Bringing Home the Freshest Kill

Posts in the Adderall category

Dug this up from the digital archives. It was a more cynical time for me back then, fueled by weed and Adderall


My Self-Summary

I am the Poet Laureate of East Multnomah County. As befits the stature of one so noble, I have a few pre-requisites:

  • You must live within a 5-mile radius of the Harvey Scott Statue on Mt. Tabor but within reasonable proximity to WINCO, with occasional access to the Harvey Pittock Mansion and Skyline Boulevard on Sundays (but only every other month and not during Ramadan or during remembrances of 9/11);
  • If you have any ankle fat, you’re going to have to work it off, because I just can’t tolerate that;
  • You must sleep on the left side of the bed;
  • It’s not a deal-breaker, but I like meals that don’t have excessive food mileage;
  • You must be able to pick me up from my back-reforesting appointments and, preferably, have talcum powder readily available at all times; and
  • On dates, I ask that you bring along eight sheets of Velostat, a head band, and most importantly — VELOSTAT. You can buy it by the square yard at certain retailers. Fabric stores may carry it in semi-large quantities as well, but that should be verified.


What I’m Doing With My Life

DIY home surgery, leg-lengthening activities. I have an indie surgical clinic in my attic.

I have written the best-selling confessional novel “NO, SHE’s NOT A MAIL-ORDER BRIDE BUT YOU’RE AN ASSHOLE FOR ASKING.” It’s a harrowing account of my failed transatlantic marriage, which after a weekend stay at Eastern Europe’s Most Bombed Hotel, dissolved into Cold War rubble.

Signed copies are available by request.

I’m Really Good At

Astral projection; clubbing badgers on the Siberian tundra; defenestrating home invaders; sticking my fist into the business end of Harvey Scott’s bronze likeness; preparing for the coming Petrocollapse…

The First Things People Usually Notice About Me

My wild eyes and serpentine gait.

Favorite Books, Movies, Shows and Food


I’d like to bludgeon James Frey.

Musically — Conway Twitty, Eyvind Kang, TAD, the Moog Cookbook, the Pragmatic Thespians, Sinners Farm Club, El Duce, Harvey Sid Fisher, the Zip Code Rapists, Johnny Abortion & the Coat-Hangers, any barbershop quartet LPs, Sandy Patti.

The Six Things I Could Never Do Without

My iron lung, to name just one indispensable item.

Baked goods, crafts, crossword puzzles.

I Spend a Lot of Time Thinking About

Politicians, and what ignoble scumbags they are — Democrat, Republican, whatever — generally speaking they tend to be some of the most illiberal, reptillian people on the planet.

On a Typical Friday Night I Am

Slaloming down the precipice of hatred and frustration.

The Most Private Thing I’m Willing to Admit

Death by renal failure runs in the family. I have that in common with Idi Amin.

You Should Message Me If

…you want fun conversation and BIG LAUGHS, and maybe some emergency leg-lengthening surgery.

But, yeah, you’ll have to message me first because I’ve noticed a great many women on this site are extremely particular about making men READ THEIR ENTIRE PROFILE BEFORE MESSAGING THEM, AND THEY ARE VERY VERY SERIOUS ABOUT IT!! The sanctity of their life story is clearly an impenetrable mystery, only accessible through dogged determination, deep focus, pure intentions, etc etc.

But, here’s the thing.

Ladies, I understand your profiles contain knowledge equal to the DEAD SEA SCROLLS and maybe the GNOSTIC GOSPELS, the PROTOCOLS OF THE ELDERS OF ZION or Oprah’s fat face…but honestly, who gives a shit about your drunk friends Tammy and Jessica and Tim, and the Debbie Gibson song that makes your Jim Dog quiver?

…but y’know, whatever and stuff…

Message me and perhaps we’ll go Shangai Tunneling, eat matzah balls by the pound, and riddle each others’ back-fat with tranquilizer darts.

We’ll play pinochle at the rim of the volcano.

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