One foot out the door

Well it turns out pizza and booze tonight just ain't gonna work out. 3 out of 5 people canceled for bullshit reasons and I don't feel like going out to Kunsan City by myself so I figured - fuck it - I might as well chill out here my last night anyways before I get on the bus and pack it up tomorrow to Osan. Fuck if I'm gonna hang out by myself.

I took care of alot of things today, with my swollen left eye. People were looking at me oddly so I decided to don a quick pair of shades I had on me, which helped dramatically. Not only did people stop staring at my monster eye, but with the shades on I didn't have to open it, which helped speed the healing process. Right now, not even 24 hours after the initial bug bite, my eye is minimally swollen and from outside appearances, you can't tell it was this huge throbbing mess of edema that it was this morning. That's the cool thing about the head - it's very vascular.

I cleared the barracks and have now been moved into Billeting. I was surprised I was able to get a room since the place is fucking PACKED tight! But somehow the heavens opened up and I got a place I gotta share with a roomie until tomorrow. Not just any roomie though, my fucking Physical Fitness Leader! The fucking FITNESS NAZI.

Yes, we all called him this both to his face and behind his back. This fucker would grill us every morning at 0530 by making us do push-ups, sit-ups and then make us run 2 miles. He didn't care if it was butt-freezing cold outside or if the fucking binjo ditches were so foul smelling people would pass out if they ran right by them. The days we did weight lifting for fitness he would tell us we weren't lifting hard enough or lifting enough weight - listen fucker! I got a hemorrhoid from doing 250 pounds on the leg press! I only fucking weigh 210! No way in hell am I gonna do that again! For the entire year he made our lives miserable and in the end got rewarded for it by our commander.

Well, now it's PAYBACK time. I snore like a motherfucker despite having surgery last year to correct it, and tonight's the night he gets to listen to me saw logs, speak in demonic tongues in my sleep, and scream from the night terrors I have on occasion. I hope the fucker goes running out of the room at 0-dark-30 because I conjure up some weird shit while I'm dozing. I must confess that's one thing I've noticed a time or two previously - walking up to hear myself muttering cantations in Enochian I've learned to near memory.

Now knowing my luck Fitness Nazi will stay up until midnight with the television and radio going, waiting for his wife to call him from the States. I won't get any sleep and will feel like ass tomorrow all day, which can't happen since I have a bus to catch once I am done here. I don't want to be dragging my heels these final moments as I scream obscenities to the prison camp as the bus departs its last journey for the night.

I stopped by the office today to get some final things I left on my desk. The fuckers already took shit off my desk, thinking I wasn't going to return. I had to retrieve my desk calendar of "George W Bush" quotes (some of them are a real hoot!) as well as some papers I needed in order to outprocess. Fucking assholes. Already I can tell the office is going to fall apart within 30 days since the person they put in charge is a ghetto queen that would rather surf the web all day, talk to her friends on the phone, and socialize instead of doing the job she's supposed to. Hell forbid she extend any responsibility outside of her own selfish needs. I can gladly say that this was a decision made over my head and those responsible will reap what they sow when they see everything fall apart before their eyes. I almost want to stick around to see how interesting this will all become, but no way am I going to hang out here longer just to take pleasure in the misfortunes of others.

Tomorrow I leave the base and go to Osan. I will blog more up there when I get the chance. Please be patient if I don't correspond immediately these next few days.

Last day in the barracks

This is the last day in the barracks for me. I clear the dorm manager this afternoon and turn in my DSL connection box to the cyber cafe, and then it's off to Billeting for me. Tonight I am supposed to go out with friends one last time to have pizza and to get drunk on wine, so there may or may not be some drunk dials coming your way! There's at least one new person I need to call, and told her I would do so this week. I try to make good on these things too, so get ready!

I woke up this morning at 2am with my left eye completely swollen shut. It seems a mosquito has made a midnight feast of me during my repose. It wouldn't be so bad but I have to interact with people today and they're going to look at me like "WTF Machine?" as this huge, swollen thing around my eye diverts their attention. Ironically enough, the same thing happened almost a year ago to the day with my OTHER eye, and can only chalk it up to Korea being a breeding ground for all sorts of vermin.

Sith Master and I had a talk last night about my time here and the assholes who have made it difficult for people all around. While he didn't mention names and I'm not one to ask specifics, from the way it sounds things are going from bad to worse, and coming from him, it's bona fide. His advice has always been like money in the bank and the times I've followed his instruction, I've always benefitted one way or another. I can only wonder how things are going to turn out for this new crew coming in, and all I can say is that I'm glad I won't be around to see the end results. I just hope the guy doesn't get his ass kicked metaphorically speaking. This place will do it to yah.

Anycase I need to start packing, do some laundry one last time and start cleaning the place for this afternoon's inspection. I'll update and correspond between now and then but once I'm out for good, it may be a while before you hear from me. Ciao.

Outprocessing Part 2

Well my morning began with a rude awakening - at 4 am. I was called into work over some bullshit but after it was taken care of, I was released to go home and take care of more outprocessing. Mailed out alot of stuff today and took care of other loose ends as well. I should be ready to go Friday for my Final Outprocessing with the Personnel folks. I've definitely had enough of this cesspool.

And my co-workers too. Jeezus Fucking Christ they're such fucking air heads at times. I hate having to listen to their pointless small talk and all the bullshit they laugh about. It's not even funny. It's all brainless crap that Beautiful People and Sheeple laugh about. Stupid shit like "Oh my GAWD, I'd never WEAR that swimsuit here!" when they're flipping through a copy of Victoria's Secrets at work. Fucking gayness. The flip side of the coin are the ghetto rats who hang around my co-workers and just annoy the shit outta people while they're trying to work. Okay - while I'M TRYING TO WORK. I hate broken English, regardless of who is speaking it. It can be a hot German chick or some Korean looking like a bad Elvis imposter. It doesn't matter. I hear it and it irritates the shit outta me. I just want to tell them all to shut the fuck up and leave, but that would definitely backfire and knowing them, they'd go whining to the commander how mean I was being. Fucking children.

I am so fucking glad I am almost out of this place. These people suck and they can go fuck themselves for all I care. I've been very reticent these past 12 months over small shit like this since I knew it wouldn't do much good, and can hardly wait for Friday to come when I've been given my clearance from the base once and for all. I already have purchased my bus ticket and have my airline tickets safely tucked away. The only thing left to do is to hurry up and wait.

Ugh.

Batman Begins....his blog!

If Batman had a blog...

Moments

We've all moments like these. I think I have them more than most people.

That's all.

The Bad-Ass Bible

Most guys are pussies.

Myself included.

We are not a generation of men, but a generation of boys raised by our mothers. Our real fathers abandoned us and left them to do the job. Tyler Durden's character from the movie Fight Club said something along these lines and they are words that are ever so painfully true. With the exception of perhaps Marines and Special Forces people such as Navy Seals, Green Berets, and Air Force Para-Rescue, the majority of the male population have no right to consider themselves as "men".

Thankfully, there is a solution! I give to you The Bad-Ass Bible - America's last attempt at restoring masculinity to an otherwise effeminate and weakened male population. Hemingway would be proud if he were alive, as would The Duke too. Clint Eastwood is still alive and kicking, but chances are he secretly laments what our country has become, thanks to the goddamned femin-nazis and Politically Correct fascists. Yes, it's truly a sad day when a man can no longer stare at a pair of titties, drink beer, or smoke in public, and it's all because of the people we put in power. We only have ourselves to blame for this mess, and frankly it's getting worse. Perhaps it's just not too late with the help of this bad-boy.

It starts out with the Bad-Ass Basics, redefining what every Bad-Ass instinctively knows, yet the rest of us never had the chance to learn. It has the Bad-Ass 10 Commandments which every guy should adhere to if he has any sense of the word "dignity" left in him. From Commandment #1 - Thou shalt assume the worst in every man and the best of every woman to Commandment # 10 - Thou shalt never use anesthsia, pain killers, or crutches, these are the ground rules every man should take to heart and apply. My fave commandment is #8 - Thou shalt not remove or alter a tattoo - You made your mistake. Now live with it. How much more needs to be said about that?

From there it goes into simple, yet commonly overlooked things like how a Bad-Ass is supposed to walk, how he dresses, and even includes a quick history lesson with the greatest Bad-Asses of all time - from Ghengis Khan to Marion "Suge" Knight. Frankly General Patton and Ernest Hemingway are my favorites, but I suppose for a basic book, this definitely gets the point across. The book includes what constitutes Bad-Ass tattoo art, Bad-Ass jobs, Bad-Ass movies and tunes of all time, and yes, Bad-Ass Sex. When it comes to being a Bad-Ass, no topic is too sacred or taboo, and this book covers it all. After all, a Bad-Ass is afraid of nothing.

I enjoy the fact there are books like this on the open market, even if the majority of them are taken with a grain of salt. While I'm not some rugged mountain man that can wrestle a grizzly bear or some martial arts master who can pound nails with his bare fists, I would like to think this gets people like myself and the majority of other guys out there in the right mindset when dealing with life and all the bullshit it throws us. Ladies, if you have any ounce of respect for the guy you're with, get him this book the next time you want to buy him something special as a treat. Include it in a bottle of Jack Daniels, or his fave 6 pack of beer. Hell, get him a case instead and make it required reading. Mandatory homework. It will be the best thing you've ever done for your relationship.

Outprocessing Part 1

I spent the better portion of today turning shit in and getting shit cleared out. Everything from my chemical gear to getting the cable bill for the television I never watched shut off, all within one fell swoop. As much as we train wearing the stuff, I hope we NEVER have to use it in real life. Ever.

