What happens when I fall in love with a woman whom I think is Muslim and a widow . . . but is, in fact, neither of the two??  It’s just another story in the sick soap opera that is my life.  Think about it!  Soap operas are so ridiculous that they reach a point of gleeful disengagement from reality.  My life is nothing but a poorly written soap opera.

If you remember the stories of that one flight attendant — the one who works for JAL.  I wanted to have some rough sex with that little tart.  Well, it turns out that she’s my younger sister.  You can believe that if you want to believe.  She’s convinced me that we’re related, anyway.  Who am I to disagree?  It only makes the story more scandalous and repulsive.  And now I see pics of my little sister on facebook.  She’s passed out drunk on some nightclub floor.  Her dress is falling off her shoulders.  I’m not turned on.  I’m not even disappointed with little sis.  I’m laughing my ass off at the future humiliation and lack of job opportunities that await Chompooh.  For you see . . . Chompooh is Thai for “Rose Apple.”  Her younger brother (my little brother as well) is named “Peach.”  So what does that make me?  What kind of fruit is Caustic J?

A pomegranate?  A cantaloupe?  Maybe a pineapple . . .

The point of this particular post is that I find joy in the misery of others.  My life is so fucked up.  I’m dating a false Muslim, my little sister is a drunken slag . . . a scrubber.  What else can we add to this pile of shit?  And how can we shine this shit into yet another side story in my own little soap opera?

Like sands through the hourglass . . .  these are the days of Caustic J.

Original post by causticj36