The Devil

Every time you think you’re smarter than the devil, he proves you wrong.

A Day in the Life

I feel like killing myself today, then crying. Wait, is it I feel like crying then killing myself? Maybe it’s both.

I called a suicide prevention hotline some time ago, and the woman I talked to sounded as disinterested in talking to me as one could get. A couple days later, they called and left a voice mail. I guess they wanted to see if I was still alive. It was the only time they ever called me. It isn’t like I’m a human being with emotions and feelings and am dealing with both and I don’t quite know how to handle either one.

I’m just a man, so who gives a fuck, you know? It would have been better had I tried to kiss a rattlesnake.

As I write this, I’m standing outside my work, smoking a cigarette and crying. Don’t let them see you cry. Speaking of which, I’m guaranteed that at least one person is going to ask me if I’m alright. I’m either going to tell them “no” or lie and say, “I’m fine.”

And if I tell them no, they’re going to ask if I want to talk about it. I don’t. Because in the medical field, you have no friends. A listening ear is a running mouth.

I’ve endeavored into another affair, and the damnable misery of it all, is that I don’t think she quite understands the feelings I do have for her. Unhappy at home and can’t have the woman I want.

I’m better off dead.

My family? They ain’t much help. And for that matter, neither is my wife’s family. The only solution my mom has for me is telling me to get on medication and sending me Greg Locke videos. She can’t send a message asking me how I’m doing or telling me that she’s thinking of me, but she can send me videos of him ranting or raving about something or other. And if I text her, it takes a minimum of two hours to hear anything back. My depression is situational, and for situational depression, there is no cure.

Why is it when a woman cheats, society generally shrugs it off? It must be the man’s fault. His dick must not be big enough. And in some circles, it’s considered sexy when does. But if a man cheats, he seen as a scoundrel, a pariah, a dog. Or, as I once heard a TikToker say, “if a woman’s unhappy in a relationship, that’s your own damn problem. But if a man’s unhappy in a relationship, guess what! That’s also your fuckin problem!”

I saw a picture on Facebook yesterday that asked what happened to the part of the brain that used to store and recall phone numbers. I have an answer for that.

Back in the day before cellphones and people had to recall numbers from memory, there used to be a board nailed to the wall of a person’s mind. Post-it notes were tacked and taped to the cork, and all a worker had to do, was find the number and send it up the memory pipe. Now, this is for me, it may not be for you. What was once a useful department, has now been shifted to “Things Best Left Unsaid”. The room smells dingy; there’s dust and cobwebs all over the place, and boxes are stacked from floor to ceiling like some cold case unit.

And no one ever burns the boxes. The room just gets bigger and bigger to accommodate the burden. The human brain is the world’s foremost super computer, you know.

Once in a great while, someone will come in, extract a box, and return it a short time later. But it doesn’t happen very often.

Funny thing is that I often wonder when my last case file is going to be dropped off.

Depression

Depression and anxiety can convince you that no one cares for you.

Porn Today

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.

I’m Alright (Not Really)

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!

TD Jakes

Plague

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.

Broken

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.

Christmas Murder

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.

Over the Hill (Down and Out)

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.

Joe and the Hoe Gotta Go

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.