For the most part I chill out when I need to get stuff done and give people the chance to do the job they're trained to do. If anything, I hate assholes who think they know more about your job than you do, despite never having worked a day in it. Being a supervisor myself, I know the importance of letting people grow and develop their skills, be it personally or professionally.

Lately I just don't have the patience or the tolerance for stupid shit. I want to get the fuck outta here post-haste and don't care if I have to step on a few toes to get done what needs to be done. Call me selfish, call me fed up, I just want to get the fuck outta here and let the good times begin.

I will most likely get my internet disconnected Thursday afternoon, which will be Wednesday for the majority of you in the States. While I will still have the Cyber Cafe and Library on base to check e-mail and update my blog, once the weekend comes, I'll be out the door and up at Osan, and then it's a hop across the pond to Japan. I'll be there for about a week and internet will be dodgy at best. I'll keep people updated as best as possible, but don't expect much. If anything, use it as a respite from my daily whining and venting in order to do something productive instead. Been meaning to finish reading that book you started months ago? Been meaning to take out the garbage or give the dog a bath? Perfect timing.

I've also made some updates to the blog as you can see in the right hand column.

"Assholes Anonymous" is a list of all my fave bloggers, and am always looking to add more.

"Missing Links" is the list of websites I enjoy frequenting, and you should too.

"Show and Tell" deal with me specifically and perhaps things you're better off NOT knowing, just like the Short Bus Mafia quiz.

"And the Rest" is the new and exclusive "Complaint Department" for all you fuckers out there who are too chicken shit to write me hate mail and tell me how you really feel. Goddammit! Izzit too much to ask for some fucking HATE MAIL around these parts? You assholes really know how to make the Baby Jesus cry, as well as the Machine. Please. Write me something negative at shortbusmafia@yahoo.com so I can post it here. Say I have a small dick or something (although that would be truthful and not hateful, so forget about that and write something else instead).

I'll do more outprocessing tomorrow, primarily mailing shit out to my folks' address back in the States so I'll have something to tide me over with for the next 2 months. If I truly get bored I'll have something to do.

Oh yeah....THAT Asshole!

Well gang, I am in the final days of my time here in Korea. I will depart the base this Friday once and for all and will fly out to Tokyo for a week of R & R before returning Stateside. The fact I am finally leaving this place is music to my ears.

One thing I've been reflecting on between the times I've been here is how there is always that ONE person who always sticks out, usually unintentionally, that for whatever reason just can't blend in with everyone else. Now normally I am all for individuality, however in a place like this, people are expected to conform, no if's, and's, or but's about it. The moment you appear to be different is the moment everyone talks shit about you and senior leadership puts you on their problem child list. Fuck that.

I started a thread like this on Chair-Force, and it recieved some noteworthy attention for a little bit, but once again I am reminded of how one or two people really stand out and ask for humiliation. These guys are people who conform for the most part, but there's just something ODD with them. I mean shit you wouldn't see most other people do, yet by all accounts they're "normal". While the majority of people see them, they're often quickly forgotten about until brought up in conversation like

"Hey did you see that fuck-tard the other day with the nut-hugger shorts and knee-high socks? He looked fucking ridiculous!"

"Huh? Oh yeah - THAT asshole! I've seen that guy too and I have to wonder what the fuck is up with the purple head band too."



When I was here in 2001, there was some Jesus-Freak running around base riding a razor scooter. Razor Scooter asshole. This dude would wear this dorky silver helmet and his little shirts spreading the gospel according to whatever it was he was into and he looked like some cartoon character. Some days he would even wear a neon safety vest so NASA satellites could see him from outer space. I mean, Jeezus Fucking Christ people - come on! I suppose a 33 year old man in denial about his wasted youth would try convincing himself he has at least one last drop of adolescence left in him before he has to face reality and middle age, and since titty bars and sports cars were out of the question, this was the only way he could compensate. According to the Gospel of Machine 3:16 - "Thou art a dumb-ass".



Now I just recently saw some asshole on base who rides a unicycle. Unicycle asshole. I mean what kinda dude rides one of those fucking things? Clowns in a circus might, but chances are they're corn-holing the chimps back stage when nobody is looking since no woman in her right mind would admit to fucking one of these losers. Even Razor Scooter asshole has more cool points than this guy going for him, and that ain't much. I wonder how long it's going to be before this dude gets his ass kicked by some of the shit-kickers on base? Chances are he knows Razor scooter asshole in some way shape or fashion.



When I was at Misawa, there was this Navy guy I always saw running around base wearing a trench coat. He looked like one of those creepy kinda guys that would tell children he needed help finding his lost puppy or something, this guy was that weird looking. Trench coat asshole. It didn't matter what season it was, this dude ALWAYS had a goddamned trenchcoat on, and one time even wore a parka OVER his trenchcoat so he wouldn't freeze. I guess the fucker was too cheap to buy a car. I always saw this dude out walking EVERYWHERE, even with 3 feet of snow on the ground. It was nearly impossible to miss him. The crowning achievement to this guy was the fact he wore running shoes with his Docker pants, collared shirt, and tie, and he always had this weird fucked up bowl haircut too. I even witnessed him getting it trimmed one day at the barber shop and thought to myself this guy pays people to make him look that horrible. I mean even comic book nerds and Star Trek geeks would bust on this guy, he was that geeky.

Can it be true that there are just some people out there with no self-consciousness as to how they appear in public? Not your angst-ridden skater kids or wanna-be thugs, but everyday people that just seem too weird to be normal, yet too normal to be weird.

But the BIGGEST ASSHOLE I've seen anywhere to date definitely needs to get a life. Someone should give this fucker a clue.

The Short Bus Mafia Quiz

Last year I was really into My Space since it seemed like a really cool thing at the time. Since then I've come to realize how much it sucks donkey balls and how I'd rather stick to this blog as a means of communicating with people that give a fuck - maybe. Anycase, if you're bored and can't jerk off from internet porn anymore, wipe the keyboard off and take this quiz. Learn all sorts of stuff about me you were probably better off not knowing. Enjoy.


Take my Quiz on QuizYourFriends.com!

Hollywood: RIP

I recieved this in an e-mail today from my friend Dan/Dee Minus and this pretty much sums up my philosophy regarding the entertainment industry. It's taken from the Liquid Generation website, and seeing how I touched just briefly on the very thing last night when discussing Rasputina, I saw it fitting to mention as a piggy-back to the previous discussion. Alot of bands could definitely benefit from the demise of the RIAA.



-- Helga, LiquidGeneration’s only CTO

Dear Celebrities, Entertainment Executives and Honorary Wannabes,

I am Helga The Help, LiquidGeneration’s single white transsexual, and may you rest in peace.

The age of Hollywood and the Recording Industry, as we know it, has passed. You were all good business people and I respect that but you’re just collateral damage. Give up. Go home. You may be an elephant but you’re fighting an army of African Fire Ants.

The Information Age, like the various ages before it, has ushered in a new climate. Except instead of ice, we’re now awash in hotspots. I can walk into a coffee shop, order my 8-shot, non-fat goat milk latte, connect to my file-sharing program, and start watching a movie that someone else paid for. Or that may have released yesterday...or is being released next month. You get the point.

Ever wonder how the entertainment industry finances their astronomical production budgets, $20M actor/singer paychecks, and the 1000 $/plate catering fees? They don’t. You do. That $9 for a movie ticket, $16 for a CD, $24 for a DVD (I live in Chicago aiiight??? That’s what things cost) adds up damn fast when spread over a population of millions. The RIAA and the Studios are frequently likened to a cartel that artificially inflates prices and prevents competition. Go to any restaurant and ask your waiter what it’s like getting an independent movie/CD released. Kind of like an ass-mugging that’s what.

People in power want only one thing: to stay in power. Or did you really think that government officials retire to "spend more time with family?" No one is going to give up riches so that can you can weasel out of popping 16 bucks for a CD. According to the RIAA, piracy losses total 4.2 billion US dollars per year, enough to pay for at least 50 Hollywood dinners and 100 sessions with J.Lo’s stylist. Who would walk away from that?

But they don’t have a choice. The same reason they got where they were is what’s gnawing away at them like some vermin. Just don’t feel bad for them. The entertainment industry has evolved into this hydra because of a lack of technology. The barriers to creating and distributing recorded works were so huge that artists had to make gigantic investments in capital equipment and retail channels to get their entertainment products to customers. Now the same technology has lowered said barriers to the price of a computer, some software and an Internet connection. The enabler has become the destroyer.

The first casualty of this paradigm shift will be the celebrity as we know him/her. Real artists produce because they have to. Their demons speak to them through their substance-induced trances and creation results. If their talent merits a sufficient popular interest then they will earn backers and investments and a healthy paycheck for themselves. It will operate like any other business.

The second will be the greatest fleecing in the history of the world (after the Manhattan Purchase) where the recording studios "bundle" 10 or 12 products that you don’t want with 1 or 2 that you might. I pick through my grapes at the grocery store; why should I be forced to buy 10 songs that I don’t ever want to hear?

There will be many more. In short, if you want to make money as a performer or entertainer you will need to perform and entertain. Not work for a few days every couple of years and then retire to your ranch complete with children’s harem. This is a job and you will need to treat it like one. The same reduction in the barriers to entry will not create any more talent, it will just create more noise and the louder the dogs are barking, the better the swan needs to be singing. Ah...yes folks, natural selection at work. Even though as I look at the current crop of "celebrities" I begin to think that you idiots are more attracted to the lifestyle than you are to the talent. Exhibit A: Paris Hilton.

