A journal filled with thoughts of sweater-adorned women...amongst other things. Please feel free to scroll down and absorb the words of a true nut-bag.


Thank you

     
     

 

There are very few things that strike fear into me like the Burger King "Mascot" or whatever you call it. That big head and the perpetually psychotic smile send cold stabs of fear through my soul. I wish I knew why I am scared of this thing. I would rather face an army of zombies intent on devouring my flesh than one Burger King Mascot whose goal, I believe, is to sell me Whoppers; and feast on my fear of commercialism.

I had a dream last night where I was sitting in the middle of a room that was filled with snow and ice. All of a sudden, a seal (harp, not navy) appeared at a door and began to slide around me in a circle. The cute little guy (or gal) was just circling me without stopping. I have no idea how long this dream lasted but when I woke up, I pondered it for a time. This is a sign of an interesting dream. You lay there with the covers all jumbled around you, deep in retrospective thought, oblivious to the usual early morning sounds of a new day. 

I've decided, as a member of Caucasia, that I want Asians to take over. There was a story recently about how the the white race will be a minority by 2050. If this is the case, and I believe it to be true, then the obvious choices are Muslims, Asians, and Hispanics. Now, I know Muslim is a religion but they are moving up in the world just the same. I know a few Asians and they are decent, hard-working people. I guess the Hispanics are too but for some reason, I don't really like the culture. It's nothing personal; I just have a problem with their music. The problem with Muslims is the way they treat women. So, as the white race sails off into the great sunset of racial decline, I for one, am rooting for the victorious Asians and their incredibly beautiful women. Let's just hope Asian women have a leadership role in the world. 

I spent some time on collarme.com a few weeks ago. I decided to put up a profile and do the whole song and dance. "Hi, I'm Dorkus McCahey and I want to be abused. Please collar me at your leisure".

I met a couple nice women on my journey through that little shit-hole. It made me wonder what the hell they were doing there. It's as if I was crawling around in the mud, rain pouring down and then, all of a sudden, a woman dressed in white, bends over to say hello. The rain and mud never make contact with her. She smiles and then moves on. I am perplexed but it passes and then I shrug and continue to thrash around in the dirt. 

I left collarme fairly quickly. I did encounter a submissive woman by chance. We had a few pleasant exchanges and I realized she is as confused as me about this lifestyle. I'm certain she has issues with men and I really wanted to help her. I will add here that I'm about as worthless as can be but when a woman needs help, I'm galvanized into action. Anyway, I've come to realize I can't help her. It's sad that I can't make the attempt but it's too difficult. She has as many walls around her as do I. We are  twin fortresses on two hills overlooking each other, afraid to attack or even worse....afraid to lower the drawbridge and come out to shake hands and communicate. Or better yet; we come out and she allows me to kneel before her as she offers her hand to kiss and I whisper my undying loyalty.

We don't so what's the point?

By the way, I know most Dommes have protocol when dealing with subs. I too, have a certain protocol when attempting correspondence with a dominant female or heck, any female. If I write to a woman and sign my name "Sincerely, Bill" and she writes back: "So dumbass, what's in it for me?", it's a "dead-stick". I want nothing to do with her.

That submissive woman was the same way. No greeting, nothing....

She was very nice and I sensed she needed something but I couldn't give it to her. Makes me sad. 

There is a song by Dan Fogelberg called "Heart Hotels". Every time I hear this beautiful song, I stop what I'm doing. For some reason, I am almost moved to tears. Here are the lyrics (and I knew sooner or later, I would put song lyrics into my blog. Everyone else does):

Heart Hotels

Well there's too many windows in this old hotel
And rooms filled with reckless pride
And the walls have grown sturdy
And the halls have worn well
But there is nobody living in inside
Nobody living inside

Gonna pull in the shutters on this heart of mine
Roll up the carpets and pull in the blinds
And retreat to the chambers that I left behind
In hopes there still may be love left to find
Still may be love left to find

Seek inspiration in daily affairs
Now your soul is in trouble and requires repairs
And the voices you hear at the top of the stairs
Are only echoes of unanswered prayers
Echoes of unanswered prayers

The following story is true. I swear to God, Goddess, Allah, Buddha, Gilean, Torak, Princess Diana and Frank Sinatra. 

