The Devil’s In The Jam Room

So here I am listening to my latest.  I gotta stop goofing off.  Something has happened or about to happened that I really want to start boasting about, but fact of the matter, it hasn’t happened yet.  So Mooney can’t brag about squat.

I don’t think I would either.  I think that is what would be expected of me.  I’m not interested in being predictable.  Predictability.  You know how I feel about predictability, Jerry.  I despise it.

This is the worst financial state I’ve been in, in my life.  It’s not supposed to be this way.  My blog was supposed to make me rich.  It just hasn’t happened.  It won’t happen either.  I’ll live but just might be hungrier than I am comfortable with.

Really bad financial state indeed.  But that is ok.  I’m still pretty and one day my bowels will work properly.  See that?  I have plenty of things to be positive about.

I’m really looking forward to getting this band off the ground.  I finally found the superstar line-up that I’ve always wanted.  Plus I have to really get someone else behind the board twisting the knobs.  Doing everything on my own is going to do more damage than good.

I’m the only songwriter in the history of the world who gets it right every time.  I’m simply incapable of writing a bad song.  Actually, I’m incapable of writing a song that isn’t very, very good.  I can write an album of gems every week.  No problem.  Songwriting is the only thing that makes sense to me.

But I gotta slow the fuck down.  I can’t keep churning these songs out then recording them then rerecording them then going back in time and dusting older songs off and rerecording them too.  I need to slow down.

That is what I intend to do.  I am not 100% sure I am going to release anything else under Doug Hell.  I may do it as a band.  Maybe Doug Hell And The ___________ or so forth.  Maybe just Doug Hell.  Maybe just a band name.

So I’m going to pick my best ten songs.  That right there is a task in itself because there is such a huge body of stellar work.  I’ll consort with my biggest fans and see what they think.  Then I will rehearse them with my band.  Let my band put their own touch on it.  Then I’ll get Prentice Man to do the actual recording and engineering.  I love the lofi.  I can always go back to the lofi.  But in the wake of this most recent news that I want to brag about, I have to have a better presentation of what I am doing.

This site is another entity in itself.  I’ve been advised that I should probably not be so liberal, sharing my darkness.

Fuck that.  This is excellent therapy for me.  If I talk about killing myself on here there is an excellent chance I am not going to kill myself.  Every person I’ve known that has committed suicide never announced it.  There was no press conference.  In fact, everything seemed great.  Then BAM!  I’m the man with diamonds in his eyes.

Anyway, don’t take this crap any more seriously than you should.  I have no reservations about spilling it out here.  You would be amazed at who reads this.  My exes.  My children who don’t talk to me.  Past nemeses.  Law enforcement.  People in higher places.

Everyone gets down once in while.  Some people are private about their feelings.  I’m not.  I have no pride.  Anyone who taught you pride is a good thing is probably trying to sell you something.  Pride is the worst of the seven deadly sins.  Count it.

I know I’m going to catch it in the ear for this, but what the fuck is going on with this new trend of fishing for racism?  Christ.  It seems everything and everyone is racist now.  Everything you do is racist.  I can’t even say that black people are generally great basketball players.  That’s racist.  But it’s gotten way more serious than that.

I don’t think Trump is a racist.  He’s a buffoon.  But I don’t think he is racist just because a lot of boneheaded racists support him.  But don’t dare say a positive thing about Trump.  You’ll be dubbed a racist.  The parameters for racism have gotten immense as fuck.

Ah well.  Hopefully this is in fact a fad and will die down.  I don’t even know why I am commenting on it.  I can’t even believe I am talking about Trump.  I can’t stand political debates.  Or politics.

Ok guys.  I’m out of gas.  I know I haven’t posted in a few days.  I have been trying to make a concerted effort to get out here daily but I’ve just been so fucking busy.  I’m actually going to take a crack at getting a real part-time job.  I know I’m not supposed to work but I am going absolutely insane and I need money.

Thanks for tuning in.  I hope you’re all very well with plenty of love and light in your lives.

DH

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Every Doug Has Its Day

God I hate interaction.  Even with people I love.  I despise it.  Call me what you want.  Call me a prickly asshole.  Call me whatever.  I hate it.  It makes me want to vomit.  I don’t hate people.  I just don’t like the act of interaction.  Ew.

