Wednesday, November 26, 2008

Date Me . . . you know you want to.

I might be married, but you won't know for sure until we've slept together, after which I will absolutely not, under any conditions, call you the next day . . . or ever for that matter. Well, Saturday night when I've had one too many and feeling a little horn--er, lonely, I might call you then.

It's too late in the battle for equality for me, the man, to pay for dinner, or to drive or to dress nice. You'll need your own car and good plastic. Also, you might go ahead and bring some condoms so I don't have to make any extra stops, though if all goes well you'll be picking me up at my place and returning me there after the date. Please lock the door on your way out in the morning. You might also consider feeding the dog, changing the cat litter and cleaning up a little.

On the first date, I promise at some point to pull down your top and go "Brrrrrrr!" between your breasts, because I know you girls love that, the attention, the admiration, etc. I also guarantee to let you go first through every door and up any stairs or escalators for the sole purpose of watching, and commenting on, your ass. I swear to comment on every other halfway attractive woman, pointing out the parts of their body that are supremely better than yours, and giving you a "I'm just kidding" expression, but which will also have that "Not really" gleam in the eyes. I may or may not nod off during your endless chattering. I snore. It's best to let me wake up on my own, otherwise I tend to get violent. You might consider talking less and listening more. I will have endless conversation about drinking, fucking, sports, video games, other women, my life, my interests, things that piss me off, things that REALLY piss me off, and the time I almost stuck my dick in a cow. Laugh. A lot, and nod, and smile, and lick your lips to let me know you're actually listening.

I will bring lots of drama into your life, and lots of chaos. I like games, emotional games, sexual games, board games, bored games, games where I call you lots of bad things, but only to help lower your self esteem. We both know that makes you more manageable and that you secretly love it. I will admit that I'm not much of a hitter, so sadly you'll have to go somewhere else for any physical abuse. I'll take care of the emotional and verbal sabotage though. We're all weak in one area or another; this is mine.

I won't be isolating you from your friends, unless they're married, give good advice or are otherwise unavailable to me. I wouldn't dream of telling you to get rid of any girl friends that I might be able to sleep with behind your back. Don't worry, you'll find out, that's what drama is all about.

I'm not an attractive man, nor am I thin or young, but you should be both young (or look young) and thin. Don't worry, it doesn't meant I won't date you. It only means I get to taunt you with calls of "fatty" and that you have to go to the gym daily and stop eating, but it's okay, because you're doing it to please me and that's what's important. Also, your breasts should be in decent shape, a nice size and not too saggy. You might consider plastic surgery, implants, tucks, etc. Again, you're doing it for me, but you'll need to finance this yourself.

Girls who are exempt from dating me:

  • Anyone nicknamed "princess". We don't need two high-maintenance people in the "relationship".
  • Anyone with more than one kid. Shoving one kid off constantly on a friend or family member is perfectly acceptable, but after that your house starts to look and smell like kids live, vomit and poop there. I don't want to meet them and I won't be their new daddy. I don't "do" kids, in any sense of the word. Exception: if you have a daughter that is or is nearing 18, but she better be hot.
  • Anyone who is already dating (or married to) someone who is already more of an asshole than me. You don't need me and what fun is that?
  • Anyone with family nearby, unless you hate them, then we're in business.
  • Anyone in therapy. Unless the therapist has a drinking or drug problem.
  • Fat chicks. Don't worry, we can still have sex in between your episodes of starving yourself and going to the gym, but we can't be seen together until you can fit it into your size 4 jeans (or smaller).

I drink. A lot. I smoke. All kinds of substances, even dog poop once, but it was an accident. I frequently have problems with erections, so I probably won't last very long, but don't worry, I'll get off. You may or may not. You'll just have to get faster. Also, I don't do oral, but you will, and you'll probably have to learn to love anal and some other rather nasty things. It just depends on the kind of day I've had and how much I've had to drink.

And I'd like to add I'm very open minded. It doesn't bother me if you have tattoos and piercings everywhere or if you think you might be a lesbian or half lesbian or 1/4 lesbian.

Aaron Diaz Hoal

(Originally published 7/23/08)

Sunday, November 23, 2008

I know who I am. Do you know who you are?

Who I am:
I own an "anti" toy store. I inherited it from a nice German couple after they disappeared (somewhat mysteriously). It makes money. I'm not sure how. The toys are evil. All of them. It sits on an abandoned development site. There's not another building around for 5 miles in any direction. Still, customers find us. They waddle in, take up all the handicapped parking, flash their plastic, take their goods and disappear. I don't know what happens to all the evil toys, but it can't be good.

Who else am I?
I'm 40 (for the moment). I shave my head in a monthly ritual that involves several bottles of wine, several packs of cigarettes, several dozen Tibetan chants, several nipple clips (for several nipples), fishing twine, 2 bowling balls and 1 bucket of O.J. (the juice, not the killer). Actually, that's a lie. I do shave my head, and I drink wine and smoke. That's it.

Other than that, who am I?
I'm divorced. As we go along, you'll see why. I'm hurt in the heart. As we go along, you'll see why. I'm a lover of women, obsessed with a species I understand all too well, yet not at all. I gained a lot of weight during my 8 year relationship, and now that she's gone, I've decided to lose it. Losing weight is painful. Let there be no mistake. But I'm beginning to like pain, and baggage. I also have no interest in anything you say unless you're A.) a hot, undersexed, nymphomaniac female of legal age who is both beautiful and has no self esteem B.) a female. C.) a male who would like to buy me an escort, or D.) someone who has found an evil little teddy bear that went missing from the store.

Who are you?
You're bored. You're living a life you didn't ask for, but which was thrust upon you by people who feel you should be grateful. You're not who you want to be. You're scared. You don't understand yourself or the world you live in. You want to be happy. You don't want to be lonely. You're getting older and you know you can't stop it and everything in your past is suddenly becoming nostalgic. You're reading this blog, and therefore either have no life or got here by accident during your arduous daily search for free porn.

Note: Many of the posts here were previously posted on another blogging site which either is or has shut down. What you're reading is most likely a re-post.

Note, part deux: I tend to not want to moderate comments. Say what you want. Cuss me out, advocate for the Nazi party, it's on your head. You know who you are and you get what you get. Karma is a bitchy little girl with a snotty nose, budding breasts, stamping her feet and nailing you in the balls with her tiny coiled fist.

Aaron Diaz Hoal