Lumphini Stadium

Sorry for the lack of posting lately. I've been doing a lot, and when I have free time, I've usually been too exhausted to spend it blogging. So today I want to tell you about something that at least two of my readers want to know about: watching a Muay Thai kickboxing event.

I--just I, the wife was getting a girly spa treatment--got to Lumphini (pronounced Loom-PEENI)stadium on Saturday night at about 7 pm. At the moment I reached Lumphini's threshold--and we're talking about a wide threshold--I was tackled by a ticket saleswoman offering to sell me seating. There were three kinds of seat to purchase--1,000 Baht ($30) for far away seating, 1,500 Baht ($45) for nearby seating, and 2,000 Baht ($60, obviously) for ringside seating. I opted for ringside seating, because it's my honeymoon, and the honeymoon gods demand blood.

Unfortunately, I couldn't go into Lumphini until 8:15, because there was another set of fights going on at the time; so I was going to see the second set of fights.

So I had to wait. Luckily, there was a little bit for me to do while waiting: namely, eat, drink, and observe. So, I decided to buy a beer--a Chang (=elephant) beer--for 40 Baht ($1.21) and look around.

The first thing to note was that there were two kinds of ticket salespeople: yellow-shirted people who appeared to work for Don King promotions, and red-shirted people who worked for God knows who. Unfortunately, I had bought a ticket from a yellow-shirted tentacle of the Don King octopus.

Second, I looked at the list of fights for that night. There were ten fights, and next to each number was listed both the fighters' ridiculously unpronounceable names, as well as their similarly elongated training camps' names. What was most curious, though, was the weights for these fighters. For the first three fights, each of the competitors' weights was 100 lbs. I know fighters can be pretty small, but I didn't know they could be that small. Finally, the main eventers' weights were 128 and 130 lbs. They were the heaviest ones. So, lots of speedy fighters on the bill.

Third, as I waited, I saw two of the fighters--both Westerners--waltz out of the stadium. "That's a bit off", I thought. "Why don't they use some special entrance?" (How did I know they were fighters? Because they were wearing shorts, black shirts with Thai lettering on it, had hot girlfriends, and, oh yeah, their faces were red and puffy from being punched and kicked a lot.)

Fourth, Chang beer was not very good. It's time to buy a Singh. 50 Baht ($1,51). (While I was buying a Singh, an Australian sidled up next to me and asked for a Singh as well. "50 baht!" he was told. "No! 30!" he loudly purred (only Australians can pull that off). "50!" she repeated. "OK." "Does that bargaining technique ever work?" I asked. "Not really," he Australiaed.

I was finally let in at 8:10. As is to be expected, people who buy their tickets from King volunteers get a raw deal; we're let in second, whereas the people who bought from the redshirts are let in first.

What I didn't expect was how small Lumphini is; probably only a few thousand could fit in there. Also, ringside didn't make much difference. The 1,500 Baht seats were pretty close as well. What about the 1,000 Baht seats? Ah, these, I think, were just for Thais. Think: The Deerhunter. That is, a bunch of old, screaming Asian man yelling at a bookie. Also, Christopher Walken's dead body was there. I don't think I would have been comfortable for 1,000 Baht.

I took my seat at ringside and waited around a bit. Nothing doing, really, so I decided I wanted to pee. I went to the restroom, and whom did I pass on the way there? All of tonight's fighters! They were right back there stretching, jumping around, and doing Thai stuff. If they let schlubs like me next to the fighters, I guess it makes sense that they don't have a separate exit.

I waited around a bit, and then the action started (at about 8:40). The first two competitors came to the ring, and I instantly realized why they were listed as being 100 pounds: because they're 12 years old. Imagine that: 12-year olds fighting in front of a room full of cheering strangers. This is a great country.

Now, one thing about Muay Thai is that there is kooky music and dancing before each match; with these kids there was no difference, except that they were really phoning in the dancing.

Anyway, off to the fights. While I thoroughly applaud putting 12-year olds in death matches, I give a thumbs down to the skill level displayed. They were not very strong, kinda slow, and boring. At least the matches were only one 6 1-minute rounds.

