Tuesday, December 17, 2013

STUCK again

How did I develop this insane obsession to write a fucking book. Maybe I will write a book about trying to write a book. How the hell do you do that.

Here goes.!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

So what the fuck am I even going to write about?  

The fact I died for 15 minutes, in 1993 and took an incredible trip around the universe with a naked stripper angle, learning everything there is to know. I now have the power to heal and control the destiny of all mankind. What if I told you I met god and we had a long and interesting discussion on high price of real estate on the planet Zion and having sex with stripper angles. At first the talks where cool only to discover later it wasn’t god at all but the crazy voice inside my head fucking with me as he always does.

When you’re writing a book is it good practice to show you’re a great guy by thanking all the people in your life for helping you write it.

Why should I, no one really helped me, in fact most people are a hindrance too my creative efforts. Always telling me I’m wasting my time, you can’t read, write, or spell what the hell are you doing in this play ground, you don’t belong, writing belongs to nobles and intellectuals.

Well they don’t really say that out load, but I know they think it. I can read minds, remember I died.

If I could only get control of the moving of my lips when I’m thinking folks would be a bit more respectful. The looks I have gotten over the years.

What will you my book buyer look like? News for you, I know every single one of you. Do you want me to list all your names to prove it? I can if you want? But I have a bet to win and a deadline to meet.

I made a huge life or death bet with the crazy voice in side my head that I could write a book by Feb 15th. If I win the bastard leaves forever. If I lose it takes over my body.

Never thought it would be this hard. Even as I type the voice is fucking with me right now. “You got a small dick, let me fuck Debbie tonight give her what she’s longing for” How do you even have job, you’re a loser.

Trying to write this with that son of a bitch in my ears is making the walls of the universe squeeze against my rib cage from all the three dimensions, I can't inhale or exhale. My only escape is to finish the bottle as fast as I can and land in the fuzzy zone so I can start thinking and typing and get the fucker out of my head. My wife who loves me has rationed and almost cut off my supply line of brain food.

Before I take you on this incredible journey around the universe I feel you need to know a little about your story teller.

Sunday, December 15, 2013

Doing Book Here

I'm witting the book right here. I need an audience even if it's only a few 10 to 100 a day. I can't type into a dead word doc. I fucking can't. Few sentence's a day.Ya lets try it this way. It aint working the other way.
Dogs get it for free-----WooHoo

My Book. ........................................

The Loser's Lounge

The walls of my world are squeezing against my rib cage from all the three dimensions, I can't inhale or exhale. My only escape is to finish the bottle as fast as I can and stop thinking. Thinking is bad. 

My life would be a lot less complicated if I  could find some resealable excuse for fitting in, the need for acceptance is a life sentence in a small windowless cage void of light.

Being completely insane is my protection it is the only way to escape and be free from the influences of the marketing wizardry of the soul sucking vampires all taking stabs at owning my belief system and turning me into a slave.. 

And when you are on the ground gasping for your last breaths, pleading and begging for help.

They just step on your face and when one starts others follow,  it then becomes consensus, and even more join into the fun and now everyone is putting the boots to your face.

There are no good men in the world. Just fools. 

Nature has a system. You're are either predictor or prey. You are the meal or the guy who shits you out.

Now your teacher would never teach you that because they weren't taught the laws of nature.

They are robots making robots who make other robots that make robots.

They are the first to have access and programming rights to the biological hard drives of brand new computers we call four year old's. They get the first crack to shape the belief system. Memorize regurgitate, hard work, servitude, home work, sacrifice, obedience, humbleness, gratitude, honesty is all need to be successful.

(WHAT in a globalized world. Are these people insane.)

No it's not, not even close, those characteristics are slavery.  At leased the black slaves in the south knew they where slaves. Our present day kids, mom's dad's have no idea they are slaves.

To add insult to injury when they go to university they pay and pay huge, mom and dad are convinced  by consensus that they are doing the best thing for the kids.

I can Google then download software which allows me to design small aircraft to airliners for Christ sake's. It's free.

People can't think anymore. At the height of the financial crises the best selling book at the time was the secrete, It taught,  just will your good fortune and it will come. Ha diffident quite work out did it.

You got learn to hunt, the world is a smaller place, competition everywhere alpha's rule. They always have 2000 years ago they went with names like Jesus, Moses, Mohamed. Humans evolved a bit. Then it was kings and queens. Then we discovered democracy with elected leaders. And now we have the back room boys, those are the dudes you want to be friends with. They are the Smoking Men. They are the ones that can turn your life into instant prosperity or destroy you.

The first step is to start a business.

Sunday, December 8, 2013

Fred Reed nails it.

Notes on the Pussification of America

It is time to get women out of the schooling of boys. It is way past time. Women in our feminized classrooms are consigning generations of our sons to years of misery and diminished futures. The evidence is everywhere. Few dare notice it.
The feminization is real. More than seventy-five percent of teachers are women; in New York state, over ninety percent of elementary school teachers are women; in the US, over seventy percent of psychologists are women, with (sez me) the rest being doubtful. This is feminization with fangs.
I have just read Back to Normal: Why Ordinary Childhood Behavior Is Mistaken for ADHD, Bipolar Disorder, and Autism Spectrum Disorder, by psychologist Enrico Gnaulati, who works with children alleged to have psychological problems in school, usually meaning boys. I decline to recommend it because of its psychobabble, its tendency to discover the obvious at great length, and its Genderally Correct pronouns, which will grate on the literate. (I mean constructions resembling “If a student comes in, tell him or her that he or she should put his or her books in his or her locker.”) However, a serious interest in the subject justifies slogging through the prose. (The statistics above are from the book.)
The relevant content is that women are making school hell for boys, that they have turned normal boyish behavior such as enjoyment of roughhousing into psychiatric “personality disorders.” They are doping boys up, forcing them into behavior utterly alien to them, and sending them to psychiatrists if they don’t conform to standards of behavior suited to girls. The result is that boy children hate school and do poorly (despite, as Gnaulati, says, having higher IQs). This is no secret for anyone paying attention, but Gnaulati makes it explicit.
“Women should not be allowed within fifty feet of a school where boys are taught.”
As a galling example he cites one Robert, an adolescent responding badly to classes and therefore suspected by his teacher of having a “personality disorder.” From the book:
She required all forty students in the class to design Valentine’s Day cards for each other. She was emphatic about wanting them personalized. Names had to be spelled correctly and compliments written up genuinely.
Valentines? This was eighth-grade English. Students, who by then once knew grammar cold, should be reading literature or learning to write coherently. In my eighth-grade class, we read Julius Caesar: “I want the men around me to be fat, healthy-looking men who sleep at night.” Valentines? Compliments?
This, the author assures the reader, did not take place in an asylum for the mildly retarded, but in one of the ten best high schools in California. What must the rest be like?

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