GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #38: FRAUD AND MY DEAD BODY

All my life, I've been surrounded by suicidal people. For a while, I spent most of my time helping talk them out of offing themselves. I've been successful for the most part, but because of that, I've felt like kind of a fraud. I'll get to that in a second.


People wonder about those who have committed suicide. The social media explosion over Robin Williams killing himself has thrown the world off kilter. A lot of his fans knew he was deeply damaged, but most of us figured he'd go off the wagon, and the drugs and booze would kill him. Few of us thought he'd kill himself because, and I don't mean to sound like an asshole, he did it right. I'll get back to that in a second, too.


My greatest hero Hunter S. Thompson killed himself. This surprised a lot of people, but not me. Those of us who were close fans of his knew that he'd been having physical problems before his death. For a guy who was so active, that was a death sentence. He would have been living in a wheelchair if he hadn't killed himself, and for a guy who loved shooting things and blowing shit up and driving cars at top speed . . . well, that would have killed the quality of his life. So I support his decision, just like I support Robin Williams's decision.


You see, it just came out that Robin Williams had Parkinson's. He hadn't gotten fucked up by it yet, not like Michael J. Fox and Muhammad Ali, but he was headed down that path. It's easy for people who don't suffer from that problem to condemn the suicides of those who do, but that's uninformed and it lacks empathy. I would have done the same thing. So yeah. Williams offed himself, and for him, that was a good thing. For those he left behind, it blows. Here's the thing: most people were surprised that he took this way out. But he didn't talk about it, which meant that he really wanted to do it. Hold that thought.


I'm pretty sure that most people have thought about suicide. I certainly have. Almost every day, I wish that I didn't exist. It would make things easier, for me at least. For those I would leave behind? Maybe not so much. I've got a lot of problems rolling around in my head, but that doesn't make me different from anybody else. If you've never considered offing yourself, I'm pretty sure you're either delusional or you're lying to someone, either us or yourself. It's a tough ol' world, and when you think about it, suicide is the only sane answer.


That's why I feel like a fraud. Every time I reacted to a friend's suicidal thoughts, I lied to them and said the thought of killing myself had never occurred to me. But it had, every day since I was an abused child at the age of five.


Relax. I'm not going to do it. Maybe five years ago, I would have, but not now. I have two books out right now, even though one of them is not doing so well. I have a new book coming out. I have another book coming out next year. I'm taking part in a major three-novella book with two other authors. Now is certainly not the time to kill myself. Things are finally going my way. But without these things? I don't know.


One thing remains for certain: I'm here to stay. For now. But if I come down with something that will eventually paralyze me? Or completely ruin the quality of my life? Something thick and juicy like terminal illness? I'm checking out before it gets me. Call it hubris, but I refuse to let something like that tear me to pieces. I will go out on top, before it destroys a single aspect of my life.


But to those who I love (and to those who love me back), I promise to never tell you about it. I don't want you thinking you could have saved me, because you can't. That's why Robin Williams did it right. So did Hunter S. Thompson.


I probably won't. I've been banking on a fatal heart attack at the age of 40 since I was 16. Because I can't quit fast food, that's still the odds favorite of how I will go out. Place your bets now, but you probably won't make much. 2:1 bets won't make you a lot of dough. It's the 20:1 bets that do. So . . . bet on me dying of old age, I guess. It might happen. I've cut back on a lot of my bad habits, so it's within the realm of possibility.



































Wow, I sound like a dick. I don't mean to. And I know that if I offed myself because of some terrible disease, it would still get me. I'm aware of that hypocrisy. But since I don't have that disease (and most of you don't, either), it's an hypocrisy I can afford. No one can truly understand until one is in that position. If you're reading this, please know that I love you all, and I would never want to actively hurt you. And if you've read this far, I know that you love me, too. Thank you and goodnight, you wonderful, beautiful people who aren't fuckers at all.












This isn't a cry for help, either. Please don't respond with offers of help. I'm OK for now. I'm just posting this for the benefit of those who DON'T understand suicide and maybe need help getting their heads around it.

EVERYONE'S GOT ONE #31: PROSTITUTION

I have always been a huge believer in the legalization of prostitution. Some of you may have heard about a 14-state crackdown called National Day of Johns Arrests. Instead of targeting prostitutes and pimps, the cops went after the johns. Cook County Sheriff Tom Dart has taken the lead on this thing, and he had this to say about the sting operation: “It makes them understand that there are some consequences here. The public still perceives prostitution as a victimless crime, so we’re going about it this way to address the problem and raise awareness.”

