BS Anonymous

I slept at a truck stop about fifty miles out of the city. I think I’ll make it to my intake appointment.

Fuck that moron , whatever happened isn’t ruining my life or my recovery.

My interaction with the CHP was stressful and humiliating but I’m not done here. I’ll get the reports when they come out.

Hear this: I exited the 101 northbound at Bernal at whatever the hell time — pretty sure, cause I laid rubber getting away from him and ended up on the 85. I don’t know this area. The dude jumped out on the shoulder of the exit ........... I dealt with him long enough to at least dump him there. I think at least SOME exits/interchanges have cameras.

The news says the “driver swerved left for an unknown reason.”

I think your “unknown reason” is “a tweaker huffing bug spray.”

My mom is like “don’t worry about it, the cops would be all over this if you were right.”

Ha. Yeah okay. They’d be doing serious investigative work like asking me to touch my nose and walk heel to toe and breathe into a tube. You’re so precious, mom.

Having exited the 101NB, I took a left turn and somehow was on the 85. 85, Bernal and the 101 all kind of converge right where all this happened. The freeway was desolate, I passed the scene and this accident had NOT happened yet. It happened AFTER this dude jumped out of my car, it happened WHERE he jumped out of my car. There is a less than zero chance of me not rendering assistance at a scene and I would have slapped this stupid bitch and told him to shut the fuck up and HELP.

For the record this is my third time being attacked driving, I handled it as calmly as one might. I got choked on the 94 by another crazy tweaker when I was 25 and all I remember about him was that his name was Robert and he is a Scorpio. I had a drunk and VERY large Uber passenger come out of her blackout and try grabbing my dick and climbing on me with 3 or 4 people in my car on the 101.

I’m not counting the time Nathan Hernandez blacked out on GHB at the wheel and I saved both of us. He’s STILL a bitch to me to this day cause he thinks I stole a bag of drugs from him. I wish I had let him hit a couple of parked cars!

Or grabbed the wheel and aimed him at couple of parked cars.


So yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah I was in disso and flashback land for about 24 hours.

My first thought on waking up was, “they need to make a program called Bug Spray Anonymous...”

“... so that Orange from can laugh and say, BS Anonymous? Truth in advertising for once!”

*slaps knee*


I had a delayed reaction and started bawling on the freeway, I almost slammed into a BMW 5 series precisely at the city/county line. Inattentive drivers smashing into each other on I-5 is perfectly normal at 9:20am on Monday morning, right? Right.

I talked to the intake counselor and they might not have an opening for me in treatment this week — after all of that — but they’re going to get me into their crisis counselor this morning.

Edit: and THAT just resulted in “someone should call you within a couple of days.”

Whatever. Good morning.

If anybody needs me I’ll be sitting alone with this on a fuckin park bench or in my car.

Posted at at October 21, 2019 on Monday, October 21, 2019 by |   | Filed under:

I would like to go to Antarctica now, please.

I have PTSD and I think I’ve gone dissociative after last night.

I was on the beach in Monterey and checked the news. There was an accident on the 101 exactly where and when this dude jumped out of my car.

Three dead. Four injured.

I had called them last night to report a guy on the 101 and under the influence at 11:41* pm

They’re saying the accident happened at 11:11.

I can’t account for the missing half hour. Did I blank out and go to my happy place after he freaked out on me?

The CHP doesn’t think these two incidents are related.

I’m like, they either hit him or swerved to avoid him or they picked him up and he attacked them.

A Yukon seats 6 and 7 people were involved.

But they’re like, nope, they were all passengers. Your friend wasn’t involved.

You’ve got to be kidding me, both of these things happened in the same place at the same time and they are NOT related?

While they were courteous and cool, they gave me the “nut job” treatment and repeatedly asked me if I’m drunk or high. They field tested and breathalyzed me.

Which somehow I’d avoided in my drinking and using.

Okay, take my breath piss or blood. I’d just left freakin AA and somehow haven’t had the desire to drink after the night I had.

Yeah yeah, I’m mentally ill and have a substance history. Go away crazy guy. Got it.

Suddenly it’s Sunday night and I’m supposed to be in treatment TOMORROW morning and I’m going what the fuck happened, where did the day go, shit I’m literally traveling in the wrong direction on the wrong highway so I think I better get a hotel tomorrow and try to tell the clinic what happened.

Hotel tomorrow? Tonight. Yeah I totally just did that.

I got a low fuel warning and spaced on it until I ran out of gas.

I’m not okay but in light of this nothing about my life or day seems that important or interesting.

$100 says they don’t believe me and think I’m loaded and making up a story for not showing.

Update: Did some googling, you can indeed get high on fucking bug spray ... this mother fucker *was* huffing bug spray and blasted me and my car with it.

Good fucking grief, FUCK San Francisco. That’s enough!!!!!!!!!

Roadside decontamination time. If he had anything to do with this those people deserve justice. I was like I have this kids birthday, info about tattoos, siblings names and location, parents location, and his DNA is all over his slobber on this hunk of metal in my car. But they didn’t want none of that.

Do you believe in coincidences?

I’m going through my phone looking for clues about when he got out of my car. I was taking screen shots when I liked a song he played, and the last one from when things were still friendly was at 10:53.

I showed him my Lana tattoo. He wasn’t impressed:

There isn’t a single living human being who knows me who would believe I’d be the one who chose to play Nicki Minaj in the car. Of course I’m running my mouth but if I don’t know who it is I’m like “oooo, that’s my jam, what is that?” *grabs a screenshot to play it later* #busted

I said hi to Robin and Mike at 11:39, obviously wanting to talk about it and called 911 at 11:41 which closes that gap just a few more minutes.

A better time stamp is when the hotel clerk gave me my rewards number at 12:27am.

Next exit? It was 23 miles later. It took me 46(?) minutes from the 911 call to drive 22 minutes from where he got out? And my brain parsed that — and described that — as the “next exit” ?

Somethings up with that.

Posted at at October 20, 2019 on Sunday, October 20, 2019 by |   | Filed under:

Could you move over a little bit to the right, please?

Ugh, I’d have the perfect beach shot for Instagram if other people weren’t here and ruining it.

Just kidding. I don’t have an instagram.

I watched the kids giggling and playing along the shore and took a deep breath, hoping they’d have happy lives and never find out how fucked up this planet is.

Posted at at October 20, 2019 on by |   | Filed under:

Things happen: Clairvoyance and Paranoyance

I picked somebody up at an AA meeting, he was cute I guess but he’d be a lot cuter if he wasn’t on the shit.

I could tell he was still going through it, he wanted me to take him home with me and I was like sorry dude... we’re sitting in my home right now. I don’t have anywhere to go.

He asked me where I was going, and I told him.

I was going to go to Monterey to stand out on the coast and try to relax.

He asked if he could come with me.

Or could he come to [I don't want to name my next destination.] ?

I asked him if he knew anyone there or what he’d do when he got there.

He had no idea.

I asked if he had clothes or belongings or anything. You want to go ... just like that?


I drove around and talked to him a little bit and we exchanged stories.

Then I saw his hands: They were bright red like a steamed lobster all the way down to his knuckles.

I said "shit dude this isn’t good you’re malnourished and dehydrated."

You need to give yourself a break from the drugs, eat, hydrate, rest.

"I'm not saying you have to stop forever and ever and ever but you .. need a break."

I don’t have facts to back me up but if your hands look like that you probably have some inflammation in your brain. And you’re not giving your heart any nutrients and you’re making it work that hard oh my god. I’m not going to tell someone that if they’re tweaking though.

I stopped and got him a pizza and some stuff to drink.

For a little while he grabbed my other phone and picked the music.

I liked his selection and taste.

And then ....

He grabbed a container of bug spray and leaned out the window and started wiping my car with it.

He started smearing it all over the inside of my windshield.

Okay, here we go.

“Uh please don’t do that on my side, I need to see the road.”

He started rubbing the bug spray all over his hands.


"Hey... do you ... put a lot of bug spray on your skin? I'm wondering if you're poisoning yourself."

No answer.

