Jesus Wept

So it seems my most recent Facebook status struck a chord with Wednesday 13 and his legion of pseudo-badass brain-dead fans.  Here is the offending status:

Last night was a great success. Despite there only being a couple hundred people there, I kicked ass. I got to roast the lighting guy from stage for being a cunt to my family. Sold a pile of shirts. Joseph Poole (Wednesday 13) is an idiot. What the fuck is with the spoken word? People want to hear music, not you bragging about being friends with Marilyn Manson. It’s always great to see great friends like Jake Disman, Steve Hoeg, Lindsay Buckley, Jeff Tomlinson, Peter Cameron, Tamara LeClair, Kevin LeClair, Shelley Elder, Aleksander Major, Matthew MacGyver, Brittaney N Jake Benford, and the most important of them all, Lucy McTavish.

Great night. Thanks to everyone.

DH

So this made it back to Wednesday 13 and he went and posted it on his fan page.  This is what he said:

W13 fans:

This piece of shit decided to fuck with Us and the best Fan Base on the planet!!! LET HIM KNOW!!!!

Hey Doug Helle……sorry you had a bad night. Maybe i can do a spoken word next time before I give you the talk your Daddy never had with you…PUSSY!!!!

Good thinking, idiot.  Give me a pile of publicity.  So this morning I woke up to a pile of messages from fans and the man himself.  What did this master of intellect say to me?

“Hey asshole!! I hope you enjoy this!!

PUSSY FUCK ASSHOLE!!!!!”

 

Good going, Joe Poole.  You sure told me.  I understand what you were going for here.  You were hoping your fans would tell me off.  Well they’ve been trying.  For the most part they talk the same way you do.  Pissy and schoolyard bully like.  But you’ll be happy to know I am enjoying this immensely.  And being the good sport I am I will teach you how to defeat me.  Go back on your fan page and tell your legion of fucktarded fans to not give me the attention I am looking for.  That… might…. work.

Lastly,  how in the fuck did I have a bad night?  I sold a pile of shirts.  I stole a pile of your greatest fans in the world.  I’m certainly more talented than you are.  You can’t fucking sing and couldn’t write a song to save your life.  Marilyn Manson being your best friend sure hasn’t taught you the way.

Anyway, friends and foes alike.  Stay tuned.  Check out the song and video sections for real songwriting.

Pussies.

WHY CAN’T I HAVE PISSED OFF SOMEONE WHO PEOPLE HAVE ACTUALLY HEARD OF?!

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Even When The Earth Becomes A Dark And Morbid Rock

Panchway broke his leg carrying pancakes.

Jay Rushlow is an immensely fat man.  He doesn’t really have a problem with this.  In fact he likes being fat.  He tips the scales at 487 pounds.  I first met him in prison.  I was doing three years for manslaughter.  I killed a circus clown while out joyriding with Smiley.  I didn’t even have my license.  But since when do you need a license to run clowns over.

Smiley and I were driving downtown Hamilton in his deceased aunt’s car.  It was a 1978 Plymouth Caravelle.  His Aunt Knowviss left it to him when she died.  Neither of us had our licenses.  The car had been parked in a sacred underground garage in Ancaster.  One time the entire population of Ancaster farted at the same time and killed a deer.

On the day we met Jay Rushlow, we pulled onto Hunter street.  Just as we turned the corner we saw Rushlow’s ponderous bulk clambering over a fence.  We found this to be suspicious and parked the car.  Smiley and I always kept spare ninja suits in the trunk of his car.  Ninjas were all the rage at the time.

Smiley and I snuck up on Rushlow.  We didn’t want to get too close to him.  He looked like the type of guy who had an acute sense of smell.  His gigantic back was turned to us.  He was doing something with duct tape but we couldn’t quite tell what.  We moved a little closer and could hear the sound of mewing kittens.  Smiley and I looked at each other perplexed.

Rushlow immediately turned and faced us.  Smiley and I let out twin gasps of horror, but thankfully Rushlow didn’t notice us.  It was at that point we saw a burlap sack full of what sounded like kittens moving on the pavement.  We then noticed that Rushlow had a kitten duct taped to the center of his belly,  Smiley and I looked at each other confused and horrified.  Rushlow threw his fat arms into the air.

“I AM THE BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEF!!!!”

