Story of Kay Jay
AI 14
Apple Info presents...
Story of Kay Jay
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Plus: Pages’ deletion problem.
And: Kay Jay at Playboy: worth it?
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STORY OF KAY JAY
She went under the lash more than once.
by Andrew Roller
I’m continuing to discover new facts about “porn” model Kay Jay. You can examine my reporting by watching two of Kay Jay’s videos. Adequate resolution copies of these are available, for free, at freeones ( dot ) com.
Top quality resolution films ( as of the year 2016 ) are available at the ( high quality ) pay site metartnetwork ( dot ) com.
The relevant videos are:
1. “Young Kay Jay enjoys posing naked in her Bedroom”. Real title: “Wet Dreams”.
2. “Kay Jay gives Upskirt View before getting naked”. Real title: “Dreaming”.
Above, I list the FreeOnes title, followed by the Me Tart Network title.
I have reported previously on this topic of world historical moment. In Apple Info number 13, I wrote:
“In these films, Kay Jay appears to have marks from a whip on her tender, adorable body. Kay Jay is 20 years old in these films. However, watching her, you’d swear she wasn’t a day over 12; at most 14.”
In Editorial Thunder number 64, I wrote:
“None of these punishment marks were meant to be in Kay’s videos. They’re unrelated to the theme of each film. ( Which is mostly about innocent sexual expression. ) Kay must have gotten whipped at something akin to a bondage party. A few marks lingered on her when it was time to shoot her video.”
I assumed that Kay Jay had been whipped on one occasion.
I was wrong.
“Turn every page,” an editor advised author Robert A. Caro. By this he meant, ‘Do all the required research’. I wanted to check the dates on which “Wet Dreams” and “Dreaming” were filmed. However, my building’s Wi-Fi was broken. It’s still broken. However, I’ve now gotten my lazy ass to the Me Tart Network.
In “Wet Dreams”, Kay J bears many whip marks. ( Her name at Me Tart Network is “Kay J”. ) “Wet Dreams” was filmed on September 20, 2016.
In “Dreaming”, Kay J has less whip marks. However, as in “Wet Dreams”, they’re on sensitive places, like her right breast and right ass cheek. “Dreaming” was filmed on December 25, 2016. ( Ukraine’s Christmas occurs on January 7. )
Notice the gap in time: September 20, versus December 25.
In a free video ( not available at Me Tart Network ), Kay is asked to pillow fight with a girl. She absolutely doesn’t want to. Kay only manages a few feeble swings of the pillow.
Hence, Kay is a sexual submissive. Being whipped more than once, over a number of months, she’s akin to “O” in Pauline Reage’s novel, “Story of O”. Except Pauline’s character was fiction. Kay Jay is real!
DELETION Problem ( partly ) SOLVED!
I’ve been plagued by a problem. It has to do with typing articles on my iPad. The problem plagues me no matter what word processing program I’m using. I’ll be typing. Suddenly, the last two lines that I’ve typed will disappear. Poof! They’re gone, and I can’t remember what I’d just typed.
You can reproduce this problem. Type a line of text. For instance, you might type:
Kay Jay is dying to have wild, passionate sex with Andrew Roller.
Place your cursor at the end of the sentence. That is, tap your iPad’s screen after the period in “Roller”.
With your cursor there, hold down your iPad’s right shift key and its left arrow key. These keys are close to each other, on the right side of your iPad’s keyboard.
As you hold these keys down, you’ll see a blue line begin to highlight your text. Starting from the period following “Roller”, it will move to the left.
Here’s how this problem occurs when I’m typing an article. I’ll want to capitalize, say, the letter “r”. My right pinkie hits my keyboard’s right shift key. At the same time, my left pointing finger hits the “r”.
Except: My right pinkie, accidentally, hits both the right shift key AND the left arrow key. As I attempt to capitalize “r”, with my left pointing finger, two lines vanish from my text! This happens in the blink of an eye. For whatever reason, in this circumstance, the blue highlighter line doesn’t move slowly. It destroys the last two lines that I’ve typed.
I’ve now ( partly ) solved this problem. Here’s how:
1. Tap on your “Settings” app.
2. A page opens on your iPad’s screen. A sidebar, on the left side of your screen, is titled “Settings”. The right side of your screen may be titled, “Apple ID”.
3. Keep your focus on the sidebar that’s titled, “Settings”. Look down this sidebar until you see “General”.
4. Tap on “General”. The right side of your screen changes. It’s now titled, “General”.
5. Look down the right side of your screen. Find the word, “Keyboard”.
6. Tap on “Keyboard”.
7. The right side of your screen is now titled, “Keyboards”.
8. Look down the right side of your screen. Find the phrase, “Slide on Floating Keyboard to Type”. This slide bar probably shows the color green. That means that it’s turned on.
9. Tap the slide bar called, “Slide on Floating Keyboard to Type”. This will turn it off. At the same time, another slide bar will disappear. That slide bar is titled, “Delete Slide-to-Type by Word”. ( I have no idea what this slide bar does. Turning it off doesn’t solve my problem. )
10. Turning off “Slide on Floating Keyboard to Type” seems to handicap the blue highlighter line. It doesn’t totally get rid of the blue highlighter line. However, sometimes, the blue highlighter line doesn’t appear. If I try to produce it, I simply backspace the cursor. In this situation, the cursor goes back by one letter. Nothing is deleted.
I wish I could completely eliminate the blue highlighter line. So far, I can only handicap it.
Someday, the blue highlighter line may cause my Apple iPad to go sailing out the window, to the parking lot three storeys below.
I’ve turned off other slide bars in “Keyboards”. These are:
1. Auto-Capitalization.
2. Auto-Correction.
3. “.” Shortcut.
If you’re a traditional typist, you don’t need whatever functions these slide bars provide.
COPY TEXT OUT OF KINDLE
It took me two years to figure out how to do the following:
You’re reading a book in Amazon’s Kindle app. You find a line of text that you want to copy. How do you do this?
1. Press on a word in the text.
2. Lift your finger as soon as the text is highlighted in blue.
3. You will see a “handle” at either end of the blue highlighted word. Drag this handle as far as you like, to encompass the text that you want to copy. ( I highlight the last word in the text that I want to copy. That way, I only need to drag one “handle” to the start of the text. )
4. Several boxes will be floating above the page. Focus on the box that has colored circles in it.
5. To the right of the colored circles, you’ll see several icons. One of these icons consists of two sheets of paper. One sheet of paper is lying on top of the other. ( Yes, they’re having sex. )
6. Tap on the icon that consists of two sheets of paper. A new box will appear. Within this box is the word, “Copied”.
7. Where is the copied text? It has been copied to your iPad’s Clipboard. You can now paste the Kindle text into a word processing program. ( I paste it into Apple’s word processing app “Pages”. )
You might wonder what the colored circles are for. Often, when I try to copy text, I wind up highlighting the text instead. The colored circles let you choose which color you want to highlight your text with. Keep trying to activate the blue “copy text” function until you’re successful.
Blue is more than a “copy text” color. It’s also a highlighting color. You’ll soon learn to distinguish between blue that highlights text, and blue that copies text.
To get rid of highlighting, press your finger to your iPad’s screen. You’ll cause the floating box to appear. By this, I mean the floating box that has colored circles in it. One of these boxes will have an “x” through it. Tap that “x”. The relevant text will cease to be highlighted.
Sometimes, Kindle gets confused. It won’t let me highlight text in yellow. An “x” will be present over the yellow circle. In that case, I highlight text in the color orange.
Eventually, Kindle ceases to be confused. The “x” disappears from the yellow circle. Then, I highlight text in yellow again.
AND IN THE END...
“Anytime that Palmer writes anything, he—like a fucking idiot who hasn’t realized the typewriter era is over—uses two spaces after a period before starting the next sentence.”
- Julian Hammerstein on Palmer Luckey, the founder of Oculus VR. The History of the Future, by Blake J. Harris, page 474. ( Amazon Kindle. ) ( A fine book, it details what a scumbag Facebook’s Mark Fuckerberg is. )
Note: I type two spaces after a period. In WordPress, and DuckDuckGo, this gets truncated to one space. However, two spaces belong after a period. That’s to let the reader pause after a sentence. Also, it distinguishes a period from a comma. Only one space follows a comma. That’s to give the reader a pause, but not a long one, since the sentence continues.
Note to tech weenies and others: Don’t end a sentence with a question mark unless you’re asking a question. If you say, “Andrew Roller is a fucking moron?” you’re asking this, not stating it.
Also, when you speak, don’t start each sentence with “So”.
ARCANA
1. Me Tart Network is actually Met Art Network.
2. “Kay J” is currently working for Playboy. Her Playboy photo galleries and videos are worth having. She’s not 20 in these, but several years older. She still looks sweet and innocent.
I was sold “all that Playboy Plus has to offer”. However, since this is ( the modern ) Playboy, I don’t have full access to Playboy Plus’ web site. I don’t have the latest photo gallery starring Kay J. It features her in a swimming pool with two girls. Playboy’s girl-with-girl photo galleries aren’t very creative. I’m not willing to “upgrade” my Playboy Plus subscription for one photo gallery that’s likely not worth much.
If you’re moved to join Playboy Plus, make sure you’re paying about $100.00 for access. Playboy offers a rip-off version of Playboy Plus for about $54.00. The minute you join, you’re hit with an expensive “upgrade” offer to gain decent access to Playboy Plus.
The old Playboy, under Hugh Hefner, was a top quality company. The new Playboy is, sadly, one step up from the sewer.
3. I have no affiliation with any porn site, including the Me Tart Network. I’m simply a jerkoff like everyone else - with a keyboard.
4. A lengthy article on the novel “Story of O”, and its author, are available at guernicamag ( dot ) com. The article is titled, “The Story of the Story of O”.
“What is the storyline of O?” the “woke” crowd at Google ask. Here’s their answer:
“A young woman ... known only as O, is taken by her lover Rene to Chateau Roissy, where she is subject to various sexual and sadomasochistic acts as part of her training to serve the members of the club. O is taught to be constantly available for oral, vaginal, and anal intercourse.”
My member enjoyed reading this description. In the 1970s, I had to pay to read smut like the above! To Google: God created the period for a reason. Use it.
For whatever reason, I wasn’t able to “copy” and “paste” the above description.
5. In 1975, the novel “Story of O” was released as a theatrical film. The copy that I got from a free porn site looks like it was filmed on video tape. Its image quality isn’t the best.
“Story of O” is also available as a lengthy video series. I got a copy of this from a free porn site. ( It was either xvideos ( dot ) com or xhamster ( dot ) com; I don’t recall which. ) The video series is fun. However, the quality of the series does not equal that of the film.
6. Pauline Reage wrote a sequel: “Story Of O Part Two: Return to the Chateau”. It is utterly worthless.
7. Pauline Reage is credited with this work: “Return to the Chateau: Preceded by, a Girl in Love”. However, Amazon reviewer “ladyinred” writes:
“Ripped off the original. Don’t waste your money. Ripped of [ sic ] the original and NOT written by the original author, just purloined her pen name.”
8. I would love it if Kay Jay would tell her story. I’m willing to interview her. Kay wouldn’t even need to have sex with me! Or perhaps she can tell her story to an author, not a wanker who writes about her on WordPress.
OFF TOPIC
1. Currently, the best place to view the fine 1974 film “Dark Star” is at dailymotion ( dot ) com.
2. A brief interview with Peyton List is available at dailymotion ( dot ) com. She talks about her fourth year on the Disney Channel T.V. show “Jessie”. ( Episodes of the show still air on the Disney Channel. However, it ended some years ago. )
3. I’m learning how to get T.V. on my iPad. The best option I’ve found is to subscribe to “The Disney Bundle”. You can obtain this at disneyplus ( dot ) com. However, there’s a catch. If you want live ( cable-style ) T.V. on your iPad, you must sign up for “The Disney Bundle” at hulu ( dot ) com.
You have two options at Hulu:
A. Hulu + Live T.V. with ads, for about $73.00 per month.
B. Hulu + Live T.V. without ads, for about $78.00 per month.
I assume that “without ads” refers to Hulu’s library of T.V. shows and movies. Any channel that’s streaming live into your iPad, like the Fox News Channel, is going to arrive with its boatload of ads.
Hence, by subscribing, you get:
A. Live cable-style T.V. This includes the three Disney channels: Disney Channel, Disney XD, and Disney Junior. I can define these channels as follows:
a. Disney Channel: for girls, so you see lots of young girls.
b. Disney XD: for boys, so you see lots of boys. ( Bummer. )
c. Disney Junior: The youngest, most adorable girls, frolicking on your screen! ( Actually, Disney Junior runs preschooler cartoons. They’re fun to watch if you’re sick in bed. )
B. All of the Disney Plus content. This ( finally ) includes Disney Channel T.V. shows like “Jessie”, plus many others.
C. A portion of ESPN’s content. ( I don’t watch sports, so this is a waste to me. )
Every time someone clicks on disneyplus ( dot ) com at my WordPress site, I get to have sex with Peyton List.
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Copyright 2021 by Andrew L. Roller. AI, Apple Info, and ARSE, Andrew Roller Stories and Essays, are trademarks of Andrew L. Roller.
I am https://andrewroller.wordpress.com
Earlier posts by me are at https://asstr.org/files/Authors/Roller/
I’m on paper at: https://www.abebooks.com > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
and https://www.abebooks.co.uk > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
If you visit an “AbeBooks” website, you’ll be presented with a large square “Search” box. In the box labelled “Author”, type in “Andrew Roller”. In the box labelled “Title”, type in “Andrew Roller Presents”. This will bring up some of my pamphlets. I have not yet figured out how to bring up other pamphlets by me, under other titles. I don’t recall all the titles I published under.
I have no financial involvement in these resale items.
I am on You Tube as “Andrew Roller”. Use You Tube’s magnifying glass icon to search for “Andrew Roller”. That will take you to my You Tube channel. Or, on You Tube, tap my sun icon, if you see it. That will also take you to my You Tube channel. There, you can see songs and films that I like.
At the “home page” of my You Tube channel, you’ll see just a selection of playlists that I created. To see all my playlists, tap on the phrase, “Created playlists”.
The World Wide Web address for my You Tube channel is:
https://www.youtube.com/andrewroller
If you click on this link, you’ll be taken to a World Wide Web You Tube page. Here, You Tube displays a cartoon image of a monkey. The page says, “This page isn’t available. Sorry about that. Try searching for something else.”
My advice: on this page, search for “andrew roller”. By doing so, you’ll get to my World Wide Web You Tube channel. However, I have over 100 Playlists, that I created, at my You Tube app channel. The World Wide Web version of You Tube will only serve you 15 of my Playlists.
( Hence, access You Tube via its app. The You Tube app, like the WordPress app, is available for free at the Apple App Store. )
This is AI, Apple Info, issue number 14
Arcana: This is AI, Apple Info, issue number 14, version 6.0
Date Written: April 26, 2021. Live for the day that censorious Big Tech is dead.
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This has been a presentation of A R S E news.
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50 Shades of Kay Jay
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AI 13
Apple Info presents...
50 Shades of Kay Jay
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Plus: Getting off Wi-Fi.
And: Dad’s mistake.
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50 SHADES OF KAY JAY
Her whipping was more severe than previously reported.
by Andrew Roller
In Editorial Thunder number 64, I reported on videos of Kay Jay that I found at freeones ( dot ) com. I referenced two videos there.
1. “Young Kay Jay enjoys posing naked in her Bedroom”. Real title: “Wet Dreams”.
2. “Kay Jay gives Upskirt View before getting naked”. Real title: “Dreaming”.
In these films, Kay Jay appears to have marks from a whip on her tender, adorable body. Kay Jay is 20 years old in these films. However, watching her, you’d swear she wasn’t a day over 12; at most 14.
I write:
“None of these punishment marks were meant to be in Kay’s videos. They’re unrelated to the theme of each film. ( Which is mostly about innocent sexual expression. ) Kay must have gotten whipped at something akin to a bondage party. A few marks lingered on her when it was time to shoot her video.”
So it appears, on free videos at freeones ( dot ) com. Their image resolution is adequate, but not the best for the year 2016.
I’ve now joined metartnetwork ( dot ) com. This gives me access to the highest resolution possible for these films. At MetArt Network, “Kay Jay” is called “Kay J”.
“Wet Dreams” is a film directed by Alex Lynn. It stars Kay J. Here, with improved resolution, I was shocked to find many more whip marks on Kay J. So far, I’ve found whip marks on:
1. Her right tit.
2. Her right bottom cheek.
3. Her right hip.
4. The right side of her rib cage.
5. The back of her left thigh.
Her marks are both ghastly and intoxicating. As best I can tell, they’re the marks of a whip, not a riding crop. That’s because the marks seem to bend, and cut kay from a variety of directions.
Kay J didn’t receive a playful whipping. She appears to have been harshly punished! We’re seeing these marks some time after she was a bondage princess. They’re most vivid in “Wet Dreams”. By the time of the second film, “Dreaming”, Kay J’s marks have faded more. But the ones on her right tit and her right bottom cheek linger. That means these parts of her received the most brutal treatment.
“Dreaming” is also directed by Alex Lynn.
Generally, a free video, at a site like freeones ( dot ) com, isn’t as long as the full version at MetArt Network.
If most any other porn star got whipped, I’d probably take it in stride. However, at age 20, Kay J looks stunningly naive. Her punished body is erotic. It also makes me feel like life is passing me by. If any Kay J sort of girls want to be corporally corrected, let me know. Assuming, that is, I haven’t jumped off a roof from mental anguish.
GETTING OFF WI-FI
Sometimes, when I’m not wearing my pants, I need Wi-Fi. However, in the building where I live, the Wi-Fi is sometimes out. I call the manager about this. I tell her, in an irate voice:
“Excuse me? Has it occurred to you that, although it’s noon on a workday, some of your tenants might be masturbating? What happened to the fucking Wi-Fi? How can I get off without it?”
I don’t know why my manager hangs up on me. Maybe she thinks I’m an obscene caller.
Hence, I was forced to solve this problem myself ( with my dick in one hand ).
Going to the “Settings” app, on your iPhone, will solve things. However, yesterday, I was too stupid to figure out how. I tried many strategies in “Settings”. Nothing worked.
Desperate, I hit on a solution. Go to the app “Files”. It’s the blue folder on your iPhone’s screen. In “Files”, look at the top left of your screen. There, you’ll see the word “Browse” A left-pointing arrow is present: <
Tap on “Browse”. You’re taken to a new screen. At the top of it is written, “Browse”. Below “Browse” you’ll see: “Locations”.
The following locations are listed on my iPhone:
1. iCloud Drive
2. On My iPhone
3. Recently Deleted
( More items, listed below these, aren’t relevant to this article. )
When you buy an iPhone, as an Apple virgin, you get five free gigabytes of storage in iCloud Drive. You should buy more storage from Apple. Buy as much as you need to backup your iPhone and iPad. Otherwise, if your iPhone or iPad crashes, you’ll lose all the data on it.
Tap on iCloud Drive. Probably, you’ve downloaded some porn videos to iCloud drive. Anything on iCloud drive is at Apple. When you tap on your porn video in iCloud Drive, Apple sends it to you via Wi-Fi.
Except, that is, if your Wi-Fi isn’t working. Tap on a porn video in iCloud Drive. If your Wi-Fi isn’t working, Apple will tell you the following:
“Wi-Fi isn’t working. Would you like to switch to cellular?” I’m paraphrasing.
Finally, I’d found a way to get off the ( broken ) Wi-Fi. I agreed to be switched to cellular. Apple will, in this circumstance, keep me on cellular until my Wi-Fi is restored.
That is, it will keep my iPhone on cellular. My Apple iPad is Wi-Fi only. It’s not Wi-Fi and cellular. Hence, even though my iPhone is cellular, I won’t be able to access the internet on my iPad.
Unless, that is, I turn my iPhone into a “Personal Hotspot”. Here’s how:
1. On your iPhone, open your “Settings” app. You’ll see a page titled, “Settings”. Look down on this page until you see, “Personal Hotspot”.
2. Tap on “Personal Hotspot”.
3. You’ll be taken to a new page. It’s titled, “Personal Hotspot”. Let’s read what’s here:
“Personal Hotspot on your iPhone can provide Internet access to other devices SIGNED INTO YOUR ICLOUD ACCOUNT without requiring you to enter the password.” ( Emphasis added. )
So, by creating a “Personal Hotspot”, only your own devices will have access to it. The unemployed sleaze next door who jerks off to whip-marked Kay J at noon won’t be using your Hotspot.
( All of your devices should already be signed into your iCloud account. This happened when you backed up your iPhone, and your iPad, to iCloud as an Apple virgin. )
4. We’re looking at the page titled, “Personal Hotspot”. On this page, you’ll see, “Allow Others to Join”. To the right of this is a slide bar. For whatever reason, you don’t swipe your finger across it. You tap on it. ( Someone at Apple had to teach me this. In addition to much else, I was flummoxed by the slide bar. Not for days, but for months. )
When my iPhone is a “Personal Hotspot”, it gets hot. It can get so hot that I can’t touch it. Other uses ( like keeping it on for a long time, to masturbate, can make my iPhone hot too. ) I complained to Apple about this several times. Each time, the service clerk answered as follows:
“So ( pause ), you PERCEIVE your phone as being hot.” The clerk always claims, in effect, that I’m a sensitive baby. A He-Man, like Steve Cook of Apple, wouldn’t regard his phone as hot. However, my phone really does get hot. If I rubbed it against the clerk’s dick, he’d know it!
Turn your iPhone off for some minutes if it gets hot. Your iPhone’s charging plug, if it’s in an outlet, will get hot too.
My iPhone, purchased new in 2019, is an older model. It’s the 6s. It has always been plagued by overheating. However, this isn’t a manufacturing defect. It’s just how an ordinary iPhone 6s is.
Streaming videos on your iPhone will make it hot. So will charging it, as you’re using it.
You’ve now turned your iPhone into a “Personal Hotspot”. Next, open your “Settings” app on your iPad. On the left side of your screen, at the top, you’ll see “Settings”.
1. Look down on this page, until you find “Wi-Fi”. Tap on “Wi-Fi”.
2. A page opens on the right side of your screen. It’s titled, “Wi-Fi”. Find “User’s iPhone. Low Data Mode.” ( I added the periods. ) Tap on “User’s iPhone. Low Data Mode.”
Your “Wi-Fi only” iPad is now connected to the internet! It’s connected via your iPhone. Your iPhone is running on your cellular network, not on your building’s Wi-Fi.
If your iPad fails to connect, try again.
“Low Data Mode” means that data from the internet ( like a porn film ) will reach you more slowly than if you were using your building’s Wi-Fi.
Modernly, how long you’re using your phone doesn’t matter. What matters is how many gigabytes you download from the internet. My phone plan has unlimited minutes. However, I’m limited to three gigabytes per month. After that, I get charged extra. ( My unused gigabytes get rolled over to the next month. After 60 days, however, my unused gigabytes expire. I can’t limit my phone use and rack up 100 unused gigabytes. )
Hopefully, you know about Wi-Fi. When I first got my iPhone, I discovered pornhub ( dot ) com. ( When the site was worth visiting. ) I didn’t know about Wi-Fi. I was watching lots of porn videos on Pornhub using cellular. Fortunately, an Apple technician taught me, over the phone, how to use Wi-Fi.
To turn off your “Personal Hotspot”, do the following:
1. Open your “Settings” app on your iPhone. You’ll see a page titled, “Settings”. Look down on this page until you see, “Personal Hotspot”.
2. There, tap on “Personal Hotspot”. You’ll be taken to a new page. It’s titled, “Personal Hotspot”.
3. Tap on “Allow Others to Join”. This will turn the slide bar off.
While your iPad is accessing the internet via your iPhone ( which is on cellular ) you’ll see a blue bar across the top of your iPhone. When you disconnect your iPad from your iPhone, the blue bar will disappear.
( The best way to disconnect your iPad is by going into the “Settings” app on your iPhone. )
SEARCHING IN “Pages”
You’re using Apple’s “Pages” app. You’ve written an article about Kay J. Now you want to find all the places where “masturbate” appears in your article. It took me more than a year to figure out how to do this.
Every word processing program should offer “word search”. Usually, this ability is located right at the top of your screen. You’ll see the word “Search”, or an icon of a magnifying glass.
So where the hell is “Search” in Apple’s “Pages” app?
1. In your article on Kay J, look at the top of your screen. You’ll see a menu bar there.
2. Tap on the icon that consists of a circle. It contains three horizontal dots.
3. A sidebar slides out, on the right side of your screen. The sidebar is titled, “More”.
4. Look down this sidebar until you see, “Find”. A magnifying glass icon is to the left of “Find”.
5. Tap on “Find”. A horizontal bar appears near the bottom of your iPad’s screen. At the left of this bar is a magnifying glass icon.
6. Type in, “masturbate”. Your article about Kay J will, abruptly, become gray. Highlighted on this gray page, in various light colors, will be, “masturbate”. ( Assuming the word is in fact in your article. For whatever reason, “quantum chromodynamics” rarely shows up in my writing. Hopefully, my writing doesn’t lack serious literary, artistic, political, or scientific value, and violate contemporary community standards. )
7. Tap your screen to get rid of the horizontal “Find” bar.
8. To get rid of the sidebar on the right side of your screen, tap on the icon of the circle. That is, the circle that contains three horizontal dots.
THUS SPOKE ( robot ) ROLLER
In “Pages”, press your thumb against your iPad’s screen. A black horizontal bar appears. It offers you the option of “Speak” or “Speak Sentence”. If you tap either of these, a liberated, feminist ( robot ) woman will tell you about Kay Jay being whipped.
You can get the feminist robot to speak in your Apple “Safari” browser. Press your finger against your iPad’s screen. This let’s you highlight as much text as you like. The highlighted text becomes encompassed by blue.
Now, tap on the highlighted text. A black horizontal bar appears. “Speak” is an option in the black horizontal bar.
“Speak” is also available in the browser apps “DuckDuckGo” and “Firefox”. I won’t be finding out if it works in “Google Chrome”. I refuse to use anything by Google except its search engine ( via Safari ) and map. Someday, I’ll wade back into You Tube. Maybe. I’m still paying the bastards for it.
DAD’S MISTAKE
My father was always maniacal about saving money. He was also a minister. So, obviously, he didn’t splurge a whole 50 cents on the first issue of Playboy. Guess how much the first issue of Playboy, published in December of 1953, is worth today? According to Google, a copy of that issue of Playboy, in mint condition, is worth “as much as $635,000.”
So, Dad, if you’d bought two copies of that issue, and kept them in perfect condition, you’d be worth over a million dollars today. ( If he wasn’t dead, like Hugh Hefner. )
Google writes:
“Magazine pricing service Nostomania pegs Playboy as publishing the three most valuable magazine issues in the world.” Hopefully, these issues aren’t valuable because they objectify women.
AND IN THE END...
“Negro Demands: Are They Realistic? by Theodore H. White”.
- LIFE magazine, November 29, 1963. 25 cents. ( Not 50 Cent. )
Source: “Your Old Magazine Could Be Worth $50,000 - Or More. Here’s How to Sell It”. flipsy ( dot ) com.
ARCANA
1. This is a note about Apple’s iCloud. Specifically, your content ( like porn videos ) on iCloud. If you watch a porn video a lot, or have downloaded it recently ( from, say, MetArt Network ), it will be cached on your iPad. So, even if your iPad can’t access iCloud, because your Wi-Fi is broken, you’ll still be able to watch these porn videos.
2. An Apple clerk taught me this: Your iPhone, regardless of what model it is ( like the 6s ) is just a box. What matters is what’s inside the box. That is, what matters is what iOS your iPhone is running. I run the latest Apple iOS on my Apple 6s. The only limitation I face is a lack of memory. When I’m low on memory, I can’t download Apple’s latest iOS.
If you have an old iPhone, try not to use it too much. That will cause your iPhone to cache lots of content on your iPhone. In my case, my iPhone is caching my content that is on iCloud Drive. Hence, I mostly access my content on iCloud Drive using my iPad. My iPad has lots of memory. ( Or, it did, until I downloaded a shitload of ( mostly worthless ) free porn videos. ) ( I now leave such videos in iCloud Drive. I no longer copy them from iCloud Drive to my iPad. )
You can, of course, call as many people as you like with your iPhone. Using your iPhone as a traditional phone doesn’t eat up your phone’s memory. Grandma probably considers her trusty iPhone 1 to be a fine device. She can bother her children and grandchildren with it whenever she wants.
Fun Source: iPhone ( 1st generation ). en ( dot ) wikipedia ( dot ) org.
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Copyright 2021 by Andrew L. Roller. AI, Apple Info, and ARSE, Andrew Roller Stories and Essays, are trademarks of Andrew L. Roller.
I am https://andrewroller.wordpress.com
Earlier posts by me are at https://asstr.org/files/Authors/Roller/
I’m on paper at: https://www.abebooks.com > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
and https://www.abebooks.co.uk > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
If you visit an “AbeBooks” website, you’ll be presented with a large square “Search” box. In the box labelled “Author”, type in “Andrew Roller”. In the box labelled “Title”, type in “Andrew Roller Presents”. This will bring up some of my pamphlets. I have not yet figured out how to bring up other pamphlets by me, under other titles. I don’t recall all the titles I published under.
I have no financial involvement in these resale items.
I am on You Tube as “Andrew Roller”. Use You Tube’s magnifying glass icon to search for “Andrew Roller”. That will take you to my You Tube channel. Or, on You Tube, tap my sun icon, if you see it. That will also take you to my You Tube channel. There, you can see songs and films that I like.
At the “home page” of my You Tube channel, you’ll see just a selection of playlists that I created. To see all my playlists, tap on the phrase, “Created playlists”.
