Fo sho

Like many, I was first exposed to Chandra Mohan Jain, perhaps best known as Rajneesh or Osho by his followers, through the documentary series Wild Wild Country. I take a passing interest in cults of personalities and postmodern notions of truth which seem to dominate the zeitgeist in our post-Trump era. Some of these charismatic leaders are obviously full of shit (Trump, for example) while others clearly know how to ride the line between lunatic and genius. And in my own view, Osho is certainly the latter.

Perhaps in our western sensibilities, the knee jerk reaction is to dismiss him outright. And I would certainly agree that he possessed certain megalomaniacal tendencies. But what I find interesting about eastern thought is just how much it contrasts with western, monotheistic religion. Concerns with facts, truth, and historical validity just aren’t as paramount. In fact, to be preoccupied with hard knowledge and truth, as is the western custom, would be to miss the point entirely.

Osho kinda took these various theories and practices within eastern thought and spun them around. In short, I thought he was a provocateur; challenging conventional wisdom in both eastern and western traditions. So while I don’t necessarily condone the man, there is a strange comfort in his wisdom.

So I don’t find it crazy at all that he attracted the following that he did. And while the 60s, 70s, and 80s were pretty good for him (except for that time he got kicked out of the US), his group still manages to attract attention. In fact, if Osho were alive today in our “hater” culture, he’d fit right in. He would have absolutely crushed it in our age of Twitter, Elon Musk, Trump, etc.

Mind you, I feel kinda bad about liking some of his speeches, sermons, or whatever the fuck they’re called. His communes during his heyday in the US have a mixed reputation. Some loved them, others say they were traumatizing.

But I dunno, maybe he should have done stand up instead…

Gone too soon too

Wayne Gretzky. Tom Brady. Michael Jordan. Babe Ruth. Mohammed Ali. Henry Kissenger.

The Greatest of All Time.

Yesterday marked the end of Henry Kissinger’s incredible run on the Dead Pool. Watching who will outlive the other…Betty White Vs. the former Secretary of State…was akin to watching Magic Johnson Vs. Larry Bird. It was a magical time that likely won’t be rivaled again until Clint Eastwood Vs. William Shatner.

But we shouldn’t overlook Kissinger’s accomplishments in international relations. He exemplified the best in the worst of American foreign policy. His role particularly in the affairs of Southeast Asia was a milestone in hypocrisy, negligence, and criminality.

Gone too soon 😞

To Sire, With Love (Part VIII)

“What the FUCK did you just say?” Larry asked.

“Sam wants me to fuck her silly and give her a child,” I responded. “What’s so crazy about that?”

“Look at you,” Larry stated. “You’re goddamn disgusting! You’re a short, middle aged, balding, fat guy with diabetes. Plus you’re an alcoholic! You’re stupid, and honestly I can’t find one redeeming quality in you.”

“Like I said, my sperm is potent. One good poke is all she needs!”

Larry sat down at the edge of his bed and began rubbing his face. “Okay, so you knock her up. Then what?”

“What do you mean?”

“Are you not gonna have anything to do with the child?”

I thought for a moment. “Well, her and her husband will take care of it. No big deal,” I shrugged. “Besides, I already have 11 kids .”

Larry stood up and slapped me across the face. “Are you not thinking through any of this?!” he screamed. “You’re in love with this woman. You’re not gonna be able to fuck her, give her a child, then walk away! If you think you can, then you’re a goddamn fool!”

I got up off the ground and straightened myself out. “Perhaps you’re right,” I said.

Larry didn’t respond.

I walked up to the window and gazed out at the parking lot. “I’ve always been a loser,” I lamented. “I’ve never felt anything for anybody. I’m tired; tired of being lonely, tired of feeling like I don’t belong anywhere. I just need one good thing to go my way.”

“She’s got a husband, you dolt,” Larry said.

I turned around to face him. “Oh yeah,” I replied. “I guess I’m just too horny to think straight.”

Larry nodded. “Your dick don’t work, correct?”

“No, sadly.”

He took a deep breath and began to confide in me. “I told you once that my dick does work,” he said. “But that was a lie.”

“You got a dead dick too?” I ask.

“Shh…keep your voice down fool!” he said. Then he reached into his sock and pulled out a small blue pill. “Do you know what this is?” he asked.

“Your blood pressure meds?”

“No, dipshit! It’s a Cialis! My last one.”

“What’s that?” I shrugged.

“It’s a boner pill,” he explained. “You take this pill and you’ll wanna fuck anything that moves. But if you have an erection that lasts more than four hours, call a doctor.” Then he flicked me the pill. “It’s yours. I won’t be needing it anymore.”

“Larry, I don’t know how to thank you.”

“Just shut the fuck up and go empty out your balls for Christ sake.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

To Sire, With Love (Part VII)

“I’m in an open relationship,” Sam explained to me on her break.

“Hmm,” I said with some disinterest as I gnawed on some fish sticks. Then it occurred to me. “Wait, what? What does that mean?”

“It means that my husband and me are free to sleep with other people. In fact, he’s probably being sucked off by his mistress as we speak.”

I scratched my head. “I don’t get it,” I replied. “So Are you fucking anyone else?”

