Depression and anxiety can convince you that no one cares for you.
I’ve been on a porn downloading binge here lately. I’m not sure why. Sometimes I can go without it, and other times I can’t. I’ve been searching retro 80s porn for a particular scene I recall watching from one of my dad’s collections when I was a kid. Actually, two.
I’ve also been searching for a movie I had bought the year he died.
The first video is of a man and woman fucking in an old wooden chair. I recall that she was a brunette with an abundance of hair around her pussy. At one point, her legs are held out wide with her hands upon her heels, and her toes were pointed. I think this is where my foot fetish began.
Don’t look at me with that level of disgust. I don’t love all women’s feet! Just the ones that are attractive. A woman I had an affair with once let me suck on her toes. She had the sexiest petite feet I think I’d ever seen. And then I fucked her in her backyard.
She would later text me: when your tongue slid between my toes OMG that felt good!!!
I was sad to see that affair end. But she was a little crazy.
At one point, the guy stops fucking her and says, “Do you want more dick?”
The second one I’ve been searching for is of a woman and two men. One man is sitting in a chair while the other one is standing up. She alternates between sucking their dicks. The men brag about how much of a sex machine she is. The guy standing up is licking her ass, when the guy sitting down says, “how’s her ass taste?”
“Best ass I’ve ever tasted!” he replies.
Eventually, both men fuck her and later on, she’s standing in the middle of the hotel room in high heels, while a third man kneels behind her and licks her pussy.
The third video I’m searching for is where a group of pornstars head to Hawaii. It’s basically a documentary of, well, fuckin. I’d place it somewhere in the early 1990s.
If anyone out there knows anything about these videos and where I can find them, please, let me know.
Men do not do alone well. Some men are so afraid of being alone, while the relationship is falling apart, he reaches out and gets a woman on hold. He’s got her on stand-by like a spare tire. He gives her just enough love to keep her hanging on. It’s not that he wants her, he doesn’t want to be alone. Why would a preacher stop preaching for a minute and go this deep into personal relationships? I’m glad you asked. I’ll tell you why. Eighty percent of the suicides that occur in this country are committed by men! Not, fifty, not sixty, not forty-five. Eighty percent of the people who drive their cars off cliffs or stick guns in their mouths and blow their brains out are MEN!
The house he found on the outskirts of town was small. Cold, but small. And it was always safer to remain on the outskirts of wherever you were unless you had to go in for supplies. Better keep your rifle at the ready, too.
The dead were tucked tightly in their beds. Skeletons mostly. The plague swept across the land like a reaper; taking the young and old, sick and well. It seemed like a Stephen King novel come to life. Only this time, there was no dark man, no old black woman sitting on her front porch, strumming a guitar and singing hymnals.
It was just the world. Derelict and unforgiving.
He was nothing more than a vagabond, traipsing across what used to be the United States. The smell of decay in the home wasn’t as potent as what he feared it would be. Now it just smelled musty. He opened a window, nonetheless, and let the late November wind sweep in.
Out back, he grabbed several logs of wood and took them inside. In the garage, he found a stack of newspapers; some were dated two years ago, and others, ten. Starting a fire, he settled down on the floor with several blankets he’d discovered in the hall closet. The heat soaked through his skin and warmed his bones. Smoke from the chimney might alert others to his presence, but he didn’t care.
He thought often of taking his own life, but that small glimmer of hope, that flicker of a flame, that he would one day find a person or persons who still had their sanity about them, kept him alive. Hope was encouraging, and yet, paralyzing.
As he watched the fire consume the wood, the realization that today would have been Thanksgiving crept into his mind. He pushed the thoughts of turkey and gravy and celebrations with friends and family out of his mind. Watching the Dallas Cowboys and Detroit Lions carrying on the tradition of losing in their respective stadiums, was a bygone era. It was difficult to think of anything he was thankful for.
