LMFAO--the abuse of emoticons

Let's talk for a moment about the gratuitous use of emoticons. After all, they're supposed to be a reflection of your offline emotions, are they not? So who the hell laughs after everything they say? A fucking freak; that's who...or one of those pull-string clowns that may or may not come to life and murder you tonight.

Let's refer to the following conversation:

I'manElf15: your finally online! :) Lol!!
Mellaphoric: yeah sry was asleep
I'manElf15: how r u? Lol
Mellaphoric: good and u?
I'manElf15: still playing LMFAO
Mellaphoric: I like to dissect girls
I'manElf15: what?? Lol
Mellaphorc: I guess I never told anyone. Also- garbage bags excite me sexually
I'manElf15: um ok?

As you can see what would have otherwise been a completely normal conversation is made weird by incessant laughing.

I think it's fair to say that laughing is not always appropriate and just because your in a chat room for elf-on-elf action** doesn't justify it.

**I thought it was Lord of the Rings chat.

Would you "laugh your fucking ass off" because someone misquoted Bilbo Baggins? No. Would you LMFAO at an elderly wheelchair weirdo who's only ailment is laziness? I think you know the answer deep down. Lol


As always--here are some pictures I took:











(my elf Elnärough took this last one)---Lol

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Location:Minneapolis

Where have I been?

Where have I been you may ask yourself? Well, I plunged into the depths of a roleplaying game called "Order & Chaos". In short, the online equivalent to heroin. To say I'm not proud of living a fake life as a hot Elven wizard chick wouldn't be true and let me explain.

It's not like I played the game just to have naughty elf-on-elf encounters with other players. No. I played for a kind of prestige the whole world would recognize: Being a level 60 Mage with full elemental powers and rune armor.

Most younger guys don't understand the whole reason they aren't getting girls is because they haven't spent enough time online gaming. Because the Internet is the place where we need to hone our social graces. After all: It takes courage to create an anonymous profile and enter a chat room.

Few people can honestly say they know the honor of having the "Sword of Eldrond" with a plus 8 on initiative and even fewer know the cardinal rule of dating: First you get the magic sword, then you get the women.

So what happened to my life as an online elf? There was a glitch in the game just beyond the Sithrax swamp. You should know where that is. Anyways, it sucked my character into a black hole of lost souls.

So there's no more playing in the forests or burning newbies alive with magic fireballs. No more quests, no more hot Elven breasts.

As the sun rises I'm realizing that last night was the first time in the past month I slept for more than 2 hours. I'm also noticing the sun is burning my skin with the drapes open.

Fast times in Greenmont:










Into the forest my lord!!






Don't let the blank expression fool you, she's brimming with emoticons


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Location:An Internet chat room

Cost cutters

I hate how there's only a brief scene of that teenagers butt in the Trident Layers commercial. I mean that's what they're selling right? Teenage butt? Well that's just sick. But still, I will need a longer look at her bottom just to understand why someone would be so fixated on teenage butt.

Anyways, around my house we're totally broke and cigarettes are being rationed out to me 10 at a time. I'm always finding used kleenexes everywhere that I affectionately call "cunt wipes". That's when it occurred to me it's unbelievable that Americans are wasteful enough to use tampons only once and simply flush toilette paper after the first use.

In this economy, I just don't understand why people won't get behind my reusable butt wipe idea. Or how about rinsing tampons to be used twice? Every family could just run a line outside with wet butt wipes & tampons hanging to dry.

Well what if I told you there were some perverse types that would love the cost cutting measures I just described because it would provide a better world for them. You can imagine them prancing around the drying lines, noses held high, getting the whiffing of a life time. All they ever wanted was a good sniffin' and now they're in cunt whiff heaven.

Ok well there's no people like that. I just wanted see your reaction. Still though, we should start the whole cost cutting butt & cunt wipe thing, then leave unattended drying lines so we can just sit here and wait out the savings. I'll be outside.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Location:Minneapolis

RPG

When I finally have a level 40 Wizard with all 4 elemental fairies, the chicks are gonna be on me like like eyes on a yoga butt. I'm talking about iPhone gaming which has managed to consume my life these last few weeks.

The thing is: when you don't have much of a life to begin with, you really don't forfeit much and when you've got nothing left to lose, old friends that won't talk to me anymore better step off before I cast some lightning bolts on an Orc nigger.

When your life ceases to include stories that involve boobs, handcuffs or slashed tires one thing's clear: you don't get out much...and your ex is still driving a car that should've been minus a few tires by now.

