The Best Divorce Letter Ever

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And now for something completely different ....

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10 Things

OK, I've done this at least three times before, but now I'm feeling the urge to do it again. Or rather, I'm feeling the lack of inspiration to write anything better because I'm a lousy writer, which is why no one will publish any of my articles and I can't get paid to write no matter how hard I try.

Here's how it goes:

Say ten things, or twenty - no limit, that you would really like to say to someone's face but can’t or won’t. Don't identify who you are talking to.

OK, here goes:

1) Dude, what is up with this dancing thing? I have never seen anything like it in my life. You look like a cross between The Blues Brothers with that running in place thing that they used to do, and Elaine on Seinfeld with her horrific, jerky, stop-and-start, kick-out dance. The thing of it is, all of those people were professional comedians, whereas you, it appears, are a single man trying to pick up hot young girls who have had too much to drink and thus lowered their standards substantially. Now I see why so many hot girls are super careful not to drink too much while they're here. Clearly they are afraid they will wake up next to you and never be able to show their faces in public again out of shame. What the hell is wrong with you??

2) Listen, if one tattoo is good, a whole bucket of ink over your entire body is not necessarily better. When you came here almost a year ago you were so hot that you made men's penises burst into flames and their knees buckle and drop them to the ground. I'm not saying you aren't still hot. It's just that now you're hot with lots of pictures painted all over your smokin' body and we're sort of wondering if maybe something is wrong. Are you OK?

3) So let me see if I have this right. You make twice what I do, doing the same job only with less work because you're a VP. You're currently dating the former head stripper at The Pony, a girl who is both nice and intelligent enough to save her money so she can go to college rather than blowing it on crack or meth. You have the real names and phone numbers of every dancer in the place in your cell phone and they call to hang out with you whenever you want. You're single. You got much better results from working out with our crazy trainer than I did. You haven't lost a fortune in the stock market despite the fact that the entire rest of the freakin' world has. Everything pretty much goes your way without you having to make much effort. And yet you're not exactly happy? What the hell, man, I'll trade places with you if you want. I suspect you're just not thinking clearly.

4) Listen, if you don't tell me about your relationships, but I figured it out anyway. And if you don't tell me not to say anything about it, so in a moment of boredom I do, and then you still never say a word to me about it, you don't get to be angry with me. We aren't bitches. We're men. You didn't say shit to me, so get over it. This drama is bullshit. Man up.

5) You're a total douchebag, but somehow you've managed to make a living from it. You're the most famous barfly douchebag in the history of barfly douchebags. And yet, still you remain a douchebag. I realize you've fucked more girls than Magic Johnson, and all without contracting AIDS, but somehow I still don't envy you. I'm probably just a moron, but I don't want to be you.

6) OK, I'm not claiming to be a super pickup artist or anything, but seriously, card tricks? Listen, we need to talk. That shit is lame.

7) Some days I swear I can hear the wind between your ears. And it really bothers me, you know, because we share some DNA. If I end up like that one day I hope someone shoots me or something because I honestly don't know how you get through life sometimes. How do you sideswipe a car in your own driveway without even knowing it? How can you not figure out a simple DVD player? Are you seriously going to just sit there in that chair and piss away the rest of your life? Get up and go travel the world or something. Go see your family in Texas. Go see the Grand Canyon. Go somewhere and do something before it's too late and you look back on your life to see absolutely nothing.

8) Let me see if I have this straight. You assholes hired this guy to set up a blog and say radical right-wing political things. Then, when you narcissistic leftist cunts didn't like the things he said, you arrested him and are pressing felony charges against him for doing exactly what you hired him to do? Wow, and yet still you don't get why most people think you're all a bunch of fucking commie pinko KGB faggots. Remarkable.

9) Listen, I still like you. Forget about it. You made me laugh more than anyone else and I appreciate that. You put up with my shit for a long time before you got fed up. It's all good. Don't beat yourself up over it. And thank you for setting me straight on a few things. It meant a lot to me. I wish you all the best and I mean that.


