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