Does Chuck dislike us?

Someone grown-up and super sensible. No-one here, then.

[QUOTE=Ironman;1031522]lol!!!

i still stick that they want fans, even if Van did not let people see his paintings, did that not make people courious?[/QUOTE]

Is there any reasoning behind your stubbornness, or do you just want to ignore reality? Art is not always about fame, unless you exist only in the world of pop music where you put a trendy outfit, fake attitude, digitized bad voice with someone else's lyrics and suddenly every thirteen year-old girl on the planet thinks you are god. Honestly, I look forward to the day when Chuck Palahniuk is on the cover of People Magazine. I look forward to the day when housewives buying cleaning supplies at the supermarket find a copy of Invisible Monsters in the checkout aisle next to the Hubba Bubba Bubblegum and the Weekly World News article about the Batboy living in a Bubble with the 1,000 year-old Clayman...

I relish the idea that someday people will care about writers as much as they care about how Johnny Depp is a vampire and that is why he hasn't aged at all since the 1987 TV series 21 Jump Street and wears sunglasses all the time to keep feom disintegrating in the daylight and how he lives in France whis is a known hotbed of vampiric activity and how in Finding Neverland he played Peter Pan which had a hidden message that he has become one of the Lost Boys and how I get hypnotized by his eyes and if he wanted to drink my blood I would gladly let him and, and, and... fame is so fleeting and writing should not be about that even if sometimes it is. Speaking of which I was at Hot Topic because I had to go to The Parks Mall to Vitamin World to get some Glutamine powder and I was walking past the Johnny Depp section where they keep all the Pirates of the Caribbean/ Edward Scissorhands/ Willy Wonka/ Goth-Depp stuff, and this chick approached me that worked there and asked if she could halp me and how the clearance rack was marked down 50% and stuff and she was dressed in these really dark brand-new looking jeans that were tighter than tight and rolled up cuffs at the bottom with Vans sneakers that were pink and some kind of chain and padlock thing around her neck and dyed black hair cropped around her face and very little makeup but really pretty in a weird abnormally spaced eyes sort-of way and her shirt a sweater vest thing with sleeves and unbuttoned cuffs and cute and stuff and she made me think of six on the dot , or rather how I have seen her in her pictures she posts and I went to the clearance rack and looked for all the mediums because I love to show off my bod in tight t-shirts…

And as I was looking through the MOLTEN CRUE shirts and the 40 YEAR-OLD VIRGIN shirts and the FALL OUT BOY/ SELL OUT BOY shirts and the TRIPLE H SMACKDOWN WRESTLING shirts and the FINCH BETTER HAVE MY MONEY shirts and the MY NAME IS EARL shirts and the BOONDOCK SAINTS shirts and the YOUNG LOVE shirts and on and on… by the way, I ended up buying a medium WUTANG CLAN shirt because it was simple and fit well and was the kind of t-shirt material that is really soft and clingy and feels so good on my flesh, not to mention that Wutang Clan is nothing to fuck with and that cash rules everything around me CREAM it’s the money dollar dollar bill ya’ll and killah bees, bitch, oh yeah, and she, the chick I described from Hot Topic came over to where I was squatted down looking at the bottom shelf and bent over right in front of me and her ass was inches from my shoulder and her pants were the lowrise ones and her bright pink panty thongs were sticking out the top and before when I first met her her shirt was pulled down over her ass, but she had her shirt pulled up past her belly now and her pants pulled at least halfway down her ass like she was trying to show me her butt or fuck with me or something or get some sort of reaction and she actually backed up her into my exposed shoulder, in my cut-off sleeved Fight Club/ I wanted to destroy something beautiful t-shirt which I wear a lot, and her ass crack I could feel against my arm for like half a second and she pressed it so it smushed like hard against me, like it was an accident, like she didn’t mean to, like it could have happened to anybody, and then she looked back at me over her shoulder, still bent over and gave me this total fuck-me look and said straight-faced and like with an undercurrent of I WANT YOU TO TAKE ME INTO THE DRESSING ROOM IN THE BACK OF THE STORE SO I CAN YELL TO THE FRONT THAT YOU HAVE FOUR ITEMS GOING IN AND THEN HAVE A QUICKIE WITH YOU WHILE YOU WATCH IN THE MIRROR ON THE WALL sort of undercurrent, and basically-speaking she was like I’M SOOO SORRY but it was like she didn’t even mean it and it’s 5pm now and I got shit to do, but I promise I will go into more detail later or whenever I get a chance because I got lots of new stuff to write about including several different experiences and the older nympho chick and The Cult and etc… but yeah… writing is not necessarily about the fans and liking them unless you want it to be and then it’s all subjective mumbo-jumbo or whatnot…

[url]http://content.answers.com/main/content/wp/en/thumb/c/cd/250px-Batboy_Steals_MINI.jpg[/url]

so you are Patrick Byrne?

That's a really interesting first post. What gives?

I think it is awesome that someone joined The Cult because of me. I have a feeling that seymour wasn't the first and won't be the last. I have that effect on people...

yeah i did pretty much, i stayed anyway, i liked that you confronted people.

[QUOTE=DAN9108;1030796]I was reading his interview in the writer's digest and I came upon this.

Yet you have an incredibly large fan base that even has its own name and website-The Cult. Did they make you feel like a success?

Chuck: I try to forget about the expectation that's out there and the audience listening for the next thing so that i'm not trying to please them. [B]I've spent a huge amount of time not communicating with these folks and denying that they exist.[/B] You realize you have no control over how you are perceived. I want to focus my energy on the thing I can control--which is the next book.

Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed this interview, but I don't know if I am misreading it, or if what he is saying is perfectly normal.

What sprang this up was when I was reading this and when I thought about when I met him in person and I mentioned I was a part of The Cult and he had an odd expression and said that that was not his actual site, it is just a fan site. I didn't expect him to be blown away. Does he think we are some kind of people that worship him and sacrifice animals and drink their blood whilst lighting candles around Chuck-shrines? It seems like he said he denies that we exist.

If I am misinterpreting this, please say something.

I also recommend you buy the October Edition of "Writer's Digest," that Dennis made a thread about (Thanks). They will be taking off the shelves on October the 16.[/QUOTE]

I think you are taking it out of context by bolding just that one sentence and not the one that follows. He is clearly talking about the creative process and how he clears his head to write for himself rather than the fans.

Chuck loves his fans. Look at how much fun he has at readings flinging stuff at them and his care packages and all that. Did you go to a RANT reading? He was so delighted by the fans that showed up in wedding dresses.

[QUOTE=morey;1032641]yeah i did pretty much, i stayed anyway, i liked that you confronted people.[/QUOTE]

morey! you old fart! how's the cat? or dog? and the meds? and the homophobic homosinsuality? Wierd, but every time I look at my movie collection when I walk by, and I see the movie SUPERSIZE ME... I think of you. I think it's because when I watched the movie, when he got all bloated and depressed and pasty and no longer wanted to have sex and sick all the time, he looked a lot like you used to look in your old pics. Or maybe that is just my imagination going wild, who knows, but, like, hey, you old so-and-so! How's your bowel movements? What's the weather like? That reminds me of my dad, how he used to be always telling me the weather report when he would call, and if I said I felt sick or something, he would usually prescribe one of two things... Imodium A-D or Ex-Lax. To my dad, any kind of sickness... cancer, flu, polio, homosexuality, whatever... could be cured by a good bowel movement. Then he got all preachy and always leaving me messages on the phone like HEY SON! IT'S KINDA WET AND COLD TODAY, AND IF YOU'RE STILL FEELING BAD, I COULD SEND YOU SOME IMODIUM A-D IN THE MAIL, AND I HOPE YOUR JOB HUNT GOES WELL, AND THIS MORNING WHEN I WAS AT MY DAILY EARLY MORNING MASS THE PRIEST TOLD US A SERMON ABOUT THE APOSTLE PAUL, AND IT MADE ME THINK OF YOU, AND HOW PAUL WAS ON THE ROAD TO DAMASCUS AND GOD STRUCK HIM BLIND TO MAKE HIM SEE GOD'S GOODNESS AND YOU'RE LIKE PAUL EXCEPT YOU'RE NOT BLINDED BY GOD'S GOODNESS... YET! PLUS THE APOSTLE PAUL WOULD WANT YOU TO GET OUT OF BED AND GET A JOB ALREADY BECAUSE GOD ONLY LETS MONEY GROW ON TREES FOR THOSE WHO WORK IN THE ORCHARDS LIKE THE BENEDICTINE MONKS! CALL AND LET ME KNOW IF YOU GOT THAT CARD I SENT YOU WHERE THE CISTERCIAN NUNS ARE GONNA SAY A ROASRY FOR YOU BECAUSE I MADE A DONATION TO THEM ON YOUR BEHALF! PLUS BILL SAYS HI! GOTTA GO NOW BECAUSE GOD WANTS ME TO BE PRODUCTIVE! BYE SON!

[img]http://g-ec2.images-amazon.com/images/I/51T82FS9Y8L._AA240_.jpg[/img] < morey... to me anyway...

... and the whole thing with "Bill" was wierd. “Bill” was this guy my dad used to know from high school in Midland, Texas in the 1960’s. Later on after my dad’s entire side of the family died, all of his brothers and sisters and parents and grandparents, he looked up Bill and found out he lived in Portland, Oregon, which was two hours away from Eugene, Oregon which is where my dad moved us from Texas once my mom died after being in the hospital for a year or so on a morphine drip before finally dying from a bedridden related brain aneurysm or whatever when I was 5 years old, I totally forget over and over how she died because I think my brain doesn’t want to remember even though I have a good memory and my mom’s side of the family was always telling me what happened, and my brother especially would remind me all the time but now he is dead too so I have no one to remind me of what she died of anymore, which, the whole mind thing is because I blocked out like most all of my childhood and when I tell you guys shit on The Cult it’s because I am just now remembering and I want it written down so that I can know in the future because I hope The Cult is around until I am 90 years old if I don’t die in a fiery car crash pretty soon, which the other day, the older nympho chick said she had a premonition that I died in a horrible car crash, not necessarily fiery, but she is all into Wiccan and Witchcraft and Pagans and is always looking for the moon outside because she says moonlight has super powers that it transfers like Superman on earth instead of Krypton except for the whole kryptonite thing and Christopher Reeve dying and stuff, and it’s like everybody is fucking dead now except for me and I’m gonna go soon too and I want this to be something to remember me by except for the whole morey thing… no offense to morey… or his cat, or dog, or whatever…

[img]http://www.topheavy.com/plump/archives_2007/26082007/thp26082007_12.jpg[/img] < for the people who don't like to read my posts, I'm very considerate like that... I am an equal opportunity panderer...

OK, your legacy is forever entwined with Chris Reeve. You can rest easy and drive your car now.

oh, that was me, Mirka.Sorry, I was posting under a test ID. The chat is all fucked up.

[QUOTE=noway;1032780]OK, your legacy is forever entwined with Chris Reeve. You can rest easy and drive your car now.[/QUOTE]

I almost forgot... in my last post I was talking about "Bill" and I never finished. "Bill" is this guy my dad sort-of knew in high school, or at least they were in a small town and he knew about him or maybe not... see, my dad met Bill in Eugene, Oregon one time because Bill was a taxi driver and one of his fare's paid to have him drive from Portland to Eugene which is like 100 miles and my dad ran into him at a bar or something and somehow they realized they were both from Midland, Texas and about the same age, except Bill may have faked really knowing my dad and my dad might not have really known him but would never admit it, or at least this is my version of their relationship according to things I saw as a child, and so Bill came into our home a lot and drank booze with my dad and stole checks from my dad's desk and slipped my dad some acid in his drink one time at one of Bill's parties where all the hoes were be at, and basically, my dad likes to hang around him a lot and the whole relationship is based on the idea that they went to school together, but I don't think they really did, so then my dad drove from Washington and called Bill all the time in Portland, Oregon where Bill resides and works as a very disgruntled alcoholic taxi driver that can't stand to live even to this very day as far as I know. My father was a major clinger to his Texan-ness. Bill and he would go to the only BBQ restaurant in the entire state of Oregon which looked like a set from Hee-Haw inside and eat sausage and beef and crappy rolls and sweet tea and overfried okra and talk about stuff that I know nothing about. They would wear Stetson cowboy hats too. It was sorta wierd, but whatever. Everybody should have a friend...

[QUOTE=Vendetta;1032625]That's a really interesting first post. What gives?[/QUOTE]
I was sort of a regular (voyeur) here a long time ago. Then Brock left, and Alex went filming stuff, and Nightrious became a zen master, and I kind of lost interest (plus I stopped having so much free time). But it's nice seeing you guys again.