10) You stand out there in front of that gas station dressed in your cowboy outfit complete with hat, boots and big shiny belt buckle, holding onto the belt with one hand and holding your other hand up in the air in a jerking motion like we used to do as kids when we wanted 18-wheelers to honk their big air horns for us. But you do it at every single car that passes. The first time I saw you I assumed the gas station hired you to draw attention and bring in customers, like when businesses hire some poor kid to put on a dinosaur costume and stand beside the road in front of their shop. But as the weeks passed and I noticed that the gas station had made you move across the street and away from them, and every time I passed you were there, I started to realize that something is wrong with you. Dude, you are just fucking crazy.


Years and years of socialism and entitlements in France have left the young men without any prospects and left to wander the streets looking for something to do. Some form gangs, deal drugs, pimp girls, steal, etc, but a handful of others do this:

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A Few Things

Borrowed from shamelesslysassy.com in case you can't read
To the shirtless dude walking with your back to traffic along the side of the highway, using the painted white line like a tightrope that you oddly felt the need to balance upon such that you were halfway in the road - I just wanted to let you know that if you don't value your life then don't expect the rest of us to. What we value is our cars so mostly we didn't kill you for fear of damaging the passenger sides of our own vehicles. Me, I drive an off-road 4x4 and what I value is that big side mirror which nearly removed your head from your shoulders. Clearly you weren't using it anyway, but I do use that mirror so I would have been quite annoyed if you hadn't ducked.



Didn't care then. Don't care now. Let it go.
To our own Congress and the special prosecutor whose only job is to hunt down and burn at the stake any and all athletes who have ever been considered heroes while using steroids, growth hormone, caffeine pills, allergy medicine, pressure chambers, tampons, etc - we don't give a shit who cheated in an athletic event and we sure as hell don't want our federal government wasting our tax dollars investigating it. None of these people should have ever been called to testify before Congress in the first place. What we care about is assholes in positions of power and authority who stole billions of taxdollars from us through Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac and called it "community reinvestment" and hate criminals demanding billions to promote misandry by spewing long-disproven feminist lies while under oath and RACKETS like that. Go investigate Barney Frank or Catharine MacKinnon if you need something to do. Roger Clemens was a dick on the pitcher's mound, but he's not a criminal of any significance and he's definitely not worth the tax dollars being wasted on this bullshit.


To my brother - dude, people are telling me about this crazy neighbor who takes dead squirrels and puts cigarettes in their paws before propping them up alongside the road. Seriously, I get the humor, but after one or two times it's just odd. Your neighbors think you're weird. And then I end up telling them you're my brother and they look at me horrified. What's up with that?


To my own stomach and intestines - would you please quit fucking with me? The toilet is not my favorite place, despite the photo on my blog profile. I'd like to go for a 5-mile run instead of several windsprints to the bathroom. So long as you can't keep anything puckered up properly inside there I am limited to jogs inside the gym on a boring treadmill with annoying crap on TV simply because bathrooms are close by. Cut it out.



The REAL L Word
To Hillary Clinton - we are hereby officially changing your name to Narcissa. You are without a doubt the most self-centered, unrealistic, unreasonable, hate-filled, sexist bigot the world has seen since ... well, since Nancy Pelosi. Even if the Supreme Court does shove gay marriage down America's throat I know you and Nancy-pants won't get married to each other simply because you could never decide who is the man of the relationship. I'd like to lock you both in a pilotless jet flying to Antarctica with little spy cameras mounted inside so we could all watch you beat each other to death before the jet runs out of gas and crashes. You are proof that severe personality disorders don't necessarily stand in the way of career success.



To lurkers who take my blog totally seriously - this is a blog, not a diary. People who meet me in person and call me "Naked Steve" are invariably disappointed to find that I do not go around calling people "cunt" in their faces and throwing things while farting and taking off my clothes. I began this blog as an exercise in writing, hoping my skills would improve. They didn't, but I quickly took note of all the comments and emails from people telling me how much they prefer to read "Angry Steve" ranting and raving far more than "thoughtful but boring Steve." I responded accordingly, as I prefer having readers to not. Sure, I'm the Beavis and Butthead of the blogworld, and Google barely pays me anything for the few ad clicks I get, but it beats watching TV and cursing at the idiot news reporters in order to express my thoughts and feelings on the events of the day. If you're always totally sober while reading this then you're missing the point.

