Hey, you. Wanna swallow your tongue?

I’ve been bitching about the Wifi access at my weekend job being withheld. So imagine my surprise when, after last Saturday’s post, one of the tech people slipped into my little office and said:

“Look, we all read Great Society. You know that, right? Let’s get you set up on the Wifi!”

It took a while for those words to sink in because I was scrambling to hide bottles of wine, unplug my laptop from the LAN, shut down the porn, and pull my pants up.

After my shift, I dragged myself home and drank two bottles of expensive wine while reflecting on my success. Constant bitching on my retarded blog won the day. Now, I know that I should be a little upset to learn that my co-workers and supervisors are reading Greatsociety. This page can be deeply embarrassing because, mainly, I’m always drunk and writing freely about stalking bus stop women and stealing all the equipment I need to build a spaceship like Wilfred Brimley in The Thing.

I remember an episode of WKRP in Cincinnati from my youth. My youth is marked by TV and movies, because my parents were criminals. In the episode, the two late night hosts believe that no one listens to their show. So one of them just off-handedly suggests that the people’s response to a garbage strike should be to dump all their garbage on the steps of city hall. Next morning, it turns out that the entire town listens – and acted. So maybe I’ve got that power at Greatsociety? Now…what to use it for?

Oh, yes. Evil.

Since there’s no garbage strike in DC, there’s only one option: Use the front page to convince people to kill themselves. Like Hannibal Lector did to the guy in the cell next to his. Convince people to swallow their tongues. But how do you do that?

Swallow your tongue. You know you want to. Come on! Do it! I triple dog dare you!

I’ve been keeping an enemies list since I was eight, so I suppose I could just start at the top and work my way down. The twins Gannon and Merrick Rich were the first people who bullied me. They sound like something out of Highlights, don’t they? Goofus and Gallant. The spoiled, Middle American version of Cain and Abel

Gannon and Merrick lived around the block on Stanhope Road and always picked on me. Their mom was a foul, stinking whale of a woman who didn’t care. Just lounging in her hammock out back with booze. She fucking filled that hammock, too. I once went to her to complain (because I’m crazy) and it was like a huge chunk of melting cheese in a net. I had trouble picking out her face.

Looking back, it’s no wonder those two retards were bullies. Maybe I shouldn’t convince them to kill themselves…

There are no real bullies in high school that I can remember. I went after the worst one with fishhooks and bricks behind the auditorium. He and I reached an agreement that I would have my space for the remaining four years. I seemed to pick my target wisely, because I was generally unmolested. My friend and I were attacked, in 11^th grade, by some street kids in Northeast, but I just told them that my friend was “my agent” and then ran off. They beat the shit out of him and I got off without a scratch. Nice. Of course, he’s not a friend anymore. Didn’t feel like a loss, though. Still doesn’t.

In college, I actually had a bully: Chris Heller. But, by then, I didn’t really care. He’d try to do the traditional bully thing and everybody, including me, would stare blankly at him.

Heller was another nasty fat-ass. Troll-faced, beady eyed, slurring bastard. Really a pitiful monster. But not in the John Gardner Grendel way. More in the aged, fugitive Nazi Apt Pupil way.

My enemies list has doubled now that I’m publishing books. The days of noticing or caring about bullies are long gone, so I just hate on the fruitcakes and treacherous former friends. I’ve always had trust issues, thanks to my family, but many of the “friends” I’ve had in my life have simply reinforced those issues.

I’m a bit more enlightened here in my 30’s. If you act as crazy as either of my parents, then I want nothing to do with you. Previously, I was just desperate for companionship. I’d tolerate the eccentricities of friends and defend them and try to understand them. Now, I realize that true companionship is a dark lie. That realization, combined with a much faster internet connection than I had in the 90’s, means there’s really no need for people. I have a hard time defending the crazy friendship these days.

Unless they’re hot and they put out. I want to make sure that’s front and center for everyone reading this: If you’re cute and your pussy works, you can go that extra mile.

You’ve got to watch that pussy, though, because a surprising number of them don’t work. Too small, too big, some weird health problem, or the owner lies there like a log and cries. Or doesn’t swallow.

One girl I was with wanted me to jack off in front of her. Okay, whatever. I did as ordered. The fine strokes of a man who lives alone and can’t maintain a relationship of any serious length. I told her the deal was I do it, and she cleans up. Right? Perfectly natural. She agrees, I do it, and then she hops up and runs to the bathroom. A moment later, she’s back with a soapy wash cloth.

Lesson number 579: Specify what you mean by ‘clean up.’

I wonder if she was just stupid and reversed everything? Like, if I had asked her to clean the kitchen floor, would she have gotten on her knees and licked everything up? That could be handy, actually. Get in the bathroom! Okay, now get the mildew out from between the tiles. Yeah! TONGUE IT, YOU WHORE! Oh, yeah! Oh! Look at it shine! Now get the cobwebs out of the corner! SUCK SUCK!

Oh god! No teeth!