Hey Friends:

I am down in the dumps.  Again.  Remember the parable of the prodigal son?  That stupid motherfucker spent all of his wealth on women and drink.  Well, I’m worse than that son of a bitch!  I spent all of my money on women and drinks AND at the table!  Here we are. . . on the verge of a Silent Pillow Renaissance and I am flat broke.  D.D. and C.J.C. and CausticJ36 are looking at me for some contributions to the new Silent Pillow.  What can I do?  I’m like that little fucking Monopoly man with my pockets turned inside-out.  Wawh-Wawhhhh.  So if you’re looking for charitable donations from me at this moment, or last week, or in the next couple of weeks — Sorry!  And I’m trying to get back on my feet, believe me.  I have attempted to defraud the government, rob the homeless (I have done it in the past. . . it’s not a big deal), borrow against myself, borrow against the Village Elders, sell my blood, semen, record collection, normal videos, porno videos, extreme porno videos, cosmic porno videos and some jewelry.  No Luck.

I know what you are thinking!  “Hey, Jake!  If you’re doing all that shit, you should have some money.”  Correct!  Do you know what I do with that little bit of money?  I go back to whoring and gambling and drinking.  I really don’t give a fuck.  It’s actually kind of funny being broke because people give me shit for it and I just laugh at them and go about my (lack of ) business.  It’s hard to masturbate when I’m broke though.  That’s the toughest part.  Most of the day is depressing and it’s really fucking hard to masturbate while depressed.

At least I still have a job.  But work is only tolerable when I can escape from all the bullshit by whoring and gambling.  Yes, I have a nice paycheck coming soon.  That does not help the present situation.  And I quit paying bills.  So I’m triple fucked.  Or quadruple fucked.

But none of that matters.  I can make one phone call and all of that shit will disappear.  I refuse to make that call.  Check back on me in three or four days.

Here are the real problems:

1.) I started dating a prostitute — not on a professional level, but on the level level.  The Level.  And oh ho ho. . . Hoe.  Ho?  It’s not the kind of jealousy you would expect.  I don’t care that she is fucking a thousand dudes.  Most of my ex-girlfriends are cock hungry sluts anyway.  No, that’s not the matter.  The problem is . . . I’ll write about it later.

2.) I am in love with a dream girl from Kazakhstan.  Remember the study that measures beauty based on the measurements of one’s facial features?  Well, it’s true!   This woman has the perfect face.  Some may say it’s a bit of a horse face.  Keep in mind that I have a bit of a horse cock.  Here’s the problem: The Russians hate me and will most likely kill me if I set foot on their former or present Motherland.  And she has the face of an assassin.  Mild to moderate horse faces = assassin faces.

3.) Other people want to fucking kill me because they fucking hate me.  These so-called “other people” are what traditionally known as “friends.”  Yes, I have made a lot of drunken promises to a lot of drunks and now the cock is crowing.  Cocka-doodle-fucking-cock.  I’m in trouble.

This was like a Bible Study with all of my references.  Let’s stop.

More tomorrow.  Or the next day.

I don’t know.

Original post by Charles J. Chinwannabutr