I went for a nice walk around Jameville house hunting.  There are so many tiny dead end streets with these adorable little row houses.  I want one.

Enough of that.

I’m in the process of getting my albums up on Bandcamp.  For those who can afford it, you can purchase them from there.  All proceeds will be donated to the Good Shepherd in Hamilton.  They tried to help me out quite a bit when I was younger.  It’s time to give back.

I have a song called I Don’t Think I Love You Anymore.  There is a lyric, the things I own, they own me too.  It rings true for me.  It’s not a judgement against people who are more fortunate and like to have nice things.  It’s just not me.  I just found when I had two credit cards, a car, a house, and a bunch of guitars, I had a fuck of a lot more to worry about.  Some people can’t handle the stress of all those things.  The benefits are generally immense.  I just can’t handle them things.

Thus, I am donating 100 per cent of my royalties to charity.  It’s not just because I am too afraid to have a lot of possession and their burdens.  It makes me feel very good to do the best I can to help.  It also gives me purpose and helps me atone for my dark past.

I was raised thinking you had to be sarcastic to be funny.  All my friends were generally tough because I wasn’t tough.  But it was also those very friends who taught me that people are expendable.  I got that from my brothers and family too.  Everyone was expendable.  Everyone was thrown under the bus.  There was no loyalty.  Just a lot of people pushing each other into fires and then laughing about it.  It was more than just bad behaviour too.  It was a fucking art form.  Scheming.  Framing.  Treachery.  The bigger the ruse the better then feeling of accomplishment.
Sick right?  I know.  I was a fucking horrible human being.  I had great teachers and influences. It literally wasn’t until I was in my thirties, that I saw the err of my ways.  I saw other people.  The way friends interacted and had each other’s backs.  The ways families cared about each other and were nurturing.

Today I know I didn’t have friends growing up.  I had like minded piece of shit human beings who tolerated me, and I tolerated them because GOOD people would have nothing to do with us.

I don’t hold any grudges though.  No one is all good or all bad.  I’m not suggesting that I am saintly today.  But I’m also not going to humble myself and say I’m far from it.

Because today I do have my friends’ fucking backs.  I am honest to a fault.  I try to be the best father, brother, son, and friend I can be.  Even when it’s not reciprocated.  I don’t have money.  I don’t have a future.  But I have my honour and I won’t break it for anyone or anything.  I can’t be intimidated.  I can’t be bought.  Fuck you for even think about trying.

For those who can’t afford my records, send me an email.  I will email you my entire catalog.  doughell666@gmail.com

I like my life small.  I don’t want a pile of guitars.  I adore the guitars I have and they’re special to me.  I feel like a part of them.  And when they inevitably go to my son they will mean something to him too.  He’s incredible.  He’s at the age now that I literally picked up my first instrument.  He writes intensely catchy songs that I am a fan of.  And not just because I am biased.

Well it’s time to get back to work.  Thanks for checking in.

 

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Hiding In Darkness Sharing Their Thoughts With A Knife

Album is in the can.  It will be posted at the bottom of this message.  It’s a hell of a lot more polished than previous efforts but it’s still crusty.  The drums still sound silly.  But there it is.  Some songs have reappeared from previous incarnations.  Suffer.

You will notice the names of the songs are interchangeable.  Suffer.  It does have the best recording of “Away” which is now called “It’ll Be Alright”.  I picked the most straightforward names of the songs to avoid any confusion.  There is nothing confusing about me after all.

Apparently this recording is being watched by more reputable eyes.  Here is the deal.  I’ll write music for you and make you very rich.  All I ask for is a nice small row house in Hamilton, and another one in the Woodbridge district of Detroit, and enough of a salary to eat well and keep me up on decent gear.  You will also have to pay enough of a salary to people of my choosing to lure them away from their current lives.  I don’t want your people.  You work with my people.  We do it MY way.  You don’t understand.  You can’t buy me.  I am perfectly content to make records from my bedroom for the rest of my life.

I’m not doing this for the girls or the money.  I don’t want to tour the world.  I don’t want to leave my house if I can help it.  If I am not going hungry then everything else in life is fucking icing.

I didn’t cheat on this album either.  I didn’t record ten million tracks.  I don’t believe in that fucking shit.  How do you recreate that live?  There is A drum track.  There is AN electric guitar track.  There is ONE acoustic guitar track.  There is ONE bass track.  The vocals are not double tracked.  The only thing I overdubbed was backup vocals and I’m glad I did.  They really make the choruses pop.