[QUOTE=Brock Landers;1032783]I almost forgot... in my last post I was talking about "Bill" and I never finished. "Bill" is this guy my dad sort-of knew in high school, or at least they were in a small town and he knew about him or maybe not... see, my dad met Bill in Eugene, Oregon one time because Bill was a taxi driver and one of his fare's paid to have him drive from Portland to Eugene which is like 100 miles and my dad ran into him at a bar or something and somehow they realized they were both from Midland, Texas and about the same age, except Bill may have faked really knowing my dad and my dad might not have really known him but would never admit it, or at least this is my version of their relationship according to things I saw as a child, and so Bill came into our home a lot and drank booze with my dad and stole checks from my dad's desk and slipped my dad some acid in his drink one time at one of Bill's parties where all the hoes were be at, and basically, my dad likes to hang around him a lot and the whole relationship is based on the idea that they went to school together, but I don't think they really did, so then my dad drove from Washington and called Bill all the time in Portland, Oregon where Bill resides and works as a very disgruntled alcoholic taxi driver that can't stand to live even to this very day as far as I know. My father was a major clinger to his Texan-ness. Bill and he would go to the only BBQ restaurant in the entire state of Oregon which looked like a set from Hee-Haw inside and eat sausage and beef and crappy rolls and sweet tea and overfried okra and talk about stuff that I know nothing about. They would wear Stetson cowboy hats too. It was sorta wierd, but whatever. Everybody should have a friend...[/QUOTE]

Wait, Bill was a taxi driver in high school? Or they drifted apart after high school and ran into each other years later in a bar. You confuse me. But, yeah everyone should have a friend, hell more than one.

[QUOTE=seymour;1032804]I was sort of a regular (voyeur) here a long time ago. Then Brock left, and Alex went filming stuff, and Nightrious became a zen master, and I kind of lost interest (plus I stopped having so much free time). But it's nice seeing you guys again.[/QUOTE]

Same here… I guess… me, I’m just the same diet mountain dew swilling, percovasodialating, myodilationary espousement ingestingilating, hands-down-my-pants genital-manipulating, surly, vehement, tanned and buffilitudilating, tuna fish with miracle whipilating, discombobulated misanthroprilating, innovated originator of slackilitudilating, cock-ring collecting, don’t-bother-me-until-I’m- done- posting- on- The- Cult-ilating, equal opportunity hatingilating, um, like, I hate cauliflower so fucking much that whenever I need to get all amped-up and ready to spout fury on The Cult, I had a full-size effigy-pinata made out of cauliflower that sorta resembles Brad Pitt as Tyler Durden which I throw tootsie rolls at as hard as I can, some of them even becoming embedded in Brad’s pasty white blood- sucked- out- by- a- vegetarian- vampire cauliflower flesh. You should see the look on the 8 year-old neighbor kid’s face when he comes over to play with the older nympho chick’s 6 year-old son and he comes face to face with Cauliflower Brad Durden… so to make him feel better I tell him it’s only after he’s given up every vegetable that he hates that his mom makes him eat that he is truly free to self-destruct and rebuild himself and grow the fuck up and get a job that he hates so he can buy shit he doesn’t even need so he won’t have to pretend he is a unique and beautiful frosted flake that is pwned by his new Playstation 3 Transformers game or whatever…

[img]http://www.sshakingrecordss.com/images/msoadgoingdown.jpg[/img]

i don't know i don't have cats and the last time i got ill they gave me uhm those things you put up your butt, also come on i may have been pasty, (tan now) but i never got all fat like that. Actually i haven't seen that movie but i assume he gained some weight. i got a question for you where did you rant and at who when you were gone from here.

[QUOTE=mirka;1032902]Wait, Bill was a taxi driver in high school? Or they drifted apart after high school and ran into each other years later in a bar. You confuse me. But, yeah everyone should have a friend, hell more than one.[/QUOTE]

I don't even know if Bill even WENT to high school, let alone drives a taxi. These are things as I know them through my dad. I only met Bill one time outside of when I was a kid and I remember him looking a lot like Cat Stevens... beard and all. My theory is that Bill may or may not have really known my dad when they first met, but now they know each other and the rest of the friendship fell into place. Like going up to a stranger and being, like, HEY! REMEMBER ME FROM HIGH SCHOOL! I’M BROCK! BROCK LANDERS! WOW, IT’S BEEN SO LONG SINCE I’VE SEEN YOU! And they are like OH, UM, HEY TO YOU TOO! LIKE, HOW ARE THINGS GOING, UM… and then I’d be like BROCK! DON’T YOU REMEMBER MY NAME?! And they’d be like OH YEAH, OF COURSE, YOU’RE BROCK FROM HIGH SCHOOL OR SOMETHING and I’d be like YEAH! LET’S GO BACK TO YOUR PLACE AND I’LL FUCK YOUR WIFE AND YOU CAN GIVE ME MONEY AND I’LL JUST LIVE WITH YOU FROM NOW ON! And they’d be like WELL, I DON’T KNOW IF… and I’d like cut them off and be like all smiling and charming and be like GREAT! LET’S GO! I CAN’T WAIT TO MEET YOUR FAMILY! THIS IS GONNA BE SO MUCH FUN! And then like they’d take me home and I’d fuck his wife and eat his food and take his money and live in his house and be all demanding and shit and he’d just play along with the whole thing because he is a spineless moron and his wife cut off his balls years ago because he gave up caring when he settled on one person that he thought he could never find anyone better in all his life or whatnot… that should make more sense now I think…

Things I remember about Bill:

- He looks like Cat Stevens or my high school jazz choir teacher who cast me as the lead in Warrenton High School’s production of GREASE…
- He had a degree in pharmaceuticals from a community college or something, so he could work at a pharmacy and dispense drugs and wear a white smock...
- He was a conman…
- He’s my dad’s only REAL friend that I know about…
- He might not even be from Texas in the first place…

… AND there was another Bill in my father’s life when I was in high school, except this Bill was really short and bald and had this entire huge log cabin with different floor levels and solar powered lights and stuff who lived in a secluded place in the woods down this long, windy dirt road near the Oregon Coast and was a revolutionary war and civil war enthusiast who had a HAM Radio fetish and a little blue Honda Civic that he would let me use to take girls on dates in until I got a car of my own, which wasn’t even a car, but was a rusted out 1970’s Chevy Truck with faded blue paint and three-on-the-tree manual transmission which me and a couple of my friends my junior year used a garden hose to siphon gas from some dude’s VW station wagon blocks away from our homes and the dude chased us with a shotgun and we got away but when I got home the next day from cruising Seaside boardwalk in my shitty truck with my friends, my dad said the cops had come to my house and pulled guns on him and thought he had stolen the gas because they ran my plates and they were registered to my dad even though he gave the truck to me and I ended up having to do community service which involved working on the docks scraping barnacles off the tidewater buoys and wooden boardwalk posts down by where they were filming Free Willy 2 on my friend Jason’s dad’s boat with a mechanical whale… whatever… I remember how I’d show up at Bill #2’s house and he’d be on the HAM Radio talking to a peasant woman somewhere in Russia about how the Revolutionary War patriots were more like Cuban Guerrillas than anything else and how history books are all wrong and lie about stuff and he taught me what really happened with the native American Indians and the civil rights movement and the cold war and the chinks in the jungle where we were fighting for treasure and not freedom and Hiroshima and who shot JFK and why the dinosaurs went extinct and how aliens live among us and that cars are gonna run on canned ham in the very near future and on and on. I owe a lot of my knowledgability to him… good ol’ Bill… he’s dead now, by the way… he died my senior year… he wasn’t even all that old… he just had a heart attack and that was that. Probably the smartest, most interesting man I ever met, let alone the best Bill I ever knew…

[QUOTE=Brock Landers;1032933]I don't even know if Bill even WENT to high school, let alone drives a taxi. These are things as I know them through my dad. I only met Bill one time outside of when I was a kid and I remember him looking a lot like Cat Stevens... beard and all. My theory is that Bill may or may not have really known my dad when they first met, but now they know each other and the rest of the friendship fell into place. Like going up to a stranger and being, like, HEY! REMEMBER ME FROM HIGH SCHOOL! I’M BROCK! BROCK LANDERS! WOW, IT’S BEEN SO LONG SINCE I’VE SEEN YOU! And they are like OH, UM, HEY TO YOU TOO! LIKE, HOW ARE THINGS GOING, UM… and then I’d be like BROCK! DON’T YOU REMEMBER MY NAME?! And they’d be like OH YEAH, OF COURSE, YOU’RE BROCK FROM HIGH SCHOOL OR SOMETHING and I’d be like YEAH! LET’S GO BACK TO YOUR PLACE AND I’LL FUCK YOUR WIFE AND YOU CAN GIVE ME MONEY AND I’LL JUST LIVE WITH YOU FROM NOW ON! And they’d be like WELL, I DON’T KNOW IF… and I’d like cut them off and be like all smiling and charming and be like GREAT! LET’S GO! I CAN’T WAIT TO MEET YOUR FAMILY! THIS IS GONNA BE SO MUCH FUN! And then like they’d take me home and I’d fuck his wife and eat his food and take his money and live in his house and be all demanding and shit and he’d just play along with the whole thing because he is a spineless moron and his wife cut off his balls years ago because he gave up caring when he settled on one person that he thought he could never find anyone better in all his life or whatnot… that should make more sense now I think…

Things I remember about Bill:

- He looks like Cat Stevens or my high school jazz choir teacher who cast me as the lead in Warrenton High School’s production of GREASE…
- He had a degree in pharmaceuticals from a community college or something, so he could work at a pharmacy and dispense drugs and wear a white smock...
- He was a conman…
- He’s my dad’s only REAL friend that I know about…
- He might not even be from Texas in the first place…

… AND there was another Bill in my father’s life when I was in high school, except this Bill was really short and bald and had this entire huge log cabin with different floor levels and solar powered lights and stuff who lived in a secluded place in the woods down this long, windy dirt road near the Oregon Coast and was a revolutionary war and civil war enthusiast who had a HAM Radio fetish and a little blue Honda Civic that he would let me use to take girls on dates in until I got a car of my own, which wasn’t even a car, but was a rusted out 1970’s Chevy Truck with faded blue paint and three-on-the-tree manual transmission which me and a couple of my friends my junior year used a garden hose to siphon gas from some dude’s VW station wagon blocks away from our homes and the dude chased us with a shotgun and we got away but when I got home the next day from cruising Seaside boardwalk in my shitty truck with my friends, my dad said the cops had come to my house and pulled guns on him and thought he had stolen the gas because they ran my plates and they were registered to my dad even though he gave the truck to me and I ended up having to do community service which involved working on the docks scraping barnacles off the tidewater buoys and wooden boardwalk posts down by where they were filming Free Willy 2 on my friend Jason’s dad’s boat with a mechanical whale… whatever… I remember how I’d show up at Bill #2’s house and he’d be on the HAM Radio talking to a peasant woman somewhere in Russia about how the Revolutionary War patriots were more like Cuban Guerrillas than anything else and how history books are all wrong and lie about stuff and he taught me what really happened with the native American Indians and the civil rights movement and the cold war and the chinks in the jungle where we were fighting for treasure and not freedom and Hiroshima and who shot JFK and why the dinosaurs went extinct and how aliens live among us and that cars are gonna run on canned ham in the very near future and on and on. I owe a lot of my knowledgability to him… good ol’ Bill… he’s dead now, by the way… he died my senior year… he wasn’t even all that old… he just had a heart attack and that was that. Probably the smartest, most interesting man I ever met, let alone the best Bill I ever knew…[/QUOTE]

Wow, just wow.

This especially cracked me up:

AND YOU CAN GIVE ME MONEY AND I’LL JUST LIVE WITH YOU FROM NOW ON! And they’d be like WELL, I DON’T KNOW IF… and I’d like cut them off and be like all smiling and charming and be like GREAT! LET’S GO! I CAN’T WAIT TO MEET YOUR FAMILY!

Enough about your dad's friends.What about yours. Do you really try to fuck their wives.

[QUOTE=morey;1032929]i don't know i don't have cats and the last time i got ill they gave me uhm those things you put up your butt, also come on i may have been pasty, (tan now) but i never got all fat like that. Actually i haven't seen that movie but i assume he gained some weight. i got a question for you where did you rant and at who when you were gone from here.[/QUOTE]

I worked several places and those places were my outlets for ranting and raving. At the feed store job I would talk to the mexicans and tell them all about stuff on my mind which they never understood, and I did work wwith some white guys who were ex-cowboys from the rodeo bull-riding thing who had limps and brain damage and beltbuckles the size of a satellite dish and Sam Elliot Handlebar mustaches and I really thought they were gonna shoot me for thinking like I think. They mostly thought I was some sort of uppity thinker who thunk too much. Although we had a lot of time to not do shit between loading people jacked-up trucks with horse feed or whatever. Mostly at the feed store I just talked to cowgirls who came to see my muscles. At the restaurant/bar I worked at, I ranted to the waitresses who mostly rubbed against me to feel my body between waiting tables. At the gym I worked at, I would rant to the aerobics instructers who would be staring at my sweaty muscles instead of listening to me talk, but whatever. I ranted a lot and nobody listened much, except for a few dudes who were like groupies, and as a car salesman I would rant for hours with customers about everything EXCEPT buying a car and that's how I sold so many... They always told me I was unlike anyone they ever met and a lot of the females would go and celebrate with me after buying the cars. I dunno... ranting is more coherent when I write it out, but to hear it from my lips and to see me saying it usually is better for other people for the most part...

