The greatest moment of my life rewrite.

Hey there folks.

I--like real men--enjoy greeting the day by making a deposit at the bank if you catch my drift. Whenever I wake up, I go to the bathroom and take a massive dump. Because of how big they tend to be, I make it a tradition to clog the hell out of a new toilet with the biggest shit I can muster. I may only be 140 pounds, but somehow I can excrete more bodily waste than an obese cashier at Wendys.

I recently moved in with my father, and to go along with his new bathroom is the toilet that Zeus apparently took shits with. It's the most powerful toilet you can imagine; it'll flush anything, so I clearly saw it as a challenge. Every morning I attempted to duel with this toilet to make it beg for mercy, but to no avail. For the past two weeks I've failed on every occasion to clog it, no matter how big the turd might be. My dad mocks me for it because it makes me less of a man if a man's own shit can't clog his toilet on at least one occasion.

But one morning I must've spent nearly an hour on the crapper; the ground was cracking beneath my feet from all the tension and I wouldn't be surprised if I gave myself an anal fissure in the process. The titanic log was still in contact with my asshole when I sat up; a true testament to its size. Being tired, I wiped my ass, threw the bloody toilet paper into the toilet and flushed it. Before I could walk out of the bathroom, I heard the toilet gurgle. My father got up out of his bed and heard it as well, and we all knew what had happened.

My dad cautiously approached the toiler to see what was the matter and peering unto the toilet. It was like a sonic boom had shook the house. As I watched, a metaphorical bomb went off as an explosion shot outwards out of the toilet, showering the ceiling and nearby walls in a shitstorm of grandiose proportions. The slew of wet toilet paper and crap spackled and peppered everything nearby, including my poor father. At that point, the rotting sewage began pumping out of the toilet, flooding the floor and soaking the shit-encrusted mats in disgusting brown water. The humidity throughout the house forced everybody to literally taste the fecal matter in the air. The smell was intoxicating enough to make any normal man start vomiting uncontrollably, including my poor father.

And right there, in that very moment in time, where I should've been overwhelmed with disgust and horror from what I've given birth to... for once in my 19 years of life I felt a genuine sense of pride in what I had accomplished there. My weekend was shot, seeing how I spent all of it retiling the whole bathroom while installing the new toilet and sink dirtied by the expedition.

But whenever I think back to that moment, all I see is that fulsome extravagant explosion in slow motion as O Fortuna blares in the background.

My adventure at the BART station.

Reposted from March 31st, 2009.

BART, for those of you who don't know, stands for Bay Area Rapid Transit. It's basically a subway station. After getting out of college, I was unable to get a ride home. Fortunately for little ol' me, the BART station takes me back to my town of residence. Unfortunately for me, the BART station from my school is a good 3-mile walk, so I started walking. The town where my college rests is quite pleasant, so I had little or no fears walking to a nice well-kept neighborhood where the only residents are rich old white people, although I have to occasionally put up with the snobby middle-schoolers who live in such luxury that he smartasses can't recognize that they've had everything given to them on a silver platter. They tend to leave me alone at college now since a few weeks ago I charged one from the side while he rode by on his bike without a helmet on. I didn't stay long enough until the paramedics arrived, but nonetheless I think it really sent a message. They were still cleaning the blood off the sidewalks when I showed up the next day.

I had my music to listen to on the walk there, but carrying an art portfolio and a backpack full of books can get somewhat tiring. Eventually I seen a middle-schooler peddling up from behind me in the bike lane while I walked home. I charged him from the side and sent him careening into traffic. I recognized the bike, but I didn't know where. Either way, the kid wasn't needing it after the car sped over him, so I continued to casually peddle my way to the subway station.

The BART station is a dingy place to be. It's for the people who aren't rich enough to commute like the rest of us so they have to use public transportation to get around. I've seen some colorful people there for the first time. One of the oddest things I found was a pack of playing cards, all with nude women on them. Not nearly as odd as the box for a strap-on my brother once found there. Either way I felt out-of-place with my 400-dollar leather jacket and school supplies among people with shiny metal jammed in their teeth or unshaven middle-aged men who smelt of urine and booze. Although the booze might've been me, I've been drinking since 7am and continued to on the entire way there thanks to my good friend Jack Daniels. That might explain some of my behavior.