Next bout. A couple more kids fighting. This time they were fourteen. Ho hum. More boring...holy crud, these kids are kind of good. Wait, this is actually exciting! Hey, these kids are evenly matched, and they're kneeing each other and taking each other down! And every time, the kid in blue knees the kid in red, his corner-people--there are about twenty of them--scream, "knee!!"--and every time the red kid knees the blue kid, the people in his corner scream out some gibberish in Thai! What a glorious sport.

OK, on to the third bout. More kids. But now I'm interested. They fight for a couple rounds, and it's like the first match. Round 1, a bit slow, but round 2 was fast and exciting. Round 3 was...HOLY SHIT! A 14-YEAR OLD JUST KNOCKED ANOTHER 14-YEAR OLD OUT WITH AN ELBOW TO THE FACE! AND I WATCHED IT!! THERE IS A GOD!!

The next match was between older gentlemen, but I had seen my fill. It was late at night, and time to go home. Thailand was beginning to prove its point. There's more to it than just smiling scam artists and great food. There's also schoolyard fights between the baddest kids you know broadcast in vibrant technicolor.

Awesome.

Oh yeah: F**k Rashad Evans.

Everything

So Mom and I went to Dorothy Lane Market late last night. It was around 2am or so. Mom bought some chocolate covered raisins in a plastic container. The checkout lady was attempting to run them through the scanner and accidentally opened the box, spilling chocolate covered raisins all over the floor.

As we continued to ring up items, a guy who must have been 85 if he was a day came toddling up to buy some milk and a piece of cake. I am assuming 85 or so not just because he looked it, but also because he mentioned that he had been married for 60 years. The checkout lady warned him as he approached, "be careful, there are raisins on the floor." The old guy looked down, saw the raisins and said, "Now I've seen everything!"

This was an interesting sentiment to hear from a guy who had spent 85 years on this earth. I would figure that he ought to say something like, "Okay." Or, "That's annoying." Or even, "Better watch out for those spilled raisins."

As it is I have to assume one of two things. 1. He is a shut in who has lived in a closet (with his wife) for his entire life and this was the night he ventured out to try things beyond his wildest dreams. In this case, milk, cake, and spilled raisins. Or 2. This guy has seen everything. He has wrestled bears in the backwoods of Russia, he has surfed the biggest waves of Fiji, he was an astronaut and spent time in space. But somehow it was this event - the witnessing of spilled chocolate covered raisins - that he had never had the fortune to come across... until now. The last puzzle piece was finally in place and he had filled out the checklist of human experience.

I am going with the latter. God bless you, Biff Spaceman, and your lifetime of maximized human achievement.

And you're welcome.

Bangkok

First, about the food: I'm not going to get to the food until I have more data. Suffice it to say, there is an incredible array of weird (duck's beaks, flower salads, butterfly pea soda) and delicious (red curry sauce with roasted duck chunks, flakes of dried pork, and salted egg--that's one dish) food here.

Second, let me say something about Bangkok.

I'm not going to intersperse lines of the song from Chess into this post--too obvious. So instead, I'll intersperse lines from Rammstein's "du hast."

As is well known, "du hast"--"you hate"--begins with the lines (translated from the German), "You/You hate/You hate me/You hate me to say/You hate me to say/And I did not obey."Well, that's a lot like Bangkok. I had heard so much about how everyone in Thailand is so friendly, no one loses their cool, Thailand's main industry is tourism, etc., but don't believe it. Well, believe that no one loses their cool and that Thailand's main industry is tourism, but don't believe that everyone is so friendly. It's not that everyone is friendly. It's that everyone smiles.

Walking through Bangkok at any time of day, if you're a white person, is like walking through a city where everyone in the service industry constantly tries to bend your ear, begging you to realize that you're taking a taxi or a tuk tuk or that you want fine jewelry. Really, it's exactly like that. It's eerie.

