A running commentary on things that I don't like.

Also, you know, about why I'm a lot cooler than you.

Seriously. Much cooler. And smarter.

Which is why you should read my site.

That way when I tell you that Napoleon Dynamite was stupid crap, you won't make a fool of yourself by continuing to tell people to watch it.

God, it Sucks
the place to go for all things that suck


.:[Wednesday, March 31, 2004]:.

So you're encouragement would be appreciated.

I'm currently madder than a hatter. I was trying to think up an appropriate analogy to describe this experience to someone who doesn't smoke, and I've been hard pressed to think of something comparable.

I'm using an aid to quit smoking, and I still dream about smoking. I look longingly at the 20 year old girls on campus, and I'm not thinking about fucking their brains out, I'm thinking about beating them up and taking their cigarettes. And I don't think, "Wow, that girl is slender and has legs like a thoroughbred colt," I think "I probably outweigh her by a good 70 pounds, and she looks like she's got a spare pack in her bag. I hope she doesn't have pepper spray."

My brother commented on the last post that I hadn't posted in a while, and normally I would just blow it off and suggest that it was his autism acting up again. But when I read that I was actually moved to murder him. Unfortunately, he lives 180 miles away and that's a long way to drive when you don't have any cigarettes and all you do in your car is smoke.

Suggestions, anybody?

I'm buying a yo-yo tomorrow. That's how desperate I am.

Or I'm killing a hooker and stealing her Newports.

| a BEN production by me at 11:53 PM

So Bethany takes exception to my accounts of things that occurred on Spring Break. What else is new, right?

However, Bethany, you had the full exposure to the family crazy bag that weekend... so who's normal now? That's right... me. I'm as close as you're going to get to normal in this family... and you've married into it. Congratulations. I'll be moving in next week.

| a BEN production by me at 11:48 PM

.:[Tuesday, March 23, 2004]:.

Colin's memories of Crazy Ryan are perhaps not so fond as mine. I'd be interested to hear some of Colin's stories about Ryan, as Ryan got kicked out of school after I did, so there's probably some entertaining stuff there...

Yes, I still talk to Crazy Ryan from time to time. I tell him to take his fucking meds. I tell him to do what the court officers tell him, or he'll never see his daughter again (yes, he had a kid with the girl who "goes to MR"). But the point that I was reaching for in my previous post is that people like Crazy Ryan are not served by community mental health solutions.

Many schizophrenics won't take their meds unless they are forced to take them. The reason we vest power in the state by sacrificing some personal freedoms is so that problems like Crazy Ryan's won't happen. The Randian wing-nuts would probably disagree with me here, but I simply don't think people like Crazy Ryan and Chanda (the retard) should, for instance, be allowed to procreate. They should be institutionalized in a setting where that sort of thing wouldn't happen... and this isn't an argument for eugenics, but an argument for the child.

Cheyenne (Crazy Ryan and Chanda's child) is approaching two years old. She appears to have developmental problems, and DPRS is having a lot of problems placing her in foster care. Permanent adoptive parents are unlikely, and the relatives of Crazy Ryan and Chanda don't want to take the bullet, either. And neither parent is capable of raising the child... we aren't talking "I am Sam" or "Benny and Joon" here. I'm quite fond of Crazy Ryan for sentimental reasons, but he's not some lovable eccentric being played by Randy Quaid, and Chanda is no retard-with-a-heart-of-gold Forrest Gump. Cheyenne is going to jump from temporary placement to temporary placement within the DPRS system until she's an adult (and, knowing the parents, maybe far beyond).

I'm not saying it would be best for her to have been aborted, I think that's a repugnant idea. I do believe that those with such significant impairments (e.g., Crazy Ryan and Chanda) should be protected from the occurrence of these types of problems... the best way to do so, I believe, is in institutionalized settings. As in the case of Crazy Ryan and Chanda the Tard, community mental health services often end up functioning as dating services for defectives. That in and of itself is not the problem... but it can be a problem for potential fruits of their union. If a person can't take care of themselves (and that's generally the definition that has to be met for services through MHMR to be available), then why should they be having a child?

| a BEN production by me at 11:18 PM

.:[Monday, March 22, 2004]:.

