If you have a dick you should rule the world. Post Script. The key to picking up women is in your peripheral vision.

I'd like to pretend that my friends aren't crazier than you. But they are. Most of my friends make Britney Spears look lucid. Just the way K-Fed can Brit Brit look lucid whenever he talks to Britney about getting back together. K-fed taunts his ex-gf by telling her he wants to get back with her, if by getting back together you mean he wants 30 million dollars in cold cash.

"I am either a genius or completely insane."

Which do you is the most likely? X is nuttier than Peter Pan Peanut Butter and almost as gay. X is positive that if you stare at a point behind a woman (your prey) long enough she will become aroused by all that peripheral scanning your eye balls are doing and feel an unavoidable Darwinian impulse to "display" in front of you.

"I don't see what's crazy about that at all."

Not only did James Cameron find Celine Dion, The Titanic, and spunky Leonardo Dicaprio he's also found Jesus' Tomb.

I've got this nagging problem. I am not sure if I should buy a Creative Zen 20 gig Mp3 player or the Video I-pod. The I-pod has 10 more gig and plays video. The Zen is "re-furbished" and is a hundred dollars cheaper. But it won't play video. But it does have a voice recorder and an FM transmitter. But I-tunes beats the shit out of Zen Cast any day of the week. I can't really afford the I-pod. But if I sold my Nano and case I could get almost a hundred bucks. Meaning I would only have to fork over 30 dollars for a 20 more gigs and a voice recorder.

I wished I had a nagging wife I could run this kind of problem over with.

Jesus had a nagging wife. She got buried right next to him. Only she wasn't as much as slut as your wife is. Mary Magdelene got paid to sleep around. Your wife does it for free.

Jesus lived and died with his wife. And then his followers buried him in a tomb next to her. James Cameron must found it while looking for the Titanic or something. Cameron's discovery of the Tomb Of Jesus gives about a billion people something new to do on Sunday.

I doubt that they will do anything much different. And the Friendly Atheist doubts that Cameron's "discovery" is really all that real:

"If it’s not… then you’ll still hear about it anyway. According to the Time blog post, one prominent Israeli archaeologist has already said the crypt is not Jesus’. His family couldn’t have afforded the luxuries and the Jewish names on the tombs were common in that region.

The whole story sounds eerily similar to that of the James Ossuary from a few years back. Maybe James Cameron is just trying to prove once again that he is the real King of the World."

I really need just one blog

But I have three. That is not so cool. Self Help has the higher page ranking and Bathos gets more hits so it's really difficult to justify cutting one out over the other.

I am sorry about that. I know I get your e-mails. You'd rather I just posted all my stuff on one site. But the Self Help Center was supposed to be a job blog. And I never seem to have a job anymore.

I am going to be taking a fiction writing course offered by the local community center. Just 32 dollars. I really want to learn how to write a novel. About my step-sister. And post it on Lulu.com So when people ask me what I do for a living I can tell them "to shut up."

Because I hate people. And their inquisitive minds.

Killer Barney Rap Song I wrote like 20 years ago

You wanna mess with me?

Go ahead and bring your army

I'll crush 'em like Barney

The Purplesaurus Rex

You think I am jokin'

but this ain't no jest.

I can't remember the rest of it...

Maybe one day I will get respect, but until then I grovel. Also I will ceaselessly link to all my blogs until you read them all.

Lately I've been leaving all these incredible spontaneous comments on my favorite blogs. I so burst with creativity that I don't mind sharing a little of my magic with all my SuperFans.

That might seem odd to you, but a lot of my behavior is odd. Like the fact that I still have not bought that add on to my i-pod that allows me to capture audio. Most of my best stuff is strewn outwards for free and then lost permanently to outer space, or wherever the meanderings of my sonic bursts end up at.

I noticed that a friend of mine rated his blog as a C-. I grew a bit concerned. Because even though I have been on the internets for a long time and even though I have authored a second website, I don't think I can quite claim "fair to middling" blogger status like he does.

I want to be famous, but for all my effort my blog may as well have been a Geocities Website dedicated to Unicorns. That's how much my traffic sucks. I'd like to think it's just the Jail Bait series I have been featuring, or my obsession with bringing Hebophilia to the mainstream.

But frankly 60% of my traffic is generated from Jail Bait chat forums. So that's why I included a picture of that Jail Bait girl who made the movie 13. Some people regard this movie as Generation Y's "Kids."