“Well, not exactly,” Sam paused. “I’m usually too busy working here.”

I was so confused. “Does he at least wrap it up?” I asked. “What if he picks up STDs or knocks someone up?”

“My husband raw dogs hookers all the time,” Sam said. “Besides, he fires blanks anyway. We’ve tried to have children before but the doctors say his guys don’t swim. He’s as dry as the Sahara.”

“Shit,” I answered. “That’s the exact opposite problem I have. I have eight children and have only had sex eight times. Doctors have called me a marvel of modern science. Too bad my dick don’t work.”

“Really?” asked Sam. “Can you at least cum?”

“Oh yeah, I can cum soft,” I explained. “I’m like a goddamn faucet, I mean, I can BLAST some ropes if you know what I mean. Doctors tell me that I need to jerk it every so often or else my balls will swell up to where I can’t sit down. But I don’t know, I haven’t been horny since Malcolm Butler had that interception in Super Bowl XLIX.”

“So you haven’t came in nearly 10 years?” Sam asked. I could see the wheels turning in her head.

“Nope. I’m like a ticking time bomb. Next time I bust, it will be a sea of jizz. That’s why I can’t sleep on my stomach.”

Sam put down her can of Diet Coke and grabbed me by the lapels. “Pop a viagra and fuck me!” she ordered. “I wanna drown in that sea of backlogged semen!”

“Woah woah woah!” I retorted. “Where can I find a viagra at THIS hour?”

Sam cooled her jets and took a deep breath. “You’re right,” she said. “I’m sorry if I was a little pushy.”

As she sighed, I took her by the hand. “Look,” I explained, “I get it, you want a child but you can’t because of your husband’s deadass balls,” I said. “And I’ve got all the sperm you need and then some. But I have had sex in years. I don’t even remember where to put it!”

Sam nodded her head.

“So please,” I continued, “give me some time to think about this. Mind you, the answer is yes because I’m filled to the brim with semen and I am about to erupt at any moment. But I need time to process this.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

To Sire, With Love (Part VI)

“Don’t you know how to talk to women?” Larry asked.

“I guess not,” I said.

“I knew you were stupid,” Larry added, “but holy fuck, you must be some goddamn reta…”

“Watch your language!” I interrupted, “I suffer from multiple learning disabilities, social disabilities, and various cognitive impairments. I also take numerous medications and I’m unable to remain steadily employed which is why I’m homeless. So have some fucking compassion, you imbecile!”

“Forgive me Donny,” he apologized. “But I know what it’s like to fuck things up with the love of your life. You need to go back and talk to her…”

“What’s the point?” I asked. “I don’t want to make her uncomfortable. Besides, I don’t know if she’s the love of my life or just an infatuation to distract me from my shitty life.”

“Then just apologize to her. Tell her that you’re a moron and you don’t know how to talk to people. Trust me, you don’t want to leave this place wondering ‘what if?’ Besides, this is a homeless shelter. People shit, piss, and masturbate in the hallways all the time. You can’t make things anymore awkward.”

“What would you know about my predicament?” I ask.

“Trust me,” Larry curiously reiterated, “now go apologize.”

It was dinner time. I noticed Sam on the other end of the cafeteria passing out trays. So I stood up, straightened myself out, and shuffled towards her direction. As I got closer, I noticed she was purposely not looking my way. I shoved my hands in my pockets and bashfully began to speak. “So,” I said, “I’m sorry for making things awkward while you were unclogging my toilet.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Sam replied, still not making eye contact.

“Well I know that I have trouble talking to people. And your job is difficult enough, so the last thing I wanted to do was make it harder.”

Sam removed her disposable rubber gloves and exhaled. “I appreciate your concern,” she said to me. “But I understand where you’re coming from. This probably isn’t the best time of your life.”

“Well, no it isn’t,” I said. “But I wasn’t always a hobo. I did attend Northeastern and was a successful real estate broker for many years. I just fell into some bad habits. First it was alcohol, and then it was sports. If only…” my voice began to crack, “if only I knew what sorry sack of shit I would become. I don’t want to be here, ya know? I thought I just had a sure fire bet. I thought Justin Fields was certainly going to be league MVP!”

Sam silently gazed at me as I wiped away a tear. I could sense her trying to find the right words. “I know how you feel,” she finally spoke. “I also thought he’d be league MVP.”

I was astonished. “So you know my pain?” I asked.

“Yes. I’m from Chicago. Unfortunately,” she explained. “Look Donny, if you want to talk some more, my break is in an hour.”

“Really? Okay, I look forward to it!”

“I just have to call my husband first.”

Fuck, I thought.

TO BE CONTINUED…

For farting out loud

Goddamn guys, I got nothin.

I’m not depressed. I’m not exactly happy either. But hey, I’ve felt worse. I just haven’t been able to put together a story all year.

But I started working at the toilet factory again (not THAT toilet factory. A different one). I thought that getting paid to take 3 hour shits once more would motivate me to write, but it hasn’t worked so far.

I just…lost my mojo?

Did I sell my soul to Satan himself to self publish one shitty book on Amazon? Cuz things have gone south since then.

