Night Life

Can’t Sleep, Brain Will Eat Me

The dream is always the same. It starts with an interesting night with wonderful company that eventually turns into naked people, pornography on the television, and crazy sexual antics. After the guests have passed out, the night ends with me going up to my room and leaving the arriving morning staff to remove the guests from the grounds…after a nice breakfast and apologies for “Mr. Rothechilde was called into the Thunderdome this morning and regrets that he was not here to see you on your way.” When I get to my room, I discover that a couple of guests had decided to explore the house, found my room, and proceeded to have their own grand old time.

They are sexy, and invite me to join the fun (which amuses me since it is my room and the only reason I had not gone nuts and started shooting at them or something was because they invited me to join before I could grab the Sig hidden on the bookshelf behind me), and I join them in the bed

Strangely, I am not disturbed by their lack of facial features.

One of them notices the collection of cuffs and collars and whatnot hanging on the far wall and goes to retrieve a set of leather wrist restraints. I am asked if I wanted to be restrained; I said that is not typically my role.

Strangely, I consent.

After I am secured to the bed, helplessly bound by my own devices. One of them pulls out a long knife and stabs me in the chest.

This is when the dream leaves and I am suddenly awake. Shaking like Charo’s tits at a hoochie coochie bonanza, and drenched in cold sweat. Now, I am remembering the lack of faces and get even more disturbed.

I wander downstairs to shake off the ickies, and wonder how long this dream is going to be a part of my now horribly non-circadian sleep cycle (no, that is not a thing, but it felt good to write) while chain smoking and sucking down absinthe and listening to the television in the background drone on with Sanjay Gupta talking about eating a dish that seemed to consist only of animal penises. He asked if he wanted tiger penis, would they have it. Apparently, the lamb balls and dog penis are not enough critter dick to sate his appetite.

Normally, I do not have nightmares, and when I do, they tend to involve judges and lawyers, or hippies, or having to buy clothes off of the rack. But this is weird. It has made me so paranoid that I may even be starting to fear trying to go to sleep. Instead of getting a little rest, here I am typing away (which feels good since I have had a block on writing for so long). Typing away and not even sure that I am making much sense. Really, this all sounded great in my head, but seeing it printed is not really pumping my nads.

Common sense is telling me that this must mean that I am pretty tired; I mean my title even has a fucking contraction in it, and I am too lazy to change it (or I may like the title, which probably means that I am pretty tired). Hell, I am even feeling too lazy to make sure that my tags are in alphabetical order; I think WordPress does that when the blog is published, but I am not certain at the moment, and have no desire to go and double-check.

This is dangerous. Is my anxiety regarding this dream actually trumping my OCD? Where the Hell is my ADHD during these dreams?! I mean, it would seem that I would get as distracted by the faceless fuckers (pun intended) that were trying to fuck and kill me in my dream and the scene would change to a Soundgarden concert or Saints Row or a nice cheese pizza. This is all pretty unsettling.

It was suggested that this nightmare may be the result of guilt or remorseful feelings regarding the unfortunate incident with Lord and Lady Phant, but I think it is something else. I am not sure what it is, but definitely something else. One of the night staff suggested that maybe having all of the dark imagery around the estate and grounds was doing the damage. Perhaps this is the result of having skulls and hearses and deathly erotic sculptures scattered through the lawns and orchards. I suggested to her that the problem may have been that I had too many smartass night staff people working around and should start cutting back on my overhead. She brought me another bottle of absinthe and retreated to the kitchen. I could hear another staff member trying to comfort her. Strangely, I feel guilty for snapping at her. I’ll have to leave a bonus for her tomorrow.

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Friday Night with Charlotte

Last week was quite a week. It started with scandal and ended with an ugly attempt to discredit The Foundation. The scandal was a bit of ugliness involving The Foundation’s war elephants. While it seems that the issue should have been over quickly and with a few payouts here and there, that was not to be. Fortunately, I had a fun night out with Charlotte the Friday before the treacherous attempt to ruin your beloved charitable organization.

I could go on and detail the incidents that led to the horrors of the weekend, but instead, I have decided to go the honest route and provide the transcript of a local news programs morning interview of yours truly.

Bert Berterson: “Good morning. I’m Bert Berterson appearing on this special edition of ‘Samurai City Saturday Morning’ with local mogul, Xavier Rothe…”

Me: “Mogul?! What the fuck did you call me? I am not a snowy lump on a ski slope! Nor am I some brandy sipping curmudgeon sitting by some fireplace in some cavernous, drafty, Victorian mansion. I am a humble orchard operator and general all around nice guy. I am really tired of your slander and libel. You really need to get over that camera incident with Manthony.”

B.B: “No, that is not the issue. True, there have been ‘incidents,” but they aren’t what this interview is about. We are here to discuss the elephant rampage that you and your associates with The Rothechilde Foundation are responsible for causing, avoiding, and admitting no responsibility.

Me: “Berty darling, that is exactly what I am talking about! Okay, so unfortunate things may have happened. People may or may not have been allegedly had the misfortune of standing where an elephant may have been walking. Whatever the case, there is no need to start throwing around faulty, unproven allegations that could result in a hefty lawsuit or potential burying in a shallow grave in Nevada or somewhere.”

B.B: “Did, did you just threaten to kill me and bury me in Nevada?”

Me: “I have done no such thing! I was merely stating things that could happen to a person. I have never gone to Nevada. The sand would destroy my wardrode, I believe. Speaking of which, I have been experimenting with adding color to my wardrobe…”

B.B: “Let’s not get off topic, Mr. Rothechilde, Xavier, may I call you Xavier?

Me: “I would not if I did not want to get ‘punished’ severely.”

B.B.  “Ahem. Before we begin, let’s refresh your memory. Ronald, roll the footage please.”

At this moment, a clip was played that showed a large group of people hanging about Downtown Samurai City. In the background, the Foundation Thunderdome stood majestically in the background. In the foreground, more people. Then the clip cut over to the ass-biscuit that I was currently being tormented by in this interview. Mr. Berterson was interviewing people who were “Occupying Samurai City.” Yes, the wave of civil unrest and general unhappiness of the populist poor had spread to Samurai City and the occupiers were occupying various areas of the city. This was exactly why we at the Foundation came up with the idea to have the war elephants. The occupiers had not come as far as the Thunderdome, but a group of counter-occupiers had begun to head in our direction. These counter occupiers were those who supported the one percent or something like that. Berterson interviewed a few of them as well. Approximately two minutes into the clip, a wave of people could be seen coming toward the camera. In the background, the image and sounds of a herd of elephants rapidly approached the news crew. Fleeing to a safe area (who knew there was a safe place from a herd of stampeding elephants?), the camera still recorded, Berty-baby’s panicked reporting in the background:

Bert: “This is Bert Berterson! A herd of elephants is now rampaging in downtown Samurai City! People are running everywhere as complete and total pandemonium has erupted! Oh my God! An elephant just tossed a police car into the side of the bank! This, this is terrible! Absolutely terrible! Hey! Someone grab that little girl! What the hell are you talking about? You do it! I’m Bert Berterson! I’m not getting stepped on by a freaking elephant! What the hell?! Is that elephant wearing a monocle and a tophat? My God the police have shot the elephant in the tophat! Tophat elephant is down! Holy shit! That elephant has that old lady by the neck! Wait, wait…the elephant has gently set her down. People we have a miracle, the elephant just set her…Shit! He kicked her! The elephant kicked her! Oh my…oh my…she’s, she’s barely moving. Paramedics are trying to help her. Okay, she’s giving the thumbs up. What? Headed where? Oh shit! Run! Ruuunnn!!!