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Lesbian Dreams Aren't Always Bad Dreams

Clearly I need to be more careful what I do, see, or think about right before bed. The other night I was looking at my stomach in the mirror and not feeling very happy about the sad state of my "abs" and then I go and dream all night that I'm running around naked. That was not fun for anyone, let me tell you.

The very next night, last night, right before bed, I was on my computer reading a blog comment from Spiky Zora Jones about a dream she had involving sex with her, Shrinking Kitty, Kylie, and Steph the retired blogstar, as my favorite show, "Penn and Teller's Bullshit," was ending and "The Real L Word" was coming on my TV, which I thought I had mostly ignored.


Well, I say I mostly ignored the TV, but apparently I had not ignored it nearly enough, because when I went to sleep, guess what I dreamed about?

No, no, not about Spiky, Kitty, Kylie and Steph all having lesbian sex together, but you're close.


We're lesbians with great cheekbones!
I dreamed I was hired to be the lone hetero male cast member on "The Real L Word" because they wanted to see how it would stir things up to have a straight guy in the midst of a group of rich Hollywood lesbians and their partner-swapping drunken Yiddish sex parties.

Seriously, this is what I dreamed.

So anyway, it was awkward and weird and I think I ended up being assigned to live with Whitney, the tattooed and dreadlocked cutie with the high cheekbones that make her mouth look like it's in a perpetual smile who routinely sleeps with another ex-girlfriend right in front of her current girlfriend every time she gets drunk. The dream was less about sex than you might think, what with it being a dream based on what I had just seen on the TV and thought I had ignored. Never on the show did I see any of the Showtime Lesbians having sex with any man. Consequently, never in my dream did any of them express the slightess desire to have sex with me. Not that this in any way differs from how it would likely be in real life either. Sorry if my dream disappoints any of you, but this is how it went.

There was lots and lots of lesbian cheating drama, only marginally involving me, and I finally got to ask them about how the hell they can jump from girl to girl without giving a crap about how the girl they're cheating on feels, and right in front of her, even. I can't remember if anyone ever answered me, but it led to more drama and then the dream ended, as I woke up with a strong need to pee before going back to sleep again.

After getting up to pee and then climbing back into bed, I dreamed that I got a call from the famous Steph, retired blogger, whom I once swore I would never blog about again, only to have her pop up in this funky dream. For some odd reason she and her best friend, Kylie, a much celebrated former blogger in her own right, were coming to town for some work-related formal dinner meeting or something and they had decided that they were going to stay at my place. Yeah, it's only a dream so somehow this all made sense at the time. I was excited, as you might imagine, and ran around trying to get ready for them to arrive as if the phone hadn't just rang with Steph far off in Australia telling me they were on their way.

In the real world a flight from Australia to Memphis is about 20 hours long, but in my dream Steph and Kylie showed up at my door not 10 minutes after I hung up the phone. Kylie had a big grin on her face and was cracking on me from the minute she came inside. Steph seemed friendly enough, but less enthusiastic. For most of the dream I was fumbling around trying to get them set up in their rooms and make sure they had everything they needed. I tripped over things and fell down a lot. I was hyper and they gave me a hard time about it.

When it was time for the big event that they were supposed to go to, Steph told me that I needed to get dressed because I was supposed to come with them. They were both dressed up in what I suppose my brain thought were evening gowns. Evening gowns and very expensive shoes. This IS Steph we're talking about and apparently the part of my brain that generates dreams just assumed her shoes would be strappy and glittery and have serious heels on them. Kylie's too. I think this may have been the only dream I have ever had in which I even noticed the existence of shoes. How appropriate, considering who it was about.

I could not find my suit. I fumbled around. The house kept changing. Things got off-track, and before I knew it, they were off without me in a big, glittery, silver Lexus.