Life in the gaming world is just like real life with real problems like angry birds and faggot fruit ninjas. And us gamers are right there thinking about the real issues like "Would you blow your grandpa away if he came back as a zombie?"

Let me go ahead and tell you to shut up. So what if I'm not looking for work? I'm out there in the trenches every night studying to be a 5th level elf Mage. Then everyone will accept me. They better accept me.

Let me put it to you this way: I had to find out 2nd hand that this chicks boyfriend died of an overdose. You think that's funny? Pretending to be him and sending her letters from beyond the grave. Thats funny.

There's nothing funny about preserving the memory of loved ones though. I've been saying since I was 9 that we should be putting cameras in coffins with viewer screens on headstones. Everyone should be able to check up on grandma once in a while and nothing helps children deal with family loss more than looking at the rotting face of a loved one. It doesn't cause nightmares.


























































































--I'm truly sorry I slacked on writing this last blog, but as a token gesture, I'm putting up hella wicked shots from this week in downtown & at The Zoo. ••€

---love & kissies,
Ricky






- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Location:The Minneapple

The power of absence

Here's an interesting tidbit: if you set a briefcase down in a public place and start walking away, pandemonium ensues. I found that out waiting for a bus outside a government building.

It's like: "Hey buddy, chill. I meant to leave it there." That's when it dawned on me. This was the key to adding excitement to everyones dull little lives. And if you think I have no right to assume everyone needs a moment of pure, object terror; think again. I'm perfectly equipped to make such judgments.

So what's wrong with setting a briefcase in a crowded plaza and running away as fast as you can? I fail to see the crime in that.

It's just like leaving a folded, blank piece of paper under your ex's windshield wiper. No harm done. So what if I followed it up with another blank note outside her work, the mall and finally; her driveway.

It's all the words I didn't write that had the most impact. Just like what I didn't put in that briefcase.

Yes, it's absence that says more than a thousand court dates or ankle bracelets ever could.




My photo of the week. Coming soon----video blogs!(?)

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Location:Minneapolis

SimCity - Just like real life

I'll be damned if I'm gonna let a bunch of imaginary people intimidate me from another world. No, I'm not crazy. Although I don't know what sane person plays SimCity for this long.

It started out with a few roads, residential areas and a power plant. Then it progressed into some stupid life lesson about making responsible decisions because our choices affect other people. Screw that.

I'm not afraid to burn all their little buildings to the ground. That's one thing high school taught me. I mean hypothetically.

Hypothetically, I wouldn't have felt the urge to set fire to my school if someone had just asked me to the Sadie Hawkins dance. There's your stupid life lesson.

I heard a friend joke about listening to the committee in his head. It's not funny considering my little committee just threatened to fuck up my car if I didn't repeal the parking ticket ordinance.

I wasn't really scared though. It's just a game and my grip on reality is rock solid. Besides, I got even when my Sims were using too much water, I neglected to build a water treatment plant for a couple hours. That's like 40 game years.

Rising to be ruler and sole chancellor of this pint sized empire didn't happen over night. My prior attempt was a tragedy.

I kept getting in debt taking out building loans and couldn't afford to repay them. Just like real life, I was soon overwhelmed with monthly payments. So I found a button that orders an air strike by laser shooting flying saucer peoples; just like real life.

There's countless parallels here. Life lessons in responsibility. It's knowing when to make the right decision instead of the popular one. It's knowing when you've made a mistake and not being afraid to commit horrible crimes to cover up the evidence by reducing it to Kilobytes of deleted rubble.

I've really grown a lot in the past 5 days. (that's like a 175 game years) I'm really much more adjusted. Sure I haven't left the house all week but I'm making the kind of decisions that will keep pollution down and the demand for commercial zones up for many game years to come.

Below is a photo I took of this mean ladies front yard. If I wasn't such a wise and benevolent leader, I'd have half a mind to delete her house right off the map. Just like real life.



- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Location:Edina

Google Earth: all the adventure, no contact with stupid foreigners

Exploring the world is something l've dreamed of doing. I've always wanted to journey to the landmarks of history and stand before Gods great creations. Thank goodness I found a way to do that from the computer without all that stupid work.

Just thinking about a bunch of weirdo foreigners babbling nonsense as I ask for directions gives me a total headache. Plus, I'm not about to budget my money and do a bunch of walking when I can see all that shit with the Google Earth application for iphone.

So lately I've been adventuring to the far reaches of the earth by 3 dimensional satellite photos. I've seen Niagra Falls, The Grand Canyon, the Swiss Alps; even the the sight of the World Trade Center in New York! All with a couple of swipes from my finger.

The best part is, you can hover over these places without all the trouble of taking in culture. Hell, I can get that from T.V.