And the clip ended there. To be honest, I was very upset by that footage. There was not one mention or shot of Sister Constance and the nun-wranglers coming in, taking down the rest of the pachyderms with tranquilizers and getting them safely back to the Thunderdome. Two elephants were slaughtered by the man on that tragic day. The monocle and top hat have been turned into monuments in the arboretum.

B.B: “Now, Mr. Rothechilde, clearly you could see what a tragic series of…hey! Are you texting?”

Me: “Yes, you were boring me with that biased video footage. There was no mention of the nuns and their success at bringing this unpleasantness to an end. Not to mention you subjected me to having to witness the brutal slaying of the vainglorious Lord Phant, a pachyderm of distinguished character and with obviously superior fashion sense. I was consulting our legal team to be sure that my comments will not be taken out of context and that the video delay is sufficient for Foundation security personnel to edit out any sensitive information before this hits the airwaves.”

B.B: “What?!”

Blue Boy?

Me: “You know, like they do on awards programs to filter out the potty mouths. Anyway, about fashion. As I believe we were discussing briefly earlier I have been experimenting with making changes to my wardrobe. I have been adding color. Unfortunately, I do not have a picture of me in the lavender and purple, or gold-brown-black, but I do have a picture of me in blue. Ronald, show the clip, please. As you can see, instead of my trademark black and white two-piece combination, I am sporting a stylish three-piece suit. I even have on a blue tie. Blue! And took a picture that I did not insist be made black and white or some sort of old-timey sepia look. Eventually, I will have some photos of me in the other color schemes soon, and I may come back to your program to discuss them again at that time. However, thank you for the interview, it has been a pleasant…”

B.B: “Excuse me, sir! I tell Ronald what to do around here, and we weren’t discussing fashion. We’re here to talk about your reckless unleashing of elephants on our fair city and what exactly you plan on doing about it! You have some things to answer for sir!”

Me: “I do no appreciate your tone, little man. Now see here, if it were not for those stupid one percenters parading about in their diamonds and smelly perfumes, the elephants would not have gotten upset and that misfortune would never have occurred. The elephants were simply a part of a parade that The Foundation was sponsoring in support of the “Occupy Samurai City if You Want, But Stay the Fuck Away from the Thunderdome” rally. As you can see the rally was a success, the Thunderdome is untouched and still stands as a glorious symbol of compassion and beauty. And we are not even going to sue the city over our beloved Lord Phant. Although it has caused Sister Constance a great deal of sorrow. We had to give her an extended vacation, pay raise, and purchase a new elephant, monocle, and top hat to alleviate her lust for revenge.”

B.B: “Are you saying that the life of that elephant is worth more than the hundreds of people that were injured in carnage laid out by your elephant horde? Are you seriously equating humanity with lower animals?!”

Me: “Well, hypothetically, my statement would appear to be putting elephants above the rest of humanity, but then who needs to be splitting hairs here? Besides, no people were killed, and only a few were maimed or otherwise seriously injured. Further, the occupation business was horribly bad for the already weakened economy. Those people should have been out working and those one percent counter-protesters should have been out subjugating masses or otherwise managing some means of economic oppression. The fact is, those protesters were in all likelihood unemployed; do we need to show the world on the national news that we are a nation of corpulent, unemployed people? No sir! No, I say! If our impoverished looked like those pot-bellied Ethiopians, then maybe we would have something to bitch about. However, we are a corpulent nation that sits on couches and and gets to watch seventy-seven different versions of ‘Law & Order.”

B.B: “Mr. Rothechilde! That is completely reprehensible! Do you even hear yourself? Listen, the Vice President of The Rothechilde Foundation has even come out and said that mistakes were made…”

Me: “Yes! Mistakes were made. Many mistakes! Chief among them was letting that bastard out of the dunge…er, basement during the protests. Had he remained sedated and properly confined, our efforts to fix this bit of unpleasantness could have come to an end much sooner, and I would already be enjoying the adulation of the citizenry of this fair city instead of sitting here and subjecting myself to this horrid interview from a man with the fashion sense of a Mogwai.”

B.B: “What are you talking about?!”

Me: “Your suit is terrible. I know a guy, let me help you, baby.”

B.B: “You’re obviously out of touch. With me and the citizens of Samurai City. They don’t love you, no one loves…”

You are very welcome

Me: “Oh my! I ought to shoot you right in your ugly face! You smug son of a…excuse, what is it? Yes, I understand. Excuse me, that gentleman was one of our attorneys, he suggested, and smartly I should add, that by ‘shoot you right in your ugly face’ that I actually meant “write you a sternly worded note of disapproval, perhaps an email cc’d to your station’s management. As for the love thing, surely you are mistaken For example, take a look at this lovely bit of art; Ronald, show the picture please.”

B.B: “Now see here! Ronald is not one of your lackeys…”

Me: “Obviously, the artist appreciates me and felt that I was worthy of being immortalized in one of her brilliant creations. And then there is Sister Constance. For a nun, she really does go out of her way to accommodate my eccentricities (I am ignoring your lackey comment, by the way. Manthony with surely discuss that with you.) Then, and not the least, there is my personal secretary, whom does me an innumerable amount of service in great variety, and makes sure that I can function on a daily basis. And Charlotte! Dear Charlotte! Why just last night, we went out to a local titty bar…”

B.B: “You can’t say that on public television and this has nothing to do with the elephant incident.”

Me: “I believe I did just say that, and this has everything to do with the elephants. There is nothing better to ease the pain of a deceased elephant friend and huge publicity hit like going out to see some boobs. And this was a great night. There was s lady there named Suzie Malone. She did some classy burlesque dance, magic tricks, and she swallowed a sword. Man, that gave me ideas, I tell you! She even danced around with fire. Fire! Strapped around her waist and in the shape of hand fans she danced with fire. I even had my picture taken with her. It is a topless picture. I am not topless, she is, or else I would have brought it to show. I am not opposed to showing the boobs on television; I just do not want to share them with you.”

B.B: “That is all well and good, sir. But what does any of this have to do with the damage you have brought and the poor people that are suffering because of your mistake?”

Me: “You just really want to beat a dead elephant. Man. Fine. While it is unfortunate that a few people may have received a bump or two because of a few rambunctious elephants, we are not a bank, mortgage company, or publicly traded corporation with stockholders to rape and pillage. The government will not bail us out like they did the people who the occupiers are bitching about (is that what they are bitching about? or is it Obamacare, Afghanistan, gay marriage, or Rick Santorum’s tranny porn stash?). No, as always in these trying time The Rothechilde Foundation will rebuild the damaged property. We have already purchased some of the more severely damaged property and found locations for business owners to rebuild and relocate. We have even offered to allow these business to use the Foundation’s contractors for repair and construction and infrastructure at prices that are much lower than the local business clowns. We are hiring many of the disgruntled occupiers for this Samurai City Reconstruction, and all of this will benefit the local economy. Lord Phant did not perish in vain.”

B.B: “It sounds like all you are doing is making a selfishly greedy cash grab and attempt to increase your personal stake and interest here!”

Me: “And is that not the American Way? Thank you, Samurai City and good day. This is Xavier A. S. Rothechilde, signing out.”

B.B: “Hey!”

And the screen goes black…

Note: Mr. Rothechilde has always reveled in, and proudly proclaimed his status as being a hack writer. If you disapprove of the ending, then you were not paying attention to the original disclaimer. No refunds or apologies should be expected and none will be made.

