Then again, because there's always a rule that proves the exception, a sideways blessing is often a curse. As is the case with the brilliant new credit-card marketing campaign conceived by Davezilla. You must see this. Namaste!

Plus, I think we need at least one more paragraph's distance from the just awful, tasteless -- and very likely actionable -- material below. Putting a bag over your ex-lover's head, even in jest, is inexcusable. I know. It's just that she's been so fucking mean to me. And yeah, I know, I know already. Guys aren't supposed to whine about this sort of thing. If some woman feels like treating you like homemade shit, that's just the way it's gonna be. Or some man, yeah, yeah, I don't want to start stereotyping or generalized woman bashing here. But have you seen the way they drive? Jesus Christ! Of course, one has to take these things on a case-by-case basis. In this case, the woman was a stuck-up little snot. Can I go to jail for saying that? God, I hope so. I haven't watched TV in two and a half years, and I know the Boulder Country slammer has HBO. But perhaps I'm getting a bit off-track again. What I'm trying to say here is that now that I'm fifty-fucking-five years old, you might expect that I'd have acquired a little wisdom along the way. Sadly, no. Underneath my reserved business-guru persona, I'm just a street punk who crashed the e-commerce party and made off with a nice little piece of loot for telling everybody they were fucked up. In other words, the simple truth. I see no reason I should not apply this demonstrably winning strategy in my personal affairs. What it's come down to for me though is major mid-life decision. Truth or celibacy. Come to think of it, wasn't there a television show called that?

I don't suppose it would help if I said I'm not really crazy, would it? I mean, shit, if I were reading this blog for the first time, and I was a normal person (bear with me here), I'd think whoever wrote it belonged in an institution. I was in one once, but I escaped -- a story my daughter delights in telling her school chums. "Yeah, that's nothing. My dad escaped from a locked mental ward." Maybe I should have stayed. But they were going to turn me in to the cops for the kilo of grass they found stashed under my bed. So, after hiding in the graveyard for a while, it was off to New York. Helluva town. I dunno, I guess I might have made a wrong turn somewhere along the line. But fuck it, you know? And besides, I think this whole mental health thing is way overrated. I mean, it's not like I've killed anybody yet. It's true that I get very very angry sometimes and blog things I feel bad about later. Sometimes right after I stop laughing my ass off, like with the bag thing. Sure it's in bad taste, but do I give a shit? Is a proven sociopath supposed to give a shit? No. That right there would be bad form. I try to at least be predictable so people can get out of my way when they see me getting that certain look. Of course yes, I occasionally do say not very nice things to women I am otherwise fond of going to bed with, and then I can go whole years without getting laid. So like I said, it's a problem. But I'm getting help. I'm working on it. And with the grace of God, by gosh I'm gonna lick it one of these days! btw, what'd you think of the eye chart? Who would have guessed the font was Rockwell something or other. Not me. That part alone took about three hours. Hey, if it's all the same to you, I'm logging off now. I haven't slept in about 59 hours and I'm getting trails from the meds. I thought this shit was supposed to make you better, but look at me. I'm a wreck. My nerves are shot, I can't get any action, and I suddenly think everything is funny. Frankly, I'm getting a little worried myself.