Oh fuck is he huffing BUG SPRAY?

Mentally, I latched on to this question about why his hands were so red and so dead looking. What is wrong with his health? What does this mean?

He grabbed the wheel and rocked it a little bit and I asked him to not do that either.

He asked me if he could drive.

I said absolutely fucking not.

(Okay we’re done here: I did a U-turn.)

Then he turned on my dome light and started staring into the back of my car.


I turned on the master switch for all the interior lights.

He stared at me and said “you look old now.”

I sighed. I was drained at this point.

Fergie’s “Big Girls don’t Cry” came on the radio.

I said “you know Fergie was a tweaker right?”

“She was?”

I know a thing or two about MasterSketch Theater.

Tina talks a lot of shit.

She’s a bitch.

I read him an excerpt of this interview:

In the early Noughties, Fergie’s vice was crystal meth, an addiction she beat before finding fame with Black Eyed Peas.

“At my lowest point, I was [suffering from] chemically induced psychosis and dementia. I was hallucinating on a daily basis. It took a year after getting off that drug for the chemicals in my brain to settle so that I stopped seeing things. I’d just be sitting there, seeing a random bee or bunny.”

Her hallucinations became so severe that she thought the CIA, FBI and a SWAT team were tracking her. She eventually sought solace in a church, probably on some level, she thinks, because of her Catholic upbringing.

“They tried to kick me out, because I was moving down the aisles in this crazy way, as I thought there was an infrared camera in the church trying to check for my body. I bolted past the altar into a hallway and two people were chasing me.

"I remember thinking: ‘If I walk outside, and the SWAT team’s out there, I was right all along. But if they’re not out there, then it’s the drugs making me see things and I’m going to end up in an institution. And if it really is the drugs, I don’t want to live my life like this any more, anyway.’ I walked out of the church; obviously there was no SWAT team, it was just me in a parking lot. It was a freeing moment.”

“The drugs thing, it was a hell of a lot of fun… until it wasn’t. But you know what, I thank the day it happened to me. Because that’s my strength, my faith, my hope for something better.”

Not everyone would have turned themselves around, and then go on to become a super-successful singer. “It’s so incredible, I know. I think I must have guardian angels.”

We rode in silence for awhile.

He started arguing with ... I don’t know what ... about a “transfer” and how he’d been cloned and they were having sex with his body and fisting it right now.

He kept asking me about the “transfer” and I said I’m sorry but I don’t know what that means.

He asked me if I wanted to score drugs with him.

I pulled over and said okay I’ll take you back to where I picked you up but you’re going to stop this right now.

I started driving again, a little more apprehensive now.

He started punching the pizza box and yelling that he wanted to see my dick.

“Uh, that’s not happening.”

He punches the pizza box even harder, emphasizing every word with another punch:


“Not happening and that’s definitely not how you get my dick hard.”

He repeated what he said and I said I’m going to treatment, I don’t care what you do but I’m not getting high.

He says “I just want to score some crystal.”

And I’m like ok cool you have choices about how to end or spend tonight, we’re going back to where I picked you up and you can do that.

Sad part is , out here in San Francisco or Los Angeles these guys will encounter someone in this condition and pump you full of even more drugs and fuck you — looking at you, Ed Buck.

I just want to feed you and hydrate you and feed you some Risperdal.

He started rambling about how we’re going to get some stuff and a cheap seedy hotel and how he’s going to find three guys to fuck me.

"It's just what you like, don't fucking lie."

I kept my mouth shut. Maybe I'd like that but you're not my type.

”You’re going to a do a shot!”

Fuck I am, not with my blown up and trashed ticker I’m not. There’s a reason I don’t give a fuck what anyone thinks about me or what I have to say anymore. I’m sorry. 

But I'm a tough fucker, its amazing I am even alive at all and I'm sticking around awhile. 

(Back to the story, Jan!)

He says “great, thanks for making me fall out of love.”


I was already about 0.2 seconds away from stopping the car and telling him to get out when he dumped the pizza all over me and started clawing at me and punching my window trying to break it.

“Let me the fuck out!!!”

“No problem.”

I came to a halt on the 101 and he couldn’t figure out how to unlock the door. He was kicking the door frantically and screaming and clawing at me like a feral cat and I was like "please just let me unlock the door for you that’s all I’m doing I’m not going to hurt you.”

I got the door open and he darted off onto the 101 like a startled deer.

He’d upended pizza and soda all over my car.

He also spit out whatever he’d been chomping on. I thought it was some kind of fucked up dental work but it was this ... ?


I pulled off at the next exit and got on my knees to thank God I was safe, and to pray that dude doesn’t get hit by a car... or attack someone else... or get tazed or worse.

I'm in California and they have REALLY good drugs here.

I wonder if he will ever remember any of this.

Okie dokie God, I just put in a good word for you all but a few hours ago and I said that your fingerprints are all over everything. Where are we going with this one?

You know what? Fuck yourself Rob, you’re SAFE, what more do you want?

I looked up from where I'd knelt down and I was kneeling in front of the sign for the hotel chain I usually stay at.

*mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm, long pause*

It was $174 for the room that I didn't want to spend... somewhere that I didn't want to be.

But I was done with my car and I was done with this trip.

I was told once that "insanity" is not "intoxicated behavior," if you give Grandma enough crystal meth she'll hop up in a sling and get gang banged or let you fist her and peek out the windows and take apart the lawnmower, too.

"Insanity" means "I want to use that shit even though it's doing all of these horrible things to me."

I was staring at that tonight.

This guy was in this condition and he was like "I want to score some crystal."

That is the "insanity" we "come to believe" will be removed from us.

I do not want to go score or do any of that bullshit in some seedy hotel.

I want to live. I want to go watch the ocean from the coast in Monterey today.

Posted at at October 20, 2019 on by |   | Filed under:

Today I Learned.

Self-seeking behaviors: Being right, attacking others, sending 10 emails ... or leaving 10 voicemails (looking at you, Stan) ... or 20 blog posts (looking at you, Rob) elaborating on why you are wrong and why you are not worthy.

Apparently it is suggested that you find yourself a sponsor to tell you things like this.

Things don’t “happen to me,” they “happen.”

Melodie Beattie wrote about letting go of the need to be seen as someone who has been victimized.

Victimization is a drug.

Projecting is a form of playing God.

Not showing up as the person I am is dishonesty: I’m actually a pretty mellow and sweet guy and I play up the crazy, tawdry, and obscene angles up to be humorous. And I think that they are, to some people at least.

I love telling stories and I love making you laugh and I’ve been like that my entire life.

I’m coming up short when that’s the perception you have of me.

I’ve done what I’ve done.

I don’t really want to hit the erase or edit button: It’s more honorable (not to mention useful) to admit your mistakes and what you learn from them, than to just shove your head in the sand and stay in denial about your flaws in your character and/or in your judgement.

Posted at at October 20, 2019 on by |   | Filed under:


I love everything about this post and thread:

A Burden Shared:

Archive link:

i was neveralone and when his footsteps were not in that sand there were others in his name walking with me -maybe they were not carrying me but they certainly held me up andstopped me time and again from falling down those terrible deep.holes of despair and hoplessness.

Don’t look for the footsteps: Dust for fingerprints and you’ll find God’s hands on everything.

Posted at at October 19, 2019 on Saturday, October 19, 2019 by |   | Filed under:

“This used to be my playground.”

I parked in Van Nuys and slept last night.

Literally in the same spot I used to park my car when I lived up here.

I thought “I used to park my BMW here!”

Fucking lol.

And then I drove past my old connect’s apartment and had this thought about ringing the doorbell and just seeing how everyone’s doing this morning !

Bitch it’s Saturday morning, they’re blowing clouds to porn and yanking their ding dangs and nobody can get it up and it smells like cat piss and burning tires in there and you hate them and they hate you, that’s how everyone in that apartment is doing.

I drove past the parking lot and giggled, thinking “I used to park my BMW *there*, too!

I’m thinking of a panel from Johnny the Homicidal Maniac where Johnny dies and goes to hell and wonders if he’s still crazy.