Everyone wants you to do something, and they're always smiling, but it's just a facade; you know how, when you're on a desert island, your friends start looking like roasted chicken legs? Well in Thailand almost everyone has been deserted by their money, and tourists look like big, ambulatory, burlap sacks with dollar signs on them. All the Thais want to do is convince you to take a ride in their tuk tuk and then open you up and scoop out your insides.

Not only is that, well, objectifying, but it means that the city is really, at the end of it, a very unfriendly place. You can't ask anyone for help because they either don't speak English, or if they do, they will not help you, but instead take you to their jewelry store. Consequently, when you're feeling bedraggled because of the unlabeled streets, the congestion, the pollution, and the innumberable specks of crap that float through the city and land, over and over again, in your eyes, you don't feel like this is, as Rammstein has it, a city that will "Be upright to her forever".

That said, wife and I are really looking forward to Chang Mai. It's supposedly much more laid back. I'll let you know tomorrow or the next day.

Scam, scam, scam, scammity scam!

When we last left off, I told you I had been scammed by a wily stranger. Here's what happened.

A man stood in front of a sign saying, "Do not trust wily strangers." Next to him stood an armed soldier. This created the appearance of trustworthiness in the wily stranger, at least to me and wife.

The wily stranger was dressed in a suit and tie, which added to his authority. Wife and I stood in front of the gate to the Golden Palace, a major site in Thailand. It was about 12:30 pm.

He asked us, "what are you looking for?" We said, "the entrance to the Golden Palace."

"Oh, it's closed today until 3:30 pm--there's a Buddhist holiday, and it's full of Buddhist monks. Did you not know about he Buddhist holiday?", he asked, incredulously. His incredulity added to the effectiveness of his facade. I mean, it's obvious that we should have known about the Buddhist holiday, right? "Where you from?" "USA--Los Angeles." "Ah, Obama!"

What?

"Do you speak Thai?", he asked. We of course admitted that we didn't. He asked, again incredulously, "do you know about today's discount?" We admitted that we didn't know what he was talking about. "Today, because it's Christmas and there are so many tourists, eveyone gets a good discount. You just have go to the Thai Tourist Authority (TTA)! Here--I'll have my friend take you!"

From out of nowhere, his friend, a Tuk Tuk driver--Tuk Tuks are motorized rick-shaws, for lack of a better description--materialized. This fellow promised to charge us only 20 Baht per person to take us to the TTA. (It's about 35 Baht to the dollar, so all told this trip would cost us slightly more than $1.) We sort of said, well... and the wily stranger added, "come on, he take you to standing Buddha, and then to TTA, and then back to the Golden Palace!"

Now, let's stop for a moment. Of course we didn't know about the Buddhist holiday. Why would we have--we can't understand Thai, and we don't watch Thai TV. Second, what is the TTA? Something he made up, I'd wager. Third, I should be wary of materializing strangers--sudden materialization bespeaks conjury, or Star Trek transporter devices, both of which are bad news for the people involved with them.

Anway, we got in the Tuk Tuk.

As the Tuk Tuk tuk tuk'd away (they're called Tuk Tuks because that's the sound they make as they motor along, supposedly. However, the relationship between "tuk tuk" and the sound Tuk Tuks make is about the same as the relationship between the sound of the word "smash!" and you smashing a glass), I noticed something interesting. The Tuk Tuk's driver was lower to the ground than we were. In addition, there was a canvas top that prevented us from seeing anything clearly. So we didn't know where we were going, we couldn't speak or read Thai, and we couldn't see. It was like being blindfolded and kidnapped by a minotaur. You're in a maze, you can't see, the minotaur can kill you if he wants to, and you're in a maze to boot. The whole thing is really overkill.

Anyway, wife and I figured at this point that we were being scammed. I just hoped that he didn't entrust us to the loving embrace of brigands. Wife worried about being taken to a jewelry store. Neither of those things happened. Instead, we were taken to the Standing Buddha, a 45 meter tall golden Buddha statue. We took a look around, and were informed by some nearby Thais that if we gave them 90 Baht they would free a bird (presumably, one they had captured). What's the benefit of freeing a captured bird? Apparently, good luck for the rest of your life.