So, a little further on the crazy subject... and no, this post isn't about the fact that I recently applied for a job primarily out of spite. It might sound insane, on the surface, to seek a job merely because someone has told you that you will never "work in this town again," but someone wise once said that the best revenge is living well. Now, I may personally believe that the best revenge is digging up a person's dead parents and violating them in the most vile sexual ways, but that's illegal, and so I'm going to work in this town again, as sort of a passive-aggressive program of revenge that also conveniently supplies me with beer and cigarette money.

So this is a post about mental health policy, and if you came here for the dead hooker jokes, now's the time to leave.

Anyway, the nexus of crazy on spring break didn't end with the magazine salesman and the crazy fight at the bar... I also got a call from a girl who used (?) to date an old friend of mine, Crazy Ryan.

I met Crazy Ryan in 2nd grade because we both went to magnet schools. Colin knew him, too, as a matter of fact. Up until 17 or so, Ryan was exceptionally intelligent, especially as it pertained to abstract mathematical concepts. For all I know, he still is.

But Crazy Ryan is schizophrenic, and, as part of his problem, he refuses to recognize himself as mentally ill, and states that it's everyone else that is crazy, and not him (in that regard, there's a fine line between schizophrenia and bipolar disorder... also it's nearly impossible to get either schizos or bi/p's to take their meds).

To illustrate: around the time Crazy Ryan and I got kicked out of high school, his father took him to a psychiatrist to figure out what in the hell was wrong with him. What Crazy Ryan told me was that they went "after-hours," and that the psychiatrist was wearing bluejeans, and that, when they left, the psychiatrist handed him a business card on which the name had been crossed out, and another written in. This led him to believe that the guy was a fraud, a friend of his father's, and that he was being "duped (and, yes, that link had a point... psychotic episodes linked to schizophrenia can also be linked to chronic drug use, a la Philip K. Dick... the problem is differentiating between drug use as a result of mental illness, i.e. self-medication, and mental illness as a result of drug use)."

Crazy Ryan's ex(?)-girlfriend is mentally retarded. When I first met her a couple of years ago, I asked Ryan how they met, to which he responded, "You know how I go to MHMR [Mental Health Mental Retardation]? Well, I was going to MH and she was going to MR." And therein lies the problem. In the 60's and 70's, there was a movement to community based care for mental illness, the sentiment for which was perhaps idealized in "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest" (or this, of course).

So what's the problem? The deinstitutionalizing of the mentally ill had to be a good thing, right? The personal freedoms of the mentally ill are respected, they no longer live like cattle in state hospitals. Mental health can be treated like any other public health issue, because schizophrenia is no different from TB or the clap.

I don't think so, because Crazy Ryan is the perfect example of the crime of community-based care. He has been in the state hospital now twice since 17. That would seem pretty frequent, if you have never observed Crazy Ryan's behavior or spoken to him at length. But he's been in jail at least ten times. Crazy Ryan's problem is depressingly common. The largest mental institutions extant are county (an interesting read, btw) jails.

So the community solution now is to rely on the mentally ill to take themselves to a community health center (MHMR), where they will receive (hopefully) modern meds (Zyprexa? despite the negative press, I hear generally positve reviews, regardless of the personal injury ads on television). But so what?

Risperdal is generally the antipsychotic dispensed in the state hospital, and it's been on the market for some time. From my observations, they administer it to the point of chemical lobotamy, release the patient because he's so terminally doped he's no longer a danger to himself or others... and he stops taking his meds, behaves criminally symptomatically of his illness, and is right back where he started.

Anway, the call from Crazy Ryan's ex(?)-girlfriend started me thinking about this subject... to be concluded. Also, tomorrow, I'll have something funny about dead hookers or something.

| a BEN production by me at 11:03 PM

.:[Sunday, March 21, 2004]:.