Before I even had time to feel upset at being left behind, I woke up. And I had a smile on my face. I felt great. It was pouring rain outside and yet for some odd reason these super funky dreams left me feeling energized and ready to start the day with a smile. Clearly I must be sick or something

I have to say, this was one of the weirdest night of dreams I've had since .... the night before.


Sorry, no time to wait. See ya.

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Bad Dreams

I had a dream last night that I was photographing a nude model. She was pretty enough, although I don't remember much about her face or her name or anything. At some point things got weird, as dreams tend to do. She suggested that I get naked, too, and she would photograph me. I thought this an odd idea, but for some reason I agreed. So I was standing there naked, not looking nearly as attractive as she did, and feeling stupid. Rather than put my clothes back on I simply began to act the way I felt. I did penis puppets and the helicopter and stuck my stomach out as far as possible, making a fool of myself in order to ellicit laughs from her. As long as she kept laughing I felt oddly less stupid.

Psychologists say that to dream of yourself naked and embarrassed is normal. To dream of yourself naked and unashamed indicates that you are proud of your body. But I have never heard anyone explain what it means to dream of yourself naked and only seeing your nudity a good chance to clown around and try to make hot girls laugh.

Even in my own dreams this is all my body is good for, to get a laugh. Rather than dreaming of myself in perfect physical condition with women throwing themselves at my feet, I dream of myself as performing like a human cartoon character.

I don't know how long the dream went on. It gets a bit hazy after that. I just remember that I was naked throughout and I didn't care, but I wasn't happy about it. I only did it because the girl wanted me to, and for some strange reason that was good enough reason to get me to strip.

Later in the dream I found myself in church. And I had no shirt on. Apparently I had pants on, thank God, because the seats in those pews are mighty cold on a bare ass and will give you the shits. I didn't feel comfortable walking around without my shirt, so I sat in the very back. Not surprisingly, all my friends were sitting back there, too, as they probably would be in real life.

Ah, good times!

According to the dream, some sex-obsessed feminist had written new verses for the Bible and the government apparently had ordered that these new verses be included and accepted by all churches.

That wouldn't surprise me at all, actually.

So anyway, in the dream, we were looking at the book of Romans. The woman had added some long, babbling crap about how a woman is to judge her lover's acceptability by his sperm. The verses said that a woman is to examine a prospective lover's sperm very closely and only choose a man with big sperm, the bigger the better. Apparently his semen was supposed to taste a certain way, too. And the fewer mutated sperm in his semen, the better mate he'd be.

Apparently she's supposed to take his sperm to a lab and have it examined or something. No imperfection was to be tolerated.

The new feminized verses went on and on about good fucking and sucking and licking and all the things the man had to do for her before he'd be considered acceptable. Not surprisingly there was nothing in the new verses about anything expected of the woman in order to be acceptable. Her perfection was assumed.

My friends were showing the new verses to me in disbelief as the preacher way up front was reading through them out loud, complaining about the audacity of forcing this on us all as he went. When he came to the part about big sperm, and my friends in the row in front of me were showing it to me, I began cracking jokes. My friends were laughing, but trying to keep quiet about it, and all the while I was annoyed by the fact that I had no shirt on. I wasn't shocked that our feminist government was forcing fake Bible verses on us, or that they all treated men like human sperm factories. This was no surprise to me at all. I was just mostly irritated about not having my shirt, although it didn't slow down my jokes any.

When I woke up the next morning, I looked at myself in the mirror, and I resolved to punch my personal trainer in the face the next time I see him.

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Burt

I'm over here today.

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Memphis News - Fiddling While America Burns

Feminist Judge Craps on Arizona and Constitution
Clinton-appointed District Court Judge Susan Bolton (no relation to Michael Bolton, that fabulous '80s icon that made women swoon) declared that she doesn't like Arizona's laws which echo federal laws governing illegal immigration and is therefore disallowing the state of Arizona from enforcing any laws at all, leading to an immediate spike in speeding, statutory rapes (woo hoo!), and the stealing of cable TV, in addition to kidnapping, drive-by machine-gun shootings, and mass murders. The way her words echoed the Obama White House was too perfectly in-sync to be believed, almost as if she were a hand-puppet with Rahm Emanuel moving his fingers to make her mouth open and close. But surely that can't be, right? Surely pretty female judges and politicians of The Far Left persuasion don't use laws and words as mere tools for political gain rather than as a means to properly lead the nation and protect the rights of The People, right? That would just be crazy and lead to chaos and destruction, and no one wants that. Right? Sure, and Elena Kagan is going to be a strict Constitutionalist judge, just like Sotomayer. You know it, baby.



