Hey Chris?

"Can I borrow fifty dollars? I want to go to dinner and see this play with my friend. Mom and Dad just got their car fixed and won't have any money till next week so they said to ask you. Please?". My little sister asked.
"Who are you going with?"
"Mal."
"Whose taking you?"
"Paige."
"Where are you going for dinner?"
"I don't know, a burger place or something."
"How will you want burger cooked?"
"Chris can I borrow money or not? I could have asked Jen if I knew you'd be this much of a pain."
"Oh come on, you knew I'd be a pain."
"You're such an ass. Burger? Umm probably medium well."
"Now who is this Cinderella exactly? It sounds like a stripper name."
"You know who Cinderella is Chris! Glass slipper, blue dress and ugly step-sisters. I watched the movie all the time when I was little."
"She wears glass heels and that's supposed to make me think she's not a stripper? She has no father figure in her life and her mother and step-sisters abuse her. Sounds like a stripper to me."
"They're not heels, they're slippers, and there's only one."
"Only one? Is she some kind of one-legged stripper? We're really getting into some strange territory now." I say as I hear laughs in the background.
"So is that a yes?"
Yea come by on your way I'll be home after work.
"Thank you!"

Tweet

The Ax

Financial reform is the focus of the country's political attention at the moment and I have to say it's about time. It's been nearly two years since the country's economy began unraveling and now that things have somewhat stabilized it's time to ensure this doesn't happen again for another hundred years or so. Now that Republicans have stopped standing in the way of the proposed legislation to further regulate Wall Street we're likely to get yet another piece of legislation that will change the way the country works for years to come (which I'm happy with). My concern is that the legislation won't go far enough. Over the last couple of decades laws were changed which allowed banks to grow larger and larger and left us with banks that were "too big to fail". I want to see those laws restored. I want limits on how many accounts individual banks can hold. Local banks are just more stable and should be supported. Chances are more money will be reinvested into the community with small banks as there isn't the same pressure to show profits for shareholders. We need some old fashioned Theodore Roosevelt style monopoly smashing here. Maybe, an ax would be a little to harsh. Slicing them with a scalpel might be smarter. Every year the maximum number of accounts a bank can hold could drop by 2% for the next ten years. After ten years we get banks that are much more manageable and less in danger of collapsing. Corporations have gotten way too big in this country and if we don't prevent them from becoming monopolies we'll be in peril indefinitely, just waiting for the next bubble to burst.

All of my money (what little there is) is invested in a community bank. I hope you consider taking action on your own and moving your money to a community bank, it saves the country and you can still get totally free checking.

Tweet

Dandelion

Have you ever had something so fragile that a small gust of wind could blow it away? I remember being a kid and picking up dandelions after they had seeded. It's fun to blow on them and watch as they scattered. I can't think of anything that makes a person feel like a happy kid than blowing dandelion seeds everywhere. It just conjures up beautiful, warm and fuzzy memories. Can you ever remember puckering up and exhaling on a freshly plucked dandelion and feeling sad? It's impossible. Lately I've been thinking about how I live my life and the choices I've made. Most of them have been good, some mediocre and some were just downright stupid. Now when I pick up a dandelion I think about puffing up and blowing, enjoying it temporarily and take a moment to decide against the fleeting fun. Now I want to pick it up, shelter it, and enjoy it for what it is. Something completely unique deserves care, time and respect. When I pluck you I want to savor you.

Tweet

Da Bulls...

...need to kick ass today! I know the Cavs will probably beat us but I want LeBron to realize he'd be better off in a certain Mid-western town, that starts with a "C", ends with an "O", and in the middle is "HICAG".