Sincerely,

Rothechilde Foundation and Trust Legal

Big & Beautiful at the Strip Club, Shopping, and Tonight on Darkside Radio

The Octopus waves, beckons you to enjoy the show.

Octopus says: "Dance with the Green Faery!"

Greetings and Salutations! Tonight marks a momentous night for yours truly. It is the night after I went out to a local strip club with my dearest of dears, Charlotte. We happened to go on a night that was a feature evening: “Big and Beautiful Night.” The theme was big women, all amateurs, shaking it and getting naked for a chance to win a cool one thousand dollars.

What makes the night after such an even momentous? Very simple, I was both inspired and impressed by the fact that many of the entertainers last night danced to songs that one may hear some night if tuned into Darkside Radio. I am always pleased to see Gothic-Industrial-EBM strippers. Believe it or not, goth chicks have curves, only the males of our species tend to the skinny, waifish side of life…

But I digress… Before I get into the schedule of artists to be featured on Darkside Radio with DJ Xavier, let me give you a brief rundown of the events from last night. These will be highlights, people, a blog about the experience may come later. It may not even be necessary.

  1. Instead of just having the BBW’s dance and strip, the girls had to endure three “events.” The third event, was the actual dancing, the first two events were 1) Topless Jump-roping, and 2) Naked Hula Hooping.
  2. During the hula hoop event, one girl fell off of the stage, and onto a customer sitting in the audience.
  3. One girl danced one entire song, and most of second, before pulling a lollipop out of her, we you know…
  4. Not to be outdone by the “Crouching BBW, Hidden Lollipop” that came before her, the next contestant appeared with a giant lollipop shaped like a cock and began to get herself off with it. Really! She was going to town.

And there you have a brief rundown of what happened last night at the titty bar. Believe it or not, that is the first time that I have used the phrase “titty bar.” And in print! I feel lecherous.

I went shopping earlier today and bought a couple of new suits, a coat, and a top coat. Why is this important? Well, dear readers, the suit shopping marks another milestone in the life of Xavier A.S. Rothechilde: one of the suits is actually sort of navy blue. Yes! It is true! The X man has actually purchased a suit that was not black! “It’s the end of the world as we know it…” Further, I did not purchase a white shirt. I bought a blue shirt and a brownish one, and even a gold-ish colored tie. I bought clothing that has color!!! Not that there is anything wrong with that. There will be more to this tale as well. In fact, between the strip club and the shopping, I think I may have a total blog entry.

Well, I have gone on for quite enough time about stuff and should get on with the other purpose of this entry: the artist who will be providing the rhythm for the gothic dance with the Green Faery. Grab your absinthe, sugar and ice water, it is almost time.

To listen, tune to http://darksideradio.com at 10:00 p.m. Eastern Standard Time (US).

Enjoy!

Tonight’s Featured Artists (Subject To Change)

Cocteau Twins

Joy Division

Bauhaus

Siouxsie and the Banshees

Leonard Cohen

Nouvelle Vague

Tre Lux

Gerard McMann

Talking Heads

Sonic Youth

Dead Kennedys

Type O Negative

The Cure

Depeche Mode

Switchblade Symphony

The Gothacoustic Ensemble

U2

Lacuna Coil

Nine Inch Nails

Mindless Self Indulgence

Ministry & Co-Conspirators

HorrorPops

The Koffin Kats

That Handsome Devil

The Smithereens

Snake River Conspiracy

The Smiths

Placebo

Johnny Cash

Dead Can Dance

So, tune in tonight and enjoy the program. If you have Twitter, @XRothechilde and @Darksideradio give song-to-song updates during the show.

Commercials are from: “Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas” and “Grand Theft Auto IV”

Promotion spots for DJ Xavier produced and Created by: DJ Mirage, Ethermagus, and DJ Parallax

Happy New Year…!!!

…for some people, that is. As a Greco-Celt, I celebrated my new year back at the end of October, but to fit in with the minority of the world that believes it is the majority: HAPPY NEW YEAR!!! I originally intended to write something a long time ago, to end my absence from blogging and hopefully get over my writer’s block, Curse of Athena, or whatever was keeping words from flowing from my head to the Internet. Instead of following my original plans, I just decided to wait until this day: the first of the days until the end of the world as we know it (I am not sure if I feel fine, however…)

A lot has happened since I last wrote, and nothing has happened. By a lot has happened, I mean a lot of things have gone on: people have been born, people have died, and much, much more. So much has happened that I should be posting a few blogs; that would be the responsible thing for a hack writer to do. However, I am feeling like an irresponsible hack and will take the cheesy easy way out and write a “list” of things that just happen to be on my mind to usher in the new year.

1) The End of The World

I do not think that the end of all that we know is coming on the Twenty-First of December, Two Thousand and Twelve. In the event that I may be wrong, I have definitely got to do something about getting involved in more threesomes. I know that this seems like a weird way to begin this post, particularly after employing that ominous heading. But the reason I started there is because that is the closest thing that I can think of having that one would consider a New Year’s Resolution, which if you read on, you shall see that I never make. Really, it is not even close to a resolution. It was actually a device to lead into the next topic while incorporating some sort of awareness that people will start really getting antsy about the end of civilization. I guess I am saying that while they are freaking out, I will be trying to get my freak on.

2) Do I Exhibit “Sub” Behavior?

I went to a local *club last night. The experience was totally new to me; I have never been out to any sort of bar/party/club on any New Year’s Eve. Well, technically, I still have never done such a thing – I went to the bar after midnight, so I began my year at one of Manthony’s establishments. While there, I strayed from my normal behavior and hung out by the door with Manthony for a bit, then went over and stood next to a table. But wait, I am getting ahead of myself.

After I had gotten there and said my hellos to Manthony and the delicious yum-yum working the door with him, I walked over to the bar and ordered an Absolut and tonic, with no lemon, lime or anything in it. I had noticed the rather portly fellow when I walked in and had also noticed that he had sidled up next to me at the bar, but assumed he was just getting a drink. He attempted to start up a conversation, and his tone suggested that he was, well, I am not sure what to call him yet. Just read on and it may become clear:

Dude: “Hey.”

Me: “Hello.”

Dude: “I’ve never seen anyone order a mixed drink and tell the bartender to “hold the produce.”

Me: “A lot of people touch those things. People without gloves, or potentially clean hands.”

Dude: “That’s pretty funny. You from around here?”

Me: “I am from up north, but stay down here from time to time.”

Dude: “You come to this bar often?”

Me: “An associate of mine works here, I drop in to say hello now and again.”

Dude: “That’s a nice suit.”

Me: “Thank you.”

I then excused myself from his presence and walked back over to the door area and resumed tending my space near the door near Manthony. Eventually, a table cleared up and I went over to the table and stood there with a space to rest my drink while sending Twitter updates voicing my displeasure at the dancing ability of the crowd. Really! I felt like I was watching a field of epileptic seals frolicking under a disco ball. Sure there were some folks who could move extremely well, but in general, it was a mass of people who were going to be masturbating at home, alone, after the bar if dancing ability was a prerequisite to getting laid.

Extremely pleased with how clever I was with my Tweeting adventure, I looked up from my iPhone and noticed that the portly fellow from earlier had a portly female friend with him, and if my observation was correct, they were trying to figure out how/if to join me at my table. Finally, dude strolled over and asked if they could share the table. I obliged.

Dude: “Hi again. This is my girlfriend, Frieda” (no real names are used in this tale).

Me: “Hello, Frieda.”

Dude: “I’m Corky. I didn’t catch your name before.”

Me: “I did not throw it. I am Xavier.”