I am not too sure why. Because I thought "Kids" was about Gen Y too. But I have been wrong about things before. All I know is that when a 13 year old writes a movie about how all 13 year old's wanna do is have sex with older guys "it's Art." But when a 36 year old man dedicates his website to said 13 year old girls "it's creepy."

The other thing I know is that my target audience never reads posts this long, and my actual readers wish I would just concentrate on something other than 13 year old vagina. And if they don't then I guess I don't understand the psyche of 39 year old women who think I am hot.

Romius T. the risk taker. If the only chance you take is taking no chances, you take the biggest chance of them all.

I was reading the ever reliable Jezebel's Riot and I remembered what I was supposed to write today. That's because Jezzy's brain has been morphing into Tony Powers. I fear his white teeth. And I fear even more those under his spell.

A buddy of mine always sounds like Tony Powers whenever he tries to convince me he's right. My buddy wanted me to join his gym and woorkout with him. But what he was unknowingly really trying to do was fuck with my brain chemistry. My brain architecture. That which makes me, me.

"You know if we don't do anything you are going to regret it. We have a shot here if we get in shape to make one last push (at attracting women.) The last thing you want is at the end of your life to look back and regret not trying."

"You've gotta take chance." I confirm for him. "Exactly!" His voice rises emphatically. Not as emphatic as when X is pumped up about some random point slapping the back of his hand and guffawing away inappropriately in public. But excited. Hopeful that I have seen the light. That I am ready to bulk up and and score.

"But I do take chances. I take a chance that person like you could never live with. The chance that my entire life will be worth shit. That I will look back over my entire lifetime and see nothing over the horizon other that a mountain of regret. That on my deathbed I will experience the worst kind of exististential pain possible."

"That's taking a chance my friend!"

"Wow." My friend responds to my quote with an air of grudging approval. "I guess you do take chances." And after pausing what he considers a respectful time period he bends toward me and ask "So what do you think about joining, then? Huh?"

Maybe you are the kind of person who takes a long time to wake up

Maybe you need to drink 6 cups of coffee to wake up. And even then you need to drink 3 or 4 Red bulls. Also maybe you need like 5 or 6 cigarettes. And an hour of two of TV. You sit outside in your Arizona room in 50 degree temperatures. You wear small boxers and a sweater because you are cold.

Don't feel bad. I have a hard time getting out of bed too. It's called depression. Or not sleeping. I am not sure which.

That's why I give Britney Spears such props. She is in a deep psychotic state, but still manages to get out of bed. Even get a a haircut! Sure the haircut included all of her hair. But she is probably just going bald and wants to keep her hair short. To fool us.

That's smart thinking. The kind of thinking that turns out to be worth millions of dollars.

I'm pretty confident this is the worst post I have written this week. But you have to admit that my blog was a lot worse when it first started. Don't beleive me? Then check out the archives. It's ok, because none of the stuff on this blog is ever time sensitve.

And don't worry just because you check out the archives it doesn't mean that you are going back in time. There is no such thing as time travel.

It also doesn't mean that you are "living in the past" or "unconcerned with the future." It doesn't mean that you have abandoned the current project. It just means that you've clicked a link to our shared life.

If you are not reading the comments of some of my superfans then you are missing out on some of the best stuff this blog has to offer

Not that this blog has much to offer. But of the things this blog has to offer witty retorts back and forth are some of them. And don't forget this blog is still free. That donation button is subtle suggestion and nothing more.

I don't need your stinking rat donations anyway. I won 60 bucks playing poker last night. All the while flirting with some opponents girlfriend.

He probably thought I was harmless. Just like Knows it All. It seems that Knows it All "Can't quite identify why I think you are at all harmless. I think you are...but it does seem weird that I would think that...right?"

You're right Knows it All. It does. But it is not at all unusual.

Like I said in my comment. Who says I am harmless? I never said I was harmless. Only small children and women with boyfriends think I am harmless. And children have have only their small brains to blame for thinking me harmless.

I make jokes when I play poker about "Not wanting to talk to women. That's why I keep duct tape in my van." And the pretty girl who's boyfriend plays poker smiles at me. She keeps pawing at her boyfriend, but laughs at my jokes. And I have a windowless van with duct tape.

Speaking of small children, I found the best job in the world for me. Ticket taker for the Merry-Go-Round at the local mall. If I get the job nobody will believe me when I tell them that it is my real job. They will just think old Romius T. is playing a prank on them. Until they bring the kids for a free ride. Suddenly my friends with kids will be silently uncomfortable around me.

