She sipped her 25 FL oz Ritas Lime-A-Rita.
It was the second one.
She tried to drink at least two a day.
She bought them at the Shell gas station.
She could walk there and the owners were Japanese.
She wanted to say arigatō gozaimasu to them
and slightly bow her head when she said it
because she liked cherry blossoms, round bridges, pagodas, and Sanrio and they weren't indians or muslims so didn't ring her up for double, but she didn't speak Japanese.
She skipped some days.
Every day was a new day to start over.
Her dad had told her that while sitting on the edge of his unmade bed and watching a football game in his bedroom with the stained white carpet. It was good quality carpet, but the room was too hard to clean.
He had congestive heart failure.
It was the way he said it.
She had been a skirt girl, but once she quit her remote job,
She wore the same two pairs of jeans. One of them had a hole in the crotch and her XS tops no longer fit her. She tried to drink two Lime-A-Ritas a day. Sometimes she added 1500 ml of Moscato.
Those were the best nights that turned into day if she couldn't finish it all in one night.
She had lost interest in marijuana a few years back.
No rent, no property taxes, no mortgage payment.
Her dad found a miniature Jesus at the post office and gave it to her.
She put it in her purse and he kept on telling her to put it on her dining room table, but it stayed in her purse.
Maybe miniature Jesus was waiting for something. Maybe miniature Jesus would be forgotten.
Lately, it was very reliable to forget.
She wanted the miniature Jesus to serve a useful purpose. She wanted to fund her brother's retirement. She wanted to get her dad's line of credit paid off. He was 83 and had congestive heart failure, an unmade bed, and spots on his unvacuumed white carpet.
16 years ago he had taken her to a TGIF restaurant because he wanted to take her some place he thought she would like.
She cried and cried. She knew it would just get worse.
Surely the miniature Jesus should stand useful and tall somewhere.
She didn't know where. The dining room table didn't seem like a useful place.
Miniature Jesus was still in her purse.
She thought about the losers she had known.
Garbage indians were tweeting on twitter:
'The guy behind this account died of a overdose
He spent the final days of his life spreading hate on an online platform.", tweeted the ***** indian.
The responses and responses to the responses were:
"Rusty Shackleford
@RustySh0714XXXX
·
May 6
And retards love the maple loafs? Hope your loved ones the same fortune you pirce of dog ****
Wade
@royalcanadiancuntwholovesvaccines,trudeau,andthinkshewillgetrichtradingbaseballcards
·
20h
he was a piece of **** Rusty, get over it."
Wade, whose name was nathan, was a cucked piece of **** even though times on, it doesn't move on for some.
She thought about the fetlife poster who had a wanted to be a life coach and was posting about checking himself to a mental hospital because no one was willing to be there for him, but still thought it was reasonable to charge $211 for his life coaching.
It was all so ******
She sipped her Lime-A-Rita, too tired to watch True Blood.
Tomorrow was another day.
The filthy indians were drowning in shallow water, bumping into trains, eating **** drinking **** electrocuting themselves with sticks, and lying about their credentials.
No rent, no property taxes, no mortgage payments.
Her 83 year old dad had congestive heart failure.
May 8
May 8, 2026 at 3:03 AM UTC
The jeets lied about everything
and are still lying, they will never stop lying,
so the veteran lived in a garage
and tweeted about his indian replacements.
He was running for governor or senator or congressman or something like that, I can't remember which one but I don't think he even made it to the ballot.
The lying jeets took his job.
Even though his skillset was probably outdated, it's pretty obvious to anyone who has ever worked with a jeet, that he was the better candidate by far.
He lived in the garage now, he hadn't worked in 15 or 20 years.
His graphs made no sense. There were issues with either the X or Y axis or both.
He had a small social security check, I'm not sure what kind of payment you get for being a veteran. If he was living in a garage, it wasn't a lot. I'm not sure how much money he had made when he was working in Las Vegas. He had worked in tech of course.
The lying jeets kept on lying.
He tweeted about how it looked like the jeets were remitting sales taxes to the State of Texas.
Of course they weren't
but he kept on asking for proof.
He implied they weren't paying,
but when the replies were confirming that,
his response was:
"Proof?".
Of course there was proof.