Dude: “See? Told you he was funny. And check the suit.:

Frieda: “It is a nice suit. Corky says you’re from up north.”

Me: “That is my primary residence. My business is there and so is the family home. I stay here most of the time.”

Frieda: “I wanna dance. You wanna dance?”

Me: “Oh, no thank you. That floor is too crowded with spasmatics for me at the moment.”

Dude: “Ha! Fuckin’ spazs!”

He said that he was going to go for another beer and I decided to go out and have a cigarette. I had been out there smoking and taking in the scenery for close to ten minutes when I was joined by Frieda, who I learned smoked Marlboro menthols. We stood there in silence for a bit, when Frieda decided to take a giant ice pick and shatter the ice:

Frieda: “So, Corky never knows how to do these things…”

Me: “Smoke?”

Frieda: “Heh. No, he never knows what sort of guy a guy is. And so I hafta to try and figure things out. He thinks I’m good at judging things. Actually, I just find a time to just be blunt and ask whatever.”

Me: “Okay…”

Frieda: “Well, Corky and me were wondering if you’d like to leave the bar with us and maybe hang out at our place and you know…whatever happens, happens…”

Me: “Um…”

Frieda: “Corky likes to be with guys and girls. I mean, we could do some stuff together, but we’re mostly into finding a guy to be with Corky and me, rather than me and Corky. If that makes sense.”

Me: “Yes. Thank you for the gracious offer, but I must respectfully decline. I tend to engage in such fun with my dearest Charlotte and in her absence, I could never agree to such things.”

And we said some good byes and I did not see them any more for the remainder of the evening. I guess beyond the fact that I was not where near attracted to them on either level, I was a little offended by the offer. I mean, if I interpret the offer correctly, I was being invited to join in sexual submission with this couple, this woman and I were to be pleasured, but more so to pleasure him. Now, to each his own, and I may have my own unique interests, but I certainly not the type to allow myself to be the sex toy of some arrogant jock who cannot even talk to me on his own. Oh well, c’est la vie.

3) New Year’s Resolution?

I never make a resolution for the New Year. I know that as soon as I come up with one, I will have broken it by the time one second after the New Year begins. One could say that I should try harder. Yes, one could say that…and be ignored. I never make a resolution because I think it is pointless to set myself up for what I know is going to be a failure. If I had changes that I wished to make that were that substantial, I would have noticed and begun to make it before the advent of the New Year.

4) Demanding Merry Christmas

Okay. I get it. Christmas has been in my face for many months, and now that it is out of my face, I feel like I can bitch about it. If memory serves me, I began seeing ads for Christmas stuff before Samhain hit the calendar as more than a prospective holidate. However, the true horror of the season never really hits me until December. Actually, it hits me on the tenth of December: my birthday. I do not like to make a big deal out of my birthday, but on that day, I do not want to hear about Christmas shopping, gifts, or whatever. Less than that, I do not want to hear crap about someone’s right to go about and just wish people Merry Christmas.

Do you know what I am talking about here? No? Well, I shall expand on the issue. On December 10, 2011, someone posted something on my Facebook wall going on about how they had a right to hear Merry Christmas and resented the meaning being taken out of the public forum and saying “happy holidays” “and so on and so on and scooby dooby doo…” Hey! I do not care. I deleted the offensive propaganda. I deleted the offensive propaganda despite the fact that I abhor any act of censorship. I like to let things go to spur on debate, but the inevitable Jesus-ing up of my Facebook page had to be prevented.

Really. The whole deal is a bit presumptuous. I understand that Christmas is a big deal to SOME people. SOME people. However, not everyone celebrates that particular big deal and why in the Hell should the rest of us just accept your random wish of Happy Christmas when that may not be what we want to experience. You do not catch me wishing a wondrous Yule or gleeful Solstice (which, by the way, is the ONLY non-debatable holiday/occurrence of the month) to everyone I see and getting my drawers shredded because someone does not share my belief.

5) Jujitsu

There is really not too much to say here. I reconciled with my Sensei and my school. I received my official instructor’s certificate and got a new belt. The new belt is not one of new rank, it is just a new belt. You see, I had tied and untied my other belt so often that it had turned from black to green. The only way to tell my rank was from the kanji on the belt. A couple of months ago, I was given a new belt. Now, the other senior students have stopped making jokes that I got demoted, and I can stop having to explain the color of my belt to new students by hurting them more than necessary…lol

And so ends my first post of the year. The New Year that many think is the only and most important New Year. The New Year that is supposed to be the last year according to the Mayan calendar. A year, that for me, is eagerly anticipated, horribly dreaded, and ready for me to grab by the balls.

*I believe the hours of operation posted are incorrect.

Last Friday Night

Last week was a strange, hectic week. A good person passed from this world and last week was a time of preparing for and attending memorial services and a funeral. This week, last week is still showing its face, but all is settling a bit.

Last Friday night marked the end of the week and the folks around me involved finally got to “crash.” By crash I mean sit and rest and fall asleep. However, I could not last Friday. I had not planned on going out anywhere. I had planned to stay in for the evening, maybe watch wrestling (yes, I do follow the WWE a bit) or finally get back to trying to achieve one hundred percent completion of “L.A. Noire” after having a bit of a training session. While I was doing a bit of shadow boxing, I received a text on my iPhone that was really a message from Facebook telling me that a friend of mine was working at a local coffee shop and wanted people to visit, buy a coffee, and leave him a tip. Hmmm.., I thought, I could go out for a coffee after SmackDown, after I have completed my workout for the night.

So, SmackDown went off, and I got distracted for about an hour and by the time I decided to go and have a coffee, I discovered that I would not have time to change out of my workout pants and sleeveless, aeroline shirt. I was not dressed to go out for the evening. However, I was just going out for a coffee so I through on a hoodie and my running shoes and went out to the coffee house.

I went in and got a coffee and a brownie. Since the crowd inside the place was annoying this night, I decided to take the goodies back to my place, and enjoy them in peace. However, this coffee house is down the street from one of Manthony’s clubs and he was sitting outside of it and waved me over. I walked over and began to enjoy my treats as we stood outside and chatted.

He suggested that I come inside for a bit, they were having a Drag Show and I might enjoy it for a bit. I pointed out that I was looking rather sportish and not suitably attired for evening at the club. Yet, a friend of ours, who was outside smoking a clove since the state of Michigan stripped smoking from bars, suggested that I looked great and suggested that I come in for a drink. Since it was a good friend, and she looked absolutely delicious, I decided to go in and have one drink with her and take in a bit of the show.

I am happy that I went into the club! I was immediately greeted with the sound of a familiar voice: the emcee for this Drag Show was my favorite Drag Queen: Alexa. I had not seen her in about seven years. I ordered a Woodchuck Ale (I was not dressed for public absinthe consumption), and watched Alexa from a table near the entrance where Manthony was letting people in, or having them thrown out.

After watching the show for a few, I decided that I should venture homeward (is it weird that being around Drag Queens made me feel under dressed?), and I went outside to say my “see you laters” to Manthony, who was now sitting outside on the steps of the bar with a skinny blonde. Manthony was waiting for a limousine to arrive that was transporting a bachelor or bachelorette party or something of that nature. The skinny blonde was smoking a Marlboro Light.

Skinny Blonde was pretty tipsy and flirtatious. She was trying to remember Manthony’s name (he had already told her the name several times), and was wondering why he said that his name contained body parts. She was rather elated when he said there was a “toe” and a “knee” in his name, but the elation fell because neither of the names were of “naughty body parts.” That is when I told her that his last name was “Boobpenis.”