Love,

Helga
Internet Guru/Hollywood Consultant

Rasputina

Every now and then I go against the grain of Death Metal and Industrial Rock and I listen to something a little different. Or sometimes it is hella different all together. I try to expand my horizons every so often.

Well, I saw an article about Rasputina in Outburn Magazine about 3 years ago and didn't pay much attention to them other than the fact they had some hot chicks that looked kinda weird and dressed somewhat fucked up. Otherwise if I were to meet them in a bar I'd try to hit on them and take at least one of them home for the night. But enough thinking with my cock. That isn't the whole point of this text.

No, the whole point of this text is that I saw them again recently, but in Revolver Magazine. For those of you that don't read Revolver, drop what you're doing right now, run down to the local news stand or book store and pick up a copy! Revolver is only THE BEST metal magazine out today! Well, I decided to pick up their new album "Frustration Plantation" on a whim when I visited Hawaii back in May of last year. It's not so often I get to visit America but when I do I make the most of it, especially the music stores. Trust me folks, the music selection outside of the Continental US just sucks ass. Fat sweaty ass with zits all over it.

Frustation Plantation is different but kicks ass. It has to grow on you. I remember driving down the H-1 skipping tracks thinking to myself "These chicks suck. What the hell is going on with all these damn cellos?" A few songs were catchy at best but nothing really stood out to me. Songs like "Doomsday, Averted", "Possum of the Grotto" and "The Mayor" were okay but didn't do anything for me. I put the CD away thinking I had wasted $15 at Sam Goody. Well time went by and I got hooked listening to Opeth's Deliverance CD. The primarily acoustical album was a nice respite the Satanic riffs and finger-scalding crunches I was accustomed to hearing. I burned out on Opeth and needed something similar to listen to. Just recently I started listening to it on a whim and now I am starting to appreciate it more.

How much more?

I renewed my subscription to Audio Galaxy so I could download their songs! Now let me get this straight with everyone - I DO NOT condone in illegal file sharing. Sure the assholes at the record companies lose money but ultimately it is the band that pays the price. Lower album sales mean less support from the labels and less chance of maintaining a contract. I hate to see my favorite bands like Type O Negative and Deicide get fucked over by RoadRunner Records, but let's face it - when was the last time you've seen your favorite band sell out their concert tickets? If you're anything like me, you like music that isn't so mainstream, so support the bands you rip off when you download their shit for free. At the very least buy the album when you get the money if cash is tight.

Anycase back to the topic. As I said, I renewed my subscription with Audio Galaxy and have been listening to more of their music. "Cabin Fever" and "How we quit the Forest" are two of their best albums, and this is coming from someone that would rather fuck his girlfriend listening to Slayer, or drive down I-95 with KMFDM blasting at ear-piercing volumes than listen to anything remotely feminine or percieved gay. (No ladies I don't have a girlfriend currently but I am always looking!) "Cabin Fever" has more of an industrial feel to it, but Rasputina still have the cellos as the main instrument. And you know what, IT FUCKING ROCKS! I am listening to "How we quit the Forest" as I write this and plan on buying both CDs through Sam Goody.com on pay day. (Sam Goody has a points system you can use for future discount purchases unlike Amazon.com and they don't lose your shit either.) "Transylvanian Regurgitation" is pretty cool too but it's short and sweet. If money is tight for you, at the very least pick up "Cabin Fever" and you'll do fine.

If you already know about Rasputina, feel free to add any comments you may have about them. If I get the chance I will catch them in concert one day. The only way I can see Rasputina becoming the ultimate weird chick band is if they get a death metal guitar player, a quasi-techno industrial drum machine, and do the occasional song in German. In short, if they become KMFDM minus Raymond Watts. Or Hanzel und Gretyl.

Day Trip to Osan

Today was a day trip to Osan. A Turn n' Burn. I was planning on going up Friday, only this goddamned Kunsan Crud is still kicking my ass and today was the first day I've felt strong enough to go outside all day without having to take a nap. The fact that I didn't have to wake up at the butt-crack of dawn to catch the Wolf Pack Wheels there was awesome too - I could sleep in for a change.

Joe, aka Sith Master, has an SUV here and volunteered to take me and Chris along for the day. Chris was wanting to get some cigars and there's this kick-ass shop off base that sells them wholesale, so he wanted to tag along, as he had never been there before. He wanted to get out of Kunsan finally after being stuck here for 5 months, and don't blame the guy one bit. He brought his music collection and pretty much chilled on the way up there whilst Sith Master and I talked about old times, current times and new times in general. Most importantly, which direction the Air Force is going in and how revolted we both are because of it.

It used to be you could drink, fuck and fight and nobody would do or say anything as long as you kept it in moderation. With this new "P.C." Air Force crowd that is in leadership positions, that's no longer the case. Drinking and smoking are considered taboo and any mention of the word "alcohol" and "sex" in the same sentence will pretty much get you administrative disciplinary action, and if not that, black-balled all together for the time you're in. While Chris and Sith Master are telling me that Stateside it's not as bad as it is in places like Korea, it's definitely on the horizon for the Air Force as a whole. I don't know if I like that or not.

But enough of that mini-rant, back to the story at hand.

It had been a while (5 years roughly) since Sith Master had driven up to Osan and didn't remember the directions automatically. Time had passed and he was somewhat rusty behind the wheel, but it started coming back to him the closer we got to base. After taking a slight detour, we got our bearings and made it to the front gate, despite aiming for the back gate since there's less traffic and it's not some giant goat-rope getting through the gate guard. We flashed him our ID cards and then went to the BX.

Now Osan's BX is 10 times nicer than the ghetto BX we have here - I mean they really consolidated everything under one roof. Everything from getting a haircut to checking your account balance at the bank is all within walking distance. For once somebody did their homework and brought convenience to this part of the world. Hopefully it will catch on with the rest of Korea if word gets out. Chris and Sith Master were standing there in awe as to how nicer their Exchange was and how fucking dismal the BX down here is - day and night difference we're talking. Both were avidly pissed how we're getting the shaft while the Osan people have it so much nicer. That's just the way it goes.

I was supposed to meet someone I know from Chair-Force for lunch, only I never saw her at the food court the entire time we sat down to eat. Communication was kinda fuzzy between us all week and don't fault her since I wasn't too concrete with my plans. The way I see it, she probably ditched on me purposely so people wouldn't ask her questions later. I get alot of that it seems.

After finishing lunch, we looked around the BX a little bit but Chris really wanted to find his cigars. We had originally wandered around Kunsan City last weekend looking for these fuckers, only nobody knew what we were talking about, or at least didn't admit to it openly since alot of Koreans hate our ass down there. I remember the time just recently I went into a convenience store and put my stuff on the counter for the Korean dude (Adashi) to ring up, only the fucker helped 3 other Koreans that were standing behind me first, before finally getting around to giving me customer service, and even then he was acting like it was a real chore for him. Fucking asshole. And people say Americans are bigots! Anycase, we wandered around outside the front gate before we found a place that sold the cigars he was looking for. Chris was happier than a pig in shit that he finally found what he had been looking for.

Speaking of pigs in shit, this place is HELLA FUCKING NASTY during the summer months. On the way up, we drove past 3 pig farms at least where the smell was so fucking rank it singed the hair in your nose. Had it been a hot summer day instead of the muggy, overcast day like it was, we would've all been puking out of the car window simultaneously, I shit thee not. We got the idea to turn on the A/C and even then the smell was still coming through the vents. There was just no fucking way around it.

By this time it was getting to be late in the day so we wanted to start heading back to Kunsan. Just as Sith Master got lost getting us up there, we got lost driving the way back. It wasn't too bad since we were in no real hurry, however we did happen to pass by a place that sold ke-gogi before it becomes ke-gogi. Yes, DOGS IN CAGES waiting to get slaughtered. There were also bunny rabbits, chickens and ducks in cages too, only I wanted to stop and take a photo but Sith Master was against it. The Koreans get hella pissed when you do those kinda things for some odd reason. You know, for hosting the 1988 World Olympics, you'd think these fuckers would learn to lighten up and embrace multi-culturalism the way the rest of the world has but some habits just die hard, and ke-gogi is one of them. I'm quite certain if you look for photos on the internet of ke-gogi you can easily find some. Excuse me while I fucking puke.

Came back home and called it a day. Considering this is my last weekend in Korea before I fly out it was good I spent time with friends whom really matter, and had some crazy shit to talk about afterwards. While it's a shame Sith Master and I were able to hang out again so late in the game, at least we had the chance to reminisce old times about all the crazy shit we used to do. We are truly the "Last of the Mohicans" in that sense.

Barracks Life

I hate barracks life.

For the majority of my time in the military, I've lived in the barracks whether I had a choice in the matter or not. Usually the latter, as now. When I was younger it didn't bother me so much since the dorm-style environment was a good way to meet friends and get dates - now that I am just shy of being in my mid-30's, I think it's the worst living conditions you can experience next to the ghetto or a Siberian gulag.

The rooms are abysmally small as I have taken photographs before and having lived in a HOUSE when stationed in Japan, to return to a 50' x 30' square room just doesn't cut it in my opinion. This is more of a prison cell minus the bars around the window and doorframe.

Just like a prison you may or may not have a room mate. The younger troops usually do however it's still not uncommon for someone in my grade to have someone bunk up in the same area if space gets tight and they have to shuffle people around. After all, you are considered to be the ultimate in public servitude, so being shoved in a room with a complete and total stranger shouldn't phase you one bit.

The ultimate that pisses me off is when you have people playing their goddamned music at 2:30 on a work morning, while you're trying to sleep. For the past year I've had to contend with people's music coming through the walls and through the ceiling since I live on the ground floor and next to a day room. Not only that, but the fuck-tards that smoke like to smoke outside my window since it's right by the day room and they can pop back in quickly without missing whatever TV show is on while putting another nail in the coffin.