I enjoy uncomfortable silences. I like the down time because I can use it to make pretend movies in my head. Just like Dr. Stephanie does. I am always the star of the movies and my I-Pod provides the soundtrack. I prefer long shots of me riding in a car backed by smooth or light Jazz.

I wrote down some blog notes about "Quantum Choice & who has the best day in life" in regards to the last paragraph. But I an't remember what the hell that had to do with anything, but I still felt the need to write it. It went something like all the choices I make end up bad, but allow for other people to have best damn day ever.

So enjoy your weekend. Courtesy of me. Making terrible choices, so that you can live free and beautiful.

A Valentine's Day Message for Steve Nash's Wife

Dear Mrs. Nash

Just wanted to wish you a Happy Valentine's Day. I am all alone this year. Which isn't all that different from the last few years. I can't remember the last time I had a girlfriend, or the last time I got a Valentine.

I think the last time I received a Valentine I was in grade school. And when you are in grade school everybody gets a Valentine. Your teachers force your parents to buy enough cards for the entire class. They even provide you with a list of all the names of every classmate in your homeroom. And then you spend the entire night before Valentine's Day addressing cards and licking envelopes.

I am sure you thought it was pain in the ass. But at least you probably got new cards. But my parents were so poor we never bought new cards. So I had to scratch out my name on the old cards my classmates gave me the year before and address them anew with the names of all the kids I had in the current year's class.

Talk about your "embarrassing moments" when I had some of the same friends 2 years in a row. Though I would purposefully give those classmates the card they sent me the year before, so that my friends would then take them home and show their parents just how poor my family was.

I would get invited to a lot of sleep overs for the next few weeks. All my friends parents could recognize the amazing level of cheapness that me and my brothers were forced to endure as an everyday occurrence. At the sleepover I noticed my friends ate really well. Buckets of KFC. And if I wanted I could help myself to seconds of mashed potatoes and biscuits. Even a biscuit with honey for dessert.

After all those great sleepovers I would come home and describe in detail all the food I ate to my brothers. They sat around me in a circle. Convinced I was Orson Welles and the Martians were attacking.

Do they even celebrate Valentines Day where you are from in Paraguay, Mrs. Nash? Maybe that's why Steve Nash did not feel the need to take you along to that fund raiser last night. In fact I heard none of the Phoenix Suns took their wives. I was really upset about that. I know Steve is from Canada and they have weird traditions up there, like Universal Health Care Coverage. Also Canadians don't seem to want to shoot each other in the face as much as we do. But just because Canadians celebrate some weird traditions it shouldn't mean you have to stay home all the time.

Because you and Steve decided not to celebrate Valentines Day together at a fund raiser, I was unable to hand deliver you my Valentine's Day card. You see, I had arranged to have Foxxylove attend the fund raiser and she promised to hand you my card which featured my website and a fantastic Happy Valentine's Day inscription to you. So I guess this blog post will have to do instead. Sigh. Anyways.

Happy Valentines Day!

Romius T.

Are David Foster Wallace's minions pissed off at me for "stealing" his ideas.

But I didn't steal your ideas David. I wrote the last post before I stumbled upon your short story. I thought Good People really fit into the mood of my blog entry, so I linked to your story.

You can all stop e-mailing me. And don't go thinking I stole his idea. Great minds can think alike. Read all my blogs to check out how much before you go deciding how much greater mine is. That's not to say he's not great. But I am too.

I mean Mr. Wallace allows for character and detail. He vividly describes the scenes he writes with the brush strokes of Michelangelo. But he doesn't add juvenile insults to "mentally challenged" folk like I do. I think that makes us quite different. Sure he could probably lecture without notes on the how many chromosomes we actually have, but Science isn't about Math. That's what Math is for.

I don't know who keeps e-mailing me, but you don't need to call me a plagiarist. If I was going to steal his work I would have never hyperlinked to it. I've only really plagiarized one blog entry ever. And I technically left a footnote in the comments section. So that's not really plagiarizing it's poor footnotemanship.*

* Which is ironic knowing Mr. Wallace's penchant for adding fake footnotes in is fiction.

This post is dedicated to David Foster Wallace. I don't care how much you hate Mark Leyner. You're still cool by me. Even though it took some doing to find a half way decent picture of you.

See you never believe me. I am going to keep posting like this. I just sit at the typewriter and this is what comes out.

