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Saturday, March 10, 2001
God Almighty, depression comes on me like nothing I've ever known. I want to kill myself. I want to be dead and have all the stress and strain of life just go away. To sleep and not dream. Just rest, forever. Just be....dead. Dead.

I don't know what to do. What do I do? OK. Here it is. My son and I have come to the split in the road. I've never been a good dad. I beat the kid, like I got beat. I was not able to break the cycle. I gotta live with it. One day I will be dead and there will be nothing else to do. That will be fine. But in the mean time I live. I can't kill myself. I made up my mind not to, for various reasons. I read that book by Debora Spungeon and she was going on about the pain. I gotta move out. I gotta move. I gotta get as far out in the middle of nowhere as I can be so I will not inflict any pain on anything ever again. Why am I allowed to live when I've caused such hurt? The lord, if such a thing exists, is one shitty son of a bitch.

Thursday, March 08, 2001
I'll be darned, that last one made it on board....uhm. Maybe there should be some way to go back and delete stuff. Well, worry about that later, much. Right now I'm listening to 'Fun Terminal' by the Mutants, a great mid-80's Frisco punker band that almost blew up. My freind Keith in Puddletown somehow acquired the masters for the Fun Terminal disc, but now istead of burning some CD's, he's just sitting on the stuff. He's off on some other project. Trying to start a record company that will specialize in re-releases of obscure west coast punk from the '80's. I don't know, it could work, but he gotta start releaseing discs. I'm always surprised at the amount of people who recall the Mutants. I think Keith could sell 20 or 30 K discs without too much trouble. Keep his overhead low and make money. Anyway, I started to write this page about somethging else which was the guy I did community service with today, named Eddie from Ghana. He told me a really bizarre story. Apparently his dad was kidnapped and brought to the capital city of Ghana. Pops was put up for sale, like a slave, this must have been in late '40's, early '50's. Some German missionary bought Eddie Sr. So Sr went to live with the missionary. Then the missionary pulled out and went back to Germany, and took Sr with him. But not before Sr could impregnate Eddie's mom, though pops couldn't've been more than 12 or 13 at the time. Also, pops was taught German so he could read Hegel and Nietzche and was also made to listen to Beethoven and Bach, the appreciation of all this German culture must have been very useful in West Africa in the early '50's. So anyway, Pops goes back to Germany with his mentor, or whatever the missionary might have been referred to, I hesitate to say 'master'. And little Eddie grows up in Ghana, hearing stories from his mom about what a guy his dad was who could speak German and listened to strange music with white people. So of course when Eddie grows up he has to go to Germany to find dad. Which he did, the guy was living in Munich. And Sr. got Eddie into school and Eddie got an apprenticeship as an electrician and had an aptitude for electricity. But he hated Germany. So he came to LA. Once in LA Eddie got a job with CalTrans as a stoplight technician, which job he did for 15 years until he got fired for either drunk driving or smoking dope on the job, his story varied and he had an accent that was confusing, never having talked to many Ghanians I'm not used to a Ghanian accent like I am with a Mexican accent, for example. So anyway, at some point during the day Eddie advanced a startling theory, or actually he was emphatically stating a fact, which is that the event we've all been told to refer to as 'The Holocaust', (as if jews are the only race anybody ever tried to wipe out), was actually a civil war. Eddie stated flatly that Hitler and several of his cronies were actually jews themselves, and the whole thing arose out of typical dispute over Talmudic interpretations. Egads, what if he's right? Anyway, Saleeby should watch the TV news, man, doesn't he know what Jews do to little Arab boys who make fun? Just chill bro. Being a comedian isn't everything. Would you really want to be hosting the Grammies or the Sludgies or the Porkpies or the Fudgepack awards? If you want to be MC at some awards show just start one and make yourself MC. Call it the Saleeby awards. Make the statue like a limp dick or something.

Wednesday, March 07, 2001
This is my blog and I get to say what I want, and what I want to say is that these school shootings aren't going to stop until America calls off it's war on boys. That's right, there's a war on boys going on, and it's been building for 20 years at least. Or maybe a century. And the boys have had it. I'll write more about it some other time,or maybe I won't. But there's a few of us out here, like Jim Goad for example, who are onto the situation, and right now we're few and far between and our voices are mainly drowned out by the flapping and quiffing of a billion vaginas, but things are gonna change, I can feel it. And then the young guys aren't gonna get to the point where they feel so cornered and oppressed that the only thing they can think of doing is walking into their school and plugging folks with lead. In the meantime, don't let any psychiatric twats perscribe Ritalin for your sons, you dads out there. Don't let your boys watch Ally McBeal. Make sure you get the kid out of the house for at least a few hours every weekend. When your daughters come tattling, smack the little cunts and tell them to shut the fuck up. And when you get sentenced to anger management, smile and nod your head and make sure everything goes in one ear and out the other. And stay the fuck away from church.