The World Wide Web address for my You Tube channel is:
https://www.youtube.com/andrewroller
If you click on this link, you’ll be taken to a World Wide Web You Tube page. Here, You Tube displays a cartoon image of a monkey. The page says, “This page isn’t available. Sorry about that. Try searching for something else.”
My advice: on this page, search for “andrew roller”. By doing so, you’ll get to my World Wide Web You Tube channel. However, I have over 100 Playlists, that I created, at my You Tube app channel. The World Wide Web version of You Tube will only serve you 15 of my Playlists.
( Hence, access You Tube via its app. The You Tube app, like the WordPress app, is available for free at the Apple App Store. )
This is AI, Apple Info, issue number 13
Arcana: This is AI, Apple Info, issue number 13, version 7.0
Date Written: April 24, 2021. Live for the day that censorious Big Tech is dead.
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This has been a presentation of A R S E news.
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AI 13
Apple Info presents...
50 Shades of Kay Jay
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Plus: Getting off Wi-Fi.
And: Dad’s mistake.
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50 SHADES OF KAY JAY
Her whipping was more severe than previously reported.
by Andrew Roller
In Editorial Thunder number 64, I reported on videos of Kay Jay that I found at freeones ( dot ) com. I referenced two videos there.
1. “Young Kay Jay enjoys posing naked in her Bedroom”. Real title: “Wet Dreams”.
2. “Kay Jay gives Upskirt View before getting naked”. Real title: “Dreaming”.
In these films, Kay Jay appears to have marks from a whip on her tender, adorable body. Kay Jay is 20 years old in these films. However, watching her, you’d swear she wasn’t a day over 12; at most 14.
I write:
“None of these punishment marks were meant to be in Kay’s videos. They’re unrelated to the theme of each film. ( Which is mostly about innocent sexual expression. ) Kay must have gotten whipped at something akin to a bondage party. A few marks lingered on her when it was time to shoot her video.”
So it appears, on free videos at freeones ( dot ) com. Their image resolution is adequate, but not the best for the year 2016.
I’ve now joined metartnetwork ( dot ) com. This gives me access to the highest resolution possible for these films. At MetArt Network, “Kay Jay” is called “Kay J”.
“Wet Dreams” is a film directed by Alex Lynn. It stars Kay J. Here, with improved resolution, I was shocked to find many more whip marks on Kay J. So far, I’ve found whip marks on:
1. Her right tit.
2. Her right bottom cheek.
3. Her right hip.
4. The right side of her rib cage.
5. The back of her left thigh.
Her marks are both ghastly and intoxicating. As best I can tell, they’re the marks of a whip, not a riding crop. That’s because the marks seem to bend, and cut kay from a variety of directions.
Kay J didn’t receive a playful whipping. She appears to have been harshly punished! We’re seeing these marks some time after she was a bondage princess. They’re most vivid in “Wet Dreams”. By the time of the second film, “Dreaming”, Kay J’s marks have faded more. But the ones on her right tit and her right bottom cheek linger. That means these parts of her received the most brutal treatment.
“Dreaming” is also directed by Alex Lynn.
Generally, a free video, at a site like freeones ( dot ) com, isn’t as long as the full version at MetArt Network.
If most any other porn star got whipped, I’d probably take it in stride. However, at age 20, Kay J looks stunningly naive. Her punished body is erotic. It also makes me feel like life is passing me by. If any Kay J sort of girls want to be corporally corrected, let me know. Assuming, that is, I haven’t jumped off a roof from mental anguish.
GETTING OFF WI-FI
Sometimes, when I’m not wearing my pants, I need Wi-Fi. However, in the building where I live, the Wi-Fi is sometimes out. I call the manager about this. I tell her, in an irate voice:
“Excuse me? Has it occurred to you that, although it’s noon on a workday, some of your tenants might be masturbating? What happened to the fucking Wi-Fi? How can I get off without it?”
I don’t know why my manager hangs up on me. Maybe she thinks I’m an obscene caller.
Hence, I was forced to solve this problem myself ( with my dick in one hand ).
Going to the “Settings” app, on your iPhone, will solve things. However, yesterday, I was too stupid to figure out how. I tried many strategies in “Settings”. Nothing worked.
Desperate, I hit on a solution. Go to the app “Files”. It’s the blue folder on your iPhone’s screen. In “Files”, look at the top left of your screen. There, you’ll see the word “Browse” A left-pointing arrow is present: <
Tap on “Browse”. You’re taken to a new screen. At the top of it is written, “Browse”. Below “Browse” you’ll see: “Locations”.
The following locations are listed on my iPhone:
1. iCloud Drive
2. On My iPhone
3. Recently Deleted
( More items, listed below these, aren’t relevant to this article. )
When you buy an iPhone, as an Apple virgin, you get five free gigabytes of storage in iCloud Drive. You should buy more storage from Apple. Buy as much as you need to backup your iPhone and iPad. Otherwise, if your iPhone or iPad crashes, you’ll lose all the data on it.
Tap on iCloud Drive. Probably, you’ve downloaded some porn videos to iCloud drive. Anything on iCloud drive is at Apple. When you tap on your porn video in iCloud Drive, Apple sends it to you via Wi-Fi.
Except, that is, if your Wi-Fi isn’t working. Tap on a porn video in iCloud Drive. If your Wi-Fi isn’t working, Apple will tell you the following:
“Wi-Fi isn’t working. Would you like to switch to cellular?” I’m paraphrasing.
Finally, I’d found a way to get off the ( broken ) Wi-Fi. I agreed to be switched to cellular. Apple will, in this circumstance, keep me on cellular until my Wi-Fi is restored.
That is, it will keep my iPhone on cellular. My Apple iPad is Wi-Fi only. It’s not Wi-Fi and cellular. Hence, even though my iPhone is cellular, I won’t be able to access the internet on my iPad.
Unless, that is, I turn my iPhone into a “Personal Hotspot”. Here’s how:
1. On your iPhone, open your “Settings” app. You’ll see a page titled, “Settings”. Look down on this page until you see, “Personal Hotspot”.
2. Tap on “Personal Hotspot”.
3. You’ll be taken to a new page. It’s titled, “Personal Hotspot”. Let’s read what’s here:
“Personal Hotspot on your iPhone can provide Internet access to other devices SIGNED INTO YOUR ICLOUD ACCOUNT without requiring you to enter the password.” ( Emphasis added. )
So, by creating a “Personal Hotspot”, only your own devices will have access to it. The unemployed sleaze next door who jerks off to whip-marked Kay J at noon won’t be using your Hotspot.
( All of your devices should already be signed into your iCloud account. This happened when you backed up your iPhone, and your iPad, to iCloud as an Apple virgin. )
4. We’re looking at the page titled, “Personal Hotspot”. On this page, you’ll see, “Allow Others to Join”. To the right of this is a slide bar. For whatever reason, you don’t swipe your finger across it. You tap on it. ( Someone at Apple had to teach me this. In addition to much else, I was flummoxed by the slide bar. Not for days, but for months. )
When my iPhone is a “Personal Hotspot”, it gets hot. It can get so hot that I can’t touch it. Other uses ( like keeping it on for a long time, to masturbate, can make my iPhone hot too. ) I complained to Apple about this several times. Each time, the service clerk answered as follows:
“So ( pause ), you PERCEIVE your phone as being hot.” The clerk always claims, in effect, that I’m a sensitive baby. A He-Man, like Steve Cook of Apple, wouldn’t regard his phone as hot. However, my phone really does get hot. If I rubbed it against the clerk’s dick, he’d know it!
Turn your iPhone off for some minutes if it gets hot. Your iPhone’s charging plug, if it’s in an outlet, will get hot too.
My iPhone, purchased new in 2019, is an older model. It’s the 6s. It has always been plagued by overheating. However, this isn’t a manufacturing defect. It’s just how an ordinary iPhone 6s is.
Streaming videos on your iPhone will make it hot. So will charging it, as you’re using it.
You’ve now turned your iPhone into a “Personal Hotspot”. Next, open your “Settings” app on your iPad. On the left side of your screen, at the top, you’ll see “Settings”.
1. Look down on this page, until you find “Wi-Fi”. Tap on “Wi-Fi”.
2. A page opens on the right side of your screen. It’s titled, “Wi-Fi”. Find “User’s iPhone. Low Data Mode.” ( I added the periods. ) Tap on “User’s iPhone. Low Data Mode.”
Your “Wi-Fi only” iPad is now connected to the internet! It’s connected via your iPhone. Your iPhone is running on your cellular network, not on your building’s Wi-Fi.
If your iPad fails to connect, try again.
“Low Data Mode” means that data from the internet ( like a porn film ) will reach you more slowly than if you were using your building’s Wi-Fi.
Modernly, how long you’re using your phone doesn’t matter. What matters is how many gigabytes you download from the internet. My phone plan has unlimited minutes. However, I’m limited to three gigabytes per month. After that, I get charged extra. ( My unused gigabytes get rolled over to the next month. After 60 days, however, my unused gigabytes expire. I can’t limit my phone use and rack up 100 unused gigabytes. )
Hopefully, you know about Wi-Fi. When I first got my iPhone, I discovered pornhub ( dot ) com. ( When the site was worth visiting. ) I didn’t know about Wi-Fi. I was watching lots of porn videos on Pornhub using cellular. Fortunately, an Apple technician taught me, over the phone, how to use Wi-Fi.
To turn off your “Personal Hotspot”, do the following:
1. Open your “Settings” app on your iPhone. You’ll see a page titled, “Settings”. Look down on this page until you see, “Personal Hotspot”.
2. There, tap on “Personal Hotspot”. You’ll be taken to a new page. It’s titled, “Personal Hotspot”.
3. Tap on “Allow Others to Join”. This will turn the slide bar off.
While your iPad is accessing the internet via your iPhone ( which is on cellular ) you’ll see a blue bar across the top of your iPhone. When you disconnect your iPad from your iPhone, the blue bar will disappear.
( The best way to disconnect your iPad is by going into the “Settings” app on your iPhone. )
SEARCHING IN “Pages”
You’re using Apple’s “Pages” app. You’ve written an article about Kay J. Now you want to find all the places where “masturbate” appears in your article. It took me more than a year to figure out how to do this.
Every word processing program should offer “word search”. Usually, this ability is located right at the top of your screen. You’ll see the word “Search”, or an icon of a magnifying glass.
So where the hell is “Search” in Apple’s “Pages” app?
1. In your article on Kay J, look at the top of your screen. You’ll see a menu bar there.
2. Tap on the icon that consists of a circle. It contains three horizontal dots.
3. A sidebar slides out, on the right side of your screen. The sidebar is titled, “More”.
4. Look down this sidebar until you see, “Find”. A magnifying glass icon is to the left of “Find”.
5. Tap on “Find”. A horizontal bar appears near the bottom of your iPad’s screen. At the left of this bar is a magnifying glass icon.
6. Type in, “masturbate”. Your article about Kay J will, abruptly, become gray. Highlighted on this gray page, in various light colors, will be, “masturbate”. ( Assuming the word is in fact in your article. For whatever reason, “quantum chromodynamics” rarely shows up in my writing. Hopefully, my writing doesn’t lack serious literary, artistic, political, or scientific value, and violate contemporary community standards. )
7. Tap your screen to get rid of the horizontal “Find” bar.
8. To get rid of the sidebar on the right side of your screen, tap on the icon of the circle. That is, the circle that contains three horizontal dots.
THUS SPOKE ( robot ) ROLLER
In “Pages”, press your thumb against your iPad’s screen. A black horizontal bar appears. It offers you the option of “Speak” or “Speak Sentence”. If you tap either of these, a liberated, feminist ( robot ) woman will tell you about Kay Jay being whipped.
You can get the feminist robot to speak in your Apple “Safari” browser. Press your finger against your iPad’s screen. This let’s you highlight as much text as you like. The highlighted text becomes encompassed by blue.
Now, tap on the highlighted text. A black horizontal bar appears. “Speak” is an option in the black horizontal bar.
“Speak” is also available in the browser apps “DuckDuckGo” and “Firefox”. I won’t be finding out if it works in “Google Chrome”. I refuse to use anything by Google except its search engine ( via Safari ) and map. Someday, I’ll wade back into You Tube. Maybe. I’m still paying the bastards for it.
DAD’S MISTAKE
My father was always maniacal about saving money. He was also a minister. So, obviously, he didn’t splurge a whole 50 cents on the first issue of Playboy. Guess how much the first issue of Playboy, published in December of 1953, is worth today? According to Google, a copy of that issue of Playboy, in mint condition, is worth “as much as $635,000.”
So, Dad, if you’d bought two copies of that issue, and kept them in perfect condition, you’d be worth over a million dollars today. ( If he wasn’t dead, like Hugh Hefner. )
Google writes:
“Magazine pricing service Nostomania pegs Playboy as publishing the three most valuable magazine issues in the world.” Hopefully, these issues aren’t valuable because they objectify women.
AND IN THE END...
“Negro Demands: Are They Realistic? by Theodore H. White”.
- LIFE magazine, November 29, 1963. 25 cents. ( Not 50 Cent. )
Source: “Your Old Magazine Could Be Worth $50,000 - Or More. Here’s How to Sell It”. flipsy ( dot ) com.
ARCANA
1. This is a note about Apple’s iCloud. Specifically, your content ( like porn videos ) on iCloud. If you watch a porn video a lot, or have downloaded it recently ( from, say, MetArt Network ), it will be cached on your iPad. So, even if your iPad can’t access iCloud, because your Wi-Fi is broken, you’ll still be able to watch these porn videos.
2. An Apple clerk taught me this: Your iPhone, regardless of what model it is ( like the 6s ) is just a box. What matters is what’s inside the box. That is, what matters is what iOS your iPhone is running. I run the latest Apple iOS on my Apple 6s. The only limitation I face is a lack of memory. When I’m low on memory, I can’t download Apple’s latest iOS.
If you have an old iPhone, try not to use it too much. That will cause your iPhone to cache lots of content on your iPhone. In my case, my iPhone is caching my content that is on iCloud Drive. Hence, I mostly access my content on iCloud Drive using my iPad. My iPad has lots of memory. ( Or, it did, until I downloaded a shitload of ( mostly worthless ) free porn videos. ) ( I now leave such videos in iCloud Drive. I no longer copy them from iCloud Drive to my iPad. )
You can, of course, call as many people as you like with your iPhone. Using your iPhone as a traditional phone doesn’t eat up your phone’s memory. Grandma probably considers her trusty iPhone 1 to be a fine device. She can bother her children and grandchildren with it whenever she wants.
Fun Source: iPhone ( 1st generation ). en ( dot ) wikipedia ( dot ) org.
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Copyright 2021 by Andrew L. Roller. AI, Apple Info, and ARSE, Andrew Roller Stories and Essays, are trademarks of Andrew L. Roller.
I am https://andrewroller.wordpress.com
Earlier posts by me are at https://asstr.org/files/Authors/Roller/
I’m on paper at: https://www.abebooks.com > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
and https://www.abebooks.co.uk > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
If you visit an “AbeBooks” website, you’ll be presented with a large square “Search” box. In the box labelled “Author”, type in “Andrew Roller”. In the box labelled “Title”, type in “Andrew Roller Presents”. This will bring up some of my pamphlets. I have not yet figured out how to bring up other pamphlets by me, under other titles. I don’t recall all the titles I published under.
I have no financial involvement in these resale items.
I am on You Tube as “Andrew Roller”. Use You Tube’s magnifying glass icon to search for “Andrew Roller”. That will take you to my You Tube channel. Or, on You Tube, tap my sun icon, if you see it. That will also take you to my You Tube channel. There, you can see songs and films that I like.
At the “home page” of my You Tube channel, you’ll see just a selection of playlists that I created. To see all my playlists, tap on the phrase, “Created playlists”.
The World Wide Web address for my You Tube channel is:
https://www.youtube.com/andrewroller
If you click on this link, you’ll be taken to a World Wide Web You Tube page. Here, You Tube displays a cartoon image of a monkey. The page says, “This page isn’t available. Sorry about that. Try searching for something else.”
My advice: on this page, search for “andrew roller”. By doing so, you’ll get to my World Wide Web You Tube channel. However, I have over 100 Playlists, that I created, at my You Tube app channel. The World Wide Web version of You Tube will only serve you 15 of my Playlists.
( Hence, access You Tube via its app. The You Tube app, like the WordPress app, is available for free at the Apple App Store. )
This is AI, Apple Info, issue number 13
Arcana: This is AI, Apple Info, issue number 13, version 7.0
Date Written: April 24, 2021. Live for the day that censorious Big Tech is dead.
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This has been a presentation of A R S E news.
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Requiem for a Gym
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ET 73
Editorial Thunder presents...
Requiem for a Gym
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Plus: Jerking-off at MetArt.
And: The rise of “child molester”.
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REQUIEM FOR A GYM
Ghosts of a vanished gym, and their stories.
by Andrew Roller
Nobody knew he was dead. He worked the graveyard shift at 24 Hour Fitness. Its clerk was a young man. From 1030 p.m. until 6 a.m, he was the sole employee at the 24 Hour Fitness that was located in Horton Plaza.
Horton Plaza is in downtown San Diego. In 2003, I was new to 24 Hour Fitness’ gym at Horton Plaza. Arriving late at night for my workout, I noticed the clerk’s absence. At the time, the gym didn’t have electronic check-in. So I simply went about my workout. This situation lasted for over a week.
One day, friends of the clerk came to the gym. They came during an hour when an employee was present. They told the employee that the clerk was dead. He’d died in a car accident. So the gym found someone new to work their graveyard shift.
If you go to a gym, you apprehend what happened during the week that 24 Hour Fitness was without a clerk in the dead of night. Any number of unauthorized people wandered into the gym.
Downtown San Diego has a lot of homeless people; folks once known as bums. The brightest of these buy a membership in a gym. Other bums try to get into the gym without paying. Some manage to get a “free 3-day guest pass”, usually from another 24 Hour Fitness location. Then, they idled in the Horton Plaza gym, since it was close to “Father Joe’s”, a place that serves daily free meals.
For a bum, a gym becomes their home. It’s where the bum gets his, or her, daily shower. Some bums resort to a gym repeatedly during the day, using its bathroom. The 24 Hour Fitness in Horton Plaza imposed a limit on the number of times a member could enter and exit the gym, on any given day.
“Our” gym, as I’ll call the 24 Hour Fitness at Horton Plaza, had televisions in its bathrooms. These were mounted high on its walls. One young bum decided that he wouldn’t simply visit our gym often, he’d live in the bathroom. I recall him lying on a wooden bench, in front of a bank of lockers. He was using a rolled-up towel as his pillow. By lying on the bench, he was obstructing others from using it, and from accessing the lockers. He was watching T.V.
A member who’d been in the federal jail befriended me. He’d been convicted of human trafficking. Rod was hired as our gym’s clerk, to work the graveyard shift. Rod decided to put an end to bums watching T.V. all night in the bathrooms. At about midnight, he’d turn the T.V.s off, and reach behind each one. Rod would pull a wire out of each T.V. I never figured out which wire he pulled. However, by doing so, he rendered each T.V. inoperable. Even I, Rod’s friend, was disallowed from watching T.V. in the bathroom.
An evening clerk sold methamphetamines at the gym’s front desk. He asked me if I wanted some. I said no. Later, he moved to a wealthier city: Palm Springs.
In my experience, every gym bathroom has a gay bathroom queen. During our graveyard shift, we had Charles. Our bathroom had many lockers. Charles’ locker was one of a very few that had a direct line of sight into the men’s shower. It was a gang shower, without private stalls. Charles always had a fine view of the naked men who were bathing.
Our gym’s lockers, like most gym’s lockers, were “day use only”. One can use such a locker at any hour. “Day use” means that the locker isn’t something that you can claim as your own. You can’t put a lock on the locker and leave the building.
Against the rules, Charles kept a lock on his locker.
Illegal locks were cut every Saturday night. Some locks could be cut with a big lock cutter. However, Rod and a fellow employee, who was voluntarily at the gym, had to use an electric saw to cut some locks. It was gym policy to cut illegal locks. However, the gym was very tardy about cutting locks. It was Rod who made sure that locks got cut. He didn’t cut Charles’ lock. That’s because Charles was always present when Rod cut locks. Also, Charles befriended Rod.
Once, I went to the gym during the day. Since I always attract gay interest, I quickly learned that our gym had a gay bathroom queen during the day.
A gay prostitute arrived at our gym at about 4 a.m. every morning. Ivan was homeless. Armed with a large cup of coffee, he’d attempt to buttonhole someone and gab at them for half an hour. I was high on his list of targets. I did my best to make clear to him that, while I enjoyed his presence, I didn’t want to be immobilized by a half hour of gab. Ivan learned not to buttonhole women. One of them accused him, to a gym manager, of sexual harassment. Rod found this funny.
“He’s 100 percent gay,” Rod told me, of Ivan. That was true.
“Are you following me?” a member used to ask others. He was a short guy who sounded like a chipmunk. Dickhead was into bodybuilding. I discerned that he was on drugs, for mental illness. His nature was highly aggressive. However, just as he appeared ready to punch someone ( like me ), his drugs would kick in. He wouldn’t get violent, after all.
I once encountered a skinny Black guy at the gym. He was highly aggressive, with no narcotic restraint. He accused me of surveilling his conduct. The manner in which he did this made it clear that it was my very presence that upset him. So, in addition to bums, and bathroom queens, a gym attracts customers who are mentally ill.
It also attracts thieves. I had my belongings parked by a treadmill. Since it was 2 a.m., I felt that my belongings were safe. I walked to the bathroom. As I returned to the treadmill, I saw a person leaving our gym in great haste. At the treadmill, I found my belongings strewn across the floor. The person fleeing the gym had thrown my belongings about as he searched them. He was probably looking for money. I was smart enough not to keep money with my belongings. However, I didn’t like my stuff being dirtied by being thrown on the floor.
Small weights were often stolen from the gym, especially in my early years there. The only people who could make use of these weights, besides my manly self, were girls. Other items were also stolen, like comfort wraps for barbells.
You might not like COVID-19, but thank it for one thing: we now live in a cleaner world. Our gym was filthy. Garbage, especially empty water bottles, cluttered the place. This was most notable in the men’s bathroom. On the gym floor, layers of sweat coated the machines. I caught more than one illness just walking in front of the crowd of people on treadmills in our gym.
My hours at the gym became 11 p.m. until 5 a.m. I was simply a member. Our gym was very crowded throughout the day. By 2 a.m., it was mostly empty. We have many bars in San Diego. These close at 2 a.m. Fights begin, on the streets, at 2:17 a.m. ( I know this with precision from living close by the Gaslamp Quarter. ) I didn’t dare go home from Horton Plaza at, say, 2:30 a.m.
Our gym was cleaned from about 1 a.m. until about 4 a.m. This was done by employees of an outside company. Nearly all of them were Mexicans who couldn’t speak English. They cleaned various buildings throughout the night. Cleaning our gym included hosing down the men’s bathroom. If a woman did this, men were banned from the bathroom. Hence, I couldn’t get to my locker, to retrieve my belongings. Also, the bathroom floor was covered with water.
“The only people on the streets between 3 a.m. and 5 a.m. are the criminals,” a San Diego police officer once said, in the newspaper. I’ve been mishandled by police in the past. So, from 3 a.m until 5 a.m., I didn’t feel safe walking home from the gym. This was due to the possibility of police misconduct.
I left the gym at 5 a.m.
Folks that I call “the normal people” arrived at the gym starting at about 4:30 a.m. Their presence presaged “the surge”. The surge runs from 5 a.m. until 7 a.m.
“The surge” is awful. “The normal people” flood the gym, bringing with them their “values”. All the T.V.s are put on news and sports channels. I hate watching news and sports at a gym.
My preference was for the Disney Channel. In recent years, the Disney Channel has become hopelessly politically correct. However, from about 2011 until maybe 2016, the Disney Channel was awash in stunningly beautiful girls. These included Peyton List, Sabrina Carpenter, and many others. I would walk for six hours on a treadmill, ogling these girls. A standard show on the Disney Channel runs for 30 minutes. Yet I was able to watch lovely girls all night. There were no “dead” periods without girls. The girls ranged in age from 13 to 16. Of course, as time went by, they got older. Sometimes, in ads, girls who were age 11 or so would appear. Such ads included brief segments by Disney.
An older woman, who was quite short and homeless, fell in love with me at the gym. Elena was eventually banned from our location. This happened when some women happened upon her in a handicapped bathing stall, in the women’s bathroom. Elena was shoving a hose in herself, masturbating.
A coed “wet area” held a steam room, a sauna, and a hot tub. Swimsuits, or clothing, were required. People sometimes had sex in the steam room. I think this mostly consisted of girls seducing guys. The guy was usually someone that the girl had just met. I never used the “wet area”. To my knowledge, the water in the hot tub was never changed. Foam, from human bodily fluids, grew on the surface of the water in the hot tub. Rod got rid of the foam by squirting it with fluid. The fluid was held in a Windex-type bottle.
One night, a 17-year-old girl caused a sensation among the gym’s male members. Donning a bikini, she got in the hot tub.
Gays loved our hot tub. A number of them would lounge in it, in a group. One night, a clueless bum entered the “wet area” in the nude. He hopped in the hot tub with the gays. Unfortunately, the bum had scabies. The gays, fleeing the tub, complained to Rod. The bum was required to leave our gym.
Rod tolerated a bum who had worms. Unlike some bums, he was a dues paying member. The man regularly excreted worms from his anus, and from a wound in his leg. Charles knew more about this bum than I did. I asked Charles how Rod reacted to the worms.
“He runs around the bathroom stomping on them,” Charles replied. Like most bums, the man visited our gym primarily to use its bathroom, including its shower.
We had an outbreak of bedbugs in our lockers. It was caused by a bum who was a dues paying member. I was forced to spray any locker I used with bedbug spray. I had to do this surreptitiously. Young guys would complain: “He’s spraying insecticide! It’s bad for our health!” They would moan this to Rod. I guess they preferred bedbugs in their underpants. These same gays ( I mean, guys ) had no problem with Tag Sport Fragrance being sprayed all over the bathroom.
A small bum had giant, ill-fitting shoes. He was a dues paying member. He ate in our bathroom. He’d put a small microwave pizza, that was frozen, under a sink’s hot water. He’d keep it there until the pizza thawed. Then, he’d eat the thawed, but uncooked, pizza. Charles washed his clothes in one of our bathroom’s sinks. ( The sink was small; it wasn’t a kitchen-type basin. )
“I’m not homeless. I have a car.” Such is the state of many residents of California. A gay member of our gym parked outside Horton Plaza every night. He slept in the back of his pickup truck. It had a camper top.
This ( car owning ) bum showered in our bathroom. In the shower, he’d wet and lather himself. Then he’d stand in the center of the shower. There, far from the shower heads, he’d masturbate. The bum would do so staring at passersby in the ( non shower ) part of the bathroom. I was treated to such a jerkoff show one night, as I was walking to the bathroom’s toilets. The bum’s membership was finally revoked. I asked why.
“For masturbating,” Rod told me. “In public.”
Our gym had a child molester. But since that was me, and young girls were few and far between in the place, I’ll move on to the next topic.
“See that man?” Rod asked me, pointing to a nondescript individual. “He wears women’s clothing.” If you want to learn people’s “secrets”, become a clerk at a gym. You’ll likely learn the most if you’re the sole employee in the place at a time like the witching hour.
One of “the normal people” was a chiropractor. He’s now in federal prison for defrauding the government.
The more I learn about people, at a place like the gym, the more I’m convinced that no one is normal. If you believe that someone is normal, you simply don’t know them well enough.
If you get bored in a gym, rack weights. It’s more interesting to tidy a gym, moving its heavy weights around, than to do repetitions with dumbbells and barbells. I also put trash into the garbage containers. A lot of trash.
A “trash war” occurred. For a time, we had a female clerk on the graveyard shift. She had no interest in picking up the trash that cluttered our gym. Folks on our cleaning crew raided our garbage containers for recyclables. They sold this for spare cash, for themselves. ( A gym is replete with empty water bottles and cans. ) One night, our female clerk decided to raid the garbage containers for recyclables. She wanted to sell the recyclables for cash for herself. After that, the “trash war” was on. It occurred between the clerk and the cleaning crew. The contested issue was always the same: who will get the recyclables tonight?
During the female clerk’s reign, a member borrowed the gym’s ladder. He didn’t like the music that the gym played. So, over a series of nights, he used the ladder to access the gym’s stereo speakers. These were placed high above the gym floor. However, they were within reach of a man on a ladder. The member used the ladder to vandalize the gym’s speakers. He ripped the wiring out of them. The gym’s staff never noticed the loss in stereo sound, until someone complained. For awhile, the situation was sadly hilarious. Vandalized speakers often continued to emit sound, in the form of odd, squeakily subdued notes.
At times, the gym played its music at a satanically loud volume. I complained, but no clerk could do anything about the music’s volume. Indeed, they lied about it. They claimed that the music came directly from some other location. In fact, the music was on computerized tapes in the assistant manager’s office. That office was normally locked during the graveyard shift.
More than once, a clerk said that the music had to be loud, to motivate people to exercise. However, during the graveyard shift, the gym sometimes had only one or two members ( one of whom was a bum ).
Another problem that contributed to the music being excessively loud was the noise of the treadmills. It was felt that the music had to be loud enough to overwhelm the noise of the treadmills. The older a treadmill gets, the more noise it emits. ( By “treadmill”, I mean the various “aerobic” machines. )
On the final occasion that the music was loud, I made a special trip to the gym. I came during the day, to complain to the ( then current ) manager. He turned the music down. My rule for gyms is this: the music ( piped into the manager’s office ) should be as loud in the manager’s office as it is on the gym floor.