I'd thought I'd write an uplifting post today. Because you seem down. And I hate it when you cry. When you cry I just sit there. I think all kinds of nice things in my head that could make you stop crying, but all the emotion in the room keeps me from saying them. And then you just keep crying.

After about an hour it starts to get on my nerves and I start thinking things that would give you a good reason to cry, if I stated them aloud. But I never do. So you just keep crying and I keep patting you on the head. And eventually you stop crying. Then I excuse myself to go to the bathroom. I've needed to go since before you came over to the house. But why let that worry you?

You've got problems and I am the only one who pretends to care. I just wished you wouldn't drool so much on me. When people drool on me I begin to think that it might be time to pay child support or it's time to visit Chuck E. Cheese for some little retards birthday. I hate birthdays that aren't mine even more than the Mongoloid little children you birthed for me.

No matter what you say I am can never be completely satisfied that any of these kids are mine. Because I only have 46 chromosomes. And none of your kids have less than 49.

I liked this picture of Anna, because she looks pretty and happy in it. I thought it would cheer you up. Even people this happy and pretty are going to die. And you are still alive.

I might be crazy. But if I drove cross country to kill you, I'd stop for bathroom breaks.

That's because I am not a space cowboy. You see astronauts are used to shitting in their pants so it's not that crazy to drive cross country in a diaper.

I've made up my mind that even when I don't have anything to say that's not going to stop me from blogging. I know my readers will respect that kind of thing. I thought that story was a lot better than the story I was originally going to tell.

That story involved me finding sunflower seeds in my stool. It worries me. I haven't eaten sunflower seeds in more than 2 weeks. I stopped eating them because I was convinced that they were causing an "inflammation of the bowels." Just how long do sunflower seeds last in your intestines anyway?

I guess I can be your guilty pleasure. Like sneaking into your parents room to watch them shave in the mornings. It's not that weird. Lots of folks have 2 daddy's and enjoy watching them wax.

I don't like complaining, but I do it a lot.

I have too many blogs. Imagine all the shit I write in just one blog. You'd be overwhelmed with my intellectual might. But since I have 4 blogs my genius gets watered down.

I haven't kept up with posting a lot about Hugo Chavez but a lot of crazy ass shit is happening down in Venezuela. But since I don't get any hits or comments about Hugo I assume you don't care about him.

Same with the Surveillance Society. It hasn't stopped creeping up on us. I've only stopped warning you about it. I can't just blame you though. I have to admit is much easier making fun of celebrities than making real news interesting.

Don't get mad at me just cuz I take the easy way out:

Men are worried about penis size. At least the Kansas City News thinks so.

"Reece's site promises men that they can increase the size of their favorite body part manually rather than with pills or pumps. His technique assumes that, as with, say, the biceps, proper exercise can cause the penis to expand. Some of these exercises are called "jelquing," which rhymes with milking. (Yes, it resembles the same action.)

Others are simply Kegels, the exercises that strengthen the pelvic floor muscles with actions similar to those used to stop peeing in midstream. Women might recognize Kegels from magazines such as Cosmo, which recommends the exercises for women with weak vaginal muscles."

It's safe to say that I am obsessed with penis size too. Only with getting mine smaller. I practice techniques that shrink my organ a centimeter every year. That way when I finally get to be a cuckold my wife will never want to have the "sex" with me.

What a relief that will be.

Approach/Avoidance disorder has its upside too

I don't have anything to say. Nothing good anyway. I haven't felt inspired for some time to write for this blog. If you took a look at the last few posts you already knew that.

A lot of shit is happening in the world. Anna Nicole is dead. And the best thing that will be said about her has been said by The Drunken Stepfather. I keep linking to him hoping he will notice me. I think he will feel good about himself when he figures out how I copy his shit and it got me nowhere in this world. But look where it got him.

I wanted to write a post on Disconnectedness. But I don't feel up to it. I was depressed today so I went to the casino and won 350 dollars on a splash/kill pot. I got up right after I won the pot. It garnered me few looks of disapproval. Nothing like the disapproval that comes from failing at life and looking in the mirror. But close.

You see people who suffer from personality disorders like mine have a hard time dealing with connecting to the universe/social world. It brings us pain. For most folks when they feel out of sorts they seek comfort in the other. In the feeling of belonging and unification with the "outside."

