Wow, I remember this place.  So, it's been a couple of months since I updated my website, oops.  I wanted to update, really I did - but so much has been going on outside of this orange and gray shitheap. 

Let's see, I bought my first home in April, which was totally taking up all my time and hardly allowing me to write dirty vagina jokes, and I was being stalked by a complete fucking nutjob.  Seriously, let me explain the latter.

About a year ago I was looking for and found a martial arts instructor who was supposedly the best around.  But when I met the guy for the first time, something just didn't seem right.  No disrespect to the guy, but he had that wild-eyed drug addled backwoods rapist look to him. 

He looked like the type of guy that had a few human body parts in his freezer and had daily sex with oven-heated fruit.  Something just seemed a bit off kilter about the guy and I couldn't place my finger on it.  Within the first 5 minutes of our introduction, he told me a few facts about himself:

• He was an ex-FBI agent
• He broke his neck in a UFC fight, on UFC 3
• He got shot in Asia

Interesting.  Not only does this guy look like he has children tied up in his basement, but he is also trustworthy and honest.  I could tell this just by going through these facts again in my head:

a) How he got shot in a far-away place, and why I needed to know this right away.
b) How he fought and nearly bought the farm during a documented event, which I later watched and to my surprise, he wasn't featured on.
c) How he worked for a secret governmental agency, which turns out was called Unemployment.
d) How he looked and sounded like a total buffoon.

But, because of his proficiency in the art of combat, I decided ignore what seemed like absolute caca and to come back and train with this guy.  But, because I'm nice and because he could be telling the truth, I had to seriously consider whether the next storm of stories were truth or fiction:

• The time he got mugged in KMart and had to kill his attacker with a jumping kick
• The time he got mugged at a convenience store and had to kill his attacker with a jumping kick
• The 50 other times he got mugged at _______ and had to kill his attacker with a jumping kick
• The time he worked as a private security guard for Jack Nicholson and beat up a rabid fan with a spinning kick
• The time when he was 17 and had a record deal with his band and went on to become a famous singer that no one ever heard of
• How rich he would become when the FBI decided to send his disability check for getting shot in Asia, by a small piece of shrapnel in his calf.
• How he recently accidently ran over a motorcycle rider's head with his truck, but they became friends and now hang out.

I mean, he could be telling the truth, right?  I couldn't imagine NOT befriending the person that caved in my face with a uninsured vehicle, putting me in ICU. 

Fast forward to April, 2007 - Crazy martial arts guy gets kicked out of his house for multiple reasons.  One of the reasons he tells me is:

• I got mad at my wife one night and threw a loaf of bread at her face barely missing her, but sending it through a wall instead.

Ok, I can see that happening.  Because I'm well aware of the fact that bread is a lot more dense than a couple slabs of sheetrock and 2x4's.  At this point it's apparent to me that he's a compulsive liar.  I've known a few people like this in the past - one of those idiots that constantly tells stories about everything and anything.  Well, this guy is about as loose as they come, and he's dangerously skilled in martial arts.  I'm so glad to be in this situation!

Now that he's going through a divorce, crazy martial artist starts coming over my house on a daily basis to cry and pass out.  Seriously, he would be just sitting on the couch and just pass out like a cartoon character, with his tongue hanging out and shit.  I half expected to see X's on his eyelids.  I would continue to do what I was doing and I would catch him peering around the room through his squinted eyes, as if I couldn't figure out that he was acting like a total dong.  After about a month of this, I told him that he needs to go act like a crazy elsewhere.

He wouldn't go away, ever.  He came over, cried, passed out and limped around the house.  We all know how emotional stress can cause a limp in your walk.  If you didn't pay attention to him, he would start complaining of a pain, go to the hospital and come back with a cast on one of his appendages.  I was watching a human fall to mental pieces, and it was fucking irritating.  I just wanted to watch television while tugging at my sack, not deal with this dolt.

As if things weren't bat-shit crazy enough, a few days ago he comes over with a CD that he "wrote, performed on and recorded" - the same album that landed him a record deal back in the 70's.  I scanned the CD cover that he handed to me. 

Because I trust him so much, I Googled the song tracks and found this in about 2.333 seconds:

Unsurprisingly, the songs were written and recorded by the Canadian band, April Wine in 1976, even though he made up a band name, Brimstone and said it was recorded in 1978.  On top  of that, he even autographed the CD cover, as a last ditch effort to convince me that if something is autographed, it's got to be genuine.

Shortly after, I confronted this douche about lying, and he told me that his voice was different because he had paralyzed it during a show, so naturally his voice would sound completely like a different human being.  He tried to convince me that April Wine, a multi-platinum selling, but shitty band from the 70's stole his music. 

It's been a little while since I have seen or heard from him, but if that changes, you'll read it here.

It's a fact - some of the most notorious serial killers will spare a few lives by taking some needed time off to trick the public into lowering their guard.  The same goes for the now infamous Used Condom Vigilante, aka The U.C.V..  Once everyone goes back to their normal routines, SURPRISE, a dead prostitute on the shoulder of the highway or in this case, a condom in the workplace shitter.

In the case of the U.C.V., the last time the file was opened was back in December of 2005, after a string of attacks.  Feeling the heat on his heels, the predator must have realized I was just one stroke behind each and every pump and went into hiding, waiting for the right opportunity.

In the new crime scene photos, we can clearly see the weapon used in this latest attack (figure 1).

FIGURE 1 

If you look closely, one can see this is not just a condom, but a condom utilizing what some may call a "reservoir tip", or simply "an area where the load goes".  Again, each and every serial killer, well, each and every accomplished serial killer always leaves some sort of signature behind.  In the case with the U.C.V., I have noted that the signature seems to be a knot tied in the middle of the condom (figure 2).

