To My Sons

September 20, 2011

*A friend of mine who passed away years ago wrote this so I thought I would share it.


The least valuable commodity in your life is fatherly advice. When I was a young man, I was bludgeoned intolerably with advice from my parents, all of it bad. You can reasonably expect no better from me. And yet, you must indulge me in the fatherly sharing of some things I have learned about women. Even though it certainly smells like advice, believe me, it is not. You have no obligation to follow it, and I harbor no expectation that you will. The fact is I respect you and have the highest regard for your ability to make intelligent decisions on your own. It will be enough for you to drag this out from time to time and ponder it for a few minutes on the offchance that some particle of it may ring true and have some vague application to a situation that may be troubling you.

Women are, quite simply, the very best part of life. Of course, there are many things that are important to us, but you will find no more powerful source of astonishment, pleasure, pain or confusion than a woman. You will never experience more intensity of feeling than the surpassing desire to have or be rid of the women in your life.

In most areas of life, it is assumed that in order to play the game, you must understand the rules. In your relationships with women, you will learn, often painfully that, mostly, there ARE no rules. What few rules there may be are ALWAYS determined by the woman, typically on a moment’s whim and almost always without a needtoknow on your part. Do not attempt to understand these rules. They almost never work both ways anyhow, and are unlikely to apply more than once, and never in identical situations.

The best a man can do is to be aware of some key words that may help him deal with these adventures when they overtake him.

A woman deserves your respect. Remember, every woman has an agenda. If you want to be even a small part of it, you must genuinely respect her point of view, and let her know that you do. It is not necessary or even likely that you will agree with all of it, but it is as important to her as yours is to you. Remember, a person’s point of view is neither right nor wrong. It just is.

Respect has another aspect you’ll consider, if you’re wise. Although nothing really compares, a reasonable analogy might be water. Tantalizingly beautiful as poured into a crystal glass, deliciously comforting as a hot shower after a long day, yet malevolently deadly as invisible ice on the road in the dead of night. A woman is like water, she can satisfy your most desperate thirst, then drown you without remorse in the next moment. A woman is a formidable force. She deserves your respect.

There is NEVER a justifiable reason for doing a woman wrong. Do not lie. Whatever happens, you will always have the knowledge that you didn’t deceive her. She needs to know who you are. If you lie to her and she is attracted to who she THINKS you are, she’ll make you (and herself) eternally miserable when she finds out who you REALLY are. If you tell her the truth and she walks, you’re both better off. Nothing is more depressing than trying to get along with a woman who isn’t satisfied with who you are.

Water’s wet, the sky’s blue, women lie. Believe it. Get used to it. Nothing changes. This is not an indictment of women. It’s my view that women in their hearts are much more honorable than men. Nevertheless, NEVER bet the farm on anything she says. That way, you’ll only have pleasant surprises. Even if she doesn’t tell you overt lies, she will allow you to labor (apt word) under a misapprehension, sometimes for YEARS without telling you the truth, then blow you away with it after you’ve wasted half your life and hers trying in vain to make her happy. Above all, never feel guilty. (refer to Veracity side A.)

Some people will tell you that, in a relationship, sex isn’t everything. Bullshit. Sex is the ESSENCE of a relationship. Sex is the evidence that a relationship exists. If you think communication is more important, try defining an orgasm using words. Sadly, most men think of sex as something that relates to their penis, their orgasm. Such men deserve what they get, and the women who tolerate them deserve the same. Learn to be a GREAT lover. Forget your orgasm. Admit it, you can give yourself a better orgasm than almost any woman can. Don’tblush. You know it’s never been a problem. HER orgasms are the ones that count. Learn how to make her come and come and come. When she says, she can’t take any more, remember Veracity, side B, and give her a few more. Then start thinking about yourself. Enjoy the pleasure of giving pleasure. Make her love it. Make her crave it. A woman who has a hohum attitude toward sex has a hohum attitude toward you. If she doesn’t want it from you all the time, she’s the wrong woman for you. If you don’t want it all the time from her, you’re the wrong man for her. The woman in the most happy, welladjusted couple I ever met told me the secret of their success, she said, “He fucks me any time he wants…And any time I want.” Communicate after.