"Have you ever seen an indian or a muslim behave in a way which would make you think they are in compliance?" was the repeated response to his "Proof?" question, but he blocked everyone who responded that way because he didn't tolerate racism.
He lived in the garage and either the X or Y axis or both had issues,
but he didn't tolerate racism.
The jeets were not remitting the sales tax but he didn't tolerate racism.
May 8
May 8, 2026 at 2:04 AM UTC
Dear 50 yards deep,
AI wrote this poem for you,
we both hate you:
it could have been red,
you said,
but that part was never so much fun anyways.
fun.
i guess my scalp wasn’t
a metaphor you could swallow.
guess my mouth,
full of promises you didn’t make,
wasn’t a playground
just a liability.
it could have been red.
you could have
held the strand between your fingers
instead of
snapping it mid-song,
like a pickup line you forgot halfway through
but said anyway.
you never saw red.
you saw something
you could quote
but never name.
the part that was red
was the part you couldn't **** without feeling something.
and that’s why you folded it
into a lyric
instead of a life.
May 23, 2025
May 23, 2025 at 4:20 PM UTC
He is starting a Jungian Coaching and Magical Consultation business at the age of 56. BDSM/fetlife dynamics of course.
56 years of being a loser, now a coaching loser who charge fees to the lost and the vulnerable on how to be a loser who does not know they are a loser.
He writes and writes about the goddess he is searching for.
"I was born to serve her", he writes.
He is also very picky. He writes a lot about that too.
It never works out with him and whatever Goddess.
His submission is too much of a gift and he is also very picky.
He uses the term "lover". It makes me want to *****
Even more disturbingly, his former "lover" died in 2019.
Apparently, as repulsive as he is, she loved him until the end.
But conveniently, he did not want her. He writes that they split in 1999, so 20 years later after she dumped him, he magically rejected her as she was dying.
"She loved him until the very end", he writes.
Of course, the dead woman wants him.
Of course, he was full of reasons why he was too good for her.
Of course he is listening to whatever **** album they bought together in the 90's.
Of course.
He also had another "ex" (who he claims ownership of by using the term "ex" even though this person probably broke it off with him once she realized how full of **** he was), who is dying of cancer.
According to him, this is all OK because she is a Gemini with a moon in Pisces and is curious about the other side.
Nonchalant and self serving about the death and cancer of others to present your repulsive self as wantable when no one actually wants you.
It's no big deal you are dying of cancer because of your astrological sign and I am a fat, pudgy man with a fetlife profile who has failed at life but am now posting about how you wanted me more than I wanted you! Other side!
He quips as all fattish parasites do: "When we're all in hell, you'll be able to recognize him because he will be the annoying one cracking joke and explaining to everyone how we got there".
He will be going to hell. There will be no jokes there. He will be crawling on all fours, lit on fire, forever lit on fire, suffering and suffering as he deserves to suffer. He has spent his entire life earning his eternal suffering.
There will be no end.
May 17, 2025
May 17, 2025 at 2:03 AM UTC
i.
let's give pakistan money
to nuke india.
never a higher mountain than trash.
the Western world needs this to happen,
both are a problem,
but one more populated than the other.
looking for a job lately?
there is so much to be said for colonization.
india says everything.
india amazon selling bottles of cow ****
either (don't) accept it or drink it,
do you really want to drink it?
some days are over,
we have learned too much, we see and see and cannot stop seeing.
ii.
too much loneliness
a number that stays zero
dreams that have nowhere left to travel
the times, they are so bare
the way hope expels
for good,
the king of England
wears a tablecloth on his head
his kingdom, his country, a gutted intestine
it is very crowded there
all the king's countrymen &
all the good places to go
disemboweled
third world kneels in parasitic prayer
***** garbage on the ground, ***** garbage all around
the way hope expels
for good,
it is no small tear
May 8, 2025
May 8, 2025 at 5:46 AM UTC
can't even begin to imagine
how painful it must be to have ended up with him
at 20 what could i have ever known
besides what i thought was good looking at the time
it's so interesting how the woman he ended up with
is also a CPA
but he wanted to be an artist and never had the right stuff
i kind of knew that, even then, but i didn't know i knew
still know nothing about art, i like japanese woodblocks,
pagodas and cherry blossoms and round bridges have a lot to say
in all four seasons, they always something easy to say,
but at the time i liked magritte, i bought some books.