Tuesday, March 06, 2001
Lots of talk about cheating on the A/L guestbook pages. Just thought it's time to run one of my public service bloogs. This one is called: How To Spot a Cheater. Its like this; You make eye contact. You start talking. You flirt like crazy. Then it comes to number exchange. They won't give you their number. No biggie. You give them yours. No biggie. They call you, yahoo!!. You meet up. But they can't seem to make definite plans, all very off the cuff. No biggie. You get some drinks. You talk, definitly something there. One thing leads to another. Still they won't give you their phone number or address. Startin to be a prob. But things progress. You hop in the sack. It works. No hydraulic system breakdowns. You're likin it. But still, no home phone number, no address, plans are always vague. Like, if you fuck along to Motley Crue and it feels great, but a few days later you mention you got tix for Crue at the Palladium next weekend, but lover won't commit. In fact, lover won't commit to anything. It's always gotta be spur of the moment, spontaneous, fly by nite. They call you and say 'Meet me at the usual spot in half an hour', stuff like that. OK, you've hooked-up with a cheater. Maybe it's been going for a month or so now, and you still are really nothing but a sex toy for this person, you've hooked up with a cheater. It can go two ways from here: They come clean, or they don't. They can't or won't come clean you gotta face the fact that you are an appliance or an object in the eyes of this person who you're maybe starting to really fall for. Now you gotta make the big call: keep going or get out. Either way it's gonna hurt, but, long-run, you only have one choice, which is: get out. They won't admit they're cheating, then they got no consideration for you or your feelings and you are going to get seriously burned, sooner rather than later. They admit they're cheating, you start to think maybe you got a chance, but keep this in mind: If you win out, whattaya won? A cheater, that's what. Eventually they gonna cheat on you, just like they cheated on the one before you. I'm thinking how much more advanced humans could be if we had evolved to reproduce by budding or asexual mitochondrial cell division or something like that. How much time and energy we waste on sex is really depressing.

Monday, March 05, 2001
For all the black clouds piling up all weekend we never did wind getting more than a few drops of rain. Almost blew up the house using Gasoline to get the Bar-B-Que going. Then there was the gun thing, still gotta get to the bottom of that. Then McCabes best freind seems to have been rounded up by the authorities. All in all there have been better weekends. And I'm broke also, must not forget that. And still having dreams about my ex. Strange dream this AM. We were all kissing and cuddly and we were living in like Vermont in a house made out of spiderwebs. They were all dewy and the sun was coming up and there was a green field stretching away and the dewdrops caught in the webby walls of the tentlike house were sparkly in the morning sun. And Meg came up to me and we were talking about how we missed each other and kissing and hugging and stuff. Then I woke up and I remembered a girl I went out with named Karen, way back when I went to school in Maine. So Karen and I went out a few times and I thought everything was going OK, we certainly had chemistry, and we had fun, but then she just breaks up. So I went out with her freind, Beverley, and I'm asking Beverley why Karen broke up with me and Bev says Karen says she only went out with me in the first place cause she felt sorry for me cause I always think everybody hates me. Which shocked me, cause that's one my totally buried secrets. I never even talk about that with myself. So how did Karen know about that before we even went out? So then I went back to Karen and asked her about it. She said she just couldn't let herself get sucked into a big emo relationship right then, she wanted to have a career and all that. She was right, I liked her but not that much. I guess it wasn't too long after that I bugged out of the east coast for good. That Britney Spears, Semi-Conductor Physicist site is pretty good. I actually read most of the stuff about the semi-conductors. But I'm still looking for the site where BS has sex with a goat, I think Wil is being sarcastic, I don't think there is a site where BS has sex with a goat. Or if there is, it cost 400 dollars and anyway it's probably just one of the usual porn hags disguised as BS.

Sunday, March 04, 2001
Just checkin out that site with that midget. Wow! I thought I made a living the hard way. Plus he wears a Smut Peddlers T-shirt. Hey, after Moby I think it's gonna be Smut Peddlers at the next Grammies. Unless it's Jude Christodal. Yeah right, Jude Christodal is wak. Wak, whack, swakker crak, jack smack. You can go back to Rhodenneticut now Judy. Hey Jim, what happened? Which one pointed that pistol at ya'll? Anthony or Stevie? This is bad. Tell me the story. Anthony and Stevie have pretty much closed ranks and got their story straight. But I don't totally trust either one. Hope you OK man. Fuckin kids. Thanks for gettin the inhaler for McCabe.

Wow....wentover to Anitas house with Jim. I was blabbing away about Theremins and how I want a theremin and all, and she said hey, go on line and see what's out there about Theremins, like DOH! Why didn't I think of that?! Turns out there's a shit load of stuff about Theremins out there. Even some guy who claims you can build one for 10 bucks worth of stuff from Radio Shack, or even for nothing out of old tubes and stuff you could salvage out of old TV and stuff, and he has pages of schematix, (which I couldn't read, but I think those schematix for circuitry look totally boss). I got no excuses now. Finally I'm gonna join a band. Turns out all kinds of bands use Theremins, plus there's all these varities of Theremins. Hey, even Mike Patton has a side project of his side project and he has a Theremin. I'm stoked dudes. Think I finally knocked that shit talkin post off the list.

The Unfriendly World of Pete Moss
Pete Moss makes home in a world few dare tread. A place of classic motorcycles, celebrity hobnobbing, drug fueled ruminations and an endless love affair with female genitalia. Come join him for a while...
Check out these other blogs:
Wil Forbis' Web Log:
A delightful excursion into the mind of Acid Logic creator Wil Forbis, this web log offers meandering discussions on the world of popular culture, politics, the meaning of life and the pain of modern existence. The blog also acts as a journal of various events and features occurring to the Acid Logic ezine.
John Saleeby's Web Blog
John Saleeby, former stand up comedian, recurring Acid Logic contributor and sworn enemy of Bill Maher provides pithy commentary to help you carry on with your empty lifestyle.