[QUOTE=mirka;1032935]Wow, just wow.

This especially cracked me up:

AND YOU CAN GIVE ME MONEY AND I’LL JUST LIVE WITH YOU FROM NOW ON! And they’d be like WELL, I DON’T KNOW IF… and I’d like cut them off and be like all smiling and charming and be like GREAT! LET’S GO! I CAN’T WAIT TO MEET YOUR FAMILY!

Enough about your dad's friends.What about yours. Do you really try to fuck their wives.[/QUOTE]

I don't have any friends any more. I moved recently and most of the time I spent the last two years with people was selling cars 6 days a week for 12-14 hours a day... and most of those were single-serving friends... I'd be their best friend for 1-6 or even more hours, as long as it took to buy a car and they'd tell me how great I was and send me a great survey and want to be my friend but then I'd never, ever, ever see them again unless they came into the dealership to get service done on their car and then they'd be like HEY! YOU REMEMBER ME! I BOUGHT A CAR FROM YOU! The only people I interact with are complete strangers, the older nympho chick and her son and her gay friends, and you guys...

[QUOTE=Brock Landers;1032938]I don't have any friends any more. I moved recently and most of the time I spent the last two years with people was selling cars 6 days a week for 12-14 hours a day... and most of those were single-serving friends... I'd be their best friend for 1-6 or even more hours, as long as it took to buy a car and they'd tell me how great I was and send me a great survey and want to be my friend but then I'd never, ever, ever see them again unless they came into the dealership to get service done on their car and then they'd be like HEY! YOU REMEMBER ME! I BOUGHT A CAR FROM YOU! The only people I interact with are complete strangers, the older nympho chick and her son and her gay friends, and you guys...[/QUOTE]

What about your brother. Do you still see him? He had a huge obnoxious dog, right. Or was it a huge obnoxious wife? I can't remember.

Whoa, that came out weird..getting a dog and a wife confused.

what the fuck is that thing they put in your butt when you can't keep a pill down, whats the name?

[QUOTE=morey;1032943]what the fuck is that thing they put in your butt when you can't keep a pill down, whats the name?[/QUOTE]

A suppository?

yeah i think so, they gave me a script for them, six of them and i found out they get you high.

[QUOTE=mirka;1032939]What about your brother. Do you still see him? He had a huge obnoxious dog, right. Or was it a huge obnoxious wife? I can't remember.[/QUOTE]

My brother died two years ago in July. He was driving fast on a country road and a cement/gravel-type semi-truck in an industrial area pulled out really slow onto the one lane each way highway and my brother came around a blind corner in the road and that was that. Turned his Suburban into a Miata basically. Happened between Glen Rose, Texas and Cleburne, Texas. He was an attorney in Cleburne on the town square for roughly ten years and doing very well. When he died he had just got new offices and was building a new house on a golf course in the nicest, newest development in the small podunk town of Cleburne, which is where I moved into an apartment after my divorce back in the late 90's to be close to my only family... my brother and his wife and kids. He did have a bull mastiff. Obnoxious dog. Huge pecker on that thing. It slept on a "single"-sized mattress and probably could have used a queen-sized one. It slobbered all the time and farted and burped and made poo the size of an anthill. I really don't know what happened to the dog after he died being that his wife/widow hated the thing…

I haven't talked to her since about six months after the funeral, that’s when she moved in with my brother’s attorney friend that she was fucking around on him with while he was still alive. Now they are married and she changed her name. She never goes to any family functions anymore, which really bothers my Aunt since my brother’s daughters mean so much to her, and I love my fucking Aunt, she’s fucking awesome… but I rarely ever get to see her. She was the one my brother ran away from home to and he lived with her when my dad was beating the shit out of him. I was left with my dad in Oregon until I graduated high school. Still I visited him and her in Texas on school breaks…

My brother was buried next to my mom in the countryside of Texas, near Austin, in a town with one woodfloor convenience store/supermarket and a little church. There is one single tree growing in that burnt yellow grass country graveyard, and it's right between my brother and my mom's graves. I think about him a lot still, but it still seems like I never had a brother at all a lot of the times. It sucks that I feel like that. He died around the time we were having a family feud too... on account of his wife. I mean, we were brothers and sometimes closer than anything, especially a united front against my father, even though my brother was about 7 or 8 years older than me…

I really looked up to him, even though his life, near the end of it, had become a living hell for him in a lot of ways. The final straw was him and his wife barely had any sex anymore and three girls and his wife was no housewife type and was always on the verge of tears and really struggling, they fought a lot and tried really hard to make things seem like they were working, but my brother stayed to himself when he would come home from work and played computer RPGs and fantasy football and did online gambling, he was an avid gambler in many ways. He would drive from Cleburne to Shreveport many weekends by himself or with a friend or two, and he would fly to Vegas to do sports gambling and poker every month or two with his friends from college who were also attorneys in other cities like Dallas and Austin. That’s what happened with him and me and his wife. He left one weekend to go to Vegas, and she was mad at him that he went and left her with the kids, so feeling stranded and angry and frustrated, she called me over to eat dinner with her and the kids on Saturday night, which was a common occurrence since I was not rich and my brother loved to cook, and when he would go out of town he would tell me to keep an eye on his wife and daughters. But when I got there the kids were nowhere to be seen and she said they were spending the night at one of her friend’s houses and she hadn’t started the food yet and wondered if I might help her with some shelving in the kitchen…

I felt weird about being there with her alone because over the course of their marriage, she would do things and say things and look at me weird and sexual whenever my brother wasn’t around or was in another room. She would wear short running shorts with no underwear and no liner and babydoll-type shirts with no bra around the house, exposing herself to me when she would sit-lay on the couch sideways with her ass towards where I was sitting and a pillow between her legs while she would stare intently at the television trying not to see me noticing or whatever… stuff like that, states of undress, pressing herself against me in certain regions when she would greet me, I always felt so awkward because she was my brother’s wife and I would never do anything like that to him and I felt like that scene in the Sharon Stone- Michael Douglas icepick movie and she was hardly unattractive if you catch my drift which made it much worse, I think my brother married her because of the whole trophy wife blonde thing, etc…

But yeah, so like a dumbass I helped her with shelves and she wanted me to hold her legs on the ladder and not let her fall and again with the skimpy shorts and top that flopped open from below so when she leaned forward and I was trying to hold her legs steady at that awkward angle, I could not help but see bottoms of breasts and areas of femininity that I at that moment did not want to see. I’m a man. I have a cock and balls. Cockteasing effects me. I can’t control how my body feels, all I can control is what I do with my body, and I did… control myself, I mean, and we cooked and talked a little and watched some tv and then she excused herself while I was actually posting on The Cult for fucksake and I din’t mind that she had gone because I was ranting and raving in a post much like I like to do and then I snapped out of whatever Cult-posting-induced trance I was in and noticed that it was dark around me except for the desk lamp, and the big snoring bull mastiff was slobbering all over my shoes under the computer desk, and I called out her name and heard no response so I figured she was folding clothes or reading a book in her room or something like she does when my brother is there…

So it was late and I was tired from working earlier in the day and as much as I wanted to stay and post on The Cult all night and into the next day, like I always want to, I decided it would be wise to go, so I went to her and my brother’s bedroom door which was made out of that weird glass you can’t really see through and knocked on it softly in case she was asleep and didn’t respond which I was gonna sneak out quietly with the spare key my brother gave me, but she said I’M IN HERE and I talked through the door like I’M GONNA GO NOW. THANKS FOR DINNER AND LETTING ME USE THE COMPUTER. And then she was like I NEED YOU FOR SOMETHING and I was like talking through the door, like WHAT? And she was like COME IN HERE and it sounded like she really needed something and so I opened the door and the bathroom light was on and the door to the bathroom was cracked so the room was in semi-darkness but I could see her lying in the bed on top of the comforter and she was naked and reclined with her arms back over her head and her long blonde hair spread out on the pillow and down past her right armpit and her left leg bent at the knee with the right one mostly straight but sort-of half turned towards me and I could see her breasts and her nipples and her pubic hair and her belly and she said again COME HERE and it took all the strength I had inside of me to tell her I CAN’T DO THAT and turn and leave the bedroom and go down the hall and feel my face all hot and flushed and my hands visibly shaking as I slammed the front door shut behind me and walked briskly to my car and got in and drove down the street a few blocks and pulled over and stopped and just sat there with the car running, my mind and pulse going fucking berserk. I went home and hard a hard time sleeping and she didn’t call and no one called and I finally fell asleep in the wee hours of the morning on Sunday…

Come Monday I got up early and called my brother, since he was supposed to have come home Sunday night, and asked him if he wanted me to help him with serving some legal papers since I often times did that for him on Mondays. He answered his phone and was really quiet and then he said I KNOW WHAT HAPPENED all matter-of-factly and cold and monotone. I said EXCUSE ME? And he told me how his wife called him in his hotel room in Vegas early, early on Sunday morning after I had left his house and was crying and hysterical and said how I had attempted to violate her or something, which thinking back about it, her job in real life was that of being a part-time social worker and it makes sense that she would use one of her real life social worker stories to make him angry and make me look bad to him, because she would often at the dinner table with him and me in the past talk about how in her job as social worker for the state that she came across all kinds of infidelity and forced sex and child abuse and on and on and victimization of women and stuff and she was always one step away from having a screw loose from her three daughters driving her crazy and making her cry because she didn’t know how to be a housemother or something, but my brother basically told me that even though he was pretty sure she was lying to get back at him for something since they were always getting back at each other for something in their many, many fights, that she was his wife and he didn’t think I should come over anymore, at least for a little while until she calmed down a bit…

I was so fucking angry that he would choose her over me in any way, since she was always pulling shit like this and he knew better, and then we argued a bit like usual and then he said he had to go and hung up the phone and that was that. The last I spoke to my brother was that shitty fucking conversation on the phone. I called him the very next day and got his machine and left no message. I don’t like to leave messages. I want to talk to people. I get sick of phone tag. I called the day after that and again a message. Then I called and his wife answered and she was sobbing hysterically and I couldn’t understand a thing she said except that my brother was in a car crash and he was dead. I didn’t know what the fuck she was talking about. Then she repeated herself and I still didn’t register anything. I drove over to her house and my aunt was there and she grabbed me and hugged me and everybody was crying and people I didn’t know where there and they were crying and everybody was fucking crying and it seemed so weird and then his wife ran out of the bedroom to me and practically jumped on me and hugged me super-tight and was shaking and moaning and carrying on and at that point I still didn’t know what the fuck was going on…

A couple days later at the funeral, I went into the little Spanish Catholic church, the only one in Cleburne that was Catholic since it’s all Baptist or something, and sat with his wife and my aunt and his three daughters and some of my cousin’s and stuff and people spoke about him and said things about him, the mayor spoke, judges spoke, attorneys said stuff, people I didn’t know went on and on about him and then they said a traditional Catholic mass because my brother thought he was Catholic even though they rarely went to Church. That was weird because I was raised Catholic and I was the only one in the church aside from the priest and a few altar boys and some old people, who kneeled and stood and sat and repeated lines and did the Catholic thing right because nobody knew the routine, so it was like we were playing some fucked-up game of Simon Says...

On the way out of the church, I finally saw my brother. It surprised the hell out of me. I didn’t think they would open the casket and put it by the door. I’ve never really been to a funeral, except for my mom and grandparents, but I was just a kid then. I avoided funeral’s altogether most of my life, and here I was at pretty much the first one I really understood what was happening and there was my dead brother in the huge casket looking like he was sleeping. Huge casket because he was almost 400 lbs and 6 foot 6 inches tall. It fucked me up pretty good…

Afterwards I went home and everyone acted all concerned and complete strangers told me to call them if I needed anything and family that I hadn’t seen in decades said that they wish they didn’t have to see me again “this way”, like it sucks that my brother was dead and otherwise we’d be having a fucking picnic and playing Frisbee. So it’s been two years since then and now it seems like it never really happened and sometimes it’s like I never had a brother at all in the first place, which pisses me off that I feel like that about him and my mom and everybody else. Maybe there is something wrong with me. I don’t fucking know. I hate being fucking nostalgic all the time. I wish I didn’t have to try and remember good shit that happened a long time ago. I loved my brother more than anybody else… ever… in my life. Now I feel alone…

[QUOTE=seymour;1032804]I was sort of a regular (voyeur) here a long time ago. Then Brock left, and Alex went filming stuff, and Nightrious became a zen master, and I kind of lost interest (plus I stopped having so much free time). But it's nice seeing you guys again.[/QUOTE]
Wow! It's nice seeing you again too. Whoever the hell you are.

brock,

man - i know a lot of people here have a love/hate relationship with you - i just wanted to say that i'm real sorry for your loss of your brother, all that BS with his wife, the way it ended...all that - i've been in several situations like that, and it sucks - i'm glad that you could walk away from that temptation, and don't have THAT hanging over you too

i know it's been a long time since your brother passed, but if there is any way to honor his presence, your love and respect for him, find a way to do it - you'll feel better

if nothing else, you still have your nieces, maybe there is a way to be there for them, if you can avoid the wife

good luck bro

[QUOTE=Brock Landers;1033136]So it’s been two years since then and now it seems like it never really happened and sometimes it’s like I never had a brother at all in the first place, which pisses me off that I feel like that about him and my mom and everybody else. Maybe there is something wrong with me. I don’t fucking know.[/QUOTE]

It's normal to emotionally distance yourself from dramatic events and the people who remind you of them. Who in the world wants to remember the worst moments of their lives every day let alone every week let alone ever fucking again? The only thing you can do is create new, pleasant memories with those in life who really matter to you and hope to whoever or whatever the fuck you pray to that someday, on a distant tomorrow, these years have, with vein rippled fists, drown those horrible moments gurgling, thrashing and plummeting down into a bottomless sea of yesterday.