Marriage is a waste of time unless you want to have children. If women are the best part of life, for some of us, children are the nextbest. Your own children, that is. In my own life, my children are a very close second indeed. Not because you’ll carry on the family name. Big deal. Who cares? Certainly not me. I’ll be dead. Not because you’re good kids. (You are.) The fact is, I am at a loss to explain it. Suffice to say that you guys give me an overwhelming sense of pleasure and satisfaction, just knowing you’re living your lives and being yourselves, which is the best possible thing you could be. You could, of course, just have some kids without bothering with marriage, but I’m not sure that would be giving the kids a fair shake. Your call. If you choose to get married, it could take a long time to find the right woman, and in the unlikely event you find her, there’s no guarantee she’ll have anything to do with you.

At the risk of making what sounds like a shoppinglist, here are some things you’ll want to look for in the mother of your children. First, you’ll want a woman who knows who you are and is satisfied with it. You’ll want to know her in the same way. You’ll want to know how she feels about sex. You’ll want to know how she feels about children. The one overriding factor to remember if you’re considering a longterm relationship is: PEOPLE DON’T CHANGE. Nobody’s perfect. Think of the thing you hate most about her and consider living with that for twenty or thirty years without it ever getting any better and insist that she do the same with the things she hates about you. If you can say honestly to yourselves, Yes, I can live with that, You may have a chance. The only thing you can be sure of is that she won’t change and you won’t either. Don’t kid yourselves. You are who you are.

Don’t waste your time on fidelity, and don’t expect it from her. It could happen that the two of you could be so perfectly matched that you’d never have any desire for anyone else. It could happen. Right.

I’m not suggesting you spend your marriage chasing “unauthorized ass”. If it happens, it happens. Don’t pass it up. She won’t.

Love is something God does. He loves me. I can tell. Love is something you do with your children. It has always been easy and relaxed and fulfilling for me to love you. Love is what you feel about some of the things you do. You can love sex. You can love playing your instrument. You can love driving fast in a good car. You can love pizza. In any other context, love is the major incompetency of the human race. If you are looking for love, you will find pain, whether you find love or not. If a woman loves you, you will hurt her. You don’t even have to try. She will hurt you the same way without even knowing it. Love is something you can NEVER get right. Love is pain. Love is misery. Love is nearly always wasted.
Physical, relaxed, demonstrative affection is wonderful. Fondness is joy. Love is the worst kind of hellonearth.

Enjoy your life. Enjoy women. Flee love .


Semblance of Closure

September 20, 2011

During a memorial dinner we had for my father, where well over 100 people were crammed into our tiny mosque, I was asked to say a few words about him.

I tried to come up with a “speech” the night before but that seemed tacky and crass. So instead, I committed a few key words to memory and rolled with it the best I could. Here is a transcription of what I came up with…. At least what I remember of it anyway:

“My father was an imposing man, wasn’t he?

From the way he talked to the way he carried himself-

When I used to visit him at his office and catch him walking down the hallway I would say to myself ‘Damn… that is an impressive dude.’

And he really was no matter how you looked at it. He came to the United States from a pretty lousy country (no offense) with next to nothing after graduating med school and became a successful doctor saving lives and healing the sick. In fact many of the people he helped are in this room today, or have worked beside him while he worked his magic.

Whenever I would think of everything he had accomplished, I would be in awe and consider him to be slightly more than human. And, like many parents, I’m pretty sure he expected the same for me but I took a different path and I think that’s why there was always this tension between us. Of course I loved him – he was my father and gave me an excellent life and I would like to think the same is true of his feeling for me, but it never quite went past that.

Then he got sick.

But because he was this larger than life character for me, I figured he’ll have his surgery, pop some antibiotics, and be back to playing tennis and scolding me for some reason or another: No big deal right?

I held on to that belief, regardless of what my family and the doctors would say. I never argued it, but in my head I would simply say ‘Whatever -he’ll be fine.’

I held on to that belief until his last breath. Then the denial and disbelief and all those other psychological terms started to kick in. I refused to believe it happened because I had so many questions. I had so many “whys” that needed to be answered and he left without answering them. I was lost…

But something – odd – has been happening in the past week. The stories I had no knowledge of started rolling in. Stories of my father’s generosity, his kindness, his sense of humor and laugh. Stories about families given the opportunity to do things never even DREAMED of because of my father’s altruism. And they were coming in from all over the globe via email, phone, and even Facebook strangely enough.