FIGURE 2 

Upon even closer examination of the crime scene I noticed that we're not only dealing with a shooter, but we're also dealing with what professionals in the field would call a "sprayer" (figure 3).

FIGURE 3

Mr. U.C.V., if you're reading this, I'm onto you.  I may not know your true identity, but all it takes is one mistake and I've got you by the cock.

To read the rest of this story from the beginning:

Case File 1: It's a Floater 

Case File 2: The U.C.V. Strikes Again! 

Case File 3: The U.C.V. - One Step Closer 

Case File 4: The U.C.V Dumps His Load Yet Again

For the last decade I have smoked cigarettes.  While I cannot remember exactly how I started or why I started, I do know that it was cool to do and I realized that women take their clothes off when they see a guy smoke.  Once I understood the mechanics of being awesome, I did everything I could to become helplessly addicted to nicotine and made sure I would always smell like rotting assholes for the next 10 years. 

While smoking, it's rather hard to measure the depth of your addiction.  You always have a pack of smokes on you and because every store located on planet Earth sells your brand of cigarettes - you're never without.  It literally becomes a mindless habit of lighting up a smoke every time your dumpy body needs a shot of nicotine.  But like I mentioned before, I knew that guys who smoked got the ladies so it was worth potential cancer and heart disease.

There were a few moments in the last decade that made me realize I was addicted to smoking but none of them made me understand how bad this addiction can be until I quit last week. 

A week prior to quitting:
One day I decided to quit smoking.  Since I'm married, I felt that the onslaught of naked sluts beating down my door to watch me cough and wheeze had to stop.  I set a date and began preparing myself by smoking as much as I possibly could as if I was on death row and it was my last meal.  Except this meal tasted like the Marlboro Man's morning shit, and for whatever reason I was eating it.

The days without smoking:
Day one of quitting was absolute hell.  People say you get cranky and angry and that is a bit misleading.  I was running around town body slamming spina bifida patients and head butting nuns in the pussy by the hundreds.  As a matter of fact, there should be a law that when a subject quits smoking for the first week he/she will not have laws and will be accountable for absolutely nothing.  The government should provide all quitters with nicotine patches and retarded kids to slap, at least for the first week of cessation. 

If you're thinking about giving up smoking, you should seriously weigh the differences:

Good Reasons to Smoke
• Girls like guys who smoke, because it makes you look tough and rugged.
• You don't have to deal with confusing checking/savings accounts because you can't save money while being a smoker.
• You always have an excuse for not running or playing sports.

Reasons to Stop Smoking
• You can wear shirts that don't have tiny burn holes on the stomach.
• In the event that you will ever need to physically do something that requires movement, you'll be able to without running out of breath.
• You may live longer than your cat.
• You won't reek like the Marlboro Man's cowboy asshole anymore.

I made my decision based on these reasons above and have been a long week without a cigarette.  If I can do it, so can you. Bye.

I'm trying to figure something out, and maybe, if you're one of these people you can shed some light on this mystery (and let me know who you are so I can punch your eye shut).

Have you ever been around one of those fucking assholes who constantly creep towards you while you're having a conversation with them?Not only do these type of people slink towards you as if they are about to stroke your neck like some homoerotic banshee, but they gradually talk softer and softer so you're almost forced to embrace them to hear what it is that they are trying to say. I cannot tell you how upsetting it is to have to talk to these types of people while trying to re-adjust my hip so our cocks don't accidentally touch.

I must ask, what the fuck?

The only time these people want to converse with me is when there is some type of impediment behind me that will thwart my escape, such as a wall or a deep pit of lions. Sometimes these people will look so deep into your eyes as they close that essential gap between your bodies that you swear you've just been eye raped and a pregnancy test will probably have to follow.

I work with one these people. I'm not sure if he's even aware that he does it, but for whatever reason, he does it every damn time we talk. It's so bad, that even if he's across the room and it's a matter of simply answering yes or no, he'll get up from his desk and within a matter of a second, he will have answered me, sucked the air out of my lungs, Eskimo kissed me and slithered his way back to his starting point without me even knowing. It's really fucking disgusting if you ask me.

It can be worse, though, if we're talking and I'm sitting down while he's standing up. Since he's not satisfied that he's not close enough to count my eyelashes, he cowers down as if he's going to sit on my lap and discuss engineering while we're cheek to cheek and mega-shriveled cock to old mans knuckle.

I can't even email the guy because as soon as I click the send button he's trying to straddle me, whispering, in hopes that we can get close enough to accidentally fuse together and become a single freak of nature.

I'm assuming that we all know one of these kooky fucks, so I've devised a few tactics to get us out of this situation. If we all act together as one, we can defeat them and maybe cause their entire populous to go extinct.

Tactic 1:

Once dialogue between you and the creep has begun, patiently wait for him to gumshoe his way into your personal space. As he approaches, and quickly before his mind-fucking begins, thrust out your right elbow in an inward arching motion and knock him the fuck out. Before your boss realizes that one of his associates is in a coma on company property, kick him into the street and go back to work.

Tactic 2:

You're about to ask this loser a question, and from experience, you know he's going to try and swallow your nose. Beat him at his own game. As you ask a question, quickly back him into a wall and speak directly into his nostril, causing his lungs to explode. Once again, hide him somewhere before someone sees the corpse.

Tactic 3:

Before you have a discussion with nutcase, pre-plan an exit route, or multiple exit routes and always keep your back facing open areas. One who can react to someone's actions can always avoid touching shlongs.