Tweet

Nightmares

She sent me a letter, a video was enclosed. I watched it, thinking it was for me. It was for me alright but it wasn’t made for me. I saw her in bed, laying there, looking beautiful. Her eyes focused on the camera, focused on me. What a beautiful girl. The camera zoomed out a little too fast, it made everything blurry. Things started to come into focus, I could see her entire body. Naked, exposed, sexy as hell. Then things became clear. Someone took a razor blade and drew designs deep into her depraved flesh. She looked like she’d been tattooed with a butcher knife. I recoiled in horror, terrified of what had been done to my little angel. She looked up at the camera, at me, and smiled. She turned playfully to her side, exposing her right arm enough to let me read it. ‘Diagnosis’ was carved into her arm. I searched for a meaning and couldn’t find one. She smiled again and the camera shook. It came into focus, I wiped my eyes. She was on top of another man. Joyfully riding him the way I’ve seen her on top of me so many times. I was in denial, terrified. I thought it might have been our old home movie. Some tape I’d discarded and left under my mattress. She rolled off him and underneath was another man, beaming. He stole the look she used to give me. Devastation set in, fear overcame me. I thought about all of my sins, all of my shortcomings and all of my mistakes. Luckily it was just a dream, but if I don’t pull it together it’ll become a real life nightmare. I’ve seen  my demise, it’s up to me to destroy it.

Tweet

Decades Behind

I'm told I've always been an old soul. When I was two years old I'd scold my mother for acting silly. I've often felt that I'd be suited better to have lived in another decade. The 1990's just weren't that interesting to me. The decade had a suburban feel to it I could never quite latch onto. Nirvana and the whole grunge thing was alright but how inspiring, even at it's best, can Seattle ever really be? I can never really respect a musical movement that begins in a place where the chances are high you'll get home safe after you leave the dingy little club your favorite band was jamming in. Politically we had the Congressional Republican Revolution (yawn) and Bill "Slick Willie" Clinton who while an interesting guy in his own right wasn't exactly lighting the world on fire during his presidency.

The 1960's has long been the decade I thought would have been best suited for me to come of age in. Here's a few of the reasons:

• It was a time of great political and social change that I could have really added some great fiery rhetoric to.
• Open-mindedness was espoused as a virtue.
• The music was awesome. Stones? Beatles? Dylan? Hendrix? Davis? Coltrane? Clapton? This decade had it all. Legendary songwriters, technically proficient musicians, desire to experiment and larger than life personalities that no decade can musically match.
• Everyone was f'n everyone. Birth control had been invented and AIDS hadn't!
• Looking back on it the whole thing just seems like one giant roller coaster ride and I like my decades like I like my women, emotionally unstable.

Now that I'm getting older I fear that my taste in decades is also aging. Over the last few years I've become more and more enamored with the decade of the 1900's. I've got a huge necrophilic man-crush on Albert Einstein as my long time followers already know. Teddy Roosevelt, despite being a Republican, is one of my all time favorite politicians. The way he railed against the increasing power of giant corporations (and won) has many lessons for us today. I also find it inspiring that he'd probably be portrayed as a communist by the Republicans of today. I've been reading Freud lately and while I find some of his conclusions a bit far-fetched he's the kind of out-of-the-box of thinker I'd love to do Cocaine with. With Darwin still being hotly debated along with the works of Einstein and Freud shaking up the way we look at the world this decade was just as revolutionary culturally as the 1960's, even if it's not quite as sexy. Innovation and was at a level unrivaled in history in any decade except perhaps our own. The radio, the assembly line, affordable cars, the first airplane flights and countless other inventions give the decade a very revolutionary feeling. Art was wonderful in this time as well. My favorite artist of all time, Picasso, was in his prime and other intriguing artists such as Toulouse-Lautrec and Van Gogh were roaming the Parisian boulevards. The only real knock I have against the decade is the music. Radio was only just being invented and only so much of went on musically during that time survived.

Any other old souls out there? Anyone else feel like they should have come of age at a different time?

Tweet

Release

Click image to see original location.

For weeks now she’d been tossing and turning all night, every night. The stress had been eating her alive. Friends and family have been draining everything from her. Hell, there have even been incidents with complete strangers that have made her want to pull her hair out. She’s exhausted but unable to rest. She’s one of those women that’s incapable of being selfish so she works herself to death trying to help everyone else figure things out. She doesn’t bitch or complain about it, she’s just that kind of girl.