She then noticed that I was there and asked me what my name was:

Manthony: I told you that his name was Xavier.

Me: My name is Manthony.

Skinny Blonde: Another Boobpenis?! How many of you are there in this town?!

Me: No, my name is Xavier. I was just pulling on your leg.

Skinny Blonde: Be nice to me, I’m pretty drunk and not from around here. I’m here with her over there, she’s my friend.

SB was not from Samurai City and had come here to hang out with a girlfriend of hers. Apparently, she is in the midst of as divorce, and was not opposed to being friendly and flirtatious. Amusing as she was, I was on my way back to my place and said so to Manthony and SB.

Manthony: See you later. Here’s my limo, I need to let people in.

Me: See you later.

SB: Xavier, you should come in and dance with me.

Me: I would love to, but I have to leave. Besides, I am really not dressed for the bar.

SB: No, you don’t have to leave. You just don’t like me because I’m a skinny white girl with no ass. You look fine, I like the sport-look.

Me: You have been sitting the whole time, I have no idea of your ass or lack thereof. Actually, I find you rather interesting and would dance if I did not have to be on my way. The next time you are out, have Manthony ring me up and I shall come out and give you a dance.

SB: I can give you my cell phone number, you should call me. Just don’t call when my boyfriend is home!

Me: How in the Hell am I supposed to know that?

With that, Skinny Blonde gave me her digits and I walked her back inside the club to where her friend was standing. I advised her friend that SB probably did not need anymore drinks, and that it was nice to meet the two of them. Then I left and headed on my way back to my Samurai City digs.

And so ended another week in Samurai City.

 

Strip Club Odyssey

The other night, Charlotte calls me up and suggests that we go out somewhere. I had not made any particular plans, and Charlotte being one of my favorite playmates, I got myself prepared for some sort of evening. I had no idea what she had in mind; she is not one for going out and being among the rabble. However, there was a certain eagerness in her voice that I could not afford to pass up.

When she arrived to the place, she parked her automotive counterpart and name-sharer in one of my garages and suggested that we cruise out in the hearse. She likes the keep the top down on her nineteen seventy-six Eldorado down, and she did not want any asses messing with her ride:

Me: You parked in the garage?

Charlotte: Yes. I think it would be better if we went in one of your cars, the hearse preferably. I don’t want any hooligans fucking with my shit. You know how they are out there.

Me: Out where?

Charlotte: The strip club. I thought it would be a good idea to go and see some boobs tonight.

Me: Sounds good, let me go in and set the alarms.

We drove out to the club and were greeted by the gaudy look of the place. Now, do not get me wrong, this club is not a seedy hole in the wall. It is a large, two-floored building. It is gaudy because it has a bunch of irregularly flashing neon lights lining the roof and they are simply atrocious. They flash like a traffic signal on a bad acid trip. We parked. We walked inside.

There is an entry fee to this place. An astronomical fee. This place is a piece of work. They charge up the ass to go in and see the ass that you have to pay more for if you want to see the ass dancing close to you. The gatekeeper informed us that if we paid for VIP cards, we could gain entry for free at this club and their other facilities. Since paying for the cards was a much better deal than simply paying for entry, we opted for the cards. Now, we are a bit obliged to go and look at boobs more often.

When we walked into the darkened place, we noticed the menagerie seated about the stage at the tip rail. We noticed that there seemed to be a lot of people there, but not too many strippers. We walked upstairs and took a seat in a balcony overlooking the main floor so that we could avoid having to deal with the frat boys, old perverts, and false-swinging couples with female members that want to give the appearance of kinkiness, bisexuality, and the mindset that they are so cool that they go look at naked ass with their men.

A waitress came and I got a soda while we watched the performer on the stage. For the amount of people and the volume of the place, it would seem that the place should have been noisy. Paradoxically, this was not the case, and Charlotte and I were able to hold a decent conversation while we watched the entertainment.

Charlotte: It is not as noisy in here as it seems that it should be. Oh my God! That old bastard keeps grabbing chicks’ boobs and asses. Dirty bastard!

Me: Naked boob absorbs soundwaves, the ambient noise level is lower because of the amounts of tit around. Where is this dirty bastard?

She pointed out an older fellow who was indeed grabbing onto whatever came near him that was not male, or near a large male that would beat the shit out of him. After awhile, some of the performers stopped coming near him and he sat there like a lonely bench sitting pervert in his tan-khaki shorts and pink shirt. However, he did not leave; he sat at the edge of the stage (the “Tip Rail”) and tipped the dancer on the stage a dollar (doing this attracts the girl to you where she rubs her boobs in your face; give her more and she will pick a dollar up from your face with her stuff while rubbing her face in your crotch). Since he had this girls attention, he could now get his grope on periodically. I am still wondering why a bouncer/security goon did not give him a beat down and then the bum’s rush.

Charlotte: Your explanation sounds like made up pseudoscience. Hey, are you going to get a lapdance?

Me: Oh! Goddess no! There is a germ issue there.

Charlotte: Germ issue? That’s wrong.

Me: I do not think that the girls themselves have germs (although they most certainly do have them, we all do). Rather my concern is the germs of the other people that may have gotten dances from these girls. You know half of the fuckers here did not wash their hands after going into that bathroom; who knows how many of them went into a stall to set free a few knuckle children after being titillated by these sexy minxes roaming about?

Charlotte: You’re so strange. Look at the floor, all of the strippers are coming out. It looks like some kind of invasion!

And she was more than correct. While we were talking, the club emcee came out onto the stage and introduced a special rate on lap dances: two for one, or half off a dance. After he made the announcement, this bouncy, techno music started and all of the dancers began to come out from backstage. And it looked like a fucking invasion.

The floor came alive with the movement of dozens of skantily clad pre-medical students and future attorneys, roaming about from table to table offering dances to everyone down on the floor. It looked like a swarm. The effect of the women coursing through the place like that was eerie in a half-naked ladies invading a place kind of way. After the parade of half-price lapdance offers ended, we went downstairs to sit at the tip rail.

While there, we tossed a few dollars out and the stage dancers did come to boobs in our faces. I had expected them to smell a bit gamey or sweaty from all of dancing and what have you, but they had sweet smells, probably some sort of perfume I surmised. One of these girls even took a peek at Charlotte’s goodies and gave her a little kiss. Definitely erotic.

To end the evening, we walked over into the club’s sex apparatus shop. The chick in attendance was nice enough, and was not hard on the eyes. However, I guess she had not been getting many customers because she ran over into the shop when we entered and made great effort to make us feel welcome to her wares. Unfortunately, we decided that in some form or other, we had some representation of most of the goods present and left without making any purchases. Hopefully, the shopkeep is not paid commission.

And that was the end of our strip club experience. Having come to appreciate that neither of us minded that place too much, we have made plans to use our VIP cards more often, perhaps. Maybe not. Either way, it was a wonderful evening, with wonderful company, and with wonderful background scenery.

A Few Things

First Things First

My neighbor died a few days ago. I happened to be out checking the progress of the new vineyard and the clearing away of the old, dead trees when I noticed across the way that there were a bunch of police cars at my neighbor’s house. I left the vineyard and walked across the divide and opened the fence that led from my property to my neighbor’s.

I asked one of the women standing out in front of the house what was going on and one of the women, who turned out to be his sister, said that he had died. They did not know how. She had come by the house to check on him and he was sitting at his desk, with a pen in his hand like he was writing. He was slumped over, dead.

"...like a drop of rain, falling to the ocean..."