Fucking assholes.

I hate people that are inconsiderate and socially irresponsible. Not irresponsible in the way like some giant corporation like Exxon dumping industrial sewage into our waterways once the sun goes down, but people that have no common decency to others but themselves. These are the same people that throw litter on the ground, or cigarette butts when there's a butt can not but 10 feet away. These are the same assholes who fucking use the kitchen on the second floor and then leave all sorts of trash and shit everywhere, dishes piled in the sink, crumbs and stains on the counter-top and then expect someone to clean up after their mess. The same fucking assholes who come in at 2 in the fucking morning, drunk off their ass and start screaming shit in the hallways.

If you're one of these people reading this, then FUCK YOU especially! You know better than to do this shit, yet you continue doing it anyways. You're a grown adult so whatever junior high school somantics you think might be cute or funny need to stop immediately. I've been patient for the longest time but I'll call the cops on your ass for noise disturbance from now on and won't give a shit either way. Then we'll see about the value of common courtesy.

I am going to Germany from here and so help me once I arrive there if they want to shove me in the barracks once again, I will fight the thing tooth and nail or marry the first slut I can bag, just to avoid spending more time in this prison environment. Enough's enough.

Another Drunk Dial

Holy shit. I write this as I am coming down from yet another buzz. Alcohol is definitely my friend. The combination of fighting off the Kunsan Crud and getting lit has left me in limbo for tonight's events.

Tonight's Drunk Dial involved calling someone I will refer to simply as Jennifer.

Talking with Jennifer was definitely a good time - she's down to earth and sounds really fucking cool. I'm glad I could talk to the hottie without some bullshit popping up!

The call started out typically:

Me: "Hey is this Jennifer?"
Jennifer: "Yes it is"
Me: "Awesome! You're getting Drunk Dialed by the Machine!"
Jennifer: "That's too cool!"

We talked about stupid shit like what I was doing in Korea and a little bit about myself as well as herself and all the things she's been through in life, and how much of a fucking warrior she's been raising 2 kids by herself. While I don't have any children of my own, I can definitely say that parenthood is no easy task, even from an outsider's perspective, and anyone who can balance work and home in that sense truly deserves a round of applause. Hell if I could pull off that graceful! I started buzzing hard core the longer we continued our conversation and think I missed alot of good shit she was telling me. Something about writing her an e-mail sometime and wanting a naked picture of myself.

I dunno, but I'm not the world's most endowed male when it comes to being blessed with girth or length. To say that I am hung like a Chinese kid caught in a snow storm is definitely an understatement! While I stand at 6'1, God decided to play a cruel joke on my ass and give me a 2" dick when the world wasn't watching. Okay. More like 2.5" but you know what I'm talking about. I can say that what I lack in manhood, I definitely make up for in eating pussy. My tongue should be registered as a national treasure, just ask some previous girlfriends of mine ~! Still, I suppose if a fan wants to see what's down there, I should give it some consideration - after all it's not like I have all these hot chicks trying to fuck me.

I tried calling Amanda once more only to recieve a phone that is never answered, and Crazy Girl only to get her voice mail. Since I was calling from the Day Room in the barracks, some asshole came in just as I was hanging up, with his midnight chow to watch TV. Fucking newbie. Get the fuck outta here already you pansy fuck! I have 1 week left in Korea before I am outta here once and for all, so I suppose I can get trashed a few more times during the week and do another drunk dial or two. So for any newbies here that have missed it before, e-mail me at shortbusmafia@yahoo.com with the title "Drunk Dial Me" and you will get a call at my earliest convenience.

Thank you and good night!

Nice People Suck

Nice People Suck Blog

They do.

This dude's blog is worth a read.

Funny fucking shit. Right up my alley.

Death Cigarettes

These are Death Cigarettes.

By far the COOLEST FUCKING THINGS ON THE PLANET.

I don't smoke but when I was living in Japan, I saw these at the Hachinohe Fish Market for sale and had to pick up a pack or 2 just for the shock value. From what I gather, they're marketed primarily in Europe and have quite a strong customer base, if these things are being imported to Japan.

The warning on the side reads:

"Manufacturer's Advice - Cigarettes are addictive and debilitating. If you don't smoke, don't start". A pretty straight forward and common sense approach, if you ask me. But the really funny stuff is directly on the back:

"A pack of DEATH cigarettes leaves no doubt as to the risks of smoking. We don't print a health warning just because it's the law. We believe in telling the truth. You know the risks and it's your choice. DEATH is a responsible way to market a legally available consumer product which kills people when used exactly as intended. DEATH CIGARETTES - For an honest smoke."

I love truth in advertising. You can't fucking argue that you didn't know any better after reading the warning and still used it anyways. My grandfather died from smoking-related causes (emphysema) but yet I don't hold RJ Reynolds or the other tobacco firms responsible since he was a very capable man who took accountability for his own actions instead of pointing fingers at some Boogey-Man corporation. I believe that everything you put into your body has an affect one way or another, and despite these goddamned health freaks running around telling people not to eat, drink, and be merry, YOU'RE GOING TO DIE ANYWAYS so why not enjoy life to its fullest? I would much rather live to the age of 40 drinking and partying and having sex with complete strangers than to live to 80 and suffer all the chronic diseases that accompany aging - glaucoma, obesity, diabetes, irritable bowel syndrome, and whatever ailments our aging population is draining Social Security with. The last thing I want is to be stuck in a rest home and having to rely on some care-taker to change my diaper or to feed me. Fuck that. Let me go out in a blaze of glory, please!

Like I said before, I don't smoke but looking at these little bastards makes me wonder if I should. I've tried smoking before and it's just not my style for some reason. Knowing my luck I would get hooked on DEATH and then when I couldn't find any more I'd just quit cold turkey like it was no big deal anyways. Once I get to Germany I'll see whether or not the tobacco shops carry them or not. Just what I need - another vice ~! >:)

Sick

Goddammit I'm sick!

I caught the Kunsan Crud from these AC units in the barracks that pump out nasty mold and fungi on a mircoscopic level as you sleep, completely unaware the entire time your body is being invaded with toxic spores.

And I wanted to go out and party this weekend too!

Motherfucker!

I'm calling it an early night in hopes I will wake up tomorrow refreshed and recovered from whatever it is that's making me blow out green snot and hock up some really nasty loogies.

Lung Butter. Yum.

Farewell Party

So, like I was saying, they had my farwell party the other night. I was impressed with the small group that turned up. Usually people avoid me or tolerate me as long as what's necessary and then once I am out of earshot, vent about how insufferable I am. Yeah, whatever. But the fact these guys turned up really fucking impressed me. Holy shit!

I was disappointed that FUPA Jan didn't show up and even invited her the day before and reminded her earlier but she came up with some bullshit excuse not to attend. I even told her as much as I give her grief about being OCD, I really enjoy her company and it would mean alot for her to tag along, but she stuck to her original plans. While I can be a royal pain in the ass, if you're my friend I will go to the ends of the earth for you since you put up with my snide remarks and jack-ass somantics on a continual basis, and that's the trade off for considering me as a friend. While it's very unconventional, I've made more friends for life in the long run than alot of "ordinary" people I know.



We ended going out to some Korean BBQ that one of our co-workers knows about. Mr Kim is his name. Now one thing alot of Americans don't understand is that there are essentially 3 common last names in Korea - Kim, Pak and Choe (pronounced "chay") just as Smith, Jones, and Garcia are common in the US. How they keep track of lineage I have no idea but these fuckers are all related to one another in some shape or form. Go figure.

This place was really nice too. I mean it didn't look ghetto or anything. I was glad to give them our service since the last thing I want to do is to go to some shit hole Korean BBQ that serves up hella nasty shit like eel testicles or octopus balls as their main menu - or worse - Ke-gogi(dog meat) and the main dish is still outside barking its head off. While Mr Kim has never steered us wrong, I am secretly waiting for the day his nerves snap and he ends up going kung-fu on all the Americans he works with. The poor guy has had to deal with alot of spoiled, fucked-up military brats in order to make a living, and by brats I mean 20-something Airmen that get on your fucking nerves with their every waking moment. How he has the patience of a saint is anybody's guess but the only reason I tolerate my co-workers is because I can go back to prison if I bitch-slap any of them, and I don't want that.



The food was great. I mean it. It was some really good stuff. The serving lady brought out the meat pre-cut and all we had to do was cook it up on the burners in front of us. Korean BBQ aka Beef on a Leaf consists of either pork or beef being cooked and then wrapped in a lettuce leaf with anything else you want to throw in there, before popping it in your mouth. Usually you dip the meat once it's cooked into some BBQ sauce and can include (but I don't recommend) garlic cloves or bean sprouts. Since I don't like some of the more "exotic" cuisine (who the fuck calls this shit 'exotic'?) I stick to the beef and the leaf. It's that simple.



We toasted a shot of wine. Chris kept buying bottles of this stuff all night, and continued offering me one shot after another. It was pretty damn good stuff too. Chris and Lucate all decided there should be a toast in my honor, and to have me charge it. Sure thing, why not? "Here's to good times, everybody!" I proclaimed as I held the shot aloft. It went down so smooth too. Too bad I didn't catch the name of what it was.



Chris is a dude who works with FUPA Jan and is an avid anime nerd. I tease him continually about his affection for stupid shit like Gundam and Final Fantasy crap, only because I was a huge anime nerd myself 10 years ago and can still remember what it was like to be obsessed with the shit. If you've ever seen Macross Plus (I recommend the original Macross series for starters) or Akira, then you will know exactly what I am talking about.