As she finally drifts away into dreamland she finds herself at her best friends house. She’s high again, of course. Her friend’s asshole ex-husband is there with his psychotic fiancé.  They’re there to pick up the kids and drop off an 8ball. “Some child support“, she mumbles to herself. She looks at her friend and wonders what the fuck happened to the little girl that would run barefoot through the sprinkler with her and the young woman that wouldn’t shut up about how wonderful her high school sweetheart is. She looks into her friend’s vacant eyes and then remembers why. A single, solitary tear runs down her cheek. Her face becomes red as she becomes enraged. She reaches for a baseball bat and smashes everything in the house until she collapses on the floor and sobs into her folded knees.
She hears a blowing howl, then a loud crack followed by a ripping sound more terrifying than anything she can remember. She looks up suddenly and sees the roof violently rip off the house. Water starts crashing in on her. She’s panicking and struggling to breathe when she’s sucked down a giant pipe with tons of water chasing her down. She bangs her head, arms and legs against the giant iron pipe as it twists and turns its way to locations unknown. Eventually it dumps her into a giant pool of water. Her momentum carries her to the bottom of the reservoir and the force of the water from the pipe keeps her there. She struggles to swim towards the top but exhaustion and lack of will force her to give up. She feels she’ll never reach dry land so why bother? The air is almost gone from her lungs now. Her limp, nearly lifeless body just floats there underwater motionlessly. A beautiful light then appears above her. The pressure ceases and she slowly begins rising to the top. A warm, enveloping feeling tingles through all the veins of her body. She can’t tell if it’s the light or the asphyxiation that’s making her like this. She wonders for a moment if she is already dead. The last bubble of air escapes from her mouth and rises to the surface. She feels peace, finally.

She rolls out of bed and heads for the shower. She feels strained but more optimistic than she did the night before. The water rolls down her face and down her body. She closes her eyes and finally feels released.

Tweet

421

So I'm a day late, sue me. How many potheads are really ever on time anyway? On days like yesterday I really miss the stuff. I remember being 16 and ditching school to go smoke ridiculously sized blunts in an old rusted out car with a tarp over it. No one could see us because of the tarp. They could probably smell us three blocks away but who really thinks that far ahead? Marijuana is an awesome drug. It's a drug I've long outgrown but in many ways it saved my life. Until I started smoking the stuff I was a complete square. I was a tightly-wound, bossy, overachieving fuck that was really difficult to get along with. Pot got me to chill the fuck out. Pot taught me to act sober in front of cops. Pot taught me to lie to cops. Pot is the only reason a male (police officer! wasn't a casual thing) has ever fondled my balls. Pot taught me to stash drugs in the bottom of my shoe instead of in my sock because how do you pat down the sole of someones shoe? Now that I think about it pot taught me everything I need to know about dealing with the police and I've only been arrested once (and it wasn't because of pot).

Ages 16-20 are pretty hazy now. I smoked pot everyday at least once during that time period except for 3 days during a drought in July of  '99. I sort of get what PMS must feel like because Jesus was I fucking irritable those 3 days. I got mad at  the sky for being blue at one point. Now I'm old and shit. Three puffs knocks my dick in the dirt. Thanksgiving was the last time I partaked, before that at a concert here and there. I have no tolerance anymore. I think about the quantities I used to smoke while driving to sporting events and concerts with police lining the streets and wonder how I wasn't scared shitless. Smoking large amounts of weed while driving around aimlessly produced some of the best memories of my life, and I can't even remember half of them. Being young, dumb and stoned was really fun. Really, really fun. Don't be scared to let your 14 year old nieces or nephews take a hit off your joint because you know damn well it was cool when your uncle offered it to you. It's not a gateway drug, either. I never tried any other drugs when I was stoned, but I've tried just about every drug you don't need a needle for while drunk. I love drugs, they're underrated. My advice is to do as many different drugs as you can because then you won't have the time or money to get addicted to just one. Do them all, in moderation. Choosing one drug is like getting married. It'll never be as good as it was before you made at a commitment and before you know it you'll be trolling around for something new.

Pot is hot!

Plz fwd thiz 2 ur kidz!!!!!!

Tweet

The Rose

I ran into an old friend last night that inspired the character portrayed in the following story. I thought I'd share it with all of you. This was originally written April 3rd, 2007.

****

The Rose

   
    The tip of her thumb was bleeding. She pricked it on purpose with a small pin she kept hidden in her garter belt. She loved the sensation. She loved the taste of her blood. She pulled her black dress up her thigh and hid the pin as she walked through the lawn intent on returning to the party. She walked through the dark sucking her thumb as she so often did - partly an oral fixation and partly an obsession with pain.