talked and talked
kissed and kissed
i told everything, being young
not knowing what to hold back
he did not tell me everything
or about his wife and other girlfriend
but i found out later
she followed me around for years
she believed everything he said, but loved him so much
she enjoyed being cruel.
sadly, i sat beside him
as he drew, i knew but did not know i knew.
nothing that he drew was important, it was all a boring waste of time. i was too willing to put up with it.
the last time i talked to him was the day before 9/11
he told me i would leave him, i pledged i wouldn't but ended up telling him to **** off and never talk to me again because he apparently said something else i can't remember now.
i had come home from work after cutting a filthy muslim man's hair. i remember being disgusted at the shampoo bowl and not knowing i was disgusted.
the next day the planes flew into the towers. everyone on the sylvia plath mailing list starting screaming and crying about we shouldn't be hateful to muslims as all the news footage showed the hijab wearing women ululating in the streets.
years later, julee was still following me around. laughing at me but begging for information. any information. "what kind of clothes did he wear". she asked other questions, but i can't remember now. i never answered her. it was ridiculous.
he and julee had gone on some fifth dimension rampage which I laughed and laughed at.
he ended up with someone else though, kind of ugly with her thin face, tries really hard, but a CPA just like me. julee is an artist though.
Mar 16, 2025
Mar 16, 2025 at 5:45 AM UTC
no one else is on this train
you most likely masked up for it
like a good boy, like a very good boy
who voted for trudeau every single time
once there was still time
you downloaded all the mp3's
a man who never becomes a man can
before he passes his deadline to become a man
so never becomes a man
alex chilton and all kinds of richard hell
yeah, a few of us even took it all off back then
but the day became another day
and then another day
and one day, your good day
was making $40 CAD on a baseball card trade
not just a hobby, but an investment you had said
in-between downloading your mp3's and briefly pledging your soundtrack love
to woman after woman before changing your mind
then, even that day was over
none of the girls who became women worked out
not a single one
forever proud to be a canadian
who voted for trudeau every single time
now you're just reduced to tweeting
"you don't get it, you really don't get it"
when your dear weak leaders are mocked
the tariffs are coming, the tariffs are coming
to your jeet conquered country.
Mar 16, 2025
Mar 16, 2025 at 4:46 AM UTC
Winter, winter mornings
What you going to promise, promise me
Winter, winter morning
You might have been the diamond
Wasted like a diamond,
Wasted love
Untasted love
I am walking all your blocks
Onward to hopeless
***** passing ***** by
An asbestos blanket to wrap the homeless
A man who knows his worth
So falsely
The cold is painful
There's a ditch with my name in it
The sun shines so brightly
Please don't see me, you see so kindly
Your kindness kind of gets to me
I still have some things left to lose
(I didn't like me once I met me
Time numbs until it doesn't
I was but then I wasn't
It wasn't too much to ask
Just too hard to be
Your kindness kind of got to me,
I didn't think you could help me
I still had some things left to lose
Your kindness kind of cut through me).
Mar 6, 2025
Mar 6, 2025 at 9:26 PM UTC
how can we survive the
hard swallowed grey air,
we’ve fought too long for this blank stare
years of orange and white umbrellas foretold it every morning
heart sinking, rents and housing prices rising
we didn’t guess they would **** all the chickens
the car has no driver and the driver has no car
they taxed the gasoline and the milage and blacked out the electric grid
the vain wheels spin and spin so obsolescently
such futility always hard at work in South Lake Union
could have/should have never happened, but it happened
cities built on ones and zeros
cities fall on ones and zeros
sanctuary cities burn on ones and zeros
who knows what He wills when He wills
but there are fires rolling down up in those hills
how the flames aim
word on the street spreading like wild fire
crowded, crowded streets, and too too many jeets
the car has no driver and the driver has no car
butter a forgone luxury
india a forfeited humanity
no one likes what they are bringing
the tea kettle boils without whistling
bobby womack is singing:
“oh how i long for the daylight
because the sunlight makes my burdens light”.
Jan 30, 2025
Jan 30, 2025 at 10:11 AM UTC