Scammers are calling me on the phone now.  People trying to fucking hustle ME!!!!  The idea of people trying to get over on me does not piss me off.  When people try to scam me, I get depressed.  I used to be a real villain.  I never had a problem robbing and injuring and killing people.  Those were the best times of my life.

Fucking fatty boom-baas giving me the cold shoulder.  Asian hookers looking down on me.  It’s like the goddamn Bizarro World.  But if you think that I will let this shit get the better of me, if you think that Silent Pillow is through, think again, Caustic Charles Chinwannabutr.

Yeah I’m pissed.  Shut me up.  Shut me down.  Better yet — Post some fucking content on here, motherfuckers.

Original post by Charles J. Chinwannabutr

And it gets worse.  We were having a casual conversation one afternoon about our busy schedules.  I’m a struggling writer/loser, but I am surprisingly busy and on the go.  I just happened to mention in a completely innocent and oblivious tone that we were so busy — me with my running around in circles and she with all of her . . . work.  What I’m trying to say is that I called her a prostitute.  She Is A Prostitute.  Did that irrefutable fact stop her from flipping out when I brought up her work?  Uh-Uh.  No Sirrrrreeeee.  So I can’t even mention her profession in conversation.  I know it will not come up all that often, but it sure is tough to never mention your partner’s job.

So in this failing relationship, I am the Proud Mary because I need money and I refuse to ask her for help.  And she doesn’t like me drinking and using salty language.  This is going nowhere.  A lot like this post!  I promised to write more.  Even if it is total crap.

Sorry.

Original post by Charles J. Chinwannabutr

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

Big changes coming to Silent Pillow soon.

Believe it.

Original post by Charles J. Chinwannabutr

I will address the downside to these three establishments right away:

• The casino can be smoky and seedy — full of drunkards and boasters.
• The strip club typically reeks of desperation and deep-seated misogynistic violence.

• And the gay bar, a place celebrated for its freedom from social mores, invites all sorts of aggressive and unbecoming behavior.

Now compare that with any church, sports stadium or television broadcast.  Consider every social gathering.  What are the  principal themes?  Whether  it is a casino or a church, we need to prove our worth through contributions or dedication.  Whether it be a strip club or a stadium, we attract the most attention with our displays of enthusiasm and fanaticism.  The same sensational stories and characters that drive a gossip show on television also drive the conversations at the gay bar.  This humble contributor senses and celebrates all of the hyper-sexuality and self-aggrandizing gratification in all venues and media.

So what makes a casino so special?  First of all, an individual or a team of like-minded persons can challenge “The House” to several games of chance and skill.  Seemingly average folks aspire to great personal wealth and status by challenging a powerful force that watches from above.  Every move, every action is judged by an invisible entity.  Obedience is the rule on the casino floor.  Play be the rules or face dire consequences.  Personally, I opt for the worst kinds of games with the lowest probability of actually winning.  I am a faithful worshiper, a vulnerable believer in great things.  The Powers Above view me as a blissful idiot — blindly placing my faith in the most improbable outcomes.  I am not a threat to the”Order of Things.”  I am praying for a miracle.

Now the strip club presents a real duality: a loud, decadent fantasy party with the strictest of rules that may result in a severe beating and an indefinite expulsion if said rules are transgressed.  The strip club is a place where women rub their naked bodies on paying customers — warts and all — with the greatest of intimacy.  Strippers are the perfect girlfriends in a pinch.  Strippers listen to men without voicing any opposition.  Strippers aim to please and make it their professional standard to be the best at pleasing men.  The strip club is a competitive market!  The despised CEOs heading up reviled corporations should take notes on how to woo and satisfy clientele from strippers.  Any veteran stripper will admit that the cons outweigh the pros in their line of work, but walking away with the month’s rent after one night of work will erase all of the bad moments and regrets for the time being.  The key?  Listening, hustling, and capitalizing.  The perfect business model.  A successful stripper can identify the best customer, offer the solution to his/(her)* needs, and work every money-making angle in order to gain the most capital out of the encounter.  The bouncers, doormen, and management are the best regulatory body in the business.  Business transactions are monitored and recorded with the greatest care.  Cheating is met with the harshest of penalties.  Cheaters and rascals face severe punishment.  The message of the strip club is simple: “Enjoy yourself and behave yourself.”

