To the dude who sent me unsolicited non-con erotica

I’d followed your for weeks. Leanrd your patterns. So that night in the parking garage, when I slipped a flouride soaked rag over your mouth, was a long time coming. One you’re out, I toss your over my shoulder. As I jam my cock into your mouth, you regret your uppittty mouth. You weeps as you realize your my cumslave now…

This missive struck a nostalgic chord with me which I couldn’t quite place. It took me a minute before I put it together but finally, I got it. Your writing is reminiscent of the non-con rape fantasy erotica of the mid 80’s Harlequin Presents series, written far before Christian Grey was a twinkle in his sphinxlike, whore of a mother’s eye.

My point is, dear writer, that you’ve mistaken try-hard edginess for shock value. You’re like the Mormon who drinks a Mountain Dew in a crack house and thinks he’s bad.

You aren’t bad. You aren’t bad until you’ve written everything from gang rape tentacle porn to “Christian values” spank fiction to make a buck. You have no idea the things I’ve written and the values I’ve compromised. You cannot shock me. This shit you’ve sent? It’s amateur hour.

Let’s discuss why.

“So that night in the parking garage, when I slipped a fluoride-soaked rag over your mouth…”

You know what scares people? Situations they can relate to. There’s a reason hooker murderers get away with it more than anyone else. It’s because the general public can say, “I’m not a hooker, so that would never happen to me.” They don’t get scared because they can’t relate to the situation.

Parking garages don’t scare me. I haven’t been in one since April 23, 1996 – aka the debut episode of “Forensic Files.” Also, you drugged me with Fluoride? What was your end game? To get me an “A+ Flosser” sticker at my dentist’s office?

“One(sic) you’re out, I toss your(sic) over my shoulder.”

I am 5’9 inches tall and 175 pounds. You (according to the handle from your email, which sent me to your Twitter, which sent me to your Facebook page, which I used to look up your real name and location and find your court records from your 2016 DUI) are 5’6” and weigh 130.   You aren’t “tossing” anything unless you’re talking about tossing up the cookies you had at lunch because you have manorexia.  If you want to carry me, ladyboy, you’re going to need a crane.

“You regret your uppittty(sic) mouth…”

Don’t God-mod my character.  Also, how’d we get to cock jamming again? Wasn’t I over your shoulder a minute ago? Or more likely, on the OSHA-approved crane you rented with your mom’s credit card? It’s like you don’t even know how to continuity.

I didn’t make it all the way through your story and that’s not on me. That’s on you. As the author, it’s your job to “hook” me and get me to read on, whether you’re writing a children’s book or an anonymous threatening email. That didn’t happen.  Your story inspired the same reaction I feel when I’m deleting discount Louie Boutin comments from my spam folder. Mostly boredom mixed with mild annoyance that you exist at all. If you were trying to get my attention, you succeeded, but not in a good way. More in the way a mosquito does when it buzzes in your ear until you squish it and forget about it.

If the goal was to scare me, maybe don’t leave your comment under a verified Gmail address. That actually does the opposite of scaring me. It gives me all the power. I could forward this message verbatim to your mom, your boss, your girlfriend, your kindergarten teacher, or everyone in your Warhammer group. The only thing keeping me from going full-on scorched earth is laziness and the fact that I have no idea what “Warhammer” is.

My point is, I’ve read some poorly written non-con erotica in my time, but yours is the worst. Not the “worst” in a way where it’s disturbing. “Worst” in a way where it’s poorly executed and was clearly written by a child – which is weird because you’re in your thirties. So tell the middle schooler who ghost-wrote your erotica to work on their craft. You, on the other hand, should fling yourself face first off an overpass at your earliest convenience – if you can get a friend to drive you there.

 

 

 

 

 

 

A message from the future to nice guys everywhere

I enjoy Quora. It’s a great place for know-it-alls to get validation from internet strangers, so clearly, that strikes a chord with me. I answer a lot of questions there and for some reason, I’m marked as a WW2 expert. I think it’s because of this one time I got into a drunken internet fight over the holocaust with a white nationalist. Weirdly, he wasn’t a denier. He was just upset I portrayed Hitler in an unflattering light in one of my posts because I claimed he was a poor military strategist.[i]

As I’m an avid Quora(er?), I get a regular feed of popular questions and topics of conversation. I typically ignore them. Then, I saw this gem in my inbox.

stupid questions

And they say there’s no such thing as a stupid question.

This question stems from the nice guy fantasy. Here it is in steps. I changed the font to red when the fantasy part starts.

  1. The meeting: A socially awkward dude meets a girl in his age range that he finds attractive. Based on the romantic comedies he watches religiously but claims he hates, he immediately attributes positive traits to this girl even though he knows very little about her.
  2. The relationship: He develops a friendship with a girl for the sole purpose of “girlfriend zoning” her. I call it “girlfriend zoning” because the friendzone doesn’t exist. It’s the default status we enter with any acquaintance. It’s not weird to expect to be friends with someone you just met. It is weird to expect an immediate romantic relationship (i.e. put them in the “girlfriend zone”.) During this “girlfriend zoning” stage, he continues to ignore any red flags, personality clashes or conflicting values. He’s convinced the “real” girl he made up in his head is somewhere under all that fallible human that gives him a semi.
  3. The confession: Now, I call this step “confession” even though that confession doesn’t always happen. In some cases, the guy makes an attempt and gets shot down. In most, the guy seethes silently as his friend fails to do anything to give him the relationship he feels he deserves. Short of showing up at his house and saying, “Hey, I’m your trophy girlfriend now. Let’s have weird kinky sex, even though I’m a virgin, while you tell me why PC gaming is better,” he won’t be satisfied. This is the point where he’s shot down because no one wants to be your mom/therapist/trophy/blow up doll.
  4. The rage: You’re so nice! Like the super nicest guy of all time. You respect women. Which is why you don’t understand why that dumb slut can’t see how great you’d be for her. How you’d give her all those things that she never said she wanted. You say you’d treat her like a queen, all the while not realizing how ironic that statement is. Most monarchical couples entered relationships for the sole purpose of furthering diplomatic efforts and rarely, if ever, were spurred by romantic feelings. These relationships almost always devolved into loveless, sexless partnerships as soon as enough heirs were secured. In these partnerships, the king got to do whatever the fuck he wanted. Meanwhile, the queen was expected to act as a paradigm of virtue and chastity before dying of old age at 45. Essentially, the queen was a figurehead, there to provide sex and assurance to the emotionally fragile men of her time. Fuck, no wonder you want to treat her “like a queen.” You get to pile all your unreasonable expectations onto her, hold her to ridiculous standards you could never meet yourself and then offer nothing in return. Shocker chicks aren’t into that.
  5. The sour grapes harvest: “The bitch got a boyfriend? He’s probably some Chad that beats and rapes her and she totally deserves it.” That’s the thing with nice guys. They’re not actually nice. I’m not an expert here, but I guarantee nice people don’t typically blame the victim or hope for terrible things to happen to others. Other people don’t need to “earn your respect.” You need to be a respectful member of society.
  6. The question. He posts a question on Quora asking for fake internet points and validation from other nice guys the world over.
  7. The epiphany. The girl he was in love with sees his question. It’s been ten years, and she’s been through a lot. Because she always dated rapists and abusers, she’s a single mother to six kids. Being pretty, she was unable to develop any useful life skills and has been trapped in a series of minimum wage jobs ever since she got too flabby to earn money on the stripper pole. She responds to his question, saying, “I’m so sorry. I knew you were nice but I never knew you were that nice!  If only I hadn’t rejected you when I had the chance. Oh, woe is me! Please take me back and care for me.”
  8. The end. He teleports behind her, and says “sorry, nothing personal kid but no fat chicks.” He tips his fedora and heads off to fuck all the waiting supermodels who love him because of his crazy new app that made him a billionaire.  

This, Quora dude, this is the story you want to happen. But the thing is, we both know it didn’t because you’re asking questions on Quora rather than gaining insight from your close friends Elon Musk and Warren Buffet.

So let me tell you the truth. She doesn’t regret rejecting you because she doesn’t remember you.  You don’t exist to her. You were the thirsty dude she met a long time ago. Even if you defeat the odds and somehow manage to become a tech billionaire like Marc Zuckerberg, she’s still going to ignore you because you weren’t that important to her life. She’s going to see you on CNN and say “that dude looks familiar. Was he the guy on the “Vampire Diaries?”[ii]

She doesn’t have six kids, but she probably has some because unlike you, she went ahead and continued to meet people and have life experiences rather than being stuck in a high school “jocks against the nerds” mindset. She went to college. She developed skills that she used to grow her career. She, at age forty, is statistically financially and professionally more stable than her male counterparts. She has a 401k, a college fund for her kids, six months of savings in her checking account, an average credit score of 750  and a mortgage.

She got all this through personal growth. She is not the same person today that she was at 19, 25 or 31. She doesn’t regret those years because they helped her carve out an abundant life. She’s in a happy relationship with someone who has the exact same mindset.

And she doesn’t remember you.

What I’m trying to say, Quora dude, is stop being sour grapes. This fantasy you have where she’s a 42-year-old failed stripper doesn’t make her look bad. It makes you look bad. Because apparently, you’ve been pining after a girl with no life skills or accomplishments outside of being pretty for a very long time. If your fantasy was real, you’d be even more pathetic than you are right now.

You did a brave thing by shooting your shot. You got shot down and that experience should make you tougher, help you grow. Take the loss, learn from it, and drop the sour grapes. Don’t ever think about your rejection again because she isn’t going to either. She doesn’t care and neither should you.

 

[i] Calling Hitler an excellent military strategist is like claiming Casey Anthony is an expert on early childhood development. Hitler was not a great military strategist. He was just charismatic and insane.  Russia could have assassinated him at any time. They chose not to because he was so incompetent and overly emotional, they knew he would end the Nazi party for them. He was Europe’s Kim Jong-il.

[ii] Whenever I see someone that I know I recognize but don’t know why, I just assume I saw them on the Vampire Diaries.

 

Fear Women

There is one reason the genders remain unequal. It has nothing to do with strength, or smarts, or numbers. It’s a simple, primal driver that we, as a people, have rejected to our detriment.

It’s fear.

Men don’t fear women the way women fear men. As a woman, I live my life in a constant state of fear. If someone is walking behind me, I’m aware. As I enter my car in a dark parking lot at night, I’m holding my keys like tiny brass knuckles, ready to fight off wayward sex murderers. Every time I have an orgasm, the last five seconds or so is spent worrying that racing heart is less passion and more aortic dissection. Ok, that last one was more the responsibility of Father Time, but my point is the same.

Every time I think I’m about to die, a man is the culprit.

I’m not saying that to be like “all men are brutes that are always hurting us, innocent women, all the time.”  I’m saying that because I don’t understand why men don’t feel the same way. I don’t understand why men aren’t afraid of women all the time.

They really should be.

I blame the press. I’m going to use Aileen Wuornos as my example. Aileen was dubbed the first female serial killer by the press. She was active over a nine-month period from 1989 to 1990. In that time, she murdered 7 men. During her tenure, she murdered on average one man per month. Her nearest serial killer competitor per capita is John Wayne Gacy, who murdered every two months.

By kill count, she’s an impressive specimen alone. Being female, that just made her more appealing to the press. But they were wrong about one thing. She certainly was not the first female serial killer. Nor was she the most prolific.

That honor goes to Countess Elizabeth Báthory of Hungary.  Between 1603 and 1610, she murdered over 650 serving girls via exsanguination. She used their blood as a moisturizer because she thought it reversed the aging process. She served four years in prison before dying of natural causes. She single-handedly committed the equivalent of genocide and pretty much got away with it.

Because men don’t fear women. Even when the men in charge knew what she did, they still couldn’t bear to put her down like a rabid dog. They still thought she was redeemable. If you think women trying to change men is the cliché, you’ve been sucked into a wrong way of thinking. That cliché goes both ways.

Think of the nerd with the bad girl fetish., Think of how he’s always chasing that hot, coke snorting, Molly-popping party girl. He hates how that party girl keeps going back to her coke dealer boyfriend. He doesn’t see how she could see anything in a commitment-phobic, drug addict asshole who’s only redeeming quality is their extreme attractiveness. That nerd will never see the irony. Never see how they’re the one chasing a commitment-phobic, drug addicted asshole who’s only redeeming quality is extreme attractiveness.

They don’t see that because they don’t see women as people. They see them as accessories. Things you can win, like goldfish at a carnival. Pets. And pets, they’re never bad. They just take on the traits of their masters and masters never fear their pets.

Which is why those men don’t fear women. The dude who says to me “I’ll never hit a woman” is actually the most misogynistic asshole I know. And stupid. The dude who says something like that? He’s also the cat who gets murdered after marrying a black widow and signing a big fat insurance policy with her as the beneficiary. And she gets away with it because men don’t fear women.

I don’t have to be stronger than you to slip a little anti-freeze into your coffee every day until your heart explodes. I don’t have to be smarter than you to push you in front of a train and tell your friends you were suicidal. I don’t need an army of thousands to spray some ricin into an air duct and watch everyone die of a strange, aggressive flue-strain. I can ruin your day. I can end your life. My gender in no way prevents that.

Men, I think you’re the problem in gender inequality and not the way you think. I think most of you are normal, law-abiding, sweet dudes, who would gladly pull over to the side of the road to help a damsel in distress.

And that shit is going to get you killed!

Girls don’t flag people down anymore. We all have AAA. If she’s flagging you down, it’s so her boyfriend hiding in the bushes can rob you. Just drive on! Stop being stupid. When you drive around, willing to give kindness to any pretty girl you see, you’re kind of asking for it.

Fear women. That’s what’s finally going to make us equal. The day I can pull over at a rest stop, and have a young man flinch away when I approach him for directions, that’s how I’ll know we finally made it. That’s how I’ll know the genders truly are equal. I’m not asking a lot. I just want you to fear me.

Sorry boys, the wall hits everyone

 

There are a lot of places I wish I never visited. A Yuma porta-a-pottie in July, Berlin’s Love Parade during a hepatitis outbreak, New York City at any time, ever.  But there are no places I regret more than Reddit. Only on Reddit was I introduced to incels, MTGOW and the Red Pill. Only on Reddit did I learn about “the wall.”

the wall

Not this one. This is one of the good ones. 

The wall is like the international date line, but double the neckbeards. It’s an imaginary barrier placed in a woman’s timeline that establishes when she stops being relevant because she’s no longer fuckable.  The barrier moves based on the pedophilic or hebephiliac tendencies of the user.

Just a side note here. If you’ve ever been pissed because someone called you a pedophile, when really, you’re a hebephile, you’ve chosen the wrong hill to die on. You are a garbage person and your DNA does not need to be carried forward. Semantics don’t change that.

The wall is tied to a woman’s fertility because it’s possible to create a timeline for it. There’s physiological evidence that we’re no longer able to conceive. There is a clear criterion for calling a woman unfuckable, hence, the wall.

Male fertility, on the other hand, is harder to pin down. We know that by age fifty, a man’s ability to produce viable sperm is reduced by 90%. That aged sperm is 5 times more likely to result in genetic mutations, with more than half of those mutations resulting in death before the age of three. Also, about 76% of men age 50 and over report consistent problems with maintaining erections until ejaculation, so we need to figure that in. Can’t hammer a nail with a limp noodle, and all that.

Ok, so it’s actually super easy to pin down. Let’s just break it down by sperm count. At age 25, you have 100 viable sperm out of the hundred thousand you spray and pray out. By 50, you have 10. By that age, not all your remaining sperm are healthy. When eliminating the risk of birth defects, your chances drop by 2/3. You now have three viable sperm left. We tack on the fact that most men jack off three times as much as they fuck, you’re down to one.  You now have less than 1 in 100 chance that you will have intercourse which will result in a viable birth. I thought that stat looked familiar. It was.

Turns out, the likelihood of a 50-year-old man becoming a father is exactly the same as the likelihood of a 50-year-old woman becoming a mother. If we’re determining human value based strictly on our ability to produce offspring, men and women are neck and neck at 50. And that isn’t an opinion. It’s verifiable science.

But society ignores that because men run it and they need to believe they’re immortal. They also like to claim that dudes get “more distinguished” as they age while women just fall apart. They point to dudes like Charlie Sheen as evidence they can continue pulling dime 20-year-olds forever.

But the thing is, Charlie Sheen is special. He was handsome and charismatic when he was 18. He’s still handsome and charismatic now. Age didn’t make him better. His awesomeness was established at birth.   My point is, the 50-year-olds you see pulling 22-year-olds? Yeah, they’ve been doing that shit for thirty years. You only noticed now because of their age. Age is correlative, not causative. When you (a normal person) turns forty and you try to hit on some 22-year-old chick, she’s not thinking about “how distinguished” you are. She’s feeling for her pepper spray to make the creepy old man go away.

It’s kind of like how I claim that being drunk at 9 a.m. doesn’t count as day-drinking because I never stopped drinking the night before. It’s cumulative effort which allows me to be shitfaced when most people are watching Good Morning America and still not technically be considered an alcoholic. It’s years of work, not a sudden new power given to me when I hit middle age.

Beautiful, fuckable people just stay that way, whether they’re 17 or 57.  For them, there is no wall. For the rest of us, there definitely is. It hits you around 9 a.m., on a Tuesday, when you’re still shitfaced from the night before and wondering if that yellowish tint to your skin is a tan or jaundice.  And you hope that it’s jaundice. Because at least then, you know how you got it.

 

To the dude who sent me unsolicited erotica,

I would love to kiss your neck so softly as my hands slide up your stomach through under your shirt to caress your breast, as my cock gets harder then its ever been with the thought of penetratingly your wet pussy, as I move my lips away from yours and slowly kiss my way down your body all the way down to your feet, while sliding off your under wear. I would slide my hands up your legs Intl your inner thighs and start rubbing clit before putting my tounge in and tasting you, occasionally slipping my tounge into your tasty ass hole. By this time I couldn’t help myself but stuff my cock into your vagina as you bite your lips and pull me closer to you. I want to **** you until I cum

First off, let me say I admire your moxie. It’s not easy to open our writing up to criticism, especially when it’s of such an intimate nature. You’ve shown real guts in sending this message to me – along with thousands of other women – in the hopes of gaining valuable feedback.  Luckily for you, I’m an expert source for writing feedback. After all, I did spend $80k getting a degree in a language I already spoke fluently. So I can tell you this with 100% certainty. Your writing will need extensive work if you ever hope to publish.

Let me cover some of your biggest issues.

  1. Punctuation. I understand punctuation can be a stylistic choice. However, as a stylistic choice here, it reads less “fevered sexual rush” and more “schizophrenic rant to an entity only I can see.” You lack the technical skill to use punctuation as a tone device. Stick to periods, like your mom should have done.
  2. Mixing tenses. You’re either in the past or the present. You can’t be both. Especially not in the same sentence. Let’s explain with this heaping pile of exposition.  “By this time I couldn’t help myself but stuff my cock into your vagina as you bite your lips and pull me closer to you.” You’re using active verbs but setting the scene with passive voice. You can’t do that. Well, you can if you want your text to read like amateurish word salad. If that was the goal, well played.
  3. Continuity. One minute, you’re licking my asshole. Then, suddenly, you’ve managed to jam your cock into me without moving at all. Is this a sci-fi fantasy where you’re a new species (perhaps alien) with a facial penis? If so, you need to revisit world building and establish that sooner. If not, there needs to be more of a transition between ass licking and cock stuffing. That tip applies to both writing and reality.
  4. Redundancy and passivity. During your train wreck of an opening sentence, you used the word “your” nine times. Buy a thesaurus. Learn to mix your sentence length and structure. The fact that I have to tell you this should be a clue that you’re not a good writer, but in case it isn’t clear– Never, under any circumstances, use the same word nine times in a single sentence.
  5. Narrative/POV. You’ve done a good job of establishing yourself as the central figure in this draft – and I imagine that’s a skill which extends to the bedroom. The issue is the POV doesn’t work for the market. Look at any successful erotic novel written for women. They all had one thing in common. They cast the woman as the central figure and focused on her feelings, rather than the man’s. The reason for this is simple. Women don’t get off the same way as men.  As such, describing how you feel when you get off to a woman is unlikely to turn her on. It just reads as an internet pervert typing one-handed to an apathetic audience.
  6. Derivative subject matter. You know what every internet pervert has in common? They view sex as a three-step process. Kiss, lick genitalia, intercourse. I assume they do so because that’s all they know. And if that’s all you know, you’re not qualified to write erotica. You writing erotica is like my 90-year-old Memere writing a developer‘s guide for ARkit.   It covers the stuff everyone already likes with no nuanced understanding of what makes it good.

As it stands, what you’ve submitted is not ready for publishing. I’ve ignored the vast majority of your serious grammatical issues as I know you’re not intending to sell this work. But I also want to point out it’s not ready to be read by anyone you hope to fuck; unless you’ve decided you’ve changed your mind about fucking them and want to shut it down. Like if you found out she had herpes, AIDs, living parents or some other terrible affliction.  If that’s the case, writing on spec was the right choice.

In any case, if you want to turn someone on with words alone, understand how words work. You’re not going to find love sending mass emailed erotica to strange girls. The only ladies who’ll give you a positive response are chatbots and catfish.  Best case, normal chicks will just add you to their block list as yet another creepy weirdo with zero self-awareness.  Worst case, some asshole copies your message verbatim and posts it on their website, so when all the other girls you sent it to search it (which they will) they wind up on a page calling you out as a total tool.

 

 

If you don’t vaccinate your children, you are a bad parent

Image result for anti vaxxer

I started an argument on Reddit a few days ago that’s starting to carry into my real life. As such, those individuals who disagreed with me should have found this blog by now. This is for you.

If you don’t vaccinate your children, you are a bad parent.

To clarify, if you say to me, “but I choose not to vaccinate my children because of my religious  conviction.” I say:

“If you’re part of a religion that allows children to die of preventable illnesses, you are a bad parent.”

Also, if you say to me, “we favor Eastern medicine and choose to treat our child in a holistic manner,” I say:

“Even well-respected practitioners of Eastern medicine understand it’s to be used in conjunction with – and not in favor of – vaccines. You are a bad parent.”

There is no “Big Vaccine” out there trying to scam you out of money. If a pharmaceutical company really wanted to scam you out of money, they would not CURE an illness with a vaccine and only get paid once. They would offer “treatment” and get paid on a monthly basis forever.

Perhaps, they would even convince you that something that doesn’t work at all is the only solution. Just spitballing ideas here, but I would go for oils. I’d tell people this was the natural way to cure this serious illness, taking advantage of their naivete. Because really, vaccines essentially eradicated the illness almost entirely and I know that there’s only a small percentage of a chance they’d ever get it – even unvaccinated.

But I don’t think too far ahead on that. Because soon, those idiots using my oils? They tell their friends to use my oils. As people rely on my useless oils, their children’s chances of getting a serious, preventable illness go up. Less vaccinated kids = higher chance of getting the illness. Eventually, illnesses that were eradicated decades ago start showing up again. But hey, by the time that happens, I’ll probably be dead because essential oils don’t cure strokes.

Yes, I’m talking about Gary Young. Seriously, fuck that guy

Before any anti-vaxxers tell me to “do my research” because you spent two hours looking up statistics on “Younglivingforever.com” or “essentialoils.gov,” let me tell you — you’re wrong.

I did my research. In that research, I learned that vaccines have exponentially reduced infant mortality rates while increasing life expectancy for the population overall. I learned that no vaccine has ever been linked to a case of autism and the vast increase in autism cases since the 1980s occurred due to doctors being better able to detect those on the spectrum through better medical resources. You can find this same exact information online at the CDC.

So let me say this one more time, in case I wasn’t clear before. If you don’t vaccinate your children, you are a bad parent.

The only qualified drug counselor is a prior addict

pain-not-addiction

People give advice all the time. For some people, it’s damn near an addiction. Not a real addiction. Those involve mind-altering substances. But it’s a prominent behavioral trait.

I’m one of those people. I give a lot of advice. Much of it unsolicited. But even I – know-it-all asshole that I am  – know where to draw the line.

Let me take you back. Picture it, Disappearing Island, Florida.  Went out to said island with a group of friends, as well as friends of friends I barely knew. During the trip, I lit up a cigarette. And here comes well-meaning asshole. We’ll call her “Cunt” – because I really don’t think she was well-meaning as much as she was a know-it-all cunt.

Cunt: You know that’s bad for you, right?

Me: Nope. No idea. Last my doctor told me, this was an ideal cure for female hysteria. Well, that and leaches.

Cunt: Have you ever tried to quit?

Me: Yes <proceeds to explain the approximate billion drugs, nicotine replacements, doctors, hypnotists and therapies I’ve tried >

Cunt: Well, what you really need to do is put your cigarettes in a baggie. Every day, you put less cigarettes in the baggie, until there’s no cigarettes in the baggie…<honestly, this retarded shit went on for twenty minutes and I can’t be bothered to regurgitate this stupid idea which I guarentee worked for no one in the world, ever.>

Me: Oh, did that work for you?

Cunt: No, I’m not a smoker.

Me: Well then, you don’t know shit. Now shut up.

Look, there are some things you need some experience on to be able to offer an opinion. There’s plenty of other things you don’t. For example, I don’t need to be a parent to know it’s wrong to punch a toddler in the face. Just from being alive, I know toddler’s faces are squashy, still forming and not safe for punching. This is a thing I would know if I’d never given birth.

I see a plane nose down in the center of a local Walmart, I don’t need a degree in aeronautics to determine the pilot fucked up. Planes aren’t supposed to land in Walmarts. Clearly, mistakes were made.

Some things, you can have an opinion on just seeing them. You don’t need any prior experience to understand the root issue. You punch a kid in the face, you’re a bad parent. You plow a plane into the Dale Earnhardt Jr. collection at the local Walmart, you’re a bad pilot. Even laymen can understand that.

But laymen don’t understand addiction. The job of an addiction counselor is the only one in the world where experience being high on drugs should be required. You need to have been an addict to understand an addict. And by an addict, I mean a real addict who’s been addicted to mind-altering substances. Not addicted to macramé, or mysteries or chocolate.

Stop appropriate my culture, pussies.

I mean the kind of addiction where – if you don’t have that thing you’re addicted to – you can’t function until you do. That thing becomes your sole purpose for being alive. When you try to quit that thing, your brain tricks you. It says “hey, come on, that shit makes you so happy. And life’s too short to be unhappy. Who cares if it makes you sick? Sure, not having it will make you live longer – but if you have to live without it, are you really interested in living that long anyway?”

Unless you’ve lived that, you don’t get it. Yes, you can be the kid of an addict, the friend of an addict, the partner of an addict and think you know – but you don’t. Your opinion isn’t going to make an addict quit, because addicts live inside themselves. They’re only capable of seeing a short-term world through their own eyes. And for the rest of their lives, even if they get clean, they will always think of that one thing that tempts them. At least once a day, they’ll remember that high. And they’ll never be able to let it go.

If you really want to give me advice on how to cure my addictive behaviors, give me the schematics for a time machine. That’s the only true cure-all – the ability to go back in time and stop myself before I started. At the very least, have some fucking experience in what being an addict is like. Only then are you qualified to dispense life advice to an addict.