Obama's Drilling Moratorium Kills 175,000 Jobs Per Year
President Barry "hope and change" Obamination's environmental payoff to the religious Earth-Firsters in the form of banning offshore drilling is having the interesting side-effect of killing every single phony job he has claimed to have 'saved' or 'created' through bogus census rehirings, and then some. It has also caused the United States to lose precious oil rig platforms as the companies owning them cannot afford to have them sitting around idle and have thus made them available to foreign nations effective immediately. They are even now sailing out of our waters and heading to friendlier waters where the value of oil and natural resources is understood and appreciated. Prepare to pay big bucks at the gas pump. Hope and change, baby! Hope and change - that's all you're gonna have left when he finishes with this country.



Journolist a Veritable Who's Who of Media Assassins
A secret internet forum was recently exposed in which a who's who of American liberal media personalities and journalists from supposedly competing media sources, including MSNBC, Time, Newsweek, The Economist, Washington Post and the New York Times, regularly came together and plotted strategies for defeating political candidates, including John McCain and Sarah Palin, whom they openly conspired to defame and destroy, and spinning every important news story they covered in order to make the Leftist viewpoint appear to be the only logical and correct view (global warming.) Not surprisingly, the same media sources whose reporters were involved in the conspiracies to defraud and deceive the American People have also refused to cover the story of their own traitorous activities. Anyone who is surprised by any of this has simply not been paying attention.



Congressman Rangel, Career Criminal, Given Slap on Wrist, Pat on Back
Professional ethics violator Charlie "Movin' on up" Rangel has been charged with 13 ethics and federal regulation crimes, all of which he appears to be dead-to-rights guilty of. But because he is A) black B) from New York and C) a Democrat, he has received from the Democrat-controlled Congress a slap on the wrist, a pat on the back, and slap on the ass along with a "go get'em, Tiger" as his 'punishment' for a litany of crimes which would land any average American citizen, or Republican, in prison for a good 20 years had any of us so blatantly violated these same laws. Ah, but in a world where race and sex are all that matters, and "justice" is merely a word which Left-wing haters attach to other words in order to justify blatant bigotry and discrimination, like "economic justice", "social justice" or "environmental justice," whatever the fuck that means, justice is merely an empty word, a tool for manipulating The People while robbing them blind and fucking them up the ass, something the Hard Left does better than anyone in history.


Maxine "I ain't did nuthin'" Waters
Meanwhile, California Congresswoman Maxine Waters, an estrogen-twin of Charlie Rangel, has also just been charged with a litany of similar ethics violations, all of which I can guarantee will get her the very same slap on the wrist, pat on the back, but probably no pat on ass unless Hillary Clinton is around.


Rumor has it that both the ethics charges filed and rapidly dealt with against Charlie Rangel, and now Maxine Waters, are a cynical Democrat ploy, much like the oddly-timed assassination of Illinois Governor Rod Blagojevich, to clean house BEFORE an important election in order to make sure the issue is over and done in time for voters to forget, rather than waiting until November and giving Republicans a chance to use these crooks as evidence that this "most ethical Congress in history" is, in fact, the most criminal in history. No one knows where this rumor came from, but it might have been me.


Hope and change

---

DEAR MEMPHIS

DEAR MEMPHIS: I'm a gay 44-year-old man with self-esteem problems. I have never seen myself as worthy of affection, and I don't consider myself attractive. I have never been in a relationship, and no one outside of my family has ever said "I love you" to me.