A little thought bubble pops up: “Go find a cheerleader and saw her legs off!”

And he smiles and goes, “yep!”

Or something like that, I haven’t read that in about 25 years. So that’s probably me in hell.... going oh thank fuck, I’m dead, my struggle with addiction is over. Hey Satan, do you party?

How do they handle that in hell? Saying no? Or giving you an unlimited supply?

This being the dude who created Invader Zim: I’m the GIR robot in human form.

To wit:

I’m driving around and I see some dude throw a skateboard on the ground and jump on it, and I’m all like, SPLOOSH!

I can hear Daniel yelling at me in the back of my mind: “I saw you look at him! Your tail was WAGGING!”

Mother fucker. I’m going stick my tongue out and start panting, I’m going to bark and whimper, and then I’m going to open my car door and get on my back and beg this tasty little fucking otter to rub my belly!

Bitch, I might sniff his butt and hump his leg too.

And if I see something I reaaaaaalllly like, I’m going to snap my head back and howl AROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.

It’s California, I can do whatever the fuck I want and nobody even blinks.

No gack treats for puppers, keep driving and move it along queen!

Posted at at October 19, 2019 on by |   | Filed under:

Can’t be your Superman, your Superman

I put it out there that I’m sleeping in my car and trying to figure shit out, and I said I don’t want help because I’m tired of sexual motives.

And they go both ways.

Nacuntie was right, he was like, make sure they’re not just using you for sex.

I was cavalier about it, like fuck yeah I want to get naked and cuddle with this dude.

I know, I know... we’re all just there to get better and I don’t usually do the 13th stepping shit.

But then every once in awhile a Latino teddy bear hugs you and your dick starts leaking.


Or someone holds your hand or puts their arm around you at the closing prayer and you feel this firestorm of energy crackling off of them and you’re like oh yeah our atoms seem to like each other — but I’ve got enough sense to take a deep breath, say the Serenity Prayer with them and then RUN.

Everyone wants to be loved or held, quit your bullshit.

That dude felt amazing in my arms and I loved watching him sleep.

He was like I’m going to ask my sponsor if I can keep you.

And then in the same breath he was like, I can do better than you and I just want sex.

Ouch. I got what I wanted and it’s not what I wanted.

Fuck, whatever dude, shut up and let me hold you until your prince arrives.

I’m cool, it’s Los Angeles, everyone wants some fucking quid pro quo.

And if you feel that that good in my arms, fuck, I don’t mind.

Maybe your prince did arrive and you were too stuck up to notice.

I’m not putting myself in a ... ah, situation again.

Posted at at October 18, 2019 on Friday, October 18, 2019 by |   | Filed under:

Any World that I’m Welcome To

I’m on the wait list to go back to my old program. The director who hates me got fired. The intake lady dropped another staff member’s name and I lit up:

OMG I LOVE HER, she’s supergirl! She has super powers! Like smoking meth out of a potato! She’s fierce!

Here, go talk to her.  Say my name. She’s going to laugh and hold her head in her hands and moan “noooooooooo, not again!”

I was going to do this running gag thing where I’d show up at my old home group and pour myself a coffee and sneak off without putting a dollar in the basket again.

But the coffee wasn’t ready yet.

J***** Fucking C*****, do I have to tell everybody how to do EVERYTHING?

(Relax it’s a joke.)

I wanted to remark on something that kept coming up. I wanted to say that I was never a Craigslist prostitute. That pussy was hooooongrayyyy and I was like fuck just get over here and fucking jam it in me already, I’ll pay YOU. All I’m going to say, is I’ve worn my right middle finger down a quarter inch shorter than the other one. 🀐

Say whatever you want about Yoko, but when she’s shrieking “open, open, open!” I get it. πŸ˜‰

But I channeled Jerri Blank: “Fight it! Fight it! Fight it!” 🀐🀐🀐🀐🀐

(Ezekiel 23) 19 Yet she became more and more promiscuous as she recalled the days of her youth, when she was a prostitute in Egypt. 20 There she lusted after her lovers, whose genitals were like those of donkeys and whose emission was like that of horses. 21 So you longed for the lewdness of your youth, when in Egypt your bosom was caressed and your young breasts fondled.


Yeah I’m going to need to do some work around my dating and fucking etiquette.

I’m fiending for caffeine, this is bullshit.

I actually saw some people I knew or went to treatment or lived in sober living / group homes with.

Someone from Austin pulled me aside and gave me his number before I could run away. He helped build my old home group there and I was a so called founding member— which only means that I liked their idea and gave them a trivial amount of money to make it happen.

My ex wouldn’t even give me one day a week I could go there and not have to see him. If I could have a do over, I’d drop that bitch off at the Chain Drive instead of introducing him to that place.

I was relieved that this dude didn’t deadname me. I get that all the time.

I ran into Ken Ballard in like. Fucking Iowa or some shit like that. My trick and I hated each other and he was like “Did that guy call you Rob?”

It was so funny though , I froze and stared and he said “Yes.”

We didn’t talk but it was a good footnote in an otherwise unremarkable trek through Cedar Rapids or wherever the hell we were.

Just to be clear “Ken Ballard in fucking Iowa” is a term of endearment, “Fucking Ken Ballard, in Iowa” would not have been. Take note of the place of the word “fucking” in my sentences.

If it was anybody else I’d grumble ”fuck I can’t even go to Iowa and get fucked up in secrecy.”

— snip —

If I had my way
I would move to another lifetime
I'd quit my job
Ride the train through the misty nights 
I'll be ready when my feet touch ground

Wherever I come down
And if the folks will have me
Then they'll have me
Any world that I'm welcome to
Is better than the one I come from

I can hear your words
When you speak of what you are and have seen
I can see your hand
Reaching out through a shining daydream
Where the days and nights are not the same
Captured happy in a picture frame

Honey I will be there
Yes I'll be there
Any world that I'm welcome to
Is better than the one I come from

I got this thing inside me
That's got to find a place to hide me
I only know I must obey
This feeling I can't explain away

I think I'll go to the park
Watch the children playing
Perhaps I'll find in my head
What my heart is saying
A vision of a child returning
A kingdom where the sky is burning
Honey I will be there
Yes I'll be there

Any world that I'm welcome to
Is better than the one I come from

— Steely Dan, Any World (that I’m welcome to)

Posted at at October 18, 2019 on by |   | Filed under:

I’m not banning Phil.

Even though he made fun of my aids and said he’d wipe me off the face of the internet if he won the lottery.

Cause he’ll tell Susie the old site is open and THAT means EVERYONE will know about it 20 minutes later.

I couldn’t get that kind of advertising for $10,000 in ad spend on Google!

Posted at at October 17, 2019 on Thursday, October 17, 2019 by |   | Filed under:

I just learned that cotton isn’t even made from bunny rabbits!

Ohhhhhhh, Kylon.... πŸ€ͺ😘

Some Border Patrol guy in an ICE truck watched me for a moment, did an “oh hell no,” and drove away real fast. I like making CBP personnel laugh, coming through with a mannequin or blasting mariachi music and responding to them in Spanish or whatever. They like to ask if the mannequin is a US citizen too and I tell them I’m trafficking her for sexual purposes.

2:24 PM <Denise> buttttttttt, dont give up your day job
2:25 PM <yewtree> What day job

Posted at at October 17, 2019 on by |   | Filed under:

How to Speak to Someone You Love about Bipolar Disorder

❌🚫 “BITCH, you are so fucking crazy they had to put up roadblocks and stop traffic for miles!”

✅✅ “In your presence......  time stands still!”

Posted at at October 17, 2019 on by |   | Filed under:

Is this Heaven?

I saw a bunch of dudes playing basketball in orange jumpsuits. I wanted to honk and flash my titties but knowing my luck it’s a juvenile ICE holding facility and I’d have to register as a sex offender for the rest of my life. πŸ˜’

Fuck. Latin dudes in dusty Dodge duellies and 4x4s, is this heaven or is this the desert? Mud caked faded cowboy boots and denim, holy FUCK I am wringing my panties out into a bucket! I’m sitting here like a house cat watching a bird out the window, clicking its teeth and going nuts and twitching when it sees something it wants to pounce on. I need to turn around and tell St Pete he’s got me all fucked up and let me in here by MISTAKE. 😍

I can’t believe I just said that snakes frighten me, the other day.