    Despite what you may think about our delicate Rose she has never cut herself, nor has she ever attempted to commit suicide, been in an abusive relationship or any of the common stereotypes applied to women with masochistic tendencies. Pleasure intrigued her as much as pain. Beauty was her passion as much as the horrific. She loved the smell of flowers and trained herself to walk through pungent places. She devoured sweets and sucked on coffee beans and you were just as likely to hear her listening to Mozart as to find her listening to the jackhammers pounding the street. Exploration of the dichotomy of sensation is her modus operandi.

    Rose was a beautiful young woman of only 22 with long red hair halfway down her back. As she gracefully walked back into the party it was inevitable that she would draw the stares of lustful young men and jealous young women. It was also inevitable that she would be oblivious to all of it. Rose was a solitary soul. She lived within her own body and dwelled within her own mind. She found herself at the bar and was set to enjoy a glass of champagne when she felt a hand wrapping around her arm tightly. She turned and saw a terrifying man standing behind her. He was unshaven, shabbily dressed, reeked of cheap gin and didn't at all appear to fit in with this scene.

    He told her not to say a word and that he had a knife. He led her by the arm down a hall and into a dark room. Rose knew what was happening to her but she did not resist. She wasn't scared by this psychotic man but instead intrigued by his ugly, worn-out face. In the room the man wrapped his hand tightly around her neck and made it clear that if she made a noise he would not hesitate to end her life. He pushed her onto the bed and began fumbling at her dress. Our Rose was still not scared, yet she was somehow calmly resisting. She pushed away his face as he tried to lunge forward and kiss her. Yet, she enjoyed his disgusting odor and the way his hand worked up her thigh. Adrenaline pumped through her veins like she'd never felt before. She felt disgust and pleasure all at once.

    The rapist continued to have trouble getting her undressed. It was abundantly clear from his appearance that he didn't have much experience in this sort of situation. With a physics-defying, adrenaline-assisted lunge she pushed him back with a strength that her frail form should not have been able to muster. She looked into the darkness and said "I want you". With that she pulled down her undergarments and told him to take her hard.

    He eagerly jumped on top of her and when he did she stabbed him in the neck with the pin she retrieved from her garter. She felt power and rage as she twisted the needle deep into his blood-spurting neck. She laid there savoring the feeling for just a moment before she stood up, turned on the light, calmly fixed her dress and returned to the party.

Tweet

Echo....

I miss all you mother fuckers. I've been writing again so we'll get some action  going on again here soon!

Tweet

Eyes

So I've been thinking lately. Well, that's a lie. I haven't been thinking at all lately that's why it has been so quiet around here. What I'm thinking right now is that I'm dangerously close to never thinking again. Have you ever been at that point where you just don't want to force it anymore? That point where you just stop caring? You get to that place where someone could run your toes over with a car and you'd look down at your feet and instead of screaming out in pain you would just shrug it off and laugh. That's where I am right now. It's not a bad thing either. It's sort of blissful really. Not caring is the best feeling in the world. Apathy is happiness spelled backwards just with different letters, look it up. A hot piece of ass could be tied up and wrapped in a bow right now and I wouldn't give it to you because I can't bring myself to give a fuck. I float through each day and it feels so good. I feel the way I used to back when Xanax and Vicodin made the world look so pretty. I miss all of you damnit! I don't know how you're all doing but you better be happy because I am. I'm not in love either if that's what you're thinking, I'm just content. The world is beautiful. You don't need a prescription to see it either, unless you wear contacts.

Tweet

How To Lie To People That Care or April Fools

So yesterdays blog was an April Fool's blog. Most of you caught me and some of you were incredibly nice and encouraging and it almost made me feel a little bad for it. I even lost a follower because of it! That makes me sad. Anyhow, for future reference I've got pretty thick skin and it'd take more than a few creepy emails and sexy pictures (Tiffany you fox!) to get me to stop interacting with all of you beautiful people. I figure we might as well make this a learning experience so I'll explain exactly what goes through my mind when I'm constructing a lie.

So I haven't really been into the whole blogging thing lately. For a while there inspiration just came everyday and I could crank out something worth reading (in my opinion) regularly. I don't know if it's that it's now springtime in Chicago and women are walking around in skirts again which makes me not really give two-shits about a computer screen but I think I'll probably shut this thing down.