You can journey for hours over the highest mountains or plunge into the deepest canyons while taking breaks to play Angry Birds and thank god. I'm so sick of trying to gain understanding of the worlds different people every time I order Asian Chicken for dinner. That moron should have given me extra meat or at least his first born daughter. I would have paid extra.

Why he included these eating sticks in the bag is beyond me. I'm an American, not some starving peasant. Besides, his culture sucks and I should know. I quick swiped through his whole country on Google so it's practically like I've lived in his homeland.

Usually to enjoy the beauty of another nationality, you need a bunch of patience to reach the common ground of understanding. Thanks to my cell phone, I'll never have to make the effort.






- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Location:Right over your head

My Lego War Crimes

G.I Joe should be a part of every boys childhood. When I was a kid, I was obsessed with the villain, Cobra. Those guys looked cool with their masks and sharp uniforms.

The thing was the actual G.I. Joe figures were completely gay in my eyes. Some sailor with a parrot on his shoulder or other non threatening looking soldiers. Screw that. I liked my army men wearing bitchen masks so they couldn't be identified later in imaginary war crimes trials.

Try as I might to keep my collection pure, Christmas or my birthday would come along and some clueless relative would infect my collection by giving me 'Joes'.

I made short work of them by immediately constructing a Lego concentration camp. This makeshift camp afforded me hours of entertainment, managing the camps day to day operations.

When my mom came home and found 3 G.I. Joes hanging from the banister in twine nooses, I went straight to therapy. How unfair. Here I was learning all these lessons about efficiency and logistics and she gets all creeped out.

Don't you get all freaked out either. I didn't have a mass grave for the toys or anything. Each of them had their own backyard grave no matter how many pieces they were in.



Now I play "Axis & Allies Miniatures" or in layman's terms: Army men for grown ups.
(My little Panzer tanks really wow the ladies.)


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Location:Uptown, Minneapolis

Mother Nature's a bitch

They don't call her "Mother Nature" because of all the testosterone in the atmosphere. They say that because she's a bitch. I mean that like you'd refer to a female dog of course. It has nothing to do with a welling resentment against that one girl I waited years to make out with only to have her ignore me at parties and accuse me of calling her and hanging up all the time. No, it has nothing to do with that.

What I'm getting at is nature, much like women, has her time of the month. But the world travels in bigger circles than we do. So her time of the month is probably every couple of centuries.

You may have noticed she's pissed; and sick of Asians. Either that or she's hungry and making some Japanese soup, I don't know.

I mean Japanese soup is really good but why has she been tearing it up with all the tornados lately? It used to seem like they only hit trailer parks but then one hit North Minneapolis so I have 2 theories:
1. Mother Nature doesn't like the uneducated
OR
2. They're just too stupid to see a tornado coming. Just kidding.

I would use Hurricane Katrina as an example but we all know that was a plot orchestrated by the white man just like the assassination of amazing prophets like: TuPac. Some say he'll rise again when the new Escalade comes out.

It's obvious Mother Nature needs her space because she seems intent on ridding the world of needless humans. She's using Tsunamis, volcanos and passive aggressive diseases like AIDS.

Today I realized I was siding with her when I bummed 3 cigarettes to a girl that looked about 12. If the Earth is trimming the fat starting with morons and minorities, then I'm starting with bitches from Edina. This way they'll never grow up to not wanna make out with me.


Mother Natures menstrual cramps----^

Are you still reading? That was the end up there. As long as your lurking--I was thinking this blog needs more updates! If in gonna get you hooked, I wanna keep up your habit!

I'll make you a deal: I'll post more often if you keep reading and help me get more readers. The entries might be short but so is your speedy little internet attention span.
Also---for the trailer trash and illiterate, I'll try and post my photography in every entry.



- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Location:The Milky Way

Uncle Ricky

Let me start out by saying: THE LAST thing I want is for this blog to become one of those "You know what really bugs me..." diatribes. The day I start making half clever observations about airplane food or the like is the day I devote my life to making casserole smoothies for coma ladies. I'm not doing that. I really have no desire to gently caress their brittle hair and dress them up so they can be actors in my "Comatose theater: The Force Fondle Opera."

I spent a few days with my sisters cute 1 year old son. That makes me "Uncle Ricky". Part of becoming an uncle is knowing that you don't have to try so hard to be creepy anymore. Almost anything you do can become unsettling. Just do it while talking in a slow, disturbing voice, all the while assuring everyone that "It's ok. I'm an uncle."

