Dr. Faustroll Writes the Wrongs

I’ve been tagged, people. That’s right. I’ve been treated like some abandoned building that kids need to dump a bunch of paint on so they can huff the residual gas and develop personalities, and it was a witch that did it, which is going to play hell with my chances of getting an interview with the ghost of Jerry Falwell this weekend. He’s still a little pissed about the story Yossarian Universal News Service did exposing the hot, steamy sex he had with his mother in an outhouse, but that’s another post.

This post is about being called a pussy, tagged because of my insignificant penis, and challenged to a duel by a witch with a strap-on who apparently has no sense of decency in this country that abhors marginally literate old men.

As my regular readers are quite aware, I’m the anthithesis of sobriety, honesty, truth, justice, the American Way, fair play, and several hundred million ordinary and lovably huggable concepts you might care to imagine. In the binary world I find myself still accidentally living in, I have chosen to illustrate the phallacy of thinking in terms of right and wrong, off and on, up and down. In short, most virtual people are forced to choose between hating me or being hated themselves.

I happen to be one of the sole survivors of a vanishing breed of human beings who see reality as an infinite spectrum of degrees of correctness, none of which ever fully fits the situation at hand. You know when your mom or your guidance counsellor or the probation officer wanted to know why you had done something really phucking dumb and you responded by saying somebody dared you and then the conversation got really dull?

Well, I’m the kind of guy who listened to Dion and Belmonts and actually did jump off a building when his friends dared him to, and I’m still doing it although I no longer have any friends, which makes the dares I agree to often much more dangerous, although I continue to get older every day in every way, deeper and deeper, which I learned from a stress management seminar twenty or thirty years ago that I got kicked out of for suggesting that one way of dealing with a maxi-stressor is to pistol whip the asshole and dump him in the river with several cinder blocks strapped to his neck.

Fortunately, I suffer from a terminal disease for which there is no telethon or cure so I have little to lose and everything to gain by joining in the occasional virtual game in the binary world where one can really explore the boundaries between love and hate crimes.

So here goes. The rules of tagging, as I understand them are these:

• Link to the person who tagged you (Done)
• Post 7 things about yourself that people may not know (Easy)
• Tag 7 other people and link to them (A little more difficult, but I should be able to accomplish this without causing too many additional suicides)
• Leave a comment for each of them on their blogs to let them know they’ve been tagged (Oooo. This will be fun. I can’t wait to see how al Franqen reacts! Those phuckers have banned so many versions of me that they will probably spew so much pee on their keyboards that the entire Web will go down, no pun intended.)

Seven things about me that few living people know.

1. I have two supernumerary nipples that Doctor Bizarro suggested I have removed to prevent becoming one of the two or three thousand males who die each year from breast cancer. I refused because at the time I was not allowed to run in the Race for the Cure because I had a penis, no matter how insignificant. I recognize that things have changed since those days of intolerance against obnoxious drunk guys with extra nipples, but I still harbor grudges against families whose entire gene pools have vanished.

2. I really believe in God, and when I find Him, I’m gonna kick His ass until he cries Auntie, the faggot.

3. I’m not really a reactionary. I’m a contrarian who occasionally smokes dope with Isaac Newton, or somebody who claims to be Isaac Newton, although he sometimes says to call him Cassandra.

4. I was a tap-dancing munchkin in a New York production of the Wizard of Oz that aired on WOR-TV in 1952. My mother was buried with the tap shoes I wore.

5. After receiving a rejection from Images magazine in 1972 that called my poetry “too sardonic,” I created several hundred imaginary poets who submitted and published poetry in little magazines across the country and in Europe until I finally received another rejection from Images magazine telling me that I should read stuff written by one of those other poets before submitting again.

6. I got to pull the life support on my old man because no one else would do it and I would do it again. It was probably the only thing he ever really appreciated me for.

7. I have no sense of humor.

So now comes the fun part. Doing the God thing to the Intertube Jobs and Jobettes who will never quite appreciate what has hit them. This is more difficult (I was going to say harder, but my insignificant penis never gets the irony) than I expected because most of my immediate intended victims are already on my blog roll, so I had to go to my stretch goals, which are a lot like my so last week addictions to PCP and jenkum.

1. Jackass neighbors. I happen to live across the road from an asshole who tests a jet-powered funny car at odd hours. I need the awareness that neighbors all over the world are aspiring to be assholes as big as mine.
2. A Salute to Morons. How could I resist?
3. Barako Brew. Kind of hard to navigate, but the Entrecard avatar inspires me to donate sperm every couple of days for future OctoMom projects.
4. Ripping a New One. Another great EC avatar, plus hundreds of Archie McPhee pink flamingos in the banner. What’s not to like about this lunacy?
5. Krauts of Fuhrers. I haven’t quite got a handle on this one yet, the way I do Unicorn Rainbow Blood and RetroYakking, but I like it.
6. Retro Kitchen. I have this plaid apron fetish that helps me compensate for my insignificant penis.
7. God, I was gonna put Hindenberg Limbaugh, but the terrorists took down the site. I guess I’ll have to go with Steampunk Rings. I like the stuff I see there. The eighth thing about me that most people don’t know is that I used to make jewelry and still collect and polish stones.

So there you have it. This curse has been lifted from my trivial tool and passed to others more or less worthy of carrying on the scorched virtual earth policy that makes us all so special.

Good luck and good knight to knaves and knavettes everywhere.

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