I offer no apologies for this record.  I made a perfect pop record.  It’s catchy as all hell.  You can actually tell what’s going on.  I’m proud of it.  It’s just so melodic.

I’ll put up a track listing as soon as I can.  It’s just really late and I have diarrhea cramps.  I really need to get surgery for my internal hemmorrhoids.  It’s just hard when you move around so much and can’t procure a steady doctor.

My life has been an unstable lark up to this point, but living on passionate whim has lost its shine.  I want stability.

Ok never mind.  I actually just took the time to put the track listing and time stamps on it.  There you go.

 

 

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Life Was Good But Then It All Exploded

I’m almost done the new album.  I just need Prentice Man to lay the drums.  I can’t believe how awesome it’s turning out.  Studio monitors make all the difference.  You can’t really mix an album using the speaker on your flat screen TV.  Again, I attest that I like shitty production.  But then I’m constantly getting people asking for a lyric sheet.  So now I’ve begrudgingly put a little but of extra effort in making these damn recordings sound the best that I can.  Hopefully you’ll be able to actually make out lyrics.

Yeah so the studio monitors are doing the trick.  It’s almost too polished for my liking.  The fake drums sound silly as per expected.  But I’ve literally used nothing but a mic I bought at a liquidation warehouse for 2 bucks.  The only amp I have used for guitar is a tiny Yamaha practice amp.  It’s retarded how good things are sounding.  I guess it’s just something I happen to be getting really good at.

This week has been tough mentally.  Suicide really is a long term solution to a short term problem.  There was one really bad day, but then the next day it wasn’t so bad.  So it’s a good thing I didn’t commit to dying.

It’s really funny when that shit happens.  Generally my friends will keep a distance, and rightly so.  What do you do in a situation like that?  I think I’m a pretty good contender for the most dramatic 44 year old man living.  So the wise generally stay away and let my psychosis run its course.  People know I’m really not ever in any danger.

Not to sound like a broken record but this album is pretty amazing.  Huge choruses with melodies that will make the hair on your arms stand up.  I should shut up.  I learned a long time ago that even in spite of my genius, people won’t give me a fair listen simply because I’m an asshole.  Not that assholes in rock and roll don’t exist.  I’m just pretty sure I’m a bigger narcissistic asshole than all of them combined.

It’s really hard to be humble when you know you can’t be touched when it comes to the art of song.  Just typing that sentence alone will inspire ire in other songwriters and fans of music alike.  But I have to be real. I’m certainly not saying I’m the only one out there with talent.  There are a lot of great songwriters out there.  I just stand alone on a higher mountain.

Thanks for checking in on me.  I actually watched the fight tonight.  I know nothing of the sport and have a hard time watching two grown men try to hurt each other in any capacity, but I declare Connor the winner.  I think he far exceeded every skeptic’s expectations.  Something I wish I could do.  When you write the way I do, people take it for granted.  They’re never surprised when I do something amazing, because it’s expected of me.  And that is why I’ll never get ahead.  I am incapable of impressing anyone and I’m wildly unreliable, and unpredictable.

Till next time, fellows.

DH

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The Lying Mirror

I keep having the same nightmare over and over again.  In my nightmare I don’t know where I live.  I’ll go to places I used to live only to find out I don’t actually live there anymore.  Interestingly enough, I’m always in the residence when it dawns on me.  Then I’m faced with the instant anxiety of being discovered trespassing.

I’m so sad.  I’m so sad for the people and the suffering in the world.  There are ten million exploding notions of a bitter prophet.  I do as much as I can about it, but ultimately there is only so much I can do.  I’m broken.  I’m defective.  I hope you’re paying attention.  You best be paying attention.  I come from a long line of shit.  It’s either this or being overburdened by psychological grenade damage.

I wish I wasn’t raised to think everyone is so expendable, and disposable.  I think maybe people think that I can’t be hurt.  My logic may not be on fire but the stars are watching us all, and they know something we don’t know. So when they decide they want to hurt me, they’ll do something very radical, not realizing it doesn’t take much at all to hurt me.  There I was easy to hurt to begin with but you decided to go that extra mile to ensure that I would be really hurt. I’ll forever walk the streets of hell, no longer encumbered with the urge to dance. Overkill ensues.