I got into a fight with a crazy person at a bar this weekend. I think it was mostly due to the fact that when you are as intriguing, charming, drop-dead sexy and intelligent as I am, it's sometimes hard to steer clear of trouble because people just have a hard time accepting that they are inferior to me in nearly every way. The crazy person in question appeared to mostly be upset because I'm not her friend any more, which, when you are as cool as I am, is a common reaction. People go into withdrawal if they can't hang out with me, I'm worse than heroin.

But another possible explanation is that I am more irresistable to crazy people than a JFK conspiracy convention and Scientology combined. The moment I get somewhere every owner of a tin-foil hat within 20 miles flocks to my location and proceeds to manifest their particular flavor of craziness all over my good time. So I got into a fight with a crazy person on Friday.

And, of course, on Wednesday, some psychopath tried to sell me some magazines at my brother's house in Houston and latched onto me like the ship was going down. There I was, minding my own business, refusing to buy magazines from the guy, and he asks me if I have any weed (and, mind you, this is a pretty nice area of Houston). I tell him no, and he asks me if I have any coke. Now, to my mind, this is akin to a stranger asking me if he can borrow my car, I tell him no, at which point the stranger asks if I'll videotape him having sex with my wife.

So not only did this freak ask me for drugs within 30 seconds of meeting me, I had to listen to him natter on for at least fifteen minutes (about a wide-ranging array of topics, too... I got to hear that he had sex with a twelve year old last week and that selling magazines is a great way to get laid), and there were absolutely no exit points to the conversation. I don't think he even paused to take a breath. He must have had gills or something. When my brother pulled up, I thought he would immediately recognize the situation, i.e., that I had yet again been cornered by a crazy person, but my brother can sometimes be pretty oblivious to any situation that doesn't involve the Rangers. Maybe if the guy had been naked and smearing excrement on himself while masturbating and humming the "Speed Racer" theme, that might just possibly have set off a few alarm bells for my brother... or he might have just commented that "Speed Racer" was Alex Rodriguez's favorite childhood cartoon and walked on into the house. There's no telling. What he did do, however, was suggest that maybe the crazy magazine salesman should come back and speak to Bethany about helping them move. And of course, when he did come back and speak to Bethany, I got blamed for that and for the crazy magazine salesman leaving cigarettes in the yard to the effect that I was making her home "Trashcan Central."

But, Bethany, my crazy person magnetism may have drawn the magazine salesman to the house... but your husband invited him back.

One thing the crazy salesman said that has been puzzling me for the last couple of days: he loves to be present when a lesbian is "born," because it makes for such great sex. Now, to be truly technical about it, being present at a lesbian's birth wouldn't really be all that erotic unless you just happen to be really turned on by episiotomies or afterbirth... or both, I guess. I was also wondering if maybe the moment a lesbian is "born," in the figurative sense, is when she buys her first wallet-on-a-chain or gets her first mullet. Or maybe it's more abstract than that... perhaps I witnessed the "birth" of a lesbian when that chick in my woodshop class kept kicking my ass. But the conclusion I came to was that the crazy magazine salesman connects all of his sexual encounters to women frantically scrubbing themselves in the shower and vowing never to sleep with a man again.

More on crazy people tomorrow.

| a BEN production by me at 3:47 PM

.:[Monday, March 15, 2004]:.

Right now, in South Padre, there are girls in bikinis, drunk, splashing in the water and "experimenting" with their sexuality. The sun is shining, and some of those girls need sunscreen applied to their smooth, young backs.

In New Mexico and Colorado, girls with taut bodies are skiing through knee-deep powder. Maybe they need someone to bum cigarettes off of, because they left theirs in the car. Maybe they need company to drink with when the lifts close at 4:00.

Sadly, I can't help any of those girls, because I'm painting a house in Houston. Also ripping up carpet and tackstrip (TO THE EXTREME, DUDE!!). If I asked, my brother might be willing to flash his tits at me, but I'm not that desperate yet.