I accidentally bumped into an African American gangster and I seemed to piss him off, one can't really hear anything when you have Dave Grohl shouting like a madman through your headphones into your ear. I said sorry, but he kept shouting at me. After I called him a meanie he pushed me and I nearly fell over. Not being the one to take such impolite behavior I pulled out my switchblade and stabbed him 3 times. As he stumbled back towards the railings, he shouted over the sound of the roaring subway station "***** this is crazy!" I then shouted "THIS. IS. SPARTA!" and kicked him onto the tracks. Well, he would've gone onto the tracks if the approaching subway didn't clip him mid-flight.

The ride home was silent and uneventful for the most part. People seemed to overlook what random act of manslaughter I just committed but I didn't really mind. But there was a prostitute in the subway cart I was in. She offered me some free services but I refused since she looked more worn out than my dad's 1983 Nissan. But she was persistent and insisted, so I had to shut her up somehow. I took up her offer and forced her to deep-throat my Jack Daniels bottle while I smashed the back of the bottle and dropped a lit match into it. She went up in flames and started throwing up fire until she wheezed and hit the ground, eventually burning herself out. But the subway lacked anything flammable aside from the pungent aroma of booze in the air so I didn't burn to death in a subway cart before I reached my house.

I got off the cart when it arrived at the station and made my way home, winded from the 4 or 5 miles I walked. It was a decent day, although a shame I wasted a bottle of Jack Daniels on some dime-store hooker.

My first drug trip repost.

So I've been in rather poor health lately. I've been coughing a lot, I threw up a few times this week, and I've had a hell of a fever. Yet against my better judgment I've continued going around and doing the shit I normally do. Hell I could barely stand this morning but I still commuted 40 minutes to school and damn well made it through. Amidst a fever-induced delirium I was taking notes... and realized I couldn't read what the hell I was writing down. I looked at the teacher, and it was like those old Charlie Brown cartoons where it sounds like someone was gagged with a sock speaking through a shoddy megaphone.

This reminded me of a similar situation in High School. I was no surprise feeling like shit so earlier that day I was on vicodin. I took one, felt mildly better. But in my Algebra II class, a terrible migraine swept over me, and I had another medication for this called Imitrex. I don't know if you know about Imitrex; it's an oral medication taken to treat preexisting headaches and migraines and it beats the living hell out of it. It was eventually pulled from the market in where I live due to a few serious side effects. Like how it could cause long term health risks involving the heart, in severe cases cardiac arrest. So with this information, I surmised that it cured headaches and migraines by killing your heart and reducing blood flow to the brain, making you brain-dead and numb to the pain.

Also a few interesting side-effects.
-fast heart rate, agitation, muscle stiffness, hallucinations, lack of coordination, with nausea, vomiting, or diarrhea;
-sudden and severe stomach pain and bloody diarrhea
-sudden numbness or weakness, especially on one side of the body
-sudden headache, confusion, problems with vision, speech, or balance;

Thanks, Doc! Giving your 15-year old patient both Vicadin and Imitrex was a fucking great idea! While we're at it, let's just start injecting codeine directly into my veins. So yeah, the guy apparently didn't warn me that I shouldn't take these two medications within the same hour or two. I guess I should've known better but I had a temperature of 102, I hadn't had lunch and I couldn't hear my thoughts over my backpack singing the fourth movement of Beethoven's 9th symphony. So I took both and returned to class.

The Vicadin Imitrex cocktail was too much for my malnourished sorry ass to handle, so I couldn't imagine what the hell was going on. I stumbled back to class like a drunkard and I slumped down in my desk. My head was spinning, my backpack was still singing and my ears were ringing. I finally passed out and heard my teacher calling my name to wake me up. I pulled my head up, and what I saw... wasn't what a young man my age didn't want to see. Things got weird. It gets graphic and disgusting here so if you feel things are getting inappropriate, let me know so I can call you a pansy.