NOTE: From seeing your pictures you look like my uncle and writing this is uncomfortable because of it. The only time my uncle and I have "spoken", he was lazy eye drunk slapping folded Washingtons down for some fake-titted pole-swinger with stretch marks who wouldn't stop showing us her hairless beaver. He blathered on about Vietnam and all sorts of other violent and depressing subject matter. Unfortunately the music was too loud and I couldn't stop glancing at stripper twat (I was always afraid they'd get mad if I didn't pay some attention) so I wasn't able to hear much of what he said. Now all I hope is he wasn't telling me this story.

In future posts, could you please label a new thread that clearly states, 'There is a chance someone might cry until they pee their pants," and post things like this in there? I'd really appreciate it. That way I know when it's going to happen.

[QUOTE=wickerkat;1033287]brock,

man - i know a lot of people here have a love/hate relationship with you - i just wanted to say that i'm real sorry for your loss of your brother, all that BS with his wife, the way it ended...all that - i've been in several situations like that, and it sucks - i'm glad that you could walk away from that temptation, and don't have THAT hanging over you too

i know it's been a long time since your brother passed, but if there is any way to honor his presence, your love and respect for him, find a way to do it - you'll feel better

if nothing else, you still have your nieces, maybe there is a way to be there for them, if you can avoid the wife

good luck bro[/QUOTE]

I really appreciate your response, wickerkat. True, some hate, some love, but at this point in my life, I know that the things that I do, and the words that I speak, and the thoughts that I express through posting here at The Cult really are about nothing more than me being me and trying to explain to others how I, Brock Landers… one person on this planet… think, and feel, and love, and live. Words are powerful things and I know that I have the power to change minds and make perception vary. That’s why I love to post. I love to post because words are unequaled in their influence…

Your post, aside from your comments, includes two very pertinent items as well… ya know, I always say that as much as I hate cliché, a lot of times, it can’t help but be true, and what doesn’t kill you does make you stronger, and I find more and more that no matter how many hundreds and thousands of times I hear that quote, that I have become totally okay with the cliché of it all because it is so fucking true…

I find it sort of cathartic to hear it over and over, to see it written all over The Cult in posts by different people like six on the dot, by you, by whoever. I like to hear people in the “real world” say it too. Misguided high school football players at the gym say it all the time. I even approached this professional bodybuilder black guy at my gym, I forget his name right now… he’s like 6 foot 6 inches tall, like me, except I weigh around 230 of muscle and he is about 350 or 400 of ripped muscle and all roided up, but I still got much respect for the guy, most people are intimidated by him and just watch him from across the gym and are afraid to talk to him and I remember this one time he says to me in his soft-spoken, doesn’t talk much sort of way, that what doesn’t kill him makes him bigger or something about his muscles and his life and I dunno, it’s probably the truest statement I can think of right about now...

In fact, I don’t feel all depressed and stuff about my brother… at least not all of the time… mostly I just recognize that I have no real family and move on, I have become, through childhood and growing up in my teens and twenties, a master of disassociation. I seem to block out how I really feel all the time when my subconscious wants me to. In fact, right now I feel like as big as a big, thick, boisterous redwood tree. I feel like the big ‘dumb’ Indian in One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest at the end where he suffocates the brain lobe removal victim RP McMurphy with a pillow and he rips up the drinking fountain thing that weighs a ton and throws it through the window bars and escapes to the sound of a lumberjack saw being played with a violin bow and drumbeats, it’s an exhilarating and wonderful feeling of strength and inner self confidence and things like that…

I feel pretty damn good in fact. I just got up at around 2:30pm today and it’s now 3:30pm and the older nympho chick just got home from picking her son up at school, and he is yelling how he wants a cheeseburger over and over again while freaking out how the all-new Scooby Doo is on the Tivo, and the older nympho chick ran up to me and gave me a big hug and a kiss in her tight khaki shorts and her t-shirt with a picture of Gumby on it that says LOOKING FOR MY POKEY and I printed out a copy of that story about my brother for her to read, like sharing, and she locked herself in the bathroom so she could sit on the toilet and read it without the kid interrupting her and that’s my life and I love it. She’s more and more everyday behind the things I do. She makes me feel like I matter. She makes me feel wanted. She makes me feel the happiest I have felt in a long, long time. I help out, she helps out. She’s becoming my family and it makes me so fucking ecstatic...

It also means that I leave myself open for my heart to be broken when and/or if things go bad, maybe leading to depression and suicidal tendencies and whatnot, but that’s just me. Extreme highs and lows. That’s how I live, that’s my life. I love my life as I know it. As far as honoring my brother goes, I mostly try to do things that I think he would liked me to do. As much as he gave me shit, being my older brother and all, he really envied me in a lot of ways and I know this from things he wrote and things people said. He wished he had had my life, aside from the being poor part. But somehow things worked out that he ended up feeling trapped in marriage and in his life and I think he just failed to accept his true feelings and was stubborn and thought he would stick out whatever path he had ended up on…

That was how he worked. He never quit anything and he always accomplished his goals. All or nothing with him. Growing up in junior high and high school, he was always reading GQ magazine and that was how he equated success with money and trophy wife and clothes and watches and shoes. I still remember how when I had just turned 21 years old he invited me to go to Dallas with him and his college friends from Texas Tech Law School to a sports bar and grill owned by some retired Dallas Cowboys guy. We all drove in his Suburban and most of us were drinking in the back. It felt like being on a school bus or a greyhound party bus. We got to the restaurant where we were supposed to meet some other friends of his from school, and we sat and ate…

There was this one brunette friend of his sitting across the table from me. She was so beautiful. Big beautiful breasts, a wonderfully curvaceous ass, the most alluring face, lips, eyes, and raven-dark hair. She was the most beautiful person I had ever seen in my entire life, at least to me. Just looking at her made me alert and tingly and full of confidence and bloodflow and smartness and wit that night and every night thereafter. I had longer hair that came down to my shoulders and had a baseball cap on and earrings in both ears. I looked like a surfer or a skateboarder or something. I remember my brother taking off his shoe and passing it around the table and telling everyone what brand it was and how great it was and it was his fucking shoe. My brother was loud, obnoxious and a blowhard sometimes. He was always more extroverted like that. I’m extroverted but in a different way, and in a lot of ways, I was the introverted one in our relationship. Still, I always looked up to him even if he was always trying to impress everyone else with stuff and things and meaningless crap that meant nothing to me, but everything to him…

We ate and drank and had a great time, and then we decided to go down to Deep Ellum, which is sorta like the entertainment district, this whole long street in downtown Dallas with bar after bar and brewpubs and dance clubs and music venues and biker bars and you can drink and walk and stuff and they have arts festivals and beer tasting events and bands… so we went to a bar-dance club called The Blind Lemon. It was pretty big and divided into sections. One section was like a coffee bar except alcohol. Quiet and arty and booths and cigarette machines and weird lighting, very abstract sort of room with Sinatra music… then there was the live band room which had some kind of punk band playing and a mosh pit and it sorta felt like a high school dance with the cheap decorations and Nirvana-esque teen spirity feel of the early 90’s, and then there was a country-western bar with the tear in my beer songs type thing that looked like a saloon, and a hallway filled with black lights and techno music. Every different part of the club had different music and weird divisionary doors that somehow kept the music from going to the other rooms…

We went from room to room and I remember finally being in some room where I was dancing like a stripper with three of my brother’s friends who were women, all of them about 7 to 10 years older than me. I had my shirt off and I was pretty fucking drunk, we were hogging the jello shot girl and drinking these weird ass green-purple liquid things out of test-tube vials that tasted like Jolly Rancher candies. As the music and dancing and merriment went on, I ended up in a corner of the room with the beautiful brunette and we were totally making eye contact and into each other big time and so I took her hand and led her through several parts of the club, country, Sinatra, whatever… and into the techno hallway where there was a dance version of The Bee Gees stayin’ alive playing in this like 20 minute remix, and it was fucking packed with people by this point, late at night so it was early in the morning…

We were sweaty from dancing and drunk and happy and redfaced and out of breath and I pushed her back against the wall next to this payphone stuck on the wall and I remember her white shirt glowing in the black light and I kissed her as hard as I could and she kissed me back just the same and that was that. We spent the night together at some apartment of one of my brother’s friends in Dallas and the next morning she drove me home to my apartment in Arlington and we had sex all day and into the night, pausing only to order pizza or to change music cd’s. I remember we fucked and fucked through the Definitely Maybe Oasis album which was on repeat over and over until we joked that we had all the lyrics memorized as we lay there fucksore and still wanting more…

I couldn’t get enough of her. I never wanted her to leave. She was the perfect woman for me and I never wanted to let her go. She was amazing and older and had a law degree and was intelligent and completely different from me and loved how I looked and how I thought and how I was younger and how I made her feel even younger and she was so interested in everything I had to say and everything about me and I found her just as fascinating. We dated for a year, then got married, then waited a year and had a child, a boy, and then 3 years later we got divorced. Since then I’ve been with numerous women and nothing real. Nothing real meaning nothing like that with my ex-wife. I’ve had long-term and short-term relationships since then but nothing on that level… until now. Now exceeds that level, although it’s hard to compare really. It’s different. I love this woman, the older nympho chick, more than anybody else in this entire world, more than anything else, more than anything and everything and she has become my reality. So yeah, to me, perception is ten-tenths of reality. Reality is what you make, and what you make of “it”… whatever “it” may be…

[QUOTE=chad orr;1033312]It's normal to emotionally distance yourself from dramatic events and the people who remind you of them. Who in the world wants to remember the worst moments of their lives every day let alone every week let alone ever fucking again? The only thing you can do is create new, pleasant memories with those in life who really matter to you and hope to whoever or whatever the fuck you pray to that someday, on a distant tomorrow, these years have, with vein rippled fists, drown those horrible moments gurgling, thrashing and plummeting down into a bottomless sea of yesterday.

NOTE: From seeing your pictures you look like my uncle and writing this is uncomfortable because of it. The only time my uncle and I have "spoken", he was lazy eye drunk slapping folded Washingtons down for some fake-titted pole-swinger with stretch marks who wouldn't stop showing us her hairless beaver. He blathered on about Vietnam and all sorts of other violent and depressing subject matter. Unfortunately the music was too loud and I couldn't stop glancing at stripper twat (I was always afraid they'd get mad if I didn't pay some attention) so I wasn't able to hear much of what he said. Now all I hope is he wasn't telling me this story.