When one thought about it, man’s attempts at self-preservation were all for naught. If even tomorrow an asteroid, a harbinger of doom should slam into the earth’s crust, the earth would still keep spinning. All life would ceases to exist, and it would take thousands, if not, millions of years for it to recycle, but the earth would survive. Mankind would not.
He fell asleep watching the flames dance in the hearth, and listened to the crackle of the logs. The cold autumn wind howled outside and a cool breeze kissed his cheek. He fell asleep that night with dreams of a happier, more pleasant time. A time that was as alien to him as faith itself.
How does a cute kid like this go from being a cute kid to a murderer? From news reports I’ve seen, he wasn’t brought up in the greatest environment. Drawing pictures of a gun with blood and the words “help me”? Counselors at his school raised an alarm and now his parents are being charged. I don’t know. Maybe I’m just spit-balling here, but the boy is certainly responsible for his crimes, and it sounds like his parents are responsible for something, but if he was as depressed as what his fellow students said he was and there were so damn many red flags, who in the hell dropped the ball at the school and didn’t do ANYTHING to try and help this kid and get him out a desperate situation?! A drawing of a gun with blood and the words “help me!” How does one not see danger on the horizon?
Edited note: the day the teacher found the drawing, other words like “my life is useless” and “the world is dead” were found. His parents were called in to take him home and get him into counseling. But they didn’t take him home. They left him there. And the idiots at the school let him go back to class! Officials at the school should be losing their damn jobs! These people didn’t have to die!
I can see a man sitting on a park bench, a cup of coffee from a local cafe held tightly in his hands. Pumpkin spice. It tasted delicious, but it did little to satisfy his aching belly or quell the anxiety raging within him.
Dead leaves fell all around him.
Suddenly, a black woman sat next to him. Cradled in her lap was a styrofoam box. She opened it up, and inside, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a burger topped with melted cheese, sautéed onions, mushrooms, peppers and other vegetables and steak sauce. The char broiled burger and the confection of toppings hit his senses like a ton of bricks. A french fry stopped just inches from her lips when she heard the monstrous growl.
“Was that your stomach?” she asked. He didn’t say anything. “Do you want part of my burger?”
The white man broke down in tears and snot oozed from his nose.
“I don’t deserve to eat!” he sobbed before getting up from the park bench and hurried out of the park.
The black woman sat there puzzled as to what could bring a man so low, he would starve himself intentionally. A block away, he walked in front of an oncoming Mac truck. Witnesses told police he was sobbing uncontrollably.
No one knew what burdens he carried. His death was ruled an accident.
I can see a man decorating a scrawny tree he bought down at the car lot. With not having much money, it wasn’t bad for the price. A few bare spots, but he figured he could cover those up. And then he thought of his wife and kids, and a knot formed in his throat. He swallowed hard to force it down.
It was a series of bad decisions that led to the this, after all.
Despite the tears standing in his eyes, he finished decorating the tree. He sat in his chair and looked about his house, just as scrawny as the tree itself.
I deserve this, he thought. It’s all my fault.
He could be home right now with his family, living in a two-story home and decorating a much bigger tree. But here he was. Living like a squatter in a scrawny home with a scrawny tree and nothing but memories and heartache to fill his time.
But at least he had a fireplace. And that, along with the eggnog laced with whiskey, was keeping him warm.
“Bad decisions,” he said, finishing off the glass. The night drifted on as slow as wax running down the side of a candle. One more glass after another, one more log after another. And the man was finally asleep.
While he slumbered with his chin to his chest, he didn’t hear the masked stranger enter his home. Had Gus been here, he would have been alerted to the intrusion immediately. This is assuming, of course, the man could hear the dog barking.
Slowly, very slowly, the man entered through the back door, and proceeded through the kitchen. When he rounded the corner, he found the man snoring in front of a warm fireplace. The logs, however, had been rendered nothing more than ashes and embers.