I declined.

Anyway, we went into a temple near the standing Buddha and saw some monks listening to iPods and making Buddhist art.

Whatever.

Then we went back to our Tuk Tuk driver. He hadn't asked for any money yet, and he actually took us to a standing Buddha. Maybe this would turn out not to be a scam after all! When we got back to the Tuk Tuk driver, he told us he had to go to the bathroom. It would only take 3 minutes. We waited in the Tuk Tuk, and a completely random stranger came up to us and started talking to us. "Where you from?" "USA--Los Angeles", we said. "Ah, Obama!" he replied.

I'm beginning to think this is going to become the international greeting from foreigners to USAers. Could be worse, I guess. They could say, "Ah! Bernie Madoff!" Or "Ah! USA Bailout!"

Anyway, he started telling us that we should get a suit--that Thai suits are very well made, and that there's a special discount only for today. Tomorrow, we won't be able to get suits at all. Moreover, we should go to the TTA, because there we can make bookings for hotels, because this is the busiest travel time of the year, and all the hotels are full. So we better book now. Really, we have to do this all today, because tomorrow, they won't sell us the suits or the hotel rooms. It's "more better" if we do this today.

Finally, a bit fed up, I asked him, "how come the suit stores and hotels won't take tourists' money after Christmas? Why don't they want to sell things to people after Christmas?"

This actually perplexed him. He stilled for a moment. Then he thought about it. And then he said...well, I can't reproduce what he said. Because, frankly, what he said was a string of almost incomprehensible gibberish. Not only was the accent thick, but the contents were mysterious. What I gleaned, though, was something like: "they have to stop selling tomorrow, because if they sold even tomorrow then they wouldn't have any stuff for Thai people."

I should have punched him then and there. Instead, his cell phone rang, and he stopped talking to us, and once again the Tuk Tuk driver materialized out of nowhere. "OK, we go to TTA now, OK?"

OK!

He drove us for a while, and took us to what looked for all the world like a storefront. "This is the TTA?" "Yes, this is TTA. They give you information."

Well, I like information.

We went inside, where we discovered a room full of suits! And several Indian proprieters asking us to sit down and have a look around.

I asked a question of the Indian proprieter who was servicing us. "Uh, I was told that we'd be given information, but I wasn't told the nature or contents of this information. Do you know what information we're supposed to learn?"

"Yes, information about buying suits."

Ah. I was always wondering how to give a stranger money to get a good or service in return. Finally, this question would be answered.

I thanked him for this valuable information and we went right back out to the Tuk Tuk driver. "We go now?" He asked. "Yes we want to go to the Golden Palace. No where else but the Golden Palace!" Wife said. He assented and started driving us away.

We drove, disorientedly, for some time. Then all of a sudden we found ourselves turning in to a jewelry store! "No! No, we don't want to go here!" wife said. "Are you sure?" said the driver. "Yes, we're sure! We don't want to go here!" "Maybe you go?" "No!" "But maybe?" "No!" "But maybe you go?" Finally, I said "yes, please take us there."

I should say, what motivated me to go there was that we were having this conversation right in the middle of a busy street. I mean, literally, right in the middle. Like, we were blocking traffic in both directions, and cars swerved around us. I figured I'd put that nonsense to an end and start with a whole new amount of nonsense.

So we went to the jewelry store.

"You have to stay for ten minutes!", he gently commanded us. "I no get gas coupon unless you stay for ten minutes!" So we went into the jewelry store. We were assigned a certified Thai hussler to show us around the store and tell us what to buy. We quickly abandoned her and went to another segment of this maze-like store, where we were assigned another Thai hustler. Finally, we shook her off and went to the third chamber of this discount dungeon and waited around looking at food until ten minutes were up. Then we went back to the Tuk Tuk driver.

"Please take us to the Golden Palace!" we implored him. "One more stop!" he responded. "No, no more stops! Golden Palace!" "But it's fashion for you!" he pointed to wife. "I don't want fashion!" "Why not?" "Because we're not here for that!" I said. "Are you sure?" "Yes! Please take us to Golden Palace!" "But I get gas coupon if you look for five minutes!" We told him we didn't want to go.