A gay bar may be on the best examples of a recession-proof business.  The drinks are cheap, the music is fresh, and the patrons are comfortable in their own skin.  On a personal note, I can safely tell my dirtiest jokes and act in the most incorrigible fashion at a gay bar.  Where else can I declare “Professional Tag Team Wrestling” as the gayest phrase I have ever seen or read?  I do not mean to offend fans of professional wrestling.  Professional wrestling is a successful, popular form of entertainment.  Having said that, tag team wrestling is really gay.  Oily men pretending to fight may or may not be viewed as gay.  I have no opinion.  Male partners pretending to fight another couple of men. . . now it’s gone too far.  Take a look at the current tag teams in professional wrestling.  I haven’t, but I’m sure if you and I were to visit their web sites, we would say, “Oh yeah.  They are the perfect couple.”

Jacob is an animal rights activist, a shameless name-dropper/con artist, and a biblical scholar.

Original post by Charles J. Chinwannabutr

Original post by sexykitten

Do you think I enjoy writing bullshit all on my own?  I should just dance in front of the fucking mirror.  Maybe I should write all of my thoughts down and read them to my cat.  Fucking HELP.  Please.

I don’t know, boss.  I think you should blow up the entire fucking site.  I’m sorry if you lost any money on this adventure.  It’s over, brotha.  We had something a few years ago.  We could have been great.  Oh sure, people love the thought of Silent Pillow, but no one wants to pitch in.  I should have bought this site from you a couple years ago, but I am too much like Mike Tyson.  Controlling my money is a lost art and by that I mean I usually lose my money buying art or by pretending to be an artist and living beyond my means.

I don’t know.  Maybe we can re-brand?  Tried any fucking craigslist ads lately?  I know they are bunch of cunts at craigslist, but we can still try?

I’ll keep going.  400th post is coming up.  Maybe we will have something to celebrate by then.

Save us, someone.  We are the world.  Join your hands across America.  Ummmm. . . 9/11?

Original post by Charles J. Chinwannabutr

Well, fuck that shit, now that I come to think of it.  This week has been totally fucked.  My cat scratched my hand.  The expensive bottle of wine I purchased during my Valentine’s Day dinner gave me heartburn.  My classroom vermin/kids are being assholes.  My asshole students’ parents/guardians are giving me shit.  I went broke on a number of bad bets and expensive whores.  All in the game, right?  The game has tolerated my bending of the rules for years and years.  And now it’s time to pay the price.

The tiger is going to devour me whole.  I’m not sure if I have ever been in this situation.  I relish the thought of fighting the odds and the social conventions.  I just feel. . . defeated.  This is coming from a guy who was abducted by gangsters in China AND Mexico.  This is coming from a guy who traveled through time.  This is coming from a guy who murdered and stole and broke every single rule known to humankind.  And this is my reality — broke as a joke, without a friend in the world.

I’m just playing.  But seriously!  I thought The Year of the Tiger would immediately bring great fortune.  The great fortune would bring beautiful women for fornication.  The fornication would lead to excessive gambling.  The excessive gambling would lead to material wealth.  Oh, you think this is fantasy?  Go back and re-read the story of my life, bitches!  I just didn’t “Play the Game,” I fucked “The Game” until it came.  I fucked her so hard and with such guile and recklessness, I never even considered the end.

This is The End.  No, not the end of The Bukkake Files.  Shit, we are about to embark on one of the greatest chapters in the history of Silent Pillow.  First of all, I found Number Six.  She is a raspy voiced Filipina.  She sounds like she is 48 years old, but she is actually 20.  She is a blond-haired Asian with that dark brown patch of pubic hair.  She is like an angel in my time of great stress.  In fact, she is the only reason why I am writing in this blog.  Go ahead and thank “Mary” for my renewed interest in this fucking blog.

Okay.  This post was part of the old me.  New shit coming soon.

I promise.

Promise.

Promise.

Promise.

Yeah, for real this time.

Promise.

Original post by Charles J. Chinwannabutr

Next post?

Next post.

Original post by Charles J. Chinwannabutr

Original post by ScarletHarlot