I look at the whiteboard, and there was a vagina on it. Not a poorly drawn one or anything, a real, big, disgusting vagina in the middle of class just attached, coming out of the white board. And it wasn't even a nice one, either. It looked like it belonged to a hooker who's been in the business for several years. I nearly let out a "HOLY SHIT" if I didn't start violently coughing and interrupt myself. It was my teacher talking, and it was the most disgusting thing I've ever seen. Every time she talked the thing just started flapping open and closed like a mouth. Whenever it talked, numbers and words came out of it and flew onto the whiteboard, spelling out equations and problems. I felt like screaming and wondered why no one else in the room was so horrified by what I saw. Yet they continued taking notes, like nothing was wrong. I didn't really question why it was there, I was too busy dry heaving in my desk to do so.

And it was fucking terrifying for a while. Eventually after being mortified by it enough I passed out and started drooling on the desk. I woke up an hour later, they were 10 minutes into the next period because they apparently couldn't wake me and no one obviously cared enough to call an office or some people because I fucking OD'd on meds in the middle of class. Gotta love my school system. And in all irony, I felt shittier after that. My head was still pounding after the whole experience, and for the rest of the class school year I didn't make eye contact with the whiteboard once.

On tickling the magic onion loaf.

You people know what I'm talking about. Taming the one-eyed trouser snake. Purging your holy scepter of evil. Deploying your heat-seeking moisture missile. Or for you ladies, dunking your glazed crotch donut.

For the longest time, masturbation used to be that dirty little secret that everyone lied about doing. If you did it, you were going to hell. The government spread lies about you growing hair on your hands or if you pulled on it too much, it would work like Newton's Third Law and your dick would pull back and you'd eventually have a vagina. Nowadays though, everyone talks about it like it's nothing. As soon as a boy hits puberty, he's already working his tiny little crank. According to a recent poll conducted by immakingnumbersup.com, 50% of women masturbate. And the other 50% are lying sluts who are ashamed of themselves.

It's been bastardized completely; a person can't have an honest moment to himself without being judged or being paid to have it filmed. What the hell has happened to our culture? I remember the good ol' days when young Jimmy just hit puberty and he started having those awkward moments in class when Mrs. Fitch leaned over a bit too far, then he remained seated for the rest of the period shuffling himself in his chair while his hands went in his pockets one too many times to adjust himself.

Well he had to get rid of it somehow, didn't he? Masturbation was never meant to be fun, dammit. Back in my day we did it because we had to. It was work, and it purged our minds of any impure thoughts or reactions for most of the day so we could function. Now you kids treat it like a fucking olympic sport. It's like an endurance test now. I know kids who even have races to see how fast they can get off or how many times they can get off in a single day. What the hell is a circlejerk? That is fucking gay and it goes against everything masturbation represents. This isn't the fucking middle ages with all the knights of the round table having their swords unsheathed to compare them. The purpose of masturbation... IS TO DO IT WHEN YOU DON'T HAVE OTHER PEOPLE AROUND TO DO IT FOR YOU. IF YOU'RE COMFORTABLE BLOWING YOUR LOAD AROUND A BUNCH OF MEN, THEN YOU MIGHT AS WELL GO THE EXTRA MILE AND GET A MAN TRAIN GOING YOU DUMB SHITS.

It's absolutely disgusting seeing you people abuse this wonderful pastime for your animalistic desires. Hell, it's so disgusting that you people actually had to dedicate September to AVOID doing it. Hell, I said "FUCK THAT NONSENSE" and went in the other direction. Instead of avoiding to fap for the month, I worked my man sausage the amount of times the current date was in protest. That's right. I jerked off 465 times in a single month. By the time I was done, my dick was chafed raw and my nuts were like raisins ejaculating white powder. And it made it into the Guinness Book of World Records for most times masturbated in a single 30 day period, and first incident of self-induced sterilization without the use of radiation or castration.

For now, I'm nothing like you barbaric heathens, grinding your crotches against any blunt surface trying to stem the flow of self-love. It's absolutely sickening. When I masturbate, it's a sacred and dignified ritual I perform 7 times 4 times once per day. I dim the lights, make sure no one is home, and turn on my favorite episodes of Sex in the City. I put on my wizard's hat and robe top hat and monocle, grab my finest Martha Stewart towels and get my special imported Lubricant. I sit down with my back straight, then grab a firm hold onto my member with my pinky extended. I remain completely silent as I slowly pleasure myself while my mind has its own orgasm by indulging on the sounds the 4th movement from Beethoven's 9th Symphony. At the very end, I eloquently state "Oh dear, it appears that I am climaxing." and then I finish.