Fuck, papi, I didn’t mean that, I love snakes! ¡Sal si puedes!

I’m listening to Eminem on the Influence of Hip Hop:

“Everybody has their dark periods.”

I’m thinking about erasing my phone and making a new iCloud ID. I can’t download any apps because I owe Grindr $19.99 and I’m like, fuck Grindr all I ever got there was high or gonorrhea or my wallet and drivers license stolen by some bitch.

But like, if I cancel Grindr there goes any chance I have of hooking up with Eminem! πŸ€ͺ😭

That guy is fucking funny.

He’s been talking about always getting close to making it and then everything falling through again.

Naw this ain’t heaven:

I’m sitting here rolling my eyes at all of the starting overs:

Fuck starting the site over.

Fuck picking up a white dunce keytag.

Fuck trying to find an apartment or a job.

Fuck my to-do list.

Fuck going in to do financials and bloodwork and case management and -

“Oh, girl! HIV isn’t a death sentence, you just take a pill!”

Oh yeah girl, it’s fierce — you’ll be doing paperwork every 90 days until you die, you’ll spend your life in the fifth circle of hell in what passes for a model of socialized medicine. You’ll spend an hour on hold setting up your appointments, CVS Caremark will fuck up your shipment every month and you’ll spend thirty minutes a month repeating the same shit over and over and over to their reps.

And I ain’t naming no names but their director loves shuffling me off to unnecessary shit that I don’t want anything to do with, to bilk my insurance and/or Ryan White for ... and I’m ‘bout to call his ass out on it to his face for it. I was told in class that clients should be involved in their treatment decisions.

You probably won’t die these days.

You’ll just rather you died than ever have to call CVS again.

And you’re going to call them every month until you do die.

Fuck that crack in my windshield, that’s the third windshield in a year and I can’t pass the Uber inspection until I fix it againnnnnnn.

What for, so you can just land back on this square again?

This is why people are like, “this game is stupid and stressful and there’s no payoff , I’m just going to go live under a bridge, yo.”

And you ask yourself, “and this plan of yours makes sense?”

And you reply to yourself: “YUP.”

See, we’re not crazy, we had a rational discussion amongst ourselves and agreed on this!

The worst part about this, is I don’t even want to get high. And there’s nothing dumber or fucking lamer than kicking it under a bridge and NOT even smoking crack while you’re down there.

But I like the fact that I can be a silly motherfucker today and be like “is this heaven?”

Nobody handed me a harp.

And socialized medicine exists here.

So I’m thinking, no, it’s probably not heaven.

What if I did say fuck all of that nonsense and fuck all of those people.

Am I otherwise happy right here where I stand?

Ooo. I might actually be somewhat close to happy if I stop giving a fuck about what I’m supposedly supposed to do or wherever I’m supposed to be.

When the sun goes down I’m shutting off my car and phone, let the snakes fall where they may.

Fuck this shit, I’m gonna put the Marshall Mathers LP on full blast. This shit’s like 30 years old and they’re playing it on classic rock stations now and I have some feelings about that!!!!

Posted at at October 17, 2019 on by |   | Filed under:

Texas in my Rear [view mirror] again

Something I don’t hear every day:

1:57 AM <river> "if you speak the truth, you will always have someone supporting you,  and someone opposing  you"
1:57 AM <yewtree> I like it
1:57 AM <yewtree> May I borrow that :P
1:58 AM <river> it would be an honour for me if you use that where you need

Something I hear every day:

4:16 AM <NAGuest101> I got k-lined from the other site the other day for no reason
4:17 AM <NAGuest101> tbh Bytor was nice to me - even pulled me into private room to ask for help with their bots.  Janis came in one day "who is this" BOOTED
4:18 AM <NAGuest101> neither janis or stan ever said even "hi" to me or tried to talk to me - they always say "who is [NAGuest101]. He is idle."  *Kick*

My my, “look at your recovery shine.”

Catchphrase for the ages, bless Jessie for that one.

Something I don’t hear every day:

4:17 AM <NAGuest101> tbh Bytor was nice to me

I’m going to piss myself laughing.

I don’t give a fuck who is flying the drone, as long as they’re friendly with their new friends.

I’m so tired of all of it and keep at it anyway, the shit they do to people keeps me motivated half of the time and if that isn’t love then I don’t fucking know what is.


Posted at at October 17, 2019 on by |   | Filed under:


Yes, Denise —  that’s west Texas behind me.  If I was going to make s**t up I’d at LEAST say I was somewhere cool like NYC or Alaska or St. Thomas. <3 ;)

Posted at at October 16, 2019 on Wednesday, October 16, 2019 by |   | Filed under:


Posted at at October 16, 2019 on by |   | Filed under:

Sooty Sunrises

I bought a few acres in the middle of nowhere. What is this place? It’s 3:50am and everyone’s driving drunk and fire just shoots out of the ground every other mile or so in huge sooty plumes with flames just as wide as a new sunrise peeking over the horizon.

One sooty sunrise after another, after another, after another.

Everything stinks like oil.

People live out here.

That’s kind of fucking neat.

I’m just in it for camping and recreation.

Maybe I’ll Harriet Tubman people from the border if I’m bored, ICE is out in full force.

I’m down to $40 until my check clears, but I got a couple of solar panels to charge and tend the car battery out here. The idea being, not to waste gas running accessories in the truck.

I *will* go off roading in the Z4, and I *have* gone off roading in it but it’s not the ideal vehicle for that. And you can’t recline the seats and sleep in it, either. So I broke my pact with Jeremy where we both pinky swore to NEVER purchase another vehicle from Minnesota again.

It’s okay, he wants to buy another Prelude and will be thrilled that I reneged and he can go pick one up from the Twin Cities. We’ve discussed this.

And oh yeah it’s a god awful piece of shit too. But it has new suspension and a new head gasket and it’s running strong. I determined it has a lifetime subscription to Sirius XM and said “Sold. I’ll have music to listen to while I’m waiting for Triple A out in the desert with no cell service!”

I’m mostly worried about snakes and scorpions raining out from under the sun visor like a Samuel L Jackson movie. I read that they’ll avoid human scents though, so if Allamericanjock wants to help me jerk off onto all four tires... ? It could work!

I’m not throwing shade or having a “Drake, come murder my vagina” moment, chill!

*raises hands in the air*

At least, not YET, I’m not.

I swear I was just searching Google images for some dead celebrity wondering who the fuck it was last week, Greg’s face popped up on my screen for whatever reason, oh my god those fucking eyes slay me. That was weird and totally unexpected.

Anyway ... Yeah yeah, everyone has a job and can’t just jerk off and eat pistachios in the desert. This is why I don’t have friends.

Minnesota plates: I’m all in for this larp, I bought a Minnesota hoodie and I’m going to be all about some “okie dokie,” “you betcha,” “dontcha know,” and “ya dar, hey!”

“And I guess that’s your ah, accomplice over there in the wood chipper?”

Posted at at October 16, 2019 on by |   | Filed under:

So maybe it’s not coffee —

I have a person or two or three on the team who all know what happened.

They’ve been through the ups and downs of what I’ve described, and my reactions to all of it.

It’s been a nightmare for them to witness and they’ve dealt with me pulling the plug twice.

As much as it pisses me off I still feel this gnawing that it needs to exist.

I think one or two or three of these guys may entertain rebooting the simulation and breathing life into it (again.)

Uh yeah, I’m going to eat a few words and just say thank you to a tiny, intimate, circle of people who have actually walked through this with me and are still walking through this together with me. Especially Robin, who helps me with the really tough shit I can’t figure out on my own.

I’m not naming or directly thanking anyone else, you know who you are, and you know they’ll be all over you if I start listing who I trust or listen to. Just, thank you.

All I want to say for now is that I’m not going to go back and censor myself or take anything back about the program, about narcissists and their flying fucking monkeys, I’m owning all of that.