Courtney decided to elaborate and tell EVERYONE all the fucked up shit I've done since she's known me here, but yet completely unbeknownst to them! Everything from my run in with FFH and all the shit I did to them, to the "Stalker of the Month" photo I did as a joke and the Pizza Dude photo I did, EVERYTHING came out. A few people were like "Holy shit! We've had a MONSTER beneath our noses this entire time", while everybody else was like "Ha ha, that's the Machine we know and love". I seriously thought the few people that were going ape-shit were going to throw me through the window! Shit, Courtney!



We all then went out for Ice Cream afterwards and I got some grape juice instead. I don't like ice cream because I think it's childish and I've outgrown the stuff a long time ago. Yes, I know - this coming from a man who revels in acting like someone half his age. But I had sleep apnea surgery over a year ago and the only thing I could stomach was ice cream for the first few days during recovery. If I have a valid reason to NEVER eat the stuff again, so help me, it's from that awful fucking surgery that worked like a charm. And who says military medicine doesn't work?

Anycase, the grape juice shown here is fucking awesome because it has actual chopped grape inside the can! When served chilled, this stuff is too awesome. I made certain to pick up 2 cans since I knew I would want one again later on this week. Good stuff, what can I say?

We met some old Korean dude that actually liked Americans. He was standing outside the grocery store when we arrived and he was going on and on in Kor-engrish how much he loved America and how wonderful Americans were for saving them from Communism and how glad he was we went in and kicked Iraq's ass just not too long ago. Now one thing alot of you pansy fuckers out there fail to realize is that there are people still alive today that have had EVERYTHING taken away from them in the name of Communism and how you assholes can wear a fucking Che Guevara t-shirt and think it's so trendy is completely beyond me. These are usually the same idealistic college kids that listen to Violent Femmes and Sublime and think they're so hip because they're being "political" despite not truly comprehending the first thing they're really fighting for. It's the same college kids here in Seoul too that have no fucking clue what it is their grandparents went through back in the 1950's as Kim Il-Sung and the Red Army came rolling over the 38th Parallel and damn near took this entire nation without so much breaking a sweat, yet they protest America's presence here even though they would all be spouting Communist doctrine if it weren't for the sacrifices we made and their grandparents made right along side. This dude was truly thankful yet the younger generations would rather spit on people like him for showing his appreciation.

We ended up shortly leaving after everyone had purchased what it is they wanted, and headed back home. I really wanted to fuck Courtney bad that night but she wasn't receptive to my advances and instead wanted to go do Karaoke instead with her work buddies. Getting shot down for alcohol-induced singing. Now even that's a first for me.

All in all it was a pretty good Farewell dinner. Chances are this will be the last time I eat Beef on a Leaf ever again since I have no desire to return to this country whatsoever, and won't visit a Korean BBQ place in the States since I hear they're fucking retarded expensive like that. If my luck holds, this WILL be my last time here and I will never have to live the life of a prison inmate again.



Look, I even got the shirt with the date of my release finally!

Moving

Well the movers came yesterday and today to get all my shit. I kept a few necessities behind (laptop primarily) to keep me "functioning" between now and the time I leave here next week. Because I am going back to the U.S. for 2 months, I thought it to be prudent to mail out some other luxuries to keep me preoccupied while I am home visiting relatives - X-Box, PlaySatan 2, clothing and music items. I figure that way when my folks start to get on my nerves, or none of the hotties I try to hook up with want to give me the time of day, I can always crawl back into my old room, power up the TV and stay preoccupied until my heart's content, or people get a change of heart.



The movers yesterday were pretty cool. Two younger Korean dudes in their mid-late 20's that were stuck moving the majority of my shit. Movies, games, my CD collection - I shit thee not, I had over 1000 CDs at one point although I think I've lost many due to the numerous times I have moved while being in the military, but it's still a royal pain in the ass to pack these fuckers. If it weren't for the fact the majority of what I have is hard to find or out of print, I wouldn't care what happened to them afterwards, however I value music the way most people value gold or silver. As a show of gratitude for not bitching and fussing at me in Hangul, I gave them some beer I had in my fridge as they were leaving to go move the next person fortunate to escape this prison camp commonly known as Kunsan Air Base.




The movers today were a bunch of Korean old farts that didn't want to be bothered with moving the rest of my shit - clothes and military stuff primarily. What took the 2 dudes yesterday only an hour took these guys well over 2 just to get this shit done. I heard them cursing alot and one dude kept on commenting about all the different video game systems I have - PS1, PS2, Game Cube, X-Box, etc. like he was thinking about breaking into my shit once they had left, and suddenly his grandson has a new birthday present. Although everything has been documented on the proper Bill of Lading form, these PCS moves are notorious for shit either getting damaged or disappearing all together once the owner's gaze has been diverted. I had a combat bottle of Soju laying around, so I gave it to these fuckers in hopes they won't steal my shit when nobody's looking.

So now my room is barren and already my phone has been shut off. I'm surprised I still have internet connection although I wonder how much longer it will last before that gets cut too. Oh well. Whatever. If push comes to shove I can always go to the library to keep you blog junkies updated. If you don't hear from me then you know why.

Counting down the days

Well I have started counting down the days until I can finally leave Korea - once and for all. I get outta this place next Friday but fly out Sunday since the 4th of July weekend is really busy. Go figure.

Internet connection will become an issue the next few days to weeks as I will be moving into a Billeting room and will most likely have to do updates at the cyber cafe or library. Also, I will be out of pocket after I leave here for a week, as I will be returning to Japan one last time to visit before returning Stateside.

The movers are coming today and tomorrow to pick up all my stuff - an option I took considering I didn't want this transition to be rough. I like to take my time with these things. I have photos I need to share from my Farewell Party the office had for me last night that I need to resize and will comment on that when I get the chance. Often times I forget how much of a pain in the ass it is to move, until I have to actually go through with it.

Ugh.

Ask the Machine

Yesterday I had two completely separate females ask me "guy" questions since they have relationships that are in jeopardy. While I won't mention their names here, I will say that I am probably the LAST person on earth you want to ask advice on relationships about considering I've been through more failed romances than Elizabeth Taylor and Tom Cruise put together. While I try to be frank with my answers, they're probably better off asking a Magic 8-Ball or something advice since that's about the same level of expertise you'll get.

Speaking of Magic 8-Ball, my sister got me as a gift a few years back the "Devil Ball".




"Ask the Devil Ball - It may not always be the best advice, but what did you expect? He's the Devil."

You can ask the Devil Ball pretty much anything and you're going to get an answer you're least expecting. Everything from "What Now" to "Don't Be A Wimp" pops up as an answer and depending on the question, it's pretty fucking hilarious. And unlike the Magic 8-Ball, you know that you're going to get bad advice regardless so go ahead and ask away.

Hmm....."Should I fuck FUPA Jan before leaving Korea next week?" I pondered.

"Make Me Proud" it replied.

Fucking right up my alley.


Well, this comes to pop in my mind yet another crazy idea. I've already volunteered to call people while I am drunk, I will also open up Machine's Bad Advice Hotline too. If you have a burning question that needs answering, I can either call you and listen to what it is you have to say, or if you write me at shortbusmafia@yahoo.com and put the title of the message as "Ask the Machine", I will give you all the lousy advice I can think of. I can give you rotten insight on what not to do - from investing tips to dating and relationships to domestic matters - I'll tell you what I think you should do, and will use the disclaimer "For entertainment purposes only" in order to save my ass from any litigation. Can I help it if some dumb-ass can't take a joke when I tell them the solution to their problems is a double-edge razor blade and they come 3 to a pack for a buck 39 at the local CVS pharmacy? Apparently not, yet some fuck-tard somewhere would take what I say to heart and next thing I know I have the Internet Gestapo on my ass.

So in the spirit of entertainment and further comedy at my expense, "Machine's Bad Advice Hotline" is official open for business. While I won't prescribe Prozac or any of those other pussy drugs, I will tell you the advice you need to hear from the open bottle of Jack Daniel's, and as always I reserve the right to post any conversations here if I feel they're worthy of being shared publicly. Operators are standing by.

White Chocolate and Baby Phat

Jeezus Fucking Christ.

What is this world coming to?

Goddammit, I swear. Since when did it become fashionable for white people to fake the funk and act like they're black?

I saw this couple the other day on base, and since I didn't have my camera with me, this crappy drawing will have to suffice. Sorry, Crazy Girl.

I'll refer to them as "White Chocolate" and "Baby Phat" for the simple reason this Ebonics-hungry couple were truly living a stereo-type they could never hope to be a part of. The "Beavis" of the couple had the words "White Chocolate" tattooed on his forearm as a badge of honor, as if saying despite his WASP suburban upbringing and formal education, he was made a token hood rat at one point or another - most likely when he heard his first Insane Clown Posse CD at the age of 14, and instantaneously realized that dressing like a jackass was his life's ambition. The "Butthead" of the two was trailer park trash-turned-wanna be fly girl was just as ghetto-fabulous, despite having grown up in Kentucky and going to tractor pulls on a Saturday night, but most likely had her first exposure to the black sub-culture when arriving to Boot Camp. I refer to her as "Baby Phat" because she was wearing an Apple Bottoms outfit despite lacking the booty-licious figure (she had the typical white-girl ass) to go along with it. I was waiting for them to start going "Huh huh huh huh huh huh huh" at any moment, they were such cartoon characters.