And THAT'S how us gentlemen still do it to this day. Always in moderation, always with dignity and respect. And that's how it should be done.

Love is in the air, you can just sense it.

Now for said story that got me suspended.

Back in High School, I had a stalker. Oh that was a fantastic occasion. That's really something, isn't it? I mean initially when somebody's nursing a crush on you, it's flattering, even a bit endearing. Then you're walking around the corner and know somebody's following you, yet when you turn around there's a cat pissing on a dumpster and you don't see a damn thing of them. People can be really shy. I never really understood it that much. Then again, I never really understood much of how I acted growing up, and I was an incredibly shy boy. I don't think most people would expect that the vulgar irate loose cannon talking about breast metaphors in Creative Writing actually was an extremely quiet and self-conscious boy for most of his life growing up.

Wait this was about what now? Oh right, a stalker. Have you ever been in love, children? If you haven't, then you're emotionally dead on the inside. I don't know what irradicated that emotion lurking within that reticent husk of a human being you call "you", but everybody has been in love. EVERYBODY. DON'T FUCKING QUESTION IT. According to a bullshit statistic I've gathered over the years from random sources including your mother, I believe the average human being falls in love about twelve times a day. Why twelve? I don't fucking know, don't question the statistics. But the simple fact is that we're naturally-loving creatures. Wait? Some of us call it lust? Don't split hairs, you asshole. I'm trying to be subjective here.

I think how men and women choose to express their love are of different means, but we both love the same amount. Men are big, burlesque manly men with swaggering libidos and enough of a sex drive that if we could find a way to convert semen into an alternative fuel then cars would never be able to stop running. Being brutes, men express their love physically. This often means sexing. Or if you're Italian or Irish, beating your wife and children. Men have no need for trifle things like emotions. They're nothing but burdens when we have to work. You know why men rule the world? Because they don't bleed their hearts or vaginas over a problem, and just fucking fix it. This is the one of many ways why men are superior to women. That, and since women pretty much tend to an open wound constantly that leads to a myriad of problems... wait this was about love, right? Right. Back to the topic.

Women are emotional creatures. They want to feel, and they want to cherish, and they want to nurture, and they want to be open, and they want to be together, and yet the only emotion they seem to get across to men is being a bitch. You know what emotion women provoke out of men? Exasperation. Now see, this is a natural act of vengeance against the woman, as women don't enjoy sex and often deny the man of it as often as possible. This is scientific fact; couples that are grinding their holy salami and beef curtains together more often are usually happier in the long run. Or any other colorful metaphor for intercourse involving food you want to throw in there. This is why the holy grail of a man's thought process rests behind the sandwich, the most arousing of all food implementations. Two soft, moist, sensuous, fluffy pieces meant to absorb and be soaked in the delicious juices of that tender, hot juicy beef is enough to make a man pull his zipper open without his hands.

I think in today's society the proper way to court a woman has been completely mixed as of late. In some instances people think chivalry is dead, all women are whores and you can pretty much have her riding you like a horse and rupturing that hymen even further by just giving her the wink and nod. Wait, horseback riding doing that is a myth? Good lord, I need to get myself checked then; those women lied to me. While some believe that most women still want the traditional manners of courtship, which in a reversal of fortune the man is suppose to bend over backwards for the cunt, tend to her every whim and relinquish his testicles in the process. You won't be needing those anymore. She'll give them back to you when she wants something, then she'll take them away again after she lets you play pocket pool or juggle and fiddle around with them for a while.

This is why I encourage homosexuality. For one, a brilliant friend of mine brought up how it's painlessly thinning the population. Secondly, because lesbians are God's gift to pornography. Although I don't buy into the whole "bisexual" bullshit. Bisexuals are either indecisive on who to sleep with, or greedy and thus will sleep with anyone. And it's no coincidence that more women are bisexual than men are. Imagine that. I could never be gay though. Sorry folks, I just don't like the prospect of any part of any man going into a place that's designed to push out body waste. This of course rules out any women interested in anal sex, but thankfully those are largely limited to the African-American community and I'm not a fan of dark chocolate.