He then ran with deceptively fast speed into a brick wall belly/kitten first.  There was a grotesque crunching sound from the kitten and a woofing grunt from Rushlow as he slammed into the wall.  Rushlow plummeted to the ground clutching his gut.  Then he started wailing in pain.

Chuck Prowley stepped from behind the wall holding what appeared to be a motorcycle windshield.  He held it out to Rushlow who was sobbing on the ground.

“You’re stupid, Rushlow.  You’re supposed to use a bellyshield. ”

Rushlow ignored Chuck and continued sobbing.  Chuck shook his fat head sympathetically but then noticed the sack of kittens.  He began to drool.

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Tuesday 12

Last night’s show was successful.  There were only a couple hundred people there.  I was anticipating at least five hundred.  Regardless, I sold a pile of shirts.  I made a lot of new fans, and I was the only one who wasn’t boring as fuck.  Fuck you Wednesday 13.  You suck.  You can’t sing and you talk too much.  The 25 people who actually got up off their asses to watch you probably didn’t want to hear your long-winded stories.  It wasn’t a spoken word event.  Good for you for being friends with Marilyn Manson.  Shut the fuck up.

I also got a chance to roast the lighting guy from stage.  Why did I roast the lighting guy?  Because he was an ignorant piece of shit to my brother and his company.  I know that sounds funny coming from a guy like me.  But I’m not rude to people unless they’re rude to me first.  Well maybe that’s not true either but go fuck yourself.


So there are the shirts that are available in all different sizes.  You want one?  Email transfer me 15 dollars at doughell666@gmail.com and I’ll send you one.  They’re excellent quality.  They’re only ten bucks if you grab one at a show or from me personally.  The extra five bucks is for shipping and pain and suffering.  I don’t want to be running around mailing shirts.  I want to be playing my guitar and video games.  All revenues go to the production of more shirts and charity for mental health awareness.

I LOVE QUEEN HELL!!!

I really need to get onto making this new album.  You guys haven’t heard anything new literally since 2010.  God life flies by the older you get.  It’s true.  That being said, I love getting older.  No lie.  I can’t wait till I get more grey.  I only have grey in my beardio.

Sorry for the lack of updates lately.  I’ve just been busy being stupidly in love and running errands for the show.  I promise to get back to my chatty self.  There will be some new sections to watch out for.

Thanks everyone.  Back soon!

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I Was Hit Hard By The Light So Bright It Burned

And all at once I knew she’d understand.

Here is my new T-shirt available on Saturday at my show.

That’s right.  I’ve told a lot of people to go fuck themselves.  I told smoking to go fuck itself.  I told alcohol to go fuck itself.  I’ve told bullies to go fuck themselves.  I’ve told toxic people to go fuck themselves.  Oh, and if you’re here to try and stop me, you can go fuck yourself too.

 

I got my shit together in 2008.  I was tired of being a cunt.  I was tired of treating people poorly.  I put Radar Hate to bed and focused on what you all know and love now to be my solo career.  I put out a smoking album, When A Madman Loves A Woman.  My song Bloom instantly hit heavy rotation on 94.9 The Rock.  I was selling CDs faster than you could spit.  I toured with Mr. Plow.  Ultimately I ended up selling 2000 copies with no label support.  While that may be scoffable by industry standards, that was a LOT of money for me at the time.  Music supported me exclusively until about 2012.

I harbor a lot of guilt for the way I used to be.  I feel guilty for my treatment of anyone who I let down because of my whimsical nature.  I would start these amazing bands only to pull the plug on them  when I got bored.  I didn’t realize this at the time but it devastated my former band mates.  I was the same way with other projects.  There was just no stability with me.

 

That’s right people.  The more tightly wound of you will look at this shirt and see negativity.  Good.  Go fuck yourself.  I mean it too.  If you come out here again as opposed to fucking yourself then I will spank you.

Don’t take shit from anyone.  Your life is your own.  You live your life the way you see fit  If that offends anyone then let them choke on it.

And just so you know.  I’ve got my moderator back on the job.  30 bucks a month is worth not seeing the dirt I’ve been exposed to the last couple days.  I’m not playing big brother here.  You’re allowed to make negative and insightful comments.  That’s cool.  My shows are always better when hecklers rear the ugly heads.   But leave your pseudo-psychological shit for the more weak-minded who buy it.

Thank you all.  Go fuck yourselves.