People suffer.  Some get better.  People like me.  We’re all just angels who want to go home.  I don’t belong here.  I don’t belong around other living beings bleeding me for the best parts of me.  I’m scared and I’ve never felt so helpless in my life.  Not even the music can help.   I look over my shoulder and there is nothing there.  Just a lesser version of me but twice the man I’ll ever be.

I’m officially out of pills.  The day has come.  Now I have to do things I’m not equipped to do to get more pills.  I must be stopped.  I’m not a nice person.  I’m a monster that feeds on anxiety and stress.  I need to be put down.  Rise from your grave.  Take my hand.  Let’s show them where the limelight is.  The one that echoes.

This doesn’t get better.  Don’t ever think it gets better.  It’s only a matter of time.  You’ll all be laying face down in the dirt.  We all will be.  Hetero skeletons will prevail.  I don’t want to be here when that time comes.  It’s not fair.  For all the power I’ve been blessed with, there is absolutely nothing to do to make the world better.  I don’t inspire.  I anger.

I wasn’t made for these times.  The guy who yells Freebird.  The person who says hangry.  The person who says happy wife happy life.  Other varied unoriginal stupidity.  The fist fighter.  The non-believers.  The cowards.  The victims and the fornicators.  Die.

I can’t deal with this.  I just need to find a hole to go and die alone in.  It’s not suicide.  It’s a hero’s overture.  Cowardice is continuing to accept a parody of reality.

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Waiting For The Stars To Heal

Just kinda sitting here catching up with the Angels Of Madness.  They’re real.  And you wanna know something?  They’re not cool.  They don’t give me an excuse to wear dark clothes and black eyeliner.  They’re horrible, horrible, beings.  They remind me of how fucked I am and how I’ll always be fucked.

Take today for instance.  I woke up in my amply comfortable bed.  The weather is gorgeous.  But I am unable to communicate vocally.  All I can do is gesture and type.  Think of me as Lassie, only I am 44 years old, suicidal, and enveloped by the blackest depression you really couldn’t imagine.

I take pills.  They really do help.  But they’re not 100% guaranteed to not make every day ungood.  Yes I am suicidal, but I don’t have a plan.  I am safe.  I’m not currently contemplating suicide.  Even knowing I will never get better I am still doing my best to live as fulfilling and meaningful as life as possible.

You can’t explain mental illness to someone who is ignorant.  There is no cure.  It’s something you live with.  Thinking positive thoughts doesn’t work.  Getting out and “taking walks” and “doing things” doesn’t work.  I don’t just lay around feeling sorry for myself.  On the contrary,  I remind myself as often as possible how fortunate I am.  I have amazing friends.  I love them.  I love their children.  They reciprocate.

I won’t ever take my own life to end my problems and only begin everyone else’s.  This is hard for some people to believe but I bring substance into their lives.  This world needs me.  You need me.  I am responsible to give you things to think about.  That is my purpose in life.  Whether it’s through my music, my writing, or just my mere existence.  I have a responsibility and an overwhelming debt to life.

For those of you who suffer from depression, I understand.  I may not understand your other personal problems, nor do I have a right to act as thought I know what it is you need, but I do understand mental illness.  I do understand depression.  I do understand that I am down to my last two pills and all the red tape it’s going to take to get them refilled.  I understand I will have to make phone calls.  I’ll have to leave my room.  I’ll have to leave the fucking house even.  I don’t understand what I understand.

I got the bass tracks done on my new project yesterday.  I played along with them.  Everything is sounding good and magical, just the way I like it.  In September I’ll be recording with Prentice Man.  Just he and I.  He’ll be playing the drums and I’ll be doing the bass, guitars, and vocals.  Then we’re going to assemble a band from that.

I sincerely hope you all have a good day and there is plenty of love and light in your life.

DH

P.S.  Please don’t offer me scholarly plagiarized advice or well wishes.  Just think of me in a positive light.  I promise I’ll get the message.