So… With that being said I would like thank my brother and sisters for being infinitely stronger than I have been to help me through this and to help arrange everything in such a short time. I would like to thank my mother for being the rock that has held us all together.

And finally I would like to thank you: For even though I may not have had my questions answered, the stories you shared with me helped me understand my father more than I thought I could and that helps more than you can ever know.

Thank you.”

After the obligatory handshakes and hugs after my words, I had to step outside to get away from the congestion of depressed bodies.

While outside I saw Kay, a middle-age woman who I didn’t know very well but had worked in my dad’s office for many years. She approached me, eyes red and watery to the point where she was about to break down, but for a completely different reason than I expected:

“That was one of the most beautiful things I’ve heard.”
“Thank you Kay… “
“But there is something you should know.”
“Your father was so very proud of you. He told all of us.”

I tried to fight back this swelling that was happening in my mind. My jaw was clenching. My chin started to ache and quiver. My eyes filled up and nose was starting to run… It was time. The only words I was able to get out were: “He was?”

She hugged me and I lost it… It was the first time since it happened and I think the timing was probably just right. She told me to never question how my father felt about me or any of us because there was no question.

It was just the answer I was looking for.

My feelings are hurt

August 27, 2011

From the Archives: Alcohol

September 27, 2010

I thought I would go dig into the old shit I had done years ago.  It’s pretty bad.  Really bad. So it’s the same.  In this episode, my friend and I got drunk and I someone managed to do an update that night ALMOST as it happened.  I’m a horrible person for all of this.

Stardate: March 20, 2004:
Ok so Im drunk.

Quite driznk. So this one will probably make no sens – well…. less than they did befizore.

The night started out pretty cooooooooooool. My friend and I went to a local bar and, starting around 7:4fizive with began pitchers of Yuengling’s finest Lager by the pitcher.

Around 9:30ish, we decide we needed a break to admire the “trees” of the area. Beautiful trees… Starting to bloom. He saw about 4 trees and I only saw 2. 2 fucking trees. Why did I only see 2 trees? If the trees were smaller I would’ve seen more but since I can only handle a certain amount of tall, strong, trees – I only saw 2 trees. But just seeing those 2 trees made me a very happy man. I’m very easily pleased.

After we agreeeeed we saw enough trees, we agreed it was time to continue supporting the local brewery. We went back to the bar and and continues our quest again. The quest where we we forget what we’re questing for. Fudk quests.

So around 1:30ish while attemtping to play pool and not look I’m becoming a sudden parapaleigc, we befriended 2 females. A rather unattractive female and a rather cute Brunette.

The blonde, of course, was the touchy feely one. I’m sure the fact that she was drunk of her own 2 feet didn’t help, but having her touch me and rub against me was very strange to the say the least. And her friend, although nice, was keeping her distance.
I hate wing-bitch.

Well after about 4 shots and 2 pitchers of beer, I was near my limit and the silliness. Some how, the blondie acquired my phone number.
After we left, she called and asked me what I was doing. “Hoping to fuck your friend” is what I wanted to say but instead I said nothing. We rean into them at a McDonalds to where she said something like “Yeah I’m gonna go pick up my kid.” Strike 2.

The other amusing thing was her friend, the cute brunenettttte, was told to us by someone in the bar to have herpes and to avoid her. Naaaastry – Like the terotype goes, You can’t judge a boog by it’s cover.

We met that at the parking lot, said drive caref and sqyealed out o there. I obvioustly wasn’t thinking.

We needed food to get our senses back. Metting ugly infected chicks just was way out of our persona…. Something wasn’t right.


A drunken trip to the local grocery store yielded this for me. A classic, day old, turkey sub. With bread so soggy I could’ve squeezed it for moisture if I were trapped on a desserted island. Turkey so white you would think it had red eyes and feathers so white you expect snow before it was chopped up.

And my partner in crime? He’s no slaker:



Fucking heathen. B ringing oug into my house. Andn nthwo the fuck is dietz and waaaatson? PIg fucking NAZIISSS!!!!!!!!. but I’m cool and alowed it.



This should need explaoning. It’s fthis and every1 recognizes that it simply rulez your vagina…




Ex ept that I think it was expired. not so FUCKing GOLDING now huh?!
me and mah nigaaa….. Wekk the TV was LOOOOOOOOUD adn MTV just suckkks.