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Born To Die In Berlin

I’m going to Germany with Trole.  Makes sense.  Trole and I are the greatest songwriters in the world.  Germany is the greatest country in the world.  It would make sense that we tour there.  And to be honest I think there is an excellent chance I will stay there.  Germany is fucking awesome.  How is it a place that was absolutely decimated by war twice, manages to be the most productive and efficient country in the world?

You know what else?  Anton Newcombe lives there?  Who?  Oh right.  You’re stupid.  Forgot.  Anton Newcombe.  Youtube him.  Actually Youtube Anton Newcombe fight.  There you go.  Now you’re off to the races.

Of course there is the small problem of getting on an airplane.  That’s right.  I’ve never flown.  But I’ve decided I’m going to do it!   As long as there are no snakes or a goblin tearing the wings apart we should be good.

*     *     *

Alright jokers.  I’m getting pissed off now.  So I recently took control of my comments section again.  Big mistake.  Some mean jerk is trying to expose the fact and I am flabby and have a small dick.  Seriously?  Does that make you feel great?  Would it make you feel better knowing the whole world knows of my shortcomings?  Shortcomings?!?!  Bad word!  Uhhhhhh.  Would it make you feel better if the whole world knew about my inadequacies?  Flabby eh?  Whatever Mr. Muscles.  I’m not flabby.  I’m BRAWNY!  So go away ok?  Keep this up and I’m going to get REALLY mad.

*     *     *

Hey computer geeks.  This is the IP address (24.114.50.232) of the offending mysterious troll who is trying to ruin my day.  Please post publicly in the comments section everything you can find on him.  This scourge must be stopped!  And as for you enemies of mine?  Don’t you DARE join forces with him and create an evil army.  Your evil army will crumble before my good army.  IT’LL BE FUCKING WAR!!!!!

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Take Me Home To Die And Resurrect Me As A Thought

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Slow Descent By Degrees

Jesus.  I don’t know what to say.  Jesus.

Ok we’ll start with the easy part.  I AM A FUCKING IDIOT.  The village idiot maybe?  Man I don’t know.

This blog gets pretty stupid at times.  Ok let’s be fair.  It gets stupid a lot.  That’s kinda the point.  Someone told me recently you can tell a lot about people by what they say and do online.  I don’t believe that.  I’m the biggest troll on the planet when it comes to the internet.  In real life I’m an intensely likable and approachable easy-going oaf with a heart of gold.  Anyone close to me knows that.

The last three years of my life have been a hellride.  Man, I can’t even say that.  Sometimes it was good.  Sometimes it was ungood.  Sometimes it was just plain magic.

It’s over.  Bear in mind here this post is dead serious ok?  This is the real me.  Not the troll.  I don’t have any enemies.  I mean there are people who may not like me and for good reason.  I’ve obviously been cunty to them and whatnot.  I don’t hate anyone.  I can’t think of one person I know who I would like to see die in a fiery car wreck.  Not a one.  Hate is baggage.  I don’t carry it.

You know what?  I am not even gonna talk about the last three years of my life.  Let me assure you though that 95% of the content on this site is just venomous nonsense I post to get a rise out of tightly wound people.  And you gotta admit.  I am pretty good at it.

I don’t think I am nearly great as I make myself out to be.  The only thing I can safely say I am brilliant when it comes to is writing, and creating music.  I earned that.  It took me longer to get good at what I do than it took a doctor to be a doctor.

I am not Doug Hell.  This is Doug Hill.  The real Doug.  Doug Hell is an egomaniacal douchebag persona I created.  Doug Hell is nothing more than an expression of art.  Let’s face it people.  If Doug Hell was a character on TV you would love him.

The thing I gotta do now is draw a line in the sand with my guitar.  Too often I blur the lines between Hill and Hell.   An identity crisis ensues.  Add mental illness to the equation and you have a tsunami of bullshit.

I’m sorry ok?  I don’t know what else to do or say other than be sorry and say sorry.

That being said, Doug Hell has a huge show coming up.  That’s right.  Doug Hell.  The douchebag.  He’s playing at the Rockpile West in Toronto on the 28th of January.  You should come, Elizabeth.  Be warned everyone.  It is Doug Hell’s show.  Doug Hill will be there too.  He’s the guy who won’t be on the stage.  He’ll be friendly, approachable, and lovely.  The guy onstage won’t.  He’ll fucking spank you.

So this is Doug Hell’s first show at a concert hall.  The manager of the Trews is coming to see me and the show will be recorded.  I’ll have tickets for 20 bucks after the weekend.  Thanks guys.  I hope to see you then.  Please message me to reserve your ticket.