Maybe next spring break I'll get sent to the Gulag.

| a BEN production by me at 3:21 PM

.:[Wednesday, March 10, 2004]:.

My afternoon post-school nap ran long tonight, and so now I'm up in the middle of the night reading sites I don't normally read. And I find this.


Dude, if you're going to write stuff like this, write it in longhand on a piece of paper with "Notes for my Attorney" scrawled across the top of it. Now that you've written what a horrible cunt your wife is, give it to your attorney, and pray that he burns it and puts the ashes in a safe behind a locked door bearing a sign that reads "Beware of the Tigers." Underneath the ocean. Repeat as often as necessary... family law attorneys are used to it.

Writing things like this and putting them in the public domain is... I'm sorry, I'm trying to be helpful... the height of idiocy. Judging from your other posts about your ex-wife, I'm assuming that you feal defeated by the system, and that now you've given up, martyred yourself, and will soon be writing posts about how you can't eat M&M's because they fall through the holes in your palms. I can't think of any other explanation, because if I were your attorney and you continued to do these sorts of things I would probably withdraw from your case right after I recommended that you adopt a house plant instead of a child: they're less emotionally complicated. I am constantly baffled by family law litigants' burning desire to shoot themselves in the foot.

I found this post via Dawn Olsen, who was offended about something else that Rob wrote. Which brings me to another point, Rob... if you're involved in sensitive family law litigation, and you insist on writing offensive things, you have options (anonyminity, pseudonymity, etc.) which can give the fig-leaf of cover needed to give you deniability. I don't know how you got the protective order, whether it was commission of family violence, or what. But if I were your ex-wife's attorney, I would be high-fiving all over the office. All he has to do is show up at the next hearing with each of your posts that mentions your ex-wife (and Rob, I'm not passing judgement here on your mental condition, but they tend to make you sound unbalanced and completely incapable of maintaining the relationship required to properly coparent). I would point out to the judge that a Google search for Rob, Jennifer, Quinton, Rincon (your name, wife's name, son's name, town you live in; a reasonable series of search terms for a boy to type in out of boredom) turns up (as the VERY FIRST FUCKING ITEM) a screed about your ex-wife having cum in her hair. That, in and of itself, would be enough for some judges to limit your access to the child to supervised and therapeutic settings.

Sure, your ex-wife is probably one of those horrible women who gives insulting and deameaning names to her pets, and a bad mother, and a whore besides, and she probably has Saddam's home phone number in her cell phone and AIMs with Osama bin Laden. That's the way everyone feels about their ex-spouse after divorce. So what? If she were June Cleaver, you'd still be married to her. You married her, you had a kid with her, that's your fault.

In a post bearing your son's name, you proceed to unload with both barrells (and reload and unload again) on your wife. The post is titled "Quinton," but it's all about your ex-wife, dude... has your son ceased to exist to you except as a referent and vehicle for hating your former spouse? Maybe his failure to "apply himself" in wrestling matches has less to do with his mother not pushing him and more to do with the fact that being involved in contentious custody suits is a hellish existence for a child: they sense her hatred for you and your hatred for her, but they relate and see themselves in both of you. You end up with a situation where the child himself feels hated, by both parents.

None of the above should be considered formal legal advice. I'm just trying to be friendly, and, as such, am offering friendly, non-legal suggestions.

A final, friendly, non-legal suggestion: if you can't get over the anger at the ex-wife, it's impossible, don't believe in therapy, whatever... that's fine. Be angry at her if you have to... but don't make things this easy for your wife's attorneys.

UPDATE: More friendly advice -- posting about drug binges in Jamaica doesn't help your court position either. That's not just shooting yourself in the foot... that's pissing in a sleeping crocodile's open mouth from short range while clenching a lit stick of dynamite in your asshole, and then shooting yourself in the foot. While dousing yourself in gasoline and smoking.

| a BEN production by me at 2:29 AM

.:[Sunday, March 07, 2004]:.