Like if you see an an empty baby stroller, go over and start gently stroking the wheels while letting your eyes roll back. When it's owner comes over and asks what the hell your doing, that's when you say: "It's ok, I'm an uncle." Maybe that could be a horror movie called "Man Strokers Uncleula".

What I really wanted to talk about here was how many sickos there are in the world. Don't just sit there and agree with me either. Your probably one of them. You think I'm mistaken? Let me ask you this: have you ever touched a pregnant woman's belly to feel the baby kick? Well there you go: Child molestation.

What's worse is your probably a googly eyed baby fondler and you need to be stopped. Next thing you know you'll be wrapping up small struggling pets in garbage bags to try simulating the experience.

On another note, I went camping this week in a forest where My Little Pony's unmarked grave is. Passed the waterfalls and many steps up a cliff there's a gorgeous perch where you can see how the world curves.

Standing there in a moment of reflection, I looked below and watched families play in the stream. I wondered if I could make the shot with a deer rifle.






picture from camping at the the falls


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Location:Minneapolis

Babysitters: an American criminal.

That last blog really got me thinking: this collection of darkly humored diatribes is not just an exorcise of inner demons. It's an ipecac of truth.

Today I'd like to discuss a criminal that has walked among us all our lives. The odds are most of us have employed them without giving it a second thought. I'm talking about the American babysitter.

This profession of underage mercenaries has been operating underground for decades committing the same crimes of monsters like Al Capone: Tax Evasion. I'm not even going into the countless Popsicles, sodas and frozen pizzas they've been sneaking on the side.

You may think that employing these delinquents is saving your marriage. In fact, I bet they told you they were saving for college to sweep the whole matter under the rug but while your out to dinner with your spouse, they're making out with their boyfriends and helping themselves to your fridge.

They think they can just strut around what with their tight jeans and luscious flowing, long blonde hair while taking money from Uncle Sam and it will never come back to haunt them. Think again.

That one time Sarah came to babysit me and her boyfriend came over, I shot her in the head with a suction cup arrow before they both tied me up with duct tape. I was only trying to protect her from that adolescent creep.

When I put sardines on her pizza, how was I supposed to know she was allergic to them? Again I had no idea our pet rabbit would bite her and I didn't mean to laugh so hard while she was bleeding. I just wanted her attention.

These babysitters think they can spend countless nights having marshmallow fights and letting me watch MTV when I wasn't allowed, then just leave for college without even saying goodbye. The truth was: I cared for her deeply. Enough to cover for her about the broken wine glass, enough to beat the crap out of her with a plastic lightsaber.

Yes these babysitters think they can avoid accountability for the taxes they never paid and the love they never returned to a confused 7 year old. I think it's time we as a nation talked about it.




- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Location:Minneapolis

Scared the BeJesus

Tonight wouldn't be the first time I've convinced someone I was possessed by the devil. When you spend your entire childhood trying to give your little sister a heart attack, you hone certain skills. Secret sinister serpent rainbow skills. The power of Christ compels you.

It's not that I'm evil. I simply thrive on fear. Nothing wrong with that. Like being gay, retarded or the anti-Christ, it's something you probably realize at a young age.

Like the time I soaked my hand in ice water and waited under my sisters bed when she was struggling with nightmares as a child. I'm guessing she still struggles with that.

I'm sure this kind of thing is much more common than we let on. After all, who hasn't hidden in the kitchen before bed in an attempt to give their grandmother a heart attack? It's not like I ever did that but she shouldn't have been hitting the bottle in the first place.

I resent the terms "dysfunctional" or "predatory". They don't embrace the unique skills that go into preying on the inner fears of your family. It's just like hiding behind the pillows on your mothers bed and grabbing her throat as she's falling asleep. It takes dedication to lay perfectly still for 45 minutes.

Childhood is over in an instant it seems and before you know it, adolescence comes and the fears of your friends and family become harder to tap into. This one time my friend Phil came over and spent the night smoking dope in my blacklit room. We had some LSD and Phil was having a wonderful trip while my doses left me sober and irritated.

Why should he have all the fun? So I switched the conversation to ghost stories. After convincing him I had once seen a ceiling tile move in the middle of the night, I switched the topic to demon possession.

Being the good friend I was, I turned off all the lights and lit candles to enhance his hallucinations. After going into great detail about how demons suddenly take hold of the people they posses, I started fake convulsing on the floor and screaming profanities in a shrill, gurgling voice. He ended the night trembling in the corner, shielding himself with a bible.

The bottom line here is if I didn't love these people, why would I go to such great lengths to traumatize them? Don't answer that. Whether it's faking a demonic presence or putting rubber spiders in your sisters bed after watching "Arachnophobia", startling loved ones half to death never stops being funny.





- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Location:Minneapolis

Fatty McFat Fat

Some might say I'm cruel for the way I speak of the morbidly obese people I see at work. But let me just ask you: Can you blame me?

I understand that some people aren't proportioned like magazine models. So we have them in one corner. Fine. Then in the other corner we have fat, disgusting, gastropod like people that can hardly be separated into male/female categories. I usually just call them "that".

Like: "Did you see that thing stomp by? What the hell was that?"

There's this woman that comes into my work. (I'm being quite generous when I call it a woman) Here's her order:

"I'll have a double blended triple whipped chocolate shake with extra chocolate and a near lethal amount a whip cream. Oh and I'd like to speak to the manager about this store not being forklift accessible. How am I supposed to get out of here?"

Yes that's her. Fatty McFat Fat. Just today I was having trouble cutting two pastries apart for her so I'm just like "Screw this. Just have both of them."

Are you feeling sorry for her? Well you weren't there! This beast is a ghastly monster the likes of which, you have never seen with a MaryAnn haircut parted down the middle and less then shoulder length blonde hair that curls inwards towards her rippling neck. It looks like a wig.

After I was extremely nice to her, (I gave her a free pastry!) she didn't tip. She never tips.

She just waddles away with her whipped monstrosity of a shake and garbage bag full of pastries right onto a public sidewalk not made for industrial weight limits.

The other fattie that lurks about is not even a paying customer. She's an employee of a fast food joint next door. If you ever wonder why there's suddenly a haunting shadow cast over you, feel free to look around and she'll be there trying to blend in with a pillar like an elephant that hides behind a sapling.

Why, oh why does she lurk about spooking us with her head of curly black pubes and 5 o'clock shadow? SHE'S THERE JUST TO USE OUR BATHROOM.

She probably thinks our one person bathroom provides her with a certain anonymity while leaving her wildebeest sized crap loads for us to force down the pipes and wipe up after.

This land cow is really a marvel to behold. Although her size and disposition is enough to scare small birds to death, she still moves with absolute stealth. So sometimes you'll think you've just seen a giant bearded woman out of the corner of your eye but when you look, there's only the bathroom door swinging on it's hinges with a stank wafting so bad, horse flies drop dead.

Yes this toilette hunting stink factory only drops loads in our store without ever buying a thing just so she'll never have to clean up after herself.

What kind of a world is that ok in? If I only had an elephant gun...


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Location:Minneapolis

To kill with kindness

I'm wondering what people mean when they talk about "killing with kindness." Is kindness a lethal weapon? I'd sure like to know because there's only so much you can do arranging for certain friends to become "persons of interest" to local authorities.

When I think of killing with kindess, the only thing that comes to mind is handing out poison pie which is hilarious no matter how you slice it. And by the way, that last sentence with the "slice it" pun. Those are the kind of half clever puns I'm now going to use all the time just to be a bastard.

Back to what we were discussing regarding kindness as a weapon. I just can't get there. That's why I wanna discuss the weapon I've done the most damage with. Can you guess it? No, it's not a cigarette lighter or an extension cord. It's not a denim jacket or even a jar full of snot from when I had the flu. It's a telephone.

You'd be surprised how easy it is to impersonate a state trooper or even a personal banker. That being said, it's surprisingly easy to get someones social security number. Then the skies the limit.

Even if you just get the last 4 digits, there's a way to keep hitting their credit score over and over. The beauty of it is anyone with the same name gets their credit run too. So while your busy making it look like someone's in financial ruin, all over the country your randomly ruining other lives. Some people count sheep before bed and I can respect that but ruining lives is how I sleep at night.

I used to be a telemarketer. Just for fun, I started playing a game with a coworker where we tried to ruin someones day, then kept score. Posing as radio station DJ's, delivery men, bank mangers and 5 year old boys who wanted a sleepover, we were touching lives one call at a time. Touching in ways you end up telling psychiatrists.

We once convinced a multi- millionaire the IRS had seized his account. We had wives cancel their plans and wait all day for deliveries that never came. We once had someones house ransacked by local police. I even started ruining little kids friendships. No one was safe unless of course, you agreed to drive a couple hours and go bowling with a complete stranger.

"Hello? Can I speak with
Harold?" "No I'm sorry but he's passed on." --Now a normal person might think "oh how sad" and just move on but not me. Those magic words were music to my ears and a terrific way to at least get someone to openly weep. When your a miserable telemarketer, nothing helps the misery like spreading it around. I'm proud to say we were like a cancer on society. In whatever you do, important to have an impact.