But that’s ok because the fuck bitch on THe screnn was making moist…..


DSLz baby,,,, and I aintalking broadband! YEAH!

but like most hos, it dinst’ last veryu long and started suckin shorly after so I decdiefed to change it with his:


ths sweetest remote ever.

You know I shouldave…


ok nermefnc. i cshoullc’’vveshould’ve brought the chi9ks -no they weers nASTTTTT





Brain (Tumor) Food

September 27, 2010
Technorati Tags: ,,

Well… about 2 months ago I got a call saying my dad was in the hospital with a brain tumor after getting in his car, getting lost, and not knowing where he was at all.  Here’s the bad boy:


Quite a mess. Apparently this is what is called a Stage/Class 4 Glioblastoma and it’s pretty much as bad as it gets. But, my father being a doctor himself of reputable ilk got the best care around and I’m guessing they went in with one of these:


And dug around for a few minutes, being careful not to scratch anything, and ended up with this:


This, I have to admit, is fucking crazy. I may have been slightly off-base thinking they would use a cocktail fork. Apparently the 10 hour surgery frontal craniotomy required them to go to peel down his forehead and cut out a section of the front of his skull.  The young female Chinese surgeon then told me:

“Then, when we removed the frontal area of his cranium, the tumor actually pushed out from his skull.  It was really quite remarkable and good news!”

Fantastic news!  You had a tumor flowing out of my fathers head!

In the end, though, it was good news because they were able to resect 90-95% of the tumor with no complications.  The reason there’s that empty space is because both the tumor and the surgery required the brain to be pushed back into his skull. 

“No need to worry though as his brain will slowly start to reshape into its normal size. Much like a sponge after you squeeze it!

However. Because the frontal lobe of the brain also controls ‘filtering’ language… He may say things he doesn’t really mean.”

And the first proof of this:  When he asked for a gun with a million bullets to kill all the “bastards” of the Pakistani government during the floods… and maybe a few for his kids for disappointing him so much in life.

So naturally, at first, I was concerned because even though he was a lying piece of shit who didn’t even have the decency to stick his dick in something hot when cheating on our mother – he did give us a pretty decent upbringing.

But it didn’t really last long.  His denial about his wife trying to take all his money (the cunt is going around behind his back tying up financial business) and the lying about being so broke he can’t pay for my youngest sister’s college have pretty much made me cold to his overall situation.  The doctors and statistics say he has about 2-4 years to survive (but it’s all subjective) and I think he knows he deserves what he gets for what he’s done, but he’ll never admit.  Whether you believe in God or not, some justice/kismet has a way of getting back to you. Plus when you make $300,000+ a year and your last alimony payment was over a decade ago – not to mention you’re still pulling a regular paycheck from your business and your disability kicks out about $10,000/month – it’s hard to believe a relatively intelligent human being (an otolarygological surgeon) could be broke.  Of course, that monster he’s with could be skewing my logic slightly.

It doesn’t bug me personally all that much anymore (it used to in the past) – but when I sit there and hear him say how much of a disappointment my siblings are to him – all brainwashing by his wife I’m sure – I want to punch him in the head.  But out of the respect for the medical condition, I haven’t….. Yet.

So anyway…  My confusion between hatred, compassion, and indifferences made me want to eat nonstop for a while.  And I ate some strange things looking back at it:


I think this was chicken tikka and Chinese fried rice? I can’t even tell from the picture.

truckstop hot dog

This was a hot dog I got from a NJ service stop.  It was supposed to be a “Famous” Nathan’s hot dog.  Leave it to NJ to fuck up something so simple to make awesome.  God I hate you, NJ.

cheese balls

Mozzarella balls soaked in Olive Oil and it’s own filth. Just as a physiological reaction my body had constipation cramps every time I took a bite. Delicious, painful, bites.

bird and sauce 

I don’t even remember what this was exactly.  I’m guessing it was something chicken-y that was far too spicy for my pussy taste buds that I had to douse in beautiful cream cheese. If anyone remembers me eating this, let me know.