In future posts, could you please label a new thread that clearly states, 'There is a chance someone might cry until they pee their pants," and post things like this in there? I'd really appreciate it. That way I know when it's going to happen.[/QUOTE]

Yeah, the older nympho chick and I don’t pray… at least I don’t. I don’t seem to have much spirituality anymore besides during sex, when I’m driving my car, and when I’m lifting weights at the gym. I go to different places during those times in particular. Sometimes I drive and drive and end up places I don’t even realize how I got there. I love my car like that. During sex I pretty much am there and not there. I don’t make it into a metaphysical intellevibratory affair or nothing all artsy-fartsy like that, I just “lose time” if you will. At the gym I lift and lift and lift until I can’t lift anymore and my skin feels like it’s gonna burst and I feel on the verge of either having a heart attack or a brain aneurysm. I’ve never hurt myself, not really, I mean, I go fast but not too fast. I take no breaks between sets, I push and push until I’m as pumped as I’m gonna be and then I leave. When I hit the wall and I keep going is when I get on the verge of passing out…

Today was like that. Right now I feel like I did in high school football when I would get a concussion. Everything around me takes on a sparkly quality, like it’s all new and scrubbed and clean and Munchkinlandey, like, everytime I open a door I half expect to see a ghost of Bill or my brother or the freshman junior varsity cheerleader girl I dated off and on my junior year in high school who died at the ripe old age of 17 in a drunk driving accident with some guy she was dating at the time… a feeling going through me like I don’t give a shit about anything except survival of the fittest…

I mean, sometimes I really wish I could hold onto those terrible moments, ‘cause at least then I’d feel something instead of this terrible numbness that oozes from my skin and makes me cold and distant like a snake sometimes… I don’t find much of anything depressing… in fact, I found much joy in relaying the story of my brother to ya’ll. Again, it’s all perception. Death of a loved one isn’t such a bad thing, at least not to me. We all die sooner or later, and I don’t dwell on the idea that the world is an unfair place and that good people die when I think they should have lived longer. I’m no emo. I’ve got no goth bones about me. I may like The Smiths and The Cure and Johnny Depp in Edward Scissorhands, but that doesn’t make me dress in black and wear white face makeup and mope around all pasty with eyeliner on…

Today I actually wore my Fight Club T-shirt with the pink soap dish on the front and I FELT LIKE DESTROYING SOMETHING BEAUTIFUL ON THE BACK and I felt like a space monkey when people would look at my body and my shaved head and my shirt, ‘cause I always get attention like that, and jaws drop when I enter a room. Girls look away from their boyfriend’s who are talking to them and eye-fuck the shit out of me, blatantly even…

I felt stronger than usual at the gym and lifted more weight with more intensity than ever before. It’s no wonder I have such a fucking awesome body. I take the bad shit in my life and focus it all into a furious workout. I go back to the closet my dad locked me in or to the corner he made me stand in for hours in my underwear while he would read a book and ignore me unless I moved and needed to bend my knees or something. I take everything bad that ever happened to me and turn it into good. You won’t find me self-mutilating or punching walls anymore. I’m past all that nonsense. I self-destruct in other ways, and the scars from the ruin are even tougher than the fleshy anger I had before…

I don’t want pity. I want people to know who I am and what I do and I want to be an example of something, I don’t know what yet. Not a role model, not inspirational, not anything like that, I just want to share with others how fucking good I look and feel and why. The why’s include the bad shit and the good shit. All the shit made me who I am today. Bad doesn’t always equal more bad. There is no mathematics other than pussy-math. Pussy + Me = Fucking Outstandingly Good Shit…

I want to be the strongest I can be, day in and day out, mentally, physically, and otherwise. That means sacrifice, and I’ve sacrificed plenty, and have no need of dwelling on the past in a crappy sort-of-way. I take shit and turn it into a shit salad. I take crap and make a crap sandwich. My glass isn’t half-empty or half-full… I don’t even have a glass… I got a can of diet mountain dew and some ephedrine flowing through my veins, endorphins taking me away to whatever floaty wonderful place those hot naked chicks go when they take a bubble bath in that estrogen-laced commercial on the telly, except that they are all waiting for me to come and get them all dirty again…

[img]http://blip.tv/uploadedFiles/Vlogolution-JoinMeForAHotWetBubbleBath532.jpg[/img] : BLAH, BLAH, BLAH! ALL YOU MEN EVER THINK ABOUT IS IF OTHER GUYS LIKE YOU OR NOT! THIS WEBSITE IS MORE HOMOEROTIC THAN THE MOVIE TOP GUN... EVEN THOUGH I LIKE WHEN VAL KILMER AND TOM CRUISE PLAY VOLLEYBALL SHIRTLESS! ENOUGH! CHUCK LIKES US ALREADY! NOW COME INTO THE TUB WITH ME, YOU BIG DUMB BROCK!

[QUOTE=Brock Landers;1033136]My brother died two years ago in July. He was driving fast on a country road and a cement/gravel-type semi-truck in an industrial area pulled out really slow onto the one lane each way highway and my brother came around a blind corner in the road and that was that. Turned his Suburban into a Miata basically. Happened between Glen Rose, Texas and Cleburne, Texas. He was an attorney in Cleburne on the town square for roughly ten years and doing very well. When he died he had just got new offices and was building a new house on a golf course in the nicest, newest development in the small podunk town of Cleburne, which is where I moved into an apartment after my divorce back in the late 90's to be close to my only family... my brother and his wife and kids. He did have a bull mastiff. Obnoxious dog. Huge pecker on that thing. It slept on a "single"-sized mattress and probably could have used a queen-sized one. It slobbered all the time and farted and burped and made poo the size of an anthill. I really don't know what happened to the dog after he died being that his wife/widow hated the thing…

I haven't talked to her since about six months after the funeral, that’s when she moved in with my brother’s attorney friend that she was fucking around on him with while he was still alive. Now they are married and she changed her name. She never goes to any family functions anymore, which really bothers my Aunt since my brother’s daughters mean so much to her, and I love my fucking Aunt, she’s fucking awesome… but I rarely ever get to see her. She was the one my brother ran away from home to and he lived with her when my dad was beating the shit out of him. I was left with my dad in Oregon until I graduated high school. Still I visited him and her in Texas on school breaks…

My brother was buried next to my mom in the countryside of Texas, near Austin, in a town with one woodfloor convenience store/supermarket and a little church. There is one single tree growing in that burnt yellow grass country graveyard, and it's right between my brother and my mom's graves. I think about him a lot still, but it still seems like I never had a brother at all a lot of the times. It sucks that I feel like that. He died around the time we were having a family feud too... on account of his wife. I mean, we were brothers and sometimes closer than anything, especially a united front against my father, even though my brother was about 7 or 8 years older than me…

I really looked up to him, even though his life, near the end of it, had become a living hell for him in a lot of ways. The final straw was him and his wife barely had any sex anymore and three girls and his wife was no housewife type and was always on the verge of tears and really struggling, they fought a lot and tried really hard to make things seem like they were working, but my brother stayed to himself when he would come home from work and played computer RPGs and fantasy football and did online gambling, he was an avid gambler in many ways. He would drive from Cleburne to Shreveport many weekends by himself or with a friend or two, and he would fly to Vegas to do sports gambling and poker every month or two with his friends from college who were also attorneys in other cities like Dallas and Austin. That’s what happened with him and me and his wife. He left one weekend to go to Vegas, and she was mad at him that he went and left her with the kids, so feeling stranded and angry and frustrated, she called me over to eat dinner with her and the kids on Saturday night, which was a common occurrence since I was not rich and my brother loved to cook, and when he would go out of town he would tell me to keep an eye on his wife and daughters. But when I got there the kids were nowhere to be seen and she said they were spending the night at one of her friend’s houses and she hadn’t started the food yet and wondered if I might help her with some shelving in the kitchen…

I felt weird about being there with her alone because over the course of their marriage, she would do things and say things and look at me weird and sexual whenever my brother wasn’t around or was in another room. She would wear short running shorts with no underwear and no liner and babydoll-type shirts with no bra around the house, exposing herself to me when she would sit-lay on the couch sideways with her ass towards where I was sitting and a pillow between her legs while she would stare intently at the television trying not to see me noticing or whatever… stuff like that, states of undress, pressing herself against me in certain regions when she would greet me, I always felt so awkward because she was my brother’s wife and I would never do anything like that to him and I felt like that scene in the Sharon Stone- Michael Douglas icepick movie and she was hardly unattractive if you catch my drift which made it much worse, I think my brother married her because of the whole trophy wife blonde thing, etc…

But yeah, so like a dumbass I helped her with shelves and she wanted me to hold her legs on the ladder and not let her fall and again with the skimpy shorts and top that flopped open from below so when she leaned forward and I was trying to hold her legs steady at that awkward angle, I could not help but see bottoms of breasts and areas of femininity that I at that moment did not want to see. I’m a man. I have a cock and balls. Cockteasing effects me. I can’t control how my body feels, all I can control is what I do with my body, and I did… control myself, I mean, and we cooked and talked a little and watched some tv and then she excused herself while I was actually posting on The Cult for fucksake and I din’t mind that she had gone because I was ranting and raving in a post much like I like to do and then I snapped out of whatever Cult-posting-induced trance I was in and noticed that it was dark around me except for the desk lamp, and the big snoring bull mastiff was slobbering all over my shoes under the computer desk, and I called out her name and heard no response so I figured she was folding clothes or reading a book in her room or something like she does when my brother is there…

So it was late and I was tired from working earlier in the day and as much as I wanted to stay and post on The Cult all night and into the next day, like I always want to, I decided it would be wise to go, so I went to her and my brother’s bedroom door which was made out of that weird glass you can’t really see through and knocked on it softly in case she was asleep and didn’t respond which I was gonna sneak out quietly with the spare key my brother gave me, but she said I’M IN HERE and I talked through the door like I’M GONNA GO NOW. THANKS FOR DINNER AND LETTING ME USE THE COMPUTER. And then she was like I NEED YOU FOR SOMETHING and I was like talking through the door, like WHAT? And she was like COME IN HERE and it sounded like she really needed something and so I opened the door and the bathroom light was on and the door to the bathroom was cracked so the room was in semi-darkness but I could see her lying in the bed on top of the comforter and she was naked and reclined with her arms back over her head and her long blonde hair spread out on the pillow and down past her right armpit and her left leg bent at the knee with the right one mostly straight but sort-of half turned towards me and I could see her breasts and her nipples and her pubic hair and her belly and she said again COME HERE and it took all the strength I had inside of me to tell her I CAN’T DO THAT and turn and leave the bedroom and go down the hall and feel my face all hot and flushed and my hands visibly shaking as I slammed the front door shut behind me and walked briskly to my car and got in and drove down the street a few blocks and pulled over and stopped and just sat there with the car running, my mind and pulse going fucking berserk. I went home and hard a hard time sleeping and she didn’t call and no one called and I finally fell asleep in the wee hours of the morning on Sunday…

Come Monday I got up early and called my brother, since he was supposed to have come home Sunday night, and asked him if he wanted me to help him with serving some legal papers since I often times did that for him on Mondays. He answered his phone and was really quiet and then he said I KNOW WHAT HAPPENED all matter-of-factly and cold and monotone. I said EXCUSE ME? And he told me how his wife called him in his hotel room in Vegas early, early on Sunday morning after I had left his house and was crying and hysterical and said how I had attempted to violate her or something, which thinking back about it, her job in real life was that of being a part-time social worker and it makes sense that she would use one of her real life social worker stories to make him angry and make me look bad to him, because she would often at the dinner table with him and me in the past talk about how in her job as social worker for the state that she came across all kinds of infidelity and forced sex and child abuse and on and on and victimization of women and stuff and she was always one step away from having a screw loose from her three daughters driving her crazy and making her cry because she didn’t know how to be a housemother or something, but my brother basically told me that even though he was pretty sure she was lying to get back at him for something since they were always getting back at each other for something in their many, many fights, that she was his wife and he didn’t think I should come over anymore, at least for a little while until she calmed down a bit…

I was so fucking angry that he would choose her over me in any way, since she was always pulling shit like this and he knew better, and then we argued a bit like usual and then he said he had to go and hung up the phone and that was that. The last I spoke to my brother was that shitty fucking conversation on the phone. I called him the very next day and got his machine and left no message. I don’t like to leave messages. I want to talk to people. I get sick of phone tag. I called the day after that and again a message. Then I called and his wife answered and she was sobbing hysterically and I couldn’t understand a thing she said except that my brother was in a car crash and he was dead. I didn’t know what the fuck she was talking about. Then she repeated herself and I still didn’t register anything. I drove over to her house and my aunt was there and she grabbed me and hugged me and everybody was crying and people I didn’t know where there and they were crying and everybody was fucking crying and it seemed so weird and then his wife ran out of the bedroom to me and practically jumped on me and hugged me super-tight and was shaking and moaning and carrying on and at that point I still didn’t know what the fuck was going on…

A couple days later at the funeral, I went into the little Spanish Catholic church, the only one in Cleburne that was Catholic since it’s all Baptist or something, and sat with his wife and my aunt and his three daughters and some of my cousin’s and stuff and people spoke about him and said things about him, the mayor spoke, judges spoke, attorneys said stuff, people I didn’t know went on and on about him and then they said a traditional Catholic mass because my brother thought he was Catholic even though they rarely went to Church. That was weird because I was raised Catholic and I was the only one in the church aside from the priest and a few altar boys and some old people, who kneeled and stood and sat and repeated lines and did the Catholic thing right because nobody knew the routine, so it was like we were playing some fucked-up game of Simon Says...