So he took us in his Tuk Tuk and off we went. We drove for quite a while, and I was sure he would just take us to the fashion panopticon anyway, but lo and behold he didn't! He just took us to the Golden Palace. I paid him his 40 baht and we got out of the Tuk Tuk.

"Now, you smarter." He said.

And so we were.

One last thing: the Golden Palace is open to everyone every day, and it closes at 3:30.

We still managed to see it, though.

Thailand: So Thai-erd.

Well, I'm in Thailand. Writing on a computer. In their business center.

How did I get here? It's all a blur. There was some payment involved, though. Oh yes, and there was also an 11-hour flight, followed by a 30 min "break" (which consisted of my wife and me running to our gate), followed by a 7-hour flight, which collective ordeal I entitle, "The Bataan death sit."

Here's a little more detail, though: it was December 23. I turned in my grades (I'm a professor, so I have to grade stuff) and the final draft of a paper to a journal (I'm a professor, so I have to write stuff), and then, wow, it was already 6 am! I didn't sleep at all! The night before 18 hours of flying!

So wife and I were picked up at 6:30 am by a super shuttle and we found ourselves in with five Indians: a man, a woman, and three children. "So...how do you guys know each other?", I imagined myself saying. But I didn't. I also imagined myself suddenly shrieking in a Big Bird voice 40 minutes into the drive, but I didn't do that either. (One of the girl-children was sick, though. I overheard her mom ask her, "do you want to womit?" I sure didn't want her to womit. The smell of womit makes me want to womit, so if she had womited, I would have womited.)

Now, on to the flights: the first flight was a mere 11 hours. It takes 11 hours of sitting on a cramped plane for you to realize that it's actually hard work sitting on your ass. Like, I could literally feel the bed sores developing. And then, when you fly for 7 more hours, it's really like sensory deprivation. I had no idea what time it was, whether it was night or day, how many hours I'd slept, how many meals I'd missed, and so on. I did see The Mummy: Tomb of the Dragon Emperor, though. That movie takes an awful glib view regarding mummy-death.

I should say a couple of things right now, though: the main airport in Tokyo, which was where our layover was: not like Bladerunner. In fact, not even like Bladewalker. More like stationary butterknife. Very disappointing. I expected the flight attendants to be fighting off giant penis-monsters, and there was nothing like that at all.

The Thai airport? Made in 2006. Very glass-filled. The whole airport is made of glass and spices.

We took a cab from the airport to our hotel (the price? $30. Not as cheap as I'd hoped.). When we got to the hotel: a nice, long sleep to Erin Brockovich. She was on the TV.

The next day, we decided to hit the sites. First, though, breakfast. I got the typical Thai breakfast consisting of a salmon and cream cheese bagel, two pancakes with cherried strawberries, eggs hollandaise, papaya with lemon juice, a croissant, and dragon-fruit (like a cross between coconut and blueberries). Also, Chinese apples, I think, which are like a cross between apples and sugarcane.

Then, we went out to the Reclining Buddha. Many meters of tired Buddha. We took pictures.

After that, we went to the Grand Palace. I took a picture of a sign that said "Beware of wily strangers." Who was standing next to that sign? An armed soldier. Who was standing next to him? A wily stranger! In fact, the stranger was this wily: he stood in front of a sign that said to beware of him, next to a government official who could overhear everything he said. Now, you might think: not so wily. But you'd be wrong! Because why would a wily stranger stand in front of a sign to beware of wily strangers? Because he reversed psychologized the hell out of us! So much so, in fact, that he scammed wife and me. Here's how...

Oh, wait, I'll leave the scam to my next entry. Suffice it to say, wife and I are fine, and we're only out $1. Which is like a year's salary to these people.

Stay tuned.

To a girl who really likes Netflix. She mentioned it like 3 times.