But not me. That shit really pisses me off. When I am out of sorts I don't get comfort from unification. Surrender only brings torment. I am explaining this wrong, but that's OK. You're only looking at Big Boobs.

You may be targeted.

It all started with the Voice. A long time ago. I think it was the 70's. Faye Dunaway was all the rage.

"THE IDEA OF A GROUP OF PEOPLE CONVINCED THEY ARE TARGETED BY WEAPONS that can invade their minds has become a cultural joke, shorthanded by the image of solitary lunatics wearing tinfoil hats to deflect invisible mind beams. “Tinfoil hat,” says Wikipedia, has become “a popular stereotype and term of derision; the phrase serves as a byword for paranoia and is associated with conspiracy theorists.”

"In 2005, a group of MIT students conducted a formal study using aluminum foil and radio signals. Their surprising finding: Tinfoil hats may actually amplify radio frequency signals. Of course, the tech students meant the study as a joke."

I don't see how any of this is as a joke. Tinfoil was thought at the time to provide some protection for Targeted individuals. If I was The Drug Nazi or Steve Nash's Wife I would definitely consider owning a bit of foil or never leaving the house. You don't have to be Tom Cruise to see that much of Psychology is bunk and the government is out to get us.

Misanthropic Quotes and Rants

There is no reason to repost any of this shit below, but I am going to do it any way. It's not like any of you are interested in learning about more about great stripper songs by UFO.

"You know it's been a while since I've encountered the soothing touch of a female human. I thought your foot was that little dog of yours that enjoys licking me so much. You know the one you trained by spreading peanut butter on your crotch. Seriously, that dog likes people too much now. It's sorta creepy. From now on couldn't we just leave the dog locked up when I come over?"

I am not sure if that is what you are looking for you when you Google misanthropic quotes but I love the idea of you spreading peanut butter on your vagina just so you can finally get some action. If the idea behind the story is a bit autobiographical then I apologize to stepmother's favorite cocker spaniel. But they don't name the dog cocker for nothing.

Halftime at Puppy Bowl III is the bomb. But not like the terrorist kind.

I am back to posting after taking the day off so I could watch all of Puppy Bowl III. Once again the highlight of the show was the halftime kitten program. I've got to admit I also can't get enough of that "Waterbowl Cam" that Animal Planet has totally perfected.

Yesterday I thought I had the diabetes, but I think I am just a little low on potassium. With all the soda I drink I piss most of my nutrients away. I've got to say a big Heep of thanks to the Drug Monkey who despite all protestations to the contrary has bought my next RC Cola binge. All $3.63 cents worth. It might be the funniest 3 dollars ever spent.

You might think that kind of bribery could convince me to stop all the monitoring of his piss, but not quite. We really need to learn a lot more. Plus his ex-girlfriend really enjoys collecting urine.

I am still in hangover mode.

I am more convinced every moment that passes that I will be giving up on drinking soon. That sucks because without liquid courage I don't have the balls to use roofies on my dates when I get them home.

I don't know if you've seen the video of the two-headed dog, but you should. A Russian mad scientist decapitates a puppies head and then attaches it to another dog. The puppy tries to reassure the new body that everything is all cool by licking it's new body's face. But the dog that has woke suddenly to the prospect of having a second head is clearly freaked.

I don't support research like this. Even when it comes from a Communist. Even when it fucks with dogs. Which I hate. Some things are just too fucked up.

Now go watch it!

Two headed dogs was nothing. Next came Monkeys.

"But the dog brain was really just a warm-up act for the monkey head. In the 1970s, after a series of extensive experiments, White performed the first successful brain transplant on a primate, surgically attaching one monkey's head to another monkey's body. When the newly attached monkey woke up, he tried to bite off the finger of an attending doctor, and everyone cheered. "

You read that right. They actually cheered. Scientists are crazy.

I don't have the answer to scurvy. But I know it is better than AIDS.

I don't have any orange juice or non caffeinated drinks at home other than water. So I am drinking water and chewing on orange flavored gum. It's not the same thing, but I am ghetto like that. And since I figure most of my readers are too I just saved you hundreds of dollars over your lifetime in OJ drink bills.

You are probably wondering about scurvy. You read in your 6th grade history book that sailors a long time ago caught the scurvy from not eating any oranges on trips over to the new world. I don't know anything about scurvy, but I know it's better than the Super AIDS you've been spreading.

Now that I am officially soliciting your money I figured I better put some effort and thought in how I can help you the consuming blog reader. Your welcome.