It seems the Army gets a huge influx of these types of people, and the fact we trust these people with rifles and tanks scares me. Now I understand we can't all be rock stars and Harvard graduates and that even the less-desirables in society can become part of a collective whole if they choose to apply themselves, which is what we have here. Hell, I'm no scholar by any stretch of the imagination but at the very least when I talk with people, I try to come across half-way intelligent and speak common English instead of faux Ebonics. You will never hear me utter phrases like "Fo shizzle mah nizzle", "Holla", or whatever the fuck it is the thug culture dictates to be cool and their ilk blindly follow. My family doesn't have slave roots nor did they ever own slaves at one point so for me to speak with a slave dialect would be just as absurd as me trying to speak with a British dialect.

Still, I fail to see what it is that compels today's youth to wear their pants with their ass-crack showing, a side-ways "Ballas" cap on with a doo-rag beneath it, and some goofy looking necklace that's supposed to be "bling", and think it's all cool. While I don't go much into his teachings here, Anton LaVey placed the importance of image in his writings before he died, only when he originally penned them, he was slamming hippies and the types that wore gas station-attendant fashion, thinking it was chic. Had he lived to see what the "social norm" amongst the younger generation today is, he would definitely shit his pants. Hell, he's probably turning in his grave as I write this, as his view from the Underworld has given him a clearer view of the events happening here on Earth.

Ultimately what I fail to understand is how the military will condone such a lifestyle of ignorance and blatant stupidity, yet force the double-standard on me when I wear a Slayer t-shirt in public. I've had countless Senior NCOs and officers alike tell me they didn't like what I was wearing, yet didn't talk to the wanna-be rap star thug standing next to me wearing FUBU out of fear of having the race card pulled on their asses. As much as the military harps on Equal Opportunity and "zero tolerance" when it comes to discrimination (bwa ha ha ha - yeah right), I've gotten more shit being a professing Satanist than I've seen people get shit for using the "N" word within perfect earshot of leadership. As a result, I've kept any occult references out of the office and away from eyesight generally speaking since it's not worth the hassle, yet call people on their bullshit when they scream they're being singled-out or targeted because of whatever "ethic observation" isn't being obliged. It's primarily the Muslims in the military that do this, but hey - I'll stick to being vague for this blog's purpose since I've seen essentially every group do this at one point in my career or another.

In the end, you get what you give, and if people like "White Chocolate" and "Baby Phat" are America's answer to Homeland Security then forget about it - I feel safer with the 3 Stooges as ranking 4-star generals than I do giving these half-wits live ammo and telling them to go hunt down Habib the Crazy Terrorist. Someone's likely to shoot their eye out, and it won't be the enemy.

"It's tighter than a WHAT?"

We caught this frog during Brookie's birthday the other week.

In my drunken haze, I remembered hearing something about getting a contact high from licking toads and wondered if the same could be done with frogs, only nobody would let me experiment. Something about they didn't know where I had been and didn't want to put the frog's health in jeopardy.

Fucking animal rights activists.

Fuck Match.com

Fuck Match.com.

If you're anything like me, your dating life sucks and you'll do practically anything to meet someone with less emotional damage than you, only you've started to run out of options the older you get. You've used these fuckers because you've fallen prey to their snake-oil and silver-tongued promises of finding people on line with similar interests, in hopes of getting a boyfriend or a girlfriend. While I've spoken about these carpet-baggers and charlatans here previously, I feel I need to dedicate a blog piece all together to why I despise these assholes.

Now, I sent in the photo of me and Courtney to be used on my profile there. It's the same photo that I posted from the previous entry. We're both hammered and I'm sticking my tongue out while giving the sign of the Devil. I figured that it's cheesey and outright stupid, but you can find low-brow humor in it and get the idea I like to go out and have fun. The people at Match have certain guidelines to be used when posting photos of yourself and for the most part they seem to be pretty reasonable:

"Be creative
Feel free to submit artistic photos (i.e. sepia tones, colorization, etc.). Go classic and try black and white photography.

Keep it fresh
Upload recent photos of yourself. Otherwise, dates will notice a difference when you meet.

Don't upload a drawing or a copyrighted image
Caricatures, drawings or other illustrations will not be accepted. Also do not send images that feature celebrities, cartoon characters or other copyrighted work.

No "racy" photos
Our customer care team will evaluate your photos to make certain that they're not too suggestive or explicit. Don't show too much skin. Photos with nudity or sheer, or otherwise "see-through," material below the waist will be rejected.

No kids–only photos
You can include pictures of yourself with your children, but please don't submit photos of them by themselves. After all, they've got to be 18 to post a profile!"

Okay. I've met all the criteria listed for their rules on posting a photograph. Right?

Wrong.

I get a generic, blanket-generated e-mail from these fuckers yesterday which says the following:

"Dear Machine,

We apologize but at this time we are unable to add the photo you submitted to your profile. Please submit another photo or crop yours to meet the following guidelines:

FOR YOUR PRIMARY PHOTO
- Your face must be visible (no sunglasses, both eyes must be visible)
- No nudity, sheer or otherwise "see-through" material
- No drawings, caricatures or other illustrations
- No copyrighted images

FOR OTHER PHOTOS
- No nudity, sheer or otherwise "see-through" material
- No copyrighted images

We will not post any photo we feel is too suggestive or explicit.

We encourage you to submit a new photo. Members with photos receive up to seven times more responses than those who go without photos."

Okay. Maybe I am some retard but tell me HOW in the Hell this photo violates their Christian Conservative guidelines for what is and isn't appropriate?



I fired back an e-mail to them wanting to know WHAT was exactly "inappropriate" with the picture?

"So what DOES exactly constitute an "appropriate" photo? Aside from sticking my tongue out and making the Devil sign, I don't see anything "inappropriate" with my picture. Please be specific instead of sending out the generic, blanket e-mail as to what is so wrong with this photo."

Well, that must've pissed off whoever works behind the terminal on the other end because technically I was right and there was nothing they could say about it. It's not like I'm grabbing Courtney by her tits or I'm shoving my tongue down her throat - I'm just acting like a drunk retard! Instead they fire yet ANOTHER generic blanket e-mail my way saying it's approved, but under the certain conditions:

"You cannot make this photo your primary photo for one of the following reasons:
• You do not appear in the photo (sunglasses not allowed in primary photos)
• We cannot tell who you are in a group photo
• When cropped, your face will be too small to be used in search results"

Well Duh.....I DO appear in the photo, you can tell who I am since I don't have tits, and I already did the honors of cropping the photo for those morons. The same asshole probably knew I was right, only didn't want Match to get the reputation of catering to losers, jack-asses, and dim-wits like myself. Instead, they want to give the perception that only Christian Conservative, Beautiful People with 6-figure income salaries use their services, and the rest of us have no business knocking down their door - the mere fact they're allowing me to be seen there is them doing me a favor beyond my wildest dreams. How lucky am I.

I hate these fuckers with a passion and refuse to give them my money. It's that simple. Yes, money talks and bullshit walks, but LACK of money talks also. I'm curious how many people have used Match to find someone, only to have a terrible experience afterwards? If anyone here has their own stories to share or knows of someone, please fire them my way - I'd love to throw some mud in their eye.

Drunk Dials part 2

This is Soju. It is the enemy. I had 3 of these babies last night, as I was mentioning, and then went out drinking some more after I had called Sabrina. I tried calling Amanda once again after I came home but there was still no answer. It would've been funnier had someone given me a bogus number to call, like the number to Domino's Pizza or even funnier, Alcoholics Anonymous. I could see it just now:

"Hello, Alcoholics Anonymous"

"Hey this is Machine. You fuckers wanna talk to me while I'm drunk?"

"We're here to provide assistance for people who wish to recover from alcoholism"

"Heh. Who says I have a problem? The only problem I seem to have is that I can't get LAID every time I go out to party, so can you guys help me with that?"

"No, we don't offer that kind of support for our guests, however we do allow them to confront other personal issues regarding their drinking habits."

"Cool, so I can show up like that dude from Fight Club and cry on Bob with the Bitch-tits, right?"


"........click..........."

Since I'm dialing internationally it's not like they can trace my call and get the phone police on my ass or anything and I seriously doubt that Korea Telecom would care whether or not some drunk jackass is using their service to prank call people from half way across the world!

I tried Drunk Dialing Crazy Girl, only I got her goddamned voice mail! Argh! This has been the second time this has happened so I figured I would be funny and leave her a voice mail worthy of remembering:

"Ehm......this is Farouk.......Lebanese Lover Boy.....I am LEBANESE LOVER BOY!............I see you on the internet......how do you say........allahughsabellahefsallah......MY SPACE! Yes, on the My Space.........I want to make you part of harem.....I want to make.......hot...sweaty.......love......to you.....like camel.....CAMEL!!!!!......so you call me......Farouk.....LEBANESE LOVER BOY......!"

I figured Crazy Girl would either laugh or tell me to fuck off by now but she hasn't so I suppose this is just as entertaining for her as it is for me.

The rest of the night was a blur, with me returning home around 2am and puking the 3 bottles of Soju and 7 shots of Apfel-korn I had done all up in succession. Sweet Porcelain Goddess was being worshipped Pagan ritualistically before making it to my bed to sleep the remainder of what alcohol I had soaked into my system off.

Now I don't know but I had a really fucked up dream it seems from the Soju. I dreamt a group of people had ripped me off in some way and I was looking to even the score. I started out with a standard revolver and went into their house to take care of business. I caught them completely off-guard and with each person I had murdered, I took their weapon and used it against the next person I was out for revenge with. I went from revolver to 44 Magnum to .45 ACP to shotgun in this dream and turned the house into a giant fucking blood bath.