I enjoyed reading your profile. I was particularly drawn to your interest in Netflix. It's not commonly know due to the web 2.0 connotation of its moniker, but Netflix was actually named after my grandfather, Netto Flix. Netto came from the old country of Lithuania with only two things - an idea for a movie delivery service and a plan to run a clone of Abraham Lincoln for president. Though Netto spent all his time and fortune on the latter idea, it was the former that captured the attention of a young Marc Randolph who befriended my grandfather, got him drunk on gin, then bludgeoned him to death with a bowling pin and stole the plan. In a moment of awkward regret, Marc named the company after the man from whom he stole the idea for its inception.

Also, I like those red wrappers.

Joe

To a girl who really likes lolcats

I enjoyed your profile as I also am drawn to lolcats. Recently I began laying the foundation for a completely novel online gaming community based on this meme. The premise is simple: virtual cats programmed to behave like real cats wander around a maze filled with narrow, monorail-like beams, invisible objects of all kinds, and a kindly walrus. Human players, through avatars, observe the cats via a panopticon-like virtual lens and press buttons with phrases like "Oh noes!" "Ize got a murder-urge" and "Invsble uvulaectomy!" The resulting parallel universe of cat-based destruction comedy brings joy to our world.

Of course, if this virtual experiment doesn't work, I will release 1000 rabid, stray cats into an insane asylum.

Joe

More virtual skirt chasing.

To this girl. She likes Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

Hello.

I enjoyed your profile. I too am a fan of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I discovered the show while researching ways to deal with my neighbor who is clearly of Nosferatu-disposition and has plans upon my person, most likely to seize ownership of my mountain bike as it has a comfort ride seat which vampires are know to appreciate. Unfortunately, I quickly discovered that despite the show's very direct and informational title, it's largely about people smooching and wanting to be smooched.

While this may be interesting TV to some, it does little to help me hide my neighbor's body which, surprisingly, did not turn into a puddle of water or protoplasm when I put a stake through his heart. Any advice you may have gleaned from the program would be appreciated.

Joe
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No response yet. I'll let you know.

A response!

This is from that denim designer I said seemed "mean." I might need to take that back for it seems she has a sense of humor. Her response and my reply to said response below:

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cyborgs never listen. instead of beating him, maybe you should try water boarding- i hear it's totally legal & humane to boot.

re: your list of why you can't date a girl... that will probably be a problem. "father" tells me that the end is near & that we must gain as many new "brothers" & sisters" as possible before the spaceship comes to take the chosen ones... so yeah... you really need to be open to it.

also... i don't do art BUT if you have any excess back skin to spare, i am making a coat for my hairless cat. she gets really cold when i take her for walks.

michelle

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Michelle,

I checked my book on the Geneva Convention and I am vexed to report my confusion. Guillaume, my cyborg, is only 50% human so "humane" water boarding only partially applies! As this is one of those gray areas of human morality, the beatings will continue.

So, I am in agreement with your Pater. Clearly the end is nigh. I am glad to hear others are also encouraging the apocalypse so maybe, just this once, I will bend my rule about joining a cult. What kind of uniform do we wear? And what body parts must we sacrifice to persuade the mother ship to change her orbit and approach our planet?

And now, what you have been waiting for. The pièce de résistance (or perhaps, the coup de grâce, regardless, it's better in French) a glistening descriptiton of my junk -

It was made by Wa-Chen. It is capable of carrying 700 people together with 260 tons of cargo. The four sails do not face directly forward, but are set obliquely, and so arranged that they can all be fixed in the same direction, to receive the wind and to spill it. Those sails which are behind the most windward one receiving the pressure of the wind, throw it from one to the other, so that they all profit from its force. If it is violent, (the sailors) diminish or augment the surface of the sails according to the conditions. This oblique rig, which permits the sails to receive from one another the breath of the wind, obviates the anxiety attendant upon having high masts. Thus these ships sail without avoiding strong winds and dashing waves, by the aid of which they can make great speed.

Boo-yah. Mission accomplished: You are horny.

Joe
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More to come!

My First Los Angeles Experience

Although I've lived in the LA (not Louisiana) area for a few months now, I haven't until a few days ago had a prototypically LA experience. What was that experience?