Maybe your feeling sorry for these elderly people we preyed on like poachers. Well let me ask you this: Remember that old lady from my last blog? Ok well is it ok for her to be a total bitch just because she's old? Of course not.

I actually told her something like that and she called the cops on me. What I mean is: I expressed my views to her only in a louder than normal voice with some choice expletives and maybe a threat somewhere in there. I can't be expected to remember exactly what happened 8 hours ago but I am mature enough to say: "She started it."


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Location:Minneapolis

A race to the grave

A certain girl and I are having a turf war with the granny that lives in the apartment right above us and man, what I wouldn't give to skull fuck the shit out of her right now.

This witch sits out on her balcony 24/7 like a gargoyle fixture. When we go out there, she immediately makes an imaginary phone call and complains to the dial tone about the smoke, our voices or even the beeps from our cell phones. Its as if our very prescence is hindering her magical ability to ruin lives from her little tower of bitterness.

In one respect, her grievance is understandable because when we smoke, it travels right up into her face and shortens her lifespan. I figure since she's already at the tail end of a miserable existence, all we have to do is stay out there and chain smoke her into an early grave. What kind of person would I be if I didn't have goals?

I'm making a serious commitment here. It's an investment to smoke all the full flavor cigarettes I can to slowly murder a lady who probably spent the majority of her life writing complaint letters to television stations and making sure little children never retrieved the baseballs that landed in her yard.

I used to think I was doing her a service by letting her know she's a cunt. After all, there must be a cure for that by now. But now i realize that death by carcinogens is a plan that takes patience.

All we do is sit out there in silence chain smoking pack after pack while her friend over the phone says "if you'd like to make a call, please hang up and try again." She rants about how she's going to get us evicted and go to the authorities. After she tires of that diatribe, then she starts going on about what idiot washouts we are and how we're sure to die of cancer.

So there you have it: a race to the grave between cobweb crotch and us. It's not about who wins or loses though. It's about "I'll see you in hell."


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Location:Edina, Mn

Why I hate the new 'American Idol'

I'm beginning to realize that I watch 'American Idol' for the very same reasons I watch the Olympics. It's not about who wins. It's about the variety of talent that comes to showcase their gift to not only a nation, but the entire world.

It's so amazing and beautiful to me when someone has been working their whole life to hone a talent and it all breaks down to one moment. There in front of millions of viewers, they summon the courage to show everyone.

Then they screw it up and their dreams die a horrible death. You can see the moment their heart breaks. You can sniff the odor of humiliation so rank, it's almost sexual. That's right. Sniff it. It's just like the funk comin' out of 3 day old jeans.

If you've ever been put in a garbage bag full of dirty diapers and thrown in the back of a garbage truck, you know what I mean.

It's a kind of embarrassment they'll be explaining to therapists for years. Don't even think about feeling sorry for them. That's what they get for trying to chase their dreams.


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Location:Cahill Rd,Minneapolis,United States

Wasted moments refunded

I once heard a public service announcement urging drivers to slow down to reduce accidents. The commentator was saying how too many drivers think of their cars like time machines to shave minutes off their schedule.

That's when it dawned on me: cars WERE time machines and driving at break neck speeds was the way to refund a wasted youth.

Stop lights, construction areas and those deaf kid signs are all obstacles to getting back those precious moments you may have missed by doing things like attending fundraisers, waiting behind school buses or slowing down for minorities.

I dream of a world with no regrets; no crosswalks. A world where everyone drives 100 through school zones as children dive for the sidewalk. You may say that I'm a dreamer, but I'm not the only one who can take a cloverleaf at 90...

Location:Minneapolis

Lake Bavaria Mounted Troop

My parents were always finding great ways to get rid of me during the summers. The most noteworthy was "Lake Bavaria Mounted Troop."

To the parents it was a bucolic, magical place where kids got to ride horses and meet unicorns. In reality, it was a forced labor camp where kids slaved away in a plantation like setting.

We met in an old one room school house on a horse farm. It was run by a crazy old catholic woman who demanded to be called "Colonel Perkins." She always said I saluted with the wrong hand.

Role call was at 7am, lunch was at 11. The thing was, starting at 11, we were made to sit up straight, lunches in front of us for 2 hours as as Colonel Perkins read from the bible or told us about the demons that periodically appeared in the very house we sat in.

The only water came from a pump in the stables and if you didn't push the pump down all the way when you were done, the stables would flood. Then the Colonel would line us up in the hot sun until someone stepped forward and took the blame. Seems like I never saw them for a few days until they'd finally turn up looking exhausted and pale.

