Archive for December, 2015

It’s Been A Nice Week

December 29th, 2015

Christmas week has been pretty nice. I will share a few bits with you.

  • I had a sip of moonshine. It wasn’t my kind of thing.
  • My cousin Gina’s 9-year-old son has a smartphone with internet access. He’s nine. When I was nine, I had an electric football game.
  • I put “Goatse” in the charade hat and it got picked but didn’t get played. They didn’t know what it was. Well, they did but they didn’t know what it was called.
  • I am terrible at charades.
  • I had lunch with a pal I hadn’t seen in years on Boxing Day. Did some catching up.
  • I’m going to meet my old LA roommate later tonight.
  • Mary gave me a framed picture of Jon and I cried, cried, cried.
  • I was given a lot of books. Harley Race’s autobiography, two books about Louisville wrestling history, and 40 Years Of Queen among others.
  • The band had practice on Sunday and David brought his son Cevin, who is growing tall and handsome. David says Cevin wants to start a band called “Mike Is Black”. I support this venture wholeheartedly.
  • I watched “Ernest Goes To Africa” with Mary.
  • Because of this I am now looking at the Jim Varney page on Wikipedia.
  • The Wiki entry for “Ernest Goes To Africa” says the entire movie was filmed in South Africa. I would be surprised if it were shot anywhere but Tennessee.

Yes, But…

December 23rd, 2015

I am very depressed.

I’m hanging on.

It’s a nuisance.

I’m working through it.

Some days I stay in bed all day.

When I have something that has to be done, I muster the strength to do it.

Sometimes I feel like I’m in love with my depression.

If I have to experience it, I may as well explore it.


I hope you get the picture here.


I am existing and that is enough for now. I would like to do better but right now I can’t. It would make me only happy to thrive, to use my talents and gifts to make my life better, but I can’t. Right now I’m doing the best I can. Doesn’t feel like the best I can but that’s what it is. I’m here. I may not be in the game, but I’m here. I may not be in the thick of things, beside my fellow man in the rat race, but I’m around. Even if I’m on the sidelines, I’m still here.


Sometimes, people write letters to their ailments. People in rehab write a letter to their addiction. I could write a letter to depression. Which I may do, but not on this day. If I do, I’ll try to work in the phrase “honky motherfucker”.

When I Grow Up To Be A Man

December 18th, 2015

Will I still watching wrestling when I’m age forty-two?

Will I still read comic books as if that’s something to do?

Play D&D, at age forty-three?

When I grow up to be a man?


When Star Wars comes out, will I go opening night?

Will I wear a costume and think that’s really alright?

I beg on my knees, no spoilers please

When I grow up to be a man?


Will I fall in love with someone who has interests like me?

What if I’m into Marvel but they’re more into DC?

No Netflix and chill? Still probably will

When I grow up to be a man?

Mac or PC? When I grow up to be a man?


Won’t last forever, it’s kinda sad.



2015 Was A Bastard

December 16th, 2015

My God, it was horrible.

2014 was the worst. Then 2015 happened and made the personal disaster of the previous year feel like a fingerbang in a Spanish villa.


The sheer amount of death in 2015 was staggering. Who died in 2015? Nearly everyone, that’s who. I knew at least five people who died this year. Let’s not forget about the legends who left us early. Or the almost daily shootings in America. Or the many terrorist attacks worldwide.


Meanwhile, the US is in a death march to elect a new president which won’t happen for another eleven months. This election cycle feels like it has been going on for about eleven years. Jack Conway lost to Matt Bevin in the Ky. Governor election, which should not have been a surprise to anyone with eyes. Conway was a far better candidate but has the soul of a moray eel and the smile of someone who’s been caught jerking off.


Keep in mind there are still two weeks left in ’15. Anything could happen. I could grow a second asshole under an armpit that did nothing but push out wet, flaky farts. The President could get a tattoo of Steve Irwin being gangfucked by stingrays, displaying it proudly during a press conference. Paula Deen could do a naked webcam show. The Eagles could put out another album. Any of those things would be one more drop on the pile.


I’m not holding out hope for 2016. I’m not at all convinced next year will be better than this year. In 2016, Bernie Sanders will drop out of the Presidential race after it’s found out he… something. With our luck, he’ll probably be accused of some Mr. Hands type shit and there will be video proof. Hillary Clinton will quit politics to become lead singer of the Genitorturers. Ben Carson will be elected President and his first lady will be Caitlyn Jenner. Oh, and a bunch of people you admire will die.