My dark night is out there: Hating the program, hating the people in it, and just saying fuck this I want the fuck out. Ranting about NAWS being a bunch of litigious Mercedes driving cocksuckers.

Dear Fourth Step .......... I hope you’re sitting down.

Whether I find my way or come back ... or regret those words ... or not ... doesn’t matter.

Someone else has been through this and been as fucked up about it as I have.

I’m so fucking mad about all these billboards that say “Real Christians love their enemies.”

*foams at the mouth*

Fuck, I hate them and I want to wallow in my hatred for them.

I want to kick rocks and say, dude, let me read the fine print on the fucking contract. Are you sure it says that?

Christians don’t struggle with having faith that God exists. We struggle with remembering to make God our true and consistent source of hope.

(Not my wording.)

Why would I scrub that process off of my blog? I don’t want to be one of the fake fucks I’m bitching about.

I get really pissed off when I want to remove nasty shit I say about individuals though. They always count on you to be the better person. They’ll never attempt an amend or acknowledge their shit.

They just get to remain in denial and continue to be shitty fucking people.

Girl , that shit chaps my chocha.

1,700 +/- 800 people read this yesterday. Fixed, because # of requests is not the same as visitors.

What the fuck. Is it Britney watch time? God I loved the shit out of Amanda Bynes. I was her for Halloween a couple years ago... ratty wig, stuffed toy dog, gasoline can. I vaguely recall being 5150’ed over to Aurora in Pasadena once and I was like OMG, I think this is where Amanda went! FIERCE!

Probably , the shitheads whose behavior I’ve been describing, are all like “see? look how horrible he is to me, he’s so craaaaaaaaazy, I’m a victim.” πŸ˜₯ #NPD

Yup, I’m crazy and you’re a c**t. Facts are facts. Do either of us have a point, are we ever going somewhere with this?

Sorry if you’re in a different place than I am and don’t like or agree with what I’ve said.

This is my today and I’m owning the fuck out of it along with wherever I go from here.

Posted at at October 16, 2019 on by |   | Filed under:


Spotted on a billboard: “Today is the day for you to know that you are enough and you always have been.”

Maya Angelou had a hard ass life and she hung on by the only thread that kept her from leaving this world as a 21-year-old drug addicted Black prostitute.

Probably someone the whole lot of you would have said was hopeless, too.

Be kind to people who are fighting battles you don’t know anything about, they have weapons and tools that you also don’t know about.

Posted at at October 15, 2019 on Tuesday, October 15, 2019 by |   | Filed under:


I wish I could be there

See you everyday

I don't have to call you

I don't have a lot

But you got to see my light

Let me show you where I go at night 

Do you think we did it right?

You weren't lying when you said
“Just wait
 'til you live with someone someday" 

Some days slip by me 
And I think I know why 
I'll make it through 

It's imperfect

It's not forever

That you're further

You're still patient  

Some days slip by me 
And I think I know why 
I'll make it through 

 — Toro y Moi, Cola

Posted at at October 15, 2019 on by |   | Filed under:

2019 Raw Smackdown Edition

Ding, ding!

Another unhappy customer enters from the right side of the stadium and grabs a microphone.


No shiiiit, there isn’t a single person on Planet Earth who hates that website more than I do.

Come talk to me when you finally hate it or better yet love it enough to help us clean house.

The program supposedly has two million members and a 95% drop out rate. Isn’t it so much “fun” to use them as punching bags and kick toys and drive thousands more out the door? Betsy and John in particular really are sick fucks for the perverse thrill they get/got out of that.

Janis doesn’t do it for fun and sport like those two — she just does it because she’s stupid and psychotic. Robin and I have the wisdom and testicular fortitude to not give her a ban hammer no matter how enraged she (or any of them) get over that fact.

No one. No one. No one. No one. No one. On ANY of the sites has EVER wanted their”help.”

Fuck it, bloom where you’re planted. I have some bad news for you if you happen to be a mushroom!

I just want to talk to people and maybe take them out for coffee or to read the stupid basic text with them.

Weird, I know. It’s almost as if all of that other shit does not matter.

I just watched a young boy kicking and screaming in the grocery store for some cookies.

His exasperated mother said “You don’t even EAT cookies.”

Smart mom!

A former moderator ... came in to whine for not immediately getting attention (as usual) and then sniff that she doesn’t care all that much for NA anyway and won’t be returning.

Oh, so you’re saying you don’t even EAT cookies! The fuck are you over here stressing ME out for then?

For real, you can all stop making this about me already. I don’t do anything but make a server run.

Anyone suggesting I’m not qualified to do that? I’ve worked for a stock exchange, in telecommunications, military/defense manufacturing, etc for 20+ years, I used to make $135k and be in high demand. I somehow got roped into giving my time and talent to something free of cost because of *technical skills* and then I found myself relentlessly attacked by a succession of rabid 12 stepping fucknuts for my personal shortcomings.

Oh shit, you mean ... I’m not going to be canonized ?

I’m not good enough to work for free and get shit on with all of your aggravation and personal attacks? Fuck, should I be paying you for the privilege?

No kidding.

You wonder why I didn’t like some of you, or what you were selling?

If anyone had “concerns” about me they should have talked to me or taken me for coffee or read the book with me instead of leaving those fucking voicemails talking about how you are going to gather information on me and have all my shit shut down. Yeah. I scorched your ass for that and 32,000+ people read about everything. I think there’s some information about working with others? You should read those chapters. The shit you did to me is not the NA program.

Maybe someday I’ll be sorry for scorching you to an audience of 32,000+ readers in retaliation.

But not today, I’m not. In the fucked up world I live in, nobody would know or care that you did that shit to me. I’d be totally defenseless and powerless. If I had gone out and overdosed and died or some shit because I found my mistreatment in and out of the rooms so intolerable I never wanted to look back ... these assholes would just cluck about how I didn’t surrender to the program or some shit like that. And then they’d bully — maybe even kill — their next victims. Return to your bullies for more of the same and if you don’t ... you deserve to die , do I have this right?

Some of them already have blood on their hands, this is not a fucking joke.

We have Stan talking about how his and Susies shit had newcomers going out and using:

Want me to start listing the suicides and overdoses?

Do you expect these motherfuckers to have any accountability or conscience? When they call me a scrawny diseased pervert with a short time to live and laugh about whether drugs or aids will get me first? Is that funny to you?

Wow, and I’m the “sociopath.”

This aids infected faggot mopped the floor with you fuckers. ✊🏻

I care.

Fuck you if you think I’m insane.

People are going to go where they don’t feel oppressed, take that as you will. It’s the only thing those folks are humanly fucking incapable of copying for some reason.

I don’t see anywhere in the literature that says we help others by threatening them, attacking their sexuality or HIV status, suing them, hacking them, intimidating them with vague threats of prosecution, defaming them blah blah blah.

Take your so called “true recovery” and your “safe place to chat about recovery and make friends” and shove it up your asses.

What is your website “safe” for ?  Other than the bullying bullshit we’ll kick your ass out for and / or permanently demote you for? Yeah. You are a sanctuary for that and that’s why no one likes it.

I’m astonished that you fucking people are oblivious to that!

You’ve spent fifteen years relentlessly trying to divide and destroy the group— nobody likes YOU, nobody likes your shitty knock-off sites, everybody realizes you’re assholes and EVERY SINGLE ONE of your sites fails and shutters the doors but that won’t stop you from attacking anyone else who tries,

I paid for my cookie and told Therese that I love her name.

Therese saw the field of humanity as flowers and I’m beholding some of them as ugly ass weeds, forgive me for my sin.

*click, set, go* 

I hear a highway calling my name.

Posted at at October 14, 2019 on Monday, October 14, 2019 by |   | Filed under:

Ubuntu destroyed my marriage

I kept dreaming about an ex from back when things were really fucked up.

You know that crazy old Black guy that stands out by Old Navy and screams that f*gs are going to hell?

One time we we were out there arguing and that fucker laid eyes on me and got triggered and started his shit with me.