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Let’s Fear Change Together

Ok so there is a new section on this site.  It’s called Bad Band Good Song.  That’s pretty self explanatory.  Of course you’re all a bunch of shovel headed crayon eating window licking retards, so I should probably spell it out for you, but I’m not going to that.  I would rather cuddle with my dog because fuck you all.

I found a pile of video footage on my external hard drive.  There is some great material.  I used to have a show called Doug Hell’s Kitchen.  It was fucking horrible.  I think I’m the only person who was entertained by it.  Realizing my show was a dud at best and going nowhere I tried bringing in indie bands to make it more interesting.  Ok that’s not true.  I was pulling an Anterockstar on that one.  I’ll take my extremely boring vanity project and try to incorporate bands into it to lure at least them into watching.  Then they would tell someone and so on.  Well that didn’t work either.  Fact of the matter is I suck moose cock and am not nearly as interesting as I think I am.

So most of you have realized by now, I am dying.  Wait a second Doug!  I thought you shat in a bag and everything was ok!  I didn’t actually think that.  I just think dying is badass and needs to be done quietly in a dark room so I can leave the people alone who want to live.

I’m leaving town.  I know I just got here but I’ve been consorting with an old and dear friend.  I will probably be telling a grand total of 2 people where I am going.  There is an excellent chance you won’t be one of those people.  I am going to go live out the rest of my days in peace and create a legacy.  And a legacy it will be.  People like me live forever.  You’re going to die with a lot of money in the bank but no one around who loves you.  Maybe your bank statements will offer you comfort as your life ebbs away from you.

This site will be the only medium in which you can keep up with what’s going on in my world.  Thanks for tuning in guys.  I’m starting a new section too for burns.  As in people who burn me.  It doesn’t happen often but when it does, it burns and provides me with laughs.  I love a good burn but unfortunately it’s always me burning everyone else.  I’ve become so god damn complacent.

Later.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GLvqIx4Vy4w&feature=youtu.be

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Doug Hell A.D.

I know I said the last post would be my last post but I thought I would share something with you.  I’M GONNA LIVE!!!  Fuck me.  I got a good look at my crap this morning.  It was huge, healthy, solid, and SSSTANKY!  And when I say I got a good look at it, you best believe I got a good look at it.  How?  BECAUSE I HAD TO SHIT IN A FUCKING BAG AGAIN!!!  This is ridiculous.  A week ago I had two room mates.  Now I have fucking 4 of them.  You know what this is?  Karma.

When Smiley and I were kids we used to shit in bags.  We would use those very bags of shit to vandalize and terrorize.  It started out as just throwing them at walls just to hear the spectacular splatting sounds.  But when that activity lost its shine we graduated to throwing them in office buildings and the like.  When that got tedious we started hanging them on people’s door knobs, knocking on door, and running away.  We never ran far though.  It was imperative we witnessed the disgusted reactions of our victims.  The victims were never random either.  We made sure to pick the most irate assholes with the worst tempers.  You know the asshole who would freak out if your soccer ball ended up on their lawn? It’s a shame we couldn’t record the reactions of those people.  You kids have it too easy these days.  In fact.  I am tempted to pull that shit now, even in my fourth decade of life.  Because here I am 30 years later and it doesn’t seem any less hilarious.  But most importantly is we now have the technology to document it.

That being said, I am putting together a team of shitbombers.  Must be able to mass produce feces at a spectacular  rate.  We’ll need someone handy with a camera.  We’ll need muscle to do the actual shit drop.

The camera part is important though.  We have to get excellent quality of the disgusting incidents to post on Youtube.  We’ll also need an efficient video editor.  Faces will definitely need to be blurred out for legal reasons.  Not mine though.  I’m going to wear Kiss make-up of something.  Or maybe not.  I’ll be an extremely happy clown.  While whatever victim is freaking the fuck out in the background, I’ll dance around and wave in the foreground.

Ok I had to shit again while I was typing all this, IN A BAG AGAIN.  Maybe it’s not such a good idea.

Needless to say, after we got sick of hanging bags on doorknobs we decided to loiter around the parking lot of the supermarket.  On particularly hot and sunny days patrons would leave their windows down to their cars.

One week we hit the jackpot when I had the stomach flu.  I was literally urinating out my asshole.  We actually carried around a backpack full of bags and toilet paper.  I was defecating in abundance.