To Sire, With Love (Part V)

“Don’t worry, Ms. Malone. I’ll unclog this toilet,” I told Sam at the start of her shift. “Sorry for not courtesy flushing.”

“That’s sweet of you for offering, Mr. Watkins,” she said. “But for legal purposes, guests at the Salvation Army shouldn’t do any of the work. It’s okay. This happens all the time.”

“It was actually Larry’s ass cheeks that caused this to happen. Not mine,” I explained. “He said it had something to do with the coffee.”

“I understand.”

I stood around and stammered a bit as I watched her plunge shit down the toilet. The smell was unbearable. “So,” I finally uttered, “I enjoyed your poem this morning. Do you write a lot?”

Her face instantly lit up. “Yes! I actually have tons of poems! I can read them to you sometime!”

“Oh no no no. That’s okay,” I said.

“Oh,” Sam sighed.

I instantly felt bad. “No, I didn’t mean it like that,” I said. “I meant that I got expelled from school in the third grade, so I never learned how to appreciate poetry. Yeah…that’s why!”

The toilet then unclogged and all the water rushed to the bottom. “Okay,” Sam said, “I got it fixed. Tell Larry to not use so much toilet paper next time!”

“I’ll let him know,” I responded. “I also want you to know that you’re a saint, Ms. Malone. Mother Teresa is just a pimple on my ass compared to you.”

“That’s very nice of you to say, Mr. Watkins. But really, I’m just doing what any good person would do.”

“Yeah I’d never unclog toilets for a bunch of hobos. That’s for goddamn sure.”

Sam removed her rubber gloves and washed her hands. “Well I hope you have a wonderful night Donny. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Please wait,” I pleaded. “There’s so much more I want to know about you.”

Sam cocked her head. “Like what?”

“I dunno,” I shrugged. “Who’s your favorite Celtics player? Is 4.6 inches enough? Could you ever love a homeless man like me?”

“I don’t think these are appropriate questions, Mr. Watkins.”

“Wait, I’m sorry,” I began to stutter. “Sometimes I say the wrong things. I’m a raging alcoholic, Ms. Malone. I also have a crushing gambling addiction and I owe several mob bosses a lot of money. I haven’t changed my underwear in seven weeks and I don’t use deodorant. I just don’t know how to talk to people!”

“Donny, you’ll get the help you need. I promise,” she replied then quickly stormed away.

“Ms. Malone, I’m in love with you!” I screamed.

TO BE CONTINUED…

More hate mail 👍

The art of being a good internet troll is playing the part your haters want you to play. So thanks to clubschadenfreude, I am coming out of the closet to admit that yes…I am fully indeed a proud goddamn Christian and that I simultaneously deny the historical existence of our Lord Jesus Christ.

Clubschadenfreude clearly understood all the arguments and the nature of historical investigation. I should state that he/she totally wasn’t drive-by commenting on a post about a subject they had a knee-jerk reaction towards. It was a very enlightening and respectful conversation that you can read below.

And why stop at denying the historical existence of Jesus? Fuck it, I’m doing a step further…Julius Caesar didn’t exist!

Prove me wrong!

As you can tell, this was a meeting of the two minds. Hopefully this serves as an example of true scholarly debate.

To Sire, With Love (Part IV)

“You know what your problem is? You’ve got your head up your ass!” the roommate screamed at me. “You’re not focused! Your eyes are covered in shit, that’s why you see nothing but shit in the world!”

“First off,” I replied, “what the fuck is your name? And secondly, you don’t know anything about me.”

“My name’s Larry…Larry Tops!” he proudly proclaimed. “And I’ve seen enough of your kind to you’s just an asshole. You think you know everything, but you ain’t seen nothin! You’ve never seen the kindness and beauty of the world. You’ve never seen a man raise his, begging for salvation from the wreckage of his life, only to be pulled out by the kindness of strangers. Until you experience that, you’re just a miserable shitheel from Boston.”

“Meaningless ramblings from a deranged hobo,” I replied. “You’re in denial about your own condition and you think New Orleans is gonna save you. That’s pathetic.”

“I’d rather be pathetic than an asshole.”

I shrugged. “Whatever. At least I’ll die honest,” I said. “What time does Sam come in?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Because I want to know. That’s why.”

Larry shook his head and began to chuckle. “It ain’t happening for you pal,” he replied. “You heard her up there. She believes in the future. She believes in hope. What would she want with a sorry sack of shit like you?”

“Now who’s the pessimist?” I asked.

Larry guffawed. “I’ll tell you what: how about instead of wasting away here in Boston, you come down to New Orleans. You’ll see what I’m talking about. Forget this place, there ain’t nothin here.”

“Thanks, but I’d rather take a hammer to my ballsack.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

A totally predictable and precedented disaster

For probably the first time in a decade, I have paid zero attention to the NFL season. Sure I’ve paid attention to FOOTBALL, particularly after I lost all my money on Coach Prime. But the NFL is where REAL football is played.

Yet when news hit that Josh McDaniels was canned, I laughed. I’m not sure what else the Raiders were expecting.

I don’t know how much of the video above is true, but I hope all of it is.