Apparently my little brother has a blog. I don't know for sure, but it looks that way. He was complaining on it about Christian fundamentalists prostelytizing to him.

I'm not going to link to it, because I figure he would have mentioned it to me if he wanted me to know about it. But, I will, however, offer some advice.

If someone, whether they are a fundamentalist or someone from the "Save Our Springs Alliance" or my grandfather or whatever, tries to talk to you about or convert you to their cause, just go along with them. Liberals, like the "Save Our Springs Alliance" guy knocking on your door, just want to make your life better by limiting your ability to have fun by, for instance, dumping PCBs into the water supply. Fundamentalists want to limit your fun by, I don't know, maybe saving your soul from roasting in hell with the mud people and the filthy communists. Do you want to spend eternity with Stalin and a bunch of Red Chinese? Sure, maybe if General Tso was a communist, he can whip you up a decent chicken dish, but you're in hell, remember? Do you really think there are any chickens?

Whatever their agenda, just smile and nod and ask appropriate questions. Conclude the conversation by indicating you're interested in whatever shenanigoats they're peddling. It'll make them feel good because they'll feel like they have spread their particular good a little farther in the world. And you should feel good because you're having a conversation with someone instead of becoming a bitter old unshaven man with negative opinions about everyone, like your older brother.

But... if you can't satisfy yourself with being nice, I offer the following possibilities:

1. I like to agree wholeheartedly with them, nodding my head, volunteering, whatever the person is asking me to do. I'll offer money I don't have just to make them believe I'm completely on their side. Then I say something insane. Usually they're just so glad they got somebody to listen to them, they'll go along with you. Generally speaking, it doesn't matter what off the wall thing you say, but it's usually best to include one of the following: Zionist occupation government, mud people, the Masons, the Kennedy assassination, the phone company and Ariel Sharon and/or George Soros, or any sort of dead hooker reference. It's amazing what sort of outlandish shit you can get them to agree to, so long as you are simultaneously agreeing to their own brand of outlandish shit.

2. Tell them God speaks to you all the time. Tell them you had drinks with him last Thursday. Tell them that you love going to the bar with the man upstairs because he's the Lord of All Creation and therefore has the best pick-up lines in the Universe. In short, tell them something horribly sacrilegious and act completely credulous and serious while you're doing it. After all, you're urinating all over their faith, but they're still probably going to be nice to you... Jesus says they have to! Don't judge me, asshole, your Christian faith forbids it!

| a BEN production by me at 10:34 PM

So watch out Colin, you dirty Jew bastard.

Colin looks very favorably on the gay marriage developments. Now, I don't have a dog in this fight, and I don't feel extremely strongly about either position. On a purely pragmatic level, after law school I will probably practice family law. So I'm all for more people getting married, because it means that more people will get divorced.

Less in the vein of my naked self-interest, people that commit themselves wholeheartedly to relationships only to see them fall apart deserve the same sort of financial protections that community property laws provide through marriages... you shouldn't pay half of a mortgage for 15 years only to discover that your boyfriend has left you for a 19-year-old tango instructor from San Antonio and is leaving you with a pot to piss in but not a window to throw it out, regardless of whether you're gay or straight. Sometimes people are too blinded by love to enter into the contractual agreements necessary to protect their property interests.

That doesn't mean that I endorse the argument that the gay marriage debate is analagous to miscegenation laws. There are differences for reasons that many people have ennumerated, already. (Volokh is the most recent I remember, but I can't find the post)

A common argument against gay marriage is the full faith and credit clause. My question: different states have different standards by which they prove-up an "informal" or "common law" marriage. A heterosexual couple may be considered informally married in one state (and thus subject to the family code of that state), but not in another... so I would think that this would invalidate the claim that gay marriages that are valid in one state are automatically valid in another.

This doesn't change the fact that gay people will be roasting in hell with all of the mud people. And Sandra Bullock.

| a BEN production by me at 2:00 AM