Last Saturday evening, I took my wife to dinner for her birthday. She decided she wanted to eat at her favorite steak place. And for that matter, mine too. We arrived shortly before five and I went straight to the guest registry and announced our intentions to dine at their fine establishment. Actually, I said "Table for two". I slipped her a dollar, hoping for a secluded table, perfect for quiet conversation. Ok, that part isn't true. I didn't say "table for two."

My wife and I were standing in a crowd, waiting for them to find the cheapo-area of the restaurant. It was then that I remembered I was wearing a Tigers baseball cap. I realize this doesn't look good for me to have on a baseball hat while taking my wife to a very nice restaurant. Especially when she was dressed very nice...as usual. Let me explain why:

We spent most of the day looking at a new home to purchase. In Michigan, the housing market is horrendous right now and $400,000 can get you $550,000 if you zealously negotiate. My idea was to look kind of "Walmartishly" in the hope that it would bring out a "Pretty Woman Julia Roberts-like" confrontation. The saleswoman would take one look at me and announce with a snobbish air: "The mobile home park is down the road two miles. Please leave now!"

And then I can pull out my awesome display of platinum cards and perfect credit score and say with scorn:

"Big mistake...big, big, mistake."

It was like clockwork. If my wife entered first; which she usually does because I always hold the door for her, the salespeople greet her with open arms. On the rare occasion that the salespeople see me first, they always seem to lean towards the phone, no doubt believing I'm about to strike at them. 

Back to the restaurant.....

I realized I'm wearing a baseball cap and fearing the onset of "hat-head", I quickly told my wife I was going to the men's room for a minute. I told her to wait where she was. I dashed off to the restroom where I spent the next few minutes trying to rub out the "hat-head" that so gruesomely appeared, as I expected.  When I returned to the waiting area, my wife was nowhere to be found. My first thought was that they brought her to our table and they would escort me now...sans the hat-head look. I mean really....you can't eat at a place like this wearing a hat! Unless your super-rich and don't give a damn. I think there was a trend for a while with rich young guys wearing baseball hats with sport jackets. I'm not sure though. 

I asked the lady at the podium thing if they had seated my wife. She said no so I assumed my wife went to the ladies room. I guess about five minutes went past and another woman came over to me and stated that our table was ready. I followed her to a very nice corner table away from the maddening crowd. "A dollar goes far in the current Michigan economy", I thought. I told her to let my wife know where I was.

After sitting down, the waiter came over and asked if I wanted a drink. I naturally said yes and also ordered one for my wife. Another few minutes passed and I began to wonder if my wife was sick or something. Maybe she had to go "number two" although I quickly brushed that aside. No man with such a vaunted view of women even thinks they go to the bathroom to poop. If they disappear into a room marked "Ladies", it's to mingle and bond with their fellow sisters of solidarity. I also hope it's to coordinate an attack on male chauvinism and take over the world. 

By the time the waiter came back with our drinks, I was really worried. The waiter asked if anything was wrong and while looking past him out into the center of the room, I murmured that maybe she's divorcing me. He said "what"? I told him to forget it and asked if he would look around for her. I was beginning to get suspicious about something and needed help to confirm it. I said she was about five-four, blond hair and wearing a black sweater. He made off in pursuit of the "missing wife" when all of a sudden, I saw the familiar, hourglass form of my wife walking about twenty-feet away. She was holding a drink in her hand and wore a scowl on her pretty face. She saw me out of the corner of her eye. I thought she was going to kill me the way she moved toward me. 

She sat down and "quietly yelled": "What are you doing! I've been waiting for you for fifteen minutes! Why did you have to go to the bathroom right before sitting down!" I tried to explain between stutters that I couldn't eat in this kind of restaurant with hat-head. She gave me a withering look that soon melted when she realized what had just transpired. Then we both started laughing at the thought of the two of us, sitting at opposite ends of the restaurant, waiting for each other for what seemed like hours. I won't even comment on the complete ineptitude of the hostess and her cronies. And all because of the dreaded "hat-head". This is an absolutely true story.

Welcome to my life.