But this is where it gets weird - after I had all killed them, their souls were still roaming the house and that's when I immediately used my knowledge as a Satanist to call up some demons to come grab their souls and drag them off to the Infernal regions below. Their ghosts started running like hell when they saw what was happening but nothing could save them once I had finished my incantation. Maybe it's good I don't drink Soju all that often?

I hope more people that read this site give me the opportunity to drunk dial them. Like I said before, it doesn't cost you anything since I use a calling card back to the States and my time is your time. Talk for 5 minutes, talk for half an hour, it's all good.

Finally as a treat, here's a pic of me and Courtney last night. I was tanked by then so I wasn't feeling a thing. Looking on my camera, I have some photos of people I have no idea who the fuck they are! What a night.

Drunk Dials part 1

Okay.

I have been drinking 3 bottles of Lemon Remix Soju and have made good on a promise to drunk dial one of my fans - Sabrina.

Holy shit. What a cool chick she was!

For those people unaware, Soju is the Korean version of Jack Daniels and will kick your ass 9 ways from Sunday when you least expect it. It's potato grain alcohol that goes unregulated and will pickle your liver quicker than anything else.

Anycase, back to Sabrina.

I called her tonight and she fucking rocked. I caught her as she was on her way to work and was on my best behavior when talking to her. I told her a little bit about myself and all the bullshit we as military people have to go through on a daily basis and how thankful I was that she actually reads my blog. Honestly folks, I've said it before and I will say it again, I do this as a cheap form of therapy and if you people can get a laugh from my misfortunes then it's all worth it. I manage to put a smile on your faces, and that's what counts.

We talked about how this is my fourth time in Korea - no shit - and how restrictive this place is and how fucking retarded the rules are. Everything from how I view myself as being inadequate for the military to how fucking kick-ass I think Marines are all came out, as well as a bunch of shit I can't remember. All I can say is "thanks" for not hanging up on my retarded ass and telling me to go fuck myself.

And a big "THANK YOU" to The Bunny for linking me on her website! Without her, Sabrina wouldn't have found this shit-stain on the internet I call my blog and wouldn't have let me called her.

I tried calling another reader simply known as "Amanda" only there was nobody to pick up on the other end. Chances are she has a real job that demands real responsibility (unlike my job - sitting on my ass for 12 hours a day while surfing the internet) and had already left to earn her keep.

Finally, I called Crazy Girl. Goddammit. I love that chick. She rocks but is NEVER FUCKING AROUND TO PICK UP!!!! Seriously Jenn - you snub your biggest fan. I called myself "Farouk, the Lebanese Lover Boy" and said I would treat her like one of my camels before busting out laughing and telling her who it was. Good times, good times.

Anycase, I've imbibed the last bottle of Soju and I'm going to out to drink some more before making the attempt for another drunk dial. Que sera sera.

FUPA Jan and the Ebola Cookies

Well today everyone is still pissed getting passed over for promotion. When 20% of the Air Force gets selected, the remaining 80% that didn't make it have to wait another year and it gets alot of people easily upset.

FUPA Jan was such one of those people. I came into work today having recovered the majority of yesterday's disappointing news, so I was my usual smart-ass self that people either love me for or tolerate in small doses. Now first I need to give you her background in order to really appreciate the value of this blog story.

Jan is a single woman in her early 40's that has just not had good luck with alot of things in life. Men especially, but it has even trickled over into lesbians treating her like a mere fuck-toy by sexual assaulting her at her last base - something she has shared openly with everyone. To what purpose this will serve I don't know but perhaps it is her way of dealing with this as well as all the other fucked-up situations Life has handed to her at one time or another. She gets stressed out easily and throws conniption fits in her office and everyone wonders why the fuck she just doesn't learn how to chill or at the very least switch to Decaf for those rough mornings.

Jan is also a Fundie Christian chick and have seen her at the base chapel quite frequently, hanging out with that crew. I don't know if she's using it just as a means to keep guys from trying to fuck her while she's over here or what, but it seems the majority of the chapel crowd are the usual misfits and rejects the military lets in only for the simple fact they serve a purpose as being whatever tool or lackey needed to fulfill whatever thankless job needs doing. The only reason I don't hang out with these left-overs is because they have no sense of humor and take the Jesus thing way too seriously - otherwise I'd fit right in.

Now I wouldn't mind banging the hell outta her, only she has a goddamned FUPA and chances are the moment she saw the Satanic pentagram I have tattooed on my back, she'd either freak out and gargle with Holy Water, or call me her Demon King and demand all the freaky Satanic sex she could squeeze outta me. For some reason it's just that way with the women I date. There's never a middle ground. Perhaps if she had popped out a kid by now I could overlook the fact she has this hideous thing above her pussy, only she never has and staring at a naked chick with a FUPA is just as hideous as seeing a fat guy wear a Speedo in my opinion. Especially if the dude has a hairy back and ass-crack.

I guess to compensate for her misplaced maternal instincts, she does alot of baking. Cookies, cake, pies usually - the typical mommy stuff, and she brings it in to her office for everyone to share. I usually joke saying something really obnoxious like "Hey, so what did you put in these cookies? You hear stories how disgruntled co-workers throw high doses of laxatives into whatever they're baking and then let them eat it unsuspectingly, as a form of subtle revenge, so I wonder if you've done the same thing too?" She usually rolls her eyes at my snide remarks as I take a slice of whatever she's prepared and then tell her how wonderful it tastes after eating it. And it's good too! Seriously! But since she works as a lab technician I figure she could easily get her hands on some germs she's kept in a petri dish and dump them in there when nobody is looking. "Mwaaaaaaaah ~!! Take this! Ebola! Mwaaaaaaaaah! Take this! PLAGUE! Mwaaaaaauuuuggggh~ !! Take this! Tularemia!!!!!! This is what you get for making fun of me and treating me like a sex object! I shall have my revenge!!!" she would scream hysterically.

Well the past few days she's been even more stressed out than normally. The combination of work plus the anticipation for promotion results has really made her cranky and on edge. This morning she brought in some sugar cookies she had baked with frosting on them - two types. Lemon frosting and white sprinkle frosting. I jokingly asked her if today's goodies were "Ebola cookies" and she damn near ripped my head off. "YOU'RE NOT FUNNY!" she snarled at me from her behind her desk. Jeezus Christ. Fuck me running already. I told her to relax as I ate a lemon cookie in front of her face and then complimented her upon how wonderful they tasted. Fucking Christ. You'd think she was about to start going rabid at the mouth she was so livid, yet she knows I always joke around like this.

As long as we've known eachother, she knows I'm a sarcastic pain in the ass and that everything is fair game. "Sacred cows make the best hamburgers" to quote Mark Twain, and that's been my life's motto now for the past 10 years and running. Everything from sex, religion and politics to a plate of goddamned cookies will usually get a snide remark from me, although people who do know me know that despite my abuse, I will gladly go the extra mile for them and fucking have their back if the shit hits the fan - that's just the way my friendship operates. Why the fuck she's started losing it on me I have no idea but perhaps I can pry some answers outta her tonight when the hooch opens up for drinks. Drunks always spill their guts it seems and if I hear some really good stuff that I can put here on the blog, then I'll share it with you all.

But all in all FUPA Jan needs a man that can handle her OCD complexion along with the 42 years of baggage she has accumulated. While I dealt with the majority of Melanie's shit, her issues were small by comparison and for me to try dating FUPA Jan would be biting off way more than I could chew. A shame really. If she lost her FUPA and started taking medication regularly I wouldn't mind being seen with her in public - she still looks pretty hot for a chick fighting menopause.

Oh Jeezus - I'm definitely going to Hell.

Career move of the week

Career move of the week

Transition help goes exotic

Fulfilling a government promise to support separating service members in acquiring a civilian skill, the British military has paid for a 23-year-old woman to become an exotic dancer.

The woman was somewhat surprised when her request for transition training was approved, but a Ministry of Defence spokesman told the British newspaper the Mail that money is provided as long as the training leads to gainful and legal employment — and exotic dancing meets both requirements.

After receiving her $3,900 in training, the former service member is dancing under the name of Kitty at a club called For Your Eyes Only in London’s Mayfair district.


Now I'd buy that for a dollar.....!

Another year wasted

Well, promotion results came out today and looks like I've been passed-over once again. Normally this wouldn't bother me so much, but this time I actually asserted myself into studying the required materials necessary to succeed.......and still fell short.

For the past year I've kept telling myself that this return to Korea wouldn't be completely a waste, if I made promotion while I was here. Adversity does alot to a person, forcing them to go above the limits they're accustomed to, and the fact I was shoved into doing alot of things I normally wouldn't do in my job, I was hoping it would reflect when I tested. I guess not.

The Air Force has always been slower to promote their people, versus the Army, Navy and Marines. By the same token, we're the slowest to reprimand rank as well in the event you fuck up and do something stupid. I suppose it's a fair trade although I'm considering my year here to be nothing more than a waste of time.

Even more so, I came back here with the understanding that my involvement with the occult would no longer be necessary - that everything would work itself out in the long run. A truce had been formed more or less between me and the "other" side, and my involvement in Satanism would be kept to the way-side as a result. The deal was to help Melanie through her time of need, and as a result I would become compensated through professional channels.

The truce is off.

I pick up where I left off in Misawa and this time take no hostages in my pursuits. The gloves come off and all is fair in love and war. And promotion too. I've been reluctant to go this route, but after today I am once again convinced that any talk of "fairness" or "equity" by the "other side" is nothing more than horse shit and means of disarming someone with the power at their fingertips to move mountains and alter destinies irrevocably.

For a while at Misawa, I became extremely proficient with my meanderings in the occult, and know that once I get to Germany it will come again in full blossom. You fuckers had your chance, but you blew it. I tried playing by your rules, only your rules suck and I'm better off with the Man Downstairs.