One day we chose a huge station wagon.   Remember this was the 80s and station wagons were those big boats with wood paneling on the side.  It was driven by an immensely fat man it his 50s.  We waited until his lumbering bulk disappeared into the supermarket, then I made my move.

I dumped every single drop of poop water all over the driver seat.  I was methodical and articulate making sure I covered every bit of the seat.  Even after the entire area was covered I kept pouring, assuring that it absorbed good and deep.  And it smelled BAD.  Usually we can tolerate the smell of our own waste and sometimes even enjoy it.  But I was gagging the whole time I poured it.

With the deed done, Smiley and I sat on the grassy part of the property faux innocently waiting for the fat patron to return.  About an hour later the victim emerged from the store pushing an overstocked cart full of groceries looking pleased.

His pleasure would be very short lived….

He wheeled the cart around to the back of the station wagon.  Even at our modest distance we could see his face contorted into rage and disgust.  He instantly doubled over and began wretching.  That was all Smiley and I could take.  We both started laughing uproariously.  And it didn’t get any less funny.  Watching the guy trying to drive away standing up was a glorious and hilarious site I’ll never ever ever be able to unsee.   Smiley does a spot on impression of the guy that makes me howl every time without fail.

Let’s face it.  This blog gets ridiculous more often than not and some of the stories are just a bunch of venomous nonsense.  But this one is one hundred per cent true.

It’s definitely karma.  Because I have to shit again.  AND SOMEONE IS IN THE BATHROOM.

Ok the shit bags are really starting to accumulate.  Either this is indeed really karma or the universe is telling me I need to do it again and providing me with a arsenal.  Maybe I could get the old team back together.  Old team being Smiley but he’s living a vapid life with his aesthetically pleasing wife beautiful on the outside, down syndrome crayon eater on the inside.  But who knows?  Maybe he’ll come out of retirement to wreak havoc (pun intended).

That wouldn’t work.  He’s too hellbent on being unstable enough to maintain a solid friendship.

Smiley had stones though.  I remember him going to the door of the Chinese guy who owned the Smoke N. Gift at the aforementioned supermarket plaza.  He literally knocked on the guy’s door.  Without fail the Chinese guy answered already chewing on what was likely to be that evening’s dinner.  Smiley explained he was from the boy scouts and was giving free samples of cookies.  In actuality Smiley was holding a paper bag of cat shit half full.  The Chinese guy lit up and greedily snatched the bag. It wasn’t at all suspicious Smiley’s uniform was a Twisted Sister concert shirt and ripped jeans.  The far too overjoyed chink thrust his hand inside the bag and instantly his face contorted into surprise and nefarious devastation.  His eyes widened so gigantically I thought they were going to pop.  A slow but adamant screeching sound began to escape him before he started spitting out what I was positive were Chinese expletives.

WAWWWW HOYA HOYA HOE NAMA——–

Smiley ran away doubled over in laughter as the shrieking continued.

NAWWWWWW HOYA HOYA WAWWWWWWWWWWWWW———–

The hilarious part of this is I am listening to my music playlist right now and Unchained Melody by the Righteous Brothers is playing.

Anyway.

WAWWWWWWW HOYA HOYA NAWWWWWWWWWWWWW WAWWWWWWWWWWW HOYA–

You did not need a translator to know this man was pissed and Smiley suddenly didn’t have a future.  Neither did I because I was going to die from laughter.

And I’m not finished.  We decided at that point we’ve exhausted all our poop options.  The only thing left was direct engagement.  We would fling a bag of poop directly at a very unfortunate target.  And we did.  It was the lady who worked at the Amity.  She was a sweet and goodly woman.  Had an accent.  I’m not sure what it was.  But Smiley and I decided to change things up a bit.

It was a slow shit week.  So right up until the day we struck we would stand out front of her trailer without our arms folded looking intimidating to probably no one else in the world but this poor frail old woman.  We would stand there in our buffalo stances while she would meekly stare back.

“Vut do you vant vrom me?:  She would inquire.  We would say nothing.  We just stared back silently telepathically promising a bad thing in the very near future.

The big day finally came.  After eating a large chunk of Exlax, I was a shitting machine.  We filled a bag to the usual level to maximize flinging power and velocity.  We calmly but steadfastly marched over to the Amity and knocked on the door politely.  The lady answered with a polite smile only to begin to frown when she saw it was us.

I spoke.