On the way out of the church, I finally saw my brother. It surprised the hell out of me. I didn’t think they would open the casket and put it by the door. I’ve never really been to a funeral, except for my mom and grandparents, but I was just a kid then. I avoided funeral’s altogether most of my life, and here I was at pretty much the first one I really understood what was happening and there was my dead brother in the huge casket looking like he was sleeping. Huge casket because he was almost 400 lbs and 6 foot 6 inches tall. It fucked me up pretty good…

Afterwards I went home and everyone acted all concerned and complete strangers told me to call them if I needed anything and family that I hadn’t seen in decades said that they wish they didn’t have to see me again “this way”, like it sucks that my brother was dead and otherwise we’d be having a fucking picnic and playing Frisbee. So it’s been two years since then and now it seems like it never really happened and sometimes it’s like I never had a brother at all in the first place, which pisses me off that I feel like that about him and my mom and everybody else. Maybe there is something wrong with me. I don’t fucking know. I hate being fucking nostalgic all the time. I wish I didn’t have to try and remember good shit that happened a long time ago. I loved my brother more than anybody else… ever… in my life. Now I feel alone…[/QUOTE]

I'm so sorry Brock. I didn't mean to toss out that question out so offhand and casual you know. I just always loved your rants about your brother and his fucking dog and bitch wife. You would rant a lot, but I always like best when you talked about your brother and your family, you would go off on all kinds of tangents and roll back around to your original point. It was cool too because it was like a little bit you really sharing something real about yourself not just talking about movies or beating people up on the cult or all the women that want to do you. I like to feel I can know people a little even in this medium and I think I was able to know you a little when you talked about your family. And I remember how you wanted to send a secret santa present the first time we held one, but you didn't want one back because you were to paranoid to give out your address. I guess I'm saying I'm glad you're back, but I am so sorry for how hard the last two years must have been.

I really am sorry for your loss. I am sorry your brother's life got cut short. It's just so sad that you two didn't have a chance to do and share so many things together. I know whatever I say isn't going to be anything you haven't heard before, and there are really no words of comfort.

I'm glad you're back.

Why is brock posting such long posts?

ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!

[QUOTE=Ironman;1033763]Why is brock posting such long posts?
ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!![/QUOTE]

Just read and learn. You don't question the Brock.

word. plus, reading brock posts is a great way to refine your english language skills.

[QUOTE=Caligula7;1033827]Just read and learn. You don't question the Brock.[/QUOTE]

But if you do, he usually likes you more, at least respects you.

[QUOTE=ClayToby;1030834]What i got out from that is that he is denying our existence because he doesnt wanna write a book just to please us.[/QUOTE]

And it's been working. Lots of us didn't like Diary (though I did). But who liked Haunted? Anyone? Anyone? Buehler? Or, like me, maybe liked the shorts in it but not the 'novel.' And Rant? I can't get into it so far.

I mean yeah, he's written some of my favorite contemporary novels but also some of the worst ones IMHO, especially lately.

[QUOTE=Chixulub;1034423]And it's been working. Lots of us didn't like Diary (though I did). But who liked Haunted? Anyone? Anyone? Buehler? Or, like me, maybe liked the shorts in it but not the 'novel.' And Rant? I can't get into it so far.

I mean yeah, he's written some of my favorite contemporary novels but also some of the worst ones IMHO, especially lately.[/QUOTE]

I like Choke, Fight Club, Invisible Monsters, and Fugitives & Refugees. I tried to read Lullaby and I lost interest because of I forget why. Something came up. I do plan on re-reading it and giving it a chance because it wasn't bad, at least the part that I read was pretty good and the idea was interesting to me for some reason. What was wrong with Haunted? Or Rant? I'm just curious...

[QUOTE=mirka;1033756]I'm so sorry Brock. I didn't mean to toss out that question out so offhand and casual you know. I just always loved your rants about your brother and his fucking dog and bitch wife. You would rant a lot, but I always like best when you talked about your brother and your family, you would go off on all kinds of tangents and roll back around to your original point. It was cool too because it was like a little bit you really sharing something real about yourself not just talking about movies or beating people up on the cult or all the women that want to do you. I like to feel I can know people a little even in this medium and I think I was able to know you a little when you talked about your family. And I remember how you wanted to send a secret santa present the first time we held one, but you didn't want one back because you were to paranoid to give out your address. I guess I'm saying I'm glad you're back, but I am so sorry for how hard the last two years must have been.

I really am sorry for your loss. I am sorry your brother's life got cut short. It's just so sad that you two didn't have a chance to do and share so many things together. I know whatever I say isn't going to be anything you haven't heard before, and there are really no words of comfort.

I'm glad you're back.[/QUOTE]

You make me feel all sunshiney inside... I dedicate this post to you even...

I just got back from a job interview this morning. Getting this new job was the easiest job-hunting experience I have ever had. They are building this new gym pretty close to where I live with the older nympho chick. In fact, it’s right across the street from where she is building her new high-tech car wash. It’s a totally undeveloped area in a brand-spankin’ new subdivision where all the rich people live. There are all kinds of businesses going up, like restaurants and supermarkets and all kinds of stuff, it’s like brand-spanking new, and in about a month or two, it’s gonna be busy as stink on shit, which has me excited about the job…

The story goes like this… I’ve been living off of the older nympho chick since June. It’s okay, I guess, but she gets upset about money sometimes and I get sick of sitting around the house with nothing to do but be a housewife. The reason I’m living off of her is that she suggested I quit my job doing car sales, which basically sucked at that point no matter how much money I was making because I was being worked to death… 14 hour days, 6 days a week, no vacations in almost two years… I mean, yeah, the money was good and it’s a fun enough business, but when it’s good it’s good and when it’s bad, it really sucks. 100-percent commission year round sucks. Car buying is seasonal like that. I’ve gone months selling 30 cars and months selling 7. Some cars made $1,000’s in commission for my pocket and others were “mini’s” making $100 and whatever spiffs-bonuses that Ford-Lincoln-Mercury was offering to sales associates at the time… unless it was a used car, which I sold new and used and used always makes money, but yeah… so I wanted a new job now that it’s September…

Basically, two days ago I put on a tight shirt and some jeans and my boots and was all freshly shaven on my head and face and looking tall, dark, and especially handsome, not to mention all muscle-ey and shit, and I drove my freshly washed, bad-ass black Mustang GT California Special down to the office where the gym owners have set up camp until the building is done being fixed up, and I walked inside and introduced myself to the front desk lady and she was the only one there. She was actually a youngish girl. Very flirtatious and “up”, if you will. She said the other associates were out but that she might be able to help me. I said I wanted a job. She said WE DESPERATELY NEED GUYS LIKE YOU and I told her a little about myself and why I wanted to work for the gym in a real short sort of way, basically like I HAVE A PASSION and she was totally hypnotized by me and told me to ask about the personal training job gave me some phone numbers and said to call her boss in a day or so and I said thanks and she said NO… THANK YOU… and I left…

Yesterday I got a hold of the guy she said to call. He sounded younger than me, but very “up” as well and using words like “fantastic” and “super” and “outstanding”… and postive-speak like that, all managerial and stuff, and he said to met him today at 10 am, so I did. I got all polished-up and looking buff in a tight shirt and some new pants and my boots and freshly shaven and all that stuff, the car looking especially shiny today, and drove over to the little office. I pulled right up to the front window, this giant pane of glass, and everybody in the office stopped to stare at my car through the window. I’m serious. I felt like I was on stage as I stepped out of my car. As I walked up to the door and then stepped inside, I felt electric. The girls in the office smiled and blushed and acted strange and the original girl I met was like HEY “BROCK”! and this young good-looking dude half-walks, half-runs over to me and shakes my hand firmly and stares into my eyes and is all “BROCK”! I’VE HEARD SO MUCH ABOUT YOU! WELCOME! WELCOME! And people are waving at me from their desks and smiling like they are high on drugs and all friendly and loving having me there and I follow the young good-looking dude over to his office and he is like PLEASE! SIT HERE! OR THERE! HELL, “BROCK”… YOU CAN HAVE MY CHAIR IF YOU WANT! Just smiling and all happy as a pig rolling around in shit, and it’s contagious even, makes me feel real good too, real “on” even… although I wonder what he was told me about me, not that I don’t already know about the whole charming, good-looking, hot, awesome, manly, muscle-ey, just all-around brilliant stud stuff that she probably told him after seeing it in me right off the bat, like all apparent and stuff, like written in the stars, except, you know, written on me like a tattoo or something. That’s actually not a bad idea for a tattoo… so anyway, I get in some sort of zone, and see, this morning I sat down for about ten minutes and perused my Arnold Schwarzenegger’s Encyclopedia of Bodybuilding, probably the best book on the planet to read if you are interested in diet or fitness or weights or muscles or anything, and it must weight fifty pounds it’s so thick, hell, you just have to lift the book to get in shape, besides it’s only $27.99 for more information than you will ever need to know… here’s what one satisfied customer had to say:

“This book is almost as hot as me! I almost love it more than I love myself, it’s that good! If I were a book, then this book would be the second best book ever! It’s like in the whole Roman Empire thing when Napolean Dynamite was the Emperor of Spain and stuff like that, um, like history repeating itself and shit! I feel like reading it right now even, except I’m kinda busy posting brilliant wordage on The Cult right this sec… maybe later or whatnot! Oh yeah, I have to go tan later and then workout and then the older nympho chick is gonna cook a pot roast for dinner since she suddenly decided she wants to cook something since she never cooks! Maybe after that I’ll read it again! BUY THIS BOOK! I don’t see a penny of the proceeds, but I like to help people, and I’m a giver like that! I want you people to stop being so flabby and get some book learning as well! That way you can be as hot as me one day! Well, maybe not as hot as me persay, but at least you will have an impossible dream to strive for, and you’ll probably fall short of reaching it, but that’s okay because you are not me and you shouldn’t even try to be me because if you did try to be me, you couldn’t do it and you’d just hurt yourself or possibly sprain an ankle or something like that! Remember… my mind is the most powerful tool! Your mind is probably good for something as well! I really mean that! Really!” – Brock Landers, Soon-to-be-Certified Personal Trainer God

[img]http://ec1.images-amazon.com/images/I/51GFH9FDEAL._AA240_.jpg[/img]

So yeah, this morning I read the book a little and picked up a word or two to use in the interview to sound more knowledgable than I really am, and it totally worked. I was all like YEAH BRAD [he just looked like a Brad and he didn’t correct me until later when he told me his real name, which when I think about it, WAS on his nametag thing, but whatever] so I was all like YEAH BRAD, YOU SEE… THE REASON I WANT TO WORK FOR YOUR COMPANY IS BECAUSE I SAT DOWN AND SAID TO MYSELF… WHAT DOES BROCK WANNA DO WITH HIS LIFE? AND DO YOU KNOW WHAT CAME TO MIND RIGHT THEN, BRAD? [url]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z7CbB-ySDxE[/url] NO, NOT THAT… BUT YOU’RE CLOSE! I WANTED TO WORK IN A GYM! HELPING PEOPLE REALIZE THEIR DREAMS! I WANTED TO SHOW PEOPLE WHAT THEY COULD ACCOMPLISH IF THEY SET THEIR MINDS TO IT! YOU KNOW HOW PEOPLE CLIMB MT. EVEREST AND SWIM THE ENGLISH CHANNEL AND DOGSLED TO THE NORTH POLE AND STUFF LIKE THAT? WELL, THAT’S NOT BECAUSE THOSE PEOPLE ARE SOMEHOW BETTER THAN THE REST OF US! IT’S BECAUSE THEY WERE MOTIVATED BY SOMETHING INSIDE! A FIRE WITHIN, BRAD! A FIRE THAT BURNS UP EVERYTHING THAT STANDS IN THEIR WAY! YOU KNOW ABOUT THAT FIRE, BRAD! I KNOW YOU DO! I CAN SEE IT IN YOUR EYES! IT’S THE EYE OF THE TIGER, BRAD! THE EYES OF A TIGER, EVEN, SINCE TIGER’S USUALLY HAVE TWO OF THEM! [url]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JtT9WEzmNUg&mode=related&search=[/url] EYES, BRAD! STAY WITH ME HERE! NOW… TAKE ME FOR EXAMPLE! I’M GREAT-LOOKING AND CHARMING AND CHICKS DIG ME AND GUYS WANT TO BE ME BUT THAT DOES THAT MEAN THAT I CAN’T UNDERSTAND THE LITTLE PEOPLE, BRAD? NO! I TOTALLY UNDERSTAND THE LITTLE PEOPLE! I MEAN, I WAS NEVER ONE OF THEM, BUT I UNDERSTAND THEM NONETHELESS! THAT’S BECAUSE I HAVE A LITTLE SOMETHING I LIKE TO CALL “EMPATHY”! OR IS IT “SYMPATHY”? THAT WAS A RHETORICAL QUESTION, BRAD! THAT MEANS YOU DON’T HAVE TO ANSWER! SO ANYWAY… I “FEEL” THE PEOPLE! I LITERALLY FEEL THEM! AND THEY LIKE IT! AND THAT’S WHAT I’M ALL ABOUT, BRAD! I’M ALL ABOUT FEELINGS! AND I WANT TO MAKE PEOPLE HAPPY! THAT’S WHY I’M HERE, BRAD! I’M HERE TO MAKE YOU HAPPY! HAVE I MADE YOU HAPPY, BRAD?! HAVE I?! COME ON NOW, DON’T BE SHY, BRAD! TELL ME ALL ABOUT HOW HAPPY I’VE MADE YOU! And basically that wasn’t exactly how it went, and I just made that all up just now, but nonetheless “Brad” loves me and even told me that he didn’t want to offend me or anything but he feels very at ease with me because I remind him of his best friend, I forget his best friend’s name, right now, but he told me his best friend’s name and how they met and have been best friend’s forever and how I reminded him of that and how we were gonna have a great relationship in the future and he really looked forward to working with me and stuff like that and then he showed me the new facility which had workers and dust and cement and stuff in it, but they already put this huge pool in and some jacuzzi’s and spa’s and locker rooms and personal training areas and aerobic areas and machine areas and freeweight areas and daycare areas and desk areas and I’ll have a computer and work flexible hours and make good money and he really got me all excited by all of his excitedness as well... [url]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gmb84AA8FMk[/url] so yeah and stuff...