Here’s the problem, though: prostitution, generally speaking, actually is a victimless crime. There are no victims, only winners, and the only reason it’s a crime is because the courts say it is. The john is a winner because he or she gets to have sex. The prostitute is the winner because he or she gets paid.

Hold on, Bruni, I hear you say. What about child prostitutes? What about pimps kicking the shit out of their girls? What about this, that and the other thing? You’re right, those are definitely crimes with victims. However, the only reason they exist is because prostitution is illegal and therefore unregulated.

Let’s take a look at where it is legal and regulated: Nevada (for the most part; there are some counties that don’t allow it). While there are the usual problems, these instances are vastly lowered by the legalization and regulation of prostitution. (There will always be child prostitution, because no one in their right mind would legalize that. People will always have illegal cravings, and there’s nothing to do about it except to crack down harder on those who would sell kids and those who would fuck kids.)

Working conditions for legal prostitutes are good. They’re constantly tested for disease. Brothel owners can’t beat them senseless. No one forces women into this industry here. Some people will still say that sex isn’t something that should be sold. To quote George Carlin, though, “Selling is legal. Fucking is legal. Why isn’t selling fucking legal?”

It’s all about choice. Morality can’t be a legal issue because morality is subjective. If you want to sell your sexual organs, you should be able to do so. If you want to buy someone else’s sexual organs, you should be able to do so, just so long as the person who has them is a consenting adult.

That’s key to the equation, by the way. Everyone involved must be a consenting adult. If this requirement is not met, then the act is a crime.

There are still some valid complaints about legal prostitution, though. For example, the legal prostitutes complain that the health tests are to protect the customer, not the prostitute, as the customers aren’t tested. This is a fair complaint. In Australia, the customers are screened carefully before they get to pay for sex. This is something we should adopt here, because if we ever do legalize prostitution, sex workers absolutely need to have rights.

Also, there are some odd laws requiring prostitutes to not wander very far from their brothel for very long. In other instances, they need to leave the county if they’re not working. In even other instances, they can’t hang out in local bars and socialize when they’re not working. As a result, some prostitutes have complained that they’re being unfairly detained or regulated. Again, another fair complaint. We need better regulations.

If we can fine-tune this process before taking the next step to legalization, we will see an amazing drop in crime, maybe even shocking. There will still be problems, but it will be nothing like the mess we have now.

Dart also said something else: “If there was no demand, there would be no prostitution.” A simple, slightly goofy thing to say. Let’s face it, there is and always will be a constant demand for sex, and as long as prostitution is illegal, selling fucking and the violent crime that is empowered by lack of legality will always be a problem.

By the way, Dart might not be all that bright. National Day of Johns Arrests lasted for 18 days, which is 17 more than is required for a national day of anything. He was quoted by TIME as saying that “53% of the arrested johns were married and 47% were college graduates.” To directly quote Dart: “The idea that these are a bunch of ne’er-do-wells could not be further from the truth.” The article doesn’t mention whether or not he gave serious consideration as to what, exactly, this means.

And who the fuck says “ne’er-do-wells” anyway?!

Okay, one last thing: did you know that Rhode Island accidentally legalized prostitution in 1980? It wasn’t fixed until 2009. So what happened during nearly two decades of legal selling fucking? Researchers at Baylor University took a look at it, and to quote the WASHINGTON POST article about it: “[They] found that more women entered prostitution . . . and the price of their services fell. In addition to the lower rate of gonorrhea infections among women, Shah and Cunningham [the researchers] estimated that decriminalizing prostitution prevented 824 rapes that would have been otherwise reported to police—and presumably many more that otherwise would not have been reported in any case.”

Hm. Very interesting. Your thoughts?

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #37: STRANGE DAYS, INDEED

It's very odd. A while ago, I did a Strange the World in which I complained how my previous publisher had handled my first book. I never mentioned them by name, of course. I don't want to do anything like that, although if you've paid attention to me long enough (and I'm still at a place where I'm wondering why you would ever do that), I guess you could probably figure it out. Shortly after the vidcast aired, I heard back from my other publisher, and they showed an interest in helping market my book better. I have to wonder if they're viewers of the StrangeHouse vidcast.


Anyway, they got back to me with a few ideas, and I'll hopefully be able to take advantage of some of these. STRIP is an excellent book. It's a crime book, so it's different from what most people know me for, but at the same time, it is ultra-violent and hyper-sexed, so it's not all that different.