The head counselor Cathy, was a 17 year old sadist with this little white dog that followed her everywhere. I was obsessed with her and god how I longed to be that dog.

She employed a host of prepubescent thugs to run the day to day operations. There was a pen surrounded by electric wire they used to break wild horses. The middle school counselors would line us up against the fence and throw balls at us. This was "dodge ball." If we got hit, it threw us into the fence where we were electrocuted. They thought this was hilarious.

One summer was a record breaking drought for Minnesota. Temperatures exceeded 100 degrees and the grasses turned from green to crisp brown.

Cathy used this opportunity to make us run obstacle courses for hours on end. This was explained as "recreation" to the parents. Lake Bavaria offered many magical recreational experiences:

1. Professional horseback riding lessons every day!

-Actually, I hated riding horses but true to their word, they made us ride them one hour a day. Some sickly looking kid had a doctors note saying he couldn't ride because of his asthma. Cathy barked at him to get on the horse anyways. God how I loved her.

2. A full equestrian apprenticeship!

-Cathy approached me once in full riding gear, riding crop in hand, demanding that I saddle up a horse. "But I don't know how to do that!" I complained. "Learn!" she snapped. An older girl rushed over and did it for me.

3. Hours of outdoor education.

I think what they really meant by this was all the character building that goes along with long forced marches and shoveling manure.

That camp had everything. A gorgeous teenage sadist I was enamored with, middle school capo's that liked to see us get electrocuted and a crazy old women who was somehow getting paid through the final onset of dementia. I always liked to pretend I was a prisoner in a concentration camp which helped make the whole experience more magical.







- Posted using BlogPress via iPod touch


- Posted using BlogPress via iPod touch

Location:Minneapolis

This was Sunday School

How can someone be the same once they've seen a kid forced to put on diapers in front of 50 other children? This was Sunday school.

First thing in the morning, the pastor and his wife went over the rules and recruited an eager volunteer. Some kid would go up and have to bend over a chair. "and if you get caught twice for talking, this is what happens."

The pastor would bring the paddle down moderately to demonstrate. A slow motion whoopin. "Then you'll hug and all will be forgiven." his wife would say.

So one Sunday this kid in the front row had been caught talking during praise and worship. The song stopped and everyone was dead quiet. The pastor lead him up on stage and into an adjoining room.

"...And we all know what happens now." his wife said smugly. The music started and we all went on singing but from the room you could clearly hear a loud "WHACK.....WHACK!"

Singing gospel songs to the beat of some kid getting paddled had to be one of the weirdest things ever. ...and people wonder why I'm so warped.

P.S. -- yes this really happened, why does everyone always ask that?


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Location:Minneapolis

Anne Frank the untold story

That stupid bitch thinks she's gonna get a bunch of sympathy for being a fugitive. Not this time. This is the one story that gives her the whippin she deserves. Anne Frank was a hardened criminal by the age of 13. That's right. When the Germans asked her to report for a free train ride, she disobeyed the law and we all know the government couldn't possibly be wrong about anything.

So she kept a diary. Big deal. A whole book talking about underage girls kissing in secret annexes and hiding from the law. Finally Anne was captured and sent to Bergen Belsen where she recieved free food, free clothes and free housing.

She became very sick so Anne and her sister were transferred to the typhus block. The Nazis even allowed them to bunk together and yet, they didn't even have the decency to volunteer for work detail. Then they died. The SS guard probably ordered she be burried with many other people so she wouldn't be lonely. Her burial was totally free and she never even said thank you.

The End

A non creepy message

Ali Morrisey is a stupid bitch. Here I took the time to send her a nice, non creepy message begging her to take me back as a facebook friend and she just ignores me. So I may or may not have deleted her during my '09 purge of frenemies. There's a lot of stories going around about that and because they're all made up by me, we'll never figure it out.



It's true: I could probably put together a handful of spiteful people that would call her "a whore," "Paris Hilton" or any other rich bitch euphemism and it's true that crawling back to her via the internet wasn't my finest moment. but I'm not holding any grudges. Of course not. The fact that I bumped her from 1st place on my "Girls I wanna make out with" list is pure coincidence. Maybe your asking: "If she's such a bitch, why do you care about being friends in the first place?" It's not because she's beautiful. It's not because of her flowing, stallion black hair or because the melodious sound of her voice hypnotizes you and unable to speak or move, you think to yourself while drooling a little: Is this gorgeous girl really talking to a loser like me? No, it's none of these things. It's the dissertation she could have written about World Peace. It would have been amazing.