So yeah, I’m excited and it should be fun for a job and worst case scenario, I get even smarter and hotter than I already am, because even though I pretty much know everything there is to know, I guess I can always know more stuff. Like I was telling “Brad”… LIKE, BRAD… YOU KNOW HOW YOU CAN’T ALWAYS KNOW EVERYTHING?! WELL, I ADMIT IT! I DON’T KNOW EVERYTHING! [url]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IBg9gFRYIyM[/url] BUT SEE, NOT ONLY AM I A GIVER WHO WANTS TO HELP, BUT I WANT TO LEARN, SEE… I’M ALL HUMBLE LIKE THAT! I HUMBLE MYSELF TO KNOWLEDGE AND LEARNING AND SCIENCE AND BOOKS AND STUFF! I WANT TO LEARN, BRAD! CAN’T YOU SEE THAT I WANT TO LEARN? I DON’T KNOW WHAT I WANT TO LEARN, BUT I PROMISE YOU I WANT TO LEARN! AND I’M GONNA LEARN, BRAD! BECAUSE I’M A DO-ER, NOT A NOT-DO-ER OR WHATEVER! I HAVE THE POWER OF THE MIND, BRAD! I HAVE VISION, BRAD! YOU STILL WITH ME, BRAD?! AM I MOVING TO FAST FOR YOU BRAD?! WHERE THE MIND GOES, THE BODY FOLLOWS! [url]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sbjgm4D8HZo[/url] I HAVE THAT VISION, BRAD! I AM THE MOST MOTIVATED MAN YOU WILL EVER MEET, BRAD! I ALSO JUST SO HAPPEN TO BE THE MOST INSPIRING MAN YOU WILL EVER MEET, TOO, BRAD! THAT’S A FACT! I STRATEGIZE AND MANIPULATE AND MAKE WHATEVER I WANT TO MAKE OUT OF NOTHINGNESS! BEFORE ME THERE WAS NOTHING! AFTER ME THERE WILL BE NOTHINGNESS FOREVERMORE! I AM THE SOMETHINGNESS THAT IS THE COMPLETE POLAR OPPOSITE OF THE NOTHINGNESS, BRAD! YOU FEEL ME, BRAD?! NO! NOT LITERALLY, BRAD! I GOT THE BIG GOALS AND THE LITTLE GOALS, BRAD! I GOT ALL THE GOALS, BRAD! I WOULD LEARN FROM FAILURE, BUT I NEVER FAIL, BRAD! I PUT THE MAXIMIZATION IN MOTIVATION, BRAD! I PUT THE MUSCULAR IN MUSCLE, BRAD! I BREAK BARRIERS, I AFFECT YOUR MIND! I TAKE RESPONSIBILITY AND I TAKE ACTION! IT’S AN EVOLUTIONARY EFFECT, BRAD! EVOLUTION, BRAD! YOU KNOW, LIKE WITH THE MONKEYS AND THE APE-MANS AND THE GORILLAS IN THE MIST AND SIGOURNEY WEAVER IN ALIENS! MY BED’S ON FIRE AND I’M A REAL LIVE WIRE, BRAD! DON’T RUN AWAY! I HATE PEOPLE WHEN THEY’RE NOT POLITE, LIKE MY UNCLE DAVID USED TO ALWAYS SAY! IT’S THE ABC’S OF EXERCISE PHYSIOLOGICALITY, BRAD! IT’S THE TRAINING EXPERIENCE, BRAD! IT’S THE BREATHING AND THE STRETCHING! IT’S THE WARMING UP AND THE COOL DOWN! IT’S REPS AND SETS AND PROGRESSIVE RESISTANCE, BRAD! THAT’S WHAT I’VE BEEN SAYING ALL ALONG, BRAD! THAT’S WHAT IT’S ALL ABOUT! THE RUBBER SUITS AND THE GRAVITY BOOTS! [url]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dp7M2Q2tApw[/url] THE MUSCLE TRAPS AND THE JOCK STRAPS! ATHLETE’S FOOT AND ANTI-PERSPIRANT SLASH DEODERANT ALL TOGETHER AS ONE, LIKE A TEAM, BRAD! LIKE ME AND YOU, BRAD! WE’RE A TEAM! YOU WANT TO BE A TEAM, DON’T YOU BRAD?! THAT’S RIGHT! YOU WANT TO BE MY FRIEND AND YOU WANT TO BE A TEAM AND YOU WANT ME TO WANT YOU OR WHATEVER! IT’S THE BASIC PRINCIPLES OF TRAINING AND LIFE! IT’S LIKE OL’ DIRTY BASTARD AND THE RZA AND THE JZA AND GHOSTFACE KILLAH AND YOU DON’T KNOW ME AND YOU DON’T KNOW MY STYLE, PEANUT BUTTER AND SAM I AM GREEN EGGS AND HAM, BRAD! [url]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ftzt4NJyQto[/url] THE SUPERSETS, THE MESOMORPHS, THE INTENSITY, THE SPINAL TWISTS AND THE HYPEREXTENSIONS, BRAD! I’M YOUR OWN PERSONAL JESUS, BRAD! YOU WANNA BE MY DOG, EVEN! BARK FOR ME, BRAD! SQUEAL LIKE A PIG, BRAD! IT’S THE B TO THE R TO THE O TO THE C TO THE K, LIKE IT’S THE MONTH OF MAY, LIKE YOU JUST SAID NAY, LIKE EVERYTHING IS O-TAY, LIKE YOU IS A GAY, LIKE YOUR NAME IS FAY, AND YOU COULD COUNT ON ME TO GET A LAY, AND YOU COULD FIND A WAY TO JUSTIFY THE PAY, AND I COULD DO THIS ALL MOTHERFUCKING DAY! INCREASE, DECREASE, SHOULDERS, CHEST PANTS SHOES… AND WATCH MY SHOES, BRAD! [url]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E813KLnxOCY[/url] < WATCH IT, BRAD! TRAIN THOSE DELTS! POUND THOSE PECS! BLAST THOSE BICEPS! LOBOTOMIZE THOSE LEGS! TITTILATE THOSE THIGHS! QUIT WATCHING THE HOTTIE ON THE STAIRCLIMBER WITH THE THONG UP HER SWEATY CRACK AND THE SPORTS BRA AND THE BIG FAKE TITTAYS, BRAD! WE’RE GONNA CRUNCH AND WE’RE GONNA CURL, BRAD! WE’RE GONNA SQUAT AND WE’RE GONNA KICKBACK AND WE’RE GONNA EXTEND, BRAD! BABA O’RILEY THAT SHIT! DANCE WHAT YOU DO! YOU CAN GET LOOSE! WATCH THE BEAT! WORK IT HARDER! PUMP IT UP! DON’T STOP NOW! JUST ONE MORE FUCKING TIME, BRAD! [url]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ibF8WRSAmjE[/url] Alright, I think I took too much prescription uppers or viagra or some shit… enough!

@ copyright 2007 Brock Landers Publishing
All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction, intercourse, or otherwise, in whole or in part or in a whole part of any form or forms of the whole or the part or the intercourse with the whole parts during reproduction or whatnot.
Brock Landers Publishing are registered trademarks of Brock Landers Publishing, Inc.
For information about special discounts for bulk purchases inquire in my anus.
Designed by trendsetters, Inc. A Main Offender production of a Jack Meoff interscribulary discombobulated misanthropiated pulchritudinal populationary dickweedian cocksuckermotherfuckerasstwatcuntsluicesleazeomatic amoeba that lives in my cerebellumbrianic phallopian tubes, located 1 block west of my nutsac.
Manufactured in Texas, where “Naturally, everything is bigger…”
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The Library of Congress has catalouged, cataloged even, the hardcover edition as follows:
Landers, Brock.
Discombobulated Philosophical Meanderings Of A Meandering Philosophical Discombobulater by Brock Landers.
p. cm.
Rev. ed. Discombobulated Philosophical Meanderings Of A Meandering Philosophical Discombobulator by Brock Landers.
Includes Index.
1. Discombobulatulation.
2. Philosophiziliphilication.
3. Meanderiliabilities.
4. Landers, Brock
5. 2% Milk Fat Sharp Cheddar Slices
6. 99% Fat Free Honey Smoked Turkey Breast
7. 54 cans of Chunk Light Tuna
8. Chunky Soup [assorted varieties]
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10. Noxcema
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12. Diet Mountain Dew
13. Miracle Whip
14. 1 gallon Skim Milk
15. Headblade
II. Landers, Brock, Discombobulated Philosophical Meanderings
GV5465.2.5S394 2007
6468.7’5 – dc27 07-44695
ISBN – 17 978.256986.3546
ISBN – 10 584.254687.2356

dude...i was just gonna fire off a missive in response to your original post, but HOLY CRAP you write like you lift man - that was intense, and the last part was HILARIOUS

seriously, you should be an actor or write that first book - because eventually (and this is true brock) your looks and body will fade - it won't always be this good, and i know you don't believe it, but you're young, i felt that way too - so enjoy it while you can

but so funny

let me see if i can address some of your responses to my post:

1. you have a son - why aren't you in his life? that's a big part of you - why did you and your wife divorce if she was so amazing? you DO have family there if you want it, and as much as you may WANT to be an island, you are not sir - you also have nieces, so go be a good influence on them

2. man, you are really into your body and lifting and chicks - which is great and all, go with it, embrace it, have fun - but i see through that - it is a great place to channel your rage your loss your emptiness and your hope, but much like when you were cutting, in a lot of ways you aren't dealing, just re-directing - be careful, you have a lot to offer - so try to keep your pants on for five minutes, and realize that you have a lot of gifts - you must type really well with these huge missives, i type about 70 wpm, and it has always helped my writing, but i'd love to see you attempt some fiction - you're practically there

3. you need to consider getting out of the south - those two "nymphos" you're with are going to get you into trouble, and i don't mean in a good way - BUT, if your son and nieces are all close, that's about the only reason to stay - you'd flourish in a big city though, like chicago or nyc or sf

4. if you're going to keep the weight lifting, which i'm not sure is the healthiest thing for you (see 2 above) i'm glad to see you getting a job there - sounds like a positive way to utilize your skills in those arenas

you are always entertaining brock, and good to see you back here injecting this place with life - i've only been here a year myself

and chuck DOES like us - but he has to exist outside us, his writing is his own, and pure, and to hang here, to interact these days would probably just dilute or distract him from his true talent, writing and storytelling

peace

PS-go read survivor if you haven't - i didn't see you list it, but it's my favorite next to choke - and i assume you've read all of clevenger's and baer's work already

[QUOTE=Brock Landers;1034439]I like Choke, Fight Club, Invisible Monsters, and Fugitives & Refugees. I tried to read Lullaby and I lost interest because of I forget why. Something came up. I do plan on re-reading it and giving it a chance because it wasn't bad, at least the part that I read was pretty good and the idea was interesting to me for some reason. What was wrong with Haunted? Or Rant? I'm just curious...[/QUOTE]

See, I like Lullaby. It's not Survivor, that's the best, the desert island pick. In my top five, at least in contemporary fiction. But Lullaby was good.

I think with Haunted and Rant, Chuck is trying too hard to be a stylist and has forgotten the basic storytelling that got him where he is. The short stories in Haunted are mostly good stuff, but the connective tissue, the 'novel' plot, is horrible. And the so-called poetry, it's worse than horrible.

Rant, well, the whole thing of him putting a disclaimer up front likening it to [I]Capote[/I], that's pretentious bullshit. Would a first novel get published that way? No, only someone who's cracked the NYT bestseller list can get away with that. But he cracked it with shit like Choke which is a good story before any stylistic considerations. If Rant could stand on its own, there'd be no such disclaimer.

I mean, you know how Chuck loves the way people talk? The first third of Rant, all I've managed to consume, he's struggling to get as many quirky speech mannerisms as possible into it. It's like a guitarist who first learns about altered dominant chords and can't play anything without a flatted fifth, even the tonic.

Rant was so refreshing to me. To see Chuck almost completely discard his regular FAQ sheet character development thing made me fall in love with him all over again. Yeah, I'd hump him. All the rest of his work seems too "to form" for me to fully enjoy because it is too easy to see how he wrote it.

As for the basis of this thread, who the fuck cares if Chuck likes us? Would your reaction to his work change if you found out he was an egomaniacal prick? He writes. We read. Get in line and know your place in life. I didn't come here to sip coffee with the Master. Me and Chuck, we'll never be BFF's. I'm here to talk shit with like-minded individuals and find new writers to read.