I offered my condolences and went back through the fence to my vineyard. The grapes are looking great, and the laborers that are cutting the dead, fallen trees into firewood are moving way to slow. I took out my sidearm and fired off a shot that barely grazed the ax handle held by one of the laborers. I commented that had he been working faster, then I would not have been able to pull off such a shot. The laborers began to work a bit faster then. Ah, Capitalism…

He has been gone for a few days now and when I look across the hills and peeks of the apple trees I can see the faint yellow glow that emits from the outdoor lights that are on twenty-four hours a day. The lights used to be white. Now, they are yellow, they add an eerie glow to the vineyards only yards away.

Ellen Garrett, Rest in Peace

I went to visit her at the hospice. She died three days later. I will miss her.

Hooray for Me!

A couple of days ago, I posted a blog. While I was writing this blog, I happened to notice a button on the tool bar for this blog window and it showed a tool tip that said “kitchen sink” or something like that. I clicked the link and slap my dick and call me Seymore Butts, I noticed that I had more text options. I could change the color of the text. I discovered how to underline! Now, some of you WordPress veterans may have known how to do this already, but I was driving myself to OCD Hell because I could not do much for blog formatting.

I even discovered how to make a quote show up inside the blog and be separated from the rest of the text like I have been seeing in other blogs. Now, granted this is not a quote, but I am all excited about the prospect of being able to do these things and want to show off my new skills.

So, now I believe that this site will be even more fun for me and I may even be enticed to write more than once or twice a week. Which I could definitely do, if I could only manage to tear myself away from my Playstation 3. I have become addicted to “Infamous” and still have to check out “L.A. Noire.” Ah, priorities.

Wednesday Night at the Bar

That video has nothing to do with this topic. Almost nothing.  I just like the song, the video, and I wish that my trips to my shrink went more like this. Actually, I just loved this movie. I hear this guy has a new one in the works, I am eager to see it. I wanted to post the video for the opening of this film, but I was unable to find it on YouTube.

However, this has nothing to do with the trip to the bar. Except for the video that I wanted to show that I did not get to show. You see the video has a few really chubby women and a score of monkey men. My night at the bar was greeted by chubby women and strange monkey men. And it is along those lines that I go on with this post.

The night began innocently enough, the plan was to meet a couple of friends at a local bar and have a drink or two and then turn in for an early evening. When I got out into Old Samurai City, most of the folks that I was supposed to meet were gone, and I ran into Baron Outenburt and Ethermagus standing out in front of the coffee shop near the bar. Since the Thunderdome is undergoing some extensive renovations, I had not seen Ethermagus in some time; as for the Baron, he pops up from time-to-time as a friend of mine on the Playstation Network, but I had not had the pleasure of conversation with either gentleman in some time. So, we greeted and proceeded to catch up as friends sometimes do when they have not seen each other in a bit.

Suddenly, our reverie was broken by this dirty-ish fellow who had been standing down on the corner with another fellow that was moving about with the aid of a cane. I had seen the guys down on the corner when I walked up and the martial artist in me was compelled to keep an eye on them. Periodically, they would look down at us and then talk to each other, and then look down at us again. I was wondering if the two were conspiring against us and was now cursing the fact that I decided to obey the Michigan Concealed Weapons Regulations and left my firearms in the car since they are not allowed in bars. Well, this guy calls me: “cousin” (which I am not sure if that was because he had been watching “Lilo & Stitch” and was inspired by the culture of indigenous Hawaiians or because we are both ethnic minorities and the Baron and Ethermagus are clearly not), and asks me for a cigarette. With an uncharacteristic feeling of giving, I gave the dude a smoke and then he asked for my cigarette to light his with. I am not sure why, but I gave him my cigarette, he put his HAND ON THE FILTER, and he gave his cigarette what we smokers like to call a “monkey fuck.”

Be a Proud Bitch!

Ew. He touched my cigarette and I had no idea of knowing where his hands had been. Judging from his overall smell, I am happy to still be unaware. Before anyone starts getting up in my ass about any implication that I am referring to a person who is “houseless,” let me tell you that this was a drunk, perfectly capable, non-houseless mooch of a man who was trying to find a clever way to get something from me other than a cigarette. As I tossed my cigarette to the ground and got out the bottle of sanitizer that I keep in my pocket to scrub my hands in a mad fit of germ avoidance, this guy begins to tell us how his friend on the corner got robbed of three hundred dollars. Apparently, some chick took his money. My immediate thought was that this was a drug deal gone bad, and he was feeling the buyer’s remorse one gets when one buys and gets nothing in the exchange.

After a time, the man with the cane approaches me and asks me if I would not only call a cab for him, but would I pay for the cab to take him to Bishop Airport. You see, he was from Atlanta, Georgia and did not even know where he was. He needed to at least get to Bishop so that he could get on his flight home. Really? First of all, Bishop International is in Flint, Michigan. Flint is about a thirty minute drive from Samurai City. That would cost one Hell of a bit of money and there was no way in Hell that I was going to cough that up to some drunken idiot that gave some bitch three hundred dollars for some drugs. Some bitch that he did not know. How do I know that this is what went down? Before he came over to ask for cab fare, he was telling the smoke-mooch that he thought three hundred dollars was too much to pay for an ounce of pot. At least he is right on that point. Unless he is getting the bomb-diggity chronic. Which he was not getting from some chick on the street in Old Samurai City.

After this encounter, Ethermagus, the Baron and I parted ways and I walked down the street to the local Eighties Bar where I was told that some folks may have gone. I ordered a Captain and Coke, looked around and saw no one, and then sat down to enjoy my drink. While drinking and telling Sister Constance that I was going to send her a text message with a picture of my cock attached (which I did, only I sent a picture of a rooster. Get it? Cock? Rooster? Oh, never mind), a guy walked over to me:

Guy: “Hey, what’s up? So, I see you are sitting here on your Facebook or something and I do not mean to interrupt. My name is Rob.”

“Well, Rob, get your fucking nosy-ass eyes off of my iPhone and two, I am not in Facebook, not that it matters any to you, you fucknut” Is what I should have said, but he did catch me off guard, so instead:

Me: “Greetings and Salutations, I am Xavier A.S. Rothechilde.”

Rob: “So, I saw you sitting here alone, and just thought I would come over and say hi. I was sitting over by the DeeJay.”

Me: “And now you are sitting next to another one. Only I am an Internet DeeJay, and you probably never have listened to my show. That is too bad for you.”

Rob: “What?”

Me: “Nothing, Rob. Just small talk for small people. What brings you over this fine night?”

Rob: “Well, I thought you may need company ’cause you’re sitting here by yourself and I came to say hello and see if you wanted company.”

Me: “No, but thank you. I really hate to be around too many people that I do not know and I think that you are coming on to me. You may try to Roofie me or slip me some kind of Mickey so that you can ass-rape me behind the bar. I already feel naked because I am unarmed; you are giving me the itchy trigger finger that may have me calling my attorney so that I can avail myself of legal loopholes to deal with the likes of you.”

Rob then walked back to his spot by the DeeJay, the non-Internet one, and ignored me for the duration of my stay at the bar. Now, it may seem that I was a bit hard on poor Rob, but I resented the idea that he felt that I had to be lonely and needing company because I was sitting alone in a bar! Yeesh! I can do whatever the fuck I want, and part of that fucking want is to go out, watch people, and be a hermit in public if I choose to do so. I would have been more than happy to have Rob join me for a drink and conversation, I do enjoy meeting people every once and a while, but his arrogance in assuming that I needed company? For all he knew, my “Facebook” fun could have been me asking where the Hell my crew was or me watching porn while I enjoyed my tasty beverage.