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Chasing Demons Living In Seattle

Skin City Records is not just a record label.  It’s a club of the elite.  Only the best of the best.  Few know greatness like Trole, the best live band on the planet.  Well they were anyway.  George and Josh are still going.  I’m not sure what’s going on with Rob but Jefferson is in the absolute worst fucking band I’ve ever heard in my life.  The only thing worse than the band are their goofy videos.  You want to see people in their thirties act like 12 year olds?  Check them out  I can’t remember their name.  Outhouse something.  It sucks because Jefferson is a radical dude.  The only thing that surpasses his awesomeness as a human being is his mastery of the upright bass.  He’s quite literally the best this planet has ever seen.

Needless to say, it’s an honour to be a part of Skin City Records.

I’m still catching shit for the quality of my last release.  I understand now.  My studio monitors showed up in the mail yesterday.  I fired them up and played my new album through them.  What a garbled mess.  A garbled hot mess.  Way to go, Doug.  You swear by your stupid lofi.  That’s great and all but the last thing you want to do is end up blowing your fans’ speakers.  How very Andy Kaufman of you.

I’ve started demos for the replacement/followup.  I love my Strat.  The Fender Strat is the tone I’ve been searching for my whole life.  I’ve never actually owned one that I played.  A few years back I bought a Dan Smith Strat.  But that was so I could flip it.  I’m kicking myself today.  That was a 35 year old guitar.

I love this guitar just fine.  It’s even made me a better player.  Wootcore.

I was thinking of bringing my brother, Larry, into the band.  I’ve since decided against it.  As much as I love my family, I really can’t stand them.  Larry is alright and he’s good for laughs.  But his dry wit and predominate sarcasm get a little wearisome.  I know you guys think I’m bad but I’m Doris Fucking Day compared to this kid.  Throw a functional alcohol problem in there and that’s Larry.  I’m not downing him.  He’s just different.

There are four drunks living in my backyard.  They are stone garden gnomes we’ve christened Eephus, Gormley, Peebles, and John.  They drink more than Larry, and every once in a while they fall off their great wall.  John occasionally tries to escape.  My roommate to be, Sneakers, found him in the alley.

I learned something new today.  There is a Little Rascal by the name of Darla.  I didn’t know this.  Sneakers has a golden retriever named Darla.  Initially I thought that Darla was just some dumb made up name.  In fact I’ve found the name so unsavoury that my friend, and I have taken to calling her Darcy.  But now that I know the deal, she can be Darla once again.  I’m not a fascist by any means, I just have a low tolerance for stupid names.

There really isn’t much else to report.  And truth be known, I’m only doing this because I’ve recently learned that my traffic on this site is through the roof.  I had no idea so many people were reading.  Now I feel as though I am obligated to come out here daily even if I have nothing to say.

Uh I’ll see you later, ok?

DH

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Some Of Us Stick To The Darkness Where We Know We’ll Never Be Judged

I made a great album.  It sounds like shit.  But it sounds like me.  I took it down from Bandcamp.  You can listen to it for free on Youtube.  It’s the greatest garage-pop record ever made.  It has gorgeous melodies.  The lyrics are somewhere between Roger Waters and Leonard Cohen.  The melodies are Brian Wilson.  But better.  I love this fucking record.

I’m ready to make another one.  I’m going to be doing this one with Prentice Man.  Prentice is the best friend I’ve ever had and a PERFECT drummer.  He gets it.  I’ve never met a smarter, more reliable drummer in my life.  The other thing I love about Prentice is he is a songwriter himself.  He knows the craft.  He’s also a prickly bullshit caller who doesn’t take anyone’s shit.  But most of all, he knows how fucking great he is and isn’t afraid to let you know it.  I respect that.  Who wouldn’t want a guy like that on their side?  Oh wait, I know.  Some politically correct assfuck sheep cocksucking pussyclown.

Good thing I ain’t that.

So I saved someone’s life.  It’s a true story.  And I am going to dedicate myself at my own monetary and mental expense to keep her safe.  Other than making the greatest music ever made, I have another purpose.  I know how it feels to be given up on and abandoned.  I know what it’s like to have a manipulative greasy family.  If I can, I will do my absolute best to not let that happen to someone with mental illness.  That is cruel and unusual.  The supports in this world for mental illness fucking suck enough as it is.  Throw in absence of human compassion and ignorance and it’s a million times worse.

I’m here for you.  I’m here for all of you.  I don’t have any enemies.  I’ve made my peace and can have a cordial conversation with anyone.  But I am here for you.  Reach out if you ever need to talk or just need someone to listen.