Rule number one when it comes to lying is always start it off with some honest to goodness truth. I haven't been blogging as regularly as I usually do. It is f'n beautiful here in Chicago and to be honest blogging is the last thing on my mind when so many beautiful women are walking around.

It was fun while it lasted but sometimes hobbies just get shoved under the bed with the stamp collection. I've found some really cool, really interesting people here and I'll definitely miss you. I might even stop by every once in a while and leave stalkerish anonymous comments. 

When you're lying to someone make sure they don't think it's their fault. It's not you, it's me, really. If you lie to someone and try to make it their fault they start getting defensive and they're a lot more likely to spot your bullshit if they feel they're being attacked.

It sucks that a few bad eggs ruined my omelet bar but that's life. I've gotten some pretty creepy emails lately that just, yea. Turning me off nearly completely to this whole thing. 

Always make the bad guy someone without a face. Blame someone that doesn't exist. They can't track down someone that actually exists so they won't push for answers. Just tell your bookie you can't pay him because your c*** of an ex-wife just took everything. Doesn't matter if you were ever married or not. He might still break a leg but he won't fuck up your face that bad.

"Hey Christopher! I love your blog I read it everyday. You're so funny and talented, you really should try to get published! You have to give me a signed copy of your book though made out to your #1 fan!" Just emails like that, creeps me the fuck out. At first I didn't think anything of it, thought it was sweet. Then they start attaching pictures that, odds are, aren't of them. 

Take something that really isn't that bad and make it sound bad. Honestly, I'd love to get emails like that everyday even if the pictures aren't of them. But, I say it creeps me out and people start thinking stalker and suddenly my lie is nearly justified.

Then my dumb ass just has to go opening them after I've been drinking, real smart. Next thing you know I'm sending out pictures of my cock to complete strangers. God, I thought drunk texting was bad. Drunk blogger is just pure evil. Now there's some guy named Lisa out there doing God knows what to print-outs of my cock. I'm so glad TMZ doesn't give a shit about bloggers. 

Never make yourself innocent in your lie. Think of it as a murder case when you know you're guilty and they have decent evidence. You don't lie to get the charges drop you just try to plea it down to manslaughter.  Also doesn't hurt to throw in a little humor because when a man is dealing with something painful chances are he's coping with it by making a few jokes.

 Anyhow, I'm gonna leave it up for a week or so in case I change my mind, but I really doubt it at this point. 

Last, but not least, leave yourself a little wiggle room. If you're going to lie chances are you're going to need to lie yourself out of your lie at some point down the line. Don't lock yourself into absolutes, stick to the gray. It might not sound as convincing in the present but long-term you'll save yourself a lot of headaches.

So there you have it some tips on lying to people you love. Oh, and if any of you were looking I don't remember sending out any pictures of my member. At least not over the internet.

Tweet

meh

So I haven't really been into the whole blogging thing lately. For a while there inspiration just came everyday and I could crank out something worth reading (in my opinion) regularly. I don't know if it's that it's now springtime in Chicago and women are walking around in skirts again which makes me not really give two-shits about a computer screen but I think I'll probably shut this thing down. It was fun while it lasted but sometimes hobbies just get shoved under the bed with the stamp collection. I've found some really cool, really interesting people here and I'll definitely miss you. I might even stop by every once in a while and leave stalkerish anonymous comments. It sucks that a few bad eggs ruined my omelet bar but that's life. I've gotten some pretty creepy emails lately that just, yea. Turning me off nearly completely to this whole thing. "Hey Christopher! I love your blog I read it everyday. You're so funny and talented, you really should try to get published! You have to give me a signed copy of your book though made out to your #1 fan!" Just emails like that, creeps me the fuck out. At first I didn't think anything of it, thought it was sweet. Then they start attaching pictures that, odds are, aren't of them. Then my dumb ass just has to go opening them after I've been drinking, real smart. Next thing you know I'm sending out pictures of my cock to complete strangers. God, I thought drunk texting was bad. Drunk blogger is just pure evil. Now there's some guy named Lisa out there doing God knows what to print-outs of my cock. I'm so glad TMZ doesn't give a shit about bloggers. Anyhow, I'm gonna leave it up for a week or so in case I change my mind, but I really doubt it at this point.

Tweet