I screamed “FUCK YOU. I AM IN HELL” and stared him down.

And then we resumed our argument.

We were so loud and rude and obnoxious the Greeks even threw us out of a restaurant.

I wonder if he ever found a Linux distribution he was happy with.

Right, most bitches think about their exes and wonder if he ever found a husband LOL.

He’d sit there and install them ALL on the pieces of his Acer laptop and unhappily grumble about how much they sucked. I’d say, “I know I know... you really need to stop this shit and try FreeBSD.”

Ubuntu finally destroyed my marriage, the guy was inconsolable after just 48 hours with its window manager / package manager combo. The tenderness was gone from his kiss. He stopped making eye contact with me. He screamed in the middle of the night. I called into the abyss: Nothing I did or said could bring him back to me.

I’m like, “did he ever finally settle down with kubuntu? I just hope he’s not in some unhappy union with an RPM based distribution, I worry myself SICK!”

My god, what is wrong with my brain?

The first time, I woke up around dawn going, with a half smile, “oh no why dis hoe polluting my dreams?”

The third or fourth time I woke up I was whispering at him to tell some other hoe it’s over.

Wait, tell who? Please tell me it’s not MacOS, bby. 😒

I just giggled.

I googled and found a picture and went fuck. He used to show me old pictures and say “you never would have given me the time of day back then.”

Nah, I woulda said hi at 20...30...40... lol.

I never seen that dude smile like that before.

Well that settles that, then. You’d better leave that man the hell alone!

Posted at at October 14, 2019 on by |   | Filed under:

“There’s only so much truth you can keep in your soul.”

When you’re deep in the raw, everybody wants to get a piece of your heart. 

There’s only so much truth you can keep in your paw,

Speak your peace but the words are getting harsh.

When I was a younger man:

I could feel the entire world, and now I’m older.

Posted at at October 13, 2019 on Sunday, October 13, 2019 by |   | Filed under:

Sometimes people don’t want your “amends.”

Update 10/15/2019 — I’m leaving this entry up to speak from a place where you’re fucking done with everyone and everything.. and don’t even give a shit enough to try again ... and where you go from there when you’re working with that.

Next time you grease up the wheels on the AA Apology Tour bus, skip my town. The way this works,  is NOT apologizing and apologizing and apologizing for eternity until I’m not angry anymore.

No one had the respect or courtesy to sit down with me over a coffee and read that stupid fucking book you’re always blathering about like you would have for any other person. Instead, you did this to me. I got railroaded or brown nosed depending on what you people wanted.

I get it: I’m not, and I never have been, Mother Theresa.

But if I was a newcomer or not on the service team you didn’t like me and banned me.

If I was on the service team, I was a no good piece of shit or I was preventing you from clawing your way to your rightful place on the scratching post.

Doesn’t fucking matter what role I held, you people treated me like shit and abused me for 7 years and then I owned/ran it for the next three years ... whereupon you treated me even worse than ever.

Oooooo, look at me, I hate the principal, I’m so fucking edgy! Coolest addict ever. 😎

Of course the one person who is trying to beat down my door.... is Susie ... and I want to throw a chair when she texts or emails me.

Instead of taking 5 minutes to pick up a phone and ask if someone’s okay, the whole lot of you will spend 15 minutes gossiping about how they’re not okay by your estimation.

I wish I had a cutesie little fucking Saturday Night Sermon about how I overcame shit and you should buy into the NA Hope Ponzi Scheme, but maybe I don’t. Maybe I have a horrible story. I’m tired of substances, I’m tired of the program, I’m tired of the people in the program, and I’m tired of starting over in any sense of the term.

Nonetheless I am desperate for you to fuck off and stop contacting me. For fucks sake, NA claims it isn’t a cult, but where Susie is concerned the Witnesses would cringe at how she’s chased current and former members down.

The Witnesses have a protocol to make an ANNUAL contact and I don’t even want that much from Susie. I would rather be put in leg irons and dragged to the gulag for toilet scrubbing.

My grandma had 20+ years sober in AA and it made me sad to read her letters to my mom, because no matter what she did in her life my mom didn’t really want anything to do with her for a long time.

Towards the end they finally met and hung out now and again. I think Sharon was wonderful and I think my mom does too. But you will never pine or cry for my love or telephone call like a mother in recovery does for her alienated daughter.

Apology heard and accepted, I guess, but look. I’m with the daughters on this one, I pine and cry almost as urgently to not EVER see your name or number or email pop up on my phone again.

Yeah I miss and love a few people I fucked it up with and I could go chasing them down forever against their firmly stated wishes and boundaries — which is totally an asshole fucking alcoholic  thing to do — or cry into my fucking beer about it like a Good Guy Alcoholic.

Life is too short to waste any more of it than I already have, anywhere I’m not loved or wanted or missed as badly.

Posted at at October 08, 2019 on Tuesday, October 8, 2019 by |   | Filed under:

It is SO not cool to just plagiarize my Grindr profile like this.

I tried booking the Temptations and the Four Tops for a private event and I just found out that they’re a band, not an Escort Service. Awkward!

Pffffffft, being a cum dumpster is done to death. I’m Sierra Blanca, bitch. I have bottoms in three different states who tried to bribe Bernie Sanders to send all of their excess biohazardous waste to me.

“Power to the people,” am I right, my fellow woke people? ✊🏻✊🏻

You’re just ... dumb ... if you think Bernie gives a shit about the environment. He will poison your groundwater and sell your minority communities out for less than $5,000. What a piece of shit.


Hahahahahahhahaha you don’t need billions! You can buy that old fucking fool for $4900.

He’ll do totally indefensible bullshit that could destroy the Edwards Aquifier for centuries... for a fucking cheeseburger and a nickel.

$4,900. What a cuck and a sellout. Get his ass out of the Vermont Senate NOW.

Posted at at September 29, 2019 on Sunday, September 29, 2019 by |   | Filed under:

Interstate Psalms

Two paths diverged at an interstate rest stop
And sorry I could not travel both
I looked down one as far as I could
To where it ended at a concrete picnic table
Then took the other, as just as fair,
To an identical picnic table, equally stark and bare
Only the subtlest of differences in spray painted graffiti and slimy wet algae making them both entirely inhospitable to sit upon.

Neither as interesting as I’d purport
Other than so as to elicit a laugh
This fire ant was probably thinking the exact same thing
When it climbed my shorts
And took its position on my staff

I shall be telling this with a sigh-

(Briefly, attention span permitting):

Two roads diverged in a wood and I assumed that I was in control of this story;
Until this here fire ant bit my dick and reminded me that everything could go in a heretofore unanticipated direction altogether;

And that has made all the difference.

Posted at at September 23, 2019 on Monday, September 23, 2019 by |   | Filed under:

Harper Valley PTA

I wanna tell you all the story 'bout
A Harper Valley widowed wife
Who had a teenage daughter
Who attended Harper Valley Junior High

Well, her daughter came home one afternoon
And didn't even stop to play
And she said, "mom, I got a note here from the Harper Valley PTA"

Well, the note said, "Mrs. Johnson
You're wearin' your dresses way too high
It's reported you've been drinking
And a-running round with men and goin' wild
And we don't believe you oughta be a-bringin' up
Your little girl this way"
And it was signed by the Secretary
Harper Valley PTA

Well, it happened that the PTA was gonna meet
That very afternoon
And they were sure surprised
When Mrs. Johnson wore her miniskirt into the room

And as she walked up to the blackboard
I can still recall the words she had to say
She said, "I'd like to address this meeting of the Harper Valley PTA

Well, there's Bobby Taylor sittin' there
And seven times he's asked me for a date
And Mrs. Taylor sure seems to use a lotta ice
Whenever he's away
And Mr. Baker can you tell us why
Your secretary had to leave this town?
And shouldn't widow Jones be told to keep
Her window shades all pulled completely down
Well, Mr. Harper couldn't be here
'Cause he stayed too long at Kelly's Bar again
And if you smell Shirley Thompson's breath
You'll find she's had a little nip of gin
And then you have the nerve to tell me
You think that as a mother I'm not fit
Well, this is just a little Peyton Place
And you're all Harper Valley hypocrites

No, I wouldn't put you on because it really did
It happened just this way
The day my mama socked it to the Harper Valley PTA
The day my mama socked it to the Harper Valley PTA

Posted at at September 22, 2019 on Sunday, September 22, 2019 by |   | Filed under:

The Health Department Finally Closed my Legs

My pussy is a cheap plastic shopping bag on the interstate, kicked up by some tires and passed down to the next car.