2-4-2011

Top 5 Girls I wanna make out with

The original post (April, 2011)

Truth be told, originally there were no mechanics behind the "Top 5 Girls I wanna make out with" list. It's quite arguable dissecting such a thing and adding needless mechanics is a self serving indulgence. After all, what could be more callous than rating women?

Well I'm not rating them. I'm only putting them on a pedestal to advocate my self serving agenda: make out with all of them. What could possibly be selfish about that?

You see I used to be a hopeless romantic, but years of doing time in "the friend box" have hardened me into a man who no longer sends anonymous flowers or journals about "that one time she touched my arm."

You've no idea how badly I wish there were more than 5 spots on the list but there simply aren't with good reason. You never know when all 5 girls could show up and force you to make out with them one by one under penalty of the whip. Thats not some twisted fantasy by the way. I'm sure it happens all the time in some part of the world.

This list could just as easily be hidden away in some notebook with the heading: dear diary. It's not though. It's actually on this thing called the Internet as a wake up call to cute girls everywhere: if your not on the list, get on it.

But seriously, no pressure. It's not like I created this thing hoping that some girl way out of my league would be all: "aww that's so sweet. Maybe I'll make out with you just this once" so then I could live with the memory forever and ever. Of course I never thought of that.

I'm not desperate. I don't look at these girls longingly, lips agape in anticipation of that one warm enclosure; lips to lips, two hearts beating as one for a single, blissful moment. No I didn't.


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A Genesis

This is my very first entry on Blogpress and I feel compelled to do something special. There's incredible expectation here. After all, my readers demand eloquence, beauty along with a shit ton of fentanyl patches.

Let's talk about the evolution of this blog. So some chick got all freaked out being named in my monthly "top 5 girls I wanna make out with" list. She de-friended me and wouldn't even read the apology I sent. I mean, I get it. I shouldn't just use peoples full names without knowing them very well which is totally retarded. Next thing you know people will start getting all bent out of shape just because I'm using their social security numbers.

I'm not out to name names here (#2 on Aprils list) and I'm definitely not out to start setting up sexy facebook profiles of their dead grandmas either. But if that person would have read further, they might have picked up on the sincere compliment I was trying to pay them. I'm an eccentric writer, not everyone gets it. Whatever.

So here's the thing: I will now be posting most all my work using this new application on my iPod touch. Why? It's not just because of that clicking noise it makes when I type. I love that. I admit it's a bureaucratic maneuver. I'll no longer be posting blogs directly on facebook. From now on I pledge to post them on this private blog which then gets posted on facebook.

In addition to that, I'll no longer be posting full, legal names of girls on my "Top 5 Lists" out of respect; that stupid bitch.

See you real soon,
Ricky



A

Location:Blogpress

Top 5 list (April 2011)

Top 5 list ll Blog

The list has been updated! Feel free to at least pretend you care. The fact I'm publishing such a candid admission of affection means one thing. Its confession time. I haven't made out with anyone for a while.

I did have a beautiful girlfriend this last winter who I made out with constantly but she died. I haven't made out with her since. On that note: the new edition of "Top 5 Girls I wanna make out with."

1. Katrina
2. Karla
3. Christine
4. Erin
5. Eliza

So what's happened? because you are SO interested...

Well congratulations are in order to Katrina for defending her title as number 1. Maybe it's the way she wears everything so fashionably, maybe it's her clever diction or the fact she has a boyfriend which makes her unattainable which spirals me into hopeless infatuation.

Moving on. Let's welcome newcomer Carla. She rightfully had the 3rd place position but extenuating circumstances pushed her ahead: a winning personality. That plus an awesome sense of humor. See, she's not some distant character I speak of and never meet. She's a real person and she's infiltrated Plan B: the coffee house where I write most of this day dreaming nonsense. It actually blows my mind girls like her even talk to me.

On again to number 3: Christine Marston. Co-worker, cheerleader, godess. She graciously corrected the spelling of her name after discovering she was on this list. She busts me staring all the time and holds my affection at an amused distance. What a good sport she is about this whole thing but what am I saying? She probably has a group on facebook dedicated to guys that wanna date her. This last week I almost started my own web site called: ChristineTiedMyApronAtWork.com

This could have been the clincher that pushed her from 4th place to 3rd. Either that or its my way of begging for forgiveness for showing up late for work, forcing her to stay an extra hour. She hasn't spoken to me since. :-(

Eliza James plummeted down from number 2 only because she lives in LA, is semi famous now and the last time I had a chance to kiss her was 8 years ago. There in a moody Hollywood bar, we were doing shots and passing the lemons mouth to mouth. When it got to be our turn: the tequila ran out...and that about sums up my luck with women.

Until next time...
The End




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Location:Minneapolis