Horton Plaza had a large parking structure. It charged $12.00 per hour. Our gym validated parking for three hours. The validation machine sat on a counter by the gym’s entrance. An employee was supposed to operate it. However, this machine sat where anyone could use it.
You can guess the result. Our gym was regularly invaded by partiers who wanted parking validation. One night, I was about to enter the gym. Two highly attractive females, each about 21 years old, gave me the biggest smiles you can imagine. They thought I could validate their parking. When I told them I couldn’t, their smiles vanished. So did the girls. Hence, if you want to know what those girls’ attention was worth, it was worth $12.00. Multiplied by three hours, their attention was worth $36.00.
Another time, I was buttonholed by a female inside the gym. The situation was the same. She was a partier. She wanted me to validate her parking.
One year, during Halloween, a supervisor of Ace Parking came over to our gym. Ace Parking ran Horton Plaza’s parking structure. Rod wasn’t at our gym’s front desk. Just the parking validation machine was there. The supervisor, without telling anyone, stole our parking validation machine. Someone in a Halloween costume, who clearly hadn’t exercised in our gym, had paid his parking fee with a parking stub validated by our machine.
24 Hour Fitness eventually learned who had stolen their parking validation machine. When it was returned, 24 Hour Fitness was forced to cut the number of validated hours to two.
Horton Plaza was an inspiration of American science fiction author Ray Bradbury. If you wondered what buildings on Bradbury’s Mars were like, Horton Plaza might have given clues. Tourists had trouble figuring out how to enter the mall. Exiting could be equally challenging. Given the mall’s whimsical layout, it might have been a petty thief’s paradise. It took me several years to comfortably navigate the place. This, of course, gave a huge advantage to residents who could slip rapidly through the mall, versus clueless tourists. ( Including me, when I first arrived in San Diego. ) I only saw one instance of crime. A Black male, who was perhaps 20 years old, swiped candy from a kiosk. ( Ogling porn magazines and little girls doesn’t count as a crime. )
Horton Plaza, the mall, is now gone. A huge, noisy mess was made as it was demolished to its skeletal frame. A tall building is now being built at its south end. I’m told that Horton Plaza will now consist of “housing and boutiques”. That means, of course, expensive housing, and expensive boutiques. So a mall that once served the everyday man will now become a playground of the elite.
Downtown San Diego remains largely deserted. It consists of various buildings, but a number of them are unoccupied, and have been so for years. There is elite housing. ( In the form of multifamily buildings. ) Mostly, those folks drive elsewhere to accomplish their chores. Some working class folks live in government subsidized housing. ( Consisting of multifamily buildings. ) There are always many wandering bums. This includes the bums’ pets, who shit on the street.
Workers enter San Diego on a daily basis. At 5:00 p.m., they return to their suburban homes. No children live in downtown San Diego. The government subsidized housing is limited to two people per room. When elites prove successful with their “starter child”, a dog, they move to the suburbs to have human children.
There aren’t any noteworthy fast food joints in downtown San Diego, except Subway. We have no McDonalds, no Burger King, no Kentucky Fried Chicken, or other such establishments. There are a number of eateries in the Gaslamp District for elite dollars.
We have many bars and nightclubs. These, too, are in the Gaslamp District. Such places often go out of business, only to be replaced by another fool enterprise of the same ilk. We are thronged with partiers on the weekends. They’re present from 10:30 p.m. until 2:30 a.m.
Tourists come to San Diego. When the San Diego Convention Center was open, adults flocked to San Diego all year. They attended the center’s various conventions. That business is now gone, at least for the duration of COVID-19. Comic-Con didn’t happen last year. Tourists who are families are only present in downtown San Diego during July and, especially, August.
Trolleys run through San Diego during most hours, as do many city buses.
I came to downtown San Diego in 2002. Many more people were present then. Since that time, the city has been “cleaned up”. “Condo conversion” eliminated many “hotels” that served the underclass. Elites took the place of the displaced people. One only sees elites when such folks are walking their dogs.
San Diego’s “Children’s Museum” is in downtown San Diego. I rarely see any girl going there who’s older than 6. Due to COVID-19, the museum is “temporarily closed”, according to Google. When I walk by, no one is there. I can now whiz in peace in their bushes.
I was once considering living in an apartment building that has since undergone “condo conversion”. The sales agent proudly showed me the building’s rooftop lounge. It was a cold day, and the sky was getting dark. I thought to myself,
“This isn’t Honolulu, is it?” When I lived in Guam, the Guamanians all wanted to move to Los Angeles. I recall being cold in Los Angeles in August. San Diego is south of Los Angeles, but it too is cold. The only warm months here are July and August. Naturally, Americans here complain bitterly about the “heat” of July and August. They object little to cold weather.
A resident of the nation of Kiribati once vacationed in Hawaii. When he returned to Kiribati, he complained bitterly about how cold Hawaii was. Hawaii does get chilly in winter. There, I was outraged by having to don a jacket in winter. I’d never needed a jacket in Guam.
San Diego is much worse. I stay bundled up even in July and August. I was accosted by a Comic-Con attendee ( a female ) for being bundled up in July. A fat Black guy gawked at me in amazement, upon seeing me bundled up in June. It’s often sunny in San Diego. However, this is the Arctic from September through June.
A gym is a competitive place. Members vie for use of its limited equipment. People contest with one another, and with the gym’s managers, over what is on the T.V.s. Accessing a toilet at 5 a.m. can be impossible. There’s the quarrel of the sexes. Yet, at Horton Plaza, all that has now vanished. Where a gym once stood, there’s just a black, unilluminated space. Looking into it, I feel dogged by ghosts.
Such a fate lies in wait for all of us, or for others. We humans struggle against one another here on earth. Yet a certainty has stalked every species that this planet has so far produced. It’s extinction.
JERKING-OFF AT METART
You’re not a jerkoff. You just need to jerk-off. If you’ve collected photos of beauties from free porn sites, you see a name often: MetArt. ( I interpret this name as, “Me Tart”. As in, the girl is a hooker. )
I was scooping up every free photo that I could find of the “porn” model “Kay J”. I looked her up at the website indexxx ( dot ) com. There, I learned that all the photos of “young Kay”, where she looks 12 years old, were at MetArt owned websites.
Specifically, photos of “young Kay” were at MetArt, MetArt X, SexArt, and Eternal Desire. Each of these is a separate website. Each costs about $100.00 for an annual membership.
However, for $349.95 you can join all of the above sites, plus a number of others. You do this by joining at www ( dot ) metartnetwork ( dot ) com. The current price is down from a price of $365, that I read about on the internet. ( It isn’t a sale; the price simply dropped. )
I realize that $349.95 is a lot of money. However, in my brief experience with it, MetArt Network appears to be about the best porn site that you’ll find. I had a question at 2 a.m. By 3 a.m., a live employee had responded to me from MetArt Network. When I answered her, about an hour later, I got another swift live response.
I’m a member of three other porn sites. Here’s a report on each:
1. digitaldesire ( dot ) com. If you were “reading” porn magazines in about 2002, you’ll find a few cute girls from that era on Digital Desire. I’ve long since run out of them.
A photo gallery that I found for free on the internet, that was credited to Digital Desire, isn’t on the web site! I wrote to Digital Desire about this. I never heard back. Also, I have a photo gallery featuring the porn model Jassie. It’s in a magazine. The same photo gallery, with added pictures, is online at Digital Desire. However, my favorite photo in the magazine isn’t in the online photo gallery. I asked Digital Desire about this. Again, I never heard back. The photographer who created Digital Desire, and photographed beauties for porn magazines, died some years ago.
I’ve been a member of Digital Desire for about two years. I rarely visit it. My hunch is that Digital Desire subsists on its existing content. They’ve taken to showing off their content on their web site. This creates the impression that their content is new. But it is, in fact, just the same old content. A lot of the girls on Digital Desire don’t interest me.
2. naughtymag ( dot ) com. This is another web site that I rarely visit. I’ve been a member for about two years. In 2019, Naughty Mag sent me an “early bird special”, by e-mail. That let me into their site for half price. My subscription includes the web site 18eighteen ( dot ) com. Naughty Mag bills monthly. My understanding is that there isn’t a yearly billing option.
Naughty Mag is a “premium site”. 18eighteen is just a “promo site”.
The Score Group owns Naughty Mag and 18eighteen. It has a gazillion additional porn web sites. By being a member of Naughty Mag, you get a new, free site every month. However, these are all listed as being a “loyalty site”, a “bundle site” or a “promo site”.
Porn mega Load is apparently a premium site. As best I can tell, it’s the only important site in The Score Group besides Naughty Mag. Kay J has a photo gallery, and a video, at the Naughty Mag web site. She also has a photo gallery, and a video, at Porn mega Load. I have no access to Porn mega Load. Fortunately, the same “Kay J” photo gallery, and video, are at 18eighteen.
I haven’t seen anything that interests me at Porn mega Load, that I can’t access by being a member of Naughty Mag ( which includes a membership in 18eighteen ).
Note: Naughty Mag is set up as a single web site. You’ll need a special offer from The Score Group to get both Naughty Mag and 18eighteen. Make sure you get that offer. I got the offer by signing up at Naughty Mag for free e-mail notifications. I did this as a non-member.
I’ve long since run out of free monthly web sites at Naughty Mag. The Score Group only gives out so many free sites. They choose which sites are free. Your selection of web sites is limited to their choices.
If you were a jerkoff in the prior century, you knew The Score Group’s magazines to be, mostly, at the bottom of the porn barrel. I didn’t have high expectations when I joined Naughty Mag. I simply wanted photos of Lilly Anne, a porn star. ( The photos of her at Naughty Mag aren’t very good. )
Much of The Score Group’s content is awful. Here are the names of some of the ( apparently ) “premium” sites:
1. Your Mom Loves Anal.
2. Your Wife My Meat.
3. Valory Irene. ( Some middle-aged woman with big tits. )
4. Silver Sluts. ( Ghastly grandmothers committing unspeakable acts. )
5. Old Horny Milfs. ( I don’t know what a “milf” is, and I don’t want to. )
6. Granny Gets a Facial. ( Sperm on old ladies’ faces. )
Sadly, I’ve found most of the models at Naughty Mag and 18eighteen to be unattractive.
3. pbp-ma ( dot ) playboy ( dot ) com. This is “Playboy Plus”. Sadly, Playboy engages in shady business practices. I received an e-mail offer from them. The offer promised “all that Playboy Plus has to offer”. When I joined, the first thing that appeared on my iPad’s screen was an expensive upgrade offer. With regard to Playmate Tiffany Taylor, the only content featuring her was shot when she was old, years after her reign as a Playmate. The links to this crap content didn’t work. After a lengthy discussion with Playboy’s biller, I managed to get a refund.
After considerable study, I managed to join Playboy Plus ( using a new e-mail address ) for about $100.00 a year. This gave me access to all of the Tiffany Taylor photos that Playboy has bothered to put online.
That is, online at its web site. I’ve found free photos online of Tiffany Taylor, by Playboy, that Playboy has NOT put on its web site! I also found free videos of Tiffany Taylor, by Playboy, that aren’t on its web site. The videos are at xvideos ( dot ) com. A video there, by Tiffany Taylor, features her in bondage gear ( as a dominant ). It’s a good video.
Upon joining Playboy again, I was informed, after the fact, that I needed to upgrade. Playboy’s “Girls with Girls” and “Girls” content required $10.00 extra per month. Except: the upgrade page didn’t work. I had a live human at the biller upgrade me. ( As it turned out, I was only upgraded for one month. )
I discovered that Playboys’ “Girls with Girls” content is worthless. I guess, these days, fags do Playboy’s photography. An example: two girls pose before a sunset. The fag adjusts his camera, over some minutes, to successfully shoot the sunset! Never mind the girls. They wind up eclipsed by the ever-poorer lighting. An 8-year-old boy could conceive of sexier uses for Playboy’s girls in its “Girls with Girls” photo galleries.
Here’s the situation with regard to Playboy’s “Girls”. ( Models who aren’t Playmates. ) If you search for a specific “Girl” by name, photos of her will appear. ( If Playboy has bothered to load them onto its site. )
I have lots of magazine photos of Playmates that aren’t on Playboy Plus. These include photos in Playboy’s now defunct “Newsstand Special” magazines. The content isn’t online elsewhere. Playboy never bothered to load the content onto any of its web sites.
Playboy hosts a number of “Playboy” branded web sites. The only worthwhile web site is Playboy Plus. Quality photos of Lisa Sohm and Dorothy Mays are at the Playboy Archive web site. That web site is called iplayboy ( dot ) com.
With regard to its archive, Playboy photographed pages of its magazine. ( As you would, if you were holding a camera over a porn magazine. Hence, the photos of Lisa Sohm and Dorothy Mays are photos of photos in Playboy magazine. )
Photos that are in Playboy magazine don’t appear on Playboy Plus. At best, you’ll see a photo that’s a near duplicate of one in Playboy magazine. But Playboy magazine’s editors published the best photos; you get the second best ones at Playboy Plus. ( A photographer, when photographing a girl, takes many photos of her. Just a few of these were published in Playboy magazine. )
I don’t have access to the Playboy Archive web site. I did get free use of it for about a week. That was due to a promotional that Playboy held when COVID-19 appeared. I took screen shots at the Playboy Archive web site. Afterwards, I felt that my screen shots were just a bunch of photos of old magazine pages. Some of the magazine pages are visibly damaged.
In September of 2019, Playboy “removed the download feature” for Playboy Plus content that features Playmates. This is still the case. However, the “download feature” was the only way to get the Playboy centerfold! Hence, Playboy prohibits any of its users, including its “VIP Platinum” users ( the folks who upgrade ), from viewing its Playboy centerfolds!
At the Playboy Archive web site, the centerfold is truncated. This is to accommodate their web site’s standard page format. No digital customer of Playboy’s web sites can successfully view Playboy centerfolds.
If you want Playboy centerfolds, you’ll have to buy a book at amazon ( dot ) com. A printed version is available. It’s called, “Playboy: The Complete Centerfolds”. It runs through 2016. This replaced an earlier printed version. That’s now available as an Amazon Kindle book. It contains centerfolds through 2007. A fine book, it’s called, “Playboy: The Complete Centerfolds”.
If you’re wondering which printed version is best, I like the one that runs through 2007. The book is smaller in size. However, its pages are brighter. The quality of Playmates dropped precipitously as this new century got underway. Today’s Playmates are beyond worthless; they’re revolting. They amount to aging, skanky tattooed ghouls of various races. ( Kay J is a Playboy “Girl”, not a Playmate. )
There is no gallery of models’ faces at Playboy Plus. The only way to find any model, other than those that Playboy is currently pitching, is to consult Playboy books or paper Playboy publications. The only models that Playboy pitches are the crap ones of the present.
When using Playboy’s “Search” function, you must type a model’s name exactly. Playboy won’t offer a range of hints to help you. As best I can tell, Playboy designed its web site to waste as much of your time as possible. This was a theory of the 1990s. The goal was to keep a user stuck on one’s web site for as long as possible.
Now that Apple allows iPad downloads, I can report that all of the above porn sites work. Each will function as you expect. ( Assuming, that is, you don’t get snarled by Playboy’s shady business practices. )
Exercise modest caution when inside a porn site. Much of the content can be blithely clicked on. However, you can wander into content that costs extra. So far, I’ve found this content to be clearly labelled.
Back to metartnetwork ( dot ) com. When signing up, as with any porn site, look for “cross-sells” on the sign up page. These are bad. A porn site will make you a decent offer. Then, in a pre-checked cross-sell, they’ll rob you with the “offer” of an expensive, but totally worthless, porn site. Uncheck any “cross-sells”. In my opinion, it should be illegal for a porn site to pre-check cross-sells. This is especially so since, in my experience, the buyer is usually holding his dick in one hand, and not thinking too clearly. No web site should pre-check cross-sells. ( If you’re British, the word “tick” applies, instead of “check”. ) On its sign up page, MetArt Network pre-checked a cross-sell for an expensive web site.
As soon as I joined MetArt Network, a pop up ad appeared. It offered me “1 free day on three great sites”. One of these sites was the very site that I’d just UNchecked on the sign up page! A second site was called, “Love Hairy”. No third site was listed. Nothing is free in such an offer. The company already has your credit card. If you “try” these sites, and then fail to cancel them in 24 hours, you’ll be paying about $29.99 per month for each site.
I’ve yet to find a pre-checked cross-sell that had any value. These aren’t bargains for savvy consumers. They’re blatant ripoffs that sully the world of twat exhibitors and their jerkoff fans.
Before joining any porn site, decide why you’re joining. In the case of MetArt Network, I wanted photos of Kay J. I stuck with that goal, and am happy with the result.
Some of the photo galleries and videos that I downloaded at MetArt Network didn’t arrive on my iPad. ( I merely got worthless HTML files. ) I restarted my iPad. That solved the problem.
You may wonder why MetArt Network has so many web sites. They’re selling content on multiple web sites to collect more money. All of Kay J’s photos belong on a single MetArt owned web site. Instead, they’re spread over four MetArt owned web sites.
I read reviews of MetArt before joining. Sadly, many reviews were on web sites that profit by their reviews. ( As in, if you join the “X” porn site, with our discount code, you can save money! ) So the reviews are skewed in favor of whatever web site is being reviewed.
A reviewer at thebestporn ( dot ) com criticized SexArt for having too many White girls. In my day, Playboy had mostly White girls. Any Black girl in Playboy looked like a White girl with a dark suntan. However, if you wanted Black girls, there was “Players” magazine. No White girls were in “Players” magazine. No girls at all were in the magazine “Mandate”. I reject the reviewer’s criticism of SexArt. I like the fact that SexArt is full of White girls. I’m sure there are plenty of web sites with Black girls.
FROM “girl lover” TO “child molester”.
In 1980, I worked for several months as a volunteer at a commercial radio station. The DJ present during my weekly shift was an accomplished guy in his 30s. Of him, my supervisor once said, blithely, “he’s a young girl lover”.
In that era, the word “child molester” didn’t exist. It was a later invention by leftist feminists and right-wing religious nuts. Which brings us to today’s quote:
“The person that controls the language always wins.”
- Tammy Bruce. Tucker Carlson Tonight, April 19, 2021. ( In her younger years, lesbian Tammy Bruce called for the death penalty for “first time child molesters”. However, if a person “gives good quote”, I’m going to use it. For the record, I’ve never favored the death penalty for “first time lesbians”. I could use some first time lesbians in my bed, my shower, my kitchen, and my laundry room. Clothing optional. No shoes needed. Pregnancy available. )
ARCANA:
1. Source for Ray Bradbury on Horton Plaza: The book “Ray Bradbury: the Playboy interview ( Singles Classic ) ( 50 years of the Playboy interview )”. Location 522. ( Amazon Kindle. )
2. Historically, “them” can be used to denote a single individual. The notion that “he” must be used, instead of “them”, is an invention of 19th and 20th century pedants.
3. The Kiribati resident’s complaint is reported in the book, “The Sex Lives of Cannibals”, by Maarten Troost. I once recommended “The Sex Lives of Cannibals” to my aunt June. The word “sex” in the book’s title horrified her. June brought me a book on math, and recommended that I read it instead. I didn’t find any sex in the book on math. ( Troost’s title is whimsical. )
4. When writing of a Playboy “centerfold”, I’m speaking of the actual 3-page gatefold.
5. The theory of wasting a user’s time is discussed in the book, “In the Plex: how Google thinks, works, and shapes our lives”, by Steven Levy.
6. All names of people, in the gym article, have been changed to protect the guilty. Except mine.
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Copyright 2021 by Andrew L. Roller. ET, Editorial Thunder, and ARSE, Andrew Roller Stories and Essays, are trademarks of Andrew L. Roller.
I am https://andrewroller.wordpress.com
Earlier posts by me are at https://asstr.org/files/Authors/Roller/
I’m on paper at: https://www.abebooks.com > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
and https://www.abebooks.co.uk > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
If you visit an “AbeBooks” website, you’ll be presented with a large square “Search” box. In the box labelled “Author”, type in “Andrew Roller”. In the box labelled “Title”, type in “Andrew Roller Presents”. This will bring up some of my pamphlets. I have not yet figured out how to bring up other pamphlets by me, under other titles. I don’t recall all the titles I published under.
I have no financial involvement in these resale items.
I am on You Tube as “Andrew Roller”. Use You Tube’s magnifying glass icon to search for “Andrew Roller”. That will take you to my You Tube channel. Or, on You Tube, tap my sun icon, if you see it. That will also take you to my You Tube channel. There, you can see songs and films that I like.
At the “home page” of my You Tube channel, you’ll see just a selection of playlists that I created. To see all my playlists, tap on the phrase, “Created playlists”.
The World Wide Web address for my You Tube channel is:
https://www.youtube.com/andrewroller
If you click on this link, you’ll be taken to a World Wide Web You Tube page. Here, You Tube displays a cartoon image of a monkey. The page says, “This page isn’t available. Sorry about that. Try searching for something else.”
My advice: on this page, search for “andrew roller”. By doing so, you’ll get to my World Wide Web You Tube channel. However, I have over 100 Playlists, that I created, at my You Tube app channel. The World Wide Web version of You Tube will only serve you 15 of my Playlists.
( Hence, access You Tube via its app. The You Tube app, like the WordPress app, is available for free at the Apple App Store. )
This is ET, Editorial Thunder, issue number 73
Arcana: This is ET, Editorial Thunder, issue number 73, version 10.0
Date Written: April 22, 2021. Live for the day that censorious Big Tech is dead.
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This has been a presentation of A R S E news.
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ET 73
Editorial Thunder presents...
Requiem for a Gym
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Plus: Jerking-off at MetArt.
And: The rise of “child molester”.
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REQUIEM FOR A GYM
Ghosts of a vanished gym, and their stories.
by Andrew Roller
Nobody knew he was dead. He worked the graveyard shift at 24 Hour Fitness. Its clerk was a young man. From 1030 p.m. until 6 a.m, he was the sole employee at the 24 Hour Fitness that was located in Horton Plaza.
Horton Plaza is in downtown San Diego. In 2003, I was new to 24 Hour Fitness’ gym at Horton Plaza. Arriving late at night for my workout, I noticed the clerk’s absence. At the time, the gym didn’t have electronic check-in. So I simply went about my workout. This situation lasted for over a week.
One day, friends of the clerk came to the gym. They came during an hour when an employee was present. They told the employee that the clerk was dead. He’d died in a car accident. So the gym found someone new to work their graveyard shift.
If you go to a gym, you apprehend what happened during the week that 24 Hour Fitness was without a clerk in the dead of night. Any number of unauthorized people wandered into the gym.
Downtown San Diego has a lot of homeless people; folks once known as bums. The brightest of these buy a membership in a gym. Other bums try to get into the gym without paying. Some manage to get a “free 3-day guest pass”, usually from another 24 Hour Fitness location. Then, they idled in the Horton Plaza gym, since it was close to “Father Joe’s”, a place that serves daily free meals.
For a bum, a gym becomes their home. It’s where the bum gets his, or her, daily shower. Some bums resort to a gym repeatedly during the day, using its bathroom. The 24 Hour Fitness in Horton Plaza imposed a limit on the number of times a member could enter and exit the gym, on any given day.
“Our” gym, as I’ll call the 24 Hour Fitness at Horton Plaza, had televisions in its bathrooms. These were mounted high on its walls. One young bum decided that he wouldn’t simply visit our gym often, he’d live in the bathroom. I recall him lying on a wooden bench, in front of a bank of lockers. He was using a rolled-up towel as his pillow. By lying on the bench, he was obstructing others from using it, and from accessing the lockers. He was watching T.V.
A member who’d been in the federal jail befriended me. He’d been convicted of human trafficking. Rod was hired as our gym’s clerk, to work the graveyard shift. Rod decided to put an end to bums watching T.V. all night in the bathrooms. At about midnight, he’d turn the T.V.s off, and reach behind each one. Rod would pull a wire out of each T.V. I never figured out which wire he pulled. However, by doing so, he rendered each T.V. inoperable. Even I, Rod’s friend, was disallowed from watching T.V. in the bathroom.
An evening clerk sold methamphetamines at the gym’s front desk. He asked me if I wanted some. I said no. Later, he moved to a wealthier city: Palm Springs.
In my experience, every gym bathroom has a gay bathroom queen. During our graveyard shift, we had Charles. Our bathroom had many lockers. Charles’ locker was one of a very few that had a direct line of sight into the men’s shower. It was a gang shower, without private stalls. Charles always had a fine view of the naked men who were bathing.
Our gym’s lockers, like most gym’s lockers, were “day use only”. One can use such a locker at any hour. “Day use” means that the locker isn’t something that you can claim as your own. You can’t put a lock on the locker and leave the building.
Against the rules, Charles kept a lock on his locker.
Illegal locks were cut every Saturday night. Some locks could be cut with a big lock cutter. However, Rod and a fellow employee, who was voluntarily at the gym, had to use an electric saw to cut some locks. It was gym policy to cut illegal locks. However, the gym was very tardy about cutting locks. It was Rod who made sure that locks got cut. He didn’t cut Charles’ lock. That’s because Charles was always present when Rod cut locks. Also, Charles befriended Rod.
Once, I went to the gym during the day. Since I always attract gay interest, I quickly learned that our gym had a gay bathroom queen during the day.
A gay prostitute arrived at our gym at about 4 a.m. every morning. Ivan was homeless. Armed with a large cup of coffee, he’d attempt to buttonhole someone and gab at them for half an hour. I was high on his list of targets. I did my best to make clear to him that, while I enjoyed his presence, I didn’t want to be immobilized by a half hour of gab. Ivan learned not to buttonhole women. One of them accused him, to a gym manager, of sexual harassment. Rod found this funny.
“He’s 100 percent gay,” Rod told me, of Ivan. That was true.
“Are you following me?” a member used to ask others. He was a short guy who sounded like a chipmunk. Dickhead was into bodybuilding. I discerned that he was on drugs, for mental illness. His nature was highly aggressive. However, just as he appeared ready to punch someone ( like me ), his drugs would kick in. He wouldn’t get violent, after all.
I once encountered a skinny Black guy at the gym. He was highly aggressive, with no narcotic restraint. He accused me of surveilling his conduct. The manner in which he did this made it clear that it was my very presence that upset him. So, in addition to bums, and bathroom queens, a gym attracts customers who are mentally ill.
It also attracts thieves. I had my belongings parked by a treadmill. Since it was 2 a.m., I felt that my belongings were safe. I walked to the bathroom. As I returned to the treadmill, I saw a person leaving our gym in great haste. At the treadmill, I found my belongings strewn across the floor. The person fleeing the gym had thrown my belongings about as he searched them. He was probably looking for money. I was smart enough not to keep money with my belongings. However, I didn’t like my stuff being dirtied by being thrown on the floor.
Small weights were often stolen from the gym, especially in my early years there. The only people who could make use of these weights, besides my manly self, were girls. Other items were also stolen, like comfort wraps for barbells.
You might not like COVID-19, but thank it for one thing: we now live in a cleaner world. Our gym was filthy. Garbage, especially empty water bottles, cluttered the place. This was most notable in the men’s bathroom. On the gym floor, layers of sweat coated the machines. I caught more than one illness just walking in front of the crowd of people on treadmills in our gym.
My hours at the gym became 11 p.m. until 5 a.m. I was simply a member. Our gym was very crowded throughout the day. By 2 a.m., it was mostly empty. We have many bars in San Diego. These close at 2 a.m. Fights begin, on the streets, at 2:17 a.m. ( I know this with precision from living close by the Gaslamp Quarter. ) I didn’t dare go home from Horton Plaza at, say, 2:30 a.m.
Our gym was cleaned from about 1 a.m. until about 4 a.m. This was done by employees of an outside company. Nearly all of them were Mexicans who couldn’t speak English. They cleaned various buildings throughout the night. Cleaning our gym included hosing down the men’s bathroom. If a woman did this, men were banned from the bathroom. Hence, I couldn’t get to my locker, to retrieve my belongings. Also, the bathroom floor was covered with water.
“The only people on the streets between 3 a.m. and 5 a.m. are the criminals,” a San Diego police officer once said, in the newspaper. I’ve been mishandled by police in the past. So, from 3 a.m until 5 a.m., I didn’t feel safe walking home from the gym. This was due to the possibility of police misconduct.
I left the gym at 5 a.m.
Folks that I call “the normal people” arrived at the gym starting at about 4:30 a.m. Their presence presaged “the surge”. The surge runs from 5 a.m. until 7 a.m.
“The surge” is awful. “The normal people” flood the gym, bringing with them their “values”. All the T.V.s are put on news and sports channels. I hate watching news and sports at a gym.
My preference was for the Disney Channel. In recent years, the Disney Channel has become hopelessly politically correct. However, from about 2011 until maybe 2016, the Disney Channel was awash in stunningly beautiful girls. These included Peyton List, Sabrina Carpenter, and many others. I would walk for six hours on a treadmill, ogling these girls. A standard show on the Disney Channel runs for 30 minutes. Yet I was able to watch lovely girls all night. There were no “dead” periods without girls. The girls ranged in age from 13 to 16. Of course, as time went by, they got older. Sometimes, in ads, girls who were age 11 or so would appear. Such ads included brief segments by Disney.
An older woman, who was quite short and homeless, fell in love with me at the gym. Elena was eventually banned from our location. This happened when some women happened upon her in a handicapped bathing stall, in the women’s bathroom. Elena was shoving a hose in herself, masturbating.
A coed “wet area” held a steam room, a sauna, and a hot tub. Swimsuits, or clothing, were required. People sometimes had sex in the steam room. I think this mostly consisted of girls seducing guys. The guy was usually someone that the girl had just met. I never used the “wet area”. To my knowledge, the water in the hot tub was never changed. Foam, from human bodily fluids, grew on the surface of the water in the hot tub. Rod got rid of the foam by squirting it with fluid. The fluid was held in a Windex-type bottle.