The cars are taking turns with me as I smack into each windshield, billow back and let the next one have at me.

My pussy is a discarded piece of watermelon on a hot summer day, juicy and pink with one corner covered in dirt.

The ants are forming a line from both sides to come and get some, telling the others where to find me splayed on the ground.

My pussy is a rack of old tires at Wal-Mart, worn out rubbers with the steel bands exposed in lieu of the original tread.

Wal-Mart can’t beat my “four for the price of none” sale, but I’ll have to admit I can’t offer you that much traction:

My heart is an old broken bar piano that only knows one Liberace song, my prostate is like a drop kicked water balloon.

I dribble like June Allyson and I pee when I sneeze, the health department graded me a D- and finally closed my legs.

Posted at at September 21, 2019 on Saturday, September 21, 2019 by |   | Filed under:

A short film about #stress on EFnet

Posted at at September 20, 2019 on Friday, September 20, 2019 by |   | Filed under:

What were the skies like when you were young?

They went on forever – They - When I w- We lived in Arizona, and the skies always had little fluffy clouds in 'em, and, uh... they were long... and clear and... there were lots of stars at night. And, uh, when it would rain, it would all turn - it- They were beautiful, the most beautiful skies as a matter of fact. Um, the sunsets were purple and red and yellow and on fire, and the clouds would catch the colours everywhere. That's uh, neat 'cause I used to look at them all the time, when I was little. You don't see that. You might still see them in the desert.

Posted at at September 19, 2019 on Thursday, September 19, 2019 by |   | Filed under:

Fentanyl for the Soul

I escaped from the clutches of some holy rolling treatment center in Arizona.

“Jesus is Fentanyl for my soul!”

“Give him 40 CC’s — Christ Conquers!”

They kept talking about suiciding me and I half expected some sinister figure to approach me and say “Hillary Clinton sends her regards” before bashing me with a dumbbell or whatever.

They meant suicide precautions.

Oh, whew. Glad we cleared that up.


*backs slowly towards the door*

This nurse was going to refuse to give my my heart and HIV meds to make an example of me for being late for medication.

She reconsidered when it was starting to look like I was going to embed her medication cart in the drywall before her shift was over.

The next day I pointed out that they’d release the fucking hounds to remind everyone to attend AA, but that as a licensed medical facility they were dead set against reminding people to take medications.

The place is designed like a fucking casino.

Why the fuck would anyone have any concept of time in there?

They quickly changed some policies and started announcing medication times on the PA.

Speaking of the F word, their thing was clean language, clean living.

I tried to come up with a little song:

“Frack frack frack a duck... say how do you do to a kangaroo? Say good morning gang to the orangutans, a wholesome outing at the zoo!”

I bonded with the other gay Eskimo in our tribe.

He talked about how the gay meetings were all toxic here, too.

Et tu, Brujas?

So I’m sitting there in my Britney Spears T-shirt making penises out of play-doh and sticking the bendy figurine’s legs behind his head.

This volcanic bitch asks me if I’m re-living the trauma of my addiction.

I lost it and just about cried laughing.

One of their chaplains started talking about one of the churches I attend.

I was like hey, I’m from there!


Yes girl, I’m a SPY, they sent me here to END you!

Just kidding, no really, that’s the one all my Liturgy Service posts are about though.

I signed out against medical advice. Frack that place.

Their program consisted of hour after hour after hour of idiots at the pulpit droning in about how AA works y’all!

I’ve been around 11+ years and I’ve spent hundreds of hours listening to men and women give the ole’ tired and true formulaic Saturday Night Special from the podium.

Half of them are drunk or high now.

My story might be fucked up but you know what, at least it’s mine and it’s not “hurrr durrr hurrr my daddy beat me and I started drinking wine. And then I drank some more wine. And then some more wine. And muh steps and muh sponsor and I lived happily ever after.” πŸ€ͺπŸ€ͺπŸ€ͺπŸ€ͺπŸ€ͺπŸ€ͺπŸ€ͺ

If you really want to piss me off, give me and the tattoos the once over and tell me “it’s okay, you don’t have to believe in god right now.”

That’s a rullll purty book you brought, SHIT, that’s the same color blue my aunt turned when they narcan’ed her, y’all! Maybe you and the other missionaries can teach me how to read it someday. πŸ™„

A few of the staff came by to tell me I’m probably going to relapse. Blah blah blah, I know, I’m Disobedient so I’m going to DIE. Fuck you. You know when Judge Rutherford was going around in the 1800s with his “Millions Now Living Will Never Die” speeches, it was common for editors to quip “Millions Now Living Would Rather Die Than Hear Judge Rutherford Speak.”

I so love it when Christians share the Good News with me.

What, do you mean I won’t be a success story like the 20% of the people on the unit who have successfully completed your program one or more times and are back after a relapse? 😭

Another rehab scam that regurgitates BillShit and charges your insurance $3000+ a day for it.

Posted at at September 17, 2019 on Tuesday, September 17, 2019 by |   | Filed under:

Phoenix - Tales from the Extended Stay Bathhouse (tm)

“Do you want these? They’re brand new. They’re a size ten and a half, but I wear a twelve.”

“Uh, sure. What’s with the blood though?

“Some motherfucker I stomped out.”

Posted at at September 12, 2019 on Thursday, September 12, 2019 by |   | Filed under:

Quid Broke Hoe

Mexican guy with a huge truck comes up to me at the gas pump to say he’s out of money and gas.

Can I help him out with a few bucks?

Cash? Remind me what that is again, please.

I looked down at the ground and said I’m not working and I’m sleeping in my car.

He shrugs and wanders off to panhandle some other customers, then he leans against his truck and pops a beautiful beefy bubble butt.

God damn boyyyyyye. I might actually have my car title and a laptop and a phone I can pawn.

I thought, oh, how very Los Angeles of you to encounter someone in need and wonder whether you can fuck them and get yourself some quid pro quo out of it.

*slaps self*

That’s even cynical for me.

In my own defense, any number of straight men might have wanted to get up in that ass too. Just stay right there on the truck exactly the way you are and let me motorboat that !

Posted at at September 10, 2019 on Tuesday, September 10, 2019 by |   | Filed under:

Loving you through all of your human problems exhausts me

These are wounds, not scars
It will only be a scar when it stops bleeding, stops hurting
You can forget about scars
But you cannot forget about wounds
Everyone meets the injured with sympathy or disgust
Do you need a tissue?
No, I need stitches.

— Brother Ali

Posted at at September 09, 2019 on Monday, September 9, 2019 by |   | Filed under:

Everywhere is my Bathroom

Some say that a toilet is a fundamental right
But McDonald’s lobby closes at 10 o clock at night
No Public Restrooms in the grocery store
I hear someone pissing all over the floor

I stared at him in horror
And my eyes got real big,
“Why not head over to Folsom
To find a watersports pig?”

A gentleman joins him and I avert my eyes:
“You must be new here,” he impatiently sighs
He squats down on Market and shits on the street
And some of it splashes all over my feet

I head to the Tenderloin ,
Near Felt and Van Ness
I’m trying to find an alley
To leave a big wet brown mess

Some junkie is watching, I expect him to cringe
He says I just left a hypodermic syringe
In my steaming hot offering
Under the Alvord Lake Bridge

I demand to see the mayor of this urine soaked town
(No problem sir, she will be right down)
Ms Mayor, I beseech you, this has gone way too far
She says “Try Uber Toilet, you just shit in the car!”

They’ll send one to you,
wherever you are:
You can leave them a tip,
and they’ll tweeze your brown star!