I'm glad that they're giving my book more thought. It deserves it. For those seeking fucked up stories, this is definitely one of them. You'll be hard pressed to find more damaged characters doing things they shouldn't be doing.


I don't intend for GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS to turn into a promotional thing. Besides, chances are, if you're reading this, you know where to find STRIP. I just hope to have print copies soon. If these new ideas work out, I think I'll finally get my wish. I'll keep you posted.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #36: GOODBYE, WILFRED

Me as Wilfred for Halloween two years ago.

Tonight we said goodbye to one of my favorite shows, WILFRED. For the past four years, it has been an absolute mindfuck. Did we get answers tonight? Well, kind of. It's left open to interpretation, but I think it's pretty clear what the writers intended. But that's not what I'm here to talk about tonight.


It's confession time. You see, I was kind of involved with WILFRED. I was in the test audience for the first episode. Some of you may know that I take surveys. Only two of you know that before WILFRED first aired, one of those surveys showed me the first episode and asked my opinion.


My response may surprise you. While I appreciated the dark humor, I thought they were trying too hard. I thought they were forcing things, and as a result, I voted against WILFRED being aired. Not what you expected, right? Well, against my advice, WILFRED aired, and I ignored it when it came out. However, I kept hearing good things about the show. Whenever I condemn a show at first and later hear good things about it, I always give it a second chance.


In the case of WILFRED, I'm glad I did. I rented the first season from the library and watched the whole thing in two sittings. Holy shit, was I wrong. I still feel the same way about the first episode, but after that? I was fucking hooked. I am so glad I tried this show again because it turned out to be one of my favorite TV shows of all time.


My apologies to all involved in the show, but I'm pretty sure my transgression is forgivable. After all, my response to that test show was ignored anyway, so . . .


If you haven't watched WILFRED, I highly recommend it. As I understand, it's based on an Australian show, but I haven't seen that one. I'm going to have to hunt it down and see what it's like. But for the American version, be sure to check it out.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #35: A FATE WORSE THAN FILLING OUT TAX FORMS

I hate doing my taxes. Hell, everyone does, even if it turns out that you're going to actually get money back from this tightfisted, backwards government. But there is something significantly worse than this, and I have suffered through it tonight.


What could possibly be worse than filling out tax forms? Easy: filling out job applications. I completely understand the high unemployment rate in this country. No one wants to fill these fucking things out. It's the worst. You want to strangle yourself by the time you get halfway through. The world has made this process unnecessarily complicated.


Remember the old days when a company posted a help wanted sign, and if you were interested, you went in, stated your interest (with maybe a resume to spice things up), and if you made a good impression, you were hired on the spot? (Hm. Maybe I'm dating myself with that one.)


Fine. That's no way to run a corporation. I get that. I'm even OK with filling out an application. But the way things are done today is so completely, mindnumbingly dumb as fuck. The preferred way to get a job these days is the dreaded online application.


During this process, you are expected to fill out a form AND attach your resume before submitting it . . . but that's only after you register at EACH AND EVERY JOB POSTING so you can earn the right to even fill out the form. What does the form ask you for? THE VERY SAME INFORMATION THAT SHOULD BE ON ANY SENTIENT BEING'S RESUME IN THE FIRST PLACE. Why the fuck do we still do resumes if we're just going to fill out the same stupid forms with the same stupid information?


I get that some people don't have resumes. We don't have to ruin the entire system for these people, though. Here's a simple fix: offer applicants a choice between either filling out the form or sending in the resume. This, by the way, is also a great way to weed out dummies. If you get the resume, and it has all the information on it that you would have asked for on the form, then you have your winner. This individual is someone who has his or her head on straight and can think their way out of a wet paper bag. (I would, of course, make special exemptions for young people who are perhaps applying for their first job. However, adults who have been around the block several times should already know this. To quote an infamous gentleman, "No mercy.")


Oddly enough, I have never gotten hired from an online application. I don't think anyone reads the fucking things, anyway. I got my current job from calling them up and leaving a message for their HR guy. I got Sears from filling out an in-store application and then actually showing up for the group job interview. Both of my Elmhurst jobs (and the one in Oakbrook Terrace, come to think of it) came from in-person, on the spot interviews.


Has anyone ever been hired because of the backwards, bullshit way the internet does things?

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #34: A WORLD OF MUSTACHES, LONG GONE

The other day, I'd gone out for a night walk, and as I passed up my elementary school, I was struck by a sudden memory. I have no idea where it came from, but I felt like I was back in the 'Eighties, when I was a student at said elementary school. I remembered a field trip helmed by the guidance counselor. After the educational portion of our outing, he brought us all to McDonald's, at which point he had a difficult time getting me out of the Big Mac prison-thing in the playground when it was time to leave.