Apparently, we are turning into a culture where it is not okay to be by yourself in public.

My Weekend in Review

Monday, 30 May 2011

1) A few moments ago, I completed a lengthy search on how to edit my font and style for this blog. I am incredibly frustrated. It seems ridiculous that a site desgined for bloggers makes it harder to have snazzy fonts, underlines, and what have you than creating a MySpace blog does. Many moons ago, when I began my blog escapades on MySpace, I could alter the color of my font, change the size, justify sections, etc. It was a writer’s paradise. Well, not really. It was MySpace, and I assume the advantages and freedoms of editing text contributed to the virus/bot mill that MySpace could be at times.

Now, I find myself ignorant and frustrated that my entries are relegated to this boring look. I envy the other bloggers who have these neat little formatting dealies going on in their blogs. I understand how the undereducated must feel; I can see what is before me, but it makes no sense. I am in the WordPress Dark Ages. Of course, I am certain that there is a way to format text, and it has to be rather simple (while it is eluding me…my ADD refuses to allow me continue the search as I keep getting distracted by other sites). I know this has to be the case because I copied a post that I wrote in Word or something and the formatting transferred to my post. Unfortunately, when I went to peek at the style using the HTML tab, the formatting stayed, and there was no code. C’est la vie.

Eventually, I will stop being lazy and figure this formatting out. Until then, my writing will have to stand on it’s own without the bells and whistles of colorful text and neat little formatting niceties.

2) Today, I cut down a large, dead tree. By large tree, I mean that the tree was tall. Since I was not very keen on using a chain saw, I tackled the task with a hand saw. I really do love my primitive technology (excepting my iPhone, Playstation 3, and Alpha Romeo)! Sawing through the dead maple mass was not as difficult as I expected, and instead of sawing through the whole tree, I stopped halfway through, secured a rope above the cut, and pulled the tree the rest of the way down. Now there is a tree stump that is about five feet tall that I have to remove. Actually, it could be cool to let some climbing vegetation have the stump as support. Maybe some beans or a decorative grape vine. Charlotte suggests that I carve it into a deranged squirrel.

3) Today, an intern called me up and said that no one was at the Thunderdome to let him inside for work. I reminded him that as today was a Federal holiday that was not either Christmas-y or Easter-y, then the Foundation’s offices were closed and employees could enjoy a day off. I commented that my ADD must have gotten the best of me while multi-tasking memos last Friday and I forgot to mention the day off for newcomers. He stated that he just observed that I never abbreviate anything, except for my ADD and OCD. I never noticed that before.

Sunday, 29 May 2011

1) My secretary went shopping, and bought clothing items for herself. This is odd to me because she tends to avoid crowds, people, and clothes buying in general, unless I force her out on some adventure so that I have a chaperone when needed. Well, she comes in and says to me: “Look, I got these boots!” I looked at the gotten boots and my jaw dropped. The boots were shiny, tight, black and went as far up her thigh as my cock travelled down mine in admiration of the new footwear. The boots have heels that add about two inches to her petite frame, but I have never been opposed to anyone being taller than me (a lot of people are taller than me, that is just how it is, follks).

After tantalizing me with these sexy boots, she left the room and returned wearing this tight top and short skirt that immediately made me want to jump her right there. However, there were people blocking my junk and alas, I was denied a joyful trist.

2) Sometimes, you just need to have Chinese food. There is a wonderful little place here in Samurai City that I like to stop in and enjoy when I am in town. What makes them the bomb-diggity is that they will take any dish and vegetarian it up for me. What makes them evil is that they have given me an addiction to Orange Tofu. So, I placed an order and went to get my delicious fix. When I got there, I was told that a friend of mine had come and gotten my order (which they thought was sesame chicken and orange chicken) and after a little clarification, it was determined that somehow my order had not gotten made and some mysterious “friend” had not come and gotten my food.

Since the chicks who work at this restaurant are super hot, I was not opposed to re-ordering and sitting to wait for my order to be ready. After I sat for about five minutes, this dude walks in and says that a part of his order was missing. Hot Chick Number Two asks what his order was and he rattles off the items that are in an order on the counter. Apparently, when he got home and checked his order, it was sesame chicken and orange chicken. Now, Hot Chick Number Two informs him that he took the wrong order entirely and that if he brings that one back in, he can get his order and be on his way. Well, this fellow believes that he is entitled to the order he took home, and his actual order for free since he had to make the trip out. Hot Chick Number One then asks him why he did not bring the incorrect order back so that he could have gotten his correct one? He said that the mistake was theirs and that was how he saw it; it should cost them, not him. The Hot Chicks held their ground and the fellow left to go and get the other food to bring back so he could get his now cold, but proper, order. After he left, Hot Chick Number One looked at me and said: “If he would have brought the first order back and was not so greedy, I would have let him have both orders.”

3) Also, on her shopping excursion, my secretary bought me a few shirts. You see, I like sleeveless shirts (not wife beaters) and will wear a sleeveless shirt when working out, under my gi, or if I feel like showing off the wonderful tattoo art on my biceps. Normally, I prefer shirts that fit me pretty loosely, however, I bought one of those “Under Armor” shirts and fell in love with it. Feeding my love for this shirt, my wonderful, sexretary bought me two more of the sleeveless ones (another black one and a white one) and one that is a long-sleeved, crew neck shirt. She says that the longsleeve shirt will be good for me on cooler days. She takes good care of me. I would be lost without her. It is strange to make this statement based on something as innocuous as a shirt, but it is in these smallest of gestures that she shows just how much I mean to her. My affections are returned a million-fold.

Saturday, 28 May 2011

1) For some reason, I do not remember much of Saturday at all. I remember going for a run, but not really much beyond that. I did my show and played a bit more psychobilly music than I usually play and had pizza for dinner. Oh! I did go to a store at the Mall here and get a cool skull. The skull is red and lights up, switching colors from red to blue to purple to greenish to whitish. My secretary bought some henna and has been experimenting with it on everyone that comes in her direction. She did a neat piece down the center of my back, but I messed it up by moving around and lifting weights. Apparently, I was not supposed to be moving about.

2) Upon further consideration, I do remember one thing. I caved in and got a yahoo messenger account and now have added that info here. Not here, in this post, but here on WordPress somewhere. I am not sure where. If this makes no sense to you, see item number one from Monday, 30 May 2011, and add it to my learning WordPress woes.

Sunday, 27 May 2011

Sometimes, I have to get out and about. I enjoy a cruel irony that dictates that I go out and be around people from time to time although I tend to hate being around them. Not only am I a compulsive people watcher, I do have friends, and recently, many of them have begun to pass off from this world. I now feel the necessity to go out and see them because I fear that each time I have seen them will be the last time that I see them. Many of these friends helped me through some difficult times; I almost stopped existing when the Evenstar fell from the sky, but a few souls keep me grounded and about. Without them, this Xavier would not be. The Rothechilde Foundation would be in the hands of some law firm dedicated to ensuring its survival on the interest that the Rothechilde Trust generates.

While the need to explore is great, the compulsion to stay inside and behind doors is so great that often an excuse has to come about for me to go out. It is during these moments that I play opportunist and tend to an excuse and see those of those whom I have not seen in ages. This particular excuse was a gathering of disgruntled Samurai City Consolidated Schools employees who were laid off due to state-wide buget cuts. I understand they are upset and worried about their future, but they have to remember that an uneducated populace makes for more docile labor. Once the people get educated, they start to get concerned with equality in wages, occuaptionaly safety, and health benefits. Keep them near stupid, and they are happy to recieve a shiny new quarter and the machine can grow bigger and crush more of the opposition to the American Way.