The assassin raised his .45, and standing several feet away, he squeezed the trigger. The hollow point bullet impacted just above the man’s right ear and exited slightly lower. A fine mist of blood, brains and skull fragments sprayed all over the far wall and curtains.
The force of the bullet knocked the man out of his chair and onto the floor. He was alive for a moment, but only for a moment. His body jerked and spasmed as blood poured from the wound and soaked into the carpet. This was the part of his job the assassin had no interest in. He retreated the way he came.
His body wouldn’t be found until two days later when his wife came to call on him. She found the back door standing wide open, and screamed so loud, she could be heard clear down the street.
His murder was never solved.
I was reminded of how old I feel today. I was sent home from work today because I have a cold. And being in the healthcare field, I can kind of understand their reasoning. However, it’s funny that so many people think that if we all get vaccinated, COVID is just going to mysteriously disappear.
Anyway, that isn’t what this post is about. After leaving work, I went to a church down the street to have a cigarette and just enjoy the quiet. To make a long story short, I found a couple in a car, a Subaru, as a matter fact, broad daylight with no tinted windows, having sex.
Now, for a guy who has wanted for a long, long time to watch a couple having sex, this was a gold mine. They had to know that I was there, because when I first got there, I was standing on the far side of my car, taking a leak, and someone looked up. Keep in mind that the car was at least fifteen feet away.
So, what did I do? Well, after giving it some thought, whilst sitting in my car, I grabbed my phone, crept up to the Subaru, and begin recording. I would judge the couple to be somewhere in their twenties to thirties. Probably married but to different people.
How do I put something like this into words? Spontaneous sex has left my marriage. Being the parents of three special needs children, plays a roll in it. But the rest is my fault. This couple was horny, and they didn’t give two fucks about the dangers of getting caught, regardless of their marital status.
I let the weight of the world weigh too heavy on my mind. Even after my children go to bed, I’m a mess of trying to figure out what I want to do with my time. Usually it involves sitting on the couch with a cup of coffee and zoning out. And apparently, my wife and I are the only ones in my family that hasn’t had sex in the back of their car in public.
You know, each day that I live, I am tired spiritually, emotionally, mentally and physically. I wake up tired. I’m a walking burn out. I feel overwhelmed. And there seems to be no end in sight. I’ve tried anti-depressants, but they don’t work. What do you do when you’re overwhelmed and burnt out? When your tank is on empty and you have nothing left to give? I’m 37-years-old and feel like I haven’t lived one second of my life.
I understand the allure of getting caught. Hell, maybe even letting someone watch, but I feel as though nothing in my life is going to improve; that this is the way it’s going to be until the day I die.
Such is life.
About the whole “not my President” thing. Here’s my take on it: people didn’t like Donald Trump because he has an abrasive personality and speaks his mind, regardless of whether you agree with him or not. And for four years, while he couldn’t do anything without the liberals crying and trying to read into his statements, we had the liberal elite champion the “not my President” motto. Robert DeNiro even said, “f*** Trump!” publicly.
People like Biden and Harris didn’t advocate for the vaccine and encouraged people not to get it because of Trump. Now that they’re in power, we all need to get it. Different people in the White House, same vaccine. Politics, pure and simple. And after four years of divisive politics, Biden wants unity. Nope. Sorry. I see politics for what it really is: a racket. Not my President.
As an after thought, never before in the history of this nation, would we ever think it would be possible for politicians to consider a 90% evacuation of Americans from a hostile foreign land to a “success”. And today, the United States State Department issued a statement saying that Americans still trapped behind enemy lines “should not rely on the US government to get them out.” WTF?! Imagine for a moment, if you will, had President Trump been the one responsible for this. Politicians, both Republican and Democrat, would be calling for his immediate resignation.
But as it is, and since Biden is a career politician, recent attempts to have him impeached on the grounds of treason, will likely go nowhere. But we got to see two of them for President Trump. One, an abuse of power and the other…fictitious claims and an even more spurious trial. Richard Nixon was accused for a whole lot less, and he had the support of only four house Republicans. We all know how that story played out.
