to yell, "Bitch you're nasty! Go away! I don't want to throw up! I can't be held responsible if I do throw up because you're so fucking nasty!" I was approached by a pretty young thing. The girl took up her place on my thigh. Inebriation was beginning to take a powerful hold on me so I comfortably began to wax philosophical about hate and things I hated. Amazingly, the girl seemed interested in what I was saying, nodding her head at my comments and even adding that she hates the Almond Joys that don't have coconut in them but she could never remember whether it was the blue wrapper or the red wrapper with coconut. "That's sweet", I thought, "she's precious." She told me that it was her first night at Treasures and she was intimidated by all the other girls. "Jesus", I said, "There's 300 of y'all here, who wouldn't be intimidated." She hinted that with 300 girls a certain gang mentality overshadowed everything, and as the new girl she wasn't particularly liked. Touchdown returned to the table, a look of disappointment in his eye. I talked to the girl for a few more minutes and then suggested we go to the back for a dance. I felt like Mr. Weinis may be able to find his way outside for this one. Touchdown noted that he was soon to be ready to leave, I waved him off and followed the girl into the back. I sat in the same seat I had before, the girl, again, sat on my leg. I was experiencing the best rapport with a stripper I ever have to date. Then I remembered that I had never asked her what her name was. "You know, I haven't asked you your name.", I said. She looked me in the eyes, and said, "My name is… Sunny."
Immediately, my heart rate quickened. I grabbed her by the arm and searched the room with my eyes scrutinizing everyone for the glint of a shiv. "You're hurting my arm!", she said. "Did He send you?!", I asked, squeezing her arm. Sunny grabbed my hand with her free hand and tried to pull it off. "He?! What the fuck are you talking about?!", she said. "You know damn well what I'm talking about!", I whispered into her ear, "This was his plan? You come out of the blue, agreeing with my hate, take me into the darkness of this room, and shiv my ear? No, no. You shouldn't have told me your name was Sunny, pretty transparent coming form a celestial body, I think I'll bid you a fond adieu and see you in hell!" I let go of her arm and leaned back in my chair waiting for her response to the clearly insane remarks I just made. She was shocked, but she didn't say anything, she just looked at me for a while. I couldn't take it anymore and began laughing, I'm not sure if it was genuine but she began laughing with me. I then tried to explain to her how I think the sun (daystar) is out to get me and how her name made me think she was an agent of the scare ball, etc. Half way through my explanation she began giving me a lap dance that I vaguely remember as being excellent. I know there were a few open-mouth kisses which means she certainly didn't consider me all that threatening. The song ended and she led me back to Touchdown who was ready to leave. I know I mumbled something wonderful to Sunny but I can't remember exactly what it was, something along the lines of "I must leave you now my sweet, but you know where to find me." I remember her saying, "Um…here?", appropriate given she had no idea where to find me. Not really having a good way to follow up such a ridiculous statement I just turned around and stumbled after Touchdown for the door.
In retrospect my last two visits to Treasures have been wonderful, it's when I venture out to seedier establishments that I fear for my life. I think it's time for me to put an end to my self imposed gentleman's club boycott. Accusing that bitch of being an assassin sent by the sun was pure fucking gold. God bless you Treasures, all your sweet bitches help ease my hate.

*Real Sex 29

This morning finds me at a bullshit seminar in South Big Funky. The inconsiderate fucks who put on the seminar made us drive all the way to south Jesus for this shit instead of renting out a room at a decent hotel in West Big Funky where all the beautiful people are. When I got here, fashionably late of course, I sat with all the cool people at the very back of the seminar hall. I am sitting alone.
All the people that suck are here. The seminar is being hosted by two bull lesbians of the "go bear hunting with a switch" variety. There's a fucknose here wearing generic, white tennis shows, I made a song for him.
"Jimmy white hooves,
Jimmy white hooves,
Why are your hooves so white this day?"
Repeat.
I hate that I am here.
There are probably two and a half as many seats as there are people. Still, all the black people are sitting together in front of me. The racial prejudice is tangible. The black woman in front of me gave me a nasty look when I let fly an exuberant "Hollah!" at the beginning of the seminar. Bitch.
Also of note, all the Jews I know here are sitting as far from one another as possible. They hate each other and will talk shit to anyone that wants to listen. They have a captive audience in me. I love to listen to their hate, then I find another Jew and relate what I've heard so that the hate continues to cultivate.
All the white people are sitting quietly and paying attention. Losers. I'm listening to my iPod so I can't even hear what the lesbians are saying. It doesn't matter though, I know what they're saying sucks.
I was staring at two bitches for the first couple of hours. I couldn't see their faces but they looked hot from behind. I hoped they would turn around and see me staring at them and dig my shit. Then they stood up at the first break and I saw that they were just a couple of fat Mexicans. What a waste of two hours.

What we have here is me being fucked. This is my apartment's garage this evening. Did I forget to mention the other day about the flooding problems my complex has? That's right...hate.