But this is not about politics, this is about the generous hand of the Rothechilde Foundation being sent out through the representation of its Chief Executive Officer and President, Xavier A. S. Rothechilde, to buy drinks for these disgruntled soon to be unemployed and offer them an opportunity for employment through the Foundation. While the pay would be less, the benefits would be great. We at the Thunderdome believe that keeping the rabble healthy keeps them at work and we pay less for unproductive sick days (that are not rolled over annually…).

I met the crew in a parking lot located across the street from one of Manthony’s joints. When he saw us walking up, he seemed a bit annoyed to learn that we were not stoppin in but rather going to a local bar that caters to a crowd that likes music from the Eighties. As an old school goth, I love some Eighties music. However, this was music representing all that was wrong with the Eighties: hair bands, cock rock, and Journey (which is a guilty pleasure of mine – I used to sing Journey covers in a band a while back). I told Manthony that we would stop back through for a bit and headed to the Gay-ties bar. I had a Captain and Coke, and enjoyed some pleasant conversation with the crew. There was no music from The Cure or anything that was remotely of interest to me. So, I contented myself with hanging with the employees as the crew dwindled from six to three (counting myself). One of these three had these massive boobs. I mean, tremendous. But, not obscenely so. The shirt that contained these tits created a cleavage that demaned that I stick a finger in, but I did not since I was unsure of how the cleavage owner would have liked that; Charlotte suggested that I stick my face in the cleavage and motorboat the Hell out of that Shit no matter the consequences (you know, “in for a penny, in for a pound…”).

After about an hour, we travelled down to Manthony’s and sat in a booth on the karoake side of the bar rather than sit in my Very Important Xavier room where I could observe the crowd and watch the company. We sat, had a couple drinks, and generally a decent time was had by all. I was even well-behaved and did not show off my collection of iPhone pornography that I tend to show friends at Manthony’s as a conversation/threesome/foursome/orgy starter. Finally, I had definitely been out for long enough and headed on my way.

Here and Now

Currently, I am sitting here and watching the Law and Order Marathon on TNT. In the next few minutes, I will be changing the channel to watch Monday Night Raw. Yes, you read that correctly. And it is on that unclimatic, unexciting note that I shall end this lengthy post. If you happen to feel pity for me and decide to send me a bit of info on how to code my blog for cool formatting and shizzle. feel free. I would be most appreciative.

Errata and Last Night in Review

Ah, Passover. You have to love Passover. I know I do. Lately, I have offended many people by telling them that they need to stop wishing me a Happy Easter while I am completing my purchase. Really, just because my skin is dark and I am not wearing a turban,, burkha, or some Shaolin robe does not mean that I have accepted your god as my “…own personal jesus…

I am pretty sure that if I were a person who believed in sin, then Lust would be my favorite.

I have been reading other blogs on this site. I am impressed with the artistry of their pages and the apparently ability that some have to add photos without distorting their text. I have not mastered that and it is really making me crazy. My OCD is starting to go berserk.

This week, I have been watching a lot of the History Channel. This is not odd, but this week has been all about God vs. Satan and other Judeo-Christian stuff. Personally, I am all about watching the items pertaining Judaica; the other side, not so much. However, the information on Hell is rather interesting in a pseudo-pagan sort of way. This morning, as I type my blog, the program in the background providing distraction for me is on the Ten Commandments. I find myself typing during commercials. In honor of Mosaic Law, I have decided to institute a change in the operations of The Rothechilde Orchard and Vineyards. From now on, if a person is homeless and starving and without means, you may eat freely from the orchard and vineyard. Indeed, you may eat your fill. However, you may not take anything from the fields. You may not bring containers of any sort to remove any extra. In an addendum that was recommended by my brilliant legal team, you may not move onto the grounds. One the one hand that would be trespassing. On the other, you would no longer be homeless and then would no longer be eligible to eat of the bounty.

Last night, I went out to visit Manthony at one of his clubs. When I arrived, the place was pretty empty. To be honest, it was nearly dead. However, soon things began to pick up and I ordered a drink and sat near Manthony by the entrance and watched people come in. Usually, I would sit in the Very Important Xavier section that he has set aside for me so that I may enjoy my beverage and “out time” either alone with a few select friends; tonight for some reason, I chose to do otherwise.

Now, it is important for me to let you in on a little secret: Manthony owns quite a few clubs. Yet he persists in working as a bouncer in the various clubs and enjoying a sense of control behind the scenes. Why? I do not know. Personally, I thought our nation was all about blatant displays of power and dominance, maybe I have misintrepreted the last few hundred years of history. But, I digress. Before I go on, let me also tell you that this particular club is a “mixed club.” That is, the bar caters to a mixed crowd of homos and heteros. Which ever way that your door may swing, you will most likely find someone to open, enter, and exit it here. You can even find couples, triples, swingers, thingers, and things that go hump in the night here. It is a pretty decent hangout.

As I sat near the door, sipping a Captain and Coke and watching the half clothed GI Joe “stripper”/dancer doing what he considered a sexy set of moves up on a stage, an odd threesome entered the bar. There was a guy accompanied by two women. I learned later that he was the boyfriend of one of the women, but more on that later. The threesome stood at a table near the dance floor and ordered a few drinks. After about fifteen minutes, the dude approached Manthony and myself. He was motioning and moving about, not saying really much of anything. Then Manthony asked him what he wanted and the dude got close to him and whispered something to Manthony. I have no idea what it was, and do not think Manthony knew what the drunken bastard was saying either. He left to go and check the door and left me with the dude.

Well, this guy stood near me and started his vogue routine and then got close to me and squeezed my bicep. Since he was drunk, I resisted the urge to pull out the Glock and pistol whip his monkey ass. Then he took my hand and had me squeeze his bicep. He stated that people get intimidated by him because he is pretty buff (the cat was pretty solid, I shall give him that). Then he made a bicep-ty muscle pose and kissed my on the cheek! Now this completely took me off guard; I was in shock and had no idea what to do at the moment. For one, the guy was not my type, he had no vagina, nice tits, and he was the type of guy walking about in a wife beater and his Toughskins jeans pulled so low that I could see his rancid boxers. If I am looking for a boy, I would rather he be pretty and well-dressed such as I am. After violating my cheeck with his flithy lips, he walked back over to his table and I decided to move to the other side of the bar.

After about an hour, I walked outside to have a clove (our wonderful state passed a ban on smoking in bars…) and saw the threesome standing out in the rain and waiting for a cab. The kissy man was too drunk to fuck and was sitting on the steps of the exit with a coat over his head to protect him from the rain. He was near passed out and leaning against the chunky lady of the threesome, who was going on about her boyfriend being mad at her. The other woman, thin and attractive in a Joan Jett-gone-jean-jacket kind of way was standing and waiting for the cab. As it turns out, she was the drunk-kisser’s girlfriend, had moved to Westland, Michigan from Georgia to be with this guy, and apparently she was having regrets. She told me that she gave up two men to move here to be with the crumpled mass on the ground and was already sick of his shit. I wanted to ask her if she was with the other two men simultaneously, but opted to look at the mass on the ground and pity the fact that he was not going to get to climb his lady’s ample bosom on this evening most likely.

At this point, I finished my clove, went back inside and decided that I should say my good night to Manthony and head home for the night. It was an interesting evening…both a reminder of why I do not go out as much anymore, and one that makes think that it is time to go out threesome shopping; if that drunk fool could score a night that he was going to miss because he was too drunk, then I am certain that it is time for someone such as myself to get back into the game.