And finally, something that has been taking the sting out of the family medical situation:


Now, granted I have long lost the permission to interact with 2 of the items in this picture; sometimes it’s nice, and occasionally relaxing,  to sit and stare at some art from time to time…

…. Only difference is sometimes I masturbate to certain collections.  Or at the very least, touch myself under the table.

(Sorry, dear)

Oh come on

September 27, 2010

So I went to Pizza Hut… Because I can. And of course I was seated next to this bowel movement and his Mexirican bitch…


Now he doesn’t seem to be causing much of a problem… Just using his food stamp (note: not racism, just par for the county) for deliciousness- so I don’t hate him for that.

No he’s guilty of actually playing his autotuned diarrhea music through the speaker of his phone with his south-of-the-border gash approving. I wanted to hit him with a cheesestick, but that would be unfair to the cheesestick.

Luckily… This beauty was able to distract me:


Yes she was far enough away for me to require a sniper rifle for my penis, but I’m a sad lonely man so it works out in the end

Thankfully…. My sliced life reduction plan showed up:


…and I was able to forget everything else and focus on remembering if I had enough toilet paper at the house. Because I was gonna need it.

I’m trying…

September 25, 2010


Hopefully tonight I can do something.

Belate Myself…

April 14, 2010
Days Inn

Vampires can suck it

Well I turned 34 on the 13th, which was actually last night.  I was planning on doing this then but I managed to have a good night of hotel bandwidth so I watched as much porn as my prostate would let me.  Sadly, the dextroamphetamines I’m on don’t help much.  As a potential bonus, the blow to my ego and self-esteem prevents me calling any hookers to my hotel room so I have more money to spend on important things like gas and more edible flowers arrangements to send to Olivia Munn.  That’s right sweetheart, buy 9 and get the 10th free.

So… where the fuck have I been, why am I on WordPress’s amazing site, and why do you still care?

I’ll answer them as I feel like it.  But do me a favor and head to and bombard those Siberian-sized assfucks for having the nerve to try and charge $500 to buy back my domain.  Who cares if it was my own fault that I was unemployed and couldn’t renew it.  I hope they’re firebombed by aborted fetuses soaked in napalm.

No offense.

So, on April 13, I felt somewhat “meh” for a few reasons.  I’ll go into them later but some of it does involve a woman, of course.  Well sorta.

I also learned that styrofoam isn’t meant to go in microwaves.  I couldn’t SWORN you could, but science proved me wrong one again.  Even putting a hat on my plate couldn’t protect it.

SPF Not Enough

So as soon as I pulled it out of the communal microwave in the hotel lobby (which, by the way, when you hear “What is that Smell?!” come from the front desk, it’s usually good to move quick otherwise you’re stuck making up answers to questions in a fake Pakistani accent) it instantly started melting through my fingers.  The odd thing was, the plate wasn’t all that hot.  It felt more like lukewarm slime.  I was tempted to try and rest it on my genitals back in the room, but it had already cooled off by then.  I mean, ya know, I’m guessing it had.  Of course.

Oh..... Mom.....

What you’re looking at is some of my mother’s finest work.  White Rice mixed with Okra and Lentils.  Since I sort of live with her now (and it’s an accurate description – more later) she will have moments where she treats me like I’m in middle school.  Laundry done, lunch for a few days when I travel for work, “Do you need anything from the grocery store?” asked a few time a week.  And ya know what… Fuck off because it isn’t that terrible.  When I feel I need a change in scenery I head over to the old man’s house a few miles away and hang out at the Taj Mahal for a while.

Fuck…  It’s not middle school.  I’m 17 with a job that pays well…. and less hair.  MUCH less hair.  (Less later)

Fuck you tap water

So I have lovely TV programming to keep me company.  But I was enthralled by this informercial.  At one point, there was a LeBron James-type dude (yes big and black – get over it) crying because he drank this miracle spring water and a month later, his mortgage was mysteriously paid off in full and his credit card debt just disappeared.  I need to have this shit fire out of a bidet or in a moist wipe.

Deliver unto me, my distractions

So after I took care of business, I got back to taking care of business before I took care of business.  I just wish the internet here wasn’t slow, and the toilet so small.

That’s it for now.  Should be another tomorrow night.  I know this is pretty weak but reading my work is like banging a porn star:  You can’t just start with…

Nevermind.  That doesn’t work.


April 12, 2010

It’s building slowly… I hope.