Another Social Experiment on Craigslist

Let me start by saying: I’M A DOUCHEBAG.

My name is Dallas Douchebag, but my friends call me Cash McMogulson, because I look like I have so much fucking cash. I drive a BMW, it’s so hot and douchey. Fuck yeah. I work at a telemarketing job, but I have no problem buying a $300 pair of jeans or an awesome Affliction graphic tee, just so I could get all the pussy in Dallas. Zoing.

Ladies fucking flock to me – sometimes I go home alone but that’s only because I turned down all the skank asses at the club that night. Skanks. “Take this Jager bomb on me, skank, cause you ain’t getting none of this.” That’s my fuckin awesome pickup line. You’ve probably seen me at the club.. that was me dancing like an idiot on the dancefloor with my Gucci shades on (indoors, mind you) and my “Growing Up Gotti” haircut.

My interests are lifting mad weights at the gym. I consume so much protein powder in one day, that sometimes I shit whole hamhocks. I fucking snort protein powder, cause I want to get so huge. Then I’ll really get all the tail on Greenville.

I haven’t had a girlfriend in years. My last one said I was immature. Screw her, she’s the immature skank… sick burn. Plus she wasn’t in my league. I’m way too douchey and hot, anyways.

I can be spotted in a number of places: at the hippest clubs in town (valeting my BMW, but not tipping), at SMU pretending to be a student to get laid by all the college chicks, at the Denny’s on a Sunday morning talking too loudly and obscenely about how hungover I am and how many skanks’ numbers I got the night before, at the library (I don’t read much, just the label on my SuperSpike Douche Hair Gel, but I like a smart chick, so fuck it, library it is)

Anyways, if you like what you see, hit me up kitty kat. I’ll be sure to respond to your message as douchily as possible.

P.S. Just playin'

Killer tune...

Three Cheers for Socrates

The hottest love has the coldest end.
- Socrates

Rima 40 - Translation by MEEEEEE

From Gustavo Adolfo Becquer’s Rimas

Rima 40

Asomaba a sus ojos una lágrima
y a mi labio una frase de perdón.
Habló el orgullo y se enjugó su llanto,
y la frase en mis labios expiró.

Yo voy por un camino; ella, por otro;
pero al pensar en nuestro mutuo amor,
yo digo aún: ¿por qué callé aquel día?,
y ella dirá: ¿por qué no lloré yo?

Rhyme 40

A tear seeped from her eyes
And from my lips, an appeal for forgiveness.
Her pride spoke and wiped her tears,
And the appeal from my lips died.

I take one path; she, the other;
But in thinking of our mutual love,
I still say: Why were you silent that day?
And she will say: Why didn’t I cry?

Matters of the heart

Matters of the heart sometimes override our finest sensibilities.

The Ultimate Feel-Cool Song

I just wanted to share this song with you. Everytime I play it in my car, I feel really really superubermegacool. Don't doubt it.

Holy Jebus

Dear God,

I promise I'll go into the Jebus Room at the art museum next time, if you can somehow make this pain go away.

Your favorite atheist,
Me

P.S. Can you please hide a million dollars all over my house like the Easter bunny? I'd have a blast finding it. Thanks.

Weird Series of Text Messages

OK, so I just got a series of texts. Apparently, a guy named David had my phone before me because I continue to get calls for him. I received a text from a number unknown to me while minding my business at work. Here's how it went:


Texter: Hey man... Wish u were here feeding me some dick and cum...How u been?

Me (thinking a friend might be messing with me): Lol. Good. New phone. Who is this? New phone.

Texter: Fukstik in lewisville

Me: Ok that doesn't mean anything

Texter: [picture message of an old dude dressed up in a Confederate Civil War costume... with no trousers, just the top, junk a flyin' everywhere] Does this help, lol...

Me: Dude. Seriously?

Texter: Man, I got our dicks in a pic for my profile page on squirt...U don't remember me? Lol.

Me: Dude, you MUST have the wrong number. But me and my co-workers surely enjoyed that. Nice job, General Lee.

*** END OF TEXTS ***


It's true. I really wish I were making this shit up. But thank you Confederate Soldier boy named Fukstik for brightening my otherwise sad day.

I'll no more block the goal like a goalie tending the net

My love for you wrote poems on my heart. It made me want to curl it around my body so that it could breathe life into me. Instead, it reached out it's hands and strangled me like a fucking python.

Why did you have to promise me life and then quit on us. I won't go so far as to say my life has no meaning. But someone please call a surgeon to crack my ribs and repair this broken heart. ;)

PS. Cyber-land, if you're reading this and find comfort in that we may be going through a similar situation, know that it will pass. Time truly heals all wounds... that and maybe some strange. Ha.

Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit.

You suck.

Am I crazy?

I honestly think I'm going nuts.

The One that Got Away

So, I feel like I should have been writing this whole time. Why is it that I only feel an outpouring of creative emotion when I'm sad. Anyways, so I'm sure you'll catch up on all of the details of the last year and a couple months throughout the course of this blog, but let me go ahead and skip to the unhappy ending:

It's Over.

"Tell Garrett what he's won this time in the Game of Life.. That's right, ladies and gentlemen, he gets shit. You got it. Shit. And the traumatic experience of knowing he found 'the one' but has to let her go. Thanks for playing."

So Ash cut the cord today. I talked to her all the way to work, forty minutes away, sat in the parking garage at work, then left to come home due to a broken heart. You guys ever sit in the parking lot at work and go home? I feel like a schmuk.

Just last week we were talking about naming our children Adelaide and Vincent (Batman got shot down). We talked about how she would like her wedding band to be a thin, classy platinum band - I always loved her non-flashy style. But today, that's vanished. She says she wants to go to school in Indiana, and she doesn't want to come to Dallas. Obviously, I have become unimportant to her. So here I sit, coping again with one of life's most-asked questions: will anyone love me?

One of the few memories I have of my father is one where we went fishing at Smoke Rise Lake in North Jersey. Here I was a five-year-old child and I baited my hook with the worm, as I was taught. On the first cast, I hooked a fish that felt as big as I was. I reeled her in, all by myself, as I was taught. And then something happened which I remember to this day. When I reeled her to the dock and reached in to pull her out of the water, we shared a glance, and she came unhooked and swam away. My situation now is similar. Thank you, Ash, for giving me a glance before you unhooked yourself and swam away.

She has wings painted with gold - I knew she was a flight risk. But I didn't care. I still don't.

1st Blog of my life

So, I wonder what this will turn into? A silly source of tension relief for me where I can anonymously malign those who have wronged me, perhaps. Maybe just a public diary of sorts - although that makes me feel like a schoolgirl. Will anyone read it? Doubt it. Is it necessarily meant for anyone to read? Doubt that too.

If you are reading this.... be prepared. I have an awkward sense of humor, kind of like peeing on your leg at a party because you got drunk and accidentally pulled out your left nut instead of your weiner. That kind of humor. Get used to it.

I'm a 29 year old man living in Dallas-Fort Worth. More to come. End communication. Green team, go.