But the thing I remembered most starkly was his glorious mustache. Now that I think back on it, every adult male in that McDonald's had a great mustache. So many of the American penis-bearing population back then had beautiful, masculine mustaches.


What changed? How did fashion in America do such a 180-degree shift that mustaches became contemptible? It was such a change that even now, more than twenty years later, mustaches still have not come back into fashion. Okay, they've made kind of a comeback, but not in a good way. The mustache today is a joke, a symbol of goofy masculinity. You can't have a mustache in today's society without being the butt of a joke.


I will never understand the shifts and changes in fashion. I guess that's why my own never changes. The only difference for me is that most of the time, I don't have a beard, and I keep my hair relatively short. During the winter, I grow a beard, and I let my hair go wild. Aside from that, my fashion never changes. I dress just like I did when I was a kid: t-shirt and jeans.


That's probably for the best. Why fuck with something I don't understand. It's a bit disappointing for me that I can't grow a decent mustache, though. I look like a pedophile when I grow one. This is slightly funny, considering that my dad had one of those wonderful 'Eighties mustaches back in the day. He looked kind of like Thomas Magnum back then. You'd think I would have inherited a glorious mustache, but . . . *sigh*


At least my beard looks cool. I guess.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #33: EYE LASERS

I watched FINAL DESTINATION 5 tonight, not because I thought it would be good. I enjoyed the first two movies. Three and four were awful. Five was the only one I hadn't seen, and I thought I should at least finish the series. For the most part, I enjoyed it. It was the same formula as usual, except the actors weren't nearly as good as in the first one. But there were some creative scenes, in particular one that made me very, very uncomfortable.

Horror is about making someone uncomfortable with the truth. I don't know if this particular scene qualifies for my definition, but it comes pretty close. One of the characters wants Lasik on her eyes, and since it's a FINAL DESTINATION movie, it goes horribly wrong.

You see, I've always wanted Lasik done on me, but at the same time, I've feared it, too. I've worn glasses since the third grade, which means that all the cool kids have had their turn at fucking with me, at least until I grew up and became taller and stronger than them. But never mind that. This is about eyes.

I'm very protective of my eyes. Damage to eyes always freaks me out, as my response to ZOMBIE would attest to. That's no big surprise, since most people can't deal with the idea of being sightless. No one wants to depend on others for car rides. Or help getting around their own home. Or even, to borrow from the Jim Jefferies bit, help in figuring out how to wipe one's own ass. How do blind people do it? You have to look at what's on the paper, right? Can seeing-eye dogs be trained to bark if you're not wiping properly?

Unlike most people who have this fear, I actually am going blind. According to my eye doctor, my 'Beetus is killing nerves in my eyes, and if I can't stop it, I'm going to be blind before I hit senior status. Right now, there are fifty damaged nerves in my eyes. That sounds like a lot, but when you realize that there are several million in a human being's eyes, it doesn't seem that significant. Still, if I don't back off, I WILL go blind.

Fuck. I'm going about this one the wrong way. I don't mean to talk about that. What I mean to say is this: getting Lasik done on me would alleviate some things, but it would aggravate others. I've worn glasses for almost thirty years. I don't think I could get used to NOT wearing them now. Not only that, but there is a certain degree of comfort that comes with taking off one's glasses at night to go to sleep. The fuzziness helps one to pass out.

Long story short: if I ever got Lasik done on me, I would probably still wear glasses, even if the lenses are knocked out. To not have the frames on me would cause a great discomfort, enough to derail my ordinary way of life.

Still: I don't see me getting the surgery. The doctor immobilizes the patient's head, but even if he did that to me, it wouldn't stop my crazy eyes from whirling around in their sockets. The only way the surgery would work on me is if they knocked me out and then put the CLOCKWORK ORANGE things under my eye lids, etc.

All discomfort and awkwardness aside, it would cost a ridiculous amount of money, since insurance doesn't want to actually help people become better. Perish the thought. For example, they'll pay for tooth extractions, but they would never pay for anything to replace the missing tooth. What the fuck is the point? If you get a tooth pulled, you would want to look decent afterwards, right?

You get the idea. Wow, this is a slapdash way to put a piece together. I can't believe I've just stated all of these things just to tell you that the probability of me killing myself if I go blind is exceptionally high.

Goodnight, and sweet dreams. Fuckers.