I have recently tried to come out of my shell. As a result, the network of people I associate with has tripled -- and I think that has compounded my problem. Aside from parties where everyone is invited, I never hear from any of these people. I have only a couple of good friends, people I can talk to.

I have leaned on my friends to try to help me with my problem. But I'm afraid if I keep unloading on them it'll wear them down, and I don't want to burden them.

I wish I didn't feel so worthless. I know part of my problem is the fact that I am unemployed and worried about money. But this is who I have been my whole life. How do I break the cycle and start feeling good about myself? I'm tired of being lonely all the time. -- LONELY IN CHICAGO

DEAR LOS LONELY BOY: First of all, your self-esteem problems, well, what the hell do you expect me to do about that, tell you you're pretty and witty and gay? Listen, go hire a personal trainer and maybe see a plastic surgeon about some tucking and snipping and sucking. Before you know it, you'll look just like Cher and feel like a million bucks. As for you being 44 and never having been in a relationship, what the hell, dude? You're a gay man in Chicago, for Christ's sake. Or maybe I should say, for Liberace's sake? Our current President is (rumored to be) a gay man from Chicago and if that isn't proof that Chicago has a gigantic population of gay men and very unattractive lesbian women (judging from Obama's lesbian Czar army) I don't know what is. If you're a gay man in Chicago and have never been in a relationship then it is because you aren't even trying. Don't cry to me if you won't even get your ass out there and make an effort. In fact, don't cry to anyone. Stop fucking crying and go learn how to dance to YMCA and Lady GaGa, for fuck's sake, so you can at least be in the running for someone with more balls than you to make a move and give you a shot at a relationship. Get off momma's couch and get yourself to one of the zillion gay nightclubs in downtown Chicago. Are you worried that your lack of self-confidence will sabotage you? Fine, drink several shots of straight Vodka as soon as you walk in the door and I promise you, you will be feeling fine and happy for a good while. Now get out there and find yourself someone to ride your ass like a mechanical bucking bronco! You can do it!


DEAR MEMPHIS: My office was relocated recently, a bit farther away from home than the old one. My new commute involves riding public transportation and then a shared shuttle van.

One of my co-workers, "Phil," rides the same shuttle. He always waits for me to get off the shuttle so he can walk with me to the office. He seems nice enough and well-meaning, but my mornings are my time to prepare myself for the day. He also occasionally touches my arm, which makes me uncomfortable. He also talks about personal things I would rather not hear about.

I would prefer to walk without him, but there is no other way to get to the office. I have debated being 10 minutes late to work each day, but then I would need to stay 10 minutes later and it would be much harder for me to catch the later shuttle.

What do I do? Tell Phil I don't want to walk with him? Walk faster? Go in later? -- UNCOMFORTABLE IN SOUTH SAN FRANCISCO

DEAR WHINY-ASS: Bitch, bitch, bitch! Good God, woman, this is such a total non-issue and yet you make it out to be the end of the mother-lovin' world. Are you telling me you could avoid this whole situation by simply waiting 10 damn minutes, but you aren't willing to? Well then, clearly you enjoy the attention as much as you enjoy bitching to everyone about it. It sounds to me like you don't get much attention and this is all you've got going on, so you're looking for any excuse to broadcast it to the whole world. You clearly enjoy bragging about it, but you don't want to admit you're bragging, so you act all frigid and offended and shit, like the only chance you have at a man is such a horrible burden. Don't worry, honey, with your attitude I have no doubt you will solve your own problem by driving Phil away with your intolerable personality. Here's a final helpful suggestion from me to you: buy a fucking car and drive yourself to work like a normal fucking American and then you can avoid all of this drama and have plenty of 'me' time as well. See, that's what we call win-win, you whiny-assed twat.





* Official Disclaimer - Memphis News is parody, opinion, a slightly more cynical and vulgar report of the latest headlines and top stories with an op/ed, drunken twist. Don't get your panties all in a wad if you don't like my point-of-view. This is a blog, not to be taken any more seriously than CNN or Jane Velez Mitchell on HLN when she screams "there's a war on women" which is also total hysterical bullshit. In short, this is a joke based on actual events currently in the news.

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