Picture this: a bus slows to a stop on the right lane of a busy street. Cars zip past its left, but one unlucky driver gets stuck behind it. He's clearly agitated, but he can't pass it. So finally, when he can pass it, he slows down near one of the passengers getting in, opens his window, and screams, "GET A CAR!"

I like this move for two reasons. First, if the fellow did get a car, it would only make things worse for the driver. Buses, horrible as they are, actually cut down on congestion. Second, he seems to think that the only reason people take the bus in the first place is that they're just too damn lazy to man up and get a car.

Damn, freeloading bus-riders.

Correspondence with women.

To an artsy type girl:

YOUR PROFILE

I like it. It is the kind of thing that angered the gods of Easter Island and drove the inhabitants mad with idol-building fervor.

I own X-box.

Rapa-Nui.

Joe

No response yet. Not a great effort, but I am just getting started.

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To a girl whose screen name had ATHENA in it.

Athena is a good name.

I like it for she sprang forth from the head of Zeus fully formed. And she was the goddess of wisdom.

As we need more wisdom in the world, I make it my mission to free as many avatars of Athena as I can from the mortal constraints of passers-by. I have a holy axe and I use it on anyone who seems to have un-excavated wisdom in their cranium. The authorities do not understand my holy mission so if we go to Appleby's together, I will eat my riblets under the table as you watch out for infidels.

Yours in parthenogenesis,

Joe

No response yet. But better, funnier, weirder.

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To a girl who had red hair and talked a lot about cutting hair in her profile. She reminds me a lot of my ex-wife.

Hello

You are new to the site therefore I must congratulate you on your decisiveness.

I enjoyed your comments about cutting hair. Currently my haircuts are performed at an insane asylum on the 13th of every month. Not only does this reduce the cost of my haircuts, but it also gives the inmates something more constructive to do than their typical schedule of macaroni sculpting, TV watching, and forced sodomy. I like to think of it as my form of charity. Occasionally an inmate will attempt to force a foreign object into my head but as it's usually imaginary - a demon, a ghost, a secret box made incarnate from the third promise of Fatima - it doesn't actually hurt.

Red is a good color. Your hair is the color of Santa Claus' blood.

Joe

No response yet. But this is fairly good. I wimped out a bit on the Santa line.
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To a girl who is some kind of denim fashion designer and had a truly exhaustive list of why she won't date someone. Most notable, if they talk about the size of their "junk." She seems, for lack of a better word, mean.

Hello

I read your entry about why you cannot date someone. It was voluminous and bespoke a difficult path with regards to dating. I also have a list of why I cannot date a girl.

1 - You want me to join a cult. I cannot get group married again.
2 - You want to cut out large swathes of my back-skin for your art project. Once is too many times there, missy!
3 - You won't let me tell you about my junk. Really, this i don't get. I have junk from flotsam piles acrosss the globe. You would be surprised how interesting the dimensions of Burmese refuse can truly be.
4 - You don't believe in the cyclops god. He is real and he is watching with his one baleful eye. His foe is Ulysses and sheep.
5 - You object to my weapons collection and predilection for police station arson.

I would like to see your denim. I am building a cyborg and much of his inner workings are unattractive. This is because I beat him but it's really his fault. He won't listen.

Joe

No response yet. Too direct an attack, I think.

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To a girl who is a vegan. Her tag line was "Nasty, Brutish, and Short."

I appreciate your Hobbesian tag line.

I found much to appreciate in your profile. I can sympathize with your veganism in a Peter Singerish way. I personally do eat meat but I have learned to only eat meat from animals that die of old age. This way no cruelty can come of it.

Sure, some people are discomfited by my haunting of animal old age homes and once or twice I was accused of talking animals into suicide in all night, Hannibal Lecter-like jam sessions... but at the end of the day these animals chose to take their lives. One was in a bad master-pet relationship, the other had been castrated by a thoughtless owner. They had reasons to go to the other side. Is it my fault they left behind such tasty corpses? Of course not.