I think somewhere in here I mentioned a stalker. Oh right, at the beginning. I never did mention how that resolved itself, did I? Well the fact is that I never rolled with it, nor did I find out who it was. Random notes and presents are nice, but that person really needed to man up, grow a pair and just be erect... err... direct. I'm not gay, you get my point. I don't think there's anything more painful than nursing a crush. I think most of us know that; and after spilling my guts to a few people I can safely say that the 30 seconds of grueling agony and humiliation of being shot down and the days preceding it aren't nearly as bad as constantly stomaching that pathetic feeling without any god-damn closure. Hell, that's one thing you can take solace in, and it's the closure. At least when it's done and you know you don't have a shot, you can pick things back up and move the fuck on to greener pastures.

I don't care if it was that fat chick with the acne and glasses or if it was Christina with those glorious 15-year old 34D knockers, stalking is not the way to go. Hell, I would've rather had been raped instead of stalked. At least I would know who it was and I would've gotten closure on the situation. And either I would enjoy it enough to continue with the relationship and a newfound love for sadomasochism, or that restraining order would've been upgraded to a felony.

And maybe the emotional trauma of being restrained and deflowered would've blunted my sex drive and killed those random erections I got during class. Those things were always a nuisance, weren't they?

I love our staff.

Now on that note, a few people are already aware of my thoughts on the subject. But let's make one thing clear; I deserved to be suspended if you really cared to enforce the rules. I mean really I did. A lot of the things I get away with posting were far worse than this particular story, but the point still stands that some moral or conductive boundary was crossed and oh yes I certainly did.

But riddle me this; why now? Why bust my ass for a story that isn't even close to the worst thing I've gotten away with posting here? That while there are people who get offended, there were never enough of them to start blatantly reporting the thread that would start some contentious issue that needed to be addressed in the first place? And if there was, then why didn't the staff address said conflict? Hell, I saw people who said it was vulgar and obscene, but it wasn't terrible enough to warrant such punishment ACCORDING TO THEM. Not myself.

And we must take into consideration the person who managed to suspend me in the first place. That's really the issue I have here. If you people want to slap me on the wrist and tell me to stop, get somebody else please. Don't get somebody who's going to punish me for something that she manages to get away with so frequently. And that's what has gotten a few people talking in the pipeline. It wasn't so much that my suspension was unjust, but with the person in question suspending me, it shows an ugly double standard that's still persisting among our staff and community.

I can at least take solace in the fact that what I offend people with is indirect. With whatever horrifying stories or anecdotes I post, I'm generalizing and not targeting specific people. Whereas while I'm getting suspended, said person who decided to carry out administrative justice is spamming the chat thread with lyrics while being allowed to get away with blatant sexual harassment of specific users. Even in a lovely IM conversation "What? Am I not allowed to have fun?" If it's at the direct expense of specific people who either object to it or find it irritating, hell to the fuck no you aren't. A pinnacle of professionalism, don't you think? I'm no longer on the staff, but heaven forbid I can imagine what kind of discussion took place behind those closed doors.

"BUT DEOXIC, WHAT ABOUT PEOPLE YOU BLATANTLY HARASS?" I do that in IMs, not on NS2. If they want to block me or stop me, it's entirely within their power to do so. If it's not on NS2, then it's not in your jurisdiction now is it? I can post the conversations there and people can be horrified by it, but that's not taking place in the thread and the content in and of itself is what should be called into question, not the act of doing it outside the place. Again, not excusing my actions because I know they're appalling. But again consider that I, I in specific am getting busted for this even though a hell of a lot of people get away with it as well, including people who are in more... viable positions than I am.

So if I need to be punished, then go on ahead and carry it out. Just don't use me as a tool to demonstrate that:

#1 - You people are still lax on the rules within the staff.
#2 - That favoritism still exists among the staff.
And #3 - That there's still clearly a double-standard in conduct for behavior taking place here.

I guess in a clever way I can be used as an ironic fallacy in the how the community is still functioning so poorly. Hell, that works; it makes it seem like I planned it all along. And "ironic fallacy" has a nice ring to it, even though it probably doesn't mean a damn thing. Now if you have anything to say, then drop me a PM and I'll promptly take time away from my busy day of appalling people to tell you to go blow somebody.

Stories are nice.

Censorship isn't. So instead of posting them on a forum that decided to suspend me, I think this rickety place will work.

So cheers, folks.