I love you all.

Doug Hell

 

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I Will Make You Wish You Never Died

Just a fair warning to those in reality.  Your reality is a parody of my reality.  Your reality isn’t real.  My reality?  Very real.  You don’t want to cross over into my reality.  Particularly not when I have diamonds in my eyes.

People are weak.  You people cheat.  You fuck around.  You people lie and manipulate.  But when it comes time to point fingers, you point at what terrifies you because it’s a convenient lie that is too easy to believe.

But do you believe?  Or is it just the alternative is too damn terrifying?

Fuck Doug Hell!  He’s a douchebag!

Why?  Because I don’t lie?  Is it because I’m not socially agreeable enough?  I don’t have time or the room to be socially agreeable.  I’m too busy waging a one man war on myself.  I am in constant danger.  I don’t have the fucking time to be socially agreeable.

I don’t have the fucking time to pretend to believe your fucking bullshit!  I’m at war!  Words are my bullets.  I have an arsenal.  My bullets will fly and all you creatively bankrupt fucking hacks will sing along because you have no choice.  When it comes to creativity, I am a world superpower.  I am the United State, Israel, Britain, North Korea, China, and Russia combined.

Come at me.  I’ll fucking spank you.  I’ve yet to have a single person come out here using their real name and throw down.  It’s always some coward who pretends to be someone else.  I don’t respond.  Why?  I don’t have to.  I’ve already won.  I’ll write another opus and they will go cry in their cornflakes.

But Doug, why can’t you just be a little nicer?  Are you not paying attention?  I’m at war.  I am a blight.  I am a scourge.  I must be stopped.  No one can stop me but me.  So I’m a little tied up right now.

How can you be so mean to Lucius?  He’s such a good guy!  Is he?  Why?  Because he’s really good at pretending to be nice?  Lucius is not a good guy.  Lucius is a good actor.  Lucius will send your girlfriend pictures of his dick.  I don’t care how friendly looking Lucius is when he smiles.  I don’t care how loud and jovial Lucius is when he laughs.  Lucius is a disgusting flotsam of a human being.

Lucius knows it.  And he knows I know it.  Therefore Lucius is going to shun me.  Wise move Lucius.  You best avoid me.

So go cry you bunch of fucking pussies.  Being socially putrid and able to see through someone’s bullshit doesn’t make me a fucking asshole.  I’m a fucking asshole because I choose to be.

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It Won’t Be My Heart That Bleeds Tonight

In keeping with the laws of drama, I feel the need to make this announcement.  Ladies and gentlemen, it’s none of my business who my alcoholic ex-girlfriend is fucking right now or who she has fucked.  That’s why she is my ex.  The ex means she is not with me anymore therefore she can fuck anyone she wants.  I don’t care if it’s someone I know.  I don’t care if it’s someone I don’t like.  Unless your motive behind telling me this is to upset me.  It doesn’t.  I fall in and out of love very easily.  But right now I am alone and single for the first time of my life and I’m loving it.  I’m not just saying that.  I do.  I get up when I want.  I go to bed when I want.  I eat what I want.  I go where I want.  I blog when I want.  I can play guitar all day.  I can have coffee with my friends.  You getting the point?  Good!

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I went on my first Plenty Of Fish date yesterday.  What a disaster.  This woman looked great in pictures.  She didn’t in person though.  We were supposed to meet for ice cream.  Then we she showed up she was so grotesque looking that I suddenly couldn’t bring myself to eat ANYTHING.

I spent the next hour walking beside her around Bayfront Park as she waddled along eating Ice Cream.  It was revolting.  Mercifully we didn’t hang out too long and I came home.  Being the thoughtful guy I am, I sent her a text this morning telling her it was nice meeting her and I hoped we could at least be friends.  She messages me back and tells me we can be friends but she doesn’t see a future in dating….

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Plenty Of Fish is a hoot.  I think I’m going to stay on it for life and just meet new people.  I know I won’t be able to stay with the same person for life.  I know it.  Why try to fool anyone or myself any more.  My longest relationship was with Candice.  But the only woman I would ever consider going back to was Jacyntha.  I recently made overtures to her and she basically told me to go kick stones.

I like the POF option though because I know I am going to get a lot of great songs and stories out of it.

Thanks for tuning in guys.  It’s been a day…

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