Close, but no cigar my ass. This Devil wants his due. A friendly word of advice to all the Christians out there - never cross paths with a Satanist hell-bent on getting whatever it is he wants - the results can be quite ugly if you do. Consider yourselves forewarned.

T.P. for my bung-hole

WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS SHIT?

I swear to fucking Christ, I'm sitting on the commode today on my lunch break, taking a dump, when I notice I've ran out of paper. Being the ever-resourceful person I am, I keep extra rolls of T.P. nearby, for such an unfortunate event. Well, just like Lemon Snickey, this became a series of unfortunate events! MY series of unfortunate events!

I reach down for a new roll, and I see MOLD growing all over this goddamned thing. It takes me a second to register the fact that I am going to have to WIPE MY ASS with this foul thing! No fucking way! I could get some weird fungal infection up my butt-crack and then have to explain to the doctor why it is I need antibiotic cream used to treat GYN disorders for my ass. It ain't happening.

Luckily there's another roll nearby that is unscathed and ready for action. The humidity here in Korea has dampened the paper also, so it's not doing the job it's supposed to do either.

FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK!

And I have to be back at work in 5 minutes too! I have no choice in the matter, other than to use the wilted toilet paper and then make a run for it to the nearest bathroom I find with a fresh supply and steal a roll for future use. I finish business, wash my hands, and then run all the way back to work the whole time praying my ass doesn't leave any skid marks on the inside of my boxers.

I made it back to work without so much a concern and snuck into the janitor's closet the first chance I could to get a fresh roll of T.P. for my barracks room. Like hell if I'm going to have that same sitch repeat itself! Talk about some weird shit, pun completely intended.

Assholes Anonymous

Perhaps some of you are wondering how the hell "Machine's Short Bus Mafia" has anything to do with the name of my link, black rusted van. Simple. "Short Bus Mafia" was already taken by some undeserving fucker here at Blogger and I had to make do with another equally creative, yet just as fucked-up name to describe what I'm all about. Less is more, and I like to let your imagination do the rest.

But the story of how the Short Bus Mafia never came to be deserves a blog entry here, although it was originally posted over a year ago at My Space as a means of starting up my profile there. Needless to say, my profile there flounders a year later, while my Blog has an almost daily update provided, with twice as many hits than that festering cyber-turd.

Originally I had the idea of making the Short Bus Mafia into another cheesey Death-Metal band. In the same spirit of Venom or Spinal Tap, I was going to use parody as the theme and Death Metal as the medium to deliver it. Just as rap music had Easy-E, I was going to be known officially as Easy-F (because I never study), and my friend Dan from Misawa (see previous entries) would be known as Dee Minus, while my other friend Danny (also blogged here) would be known as Special Ed. With songs like Ann Curry's Satanic Love Child, Assholes Anonymous and Klingons from Your Anus we thought we were big time. Our official motto was "We'll steal your lunch money....and your soul too!" I even have the lyrics if you want to see them sometime.

We would have jam sessions all the time but none of us knew what the Hell we were doing. We would all bring different styles to the table only none of them seem to fit together. I would want to do Deicide-inspired crunches while Dee Minus wanted to do crap from A Perfect Circle. Special Ed wanted to do 80's guitar solos and the whole damn thing sounded like shit. Musically we were tone deaf kindergarteners instead of the serious musicians trying to carve a name for themselves in the music industry that we sought to be. The fact none of us knew how to READ music didn't help things much either. "Aw fuck it" I fumed. "We suck. Bad. Even Spinal Tap and Venom had some talent. We have NO talent". And before Short Bus Mafia ever started, we officially broke up.

A shame too, because I really wanted to shoot an album cover while we were aspiring assholes but because we were all living in Japan, we couldn't make it happen due to various reasons. Language barrier was the obvious for one, but the Japanese don't have short buses as we know them, nor are their retards paraded around in public the way ours are. It's considered a shame upon the entire family to have a kid with a physical or mental defect in Asia, with the majority of people here viewing it as being some generational curse brought on by some ancestor's carelessness at one point in time. Instead of caring for these kids, they give them away to orphanages or keep them locked up away from the public and deal with the shame silently. Of course the majority of you God-Fearing Christians will take offense to what I'm saying but it's the truth as I've witnessed it here for the past 8 years I've lived in Asia now. Pick a fight with the Asians, not me if you're that incensed.

Anycase, I imagined having a short bus in the background with the 3 of us all dressed in black in the foreground, looking really fierce, with some retarded kid in the middle between us, wearing a helmet with a chin strap, both legs in braces and walking canes on each arm, like that crippled kid from South Park, and make it look like we're about to threaten him for his lunch money. Then, the inside cover would have all 3 of us knocked the fuck out and laying on the ground with black eyes, fat lips, and our heads split open, with the same retarded kid holding both walking canes in the air, screaming in defiance as he kicked all our asses. It would be the funniest fucking thing ever, but some goddamned parent group or religious group would fail to see the humor in it and we'd get our asses kicked by the Christian SWAT Team or something.

I still want to continue the spirit of the Short Bus Mafia on my own and when I return to the States next month, have my sister talk to some of her artsy friends and convince one of her drama department buddies to do a free photo shoot of me next to a short bus. While I won't be picking on any retard kids, if I can have one of them show up and make it look like he's kicking my ass, it would be hella funny and would suit this blogspot all the more. I'll have her friends paint my face like those fuckers in Norway do - King Diamond comes to mind automatically, or better yet the guys from Dimmu Borgir. Hell they fucking rock, but who the hell is going to take them seriously looking like KISS rejects? Please! Apparently they do, but not the rest of us.

Another thing I'd like to do is to have some hot chick wear a "Short Bus Mafia" t-shirt and pose wearing it for the photo shoot. She doesn't have to be naked or anything like that, but has to look extremely burnt out and slutty in order to get the part. I'm thinking Marla Singer from Fight Club gone goth with all sorts of fucked up colors in her hair, but it's negotiable. If something like this sounds interesting to you, then shoot me an e-mail with your photo to shortbusmafia@yahoo.com and put as the title Short Bus Mafia Chick. At the very least you would have to act animated for the photo shoot, which would last no more than 1 day tops. As a form of payment, I will take you out drinking or just hand you a fucking bottle of Jack Daniels if I really find you to be that annoying. Serious inquires only.

All in all, I think the Short Bus Mafia would've been a really kick-ass underground band. Not in the sense of G.G. Allin pissing off the PTA and Religious Right, but more like The Ramones from their Rock n' Roll High School movie. Campy, cheesey, and most of all a parody of ourselves, only to be forgotten less than a year later by Revolver and Outburn magazine readers. Unless I meet some people that are interested in forming a new band, the Short Bus Mafia is nothing more than a reference to stoner humor, and a foreshadow to future employment working as a bus driver on my part, for the New Jersey school systems.



You're either on or off.....the short bus!!

Drunk Dialing Rules of Engagement

Holy shit.

I didn't think someone would actually gimme their digits to Drunk Dial them!

Hey it's cool. Whatever.

While I won't divulge their information openly (I believe in respecting people's right to privacy), I will say that I will reserve the right to blog any conversations we have, funny or otherwise, for all to see here. I may be a jackass and fuck-tard at times, but if anything I am brutally honest to a fault and will take a beating if I deserve one. My readers deserve to see me in my lesser moments as well as my everyday inane ramblings.

Before I call anyone, I want to get a few things straight, just to clear the air:

1. I will never use my real name. Don't ask me for it, because NO amount of persuasion will do. Unless you're a hot chick that wants to fuck my brains out and lives within the general vicinity, chances are you will never meet me in person, so don't even bother wasting our time. I will always refer to myself as Machine and would prefer you to respect that. The few people who DO know me have been good friends whom I can trust and know they won't share such information openly. By the same token, I prefer YOU not use your real name either, unless you're comfortable doing so.

2. What I do is for entertainment purposes only. I'll say it again. FOR ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES ONLY. By no means do my views reflect nor are they condoned by my employer, and by no means am I out to slander people with vicious intent. Everything is done with the intent of parody and self-humiliation at my expense. What I say are my own views and opinions, plain and simple. Chances are you're cool with that to begin with anyways.

3. If I call you, I expect you to talk to me. I will make every attempt to be on my best behavior despite being intoxicated, however if you become disrespectful or some self-righteous asshole, then the show's over and I will fucking blast you here, no holds barred. I will post your e-mail address here for everyone to send you humiliating, harassing messages so think ahead. That's the beauty of the internet, so let's agree to play nice together.

4. Let's put the shoe on the other foot for a second now. By giving me your phone number, I will call most likely at a fucked up hour for you, and you accept this possibility. If I get out of control then there is no excuse for my behavior, plain and simple, and you have every right to hang up on my ass and talk shit too. After all, fair is fair. I will say this right now while sober - I apologize ahead of time for anything stupid or fucked up I might say, and hope it doesn't prevent you from returning here in the future.

5. Finally, by sending me your phone number, you agree to these rules and will not hold me responsible for any damages incurred on your part - real, imagined or otherwise. I am just some asshole with a minimum-wage paying job and chances are you're far better off than I am in every sense of the meaning. So unless you want to take me to court and see me declare bankruptcy on the spot, you'll be wasting both our times by filing with a lawyer. I've been broke my entire life so it won't be anything new to me. Consider yourself the more fortunate between us.

Having said this, let the fun begin.

And for the ladies out there - any photos of yourself in advance are greatly appreciated. What you do in those photos is strictly voluntary, but be forewarned I will use them here if I see fit.

Game on.