It's difficult to tell from the pictures, but the water is about 5 inches deep. In some places it's very deep, as in, it could drown a small to medium sized dog. The water is disgusting too, it's a muddy brown due to dirt from the constant construction going on around the apartment complex, there's plenty of glass mixed in from all the broken car windows, there are pieces of dog shit scattered across the waters since every mother fucker in this shitbox with a dog is too fucking lazy to walk their dog more than a few feet from the elevators, and there's certainly a measurable amount of semen from all the rapists. About the dog shit, I've even seen a pile outside someone's door because they couldn't muster the time/energy to take their dog outside so they let it shit in the hall. There's no fucking courtesy here, I hope the bitch that let her dog shit in my hallway got raped.

Here, you can see me driving my unit through this mess. It's a god damn underground lake in this motherfucker. All that's missing is the albino fish that lost their sense of sight. I won't lie and tell you I wasn't tempted to drown myself in this fucking cesspool, kind of like a baby left too long in a bathtub, except it's a bourgeois mother fucker drowning himself in a sea of hate to make a statement about the dilapidated conditions of his supposedly A-Class apartment complex.

It's raining like a mother fucker in the Big Funky right now. I have a half-chubby hoping a tornado will swoop down and finish me off. I've always loved the rain, even as a child rainy days were my favorite. Now I know why, it's because rain and hate go so well together. That, and usually rain keeps the fucking daystar at bay. As was documented on 08/29/03, one thing I know for sure is that the god damn sun is out to get me.

In tandem with pouring myself the evening's last cocktail, I'm reading the latest “Fuck You” letter from the managerial staff at my apartment complex. These “Fuck You” letters, as I call them, have become increasingly common to find shoved in the cracks of doors throughout the complex. Invariably, these letters describe some alarming barbarity about to befall all the residents followed thereafter with a hollow apology. Today's letter is more hate-worthy than most since it describes a whole weekend of torture. What follows is the body of the “Fuck You” letter.

Dear Resident (s):

The City of Houston [The Big Funky] just advised us that the water will be turned off to the entire property for the next several hours. We apologize for the short notice, but we just received notification 30 minutes prior to cut off.

Center Point Energy has also advised us that on Sunday, November, 16, 2003 the electricity to the entire building will be off from 8:00am to [approximately] 12:00 (noon).

Again, we apologize for the inconvenience, but thank you in advance for your cooperation in this matter.

That's right, in 3 hours I'm without power, they might as well cut to the chase and just slit my throat right now. Merely transcribing this letter has brought me to a Hulk-esque rage. All my coherent thoughts are colliding with more primal urges that involve various brutalities being inflicted on the, so called, management team of this dump of an apartment complex. Mind you, when I received this letter the power was already cut off to the building, coincidentally, during one of the many common outages experienced at this sack. It's gotten to where I'm loathe to even set the clock on the oven and microwave anymore given that I'll just be setting them again in a day or two. If I were just squatting here or not paying any substantial rent I could see past this shit, but this is a very nice place in a very nice area of The Big Funky. It's un-god-damn-acceptable, and they've finally crossed the line.
The list of atrocities committed against the tenants by this fucking place has grown quite large in the 11 months since my tenur began here. Since I've lived here I've not had water on 7 separate occasions, only 1 of which was I even warned of. Let me tell you how much fun it is to wake up for work and not have running water, it's so much fun I've thought about gouging out my own eyes and cutting my dick off when it happens. I would say that on average I'm without power 1 to 2 days a month, for varying lengths of time. Waking up in a sweat to dead silence is a blast, even if you could go back to sleep in the sweltering heat and maddening silence, you must stay awake for the power to come back on so you can re-set your alarm clock for work. Naturally, power failure is no excuse for tardiness at the workplace. There have been rapes in the parking garage along with cars being broken into left and right. Last week the right side of my closet collapsed and it took the management 3 days to get it fixed because "they forgot", even after telling them about it twice in-person. The management claimed at one point that I had borrowed their key to my apartment and lost it. Obviously, if management didn't have a key to my place I must have lost it. Fucking idiots. So I gave them my key for them to duplicate. Three weeks later, after numerous calls and having to leave my apartment unlocked every day I was returned my original key. “Did you make duplicates?”, I asked. “No”, they replied, “it turns out we had the key to your place all along.” You dumb fucking cocksucker. I do you a fucking solid by leaving my key with you, and you take that opportunity to lie to me and leave my possessions up for grabs to anyone who might happen by my apartment. Why don't you just lay your hands on me and complete the insult. How can you look me in the eyes without laughing? It's sick and enraging.
There are additional atrocities, though, I feel as though the ones already listed convey the situation well enough, plus my hands are shaking so much I can't type anymore. Filled to the fucking brim with hate.
I didn't want to do it since I live here, but they leave me no choice, my apartment complex is now in my hatebox. I've never had to put the place where I live in my hatebox, but I do it now because they're pushing on me, they're making me hate. I'm nearing a dangerous infinite loop by doing this. On the one hand, I must put this place in my hatebox, they've forced my hand. At the same time, I hate that I have to put my home in my hatebox. I begin to hate the fact that I must hate, launching a circularity that only draws to a close once I'm permanently jacked into a catheter. We all make our beds and we must sleep in them, I made my bed in hate and now I will pay the cost. Someone should toss a fucking bomb in this place and burn it to the ground, I don't even give a shit if I'm in it when it burns, what's the difference anymore.