One night, a 17-year-old girl caused a sensation among the gym’s male members. Donning a bikini, she got in the hot tub.
Gays loved our hot tub. A number of them would lounge in it, in a group. One night, a clueless bum entered the “wet area” in the nude. He hopped in the hot tub with the gays. Unfortunately, the bum had scabies. The gays, fleeing the tub, complained to Rod. The bum was required to leave our gym.
Rod tolerated a bum who had worms. Unlike some bums, he was a dues paying member. The man regularly excreted worms from his anus, and from a wound in his leg. Charles knew more about this bum than I did. I asked Charles how Rod reacted to the worms.
“He runs around the bathroom stomping on them,” Charles replied. Like most bums, the man visited our gym primarily to use its bathroom, including its shower.
We had an outbreak of bedbugs in our lockers. It was caused by a bum who was a dues paying member. I was forced to spray any locker I used with bedbug spray. I had to do this surreptitiously. Young guys would complain: “He’s spraying insecticide! It’s bad for our health!” They would moan this to Rod. I guess they preferred bedbugs in their underpants. These same gays ( I mean, guys ) had no problem with Tag Sport Fragrance being sprayed all over the bathroom.
A small bum had giant, ill-fitting shoes. He was a dues paying member. He ate in our bathroom. He’d put a small microwave pizza, that was frozen, under a sink’s hot water. He’d keep it there until the pizza thawed. Then, he’d eat the thawed, but uncooked, pizza. Charles washed his clothes in one of our bathroom’s sinks. ( The sink was small; it wasn’t a kitchen-type basin. )
“I’m not homeless. I have a car.” Such is the state of many residents of California. A gay member of our gym parked outside Horton Plaza every night. He slept in the back of his pickup truck. It had a camper top.
This ( car owning ) bum showered in our bathroom. In the shower, he’d wet and lather himself. Then he’d stand in the center of the shower. There, far from the shower heads, he’d masturbate. The bum would do so staring at passersby in the ( non shower ) part of the bathroom. I was treated to such a jerkoff show one night, as I was walking to the bathroom’s toilets. The bum’s membership was finally revoked. I asked why.
“For masturbating,” Rod told me. “In public.”
Our gym had a child molester. But since that was me, and young girls were few and far between in the place, I’ll move on to the next topic.
“See that man?” Rod asked me, pointing to a nondescript individual. “He wears women’s clothing.” If you want to learn people’s “secrets”, become a clerk at a gym. You’ll likely learn the most if you’re the sole employee in the place at a time like the witching hour.
One of “the normal people” was a chiropractor. He’s now in federal prison for defrauding the government.
The more I learn about people, at a place like the gym, the more I’m convinced that no one is normal. If you believe that someone is normal, you simply don’t know them well enough.
If you get bored in a gym, rack weights. It’s more interesting to tidy a gym, moving its heavy weights around, than to do repetitions with dumbbells and barbells. I also put trash into the garbage containers. A lot of trash.
A “trash war” occurred. For a time, we had a female clerk on the graveyard shift. She had no interest in picking up the trash that cluttered our gym. Folks on our cleaning crew raided our garbage containers for recyclables. They sold this for spare cash, for themselves. ( A gym is replete with empty water bottles and cans. ) One night, our female clerk decided to raid the garbage containers for recyclables. She wanted to sell the recyclables for cash for herself. After that, the “trash war” was on. It occurred between the clerk and the cleaning crew. The contested issue was always the same: who will get the recyclables tonight?
During the female clerk’s reign, a member borrowed the gym’s ladder. He didn’t like the music that the gym played. So, over a series of nights, he used the ladder to access the gym’s stereo speakers. These were placed high above the gym floor. However, they were within reach of a man on a ladder. The member used the ladder to vandalize the gym’s speakers. He ripped the wiring out of them. The gym’s staff never noticed the loss in stereo sound, until someone complained. For awhile, the situation was sadly hilarious. Vandalized speakers often continued to emit sound, in the form of odd, squeakily subdued notes.
At times, the gym played its music at a satanically loud volume. I complained, but no clerk could do anything about the music’s volume. Indeed, they lied about it. They claimed that the music came directly from some other location. In fact, the music was on computerized tapes in the assistant manager’s office. That office was normally locked during the graveyard shift.
More than once, a clerk said that the music had to be loud, to motivate people to exercise. However, during the graveyard shift, the gym sometimes had only one or two members ( one of whom was a bum ).
Another problem that contributed to the music being excessively loud was the noise of the treadmills. It was felt that the music had to be loud enough to overwhelm the noise of the treadmills. The older a treadmill gets, the more noise it emits. ( By “treadmill”, I mean the various “aerobic” machines. )
On the final occasion that the music was loud, I made a special trip to the gym. I came during the day, to complain to the ( then current ) manager. He turned the music down. My rule for gyms is this: the music ( piped into the manager’s office ) should be as loud in the manager’s office as it is on the gym floor.
Horton Plaza had a large parking structure. It charged $12.00 per hour. Our gym validated parking for three hours. The validation machine sat on a counter by the gym’s entrance. An employee was supposed to operate it. However, this machine sat where anyone could use it.
You can guess the result. Our gym was regularly invaded by partiers who wanted parking validation. One night, I was about to enter the gym. Two highly attractive females, each about 21 years old, gave me the biggest smiles you can imagine. They thought I could validate their parking. When I told them I couldn’t, their smiles vanished. So did the girls. Hence, if you want to know what those girls’ attention was worth, it was worth $12.00. Multiplied by three hours, their attention was worth $36.00.
Another time, I was buttonholed by a female inside the gym. The situation was the same. She was a partier. She wanted me to validate her parking.
One year, during Halloween, a supervisor of Ace Parking came over to our gym. Ace Parking ran Horton Plaza’s parking structure. Rod wasn’t at our gym’s front desk. Just the parking validation machine was there. The supervisor, without telling anyone, stole our parking validation machine. Someone in a Halloween costume, who clearly hadn’t exercised in our gym, had paid his parking fee with a parking stub validated by our machine.
24 Hour Fitness eventually learned who had stolen their parking validation machine. When it was returned, 24 Hour Fitness was forced to cut the number of validated hours to two.
Horton Plaza was an inspiration of American science fiction author Ray Bradbury. If you wondered what buildings on Bradbury’s Mars were like, Horton Plaza might have given clues. Tourists had trouble figuring out how to enter the mall. Exiting could be equally challenging. Given the mall’s whimsical layout, it might have been a petty thief’s paradise. It took me several years to comfortably navigate the place. This, of course, gave a huge advantage to residents who could slip rapidly through the mall, versus clueless tourists. ( Including me, when I first arrived in San Diego. ) I only saw one instance of crime. A Black male, who was perhaps 20 years old, swiped candy from a kiosk. ( Ogling porn magazines and little girls doesn’t count as a crime. )
Horton Plaza, the mall, is now gone. A huge, noisy mess was made as it was demolished to its skeletal frame. A tall building is now being built at its south end. I’m told that Horton Plaza will now consist of “housing and boutiques”. That means, of course, expensive housing, and expensive boutiques. So a mall that once served the everyday man will now become a playground of the elite.
Downtown San Diego remains largely deserted. It consists of various buildings, but a number of them are unoccupied, and have been so for years. There is elite housing. ( In the form of multifamily buildings. ) Mostly, those folks drive elsewhere to accomplish their chores. Some working class folks live in government subsidized housing. ( Consisting of multifamily buildings. ) There are always many wandering bums. This includes the bums’ pets, who shit on the street.
Workers enter San Diego on a daily basis. At 5:00 p.m., they return to their suburban homes. No children live in downtown San Diego. The government subsidized housing is limited to two people per room. When elites prove successful with their “starter child”, a dog, they move to the suburbs to have human children.
There aren’t any noteworthy fast food joints in downtown San Diego, except Subway. We have no McDonalds, no Burger King, no Kentucky Fried Chicken, or other such establishments. There are a number of eateries in the Gaslamp District for elite dollars.
We have many bars and nightclubs. These, too, are in the Gaslamp District. Such places often go out of business, only to be replaced by another fool enterprise of the same ilk. We are thronged with partiers on the weekends. They’re present from 10:30 p.m. until 2:30 a.m.
Tourists come to San Diego. When the San Diego Convention Center was open, adults flocked to San Diego all year. They attended the center’s various conventions. That business is now gone, at least for the duration of COVID-19. Comic-Con didn’t happen last year. Tourists who are families are only present in downtown San Diego during July and, especially, August.
Trolleys run through San Diego during most hours, as do many city buses.
I came to downtown San Diego in 2002. Many more people were present then. Since that time, the city has been “cleaned up”. “Condo conversion” eliminated many “hotels” that served the underclass. Elites took the place of the displaced people. One only sees elites when such folks are walking their dogs.
San Diego’s “Children’s Museum” is in downtown San Diego. I rarely see any girl going there who’s older than 6. Due to COVID-19, the museum is “temporarily closed”, according to Google. When I walk by, no one is there. I can now whiz in peace in their bushes.
I was once considering living in an apartment building that has since undergone “condo conversion”. The sales agent proudly showed me the building’s rooftop lounge. It was a cold day, and the sky was getting dark. I thought to myself,
“This isn’t Honolulu, is it?” When I lived in Guam, the Guamanians all wanted to move to Los Angeles. I recall being cold in Los Angeles in August. San Diego is south of Los Angeles, but it too is cold. The only warm months here are July and August. Naturally, Americans here complain bitterly about the “heat” of July and August. They object little to cold weather.
A resident of the nation of Kiribati once vacationed in Hawaii. When he returned to Kiribati, he complained bitterly about how cold Hawaii was. Hawaii does get chilly in winter. There, I was outraged by having to don a jacket in winter. I’d never needed a jacket in Guam.
San Diego is much worse. I stay bundled up even in July and August. I was accosted by a Comic-Con attendee ( a female ) for being bundled up in July. A fat Black guy gawked at me in amazement, upon seeing me bundled up in June. It’s often sunny in San Diego. However, this is the Arctic from September through June.
A gym is a competitive place. Members vie for use of its limited equipment. People contest with one another, and with the gym’s managers, over what is on the T.V.s. Accessing a toilet at 5 a.m. can be impossible. There’s the quarrel of the sexes. Yet, at Horton Plaza, all that has now vanished. Where a gym once stood, there’s just a black, unilluminated space. Looking into it, I feel dogged by ghosts.
Such a fate lies in wait for all of us, or for others. We humans struggle against one another here on earth. Yet a certainty has stalked every species that this planet has so far produced. It’s extinction.
JERKING-OFF AT METART
You’re not a jerkoff. You just need to jerk-off. If you’ve collected photos of beauties from free porn sites, you see a name often: MetArt. ( I interpret this name as, “Me Tart”. As in, the girl is a hooker. )
I was scooping up every free photo that I could find of the “porn” model “Kay J”. I looked her up at the website indexxx ( dot ) com. There, I learned that all the photos of “young Kay”, where she looks 12 years old, were at MetArt owned websites.
Specifically, photos of “young Kay” were at MetArt, MetArt X, SexArt, and Eternal Desire. Each of these is a separate website. Each costs about $100.00 for an annual membership.
However, for $349.95 you can join all of the above sites, plus a number of others. You do this by joining at www ( dot ) metartnetwork ( dot ) com. The current price is down from a price of $365, that I read about on the internet. ( It isn’t a sale; the price simply dropped. )
I realize that $349.95 is a lot of money. However, in my brief experience with it, MetArt Network appears to be about the best porn site that you’ll find. I had a question at 2 a.m. By 3 a.m., a live employee had responded to me from MetArt Network. When I answered her, about an hour later, I got another swift live response.
I’m a member of three other porn sites. Here’s a report on each:
1. digitaldesire ( dot ) com. If you were “reading” porn magazines in about 2002, you’ll find a few cute girls from that era on Digital Desire. I’ve long since run out of them.
A photo gallery that I found for free on the internet, that was credited to Digital Desire, isn’t on the web site! I wrote to Digital Desire about this. I never heard back. Also, I have a photo gallery featuring the porn model Jassie. It’s in a magazine. The same photo gallery, with added pictures, is online at Digital Desire. However, my favorite photo in the magazine isn’t in the online photo gallery. I asked Digital Desire about this. Again, I never heard back. The photographer who created Digital Desire, and photographed beauties for porn magazines, died some years ago.
I’ve been a member of Digital Desire for about two years. I rarely visit it. My hunch is that Digital Desire subsists on its existing content. They’ve taken to showing off their content on their web site. This creates the impression that their content is new. But it is, in fact, just the same old content. A lot of the girls on Digital Desire don’t interest me.
2. naughtymag ( dot ) com. This is another web site that I rarely visit. I’ve been a member for about two years. In 2019, Naughty Mag sent me an “early bird special”, by e-mail. That let me into their site for half price. My subscription includes the web site 18eighteen ( dot ) com. Naughty Mag bills monthly. My understanding is that there isn’t a yearly billing option.
Naughty Mag is a “premium site”. 18eighteen is just a “promo site”.
The Score Group owns Naughty Mag and 18eighteen. It has a gazillion additional porn web sites. By being a member of Naughty Mag, you get a new, free site every month. However, these are all listed as being a “loyalty site”, a “bundle site” or a “promo site”.
Porn mega Load is apparently a premium site. As best I can tell, it’s the only important site in The Score Group besides Naughty Mag. Kay J has a photo gallery, and a video, at the Naughty Mag web site. She also has a photo gallery, and a video, at Porn mega Load. I have no access to Porn mega Load. Fortunately, the same “Kay J” photo gallery, and video, are at 18eighteen.
I haven’t seen anything that interests me at Porn mega Load, that I can’t access by being a member of Naughty Mag ( which includes a membership in 18eighteen ).
Note: Naughty Mag is set up as a single web site. You’ll need a special offer from The Score Group to get both Naughty Mag and 18eighteen. Make sure you get that offer. I got the offer by signing up at Naughty Mag for free e-mail notifications. I did this as a non-member.
I’ve long since run out of free monthly web sites at Naughty Mag. The Score Group only gives out so many free sites. They choose which sites are free. Your selection of web sites is limited to their choices.
If you were a jerkoff in the prior century, you knew The Score Group’s magazines to be, mostly, at the bottom of the porn barrel. I didn’t have high expectations when I joined Naughty Mag. I simply wanted photos of Lilly Anne, a porn star. ( The photos of her at Naughty Mag aren’t very good. )
Much of The Score Group’s content is awful. Here are the names of some of the ( apparently ) “premium” sites:
1. Your Mom Loves Anal.
2. Your Wife My Meat.
3. Valory Irene. ( Some middle-aged woman with big tits. )
4. Silver Sluts. ( Ghastly grandmothers committing unspeakable acts. )
5. Old Horny Milfs. ( I don’t know what a “milf” is, and I don’t want to. )
6. Granny Gets a Facial. ( Sperm on old ladies’ faces. )
Sadly, I’ve found most of the models at Naughty Mag and 18eighteen to be unattractive.
3. pbp-ma ( dot ) playboy ( dot ) com. This is “Playboy Plus”. Sadly, Playboy engages in shady business practices. I received an e-mail offer from them. The offer promised “all that Playboy Plus has to offer”. When I joined, the first thing that appeared on my iPad’s screen was an expensive upgrade offer. With regard to Playmate Tiffany Taylor, the only content featuring her was shot when she was old, years after her reign as a Playmate. The links to this crap content didn’t work. After a lengthy discussion with Playboy’s biller, I managed to get a refund.
After considerable study, I managed to join Playboy Plus ( using a new e-mail address ) for about $100.00 a year. This gave me access to all of the Tiffany Taylor photos that Playboy has bothered to put online.
That is, online at its web site. I’ve found free photos online of Tiffany Taylor, by Playboy, that Playboy has NOT put on its web site! I also found free videos of Tiffany Taylor, by Playboy, that aren’t on its web site. The videos are at xvideos ( dot ) com. A video there, by Tiffany Taylor, features her in bondage gear ( as a dominant ). It’s a good video.
Upon joining Playboy again, I was informed, after the fact, that I needed to upgrade. Playboy’s “Girls with Girls” and “Girls” content required $10.00 extra per month. Except: the upgrade page didn’t work. I had a live human at the biller upgrade me. ( As it turned out, I was only upgraded for one month. )
I discovered that Playboys’ “Girls with Girls” content is worthless. I guess, these days, fags do Playboy’s photography. An example: two girls pose before a sunset. The fag adjusts his camera, over some minutes, to successfully shoot the sunset! Never mind the girls. They wind up eclipsed by the ever-poorer lighting. An 8-year-old boy could conceive of sexier uses for Playboy’s girls in its “Girls with Girls” photo galleries.
Here’s the situation with regard to Playboy’s “Girls”. ( Models who aren’t Playmates. ) If you search for a specific “Girl” by name, photos of her will appear. ( If Playboy has bothered to load them onto its site. )
I have lots of magazine photos of Playmates that aren’t on Playboy Plus. These include photos in Playboy’s now defunct “Newsstand Special” magazines. The content isn’t online elsewhere. Playboy never bothered to load the content onto any of its web sites.
Playboy hosts a number of “Playboy” branded web sites. The only worthwhile web site is Playboy Plus. Quality photos of Lisa Sohm and Dorothy Mays are at the Playboy Archive web site. That web site is called iplayboy ( dot ) com.
With regard to its archive, Playboy photographed pages of its magazine. ( As you would, if you were holding a camera over a porn magazine. Hence, the photos of Lisa Sohm and Dorothy Mays are photos of photos in Playboy magazine. )
Photos that are in Playboy magazine don’t appear on Playboy Plus. At best, you’ll see a photo that’s a near duplicate of one in Playboy magazine. But Playboy magazine’s editors published the best photos; you get the second best ones at Playboy Plus. ( A photographer, when photographing a girl, takes many photos of her. Just a few of these were published in Playboy magazine. )
I don’t have access to the Playboy Archive web site. I did get free use of it for about a week. That was due to a promotional that Playboy held when COVID-19 appeared. I took screen shots at the Playboy Archive web site. Afterwards, I felt that my screen shots were just a bunch of photos of old magazine pages. Some of the magazine pages are visibly damaged.
In September of 2019, Playboy “removed the download feature” for Playboy Plus content that features Playmates. This is still the case. However, the “download feature” was the only way to get the Playboy centerfold! Hence, Playboy prohibits any of its users, including its “VIP Platinum” users ( the folks who upgrade ), from viewing its Playboy centerfolds!
At the Playboy Archive web site, the centerfold is truncated. This is to accommodate their web site’s standard page format. No digital customer of Playboy’s web sites can successfully view Playboy centerfolds.
If you want Playboy centerfolds, you’ll have to buy a book at amazon ( dot ) com. A printed version is available. It’s called, “Playboy: The Complete Centerfolds”. It runs through 2016. This replaced an earlier printed version. That’s now available as an Amazon Kindle book. It contains centerfolds through 2007. A fine book, it’s called, “Playboy: The Complete Centerfolds”.
If you’re wondering which printed version is best, I like the one that runs through 2007. The book is smaller in size. However, its pages are brighter. The quality of Playmates dropped precipitously as this new century got underway. Today’s Playmates are beyond worthless; they’re revolting. They amount to aging, skanky tattooed ghouls of various races. ( Kay J is a Playboy “Girl”, not a Playmate. )
There is no gallery of models’ faces at Playboy Plus. The only way to find any model, other than those that Playboy is currently pitching, is to consult Playboy books or paper Playboy publications. The only models that Playboy pitches are the crap ones of the present.
When using Playboy’s “Search” function, you must type a model’s name exactly. Playboy won’t offer a range of hints to help you. As best I can tell, Playboy designed its web site to waste as much of your time as possible. This was a theory of the 1990s. The goal was to keep a user stuck on one’s web site for as long as possible.
Now that Apple allows iPad downloads, I can report that all of the above porn sites work. Each will function as you expect. ( Assuming, that is, you don’t get snarled by Playboy’s shady business practices. )
Exercise modest caution when inside a porn site. Much of the content can be blithely clicked on. However, you can wander into content that costs extra. So far, I’ve found this content to be clearly labelled.
Back to metartnetwork ( dot ) com. When signing up, as with any porn site, look for “cross-sells” on the sign up page. These are bad. A porn site will make you a decent offer. Then, in a pre-checked cross-sell, they’ll rob you with the “offer” of an expensive, but totally worthless, porn site. Uncheck any “cross-sells”. In my opinion, it should be illegal for a porn site to pre-check cross-sells. This is especially so since, in my experience, the buyer is usually holding his dick in one hand, and not thinking too clearly. No web site should pre-check cross-sells. ( If you’re British, the word “tick” applies, instead of “check”. ) On its sign up page, MetArt Network pre-checked a cross-sell for an expensive web site.
As soon as I joined MetArt Network, a pop up ad appeared. It offered me “1 free day on three great sites”. One of these sites was the very site that I’d just UNchecked on the sign up page! A second site was called, “Love Hairy”. No third site was listed. Nothing is free in such an offer. The company already has your credit card. If you “try” these sites, and then fail to cancel them in 24 hours, you’ll be paying about $29.99 per month for each site.
I’ve yet to find a pre-checked cross-sell that had any value. These aren’t bargains for savvy consumers. They’re blatant ripoffs that sully the world of twat exhibitors and their jerkoff fans.
Before joining any porn site, decide why you’re joining. In the case of MetArt Network, I wanted photos of Kay J. I stuck with that goal, and am happy with the result.
Some of the photo galleries and videos that I downloaded at MetArt Network didn’t arrive on my iPad. ( I merely got worthless HTML files. ) I restarted my iPad. That solved the problem.
You may wonder why MetArt Network has so many web sites. They’re selling content on multiple web sites to collect more money. All of Kay J’s photos belong on a single MetArt owned web site. Instead, they’re spread over four MetArt owned web sites.
I read reviews of MetArt before joining. Sadly, many reviews were on web sites that profit by their reviews. ( As in, if you join the “X” porn site, with our discount code, you can save money! ) So the reviews are skewed in favor of whatever web site is being reviewed.
A reviewer at thebestporn ( dot ) com criticized SexArt for having too many White girls. In my day, Playboy had mostly White girls. Any Black girl in Playboy looked like a White girl with a dark suntan. However, if you wanted Black girls, there was “Players” magazine. No White girls were in “Players” magazine. No girls at all were in the magazine “Mandate”. I reject the reviewer’s criticism of SexArt. I like the fact that SexArt is full of White girls. I’m sure there are plenty of web sites with Black girls.
FROM “girl lover” TO “child molester”.
In 1980, I worked for several months as a volunteer at a commercial radio station. The DJ present during my weekly shift was an accomplished guy in his 30s. Of him, my supervisor once said, blithely, “he’s a young girl lover”.
In that era, the word “child molester” didn’t exist. It was a later invention by leftist feminists and right-wing religious nuts. Which brings us to today’s quote:
“The person that controls the language always wins.”
- Tammy Bruce. Tucker Carlson Tonight, April 19, 2021. ( In her younger years, lesbian Tammy Bruce called for the death penalty for “first time child molesters”. However, if a person “gives good quote”, I’m going to use it. For the record, I’ve never favored the death penalty for “first time lesbians”. I could use some first time lesbians in my bed, my shower, my kitchen, and my laundry room. Clothing optional. No shoes needed. Pregnancy available. )
ARCANA:
1. Source for Ray Bradbury on Horton Plaza: The book “Ray Bradbury: the Playboy interview ( Singles Classic ) ( 50 years of the Playboy interview )”. Location 522. ( Amazon Kindle. )
2. Historically, “them” can be used to denote a single individual. The notion that “he” must be used, instead of “them”, is an invention of 19th and 20th century pedants.
3. The Kiribati resident’s complaint is reported in the book, “The Sex Lives of Cannibals”, by Maarten Troost. I once recommended “The Sex Lives of Cannibals” to my aunt June. The word “sex” in the book’s title horrified her. June brought me a book on math, and recommended that I read it instead. I didn’t find any sex in the book on math. ( Troost’s title is whimsical. )
4. When writing of a Playboy “centerfold”, I’m speaking of the actual 3-page gatefold.
5. The theory of wasting a user’s time is discussed in the book, “In the Plex: how Google thinks, works, and shapes our lives”, by Steven Levy.
6. All names of people, in the gym article, have been changed to protect the guilty. Except mine.
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Copyright 2021 by Andrew L. Roller. ET, Editorial Thunder, and ARSE, Andrew Roller Stories and Essays, are trademarks of Andrew L. Roller.
I am https://andrewroller.wordpress.com
Earlier posts by me are at https://asstr.org/files/Authors/Roller/
I’m on paper at: https://www.abebooks.com > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
and https://www.abebooks.co.uk > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
If you visit an “AbeBooks” website, you’ll be presented with a large square “Search” box. In the box labelled “Author”, type in “Andrew Roller”. In the box labelled “Title”, type in “Andrew Roller Presents”. This will bring up some of my pamphlets. I have not yet figured out how to bring up other pamphlets by me, under other titles. I don’t recall all the titles I published under.
I have no financial involvement in these resale items.
I am on You Tube as “Andrew Roller”. Use You Tube’s magnifying glass icon to search for “Andrew Roller”. That will take you to my You Tube channel. Or, on You Tube, tap my sun icon, if you see it. That will also take you to my You Tube channel. There, you can see songs and films that I like.
At the “home page” of my You Tube channel, you’ll see just a selection of playlists that I created. To see all my playlists, tap on the phrase, “Created playlists”.
The World Wide Web address for my You Tube channel is:
https://www.youtube.com/andrewroller
If you click on this link, you’ll be taken to a World Wide Web You Tube page. Here, You Tube displays a cartoon image of a monkey. The page says, “This page isn’t available. Sorry about that. Try searching for something else.”
My advice: on this page, search for “andrew roller”. By doing so, you’ll get to my World Wide Web You Tube channel. However, I have over 100 Playlists, that I created, at my You Tube app channel. The World Wide Web version of You Tube will only serve you 15 of my Playlists.
( Hence, access You Tube via its app. The You Tube app, like the WordPress app, is available for free at the Apple App Store. )
This is ET, Editorial Thunder, issue number 73
Arcana: This is ET, Editorial Thunder, issue number 73, version 10.0
Date Written: April 22, 2021. Live for the day that censorious Big Tech is dead.
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This has been a presentation of A R S E news.
——————————————————————————————————————————
Planes, Playboy, and the A-bomb
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ET 72
Editorial Thunder presents...
Planes, Playboy, and the A-bomb
——————————————————————————————————————————
Plus: The most awesome girls.
And: The medium is the media.
——————————————————————————————————————————
PLANES, PLAYBOY, AND THE A-BOMB
by Andrew Roller
The place was Japan, in the early 1970s. I was about 12 years old. I was sound asleep in a bed. A strange man awakened me. He wasn’t pleasant.
“You’re in my bed!” he scolded.
Even in a foreign land, my parents’ prime concern was saving money. Our family had taken lodging in a hostel. It catered mostly to White Americans. Leaving a shared bathroom, I’d turned right into the stranger’s room, and gotten into his bed. I should have turned left and gotten back into bed in my parents’ room.
My family’s residence was the island of Guam. We flew from there to Japan a number of times, over several years. The flight from Guam to Japan is two hours.
In that era, the United States government regulated the airlines. In part, this was so the U.S. would have sufficient air capacity to move people in and out of South Vietnam, Cambodia, Thailand, South Korea, and Japan as needed. World War Two had ended a quarter century ago. Since then, the U.S. had been repeatedly involved in small wars in the Western Pacific.
Being regulated, U.S. airlines flew planes whether they had any passengers or not. I recall flying in a 747, from Guam to Japan, that had about 12 people on it. This phenomenon wasn’t limited to the Western Pacific. Few people were on a flight I took, with my family, from Hawaii to Los Angeles. I got bored with my assigned seat. I moved to another one, and remained in it until the plane landed in L.A.
Once, I was on a night flight that passed over South Vietnam. Explosions were visible on the dark, distant landscape below. A decent number of passengers were on this flight. However, the plane wasn’t full. Everyone aboard the plane was able to go to its windows and watch the explosions.
On the empty flights from Guam to Japan, the few passengers were mostly Japanese businessmen. In this era, stewardesses were still young and pretty. All of them were White. Every plane had a gift shop. The main thing sold in the gift shop was pens. The Cross pen was popular. So were the stewardesses, to the Japanese men. My mother always found the traffic to the gift shop humorous. The Japanese men bought the pens, but what really attracted them was the stewardesses.
My family went to Japan during the Winter holidays. The timing of this annoyed me. I dutifully watched 15 episodes of the T.V. show Starlost, only to miss the final episode, because my parents insisted on going to Japan. The same thing happened when I watched 13 episodes of the T.V. show Planet of the Apes. I missed the final episode in that series. In that era, there was no You Tube. Video tapes didn’t exist as consumer items. Starlost and Planet of the Apes got poor ratings, so the episodes were never rebroadcast.
In Japan, we stayed in Tokyo. Winter is cold in Tokyo. However, I never experienced snow there. My father had a connection with the U.S. military. We stayed in the U.S. hotel for military personnel and their dependents. It’s called the “Sanno”.
I stayed in the original Sanno, not whatever is there now. I read that the new hotel has a swimming pool and a Navy Exchange. Such were not present at the time.
The original Sanno had a large, wall-enclosed garden in its rear. A lovely tree-shaded pond was there. A traditional Japanese footbridge, built in the form of an arch, passed over a narrow part of the pond. The pond broadened to the south of the footbridge. I suppose flowers were present.
