So This Is The Kind Of Thing I'm Talking About

Tuesday, April 22, 2008

Dear Constant Reader,

My landlord/caretaker/whatever-the-hell owns one of those luxury watches that you are forced to shove up your bum when driving through a sketchy neighborhood, and he never seems to have any money to buy cigarettes.
I've been - am I too kind - helping him out when things get low, and he still thinks that I don't offer enough to the household.
It's not just cigarettes, and cash.
I give of the love that Jesus has for me, and isn't that more than cash and cigarettes could ever be?

Arthur
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Dead Fun In The Tub

Dear Constant Reader,

I do love living in a house that has a walk in tub, but I would also enjoy not living with someone that's obsessed with constantly making Jesus happy. Does Jesus really need a fanclub? Does he have that small of a fucking ego?
At least I can still listen to Pink Floyd, and imagine that I'm actually living in a house where people are normal.

Arthur
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Your Spoon, My Butt: Let's Do Lunch

Dear Constant Reader:

MK will signify the son of the jerkoff I'm living with, and a conversation we had the other day.

Me: Do you have a spoon?
MK: Why?
Me: Because you're going to need something to eat my ass.
MK: Who the fuck do you think you're talking to?
Me: Trust me when I tell you you're not that important.

I had been pouring over ways to get some debt relief from the mess my mother left me in, and this asshead simply pushed me in the wrong goddamn direction.
My buttons are very close to the surface lately.

Arthur
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He Needs WAY More Than Detox

Dear Constant Reader,

My asshole (oops I mean roomate/caretaker/landlord/cocksucker) burned his face last week, and I'm guessing that Jesus is a pretty quick healer because he isn't all Elephant Man'ed out.
If you were to ask him about this miraculous healing, he would tell you that it was a combination of Jesus and orovo detox.
I wasn't aware that you were required to take a little something extra with your side order of Jesus.

Arthur
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For Tom & Angel ... And My Sister

Dear Constant Reader,

I've been pouring through an outsized furniture catalog, trying to figure out the kinds of things that I'd like to get once I get a house of my own.
The thing that people don't realize is that my goddamn fucking sister took nearly everything I have, leaving me with very little. I'm fucking surprised that I still have my goddamn computer
I'd love to roll my sister into a fucking rug, and go Joe Pesci in "Goodfellas" on her ass. I would never consider hitting a woman, but I want to unload a can of total hurt on this demented cunt.
Sigh.
I'm calm now.
I'm now going to go back to reading the book that I'm currently wrapped in.
Tom, Angel?
You guys have no idea how fucking much I miss talking to you both, but my time is limited online so I have to try and get these "assignments" done.
Please leave a comment, and we'll make a time to get on Skype.
Please!

Arthur
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Too Much Pain, And Nowhere To Put It.

Dear Constant Reader,

I must be allowed to talk about this since nobody has really told me otherwise.
I got some public trustee letters in the mail today that clearly make me no longer responsible for the mother that I love, and the mother that makes me nuts.
Seeing her signature on these papers saddened me -as if I wasn't already there- but seeing that just made it all too real for me.
I seriously wanted to stay in bed, but I realized that staying in bed wouldn't have been a healthy choice. At least I'm still capable of realizing that.
Looking at the places where my Mom scratched her signature was a magnifier moment for me, and I'm most definately going to be spending the rest of the day hurting more than I should.

Arthur
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Save Us From Jesus Freaks

Saturday, April 12, 2008

Dear Constant Reader,

You're probably tired of hearing about the crazy bastard that I'm living with, but I don't give a shit. I'm going to continue writing about this asshead until I'm finally free from his biblical douchebaggery.
Have you ever lived with someone whom you wanted to push down the goddamn stairs everytime you looked at them? I hope not because it's maddening.
It's not entirely shocking that he lost his kids, and that his wife had the good sense to leave him.
Yeah, I'm living with a man who's void of even a wife to slobber on his knob every once in a while. Hell, I'd blow him myself if it would fucking calm his ass down some.
Oh, and I've been brought on board as the new sound technician for his church. Don't even ask how that happened.
I'm still sure that he blew his mortgage lenders in order to buy this beautiful house, and that's why he hasn't lost it yet.

Arthur
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Apparently ...

Dear Constant Reader,

It would seem that being a half-assed home renovater automatically means that your van should be a shit hole full of everything from McDonalds bags to promotional pens.
This cocksmith has tons of these things laying around his vehicle, and they've become a driving hazard. An entire cup of these motherfuckers crashed into my fuckstick, and I'm thinking of suing.

Arthur
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Enjoying The Destruction Of Others Is (Apparently) A Very Christian Thing To Do

Dear Constant Reader,

Our neighbor is being forced to hold a land auction, and my current living partner (let's make it sound gay, shall we?) is absolutely in joy over this.
The man who's selling the property is in desperate needs of funds, and Frankie wants to scoop it up before anybody else can get his hands on it. He's so full of fucking glee, and I'm mortified that a Christian could take such joy in the misery of another.
God Bless!

Arthur
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What the heck is that? ... OMG!

Dear Constant Reader,

People who speak net aren't fit to shampoo my ass hairs.
I have nothing that I need to add to that, so I'm going to get onto why I'm blogging tonight.
The man that I'm living with has something in his woods, and I'm not entirely sure what the H-E-double hockey sticks it is. He wants to tell me that it's bats, but he's clearly insane.
While walking, I heard this insane screeching sound coming from the woods, and this was followed by some rustling.
I was quite sure that I shit my pants, but I'm still too creeped out to actually smell any possible crap that may or may not be in my pants.
This thing in the woods is kind of like the Orovo that my landlord/caretaker/idiot/lunatic takes to make sure that he doesn't have another heart attack.
I'm pretty sure that I hope he does have another heart attack though.

Arthur
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