I’m sure Bill Clinton would love the Genitorturers, so it wouldn’t be a complete loss.

What Kind Of Person?

December 11th, 2015

I took a post down because it was too mean.

I posted something about fourteen hours ago about someone who had recently passed away. It was full of meanness and spite and it wasn’t necessary. It was cruel. A guy who was buried today by his family and here I am throwing more dirt on the guy.

Who do I think I am? What kind of person does that? It’s not like this was someone who was famous or important. In the scheme of things, he was just a guy.

I pick really strange times and occasions to be insensitive. Why that guy? Some people deserve a royal thrashing when they pass. Not that dude. Maybe he really was a dickhead. Maybe he was a horrible human being. But he’s just some guy. It’s not like he’s Dick Cheney or Roger Goodell.

Inauguration Day

December 7th, 2015

Tomorrow, our fair state will inaugurate its next Governor. Here is a list of events planned for the special day. I am going to try to make it to the actual swearing-in but some of these I definitely won’t get to.


8:00 am – Solemn breakfast at Governor’s mansion.

A select few get to attend this. It is the last breakfast that Gov. Beshear will get to have in this house. Limited to Beshear and his family, Gov-elect Bevin and his family, and assorted VIP’s. The outgoing governor is made to cook his own sausage and eggs, burn his own toast and wash his own dishes afterwards. He is not allowed to change out of his bedclothes until he has completed the solemn breakfast, however he is allowed to put on a bathrobe. The outgoing governor eats his solemn breakfast while the guests stare at him in silence until he breaks down in tears. Breakfast buffet for everyone else.


9:30am – Petting of the Diarrheic Canine.

From the dark mountains of eastern Kentucky, a sick dog is found and brought to Frankfort for the ceremonial petting of the diarrheic canine. The event title comes from 1935 when Happy Chandler pet a sick dog shortly before swearing in. The animal, feeling the cold hands of Gov. Chandler, let out a angry stream of brownish-yellowish shame, spraying several attendees.


Chandler’s gubernatorial term was a massive success and the petting of sick dogs became customary of Inauguration Day in Kentucky. Much like Groundhog Day, if the dog is physically ill while being pet by the new Governor, a good four years will follow.


10:00 am – Gubernatorial Parade

A parade where the Governors (outgoing and incoming) sit in a limo and talk about various things. The conversation is recorded and released as a podcast within a week. The parade is filled with discarded Christmas floats from the previous weekend’s holiday parades.


11:30 am – Swearing in ceremony.

Speaks for itself. Before the proceedings, Governor Bevin will be sprayed with disinfectant to prevent the spread of pinkeye. This is customary since 1987 when Wallace Wilkinson was sprayed on by a sick pitbull from Breathitt County, which began the Pinkeye Epidemic of 1988-9.


1:00 pm – Listening to the new Governor’s favorite album.

Attendees of the swearing-in will get a break when the new Governor makes everyone listen to his favorite album. The temperature should be in the low 50s for this afternoon playing. In 1983, five people died from frostbite when  Martha Layne Collins listened to the Saturday Night Fever soundtrack in sub-zero conditions.


Governor Bevin is expected to choose between Cat Stevens Gold and Green Jelly’s Cereal Killer Soundtrack.


2:15 pm  – Pre-lunch glucose reading.



2:30 pm – Shooing of the Stragglers

This is the part when the staff and security shoo away the last stragglers who held on through the swearing-in and the favorite album bit.


Dear Porn Star Girlfriend,

December 4th, 2015

Dear Porn Star Girlfriend,


By the time you read this, I will be gone. I packed up my things and made amscray for the road. It’s over. No hard feelings.


We’ve had a pretty good run but I think our relationship has ran its course. I remember the first night we laid in bed together, cooling down from the hot lovemaking we’d just made. Giggly in the post-coital glow, the warm fuzzies taking over us and the endorphins high as the stars in the sky. Everything felt good and right with us, but I remember saying to you, “Girl, I don’t think I got enough dick to keep you happy.” It was like I saw the end, but all the way from the beginning.



It’s true. I don’t got enough dick to keep you happy. For real, I could have a second dick as well as a butt plug growing off of my elbow and it wouldn’t be enough. Because it’s not the size or quality of said dick but the variety that does it for you.


Can’t blame you, though. I knew what I was getting into. You are a porn star. Not just a porn performer. A star, which means you are famous for it. People recognize you on the street and geek out. You’re not just a porn actress, you are a shaman of cum. Or a shamaness. You’re a witch that conjures cum out of many lonely people through the medium of streaming video and for that you should be honored.