No thank you, I prefer to squat on a bowl
And wipe my bottom clean with a soft Charmin roll
Your sanitation problem is out of control,
I will see myself out of this filthy shithole

Posted at at September 08, 2019 on Sunday, September 8, 2019 by |   | Filed under:


the difference
between a kaleidoscope and a telescope;

is that the telescope:
shows you reality from a distance

and the kaleidoscope:
shows you a distance from reality

Posted at at September 07, 2019 on Saturday, September 7, 2019 by |   | Filed under:

I sought him, but I found him not.

On my bed by night I swiped through profiles and sought him whom my soul loves; I sought him, but found him not.

I will rise now and go about the city, in the streets and in the squares; I will seek him who my soul loves.

I sought him, but found him not.

The Leathermen found me as I went about the city:

“Have you seen him who my soul loves?”

One of them asked if I’m into father/son role play: He paddled and flogged me and I reported him to child protective services.

I said to him: “I never liked my father.”

I sought him, but I found him not.

I created an account on Recon: They immediately banned me for saying that my fetish was “monogamy.”

I sought him, but I found him not.

I traveled to Europe in search of self destruction and romance: I was offered something called Meow Meow in Belgium and then I woke up at an orgy in Portugal.

I sought him, but I found him not.

My date from Grindr stole my wallet, car keys, and a wireless keyboard: He wasn’t even cute.

I sought him, but I found him not.

O, daughters of Scruff, I adjure you: by the incels and the hoes playing the field, that you not stir up or awaken love until it pleases.

Posted at at August 28, 2019 on Wednesday, August 28, 2019 by |   | Filed under:

“Shirley MacLaine died six times, and she’s sweet as pie.”

To paraphrase Dr John, all around me the so-called recovery flowed like wine but the table must have been tilted away from me. While these fucking fake ass twelve steppers were busy threatening to beat, kill, or incarcerate me over their precious POWER in a CHATROOM let me tell you what else was going on in my life that those self centered twats never cared about.

It’s not like I got ANY support whatsoever.

They just made my life worse and gave me even more shit to be afraid of at the end of the day.

I’m gonna tell you this though, James is way down on the list of shit I am afraid of and I think if he was reasonably sure it was actually me he’d probably help me cut some motherfuckers because he hates evil, and he hates spiritually abusive fucknuts just as much as I do.

Probably even more than I do. It’s too bad we weren’t friends but ok here’s another thing drugs took away from either or both of us. They robbed us of our friendships, relationships, our lives, and our ability to do something constructive with our lives or for our communities.

But as long as you’re still ticking it’s not too late.

It would be the understatement of the year to say we have different thoughts on what our problems in life are ... and that’s the kindest thing I think I am able to say for now.

Anyway, James was convinced that I was sent by the Jehovah’s Witnesses to monitor his drug use and/or sexual practices.

In the night time he’d hear what he thought was my voice.

And the weird and scary thing about some of what he wrote — mind you, this is his post not mine, and there’s no way he would reasonably know this — is that I have died a couple of times.

And reading this kind of stuff used to make my hair stand up.

Like is there something to this? Do I have a confidence betraying me? Is he up in my records?

I didn’t like any of the answers.

Pretend Robbie sounded like an interesting enough fellow. He worked for every alphabet agency you knew about, and a few that you didn’t.

Pretend Robbie was said to be part of a secret vaccine experiment: They sent him off to Grindr to have sex with men and test their vaccines.

Pretend Robbie died over and over again like Kenny from South Park.

Wait, I think that one is true. And that’s a really fucking bizarre story I haven’t told a single soul yet.

I couldn’t hold a candle to Pretend Robbie: He had so many occupations and I could barely stock the shelves at Home Depot without nodding out.

Pretend Robbie was saving the world and I could neither save myself nor James.

James would from time to time speak of a stranger on whose chest he had felt safe that one night.

That was about all he knew of me.

James didn’t mean to, but he robbed me of any semblance of peace or safety in my own life for years to come. You have to kinda look at it from my perspective, here’s some dude who thinks I am the hoe polluting his mind or spying on him.

James held a backyard wedding ceremony under a full moon to consummate his love with Pretend Robbie.

James maintained a long and interesting blog about their private war against the world — with the CIA, the Mormons, and the Jehovah’s Witnesses.

James would watch the other Robbie’s house and keep tabs on who was coming and going.

I would ask him what he was doing or see if we could clear this up.

James would respond “you’re not really Robbie. Stop messing with me.”

God damn dude. Gaslit, hissssssssssssssssssss.

But it also sounds like maybe he has a concern that there are other real life people who know he’s suffering through that, and are possibly messing with him. I don’t know them and he’s never accused me of being involved with whatever the hell that was about,

But nonetheless he claimed he showed up with a 9mm handgun, determined to find out who I really was. And that’s when I kind of had to go, uhh , this sounds bad.

It was a difficult decision for six years: There was the possibility he was making this up to torment me or make me afraid. But on the off chance he was actually going through this, I exercised a lot of self control to not talk about this or publicly attack him or whatever. I’m hoping enough time has passed to where I, too, can now say “hey so there’s this thing that kind of ruined my life and I am needing to finally put it out there.”

The last straw — not really so much unprocessed trauma or whatever here , I wasn’t feeling a need to go here— was Kylon posting that “white” people don’t really understand domestic violence like a Black person does.

Life isn’t a suffering contest, he is the only party in our former friendship who wants it to be.

We are no longer friends over this.

So anyway here’s what it looked like for my ... let’s say, constructively... white ass for the sake of an argument:

Restraining orders in two states.

Sealed name change orders in King County Superior Court.

I’m so secretive my parents don’t even know what my name is anymore.

I was not sent by the Witnesses,

Or the Mormons,

Or the CIA.

Or anyone.

I do have a message for you though.

You have angels patiently waiting at your side wondering when you will realize that you fell in love with a demon.

Perhaps you did not mean to do that.

Perhaps you were baited with something you thought you wanted.

Take it back.

They will stand guard and deny access to you.

That stuff makes you susceptible to evil.

Reject it.


We aren’t even scratching the surface with regard to whom or what I’ve felt threatened by for years.

I didn’t start life off that way.

"When I stayed in to study on Saturday nights they were extremely kind to me because they thought I was so brave, working the way I did just to hide a broken heart." 

-- Sylvia Plath (The Bell Jar)

Posted at at August 24, 2019 on Saturday, August 24, 2019 by |   | Filed under:

Michelle Obama For President

I went over to mom’s house and she wanted to have a word with me.

She helped me pack and move, but I didn’t know that she confiscated a Steyr magazine and several boxes of ammo and a butane torch.

She wanted to have a word with me:

“Do you still own a gun?”

“A gun? ‘A’ gun? Do mean, like... just one? That’s like asking me if I own ‘a’ BMW. Do you mean ... just one?”

She laughed.

I explained that I’m not planning anything crazy, those boxes were garbage ammo for the range and that I could blow through a couple hundred rounds easily at the range.

She pulled a magazine out of a purse and said that my sister took one of the bullets out of it.

She asks me “Why would she do that?”

I sighed and said, “because this magazine’s loaded with hollow points for home defense.”

Mom’s mouth fell open. “Oh, those are nasty. NASTY.”

Way to go, mom, your gun grabbing antics allowed a felon to steal my ammunition.

Though mom did say she’d like to go to the range and learn.

I don’t know how I feel about that, she was just bragging about chasing someone down with a 17 inch knife last week and having the police over to interview her about that.

One of these days she’s gonna pull a knife on someone who has a gun.

Or she’s going to go to jail.

I should be the one confiscating weapons from them.

We wrapped up our visit, and she showed me the wooden spoon she used to beat us with.

It was split from breaking on one of our asses , and she had glued it together.

I scowled and asked her “why would you keep that?”

I added, “you know, I stuck that in my ass a couple of times.”

She grimaced and broke it in half and threw it in the trash.

“Jeez mom, I was just kidding!”

She said nope, I’m done with it!

Ah, good.

Posted at at August 20, 2019 on Tuesday, August 20, 2019 by |   | Filed under: