They tell me I'm supposed to be unique on here. I'm supposed to have this special voice. A writer's voice. The fuck does that even mean?

I'm not unique. I'm not abnormal. I'm not a fucking abnormality. I'm the average modern millennial fucktard.

I am alone. Self-imposed, self-imprisoned... in my own head. It's fucked up there, in my rat race corn maze.

Last week, I walked into a Lover's for the first time in my life, and I was startled by what I found - it was a department store not dissimilar to an Old Navy, but instead of khaki shorts and polo shirts, there were sex toys and lingerie. The store's employees, to be sure, must have seen plenty of people like me - 26 year old virgins - before. They were almost immune to me.

I bought a fake vagina - and it makes me feel good, but it's only made of rubber. It's just a tube of cyberskin with a fake vagina in it. I know it's rubber, and this fact somehow makes the experience less than entirely satisfying. It's always an empty high, because at the end of it, I have no one to share it with.

With a real human female, the experience would be more time consuming, and I'd have to spend several hours on foreplay before I ever got to the climax, but the climax - I'm assuming, as I've only ever been allowed to do the foreplay bit so far, would be better. So much better - not that I'd last any longer, but It would be a shared experience. Someone else - a real life human female - would be just as sweaty and salty and happy and ashamed as me.

Unfortunately, you can't have sex without emotions. I don't like those emotions.

"You're going to have a family one day," my female coworker, with a family of her own, says to me.

"No," I say.

"Yup. You are," she says, while ripping an old piece of aluminum foil off an hotel pan.

"Not a fucking chance," I say.

"Why?" she asks.

"I'm opposed to it. I'm set against it," I reply, dropping a bag of chicken fritter tenders into a vat of deep frying oil.

She furthered her irritating line of inquiry, and I changed the subject. I didn't give an answer. But you already know the reason, if you happen to be one of the three people in the world who actually read this blog without barfing - not including the IC.

Why? Because I'm immature. Not in the standard interpretation of the word- but in the dangerous definition of it. I make bad decisions, because something in my brain is different than everyone else's. I poorly manage my finances, I usually don't do things that I don't want to do, and I am an exceptionally terribly accountant of my own time management.

These are not the traits of a decent parent. These are not the traits of a decent cohabitant. These are not the traits of the H word.

I shove the drill bit further into my psyche.

The galaxy spins.

The universe unfolds.


A window curtain of compasses, all pointing in different directions. The faded light bleeds through the window, and bathes this restroom in a pale green atmosphere. The light is off - the motion detector has been acting like a complete bitch. So I have to poop in the dark, even at eighty degrees in here, and my shirt is drenched in sweat. Beads roll off my forehead, and the windless heat does not bode well the smell of shit to disappear.

The room is illuminated by the light from my iPhone 5 - portraits of beautiful women on Tinder, many of whom I insert into my fantasies - having nothing better to do as I wait for my toilet logs to plop. I imagine them riding me like cowgirls, and then using my head to steer while I eat their lady sandwiches.

And then my heart palpitates, and I try and try to think about something else - haunted by my insecurities. Dating is so much work, it's too difficult.

I still think love is bullshit, because it involves so much lying. Lying about nearly everything. Pretending to be happy, and that you're just an invincible hunk of a man, and nothing damages you.

I'd really like to just have sex with someone without knowing their name, but that's dangerous. And I'm still fat. I'm still a virgin.


Instead of actually trying to date someone, I just masturbate constantly, hoping that my lack of intimacy won't negatively affect my future. I might just buy a Fleshlight and see if that works.

I've read online that there's this drug called Zoloft that kills the sex drive, and I've thought a lot about that. Back when I was going to to church every week, I often thought about chopping off my penis.

In the meantime, I'll still be watching porn.

But every day I long for something that I don't have.


An Automated Voice

I am speaking to you now with my tongue, but this is not my real voice. And now, I am going to speak, and I am going to use my real voice - so you know the difference.

I lost my ability to speak a few years ago. My tongue was torn out of my skull by a member of a neo-nazi group down south, if only for sleeping with his ex girlfriend. Honestly… I didn’t even know who he was before that.

There have been a lot of assholes on my naughty list. The guy who took my tongue is just one of them. The guy who took my legs, another one. And someday, I’m sure I’ll meet the one who will take my life.

Speaking is for losers. Speaking is for people who don’t think about what they’re going to say next.

For me, every word is precious. Every word is calculated. Every word takes time. So, I just don’t fuck about. I don’t diddle. I think carefully, and then I speak through this machine. It records my words in text format as well… so one day… one day I’ll be able to read every single word that I’ve ever spoken to anyone. That record is in here. It is permanent.

Speaking… it’s so fucking cliche. And it’s so boring.

Another reason why I’m glad that I don’t have to speak anymore, is that since everything that I’ve ever said to anyone since I started using this machine is recorded in here - I get to just use my old speeches again, and I’m not worn out by the fact that it’s the same shit again. The exact same words, fifty times in a row. Nearly half of my communication is done this way. It leaves me more time to do what I want, in the time it takes for the other half of the parley to hear my words. These words you’re hearing right now, I wrote them two years ago. It’s true what they say - there’s nothing new under the sun.

The tongue is necessary for human speech.

Everyone speaks. Even owls speak. Even dogs speak. Even cats speak. And dolphins. And bears. Everyone speaks.

But no one speaks like those with the human tongue, which is perhaps why we don’t understand anyone but us, and why, for some strange fucking reason - the only people who can understand me are… the Heirs of Slytherin.

Must Float On, Must Float On

I used to hear stories about whale riders, and Maori warriors, and the spirit brethren of the Makah - and along came the fucking Earth First and Greenpeace and the rest of the LSD charade of the late 90's - and those stories of whale riders are gone. Mixed emotions.

To be fair, I do believe that without Greenpeace, the whales would all be dead now. So, there is that. But there was a love - a pure and unbidden love - held aloft in those stories of whale riders that I used to hear. And now when the conversations move onto whales, I'm only ever hearing about the end of the world in all its varying manifestations.

So, when I heard this story today, it nearly broke me in half.

Someone just told me at dinner tonight about an Orca whale near here who lost her child and has been carrying it around for the last sixteen days, and for some reason, in that moment, I had to hold back tears. All of the stories of my childhood, and all of the majesty of the Orcas - it punched my gut with a fist.

And there was something else.

In that moment, I could reach out across the sea and feel her pain. Here I am, empathising with a fucking whale. I could hear her crying.

And then an hour ago, it came back to me. I thought of Lezley McSpadden, and Sybrina Fulton, and Gwen Carr - and all of those mothers who have had to outlive their children. I cried.

Heavy sigh.

The Million Dollar Cabin

Before I begin, the website you need to visit now is www.friendsofthecabin.com.

The Million Dollar Cabin is falling down!!!

If you don't know what that is - it's the cabin used for both the interior and exterior "cabin-in-the-forest" scenes from the 1993 masterpiece film "THE VANISHING." It was also used in a few other productions.

It is on Boy Scout property at a place called Camp Pigott on the Cascade Scout Reservation in Chief Seattle Council. Traditionally it has been used for staff housing, but if I'm able to fix it up - I'd love to turn it into the Cascade Scout Museum or even a Moviemaking/ Communications/ Theatre merit badge house.

LEGALLY, this fundraising effort is not affiliated with the BSA, Camp Pigott, or Chief Seattle Council - I am raising the money individually to fix up the cabin, and then I will donate all the money raised to the Council for that specific purpose. Otherwise the money will be allocated to the General Camp Fund and probably used to buy coffee for the Round Table. I am also not legally authorized to solicit funds from BSA employees. So this is not that either. This is all donations.

If you are a movie buff, or if you are just into the Scouting movement, please consider donating FIVE DOLLARS to the GoFundMe that I've set up at www.friendsofthecabin.com.

Dear Flop House

So, I listen to this podcast called The Flop House. Their website is https://www.flophousepodcast.com. They are great peaches over there. Anyways, about six months ago, they asked for an essay on butts. This is what I sent them today.


In case you forgot, in a previous episode of your podcast, you asked listeners to submit a 500 word essay on butts. I was only able to submit this just now, because of reasons that shall not be repeated here. Mainly - I’m a very lazy human person.

When you say the word “butt,” what I hear is the word “but.” But the word “but” is another way of saying that you have something to interrupt the flow of a conversation with. Like, say, you have a counter-argument to present to someone. I certainly do not think of a part of the human anatomy that acts as a refuse removal port. Certainly I do not think of Dan. Nor do I think of Steeley Dan. Nor a man with a plan. I really really don’t think of Ayatollah Kohmeni, because that would be super weird, even though he’s from Iran, and that rhymes with Dan - if you’re George Bush and you like to pronounce things wrong. George Bush was a major dick, but that’s not an ass, which he was as well, and asses are also butts.

But now we have a new president. His name is Bill. I’m assuming, I really haven’t been paying attention because of all the bad movies I’ve been watching. Movies, like The Legend of 1900. Even though it flopped - it’s actually my favorite movie ever. One of the best movies ever made in my opinion. Even though it flopped - I’m assuming. It seems like the kind of movie that would flop.I think that Hollywood has a skewed perception of reality. They seem to think that the box office is what determines a good movie. Although, some of the best movies in the world don’t do so well at the Box Office. That’s all because of the marketing. Marketing firms get hired to promote shitty movies like Battleship and Independence Day: Resurgence, while the really good movies like The Last Witch Hunter get minimal coverage. Did Graham Norton ever invite Vin Dissel to talk about that movie on his show? No, because Graham Norton was too afraid of Mark Wahlberg’s drunken behavior on his show only some months or years or days earlier.

By the way, Mark Wahlberg needs to lay off the drinky-drinks. Like Mel Gibson. What weird people they are when they’re drunk, am I right? Hi-fives all around because I’m always right.Anyways, fuck cranberries.

As I was saying before I rudely interrupted myself - my name is Guylaen O’Connor, and I’m a 24 year old sis-gendered straight white male from north of seattle. Imagine Chris Pratt with seasonal depression, with black hair and bad teeth and a much more cynical attitude. Imagine, actually, the character that Chris Pratt plays in Zero Dark 30, because that’s slightly closer to the truth - even though I’m in the Army, not the navy. Who in the world would name their elite special operations unit after a hairless mammal? That’s right, the Navy. Fucking sea cucumbers. Fleet Week? More like never-on-fleek week.

Anyways, fuck the police.

Speaking of major assholes, Nicky Minaj. She’s fucking awesome. And, as she is often quoted as saying, she’s “got a big, fat ass. ass. ass. ass. ass. ass.”

I imagine her butt looks much better in person than Dan’s.

Who else is an asshole? Donald Trump, but I don’t think you’re here to read about people with major medical concerns like spewing bullshit out of their mouth. How does that even happen though? Bullshit is from bulls, right? Is there a tiny bull living in Donald Trump’s mouth that’s like the exact opposite of the babel fish from the Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy? Eating words and shitting out sonic frequencies of jumbled noises that vaguely make sense, but only if you stand on your head, shut your eyes, and pretend that nothing exists in the world?

I want to scream.

But was this 500 words?


If there were ever such a thing as true love, or soulmates, bound and quantumly entangled - even if we've never met I can imagine one thing plainly above all else:

When I dip she dip.

Beyond that, I mean... shit. No such luck in love. She's out there somewhere, and I'll always be ready to loose my virginity sometime. Damn, 25 and still a virgin.

There was a kid on this tv show who thought it was bad being 21 and still a virgin. He committed suicide because of it. Suicide? For that?

What an idiot.

I mean - I've done nearly everything EXCEPT for the actual act of inserting my penis into a vagina. I've had a BJ, gotten a handjob, I've gone down on a girl, used my first three fingers, and I've rubbed a clitorious - that's an amalgam of the words clitoris and victorious - from the innie and the outie. For someone who is still technically a virgin, these have been some intensely intimate experiences.

OK, so I haven't done everything. I've never done Anal, and I'm so terrified of contracting salmonella from getting poop on my penis that I don't think I want to. I've never inserted anything into my urethra. I've never participated in auto-erotic asphyxiation. I've never worn a leather ball gag and been slapped by a dominatrix. I've never dressed up like a furry Fox and had my dick sucked by three farm animals.

And there are plenty of things on Reddit that I've never heard of and will never do.

I've done the basics. It's just... I'm still a virgin.

I carry this brand around with me - people expect it less of me these days. They all think I've fucked someone. But I'm so fucking bad with girls - how could it be anything else?

I think - however, that I'm holding myself back. I'm holding myself back because... I'm too nice? I know that sounds selfish - but think on this: I have this idea that there are better guys out there. Guys with more money than me, and 6 pack abs, and perfect tan lines, and guys who know how to treat women - and I want people to be happy. I don't want anyone getting any less of what they deserve.

If it's a girl that I like - then she obviously deserves better than me right now.

I want to wait until I have more money. I want to wait until I have abs. I want to wait until I have a steady job - secure in my sanity. I want to wait.

But how long do I wait?

The Darkness

The darkness approaches me
Realistically I'm
I'm scared
I'm shit out of luck and I'm

Tired of the feeling
On the surface of my cranium
I've been skullfucked
I've been barbecued
And sauted with marinade
And roasted over a 

Fire and bombs and guns
Reign in my mind
Behind the plexiglass
Refracting my reflection
And skewing my sense of
Invoking a

Gang of bad guys

Another Letter to Abriel


I haven’t sent you any letters in a while. I’m sorry, so very much sorry. I know what it is to have something terribly wrong happen.

To be quite honest, I was afraid to write this letter. I am not sure if you are still alive. I don’t know anything about what happened last month, other than what I see on American news broadcasts, which most of the time don’t show you the whole picture.

When I was about your age - it’s hard to believe that you’re already 10 years old - the American Twin Towers fell in New York City. There were images seared into my mind that day that I will never be able to get rid of. They will always be there. I see those images when I dream sometimes.

I can’t tell you anything that will relieve you of feelings that you are so right to have. Life must be very confusing right now.

I can only give you my advice: live to honor the memories of those who are no longer with us. Go on living a good life, to honor their memories. Be the best that you can be.

I met a man the other day. He was a strapping young gentleman full of… something that I can’t exactly describe. He told me not to worry about anything, that everything would be taken care of. That everything - no, in fact, the universe tends to unfold as it should. Or at least it will showed. If it didn’t, he added, then we would all be very confused as to the nature of our existences in bent space, and the loss of theoretical physics would therein for be bent themselves. No,  indeed the universe does tend to unfold as it should.

I got your Christmas card. It was so sweet of you to send me that card. But I don’t care for christmas cards with happy images on them, because I’m sure that is the last thing on your mind right now.

Holding up the floor

I'm staring at the ground.

I can't do it.

I'm fucked.

I need to pass this fucking test. I need to pass. I need to do this. Come on, come on you piece of shit! Do this! Do it!

I kick out my legs, and do three push ups. I collapse to the ground, spent.

Not physically... Mentally. I know that somewhere in here is the capability to do more. But right now, for some fucking reason - I'm nervous? My palms start sweating, I have trouble breathing, my muscles are tensing up. I rub my hands together and start breathing hard.


I do ten more, and collapse again.

I don't get it. I'm scared. It's like i'm terrified, and I don't know why.