It was exciting at first when we’d be out in public and guys (always guys) stopped in their tracks to gawk at you. Many of them approached you. They all said they were big fans and loved your work. Then they would look at me and give me a double thumbs-up. They envied me. Hell, I would too. I had the best girl in the whole wild world. Had the best girl.



Relationships are tough, no matter what you do for a living. Remember that day I called you while you were on the set to tell you my sister’s ventilator was being shut off. What a horrible day. My sister had been in a coma for months. No sign of improvement. Technically brain dead. We were keeping her body warm because. . . we couldn’t let her go? But she was gone, and it was time to accept it. I called you with tears in my eyes and you tried to reassure me. You did your level best to try to make me feel better. It was her time, you said, and we were doing the right thing. You told me you loved me and were proud of me. I sobbed like a baby. You stayed on the line with me through all my tears.


When we hung up, you went to work and got Blacked dot com.


When we first started dating, I thought it would be a nonstop party. Nothing but fun and craziness and lots of group sex with all of your female co-workers and none of my male friends. It didn’t quite work out that way, but that’s not why I’m leaving, believe it or not.


I’ve learned about myself so much since we’ve started dating and I have you to thank for that. I’ve been forced to take a look inside myself. I’ve had to reexamine what I thought was right and good and that would not have been possible without your love and support.



When I said I hoped we’d party and have crazy group sex where I was the only guy in the room, that was only the first half of the fantasy. I had hoped that one day we’d both just settle down together. Just you and me. And occasionally Kayden. But you are like a wild horse. You cannot be broken or tamed and what’s more? You shouldn’t be broken or tamed. Not by me, at least. Not by any man. When you finally decide to settle, you will do it when you are good and ready. No one is bringing you down, nor should they.


But me? I’ve had my taste of the wild life. And Kayden. And Gianna. And Zoe. And Kayden. And Mia, Pia and Zia. Not to mention Kayden. But I can’t keep up with you. I don’t just not have enough dick for you, baby. I don’t have enough heart and soul for you. Or physical endurance and flexibility. I think I’ve been a closet monogamist this whole time. How utterly pedestrian and banal, right? Well, one day you may end up feeling that way too. The guy you’re with when that happens will be one lucky s.o.b.


But alas, it is not me. So I’m leaving. Because this is your condo. I had the Dish transferred over to your name, btw. Sorry I didn’t pull my weight with the bills more.



Open Letter To Whoever’s Trying To Hack Me

December 3rd, 2015

Why are you trying to hack into my website, fella? What’s the deal? Are you bored or something?


This blog is really not for 99% of my readers. It’s for whoever thinks they’re going to get into this website and do. . . something?


I know when you’ve been creeping, dummy. Cut it out. You keep trying and you’re not getting anywhere. Wherever you are in Eastern Europe. Get a clue and get a life. My password is so strange I had to write it down. On a piece of paper. In my house.


Do something productive. Feed a feral cat. Torture your dick all day in the comforts of your own home. Make a post on Facebook crying about the flurry of gun-related violence in the United States (it’s okay, we all do it from time to time). Fill yourself full of starchy, sugary sweets until you get too fat to stand. It’s fun, sometimes.


I don’t know what you’re looking for but you won’t find it. I don’t have any gold bars behind the log-in screen. No giant bags of cocaine or unseen pictures from the Fappening. I don’t even have a cunthair fraction of one solitary bitcoin. You know what I got here? Words. Fucking words, that’s it. Hundreds and hundreds of articles and posts that contain words. Nothing special. You can read most of them because I’ve put them up to be seen. The ones I haven’t put up are either unfinished or too shitty to complete.


If you really want the password, here it is: “fuckyou_fuckstick”

Here’s my IP address in case you need it, it’s “”


Thought Processes Of The Doomed

December 2nd, 2015

Here are some of the thoughts I had in the few minutes between the death of my laptop adapter and the realization that I had a spare universal charger that worked in its place.


“Oh God. . . here we go.

What happens if I take the battery out?

It won’t work at all.

Oh that’s good. That’s just perfect.

Damn thing won’t charge.

Yep. Of course.

You can’t have anything, can you?

Can’t maintain a damn thing, Mike.

Give me a thing and I’ll ruin it.

Everything I have is destined to be broken.

That includes relationships, opportunities and my own body.

God I hope this works or else I am up a fuckin’ creek once again.

It’s always something.

Okay, there’s a light.

Oh dear God. Thank you.

I’m still in the ballgame.

The kid stays in the picture.

Ahhh awwww yeahhh.”