It is my adventures, by the way, that gave rise to the title, "Silence of the Lambs."

And it was a COW'S liver. And Pinto beans.

Joe

No response yet.

_____________________________________________________________

To a girl who lives in West Hollywood where I also reside and claims to read a book a day. Unlikely at best.

Hello

I also share your passion for the written word. So much so that some months ago I affixed a pair of wax lips to a Roget's Thesaurus and made out with it mightily. It began as a burning flame of desire until Rogette's confectionery lips began to disintegrate under the constant barrage of my smooch cannon. Suffice it to say, Rogette's days d'amour are behind me and it is now time to move on to a new voluptuary. I found you on this site and your appeal is vast... in addition to your numerous literary and filmic qualities, you live close and I hate to drive.

Joe

No response yet, but I did just send it.

Joe!

Dating

Hello all. It has been a long time since I blogged but now it is time. I have recently embarked on a new journey in dating. My goal in dating is simple: comedy. I know some people date for romantic purposes but as that hasn't worked, I am changing tactics.

I signed up for an account on a dating site called OKCupid!. My profile has pictures but is otherwise recreated for you below:

My self-summary

Girls do not like nice guys so let me make it known I am not a nice guy. On most first dates I like to get in bar fights... not with you, of course, but with some random guy who gives you the eye.

After that, as we flee from the police, I will give you a prison-tattoo to commemorate the occasion... something like a a skull with an axe in it or maybe a robot giving the finger.

Next, as we hide in the house of a terrified stranger waiting for the police helicopters to pass by, I will break down weeping because of any one of a multitude of issues... work, family, divorce, whatever. Then I will get hopelessly drunk leaving you to figure out our escape route.

Once we have escaped the roadblocks the SWAT teams have set up, we'll share a piece of pie in a roadside diner with no name. I'll try to have sex with you in the bathroom. You'll say yes or no but either way I won't call again.

If there's a second date, it will be because we were put on a reality show together. Something where, ideally, Brett Michaels is involved.

What I'm doing with my life

I spend a lot of time building my perfect post-apocalypse shelter. I used to say fallout shelter, but there's no guarantee the eschaton is coming in a blast of radiation. It could be anything that brings us over the edge... Famine, Islamic fundamentalism, Prop 8 marches, financial insolvency, my recently synthasized flesh-eating virus. The list is endless.

Anyway my shelter is pretty awesome. It has carpeted walls and a mini-fridge.

I'm really good at

Stabbing. Breaking things. Stealing from the unsuspecting. Giving cute names to non-cute things. Drinking gasoline. Screaming at God. Avoiding the detection of government. Comparing all who disagree with me to Hitler. Disappointing your parents. Phrenology. Dyspepsia. Setting glass eyes.

The first thing(s) people usually notice about me

I'm tall, 6'2"

After that they notice the robot arm, the necklace of ears, and my hawkservant Alphonso.

My favorite books, movies, music, and food

The only book I read is Stalking for Dummies. A book I also wrote.

The only movie I have ever seen is Deep Throat.

The only music I listen to is clown music. You know, that tune they play when a bunch of them drive around in a little car.

The only food I eat is that which I kill for myself. And Cocoa Pebbles.

The six things I could never do without

The Internet
A robot manservant
My cloak of invisibility
A hyperspeed rocketpack
A machine that makes anything I want
Coffeemaker

I spend a lot of time thinking about

What you did, you filthy minx.

On a typical Friday night I am

Ritually gutting a goat. This is important to my religion so if we start dating, all Fridays are off the table.

The most private thing I'm willing to admit here

I think a gnome lives in my stomach and it's his crazed desires that drive me to do the evil I do. And I loved Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants. It's not just for girls!

You should message me if

You are looking for another chapter in your memoirs and, like all women, yours is becoming dangerously too close to something David Sedaris wrote. I will shake it up, believe that.


So that is my profile. The site also gives you little banners that describe your character... I went for maximun perviness with a touch of Republicanism because I know how girls in Los Angeles like that.

NEXT: My correspondence with women!