Nearby was a veranda. It abutted the back of the hotel. Picnic tables were on the veranda. I, and my brother Pierre, missed some days of school when my family went to Japan. My mother got homework assigned, in advance, to Pierre and I. She forced Pierre and I to sit on the goddamn veranda, doing homework for school. I preferred running about the pond, and over its bridge, with Pierre.
Pierre is five years my junior. He has always hated the fact that he’s younger than me.
My brother’s real name isn’t Pierre. Hopefully, he won’t mind the pseudonym that I’ve given him. I always interpret the name Pierre as “pee in the air”.
No one except my mother, Pierre, and I ever used the Sanno’s veranda, or its garden. We always had it entirely to ourselves. Given the price of property in downtown Tokyo, that was quite a luxury. My mother told me, some years ago, that the garden is now gone. The Sanno expanded its capacity, as a hotel, by building over the garden.
Once, I encountered a Sumo wrestler in the Sanno’s dining room. A large, jovial man, he was eating at the Sanno. He required two chairs, placed side by side, to sit down.
In a cold climate like Japan, the outdoors does not connect directly with a building’s interior. There is always a vestibule between the outdoors and the building’s interior.
In the Sanno, several doors were on either side of its large vestibule. The doors facing outside stood adjacent to one another. The doors opening into the Sanno’s lobby also stood adjacent to one another.
Between these two sets of doors was the Sanno’s vestibule. My favorite part of the Sanno was alongside the vestibule. It was a gift shop. Hence, you departed the Sanno’s lobby, went into its vestibule, and then turned left into its gift shop. ( If you arrived from outside, you turned right into the gift shop. )
My parents went to Japan to enjoy Japanese culture. Not me. In Guam, I didn’t get a lot of American culture. I went to Japan for the Sanno’s gift shop. All of America’s media was there, in the form of printed matter. The gift shop had the latest American comic books, magazines like Famous Monsters of Filmland, and Playboy.
One day, I was standing in the Sanno’s vestibule with Pierre and my parents. We were leaving the hotel, to go see fucking Japanese culture. Suddenly, my father exploded. He angrily accused me of looking beyond the vestibule, through the gift shop’s picture window, at the cover of Playboy magazine. Playboy was with other magazines in a rack. It was at a considerable angle to anyone in the vestibule.
You might wonder what was on the cover of Playboy. It depicted a giant stuffed rabbit. On this cover, on a wall behind the rabbit, were tiny framed photographs of various Playmates. Since this was the cover of Playboy, none of the Playmates were nude.
That’s how crazy my father was, regarding Playboy.
I never got to look at Playboy magazine at the Sanno. Tattletale Pierre was always with me. Also, the Japanese shopkeeper would likely have prohibited me from looking at or buying Playboy.
However, what my father didn’t know, and the shopkeeper didn’t police, were books. At the back of the gift shop, I found a book with photos of nude Playmates in it. The book was a small paperback. There was no chance of my buying it. However, I spent hours drooling over the photos.
You might wonder how to look at a book of Playboy photos without someone noticing. The answer is: get another book. Pick up a copy of, say, the Holy Bible. Now, pick up a book by Playboy. Open the Bible, and put the Playboy book inside it. Now you can mentally masturbate for hours, while appearing to study God’s word.
When you’re finished, “pay it forward”. Put the Playboy book in the children’s section of the store, to aid an 8-year-old who’s worse off than you.
In that era, computers were not available to consumers. The Sanno had, in the rear of its hotel, a computer. You put 25 cents in it. Then, in glowing green type, the computer asked you questions. When you failed to answer a question correctly, the “game” was over. ( There was no opportunity to win anything. )
Pierre and I were greatly impressed by this computer. At the time, 25 cents was a hefty sum. One could buy a comic book for 25 cents, with change left over. Pierre discovered that if he put 10 yen ( Japanese money ) in the computer, it would work. Ten yen was worth very little. ( Especially before America devalued its currency. An American dollar was, for a time, worth 360 yen. )
On one or more visits, while my family was at the Sanno, the communists staged a protest. Japanese communists marched noisily past our American hotel.
The nearest subway line to the Sanno was farther away than it is now. Walking to the subway, my family always stopped at a building’s terrace. It featured a water clock. The time was displayed by a number of low-squirting fountains.
Christmas passes unnoticed in Japan, but not New Year’s. My family was often in Tokyo during New Year’s. Tokyo is relatively deserted then, due to the holiday. Nonetheless, there were still a considerable number of Japanese in certain places, including on the subway.
( I never celebrated New Year’s in Tokyo. Why this is the case, I’m not sure. In that era, Japanese left Tokyo at New Year’s to rejoin their relatives and friends in other communities. )
Everywhere my parents went, such as to the Ginza shopping district, or to the emperor’s palace, they were imbibing Japanese culture. I wasn’t. I was craving American culture. Fortunately, there was a lot of American culture in Japan. Billboards for Coca-Cola were ubiquitous. I bought updated versions of the Hardy Boys books. ( The text was unchanged, but the boys on the books’ covers had long(er) hair, rather than short 1950s haircuts. )
Somewhere in Japan, I saw a billboard for the 1974 film “The Odessa File”. The Sanno had a “theater”. It was a movie screen in a bar in the Sanno’s basement. Here, I got to see the 1973 film “Battle for the Planet of the Apes”. I was allowed to watch it, by my father, because it was rated “G”. He prohibited me from watching any film rated “GP”. ( The rating now known as “PG”. )
At the summit of a cable car ride, I was wowed by a photo of a Playboy Playmate.
The cable car ride wasn’t in Tokyo. In August of 1975, my parents decided to travel from the Sanno, in Tokyo, to Hiroshima. At the time, this book was popular: “Japan on $5 a Day.” The book was published in 1964. The year was now 1975. Prices had risen dramatically in the prior 11 years. Also, America had devalued the dollar. Nonetheless, my parents were determined to travel across Japan on five dollars per day.
We travelled mainly by train. I didn’t like Japanese food. Except for one dish: plain white Japanese sticky rice. I survived on sticky rice during our multi-week journey.
Our family stayed in some okay “hotels”. None of them were great. We stayed in several shit-holes. The worst one was in Hiroshima.
I recall my father being angry with me. We were in Kyoto, or wherever. We had spent the night in a “hotel” that had no bathing facilities. There was only a trough, served by faucets, in which one could wash one’s hands and face.
“Use soap!” my father yelled at me. Never mind that none of us had enjoyed a bath. We were dirty from travelling the day before, and setting out for another long day of travel. Nonetheless, I was to wash my face with soap. That would, according to my father, solve any cleanliness needs that I had. If I’d been a year or so older, I’d have been very pissed off at not getting a bath. Instead, I used soap to wash my face, and endured. ( Baby wipes didn’t come along until decades later. Even if they had existed, my parents, always saving money, wouldn’t have bought any. )
At the “hotel” in Hiroshima, there was a giant hole in the wall of our room. The room was on an upper floor. You could look straight out of the room at the city. Thank God it was August. Japan is warm in August. My father got his comeuppance the next day. The hotel’s owner demanded more money for our stay. ( That’s what happens when you stay in a shit-hole. ) My father wound up leaving money on the hotel’s counter, and walking out. We hurriedly left the neighborhood. In that era, Americans still had clout in Japan, so were weren’t hunted by the police.
We visited a memorial in Hiroshima. It honors victims of the atom bomb that America dropped on Hiroshima. At the memorial, my parents suddenly looked very sad. I couldn’t figure out why they were sad. I mean, a bunch of Japs died, but it was a war, right? Didn’t my father always say that the atom bomb saved his life? After we left the memorial, my parents were happy again.
My father served in World War II. He’d been put, on paper, into the first seven waves of American troops that were to land on a beach in Japan. The first seven waves of American troops had been written off, on paper, as dead. None of them were expected to survive. However, after America dropped an atom bomb on Hiroshima, and then on Nagasaki, Japan surrendered. So Dad didn’t die. Instead, he sired me.
Japan’s memorial in Hiroshima is a modernist structure. Inside, it’s full of black and white photos of people. They are A-bomb victims. In every photo, tape covers the victims’ eyes. This is to provide the victims with anonymity. Unfortunately, it makes the photos boring to look at. One sees a bunch of wounded people with, in effect, no eyes. I do not recommend going to the memorial in Hiroshima.
However, near the memorial is the wreck of a building that resembles a church. The building survived the A-bomb. It’s still standing, as a skeletal object, complete with what looks like a bell tower. Nobody was near the building when my family visited it. I found this building interesting, and moving. I recommend visiting this building if you’re in Hiroshima. Actual objects from the past are, I suppose, always better than later-built memorials.
As a serviceman, my father swam in the Pacific Games in 1945. We visited the pool that he swam in. It’s in a nondescript Japanese neighborhood. The pool is 25 meters long. We visited on a wintry day. Whatever the Pacific Games had been for Dad, we found ourselves staring into a small, empty concrete pit. It was a poignant experience.
In 1964, Tokyo hosted the Olympics. We visited the site where the Olympics had been held. It was winter. The buildings were, architecturally, ultra-modern. One building was in use as an ice skating rink. Otherwise, the place was deserted, an apparent “white elephant”. I bought a corn dog at the Olympic site. It gave me diarrhea. I haven’t had a corn dog since.
Whenever my family went to Japan, in the winter, I got chapped skin. For two weeks, after we returned to Guam, I had chapped skin. It was awful.
One year, my brother found a girlfriend at the Sanno. He was 7 or 8 years old. His girlfriend was a young Japanese woman. She ran a large kiosk on the third floor of the Sanno. It sold Japanese cultural items.
“Pierre!” the woman would cry, when my brother would abruptly appear, after a year’s absence. Pierre and the woman spent lots of time together, at her kiosk. She gave him a number of gifts.
American attorney Victoria Toensing once claimed that pedophiles were solely White men. Not.
My family ascended, via an elevator, Tokyo Tower. The tower has an observation deck high above Tokyo. We wound up there with a lot of Japanese schoolchildren. One of them asked me, or Pierre, for his autograph. It was given. Suddenly, every pupil in the whole place wanted autographs from my brother and I. We were thronged by students.
You might think it’s fun to have a crowd of people demanding your autograph. However, I soon found it tiresome. I had no chance to look at the children for whom I was signing autographs. I was swamped, and signing papers that were pushed at me as fast as I could. Finally, my parents ended the matter. They declared that it was time for us to leave the tower. So we did.
I wish I could report on various beautiful girls that I saw in Japan. However, I’m from Pennsylvania. I like blondes.
When the average White person thinks of Hawaii, where I’ve also lived, they imagine blondes in bikinis. That’s not the case. Some White folks live in Hawaii, but the population is mostly Japanese. If you encounter someone of Japanese ancestry on the U.S. mainland, the person is likely not full-blooded Japanese. In Hawaii, most Japanese are full-blooded Japanese, and proudly so. ( As of the 1980s. )
I haven’t been in Japan since the 1970s, so I’ll spare its population of females. However, based on my time in Hawaii, I can say this: Japanese females are the worst looking females on earth. They’re short, have squinty eyes, black hair, no tits, big hips, and stubby legs.
I adore Playboy Playmate Hiromi Oshima. She hails from Japan. However, she’s a unique, busty exception to the traditional look of a Japanese female.
So, I tramped around Japan and saw Emperor Hirohito ( short guy, glasses ), but no cute girls. Except in Playboy.
THE MOST awesome GIRLS!
More than once, I’ve seen a White girl, who’s 8 or 9 years old, sitting in a stroller. That is a truly awesome sight.
Another great experience is to see a White girl who’s 10 or 11 years old. You’ll see such a girl walking outside, at night, with her family. Everyone is in clothing except the girl. She’s in pajamas.
If you’re a pedophile, you cherish such moments!
THE MEDIUM IS the media
“They create the scandals, or they cover them up.”
- Jesse Watters, on the media. Watters World, Fox News Channel, 17 April, 2021.
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Copyright 2021 by Andrew L. Roller. ET, Editorial Thunder, and ARSE, Andrew Roller Stories and Essays, are trademarks of Andrew L. Roller.
I am https://andrewroller.wordpress.com
Earlier posts by me are at https://asstr.org/files/Authors/Roller/
I’m on paper at: https://www.abebooks.com > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
and https://www.abebooks.co.uk > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
If you visit an “AbeBooks” website, you’ll be presented with a large square “Search” box. In the box labelled “Author”, type in “Andrew Roller”. In the box labelled “Title”, type in “Andrew Roller Presents”. This will bring up some of my pamphlets. I have not yet figured out how to bring up other pamphlets by me, under other titles. I don’t recall all the titles I published under.
I have no financial involvement in these resale items.
I am on You Tube as “Andrew Roller”. Use You Tube’s magnifying glass icon to search for “Andrew Roller”. That will take you to my You Tube channel. Or, on You Tube, tap my sun icon, if you see it. That will also take you to my You Tube channel. There, you can see songs and films that I like.
At the “home page” of my You Tube channel, you’ll see just a selection of playlists that I created. To see all my playlists, tap on the phrase, “Created playlists”.
The World Wide Web address for my You Tube channel is:
https://www.youtube.com/andrewroller
If you click on this link, you’ll be taken to a World Wide Web You Tube page. Here, You Tube displays a cartoon image of a monkey. The page says, “This page isn’t available. Sorry about that. Try searching for something else.”
My advice: on this page, search for “andrew roller”. By doing so, you’ll get to my World Wide Web You Tube channel. However, I have over 100 Playlists, that I created, at my You Tube app channel. The World Wide Web version of You Tube will only serve you 15 of my Playlists.
( Hence, access You Tube via its app. The You Tube app, like the WordPress app, is available for free at the Apple App Store. )
This is ET, Editorial Thunder, issue number 72
Arcana: This is ET, Editorial Thunder, issue number 72, version 14.0
Date Written: April 19, 2021. Live for the day that censorious Big Tech is dead.
——————————————————————————————————————————
This has been a presentation of A R S E news.
——————————————————————————————————————————
ET 72
Editorial Thunder presents...
Planes, Playboy, and the A-bomb
——————————————————————————————————————————
Plus: The most awesome girls.
And: The medium is the media.
——————————————————————————————————————————
PLANES, PLAYBOY, AND THE A-BOMB
by Andrew Roller
The place was Japan, in the early 1970s. I was about 12 years old. I was sound asleep in a bed. A strange man awakened me. He wasn’t pleasant.
“You’re in my bed!” he scolded.
Even in a foreign land, my parents’ prime concern was saving money. Our family had taken lodging in a hostel. It catered mostly to White Americans. Leaving a shared bathroom, I’d turned right into the stranger’s room, and gotten into his bed. I should have turned left and gotten back into bed in my parents’ room.
My family’s residence was the island of Guam. We flew from there to Japan a number of times, over several years. The flight from Guam to Japan is two hours.
In that era, the United States government regulated the airlines. In part, this was so the U.S. would have sufficient air capacity to move people in and out of South Vietnam, Cambodia, Thailand, South Korea, and Japan as needed. World War Two had ended a quarter century ago. Since then, the U.S. had been repeatedly involved in small wars in the Western Pacific.
Being regulated, U.S. airlines flew planes whether they had any passengers or not. I recall flying in a 747, from Guam to Japan, that had about 12 people on it. This phenomenon wasn’t limited to the Western Pacific. Few people were on a flight I took, with my family, from Hawaii to Los Angeles. I got bored with my assigned seat. I moved to another one, and remained in it until the plane landed in L.A.
Once, I was on a night flight that passed over South Vietnam. Explosions were visible on the dark, distant landscape below. A decent number of passengers were on this flight. However, the plane wasn’t full. Everyone aboard the plane was able to go to its windows and watch the explosions.
On the empty flights from Guam to Japan, the few passengers were mostly Japanese businessmen. In this era, stewardesses were still young and pretty. All of them were White. Every plane had a gift shop. The main thing sold in the gift shop was pens. The Cross pen was popular. So were the stewardesses, to the Japanese men. My mother always found the traffic to the gift shop humorous. The Japanese men bought the pens, but what really attracted them was the stewardesses.
My family went to Japan during the Winter holidays. The timing of this annoyed me. I dutifully watched 15 episodes of the T.V. show Starlost, only to miss the final episode, because my parents insisted on going to Japan. The same thing happened when I watched 13 episodes of the T.V. show Planet of the Apes. I missed the final episode in that series. In that era, there was no You Tube. Video tapes didn’t exist as consumer items. Starlost and Planet of the Apes got poor ratings, so the episodes were never rebroadcast.
In Japan, we stayed in Tokyo. Winter is cold in Tokyo. However, I never experienced snow there. My father had a connection with the U.S. military. We stayed in the U.S. hotel for military personnel and their dependents. It’s called the “Sanno”.
I stayed in the original Sanno, not whatever is there now. I read that the new hotel has a swimming pool and a Navy Exchange. Such were not present at the time.
The original Sanno had a large, wall-enclosed garden in its rear. A lovely tree-shaded pond was there. A traditional Japanese footbridge, built in the form of an arch, passed over a narrow part of the pond. The pond broadened to the south of the footbridge. I suppose flowers were present.
Nearby was a veranda. It abutted the back of the hotel. Picnic tables were on the veranda. I, and my brother Pierre, missed some days of school when my family went to Japan. My mother got homework assigned, in advance, to Pierre and I. She forced Pierre and I to sit on the goddamn veranda, doing homework for school. I preferred running about the pond, and over its bridge, with Pierre.
Pierre is five years my junior. He has always hated the fact that he’s younger than me.
My brother’s real name isn’t Pierre. Hopefully, he won’t mind the pseudonym that I’ve given him. I always interpret the name Pierre as “pee in the air”.
No one except my mother, Pierre, and I ever used the Sanno’s veranda, or its garden. We always had it entirely to ourselves. Given the price of property in downtown Tokyo, that was quite a luxury. My mother told me, some years ago, that the garden is now gone. The Sanno expanded its capacity, as a hotel, by building over the garden.
Once, I encountered a Sumo wrestler in the Sanno’s dining room. A large, jovial man, he was eating at the Sanno. He required two chairs, placed side by side, to sit down.
In a cold climate like Japan, the outdoors does not connect directly with a building’s interior. There is always a vestibule between the outdoors and the building’s interior.
In the Sanno, several doors were on either side of its large vestibule. The doors facing outside stood adjacent to one another. The doors opening into the Sanno’s lobby also stood adjacent to one another.
Between these two sets of doors was the Sanno’s vestibule. My favorite part of the Sanno was alongside the vestibule. It was a gift shop. Hence, you departed the Sanno’s lobby, went into its vestibule, and then turned left into its gift shop. ( If you arrived from outside, you turned right into the gift shop. )
My parents went to Japan to enjoy Japanese culture. Not me. In Guam, I didn’t get a lot of American culture. I went to Japan for the Sanno’s gift shop. All of America’s media was there, in the form of printed matter. The gift shop had the latest American comic books, magazines like Famous Monsters of Filmland, and Playboy.
One day, I was standing in the Sanno’s vestibule with Pierre and my parents. We were leaving the hotel, to go see fucking Japanese culture. Suddenly, my father exploded. He angrily accused me of looking beyond the vestibule, through the gift shop’s picture window, at the cover of Playboy magazine. Playboy was with other magazines in a rack. It was at a considerable angle to anyone in the vestibule.
You might wonder what was on the cover of Playboy. It depicted a giant stuffed rabbit. On this cover, on a wall behind the rabbit, were tiny framed photographs of various Playmates. Since this was the cover of Playboy, none of the Playmates were nude.
That’s how crazy my father was, regarding Playboy.
I never got to look at Playboy magazine at the Sanno. Tattletale Pierre was always with me. Also, the Japanese shopkeeper would likely have prohibited me from looking at or buying Playboy.
However, what my father didn’t know, and the shopkeeper didn’t police, were books. At the back of the gift shop, I found a book with photos of nude Playmates in it. The book was a small paperback. There was no chance of my buying it. However, I spent hours drooling over the photos.
You might wonder how to look at a book of Playboy photos without someone noticing. The answer is: get another book. Pick up a copy of, say, the Holy Bible. Now, pick up a book by Playboy. Open the Bible, and put the Playboy book inside it. Now you can mentally masturbate for hours, while appearing to study God’s word.
When you’re finished, “pay it forward”. Put the Playboy book in the children’s section of the store, to aid an 8-year-old who’s worse off than you.
In that era, computers were not available to consumers. The Sanno had, in the rear of its hotel, a computer. You put 25 cents in it. Then, in glowing green type, the computer asked you questions. When you failed to answer a question correctly, the “game” was over. ( There was no opportunity to win anything. )
Pierre and I were greatly impressed by this computer. At the time, 25 cents was a hefty sum. One could buy a comic book for 25 cents, with change left over. Pierre discovered that if he put 10 yen ( Japanese money ) in the computer, it would work. Ten yen was worth very little. ( Especially before America devalued its currency. An American dollar was, for a time, worth 360 yen. )
On one or more visits, while my family was at the Sanno, the communists staged a protest. Japanese communists marched noisily past our American hotel.
The nearest subway line to the Sanno was farther away than it is now. Walking to the subway, my family always stopped at a building’s terrace. It featured a water clock. The time was displayed by a number of low-squirting fountains.
Christmas passes unnoticed in Japan, but not New Year’s. My family was often in Tokyo during New Year’s. Tokyo is relatively deserted then, due to the holiday. Nonetheless, there were still a considerable number of Japanese in certain places, including on the subway.
( I never celebrated New Year’s in Tokyo. Why this is the case, I’m not sure. In that era, Japanese left Tokyo at New Year’s to rejoin their relatives and friends in other communities. )
Everywhere my parents went, such as to the Ginza shopping district, or to the emperor’s palace, they were imbibing Japanese culture. I wasn’t. I was craving American culture. Fortunately, there was a lot of American culture in Japan. Billboards for Coca-Cola were ubiquitous. I bought updated versions of the Hardy Boys books. ( The text was unchanged, but the boys on the books’ covers had long(er) hair, rather than short 1950s haircuts. )
Somewhere in Japan, I saw a billboard for the 1974 film “The Odessa File”. The Sanno had a “theater”. It was a movie screen in a bar in the Sanno’s basement. Here, I got to see the 1973 film “Battle for the Planet of the Apes”. I was allowed to watch it, by my father, because it was rated “G”. He prohibited me from watching any film rated “GP”. ( The rating now known as “PG”. )
At the summit of a cable car ride, I was wowed by a photo of a Playboy Playmate.
The cable car ride wasn’t in Tokyo. In August of 1975, my parents decided to travel from the Sanno, in Tokyo, to Hiroshima. At the time, this book was popular: “Japan on $5 a Day.” The book was published in 1964. The year was now 1975. Prices had risen dramatically in the prior 11 years. Also, America had devalued the dollar. Nonetheless, my parents were determined to travel across Japan on five dollars per day.
We travelled mainly by train. I didn’t like Japanese food. Except for one dish: plain white Japanese sticky rice. I survived on sticky rice during our multi-week journey.
Our family stayed in some okay “hotels”. None of them were great. We stayed in several shit-holes. The worst one was in Hiroshima.
I recall my father being angry with me. We were in Kyoto, or wherever. We had spent the night in a “hotel” that had no bathing facilities. There was only a trough, served by faucets, in which one could wash one’s hands and face.
“Use soap!” my father yelled at me. Never mind that none of us had enjoyed a bath. We were dirty from travelling the day before, and setting out for another long day of travel. Nonetheless, I was to wash my face with soap. That would, according to my father, solve any cleanliness needs that I had. If I’d been a year or so older, I’d have been very pissed off at not getting a bath. Instead, I used soap to wash my face, and endured. ( Baby wipes didn’t come along until decades later. Even if they had existed, my parents, always saving money, wouldn’t have bought any. )
At the “hotel” in Hiroshima, there was a giant hole in the wall of our room. The room was on an upper floor. You could look straight out of the room at the city. Thank God it was August. Japan is warm in August. My father got his comeuppance the next day. The hotel’s owner demanded more money for our stay. ( That’s what happens when you stay in a shit-hole. ) My father wound up leaving money on the hotel’s counter, and walking out. We hurriedly left the neighborhood. In that era, Americans still had clout in Japan, so were weren’t hunted by the police.
We visited a memorial in Hiroshima. It honors victims of the atom bomb that America dropped on Hiroshima. At the memorial, my parents suddenly looked very sad. I couldn’t figure out why they were sad. I mean, a bunch of Japs died, but it was a war, right? Didn’t my father always say that the atom bomb saved his life? After we left the memorial, my parents were happy again.
My father served in World War II. He’d been put, on paper, into the first seven waves of American troops that were to land on a beach in Japan. The first seven waves of American troops had been written off, on paper, as dead. None of them were expected to survive. However, after America dropped an atom bomb on Hiroshima, and then on Nagasaki, Japan surrendered. So Dad didn’t die. Instead, he sired me.
Japan’s memorial in Hiroshima is a modernist structure. Inside, it’s full of black and white photos of people. They are A-bomb victims. In every photo, tape covers the victims’ eyes. This is to provide the victims with anonymity. Unfortunately, it makes the photos boring to look at. One sees a bunch of wounded people with, in effect, no eyes. I do not recommend going to the memorial in Hiroshima.
However, near the memorial is the wreck of a building that resembles a church. The building survived the A-bomb. It’s still standing, as a skeletal object, complete with what looks like a bell tower. Nobody was near the building when my family visited it. I found this building interesting, and moving. I recommend visiting this building if you’re in Hiroshima. Actual objects from the past are, I suppose, always better than later-built memorials.
As a serviceman, my father swam in the Pacific Games in 1945. We visited the pool that he swam in. It’s in a nondescript Japanese neighborhood. The pool is 25 meters long. We visited on a wintry day. Whatever the Pacific Games had been for Dad, we found ourselves staring into a small, empty concrete pit. It was a poignant experience.
In 1964, Tokyo hosted the Olympics. We visited the site where the Olympics had been held. It was winter. The buildings were, architecturally, ultra-modern. One building was in use as an ice skating rink. Otherwise, the place was deserted, an apparent “white elephant”. I bought a corn dog at the Olympic site. It gave me diarrhea. I haven’t had a corn dog since.
Whenever my family went to Japan, in the winter, I got chapped skin. For two weeks, after we returned to Guam, I had chapped skin. It was awful.
One year, my brother found a girlfriend at the Sanno. He was 7 or 8 years old. His girlfriend was a young Japanese woman. She ran a large kiosk on the third floor of the Sanno. It sold Japanese cultural items.
“Pierre!” the woman would cry, when my brother would abruptly appear, after a year’s absence. Pierre and the woman spent lots of time together, at her kiosk. She gave him a number of gifts.
American attorney Victoria Toensing once claimed that pedophiles were solely White men. Not.
My family ascended, via an elevator, Tokyo Tower. The tower has an observation deck high above Tokyo. We wound up there with a lot of Japanese schoolchildren. One of them asked me, or Pierre, for his autograph. It was given. Suddenly, every pupil in the whole place wanted autographs from my brother and I. We were thronged by students.
You might think it’s fun to have a crowd of people demanding your autograph. However, I soon found it tiresome. I had no chance to look at the children for whom I was signing autographs. I was swamped, and signing papers that were pushed at me as fast as I could. Finally, my parents ended the matter. They declared that it was time for us to leave the tower. So we did.
I wish I could report on various beautiful girls that I saw in Japan. However, I’m from Pennsylvania. I like blondes.
When the average White person thinks of Hawaii, where I’ve also lived, they imagine blondes in bikinis. That’s not the case. Some White folks live in Hawaii, but the population is mostly Japanese. If you encounter someone of Japanese ancestry on the U.S. mainland, the person is likely not full-blooded Japanese. In Hawaii, most Japanese are full-blooded Japanese, and proudly so. ( As of the 1980s. )
I haven’t been in Japan since the 1970s, so I’ll spare its population of females. However, based on my time in Hawaii, I can say this: Japanese females are the worst looking females on earth. They’re short, have squinty eyes, black hair, no tits, big hips, and stubby legs.
I adore Playboy Playmate Hiromi Oshima. She hails from Japan. However, she’s a unique, busty exception to the traditional look of a Japanese female.
So, I tramped around Japan and saw Emperor Hirohito ( short guy, glasses ), but no cute girls. Except in Playboy.
THE MOST awesome GIRLS!
More than once, I’ve seen a White girl, who’s 8 or 9 years old, sitting in a stroller. That is a truly awesome sight.
Another great experience is to see a White girl who’s 10 or 11 years old. You’ll see such a girl walking outside, at night, with her family. Everyone is in clothing except the girl. She’s in pajamas.
If you’re a pedophile, you cherish such moments!
THE MEDIUM IS the media
“They create the scandals, or they cover them up.”
- Jesse Watters, on the media. Watters World, Fox News Channel, 17 April, 2021.
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Copyright 2021 by Andrew L. Roller. ET, Editorial Thunder, and ARSE, Andrew Roller Stories and Essays, are trademarks of Andrew L. Roller.
I am https://andrewroller.wordpress.com
Earlier posts by me are at https://asstr.org/files/Authors/Roller/
I’m on paper at: https://www.abebooks.com > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
and https://www.abebooks.co.uk > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
If you visit an “AbeBooks” website, you’ll be presented with a large square “Search” box. In the box labelled “Author”, type in “Andrew Roller”. In the box labelled “Title”, type in “Andrew Roller Presents”. This will bring up some of my pamphlets. I have not yet figured out how to bring up other pamphlets by me, under other titles. I don’t recall all the titles I published under.
I have no financial involvement in these resale items.
I am on You Tube as “Andrew Roller”. Use You Tube’s magnifying glass icon to search for “Andrew Roller”. That will take you to my You Tube channel. Or, on You Tube, tap my sun icon, if you see it. That will also take you to my You Tube channel. There, you can see songs and films that I like.
At the “home page” of my You Tube channel, you’ll see just a selection of playlists that I created. To see all my playlists, tap on the phrase, “Created playlists”.