Meanwhile, Kamala Harris is enjoying the lowest approval ratings of any Vice President in recent memory. She’s been mostly vacant during this whole Afghanistan catastrophe, leaving behind $85 billion dollars worth of hardware for the Taliban and other extremists to use. This is the American people’s property. You pay for it!
And when she goes to Vietnam amid the crisis, which is ironic, she doesn’t talk about how history is repeating itself, she meets with LGTBQ leaders and says that we should buy our Christmas presents early because of rising oceans tides. Keep in mind that Kamala Harris was one of the first candidates to drop out of the primaries because Democratic voters didn’t want her.
If you want to see Harris have a good laugh, just present her with a difficult question.
Things are so bad for the Biden White House, that 9/11 victims families are telling Creepy Joe not to come to any of their memorials. Never before has a President been uninvited to a 9/11 memorial ceremony. What does this say for our “leader”?
Americans still believe that we are free, and we still hope for some semblance of senility and honesty from Washington DC. Democrats hope that Afghanistan will fade from the American consciousness before too long. It is a hope that I believe will lead to our nation’s peril.
It is pretty sad when a former President sounds more presidential than a man who now occupies the White House. A man who has been contradicted by every department in the federal government, most importantly, the CIA.
Dear Joe Biden and Kamala Harris,
I just want to say this: the two of you are an absolute disgrace. And your Press Secretary, Jen Psaki? Is that how you spell her name? J-E-N? I’m sorry, Hoe-I mean, Joe. I’m not as smart as you. I had to look it up. But unlike millions of my fellow countrymen who thought having you two in the White House would he such a great idea, I can tell a national disgrace when I see one.
Anyway, back to Jen. It cannot be easy for her to cover your incompetent ass! I mean, fielding questions that you should be answering? What are you afraid of, Joe? Someone might ask you what two plus two is? We don’t need you to do a tongue twister. You do just fine with that on your own!
What are you gonna do about getting Americans out and Afghanis out who have helped Americans for the last twenty years? Crickets. Our allies are sending in their troops to get their own people out. Why not us?
Hey, Joe. I hear your talk with our allies was a feisty one. Was it difficult not being able to sniff anyone over the phone or via camera? Life’s a bitch, ain’t it, Joe? Too bad we don’t have Smell-a-Vision, isn’t it?
And look at Kamala Harris. How in the hell you picked a woman who only had 7% support amongst Democrats in California, is beyond me. Oh, wait. You were courting not only the black and female vote, but the perverted men vote. She’s been mostly absent during this whole charade. And to look at her the other day, she doesn’t even look like she even wants to be in Washington.
But she will be. And this will be her mess to grapple with once you resign, your Cabinet forces you out, or Congress does. People call Tricky Dicky a crook? You’re worse than a crook. You’re in a whole other realm where there is no definition for what you are. Disgrace is the closest, but that doesn’t even touch it.
You can keep downplaying this, your departments can keep contradicting your every statement, and Congressional investigation can unearth a lot more information, and you can even blame President Trump, but at the end of the day, Joe, you cannot hide behind the fact that this came under your orders, and this is ALL YOUR FUCKING FAULT!!!
So when Americans here in the United States are mourning the deaths of their loved ones abandoned by their own government, and the last words they shared were a tearful goodbye, I hope you won’t sleep at night. I hope you’re eaten with remorse. And if you have the spine to face those Americans, maybe you can say in front of the camera for the American people and for the whole world to hear, that you were wrong.
You and your ilk are corrupt to the core, and you’re not even trying to hide it.
But what am I talking about, Joe? You’re a career politician who’s been known to be relentlessly stubborn. Maybe King Solomon was right when he wrote, “hope deferred makes the heart sick.”
And tonight, this particular American, feels sick at heart for what has become of our once great nation.