And to Brock, everyone prays to something. You obviously bow down to The MuscleRippledHotRodRevvingSlutQueen. And more power to ya for it.

[QUOTE=JKabol;1033832]word. plus, reading brock posts is a great way to refine your english language skills.[/QUOTE]

so's reading books.

nah ah, you made that up.

[QUOTE=wickerkat;1035500]PS-go read survivor if you haven't[/QUOTE]

I must have forgotten to add Survivor to my list. I think I first read Fight Club then Choke then Survivor then Invisible Monsters last. Oh yeah, and that Guts thing. I really liked Survivor, not as much as Choke, but maybe more than Fight Club. [url]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yXqWUKYgLXg[/url] Fight Club was probably the one I liked the least, even though it’s the one that really registered Palahniuk with me first. I think I even liked Survivor more than Invisible Monsters, at least the first time I read it, but the second and third time I read Invisible Monsters I think I love it now. It grew on me, like Guts. My favorite parts go something like this… from survivor, I mean. I have them all marked in pen in my book that the older nympho chick is reading the last couple days… condensed stream-of-consciousness stylee, all hail Palahniuk… this is my version of Survivor like one of those “fuck” [url]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IUARYptGTBc[/url] movies…WHY AM I TYPING IN CAPITAL LETTERS? FOR ME TO KNOW AND YOU TO NOT KNOW… so I’m just gonna type real fast in lower case letters with no abbreviation from the parts I marked in my book… and this is good practice for me typing because whenever I type stuff I memorize it and I’d like to memorize Survivor for serious… plus the time it takes me to do this is me making a sacrifice from my usual writing to bow down and worship at the Palahniuk altar, like a kind of penance or purgatory or something… and it helps me remember unused words and makes me think of other words, so this post is a look at how I recharge my batteries for some serious postage of unfathomable magnitude coming soon to a computer screen in front of you, all praise to Chuck for keeping me inspired amongst the many inspirations in my life… like you folks… I will definitely respond more to the earlier questions in your replies later, right now I need to get my head on straight through this exercise in tedious phantasmagoria… it’s hitting the RESET button for my brain…

people don’t want their lives fixed nobody wants their problems solved try barbiturates and alcohol with your head inside a dry cleaning bag this is fish number six hundred and forty-one in a lifetime of goldfish my parents bought me the first one to teach me about loving and caring for another living breathing creature of god six hundred and forty fish later the only thing I know is everything you love will die the first time you meet that someone special you can count on them one day being dead you can get loose but watch my shoes and in the ground people used what they called a telephone because they hated being close together and they were too scared of being alone a hotel he told me was a big house where a lot of people lived and ate and slept but no one knew each other he said that described most families in the outside world churches in the outside world my brother told me were just the local stores that sold people lies made up in the distant factories of giant religions after seventeen years of working in private houses every day the thing I know the most about are slapped faces creamed corn black eyes wrenched shoulders beaten eggs kicked shins scratched corneas chopped onions bites of all sorts nicotine stains sexual lubricants knocked out teeth split lips you can get loose but watch my shoes whipped cream twisted arms vaginal tears deviled ham cigarette burns crushed pineapple hernias terminated pregnancies pet stains shredded coconut gouged eyes sprains and stretch marks I know the best way to get the blood out of the trunk of a car is not to ask any questions the best way to get a job is just do what they want for stubborn protein-based stains like semen try rinsing with cold salt water then wash as usual ALL RIGHT THIS IS GONNA TAKE FOREVER SO I MIGHT JUST PICK CERTAIN STUFF AND WORDS OUT OF CONTEXT FROM NOW ON SO IT MAY SEEM DYSLEXIC OR SOMETHING BUT FUCK IT MY HUNT-AND-PECK FINGERS GET WHORE OUT WORE OUT EVEN use piece of bread on broken glass shards lost in tiny details of every day you can get loose but watch my shoes doing same tasks over and over the world can be better than we settle for open crypt dessicated cadaver skin wilted face dress suit stiff blotched fluids leaking from body carcass dim gallery fluorescent tube strobe lighting dead monster cold ear marble crazed zombies tore me apart dark hall life after death barbed wire vampires human flesh hunger ghoulie demon craving hungry chest low quality skin mass produced beastie ladder angel erected epitaph alone loving loser world matthew chapter twenty four you can get loose but watch my shoes endure polished doorknobs creedish sweetheart hurt to die voice mouth breasts vagina Corinthians I don’t know why my computer insists on capitalizing Corinthians but my keyboard must be religious or some shit bump the beat watch my sneaks they fresh out the box I got socks walk around bare brand new benz rolls with the hose oh shit fucking addictive song back to palahniuk hurts to keep living timing-wise tags on my car expire phone rings feeling cheated fuck love get me off celibacy cigarette fertility hollis living breathing creepy geeky ugly unseduction unattraction get off the ground contagious suicide men women old young patterns of murder dirty gardening dirt fingernails self-improvement is like listening to hip-hop don’t care think soft worst strategy OKAY I DON’T KNOW WHERE I AM NOW SO I WILL TRY TO BE EVEN MORE CONVALUTED IN DIFFERENT SEQUENCE, LIKE A POET WHO DON’T EVEN KNOW IT… ME DOING WRITING EXERCISES BASED ON PALAHNIUK’S SURVIVOR BROCK-STYLE HELPS HE THINK STRAIGHT OR RIGHT OR WHATEVER…

ripe with potential
glitter and shine is essential
here I am as good as it gets
the frog and the prince, place all bets
to save the world and bring salvation
wallpaper orange blossoms in a utilitarian nation
screaming her orgasm over the phone
makes me feel solitary and all alone
horny downtown, hunting to steal
kleptomaniac caseworker DSM appeal
sex life of crime, fuck a mime like a frozen lime
masturbation shoplifting sex, just a matter of time
sperm makes me think of sex and punishment
can’t think of anything that rhymes well with punishment except maybe vagina
this is a really bad idea
like the Minnesota Multiphasic Personality Disorder
like the Millon Clinical Multiaxial Inventory
like the Beck Depression Inventory
like Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders
A miracle of modern psychology
A taste of modern pharmacology
A sprinkle of modern philosophy
A handful of modern archeology
Another receipt, another monkey
throw the ball and creedish go tub-dunkey
individualized compassion Buddha-style
affluent morality famine
the unexamined post is not worth posting
aliens versus predator versus socrates versus nietzche
life complete
not all nice and neat
sucking from a mother’s teat
spraying the athlete’s feet
melting in the heat
feeling low down and beat
love the taste of meat
apple bottom booty flattening the seat
covering the lawn in peat
fuck the trick or treat
shoot yourself in the head and call me in the morning
joy terror caseworker killer gross obesity sinking deeper and deeper mysterious blinds redundant death knife thru the heart something fun tell a lie standardization manipulation and mowing the lawn
and mowing the lawn
and mowing the lawn
I’d like to thank roland burnham molineux and Candace candy mossler and Linda burfield hazard and doctor carl coppolino and allen blackthorne and albert louis luetgert and Thomas capano and harry thaw and susan cummings and cullen davis and Michael skakel and lizzie borden and claus von bulow and Nathan Leopold and Richard loeb and lyle and erik menendez and the Wardlow sisters and john du pont
Domicil erotize cooky ampoule hun cannikin floatel dyadic laxity nasally mazily canephor buzuki ranula argufier trapunto pollinia relier abwatt alveolar hoecake deaconry overfish frizette gewgaw flite cartage scarab purulent tigrish subecho topotype similar buffoon birchen afflatus neaten bree legatee mahzor asunder jowar ribaldrous blazonry gyrus lancet boltrope mesotron kickshaw ramous nimple abducentry crimple outthrob fugazee canfield hummocky crackle matzah lacy ply eulogy taka veg mungro nay dichasia nucleoli sup dichotic glaciate forlorn sacque caruncle nekton polliwog skeane dominie misseatrific coolie levee filtrate psammite legatee eelpout dolorous aqueous courtier dobies minibus ladrone shrewish biretta podocarp kryolith enertia frottage diamide cousinry browniest priory ochria queuer giddyup morello kabar cardamom keffiyeh luster phytane spinelle quibbler serenata gigaton mangrovia skewback samarium
Bonafide miracle
Boiling water
Ignore talent
Credit card debt
real empowerment
unprotected sex
cherished fish
hands in my pocket
beloved bulldozer
jaded and heartless
chronic drunk
trigger finger paradox
ribbed for her pleasure
orgy boys
cum cravers
valley of the shadow of death
smash your brother’s skull
ravishing she-males
black smoke flutters
ineffectual agent
fearsome and terrible thing
sexually repressed officials
castration of the mind
adolescents must rebel
the birth control pill
crave power in a big fancy cage
we need to get you laid
bite the apple
ultimate act of hate
everybody had horses
until the deliverance
chapstick from the truck driver
suck air inside
forgiven your sins
worry about disaster
buckle up
be delirious
that’s not what I meant
saving a life
killing me
the center of attention
cold skin sweating
stomach crunch convulsions
slower traffic keep right
pillowed in blue velvet
cornflower-blue Denver
built-in china-hutch
delivering people to god like pizza
the Ronald mcdonald house
happy honeymoon
jack me off
cock your head
fiddle with controls
slip and fall
dive for my legs
sack me
slap my ass and roll me towards the sidelines
this is total flattery on a subcutaneous level to chuck
sniff hard
snap on me
come to life
blare the voices in my head
look perfect
the right to remain silent
kick my ass
strap me in
smoke and drink and fuck
eat and sleep and fuck some more
the biggest moment of my life
truth in fragrance
practice sadism
bleach your television
start life with an orgasm
dream about me
cherish the guidance
be a lazy sack of shit
backlash publicry
gloat over your burger
leave the store without the receipt
the picture of mental health
talk about this
flush the toilet over and over
smack my bitch up
be a rocket scientist
visit the garden of eden
hang on words
stay on top
set your sights
let things happen to you
be faster
be stronger
be smarter
unlearn
go crazy
forget the original problem
control yourself
castrate god
crave it
inject it
become a media event
reserve the right to refuse service
return your videos
corrupt your friends
get rich
trip somebody
say something
pull my finger
pass judgement
be born to do something
pay taxes
travel
live on a road down by the river
burn in hell
tell me what you think
make lemons into lemonade
turn shit into shit-salad
love your neighbor
hate yourself
deal with crowds
say that caller number one is on the air
avoid people
disapprove of things
pretend you’re okay with it
get offended about shit
drink my blood and live forever
seal your lips
grow up terribly
get stressed out
feel pain
get hurt
be humiliated
take your clothes off
call it that
find a sick cat with leukemia
shake hands
brush your teeth with diarrhea
sting your bees
skin your breast
straighten your facts
tune in Tokyo
reference references
derive stuff from everything
get the juice from fruit
lose me
find me
eat me
need me
be my only hope
stick it in a hole in the wall
be here on assignment
don’t want to talk about it
sweat it
suck and swallow
be before the fact
get less accomplished than you’d expect
document your primary sources
buzz killer bees knees
create bathroom stall hieroglyphics
stir-fry your chicken
make a pattern
damage property
blame nature
go outside
have free will
create variables
keep looking
sniper the freeway
set something on fire
read a bomb
twiddle your thumbs
play with yourself
extrapolate the future
trigger an avalanche
wait for a miracle
turn up exhausted
focus your energy
yell at me
find a place to park
praise Chuck Palahniuk
delay your orgasm
give it thought
work for something
keep your mouth shut
make an effort
find peace
find respite
bark at dogs
find a specific need and meet it
put a name on your spine
dab hemorrhoid cream on your face
succor the least of your charges
prevent hair loss
remove mildew stains
still smoke
consider my suffering
measure my glory
lose weight
make a hot dog go plump
see a sign
practice perfection
be eternally damned
put your name on your underwear
break into the big time
think you love me
surprise somebody
imagine sex
feel what it’s like to hear something
give me a handful
pass for ecstasy
ring your ears
breathe too much
thrash on the floor
sing at the top of your lungs
speak in tongues
feel an emotion coming on
load a gun
go anaerobic
plan to live a long time
make a sound that nobody will hear
burn muscle into fat
reach the highest state
live from a barbituate overdose
be alone on the bathroom floor with somebody else
give your full attention
produce testosterone naturally
want more than human
be anatomically correct
struggle with outdated religions
trust in life hating you
limit your sleep
climb thousands of stairs
eat baby food
write a hymn
hire someone to tie your shoes
get insomnia and sleep like a baby
design a line of sportswear
pound your heart
be a role model
can’t stand something
hijack a plane
get the placebo effect
look into your own eyes
smear chocolate around your mouth
live until you die
I’m fucking starving now
Gotta go
Later dude

are you having a breakdown of some kind? I mean are you on drugs?

[QUOTE=morey;1036292]are you having a breakdown of some kind? I mean are you on drugs?[/QUOTE]

there you go being master of the obvious again... don't make me love you too much...