The World Wide Web address for my You Tube channel is:
https://www.youtube.com/andrewroller
If you click on this link, you’ll be taken to a World Wide Web You Tube page. Here, You Tube displays a cartoon image of a monkey. The page says, “This page isn’t available. Sorry about that. Try searching for something else.”
My advice: on this page, search for “andrew roller”. By doing so, you’ll get to my World Wide Web You Tube channel. However, I have over 100 Playlists, that I created, at my You Tube app channel. The World Wide Web version of You Tube will only serve you 15 of my Playlists.
( Hence, access You Tube via its app. The You Tube app, like the WordPress app, is available for free at the Apple App Store. )
This is ET, Editorial Thunder, issue number 72
Arcana: This is ET, Editorial Thunder, issue number 72, version 14.0
Date Written: April 19, 2021. Live for the day that censorious Big Tech is dead.
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This has been a presentation of A R S E news.
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A Pedophile’s Spring Break
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ET 71
Editorial Thunder presents...
A Pedophile’s Spring Break
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Plus: Why Islam is best.
And: What law ( actually ) is.
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A PEDOPHILE’S SPRING BREAK
by Andrew Roller
Spring Break is a phenomenon of the Eastern United States. I just lived through whatever passes for Spring Break here in San Diego, California. Perhaps a few more people partied in San Diego’s Gaslamp Quarter. Otherwise, Spring Break passed here uneventfully.
Spring Break is also a phenomenon unknown to America before the 1980s. I don’t recall any reference to Spring Break in the 1960s and 70s. By my reckoning, Spring Break coincides with the rise of party band Van Halen, on MTV.
In 1999, I was 38 years old. I was driving along the coast of the Florida panhandle. The month was April.
“Go east, young pedophile,” the photographer David Hamilton once remarked. Banished by an 18-year-old girl in New Orleans, Louisiana, I’d driven east from that city. However, I had a prepaid hotel reservation in New Orleans. So, having driven east awhile, I was now driving west again, back to New Orleans. I was a resident of California.
I stopped across the street from a self-service car wash. I got out my Rand McNally road atlas. As I studied it, I saw some girls in a pickup truck enter a stall at the car wash. My rental car didn’t need washing. However, it occurred to me that waiting to wash my car, behind a truck loaded with girls, might be worth doing.
The girls were about 16 years old. They washed their truck in bikinis. Once again, I learned that I’m not a girl magnet. The car wash was busy enough to justify my waiting behind the girls. Nonetheless, my presence greatly annoyed them. I recall them glaring at me as they drove off. ( For the sake of appearances, I hosed down my rental car. )
I continued driving along the Florida Panhandle. I stopped at a Holiday Inn in Destin. It abutted an unremarkable beach. However, inside this Holiday Inn, I came upon a throng of high schoolers. They were lavishly dressed. The girls, like most in Florida, were gorgeous blondes. I divined that tonight was prom night for these students.
You know what that means. They go to their prom. Then, returning to the Holiday Inn, they spend the night partying and fucking. Meanwhile, I’m supposed to somehow go to sleep in my hotel room. I couldn’t face spending the night at that Holiday Inn. Suddenly, along Destin’s main drag, I had a revelation.
Those girls at the car wash, in bikinis - they must have been part of Spring Break!
Good God, I’d driven straight through Spring Break, without realizing it was there! I’d never been to Spring Break before. So, hurtling back along the Florida coast as night fell, I arrived ( again ) in Panama City Beach.
The sun sets late in the Florida spring. It was 10 p.m. as I returned to Panama City Beach. My first vision of girls was of two girls under age 12. They were indoors, by a swimming pool. I was driving along the street past this illuminated interior of a building. I dearly wished I could join those two girls. Facing teen girls at Spring Break was something that I regarded as a daunting experience.
Spring Break doesn’t happen throughout Panama City Beach. It occurs along a brief strip of beach. Realizing this, I parked some distance shy of Spring Break. I parked, without permission, in the parking lot fronting a condominium.
I walked onto the beach. Panama City Beach’s strand is wide and long. In my location, the sky was black, and the stars shone brightly. There was no light pollution. Still hoping that I might be a girl magnet, the notion of encountering teen girls at Spring Break moved my bowels. Fortunately, the bathroom servicing the condominium’s swimming pool was unlocked.
I took a shit. Soon, in the same bathroom, I took another shit. I think I resorted to that bathroom about a half dozen times. Finally, my loins girded and bowels empty, I was ready to go meet teen girls at Spring Break!
I hit on a plan. I would drive a certain distance toward Spring Break, and then park my car. I would do this along a road that served as a main drag.
Having parked my car, I’d walk awhile, toward Spring Break. Then I’d go back to my car, drive closer to Spring Break, park again, and walk yet more closely to Spring Break. Like a toddler, I was scared of meeting Santa.
I had no problem finding a parking spot along the main drag. I parked my car. I walked along the beach side of the road. I wound in and out of the the public areas of several hotels. I didn’t see much of interest.
Then, I came upon a girl who was 11 years old. My God, she was gorgeous! She was blonde, and wearing a little tube top. Other young people stood around her, in conversation. With great reluctance, I walked on.
I guess it’s in my nature: I mostly noticed people who were 11 or 12 years old. A lot of them were about. They tended to be in clusters, including at various restaurants, indoors or out. I recall some of them staring at me with perplexity. It was as if I were emitting a radioactive glow.
By now, it was midnight. I walked back to my car. I decided to drive still closer to Spring Break, and park again. I did so. This time, I crossed the main drag. I walked on the side of the road that didn’t border the beach. The first person I came upon was some lady. She was interacting at a distance with two teenage girls.
“Watch out, girls!” the lady warned them, “there are sexual predators around!” The lady passed on. Along came the two girls. They were about 15 years old. I had no interest in them. Perhaps I said “Hello” to them, to be polite, as I passed them. Perhaps I didn’t. I’m not being coy; I honestly don’t remember.
I walked on a certain distance. Walking on the side of the road that didn’t border the beach proved to be boring. So, I cut across the main drag. I began to walk back toward my car.
Meanwhile, the two 15 year olds had stayed on the far side of this wide road. They’d come to an intersection. A car pulled up to that intersection’s stop sign. The girls, obviously not knowing who was in the car, yelled to it,
“Someone’s following us!”
Guess who the someone was? Me. Never mind that it was dark, and I was on the road’s far side. Merely because I was now walking in the same direction as the 15 year olds, I was “following” them.
I realized that Spring Break, brief as it had been for me, was over. ( I’d lived through the whole awful decade of the 1990s, and knew what it was like to be baselessly accused of being a “child molester”. )
Never “follow” anyone when you’re driving a rental car. I arrived, on foot, at my car. I knew what would happen when I opened my car. The interior of the car would light up as if it were a Las Vegas casino. This happened. I got in my car. Ordinarily, to leave Panama City Beach, I’d have driven west on the road to Destin. However, in that direction, the two 15 year olds were accusing me of being a sexual predator. I had no choice but to drive east; smack into the heart of Spring Break.
Renting my car, I’d decided to save money. I’d done so by not purchasing insurance for the car, from the rental agency. Driving east along the main drag, I ran into a traffic jam. It consisted entirely of cruising Spring Breakers.
I sat in that fucking traffic jam for a very long time. The cars barely moved; after all, they were out to see and be seen, not to go anywhere. I was trying to escape from Panama City Beach without spending time in their jail as an accused sexual predator.
For a long while, I was behind a pickup truck. Sitting in the bed of the truck was a beautiful blonde teenage girl. As long as I was able to stare at her, I was happy. A drunk guy came walking along. He was about 21 years old. With no invitation, he climbed into the bed of the truck. The blonde in the bed of the truck clearly regarded the drunk as a stranger. Yet, she was impressed by him. The two had a long conversation.
Meanwhile, I found myself adjacent to a police car. The car was parked along the side of the road. It was facing west. I was facing east. There was about 15 feet of road between us. Nothing obstructed the cop’s view of me, since little traffic was headed west.
The cop looked mean. Also, despite all the people about, he was looking at me. He stared at me for a long time. I, poker-faced, looked straight ahead.
Finally, the traffic jam ended. It ended at a parking lot, on the road’s far side, that was full of porta potties. Lines of young people were waiting to use the potties.
Even here, parking was no problem. I got out of my car. Waiting my turn, I stepped into a potty. The potty’s interior was piss-flooded and encrusted with urine. God knows how a female handled peeing in such a horror. I successfully whizzed.
I returned to my car. Guess who I found there? The drunk guy. He was determined to join me in my car. However, I was a tourist. A responsible one. I had all my worldly tourist possessions in my car. No way was I letting the drunk into my car.
“What happened to the girl?” I asked the drunk. I was speaking, of course, of the fabulous blonde that he’d impressed in the truck bed. His answer?
“What girl?” The dumb fuck had no idea who I was talking about.
I drove out of Panama City Beach. This didn’t free me from the place, it only put me into Panama City. There, still thinking of the mean cop, I committed two criminal acts. I pissed in a parking lot. Then, nearly out of Panama City, I peed along the road. ( The road by which sexual predators escape to Highway 10. )
Finally, I got to Highway 10. I was done with the whole fucking state of Florida, plus ( nondescript ) Alabama. I drove all the way to my sexual predator hideout, a Holiday Inn in little-known Waveland, Mississippi.
You might wonder why a girl in New Orleans had banished me. That’s another sorry-assed story like the one you’ve just read. I’ll save it for later. However, I’ll mention the first location that I found upon arriving in New Orleans, from California. I found the New Orleans jail. That did not strike me as auspicious.
If you’re wondering about New Orleans, I’ll say this: it has so much crime that every hotel room has a safe in it. Every room!
Staying in New Orleans, I was accused by some teenagers, and their parents, of being a sexual predator. That happened at the Comfort Inn.
The guard at the Comfort Inn, a Black guy, tried to kick me out. He claimed that I was a trespasser. I got revenge on him, of a sort. Since I’d been accused of being a sexual predator, he was forced to sit up all night on the floor of my hotel. This happened for several nights. It taught him that I was in the midst of a two week stay at the Comfort Inn, booked in advance. I wasn’t a trespasser.
A mayor of New Orleans once boasted that it’s “a chocolate town”. A lot of Black people live in New Orleans. The city has several theaters. The movie at each seemed to be a version of “Kill Whitey”. I took to ending each day, as a pedestrian, at 3:30 p.m. ( As Will Smith does in the film, “I Am Legend”. )
At night, I drove to a place called “Joe’s Crab Shack”. If you eat alone, you’ll encounter a problem: you can’t use the bathroom. When I tried to go piss, a waiter literally spied on me in the men’s room. He feared that I was trying to “kite” the check; that is, leave without paying for my meal. There’s also a risk that a waiter will think you’re done eating while you’re peeing, and clear the food and drink from your table.
Nonetheless, dining at “Joe’s Crab Shack”, in New Orleans, was glorious. In that era, everyone who ate there was White. A young waitress would lead lots of little girls in publicly dancing to music. I don’t recall if the girls, all age 12 and younger, danced on top of tables in the restaurant. However, it was very easy for me to view them. The girls’ favorite song was “YMCA”, by the Village People.
Every night, little girls danced to “YMCA” at “Joe’s Crab Shack”. Needless to say, I ate there a lot.
Late at night, I’d find myself hungry again. In my hotel room, I’d order from “The Moonlight Cafe”. Then I’d go to sleep, dreaming of little girls dancing nude at a car wash.
DANA ON TOP!
Last year, the most popular articles on ARSE ( Andrew Roller Stories and Essays ) were about Milana from Minsk. Articles about Dana Taranova were the second most popular on ARSE.
Throughout this new year ( 2021 ), articles about Dana Taranova have been the most popular on ARSE. Articles about Milana from Minsk are the second most popular.
I may not have written enough about Mari Kruchkova. She is quite a beauty!
My congratulations to ( now ) 13-year-old Dana for being super popular!
One day, when my life isn’t a ruin, I hope to make ARSE an online version of “Tiger Beat”. This “Tiger Beat” will focus on everyday girls who are fabulous, like Dana, Milana, and Mari.
The “girl next door” is often as lovely and wonderful as any commercial celebrity. In fact, my opinion is that the “girl next door” is better!
PROOF THAT ISLAM IS BEST!
Aisha was 6 years old when the Islamic prophet Muhammad married her. Muhammad, busy delivering God’s word, didn’t get around to consummating his marriage to Aisha until she was 9 years old. This occurred when Muhammad was 53 years old.
Modern wienies, aghast at the holiness of the prophet, attempt to sully his pedophile credentials by claiming Aisha married at age 17. No one, however, claims that Muhammad married a mature older woman who was his own age. That would be a sin worthy of damnation. ( And boring. )
Source: Wikipedophilia. Article: List of child brides.
ON SELF-EXPRESSION
I recently heard a Black man say, “I’m an unapologetic Black man.” ( Fox News Channel. ) It’s time to be more than just “Pedophile and proud”. Be an unapologetic pedophile!
ON LAW
“Law is not morality, or right or wrong. It is simply the management of a people.”
- The podcast Ages of Conquest, Season 2, Episode 6. ( Paraphrased. )
HELP FOR READERS
My pronouns are “Your Highness”, “The Sex God,” and “God Almighty”. I also favor the phrase, “To read Roller is to obey Roller”.
ARCANA:
1. Amazingly, a You Tube viewer asked what MTV stood for. This was in 2020. The You Tube viewer was in an age group that, if this were the 1980s, would have worshipped MTV. MTV stands for “Andrew Roller Television”. It began airing music videos in 1981.
2. Once more, I’ve flaunted convention. Told not to capitalize the generic “spring break”, I did so anyway. I did not piss on the word in a parking lot, or by the roadside in Panama City.
3. I knew the 1990s were bad as they were happening. The puritanical 1990s were a far cry from the liberated 60s and 70s.
I recall thinking to myself, in the 90s, “My God, I have to live through every fucking day of this era, don’t I?” I did.
I’m still enduring, although America is now not only puritan, but on Ozzy’s “Crazy Train”.
Note how often America is on a moral crusade. In my lifetime, America’s moral crusades include anti-communism, the war on drugs, wars on various sexual “deviancies” ( including Playboy magazine ), and today’s proscriptions.
I predict that all this will end in an act of global nuclear suicide. “For the children,” as Nancy Pelosi would say.
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Copyright 2021 by Andrew L. Roller. ET, Editorial Thunder, and ARSE, Andrew Roller Stories and Essays, are trademarks of Andrew L. Roller.
I am https://andrewroller.wordpress.com
Earlier posts by me are at https://asstr.org/files/Authors/Roller/
I’m on paper at: https://www.abebooks.com > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
and https://www.abebooks.co.uk > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
If you visit an “AbeBooks” website, you’ll be presented with a large square “Search” box. In the box labelled “Author”, type in “Andrew Roller”. In the box labelled “Title”, type in “Andrew Roller Presents”. This will bring up some of my pamphlets. I have not yet figured out how to bring up other pamphlets by me, under other titles. I don’t recall all the titles I published under.
I have no financial involvement in these resale items.
I am on You Tube as “Andrew Roller”. Use You Tube’s magnifying glass icon to search for “Andrew Roller”. That will take you to my You Tube channel. Or, on You Tube, tap my sun icon, if you see it. That will also take you to my You Tube channel. There, you can see songs and films that I like.
At the “home page” of my You Tube channel, you’ll see just a selection of playlists that I created. To see all my playlists, tap on the phrase, “Created playlists”.
The World Wide Web address for my You Tube channel is:
https://www.youtube.com/andrewroller
If you click on this link, you’ll be taken to a World Wide Web You Tube page. Here, You Tube displays a cartoon image of a monkey. The page says, “This page isn’t available. Sorry about that. Try searching for something else.”
My advice: on this page, search for “andrew roller”. By doing so, you’ll get to my World Wide Web You Tube channel. However, I have over 100 Playlists, that I created, at my You Tube app channel. The World Wide Web version of You Tube will only serve you 15 of my Playlists.
( Hence, access You Tube via its app. The You Tube app, like the WordPress app, is available for free at the Apple App Store. )
This is ET, Editorial Thunder, issue number 71
Arcana: This is ET, Editorial Thunder, issue number 71, version 6.0
Date Written: April 17, 2021. Live for the day that censorious Big Tech is dead.
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This has been a presentation of A R S E news.
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ET 71
Editorial Thunder presents...
A Pedophile’s Spring Break
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Plus: Why Islam is best.
And: What law ( actually ) is.
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A PEDOPHILE’S SPRING BREAK
by Andrew Roller
Spring Break is a phenomenon of the Eastern United States. I just lived through whatever passes for Spring Break here in San Diego, California. Perhaps a few more people partied in San Diego’s Gaslamp Quarter. Otherwise, Spring Break passed here uneventfully.
Spring Break is also a phenomenon unknown to America before the 1980s. I don’t recall any reference to Spring Break in the 1960s and 70s. By my reckoning, Spring Break coincides with the rise of party band Van Halen, on MTV.
In 1999, I was 38 years old. I was driving along the coast of the Florida panhandle. The month was April.
“Go east, young pedophile,” the photographer David Hamilton once remarked. Banished by an 18-year-old girl in New Orleans, Louisiana, I’d driven east from that city. However, I had a prepaid hotel reservation in New Orleans. So, having driven east awhile, I was now driving west again, back to New Orleans. I was a resident of California.
I stopped across the street from a self-service car wash. I got out my Rand McNally road atlas. As I studied it, I saw some girls in a pickup truck enter a stall at the car wash. My rental car didn’t need washing. However, it occurred to me that waiting to wash my car, behind a truck loaded with girls, might be worth doing.
The girls were about 16 years old. They washed their truck in bikinis. Once again, I learned that I’m not a girl magnet. The car wash was busy enough to justify my waiting behind the girls. Nonetheless, my presence greatly annoyed them. I recall them glaring at me as they drove off. ( For the sake of appearances, I hosed down my rental car. )
I continued driving along the Florida Panhandle. I stopped at a Holiday Inn in Destin. It abutted an unremarkable beach. However, inside this Holiday Inn, I came upon a throng of high schoolers. They were lavishly dressed. The girls, like most in Florida, were gorgeous blondes. I divined that tonight was prom night for these students.
You know what that means. They go to their prom. Then, returning to the Holiday Inn, they spend the night partying and fucking. Meanwhile, I’m supposed to somehow go to sleep in my hotel room. I couldn’t face spending the night at that Holiday Inn. Suddenly, along Destin’s main drag, I had a revelation.
Those girls at the car wash, in bikinis - they must have been part of Spring Break!
Good God, I’d driven straight through Spring Break, without realizing it was there! I’d never been to Spring Break before. So, hurtling back along the Florida coast as night fell, I arrived ( again ) in Panama City Beach.
The sun sets late in the Florida spring. It was 10 p.m. as I returned to Panama City Beach. My first vision of girls was of two girls under age 12. They were indoors, by a swimming pool. I was driving along the street past this illuminated interior of a building. I dearly wished I could join those two girls. Facing teen girls at Spring Break was something that I regarded as a daunting experience.
Spring Break doesn’t happen throughout Panama City Beach. It occurs along a brief strip of beach. Realizing this, I parked some distance shy of Spring Break. I parked, without permission, in the parking lot fronting a condominium.
I walked onto the beach. Panama City Beach’s strand is wide and long. In my location, the sky was black, and the stars shone brightly. There was no light pollution. Still hoping that I might be a girl magnet, the notion of encountering teen girls at Spring Break moved my bowels. Fortunately, the bathroom servicing the condominium’s swimming pool was unlocked.
I took a shit. Soon, in the same bathroom, I took another shit. I think I resorted to that bathroom about a half dozen times. Finally, my loins girded and bowels empty, I was ready to go meet teen girls at Spring Break!
I hit on a plan. I would drive a certain distance toward Spring Break, and then park my car. I would do this along a road that served as a main drag.
Having parked my car, I’d walk awhile, toward Spring Break. Then I’d go back to my car, drive closer to Spring Break, park again, and walk yet more closely to Spring Break. Like a toddler, I was scared of meeting Santa.
I had no problem finding a parking spot along the main drag. I parked my car. I walked along the beach side of the road. I wound in and out of the the public areas of several hotels. I didn’t see much of interest.
Then, I came upon a girl who was 11 years old. My God, she was gorgeous! She was blonde, and wearing a little tube top. Other young people stood around her, in conversation. With great reluctance, I walked on.
I guess it’s in my nature: I mostly noticed people who were 11 or 12 years old. A lot of them were about. They tended to be in clusters, including at various restaurants, indoors or out. I recall some of them staring at me with perplexity. It was as if I were emitting a radioactive glow.
By now, it was midnight. I walked back to my car. I decided to drive still closer to Spring Break, and park again. I did so. This time, I crossed the main drag. I walked on the side of the road that didn’t border the beach. The first person I came upon was some lady. She was interacting at a distance with two teenage girls.
“Watch out, girls!” the lady warned them, “there are sexual predators around!” The lady passed on. Along came the two girls. They were about 15 years old. I had no interest in them. Perhaps I said “Hello” to them, to be polite, as I passed them. Perhaps I didn’t. I’m not being coy; I honestly don’t remember.
I walked on a certain distance. Walking on the side of the road that didn’t border the beach proved to be boring. So, I cut across the main drag. I began to walk back toward my car.
Meanwhile, the two 15 year olds had stayed on the far side of this wide road. They’d come to an intersection. A car pulled up to that intersection’s stop sign. The girls, obviously not knowing who was in the car, yelled to it,
“Someone’s following us!”
Guess who the someone was? Me. Never mind that it was dark, and I was on the road’s far side. Merely because I was now walking in the same direction as the 15 year olds, I was “following” them.
I realized that Spring Break, brief as it had been for me, was over. ( I’d lived through the whole awful decade of the 1990s, and knew what it was like to be baselessly accused of being a “child molester”. )
Never “follow” anyone when you’re driving a rental car. I arrived, on foot, at my car. I knew what would happen when I opened my car. The interior of the car would light up as if it were a Las Vegas casino. This happened. I got in my car. Ordinarily, to leave Panama City Beach, I’d have driven west on the road to Destin. However, in that direction, the two 15 year olds were accusing me of being a sexual predator. I had no choice but to drive east; smack into the heart of Spring Break.
Renting my car, I’d decided to save money. I’d done so by not purchasing insurance for the car, from the rental agency. Driving east along the main drag, I ran into a traffic jam. It consisted entirely of cruising Spring Breakers.
I sat in that fucking traffic jam for a very long time. The cars barely moved; after all, they were out to see and be seen, not to go anywhere. I was trying to escape from Panama City Beach without spending time in their jail as an accused sexual predator.
For a long while, I was behind a pickup truck. Sitting in the bed of the truck was a beautiful blonde teenage girl. As long as I was able to stare at her, I was happy. A drunk guy came walking along. He was about 21 years old. With no invitation, he climbed into the bed of the truck. The blonde in the bed of the truck clearly regarded the drunk as a stranger. Yet, she was impressed by him. The two had a long conversation.
Meanwhile, I found myself adjacent to a police car. The car was parked along the side of the road. It was facing west. I was facing east. There was about 15 feet of road between us. Nothing obstructed the cop’s view of me, since little traffic was headed west.
The cop looked mean. Also, despite all the people about, he was looking at me. He stared at me for a long time. I, poker-faced, looked straight ahead.
Finally, the traffic jam ended. It ended at a parking lot, on the road’s far side, that was full of porta potties. Lines of young people were waiting to use the potties.
Even here, parking was no problem. I got out of my car. Waiting my turn, I stepped into a potty. The potty’s interior was piss-flooded and encrusted with urine. God knows how a female handled peeing in such a horror. I successfully whizzed.
I returned to my car. Guess who I found there? The drunk guy. He was determined to join me in my car. However, I was a tourist. A responsible one. I had all my worldly tourist possessions in my car. No way was I letting the drunk into my car.
“What happened to the girl?” I asked the drunk. I was speaking, of course, of the fabulous blonde that he’d impressed in the truck bed. His answer?
“What girl?” The dumb fuck had no idea who I was talking about.
I drove out of Panama City Beach. This didn’t free me from the place, it only put me into Panama City. There, still thinking of the mean cop, I committed two criminal acts. I pissed in a parking lot. Then, nearly out of Panama City, I peed along the road. ( The road by which sexual predators escape to Highway 10. )
Finally, I got to Highway 10. I was done with the whole fucking state of Florida, plus ( nondescript ) Alabama. I drove all the way to my sexual predator hideout, a Holiday Inn in little-known Waveland, Mississippi.
You might wonder why a girl in New Orleans had banished me. That’s another sorry-assed story like the one you’ve just read. I’ll save it for later. However, I’ll mention the first location that I found upon arriving in New Orleans, from California. I found the New Orleans jail. That did not strike me as auspicious.
If you’re wondering about New Orleans, I’ll say this: it has so much crime that every hotel room has a safe in it. Every room!
Staying in New Orleans, I was accused by some teenagers, and their parents, of being a sexual predator. That happened at the Comfort Inn.
The guard at the Comfort Inn, a Black guy, tried to kick me out. He claimed that I was a trespasser. I got revenge on him, of a sort. Since I’d been accused of being a sexual predator, he was forced to sit up all night on the floor of my hotel. This happened for several nights. It taught him that I was in the midst of a two week stay at the Comfort Inn, booked in advance. I wasn’t a trespasser.
A mayor of New Orleans once boasted that it’s “a chocolate town”. A lot of Black people live in New Orleans. The city has several theaters. The movie at each seemed to be a version of “Kill Whitey”. I took to ending each day, as a pedestrian, at 3:30 p.m. ( As Will Smith does in the film, “I Am Legend”. )
At night, I drove to a place called “Joe’s Crab Shack”. If you eat alone, you’ll encounter a problem: you can’t use the bathroom. When I tried to go piss, a waiter literally spied on me in the men’s room. He feared that I was trying to “kite” the check; that is, leave without paying for my meal. There’s also a risk that a waiter will think you’re done eating while you’re peeing, and clear the food and drink from your table.
Nonetheless, dining at “Joe’s Crab Shack”, in New Orleans, was glorious. In that era, everyone who ate there was White. A young waitress would lead lots of little girls in publicly dancing to music. I don’t recall if the girls, all age 12 and younger, danced on top of tables in the restaurant. However, it was very easy for me to view them. The girls’ favorite song was “YMCA”, by the Village People.
Every night, little girls danced to “YMCA” at “Joe’s Crab Shack”. Needless to say, I ate there a lot.
Late at night, I’d find myself hungry again. In my hotel room, I’d order from “The Moonlight Cafe”. Then I’d go to sleep, dreaming of little girls dancing nude at a car wash.
DANA ON TOP!
Last year, the most popular articles on ARSE ( Andrew Roller Stories and Essays ) were about Milana from Minsk. Articles about Dana Taranova were the second most popular on ARSE.
Throughout this new year ( 2021 ), articles about Dana Taranova have been the most popular on ARSE. Articles about Milana from Minsk are the second most popular.
I may not have written enough about Mari Kruchkova. She is quite a beauty!
My congratulations to ( now ) 13-year-old Dana for being super popular!
One day, when my life isn’t a ruin, I hope to make ARSE an online version of “Tiger Beat”. This “Tiger Beat” will focus on everyday girls who are fabulous, like Dana, Milana, and Mari.
The “girl next door” is often as lovely and wonderful as any commercial celebrity. In fact, my opinion is that the “girl next door” is better!
PROOF THAT ISLAM IS BEST!
Aisha was 6 years old when the Islamic prophet Muhammad married her. Muhammad, busy delivering God’s word, didn’t get around to consummating his marriage to Aisha until she was 9 years old. This occurred when Muhammad was 53 years old.
Modern wienies, aghast at the holiness of the prophet, attempt to sully his pedophile credentials by claiming Aisha married at age 17. No one, however, claims that Muhammad married a mature older woman who was his own age. That would be a sin worthy of damnation. ( And boring. )
Source: Wikipedophilia. Article: List of child brides.
ON SELF-EXPRESSION
I recently heard a Black man say, “I’m an unapologetic Black man.” ( Fox News Channel. ) It’s time to be more than just “Pedophile and proud”. Be an unapologetic pedophile!
ON LAW
“Law is not morality, or right or wrong. It is simply the management of a people.”
- The podcast Ages of Conquest, Season 2, Episode 6. ( Paraphrased. )
HELP FOR READERS
My pronouns are “Your Highness”, “The Sex God,” and “God Almighty”. I also favor the phrase, “To read Roller is to obey Roller”.
ARCANA:
1. Amazingly, a You Tube viewer asked what MTV stood for. This was in 2020. The You Tube viewer was in an age group that, if this were the 1980s, would have worshipped MTV. MTV stands for “Andrew Roller Television”. It began airing music videos in 1981.
2. Once more, I’ve flaunted convention. Told not to capitalize the generic “spring break”, I did so anyway. I did not piss on the word in a parking lot, or by the roadside in Panama City.
3. I knew the 1990s were bad as they were happening. The puritanical 1990s were a far cry from the liberated 60s and 70s.
I recall thinking to myself, in the 90s, “My God, I have to live through every fucking day of this era, don’t I?” I did.
I’m still enduring, although America is now not only puritan, but on Ozzy’s “Crazy Train”.
Note how often America is on a moral crusade. In my lifetime, America’s moral crusades include anti-communism, the war on drugs, wars on various sexual “deviancies” ( including Playboy magazine ), and today’s proscriptions.
I predict that all this will end in an act of global nuclear suicide. “For the children,” as Nancy Pelosi would say.
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Copyright 2021 by Andrew L. Roller. ET, Editorial Thunder, and ARSE, Andrew Roller Stories and Essays, are trademarks of Andrew L. Roller.