“Hello ma’am.  I am sure at your age you’ve experienced much tragedy and loss.  But other than those tragic times, I promise this to be the worst day of your fucking life!”

I wound up to pulverize her with the shit bag.  But in my primal geture I accidentally splattered Smiley who was standing too close behind me, completely saturating him.

“Glurg! the fuck?!”

The Amity lady’s eyes widened in horror and slammed the door.  A furious Smiley lunged at me hugging me.  I desperately tried to break his grip but he was too strong.  Smiley was always stronger than me.  But in his ill timed rage he had superhuman strange.  I wasn’t going anywhere.  He dry humped me in a bear hug screaming at me.

After a hideous minute of poop sex we heard the sound of female laughter.  We stopped wrestling and looked up to see see Rosemary Logue, and Vicky Bardy pointing and laughing at us.   Smiley and I looked at each other and nodded through clenched teeth.  We rushed the girls.  They screamed in unison and tried fruitless to flee in terror.  That wasn’t happening.  Smiley and I had years of experience being chased by people who wanted to kill us.  We ran them down with great ease, tackling them and repeating the ritual of poop humping.

*     *     *

After spending a week in Syl Apps Youth Center in Oakville, Smiley and I were subjected to weeks of psychological assessments.  The common consensus was that we were very disturbed individuals.  I didn’t see the big deal.  So we liked to have a little fun with poop.  Sorry but playing nicky nicky 9 doors was so 70s.  This was the 80s and we had to be creative.

Regardless, we were both deemed nutjobs and were probation ordered to stay away from each other.  We didn’t.  The whole not getting seen together just added another new and exciting dynamic to our skullduggery.  The angry catshit Chinese man was kicked out of our townhouse complex.  He was rumoured to have put a bounty on Smiley’s head.  I was sent to foster care to be separated from Smiley.  All this because of poopy fun.  It seemed really harsh.

Needless to say, that was the end of our poopiness.  Well for the most part.  When I was 27 I used to work the night shift at McDonalds, sanitizing the kitchen.  I didn’t like the guy who cleaned the lobby and bathrooms.  So about once a month I would write POOP on the wall with my own poop.  Any more often than that I would have been busted because of my DNA and poopmanship.  There was also an incident when I was with Sparkles and Berger in Pickering.  Radar Hate was recording our demo :Keep On Freebasing In A Rock World”,  We were on a lunch break at Denny’s  I wrote Radar Hate on the wall of a bathroom stall in shit.   That we did get on video.

Other than those isolated incidents, there haven’t been other scandalous poop incidents to speak of.

Just so you know.  I’m still not convinced I am not dying.   And I can assure you it’s serious.  I will get it looked at.  But I really hope it is fatal.  I’m running out of patience with life.  You can’t just kill people.  You start doing that and you’re only solving their problems and creating new ones for yourself.

Thanks for tuning in guys.

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Engaged In Dying

I think I’m dying.  This will be my last post.  I’ve been bleeding from where no man should bleed unless they’re raped in a Turkish Prison.  This has been going on for a while.  I dismissed it as hemmorhroids.  It’s not.  It’s gotten worse and worse.  I’ve downplayed it.  Steph isn’t stupid.  She’s been by my side pretty much for the last three years.  She’s been with me while I writhed in pain more often than not.  I’ve spent 85% of our relationship in pain.  It’s gotten progressively worse and worse.  Today when we were in the guitar store I had to leave her at the checkout counter.  I started bleeding profusely.  The pain has been absolutely agonizing.  I sent her pictures of the blood while she stood just outside the door of the cafe we were in.  She was going to take me to the hospital but I ultimately sent her home so she didn’t have to watch me suffer.  That is the thing with us and our love.  We carry each other’s pain too.  You disgusting cumstains will do well to remember that.  But those of you who are fortunate enough to be in a loving relationship know that.

Needless to say I need to get my affairs in order.  Don’t be sad, because I sure as hell ain’t.  No.  Really.  I’ve waited my whole life for this.  When all this started I promised myself I wouldn’t get it treated.  I’m not afraid to die.  I embrace it.

Some of you will be happy.  Some of you will be devastated.  Don’t be.  I want this.  You don’t have a say.

Also, please don’t contact me.  If you’re important to me, I’ll be in touch.

AND DO NOT THROW A CASH GRAB BENEFIT AT SOME DIVE BAR IN MY HONOUR!

Good bye.

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