I am https://andrewroller.wordpress.com
Earlier posts by me are at https://asstr.org/files/Authors/Roller/
I’m on paper at: https://www.abebooks.com > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
and https://www.abebooks.co.uk > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
If you visit an “AbeBooks” website, you’ll be presented with a large square “Search” box. In the box labelled “Author”, type in “Andrew Roller”. In the box labelled “Title”, type in “Andrew Roller Presents”. This will bring up some of my pamphlets. I have not yet figured out how to bring up other pamphlets by me, under other titles. I don’t recall all the titles I published under.
I have no financial involvement in these resale items.
I am on You Tube as “Andrew Roller”. Use You Tube’s magnifying glass icon to search for “Andrew Roller”. That will take you to my You Tube channel. Or, on You Tube, tap my sun icon, if you see it. That will also take you to my You Tube channel. There, you can see songs and films that I like.
At the “home page” of my You Tube channel, you’ll see just a selection of playlists that I created. To see all my playlists, tap on the phrase, “Created playlists”.
The World Wide Web address for my You Tube channel is:
https://www.youtube.com/andrewroller
If you click on this link, you’ll be taken to a World Wide Web You Tube page. Here, You Tube displays a cartoon image of a monkey. The page says, “This page isn’t available. Sorry about that. Try searching for something else.”
My advice: on this page, search for “andrew roller”. By doing so, you’ll get to my World Wide Web You Tube channel. However, I have over 100 Playlists, that I created, at my You Tube app channel. The World Wide Web version of You Tube will only serve you 15 of my Playlists.
( Hence, access You Tube via its app. The You Tube app, like the WordPress app, is available for free at the Apple App Store. )
This is ET, Editorial Thunder, issue number 71
Arcana: This is ET, Editorial Thunder, issue number 71, version 6.0
Date Written: April 17, 2021. Live for the day that censorious Big Tech is dead.
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This has been a presentation of A R S E news.
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Girls, Cars, and Armageddon
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ET 70
Editorial Thunder presents...
Girls, Cars, and Armageddon
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Plus: Betrothed at age 1.
And: The verdict on Zuckerberg.
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GIRLS, CARS, AND ARMAGEDDON
by Andrew Roller
A “Technical Order ( T.O. )” is a loose-leaf binder that contains many pages. In missile school, a T.O. details equipment, and procedures, for launching nuclear missiles. A perennial joke in missile school ends with the line, “He was sitting on his T.O.”
George Orwell’s book, “1984”, was written in 1948. So you won’t find out about 1984 by reading it. Today, I’ll tell you about the real 1984, as I experienced it. I’ll be discussing fast cars, little girls, and the end of the world.
In 1983, I went into the United States Air Farce. They sent me to missile school. If I graduated, I would be a “missile launch officer”. My job would be to kill the parents of the gorgeous girls that I now adore on You Tube. I say this because, at the time, America’s prime enemy was the Soviet Union, now known ( once more ) as Russia. The Soviet Union encompassed more territory than Russia does today. ( For instance, the Soviet Union included Ukraine, home of Dana Taranova. ) I would be killing people in places like the Soviet Union with intercontinental ballistic missiles ( ICBMs ), armed with nuclear warheads.
If I didn’t graduate from missile school, I would be “out of the Air Farce”, according to the Air Farce. Two teachers taught the missile weapons system class. Of course, I got the shit teacher. He was a nice guy, but nothing compared to the teacher next door.
Fortunately, we had a second class. It was the “top secret” class. I had a great teacher for that class. He wrote the book that we used.
Despite my bookish nature, I’m not a very good student. That is, I do poorly in a scholastic environment where one is told what to study. I would have done poorly in the “top secret” class. However, I admired my teacher. I figured, if he was willing to write a book on the subject, I’d read it, and do all the homework exercises. The book couldn’t be taken out of the “top secret” location where it was housed. So, nightly, I’d go there and work with the book.
Amazingly, I flunked the final exam in my “top secret” class. I recall retaking the exam. If I’d failed it again, I’d have been out of the Air Farce. I passed.
I did poorly on a number of exams in my weapons system class.
The exam that really mattered was a “ride” in a missile Launch Control Capsule ( LCC ). An LCC contains equipment for launching nuclear missiles. It also contains communications equipment, and such items as a bed and a toilet. As this was a school, the LCC was simply a room in the “top secret” building. The top score that one could get on a “ride” was a 5.0. Given my poor performance in my weapons system and “top secret” classes, you might wonder how I, and my crewmate, each got a 5.0.
Here’s how I got a top score:
1. My T.O. had a photo of each piece of equipment in the LCC. I bought large sheets of white paper. On these, I drew each piece of equipment. Then, I hung these on the walls of my bedroom.
One day, the school’s commander inspected my bedroom. I heard, secondhand, that he was pleased with my drawings. However, I was ordered to take them off the walls. An officer’s bedroom was supposed to look like he never used it. I guess it’s best that I hadn’t put Playboy centerfolds on my walls, or photos of Brooke Shields as an 11-year-old prostitute in the film “Pretty Baby”.
2. I bought a rubber ball. Bouncing my rubber ball in a hallway, I memorized the table of contents of my T.O. I learned it backwards and forwards.
In a “ride”, in the school’s LCC, events occur. You, as a missile launch officer, must respond to these. Here are the problems that you’ll face.
A. Where the hell is a particular piece of equipment? I had no problem with this. Having drawn every piece of equipment, I knew where everything was.
B. What the hell do I do with this piece of equipment? Well, you find the appropriate checklist to follow in your T.O. Which raises the question:
C. Where the hell in my T.O. is the checklist for this piece of equipment? I had memorized my T.O.’s table of contents. So I could immediately go in my T.O. to the correct checklist.
In summary, to graduate from missile school, you need to do two things:
1. Draw every piece of equipment.
2. Memorize the table of contents in your T.O.
Also, pay attention in class. If you don’t understand something, ask. Often, my fellow students became annoyed with my questions. This happened as the school day wore on. A number of my fellow students were married. They wanted to go home and fuck their wives. I could only look forward to masturbating; with one or no copy of Playboy. So, I asked my questions.
Do all the reading and exercises in your “top secret” class.
As a graduate of missile school, I was assigned to the storied “Strategic Air Command”. ( Or SAC, as in ball sac. ) In my opinion, this is a much better name than the current one of “Global Strike Command”. That sounds like a bunch of commies going on strike.
I was assigned to Whiteman Air Farce Base, in Missouri. The nearest community of note is Warrensburg. A female realtor tried to sell me a home in Warrensburg. She assured me that I’d like the home, as an Air Farce officer, since,
“All the girls from the junior high and high school walk down this street!” ( In front of the home. ) Times were different then. ( My sole goal in life is to return America to those traditional values! )
I wound up living in a motel along Interstate Highway 50. Much sooner than I expected, I’d be travelling west on that highway, “out of the Air Farce”.
At Whiteman, I was in the 508th Strategic Missile Squadron. Our commander was Colonel Hood. He had a cute 11-year-old daughter.
Our missiles weren’t on the base itself. They were scattered across farmers’ fields. A crew of two men was assigned to an LCC. ( No women were allowed. ) My commander on such a crew was a Captain or a First Lieutenant. I was a Second Lieutenant.
My crew commander and I would drive from Whiteman out to an LCC. Enlisted guys lived in a house aboveground. My commander and I would enter the house. There, we’d board an elevator. This would take us down to a basement.
On one side of the basement was a room with mundane equipment. On the other side of the basement was the LCC itself. The LCC was behind a blast door. It was a big round door similar to one that a bank uses for its vault.
The LCC wasn’t simply a room. It was akin to an egg sitting inside a larger room. Our “egg” was mounted on springs. I and my commander worked, slept, and ate inside the “egg”. We stayed there for 24 hours. ( I never got any sleep inside an LCC, but my commander slept soundly. )
In the 1950s, America designed and built much of its nuclear infrastructure, including its LCCs. At the time, it was thought that I, for instance, could “ride out” a nuclear war inside my “egg”. ( Hence, my “egg” was mounted on springs. ) By 1984, nuclear weapons had become more powerful. The idea of “riding out” a nuclear war in an LCC was considered obsolete.
We had an escape hatch. It was full of sand. That sand, having sat for decades in a chute that led from our egg to the earth’s surface, was probably solidly packed. I doubt it would have whooshed out to let me crawl up the chute. Also, it was said that a near miss by a nuclear missile would turn the sand in the chute to glass. So, in my egg, I’d have had to chip away glass, up a long chute, to escape to earth’s ( radioactive ) surface.
In the film “Twilight’s Last Gleaming”, the missileers are depicted as taking an elevator deep underground. This is ridiculous. When the military wants to build something deep, they don’t dig down, they dig sideways. So, a place like the North American Aerospace Defense Command ( NORAD ) is built into the side of a mountain. It’s only deep underground because there’s a lot of mountain above it. But nobody dug down from the top of the mountain.
Our LCC was in a farmer’s field. Yes, the military dug down in the field. But if you think they dug down, say, a mile, forget it. I will say that our elevator was very slow. So we had the illusion of going deep.
I wasn’t assigned to a particular LCC. In my brief time as a missileer, I occupied various LCCs.
“Where’s my T.O.?” My commander shouted one day. This happened in our LCC. I looked toward my commander. He was, as usual, sitting in his chair at his command console. ( From which nuclear missiles are launched. ) He was frantically searching through various items. I saw his T.O. “You’re sitting on it,” I told him. The poor man was, indeed, sitting on his T.O. as he tried to find it.
In the LCC, there was a maintenance poster. It read as follows:
1. Problem:
2. Interim solution:
3. Final solution:
You could write, in grease pen, on this poster about a problem. My wit couldn’t resist this poster. I wrote on it as follows:
1. Problem: Soviet nuclear missiles pointed at our missiles.
2. Interim solution: Our nuclear missiles pointed at the Soviets’ missiles.
3. Final solution: Total nuclear disarmament.
( I used the technical names of the missiles involved, which I now forget. )
Occasionally, we were visited by a maintenance crew. When our LCC received a “top secret” order, the crew had to turn around and face the wall. Doing so, they wound up reading my writing on the maintenance poster. So, instead of being humiliated, by having to face the wall, they had a good laugh.
For whatever reason, we had stickers in the LCC that read, “top secret”. One day, I put one on my forehead. ( The contents of my brain were, at the time, “top secret”. )
At some point, it dawned on me that I might not be in the Air Farce much longer. In the LCC, I had access to classified material. We were permitted to read this material at our leisure. I decided that, if I was ever going to read such material, now was the time. I can report the following:
1. Material labelled “secret” is equivalent to what you’ll read in any issue of The Economist magazine.
2. Material labelled “top secret” is specific to various weapons systems. For instance, in missile school, a fellow student discovered the phone number for the airplane known as “Looking Glass”. He found this in a “top secret” document. “Looking Glass” was an airplane. It circled above the United States. It did so in the hope that it would survive a nuclear war, and direct the U.S.’s ensuing war effort.
A plane designated as “Looking Glass” was always in the air over the U.S. This practice, now discontinued, lasted throughout the Cold War. ( The “Cold War” was a nuclear standoff between the U.S. and the Soviet Union. The term “Cold War” is now part of history. However, the nuclear standoff between the U.S. and Russia continues. )
“I’m going to call up General Watkins on Looking Glass!” my fellow student boasted. He didn’t, but it would have been fun. I’d have liked to know what General Watkins thought of Brooke Shields in “Pretty Baby”.
As for myself, I got nothing from reading “top secret” material. None of it made any sense to me.
In our LCC, we didn’t have a Library of Congress of “secret” and “top secret” material. We mostly had what was thought to be useful to missileers. However, the “secret” material was pleasantly wide-ranging. I recall seeing photos of Nicaragua in a “secret” document.
An LCC is never left unattended. A crew of two men is always present. When one crew is relieved, another crew takes its place.
In the LCC, there is a sacred box. It’s where the nuclear crown jewels are kept. ( Codes permitting a nuclear launch. ) I had a common padlock. When I arrived at the LCC, my job was to put my padlock on the box, to keep it locked. ( A prior crewman would remove his padlock; my padlock would replace his. My commander would do the same; replacing a prior commander’s padlock with his own. )
My padlock was a combination lock. The default combination was “all balls”; that is, all zeros. Like everyone else, I was told the following:
“Do not leave your padlock on ‘all balls’. Put in a combination.”
I am a clever person. I considered the matter as follows:
“It’s my padlock. It’s my combination. No one is ever going to find out what my combination is. Therefore, I’m just going to leave my combination on ‘all balls’.”
One day, our crew was being relieved by a new crew in the LCC. My commander was in a hurry to get into the box. He said to me,
“Quick, Roller. Tell me your combination.” I had no choice in the matter. So, I whispered to him,
“All balls.”
He exploded.
“All balls?! You were told to put a combination into your lock.”
I had an explanation.
“I figured no one, trying to break into my lock, would realize that I’d left my lock on ‘all balls’”, I said. ( This was before the era of computers and passwords. ) My commander accepted my explanation. However, he soon passed me off to some other guy. He didn’t want me as his subordinate anymore.
We had to “put weather” into the missiles. This was accomplished by typing numbers on a standard keyboard. I took typing in eighth grade. However, I lazily failed to learn how to type numbers.
I decided to train myself on how to type numbers while “putting weather” into the missiles. Poor at this, I made a mess. I repeatedly put “bad weather” into the missiles. This was being monitored, live, by other LCCs. They complained, by phone, to my commander:
“Roller is putting bad weather into our missiles!” ( We all, potentially, had control over each other’s missiles. I was assigned 50 missiles, but could control up to 150 of them. )
( I’m using the term ‘missile’ loosely here. By ‘missile’, I actually mean ‘warhead’. A single missile held three warheads. Each warhead could strike a different location. )
My commander told me to use two-fingered typing to put in the weather. ( Not full-hand typing. ) So, finally, I did. I don’t recall being asked to put weather into the missiles too often after that.
By midnight, my commander was asleep. We had a T.V. in the LCC. The best show of the night was “All in the Family”. My parents had prohibited me from watching this show when I was younger. I was eager to see it.
Unfortunately, around 12:15 a.m., the Air Farce always staged a big exercise. My commander didn’t have to wake up for it. I was the responsible party. I’d like to say I was on my toes regarding this exercise. However, it’s more likely that I dealt with it at 12:30 a.m., when “All in the Family” was over. I’m glad that the U.S. didn’t decide to kill all the lovely Slavic girls during “All in the Family”.
In the Air Farce, I was diagnosed with “kidney disease”. I guess I’ve infected about a thousand people by now.
Actually, my “kidney disease” is congenital, not contagious. My immune system decided, in 1984, that my kidneys were an enemy organism. My immune system attacked and killed my kidneys. I have suffered much from this since.
Having kidney disease, I was retired out of the Air Farce. This happened in late May of 1984. I was being sent “home”, that is, back to my parents, who were in Hawaii. I was in the middle of Missouri with a car. I had to drive my car to the West Coast, put it on a ship, and then fly to Hawaii.
I suppose I should have described Warrensburg, Missouri. It’s in the middle of nowhere. The only structure of note, in 1984, was a new Walmart, built alongside Highway 50. My last memory of Warrensburg is of a beautiful 8-year-old blonde sitting alone in the lobby of Walmart. I wish I could have invited her to come with me.
I next saw a girl in Kansas. Any gas station along the highway sells gas at an inflated price. Usually, a town is nearby. I’d follow a road into the relevant town and buy gas there, at a normal price.
I used a library’s bathroom. It was afternoon. Coming out of the bathroom, I saw several high school girls sitting at a table. One of them, about 15 years old, was gorgeous. I dashed back into the bathroom and jerked off to my mental image of her. ( Actually, I didn’t; but Playboy offered poor pickings that month. Miss July 1984, Liz Stewart, could only be adored by a fag like Patrick Stewart. )
I’ll tell you a secret about driving in Kansas. If you see a sign that says, “Your speed is being monitored by aircraft”, nobody is watching. Whenever I saw that sign, I hit the gas. I’m pleased to say that I got across Kansas in a timely manner.
Travelling west, I looked for motels that offered the Playboy Channel. This would be stated on a sign outside the motel. Such a sign would read, “Free HBO, Playboy.” I recall staying up late in a motel, watching the Playboy Channel. I was holding my dick with great hope. Sadly, nothing good came on the Playboy Channel.
I saw little of the next female that I encountered. I wound up racing across the Nevada desert against her. I must have passed her in my car. I was polite, but she decided to pass me in turn. Soon, we were racing along the highway.
At one point, I ran my car off the road. Fortunately, Nevada is a desert. I shot off the road and travelled for some distance across gravel-like sand. I turned around in the sand, and drove back onto the highway.
This brings up a point for those who choose to speed. If a sign says, “Speed Limit 55, 55 Saves Lives”, ignore it. That’s simply a government regulation. However, there is another kind of sign. It’s an advisory sign. The sign that I ignored advised me that a curve was ahead, in the road. The sign told me to slow to a certain speed. I should have followed this sign’s advice. I didn’t, and ran my car off the road.
Probably, I wasn’t wearing my seatbelt. Please wear your seatbelt. I once saw a film called, “Room to Live”. The point of the film was this: you can speed, and wreck your car. However, if you wreck your car, there’s room in your car for you to survive the accident. Unless, that is, you’re not wearing your seatbelt. Then, an accident will hurl you through your car’s front windshield. You’ll land outside of your car. If your car is still moving, it will run over you.
Some years ago, I did an experiment. While driving, I didn’t speed. To my amazement, I arrived at my destination only about 10 minutes later than if I’d sped. So, speeding doesn’t save you much time. These days, I plod along at the speed limit.
But back to my race in Nevada! The girl and I passed many drivers. I guess someone called the police. Much of Nevada is uninhabited. So, the police weren’t going to hit the road in pursuit of two speeding fools.
Driving at high speed, I came upon the outskirts of a town. I saw flashing lights in the distance. I immediately realized what was up. The police had set up a roadblock. I was driving a big red station wagon. ( Someone later likened it to the car in the 1983 film “Vacation”. ) My red station wagon wasn’t going to slip by the cops.
I decided to do a U-turn. I failed to slow my speed much. I also failed to note what the center of the highway consisted of. It turned out to be a big concrete ditch, that was shaped like a “v”. My station wagon plowed down into the ditch. Fortunately, I came up the other side of the ditch. I rejoined the highway. However, by now my car’s speed had slowed. I was joining traffic in the fast lane at a slow speed. Luckily, I didn’t get hit by an oncoming car.
I got off the highway. I stopped and bought gas. This Nevada town had a simple street plan. I followed the highway at street level until I was past the police roadblock. Then I rejoined the highway.
I saw the girl that I’d been racing. She was driving in her car. I glimpsed her face. She had a chastened look. I guess she’d failed to note the police roadblock, and get off the highway in time. The cops must have chewed her out. ( While looking for me. )
I passed the girl. I had various household items inside of my car. For instance, on my car’s dashboard was a rotary-dial telephone. ( It was my phone; I was moving from Missouri to Hawaii. )
I grabbed a fresh roll of toilet paper. I chucked it out of my driver’s side window. It flew back at the girl’s car. That, of course, pissed her off. So our race was on again!
However, increasingly, we were encountering civilization. Little more happened in our race. Perhaps I outpaced her and left her behind.
Lots of people are lemmings. If you go to Reno, Nevada, as a “man”, you’re expected to gamble, drink alcohol, and hire prostitutes. I arrived in Reno, Nevada. I liked Reno. The hotel prices were cheap. I don’t drink. I’ve never dealt with prostitutes, and I don’t gamble. In Reno, I discovered the hotel “Circus Circus”. I didn’t stay there. ( Another place was cheaper. ) But I spent a whole day at “Circus Circus”. Its amusement floor, akin to a carnival, was loaded with little girls.
I was obliged to look like I belonged in the place. So, I played the various games. It was here that I learned how to play “Whack A Mole”. I won a bunch of stuffed animals.
My journey wasn’t over. I reluctantly left Reno. Soon, I was at the border of California. Unlike most states, California inspects incoming cars. A policewoman inspected my car.
“You have a lot of stuffed animals in your car!” she told me. I explained that I’d won them at “Circus Circus”. I think she was worried that I was trying to smuggle narcotics inside of stuffed animals.
I arrived in San Francisco. Knowing nothing, I was supposed to somehow get my car aboard a Navy ship. I was standing somewhere when a black man drove up in a car. He said he was a cab driver. However, there was no meter in his “cab”. He told me to follow him in my car to the Navy shipyard. I did.
“I’ll take it from here,” he told me. Naively, I agreed. I had the man pick me up at my hotel the next day and take me to the airport.
Amazingly, my car arrived some weeks later, as it was scheduled to, in Hawaii. I picked it up at a Navy base. There was a lot of sand in my car. It wasn’t from me; I guess the black man had taken his family to the beach a few times in my car. Nonetheless, he did get my car on the ship.
I got lucky. The “cab” driver was honest. However, if you find yourself in my shoes, make sure you do all that’s required. Do it yourself. Probably, you won’t be given enough information on how to do what needs to be done. Nonetheless, keep plugging away until you’ve done what’s needed. Make sure that you allow yourself enough time to complete your tasks.
I don’t recall seeing any cute little girls on my flight back to Hawaii. In storage, I still have all the stuffed animals from “Circus Circus”. Hopefully, someday I’ll meet a little girl who likes them!
If anyone needs me to “put weather” into nuclear missiles, I can now hit the numbers on a keyboard pretty well.
CHILD BRIDE PETRONILLA
Biologist Stephen Jay Gould warned that humans are not on an ever-upward path of evolutionary improvement. My investigations bear this out. Men, in particular, were more enlightened in the 12th century.
Petronilla was born in 1136. She must have been a hot chick, because she became betrothed at age 1. In fact, she’d only recently turned 1 when she became betrothed.
Petronilla’s future husband was 23 years older than she. He was the Count of Barcelona, Raymond Berengar IV. History records Raymond’s decision for choosing Petronilla.
“Guys are always complaining,” Raymond said. “A guy will tell me, ‘Raymond, my girlfriend talks too much!’” Raymond smiled. “My girlfriend is 1 year old. She doesn’t talk.”
Sadly, Raymond wasn’t a perfect boyfriend. He lacked virility. Raymond dicked around about getting it on with Petronilla until she was 14 years old. Then, her betrothal to him was ratified at a wedding ceremony held in the city of Lleida. Still, Raymond couldn’t get it up. Petronilla finally consummated her marriage to Raymond when she reached the age of 15.
Today, Petronilla is known as the queen of Aragon.
Source: en ( dot ) wikipedia ( dot ) org.
THE VERDICT ON ZUCKERBERG
“Fuck Mark Zuckerberg ... as well as the general silicon valley technocracy that is slowly beginning to take over control of our lives. ... I have decided that Facebook is not getting another fucking dime out of my pocketbook, and never will again.”
- Neil Eckart, War And Conquest, April 4, 2021. Episode 10.10. A podcast.
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Copyright 2021 by Andrew L. Roller. ET, Editorial Thunder, and ARSE, Andrew Roller Stories and Essays, are trademarks of Andrew L. Roller.
I am https://andrewroller.wordpress.com
Earlier posts by me are at https://asstr.org/files/Authors/Roller/
I’m on paper at: https://www.abebooks.com > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
and https://www.abebooks.co.uk > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
If you visit an “AbeBooks” website, you’ll be presented with a large square “Search” box. In the box labelled “Author”, type in “Andrew Roller”. In the box labelled “Title”, type in “Andrew Roller Presents”. This will bring up some of my pamphlets. I have not yet figured out how to bring up other pamphlets by me, under other titles. I don’t recall all the titles I published under.
I have no financial involvement in these resale items.
I am on You Tube as “Andrew Roller”. Use You Tube’s magnifying glass icon to search for “Andrew Roller”. That will take you to my You Tube channel. Or, on You Tube, tap my sun icon, if you see it. That will also take you to my You Tube channel. There, you can see songs and films that I like.
At the “home page” of my You Tube channel, you’ll see just a selection of playlists that I created. To see all my playlists, tap on the phrase, “Created playlists”.
The World Wide Web address for my You Tube channel is:
https://www.youtube.com/andrewroller
If you click on this link, you’ll be taken to a World Wide Web You Tube page. Here, You Tube displays a cartoon image of a monkey. The page says, “This page isn’t available. Sorry about that. Try searching for something else.”
My advice: on this page, search for “andrew roller”. By doing so, you’ll get to my World Wide Web You Tube channel. However, I have over 100 Playlists, that I created, at my You Tube app channel. The World Wide Web version of You Tube will only serve you 15 of my Playlists.
( Hence, access You Tube via its app. The You Tube app, like the WordPress app, is available for free at the Apple App Store. )
This is ET, Editorial Thunder, issue number 70
Arcana: This is ET, Editorial Thunder, issue number 70, version 16.0
Date Written: April 12, 2021. Live for the day that censorious Big Tech is dead.
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This has been a presentation of A R S E news.
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ET 70
Editorial Thunder presents...
Girls, Cars, and Armageddon
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Plus: Betrothed at age 1.
And: The verdict on Zuckerberg.
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GIRLS, CARS, AND ARMAGEDDON
by Andrew Roller
A “Technical Order ( T.O. )” is a loose-leaf binder that contains many pages. In missile school, a T.O. details equipment, and procedures, for launching nuclear missiles. A perennial joke in missile school ends with the line, “He was sitting on his T.O.”
George Orwell’s book, “1984”, was written in 1948. So you won’t find out about 1984 by reading it. Today, I’ll tell you about the real 1984, as I experienced it. I’ll be discussing fast cars, little girls, and the end of the world.
In 1983, I went into the United States Air Farce. They sent me to missile school. If I graduated, I would be a “missile launch officer”. My job would be to kill the parents of the gorgeous girls that I now adore on You Tube. I say this because, at the time, America’s prime enemy was the Soviet Union, now known ( once more ) as Russia. The Soviet Union encompassed more territory than Russia does today. ( For instance, the Soviet Union included Ukraine, home of Dana Taranova. ) I would be killing people in places like the Soviet Union with intercontinental ballistic missiles ( ICBMs ), armed with nuclear warheads.
If I didn’t graduate from missile school, I would be “out of the Air Farce”, according to the Air Farce. Two teachers taught the missile weapons system class. Of course, I got the shit teacher. He was a nice guy, but nothing compared to the teacher next door.
Fortunately, we had a second class. It was the “top secret” class. I had a great teacher for that class. He wrote the book that we used.
Despite my bookish nature, I’m not a very good student. That is, I do poorly in a scholastic environment where one is told what to study. I would have done poorly in the “top secret” class. However, I admired my teacher. I figured, if he was willing to write a book on the subject, I’d read it, and do all the homework exercises. The book couldn’t be taken out of the “top secret” location where it was housed. So, nightly, I’d go there and work with the book.
Amazingly, I flunked the final exam in my “top secret” class. I recall retaking the exam. If I’d failed it again, I’d have been out of the Air Farce. I passed.
I did poorly on a number of exams in my weapons system class.
The exam that really mattered was a “ride” in a missile Launch Control Capsule ( LCC ). An LCC contains equipment for launching nuclear missiles. It also contains communications equipment, and such items as a bed and a toilet. As this was a school, the LCC was simply a room in the “top secret” building. The top score that one could get on a “ride” was a 5.0. Given my poor performance in my weapons system and “top secret” classes, you might wonder how I, and my crewmate, each got a 5.0.
Here’s how I got a top score:
1. My T.O. had a photo of each piece of equipment in the LCC. I bought large sheets of white paper. On these, I drew each piece of equipment. Then, I hung these on the walls of my bedroom.
One day, the school’s commander inspected my bedroom. I heard, secondhand, that he was pleased with my drawings. However, I was ordered to take them off the walls. An officer’s bedroom was supposed to look like he never used it. I guess it’s best that I hadn’t put Playboy centerfolds on my walls, or photos of Brooke Shields as an 11-year-old prostitute in the film “Pretty Baby”.
2. I bought a rubber ball. Bouncing my rubber ball in a hallway, I memorized the table of contents of my T.O. I learned it backwards and forwards.
In a “ride”, in the school’s LCC, events occur. You, as a missile launch officer, must respond to these. Here are the problems that you’ll face.
A. Where the hell is a particular piece of equipment? I had no problem with this. Having drawn every piece of equipment, I knew where everything was.
B. What the hell do I do with this piece of equipment? Well, you find the appropriate checklist to follow in your T.O. Which raises the question:
C. Where the hell in my T.O. is the checklist for this piece of equipment? I had memorized my T.O.’s table of contents. So I could immediately go in my T.O. to the correct checklist.
In summary, to graduate from missile school, you need to do two things:
1. Draw every piece of equipment.
2. Memorize the table of contents in your T.O.
Also, pay attention in class. If you don’t understand something, ask. Often, my fellow students became annoyed with my questions. This happened as the school day wore on. A number of my fellow students were married. They wanted to go home and fuck their wives. I could only look forward to masturbating; with one or no copy of Playboy. So, I asked my questions.
Do all the reading and exercises in your “top secret” class.
As a graduate of missile school, I was assigned to the storied “Strategic Air Command”. ( Or SAC, as in ball sac. ) In my opinion, this is a much better name than the current one of “Global Strike Command”. That sounds like a bunch of commies going on strike.
I was assigned to Whiteman Air Farce Base, in Missouri. The nearest community of note is Warrensburg. A female realtor tried to sell me a home in Warrensburg. She assured me that I’d like the home, as an Air Farce officer, since,
“All the girls from the junior high and high school walk down this street!” ( In front of the home. ) Times were different then. ( My sole goal in life is to return America to those traditional values! )
I wound up living in a motel along Interstate Highway 50. Much sooner than I expected, I’d be travelling west on that highway, “out of the Air Farce”.
At Whiteman, I was in the 508th Strategic Missile Squadron. Our commander was Colonel Hood. He had a cute 11-year-old daughter.
Our missiles weren’t on the base itself. They were scattered across farmers’ fields. A crew of two men was assigned to an LCC. ( No women were allowed. ) My commander on such a crew was a Captain or a First Lieutenant. I was a Second Lieutenant.
My crew commander and I would drive from Whiteman out to an LCC. Enlisted guys lived in a house aboveground. My commander and I would enter the house. There, we’d board an elevator. This would take us down to a basement.
On one side of the basement was a room with mundane equipment. On the other side of the basement was the LCC itself. The LCC was behind a blast door. It was a big round door similar to one that a bank uses for its vault.
The LCC wasn’t simply a room. It was akin to an egg sitting inside a larger room. Our “egg” was mounted on springs. I and my commander worked, slept, and ate inside the “egg”. We stayed there for 24 hours. ( I never got any sleep inside an LCC, but my commander slept soundly. )
In the 1950s, America designed and built much of its nuclear infrastructure, including its LCCs. At the time, it was thought that I, for instance, could “ride out” a nuclear war inside my “egg”. ( Hence, my “egg” was mounted on springs. ) By 1984, nuclear weapons had become more powerful. The idea of “riding out” a nuclear war in an LCC was considered obsolete.
We had an escape hatch. It was full of sand. That sand, having sat for decades in a chute that led from our egg to the earth’s surface, was probably solidly packed. I doubt it would have whooshed out to let me crawl up the chute. Also, it was said that a near miss by a nuclear missile would turn the sand in the chute to glass. So, in my egg, I’d have had to chip away glass, up a long chute, to escape to earth’s ( radioactive ) surface.
In the film “Twilight’s Last Gleaming”, the missileers are depicted as taking an elevator deep underground. This is ridiculous. When the military wants to build something deep, they don’t dig down, they dig sideways. So, a place like the North American Aerospace Defense Command ( NORAD ) is built into the side of a mountain. It’s only deep underground because there’s a lot of mountain above it. But nobody dug down from the top of the mountain.
Our LCC was in a farmer’s field. Yes, the military dug down in the field. But if you think they dug down, say, a mile, forget it. I will say that our elevator was very slow. So we had the illusion of going deep.
I wasn’t assigned to a particular LCC. In my brief time as a missileer, I occupied various LCCs.
“Where’s my T.O.?” My commander shouted one day. This happened in our LCC. I looked toward my commander. He was, as usual, sitting in his chair at his command console. ( From which nuclear missiles are launched. ) He was frantically searching through various items. I saw his T.O. “You’re sitting on it,” I told him. The poor man was, indeed, sitting on his T.O. as he tried to find it.
In the LCC, there was a maintenance poster. It read as follows:
1. Problem:
2. Interim solution:
3. Final solution:
You could write, in grease pen, on this poster about a problem. My wit couldn’t resist this poster. I wrote on it as follows:
1. Problem: Soviet nuclear missiles pointed at our missiles.
2. Interim solution: Our nuclear missiles pointed at the Soviets’ missiles.
3. Final solution: Total nuclear disarmament.
( I used the technical names of the missiles involved, which I now forget. )
Occasionally, we were visited by a maintenance crew. When our LCC received a “top secret” order, the crew had to turn around and face the wall. Doing so, they wound up reading my writing on the maintenance poster. So, instead of being humiliated, by having to face the wall, they had a good laugh.
For whatever reason, we had stickers in the LCC that read, “top secret”. One day, I put one on my forehead. ( The contents of my brain were, at the time, “top secret”. )
At some point, it dawned on me that I might not be in the Air Farce much longer. In the LCC, I had access to classified material. We were permitted to read this material at our leisure. I decided that, if I was ever going to read such material, now was the time. I can report the following:
1. Material labelled “secret” is equivalent to what you’ll read in any issue of The Economist magazine.
2. Material labelled “top secret” is specific to various weapons systems. For instance, in missile school, a fellow student discovered the phone number for the airplane known as “Looking Glass”. He found this in a “top secret” document. “Looking Glass” was an airplane. It circled above the United States. It did so in the hope that it would survive a nuclear war, and direct the U.S.’s ensuing war effort.
A plane designated as “Looking Glass” was always in the air over the U.S. This practice, now discontinued, lasted throughout the Cold War. ( The “Cold War” was a nuclear standoff between the U.S. and the Soviet Union. The term “Cold War” is now part of history. However, the nuclear standoff between the U.S. and Russia continues. )
“I’m going to call up General Watkins on Looking Glass!” my fellow student boasted. He didn’t, but it would have been fun. I’d have liked to know what General Watkins thought of Brooke Shields in “Pretty Baby”.
As for myself, I got nothing from reading “top secret” material. None of it made any sense to me.
In our LCC, we didn’t have a Library of Congress of “secret” and “top secret” material. We mostly had what was thought to be useful to missileers. However, the “secret” material was pleasantly wide-ranging. I recall seeing photos of Nicaragua in a “secret” document.
An LCC is never left unattended. A crew of two men is always present. When one crew is relieved, another crew takes its place.
In the LCC, there is a sacred box. It’s where the nuclear crown jewels are kept. ( Codes permitting a nuclear launch. ) I had a common padlock. When I arrived at the LCC, my job was to put my padlock on the box, to keep it locked. ( A prior crewman would remove his padlock; my padlock would replace his. My commander would do the same; replacing a prior commander’s padlock with his own. )
My padlock was a combination lock. The default combination was “all balls”; that is, all zeros. Like everyone else, I was told the following:
“Do not leave your padlock on ‘all balls’. Put in a combination.”
I am a clever person. I considered the matter as follows:
“It’s my padlock. It’s my combination. No one is ever going to find out what my combination is. Therefore, I’m just going to leave my combination on ‘all balls’.”
One day, our crew was being relieved by a new crew in the LCC. My commander was in a hurry to get into the box. He said to me,
“Quick, Roller. Tell me your combination.” I had no choice in the matter. So, I whispered to him,
“All balls.”
He exploded.
“All balls?! You were told to put a combination into your lock.”
I had an explanation.
“I figured no one, trying to break into my lock, would realize that I’d left my lock on ‘all balls’”, I said. ( This was before the era of computers and passwords. ) My commander accepted my explanation. However, he soon passed me off to some other guy. He didn’t want me as his subordinate anymore.
We had to “put weather” into the missiles. This was accomplished by typing numbers on a standard keyboard. I took typing in eighth grade. However, I lazily failed to learn how to type numbers.
I decided to train myself on how to type numbers while “putting weather” into the missiles. Poor at this, I made a mess. I repeatedly put “bad weather” into the missiles. This was being monitored, live, by other LCCs. They complained, by phone, to my commander:
“Roller is putting bad weather into our missiles!” ( We all, potentially, had control over each other’s missiles. I was assigned 50 missiles, but could control up to 150 of them. )
( I’m using the term ‘missile’ loosely here. By ‘missile’, I actually mean ‘warhead’. A single missile held three warheads. Each warhead could strike a different location. )
My commander told me to use two-fingered typing to put in the weather. ( Not full-hand typing. ) So, finally, I did. I don’t recall being asked to put weather into the missiles too often after that.
By midnight, my commander was asleep. We had a T.V. in the LCC. The best show of the night was “All in the Family”. My parents had prohibited me from watching this show when I was younger. I was eager to see it.
Unfortunately, around 12:15 a.m., the Air Farce always staged a big exercise. My commander didn’t have to wake up for it. I was the responsible party. I’d like to say I was on my toes regarding this exercise. However, it’s more likely that I dealt with it at 12:30 a.m., when “All in the Family” was over. I’m glad that the U.S. didn’t decide to kill all the lovely Slavic girls during “All in the Family”.
In the Air Farce, I was diagnosed with “kidney disease”. I guess I’ve infected about a thousand people by now.
Actually, my “kidney disease” is congenital, not contagious. My immune system decided, in 1984, that my kidneys were an enemy organism. My immune system attacked and killed my kidneys. I have suffered much from this since.
Having kidney disease, I was retired out of the Air Farce. This happened in late May of 1984. I was being sent “home”, that is, back to my parents, who were in Hawaii. I was in the middle of Missouri with a car. I had to drive my car to the West Coast, put it on a ship, and then fly to Hawaii.
I suppose I should have described Warrensburg, Missouri. It’s in the middle of nowhere. The only structure of note, in 1984, was a new Walmart, built alongside Highway 50. My last memory of Warrensburg is of a beautiful 8-year-old blonde sitting alone in the lobby of Walmart. I wish I could have invited her to come with me.
I next saw a girl in Kansas. Any gas station along the highway sells gas at an inflated price. Usually, a town is nearby. I’d follow a road into the relevant town and buy gas there, at a normal price.
I used a library’s bathroom. It was afternoon. Coming out of the bathroom, I saw several high school girls sitting at a table. One of them, about 15 years old, was gorgeous. I dashed back into the bathroom and jerked off to my mental image of her. ( Actually, I didn’t; but Playboy offered poor pickings that month. Miss July 1984, Liz Stewart, could only be adored by a fag like Patrick Stewart. )
I’ll tell you a secret about driving in Kansas. If you see a sign that says, “Your speed is being monitored by aircraft”, nobody is watching. Whenever I saw that sign, I hit the gas. I’m pleased to say that I got across Kansas in a timely manner.
Travelling west, I looked for motels that offered the Playboy Channel. This would be stated on a sign outside the motel. Such a sign would read, “Free HBO, Playboy.” I recall staying up late in a motel, watching the Playboy Channel. I was holding my dick with great hope. Sadly, nothing good came on the Playboy Channel.
I saw little of the next female that I encountered. I wound up racing across the Nevada desert against her. I must have passed her in my car. I was polite, but she decided to pass me in turn. Soon, we were racing along the highway.
At one point, I ran my car off the road. Fortunately, Nevada is a desert. I shot off the road and travelled for some distance across gravel-like sand. I turned around in the sand, and drove back onto the highway.
This brings up a point for those who choose to speed. If a sign says, “Speed Limit 55, 55 Saves Lives”, ignore it. That’s simply a government regulation. However, there is another kind of sign. It’s an advisory sign. The sign that I ignored advised me that a curve was ahead, in the road. The sign told me to slow to a certain speed. I should have followed this sign’s advice. I didn’t, and ran my car off the road.
Probably, I wasn’t wearing my seatbelt. Please wear your seatbelt. I once saw a film called, “Room to Live”. The point of the film was this: you can speed, and wreck your car. However, if you wreck your car, there’s room in your car for you to survive the accident. Unless, that is, you’re not wearing your seatbelt. Then, an accident will hurl you through your car’s front windshield. You’ll land outside of your car. If your car is still moving, it will run over you.
Some years ago, I did an experiment. While driving, I didn’t speed. To my amazement, I arrived at my destination only about 10 minutes later than if I’d sped. So, speeding doesn’t save you much time. These days, I plod along at the speed limit.
But back to my race in Nevada! The girl and I passed many drivers. I guess someone called the police. Much of Nevada is uninhabited. So, the police weren’t going to hit the road in pursuit of two speeding fools.
Driving at high speed, I came upon the outskirts of a town. I saw flashing lights in the distance. I immediately realized what was up. The police had set up a roadblock. I was driving a big red station wagon. ( Someone later likened it to the car in the 1983 film “Vacation”. ) My red station wagon wasn’t going to slip by the cops.
I decided to do a U-turn. I failed to slow my speed much. I also failed to note what the center of the highway consisted of. It turned out to be a big concrete ditch, that was shaped like a “v”. My station wagon plowed down into the ditch. Fortunately, I came up the other side of the ditch. I rejoined the highway. However, by now my car’s speed had slowed. I was joining traffic in the fast lane at a slow speed. Luckily, I didn’t get hit by an oncoming car.
I got off the highway. I stopped and bought gas. This Nevada town had a simple street plan. I followed the highway at street level until I was past the police roadblock. Then I rejoined the highway.
I saw the girl that I’d been racing. She was driving in her car. I glimpsed her face. She had a chastened look. I guess she’d failed to note the police roadblock, and get off the highway in time. The cops must have chewed her out. ( While looking for me. )
I passed the girl. I had various household items inside of my car. For instance, on my car’s dashboard was a rotary-dial telephone. ( It was my phone; I was moving from Missouri to Hawaii. )
I grabbed a fresh roll of toilet paper. I chucked it out of my driver’s side window. It flew back at the girl’s car. That, of course, pissed her off. So our race was on again!
However, increasingly, we were encountering civilization. Little more happened in our race. Perhaps I outpaced her and left her behind.
Lots of people are lemmings. If you go to Reno, Nevada, as a “man”, you’re expected to gamble, drink alcohol, and hire prostitutes. I arrived in Reno, Nevada. I liked Reno. The hotel prices were cheap. I don’t drink. I’ve never dealt with prostitutes, and I don’t gamble. In Reno, I discovered the hotel “Circus Circus”. I didn’t stay there. ( Another place was cheaper. ) But I spent a whole day at “Circus Circus”. Its amusement floor, akin to a carnival, was loaded with little girls.
I was obliged to look like I belonged in the place. So, I played the various games. It was here that I learned how to play “Whack A Mole”. I won a bunch of stuffed animals.
My journey wasn’t over. I reluctantly left Reno. Soon, I was at the border of California. Unlike most states, California inspects incoming cars. A policewoman inspected my car.
“You have a lot of stuffed animals in your car!” she told me. I explained that I’d won them at “Circus Circus”. I think she was worried that I was trying to smuggle narcotics inside of stuffed animals.
I arrived in San Francisco. Knowing nothing, I was supposed to somehow get my car aboard a Navy ship. I was standing somewhere when a black man drove up in a car. He said he was a cab driver. However, there was no meter in his “cab”. He told me to follow him in my car to the Navy shipyard. I did.
“I’ll take it from here,” he told me. Naively, I agreed. I had the man pick me up at my hotel the next day and take me to the airport.
Amazingly, my car arrived some weeks later, as it was scheduled to, in Hawaii. I picked it up at a Navy base. There was a lot of sand in my car. It wasn’t from me; I guess the black man had taken his family to the beach a few times in my car. Nonetheless, he did get my car on the ship.
I got lucky. The “cab” driver was honest. However, if you find yourself in my shoes, make sure you do all that’s required. Do it yourself. Probably, you won’t be given enough information on how to do what needs to be done. Nonetheless, keep plugging away until you’ve done what’s needed. Make sure that you allow yourself enough time to complete your tasks.
I don’t recall seeing any cute little girls on my flight back to Hawaii. In storage, I still have all the stuffed animals from “Circus Circus”. Hopefully, someday I’ll meet a little girl who likes them!
If anyone needs me to “put weather” into nuclear missiles, I can now hit the numbers on a keyboard pretty well.
CHILD BRIDE PETRONILLA
Biologist Stephen Jay Gould warned that humans are not on an ever-upward path of evolutionary improvement. My investigations bear this out. Men, in particular, were more enlightened in the 12th century.
Petronilla was born in 1136. She must have been a hot chick, because she became betrothed at age 1. In fact, she’d only recently turned 1 when she became betrothed.
Petronilla’s future husband was 23 years older than she. He was the Count of Barcelona, Raymond Berengar IV. History records Raymond’s decision for choosing Petronilla.
“Guys are always complaining,” Raymond said. “A guy will tell me, ‘Raymond, my girlfriend talks too much!’” Raymond smiled. “My girlfriend is 1 year old. She doesn’t talk.”
Sadly, Raymond wasn’t a perfect boyfriend. He lacked virility. Raymond dicked around about getting it on with Petronilla until she was 14 years old. Then, her betrothal to him was ratified at a wedding ceremony held in the city of Lleida. Still, Raymond couldn’t get it up. Petronilla finally consummated her marriage to Raymond when she reached the age of 15.
Today, Petronilla is known as the queen of Aragon.
Source: en ( dot ) wikipedia ( dot ) org.
THE VERDICT ON ZUCKERBERG
“Fuck Mark Zuckerberg ... as well as the general silicon valley technocracy that is slowly beginning to take over control of our lives. ... I have decided that Facebook is not getting another fucking dime out of my pocketbook, and never will again.”
- Neil Eckart, War And Conquest, April 4, 2021. Episode 10.10. A podcast.
——————————————————————————————————————————
Copyright 2021 by Andrew L. Roller. ET, Editorial Thunder, and ARSE, Andrew Roller Stories and Essays, are trademarks of Andrew L. Roller.
I am https://andrewroller.wordpress.com
Earlier posts by me are at https://asstr.org/files/Authors/Roller/
I’m on paper at: https://www.abebooks.com > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
and https://www.abebooks.co.uk > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
If you visit an “AbeBooks” website, you’ll be presented with a large square “Search” box. In the box labelled “Author”, type in “Andrew Roller”. In the box labelled “Title”, type in “Andrew Roller Presents”. This will bring up some of my pamphlets. I have not yet figured out how to bring up other pamphlets by me, under other titles. I don’t recall all the titles I published under.
I have no financial involvement in these resale items.
I am on You Tube as “Andrew Roller”. Use You Tube’s magnifying glass icon to search for “Andrew Roller”. That will take you to my You Tube channel. Or, on You Tube, tap my sun icon, if you see it. That will also take you to my You Tube channel. There, you can see songs and films that I like.
At the “home page” of my You Tube channel, you’ll see just a selection of playlists that I created. To see all my playlists, tap on the phrase, “Created playlists”.
The World Wide Web address for my You Tube channel is:
https://www.youtube.com/andrewroller
If you click on this link, you’ll be taken to a World Wide Web You Tube page. Here, You Tube displays a cartoon image of a monkey. The page says, “This page isn’t available. Sorry about that. Try searching for something else.”
My advice: on this page, search for “andrew roller”. By doing so, you’ll get to my World Wide Web You Tube channel. However, I have over 100 Playlists, that I created, at my You Tube app channel. The World Wide Web version of You Tube will only serve you 15 of my Playlists.
( Hence, access You Tube via its app. The You Tube app, like the WordPress app, is available for free at the Apple App Store. )
This is ET, Editorial Thunder, issue number 70
Arcana: This is ET, Editorial Thunder, issue number 70, version 16.0
Date Written: April 12, 2021. Live for the day that censorious Big Tech is dead.
——————————————————————————————————————————
This has been a presentation of A R S E news.
——————————————————————————————————————————
What Sort of Jerkoff Reads Playboy?
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ET 69
Editorial Thunder presents...
What Sort of Jerkoff Reads Playboy?
——————————————————————————————————————————
Plus: Betrothed at age 8.
And: The latest from God.
——————————————————————————————————————————
What Sort of Jerkoff Reads Playboy?
by Andrew Roller
Kids today have it easy. Unlike my father, I don’t begrudge modern children their effortless lives. I’m not jealous of how easy it is for young men to answer The Call.
I’m not speaking of The Call that a future pastor receives, from God. Rather, I’m speaking of The Call that a jerkoff gets, from Eve. Or, rather, from photos of Eve, as portrayed in magazines like Playboy.
Today’s jerkoff can get free porn instantly, on his phone. In my day, that wasn’t the case. A phone was a rotary-dialed object in your parents’ home. For the average boy, porn was confined to a magazine in a store, watched over by a prudish cashier.
Come with me ( ahem! ) to the 1970s. I realize this topic is likely of no interest to you. However, as you’re reading this, probably by accident, you might humor me.
I got my hands on my first Playboy when I was 16 years old. This was in the basement of Hawaii’s legislature building. I was too scared to buy Playboy. This despite the fact that the saleswoman was blind. I had Gary buy Playboy for me. We were classmates, on a school field trip.
The Playmate in my first Playboy was Miss April 1977, Lisa Sohm. She greatly impressed me. Lisa has big tits and a perfect ass. Lisa can be seen lying nude, and spread-legged, in what appears to be a baby’s crib. This sold me on Playboy as the world’s premiere porn magazine.
Which meant that I had a problem. I couldn’t subscribe to Playboy. Our family was in a transient state at the time. Our mailbox was that of a church: Pearl Harbor Lutheran Church. The mailbox was many miles from where we lived. My father, the church’s pastor, picked up our mail.
Playboy was a thick magazine, exceeding 400 pages. I had a nosy younger brother. We slept in separate single beds, but in the same small room. This made it difficult for me to buy Playboy on a monthly basis.
Worse, Playboy was an expensive magazine. I didn’t have lots of money, and the cost of an issue of Playboy was $2.60.
Finally, Playboy was in its heyday. Many great issues of Playboy had already come and gone.
I’ll spare you the later story of my brother finding my Playboys, and my exposure, in our family, as a jerkoff.
Here’s another hazard of that era. The first time I looked at Lisa, I was kneeling on the floor by my bed. The Playboy was on my bed. I was worshipfully ogling Lisa. I guess it had been raining. Either that, or I was drooling. Water dripped from me onto Lisa! A magazine photo and water don’t go well together. So, no sooner had I gotten Lisa’s photos, than I ruined one of them.
I lived in the middle of Hawaii’s island of Oahu. No stores sold Playboy there. In my experience, as a high schooler, all the places that sold Playboy were downtown. That is, they were in that bastion of sin, Honolulu. That was many miles from where I lived. Fortunately, I was soon working and going to college in Honolulu. I took the bus there every day.
One of the places where I bought Playboy was in Woolworths department store. It was a big old building on Hotel Street, a place of porn theaters and transvestites. ( All the buses ran along Hotel Street. )
A sharp-eyed Asian woman minded the book and magazine section of Woolworths. The magazine rack was at a distance from her. However, it faced directly toward her. Anyone flipping through magazines had the woman’s eyes nailing his back. Given the woman’s suspicious attitude, I was tempted to outwit her.
In this era, Playboy wasn’t shrink-wrapped. Playboy was on a high shelf on the magazine rack. Standing on tiptoe, as Greg Gutfeld would, I pulled Playboy from it. I was holding my messily stuffed school binder horizontally. I laid the Playboy atop my binder. I flipped through the Playboy. I put the Playboy back on the magazine rack. I walked out of Woolworths, having bought nothing.
Except: lo and behold! A brand new Playboy was inside my school binder! Had the Lord blessed me? ( After all, our family mailbox belonged to a church. ) Actually, I had taken two Playboys from the magazine rack. I pulled both magazines in one motion. As I put one Playboy atop my binder, I slid the other one inside. However, despite outwitting the Asian woman, I was still scared of her. So I didn’t try that trick again.
My father’s church, at its height, had a bit over 100 parishioners. None of them frequented the business district of Honolulu. Nonetheless, I lived in constant terror of being seen with a Playboy by a member of my father’s church. This horrific event never happened. But it did haunt me, everywhere. I got a parking ticket at the Honolulu International Airport, as I agonized over where, among several locations, I should buy Playboy.
It was the act of purchasing a Playboy that held the greatest terror for me. I’d managed, once, to filch a Playboy. So I could get away with ogling it in stores. It was the public proclamation of myself as a jerkoff, buying Playboy, that quailed me for decades.
I spent endless time wandering from store to store, all over south-eastern Oahu, ogling Playboy. Often, I’d look, but refuse to buy.
( The stores were all ordinary ones. Oahu had porn theaters, but not porn bookstores. Porn theaters were beyond my reach; I didn’t have time to sit in one, and was young. In that era, 21 remained an age of consent to view a porn movie. )
There’s another reason I often refused to buy Playboy. Even then, it varied in quality. Not every issue featured an innocent, big-bosomed Playmate in a crib. I was cautious about spending money.
I had an entire month to buy an issue of Playboy. This prolonged my agony over a single issue for 30 days. Then, a new issue came out. The process repeated itself. In the 1970s, every copy of Playboy was superbly printed. It wasn’t until later decades that one had to search for an undamaged copy of Playboy. ( As the magazine declined, so did the quality of its printing process. )
A plethora of porn magazines were available in the 1970s. I recall an issue of International magazine. It horrified me, showing a skinny blonde’s bared gash of a cunt. I didn’t buy that issue of International. The memory still scares me. Playboy was the only magazine worth buying. And, sadly, one had to make do with that one Playboy for a whole month.
You might wonder what other magazines were available in the 1970s.
Penthouse. There was a problem with Penthouse. All its pages were dark. I guess its publisher, Bob Yuckione, didn’t want to pay for proper color processing. This problem with Penthouse persisted into the 1990s.
Hustler. It was garish, and remains so ( last I looked ). There is no variation in the lighting. The pin-up girl looks like a blowup doll, and that’s no compliment in this case. Also, Hustler is a gynecologist’s dream. I prefer fantasy and romance. ( Modern photographers do a fine job of combining explicitness with fantasy and romance. Hustler doesn’t. )
Oui. This was owned by Playboy’s publisher, Hugh Hefner. It was a sad stepchild, not worth anything.
International. At the time, this magazine was an independent publication. It was one of many such, all trying to cash in on the popularity of Playboy. None of them were worth a damn.
Mandate. I was shocked by this at a bookstore. Looking at various porn magazine covers, I saw one with a hairy man in black leather garb. He did not get a date with my dick.
Blueboy. I was intrigued by this magazine’s cover. Two lithe bare figures, their bottoms pointed at me, stood holding each other. Except: these were boys! ( Age 18 or older. ) These fellows also failed to get a date with my dick.
Cavalier, Gallery, et al. This was the shit end of the magazine market, in the 1970s. Gallery improved a bit in the 1990s. Cavalier was a leftover rag from another era. It ran stories by writers like Stephen King. Have you ever tried to masturbate to a story by Stephen King? I gave Cavalier and its ilk a wide berth.
( King was gone from Cavalier by the time I was haunting Honolulu, looking to ejaculate. However, I encountered Cavalier in earlier times. Then, I was haunting downtown Agana, in Guam, looking to ejaculate. )
In summary: I was able to get hold of one new Playboy a month. Its quality varied. Nothing else was worth unzipping for. So, my hunt began for back issues of Playboy.
When my family left Guam, I was forced to sell all of my comic books. However, I still liked comics. I happened upon a place in Honolulu called Aldamar Books. It sold back issues of comics and other publications. The owner was a tall White guy, with curly brown hair. ( Think of Greg Gutfeld with legs. ) Like many relatively young men in that era, he was a decade older than me. The Hippies had all the great things in life. I, born late, trailed after them, hoping for crumbs.
I rummaged about in Aldamar Books. I didn’t find much that I wanted. ( Given that my parents had excommunicated me from collecting comics. ) Then, I pried a great secret from the store’s owner. In a back room, that was locked, he had loads of Playboys. I persuaded him to let me, with too much sperm and adequate money, into his sacred temple of Playboys.
Every single Playboy was sealed in a plastic bag. The bag was folded across its top, and secured with a strip of tape. The owner soon found me taking the Playboys out of their bags. I was putting them back in their bags, after perusing them. Nonetheless, he was annoyed.
I guess he realized, by then, that I was a good customer. ( And frequent masturbator. ) He let me continue to remove and peruse the Playboys. I bought a lot of back issues of Playboy from him. But another obstacle awaited me. I had to take my Playboys home.
My nosy brother and censorious parents were there. By then, I no longer shared a bedroom with my brother. Nonetheless, trying to hide a pile of Playboys was like trying to hide a set of the Encyclopaedia Britannica. In my bedroom, I spent hours laboriously separating each issue of Playboy. I had to carefully cut each page from the next. I threw out interviews with world leaders and pop stars. I kept Playboy’s nudie pages. ( Including the nudie ads, or ones with girls. )
One such ad appeared often in Playboy. The version of the ad changed, over time. The ad read as follows: “What sort of man reads Playboy?” I was surprised not to see myself in the ad: short, wearing glasses, with my dick in my hand. Instead, the ad featured a tall handsome fag. Surrounded by girls, he showed no interest in them. Though the man and the girls varied, by ad, the fag always wore a fashionable suit, and posed by a limousine. He didn’t ride a crowded bus, even one in which he could grope women, to the back room of Aldamar Books.
I hope I’ve answered your question, which you probably never had: what sort of jerkoff reads Playboy?
THE GREAT 12th CENTURY!
If I do a podcast, it will be on child brides. Previously, I told of Cecile of France. When she was age 8, she married Tancred, the Prince of Galilee. He was age 31. This was in the year 1106.
I am listening to Carl Rylett’s podcast, “A History of Europe”. In episode 21.4, dated December 12, 2015, he mentions child bride Matilda.
Matilda was born in the year 1102. When she was 6 years old, the following happened:
“King Henry V of Germany was the Holy Roman Emperor. He sent envoys to Normandy proposing that Matilda marry him. He wrote separately to her mother on the same matter. The match was attractive to English King Henry I. His daughter would be marrying into one of the most prestigious dynasties in Europe.
As a new 8-year-old, Matilda left England to make her way to Germany. King Henry was age 24.
The couple met at Liege before travelling to Utrecht where they became officially betrothed. That year, Matilda was crowned German queen in a ceremony at Mainz.
After the betrothal Matilda was placed into the custody of Bruno, the archbishop of Trier. He was tasked with educating her in German culture, manners, and government.
At age 11, Matilda was ready to be married to Henry. Their wedding was held at the city of Worms amid extravagant celebrations. Matilda now entered public life in Germany, complete with her own household. Today, she is known as Empress Matilda.”
Source: en ( dot ) wikipedia ( dot ) org. I have improved the text for readability. No facts have been changed.
If you check my work, pay attention to months, as well as to years. Matilda married in January of the year 1114. She didn’t turn 12 until February of 1114.
I am again ignoring the journalistic convention of spelling out a youthful bride’s age. I am not doing this to shock prudes, and cause them to die from heart attacks.
AND IN THE END...
“Tradition is simply peer pressure from dead people.”
- Neil Eckart, War And Conquest, October 4, 2020. Episode 9.3.
ARCANA
1. I offer no defense for today’s Playboy. Reduced to a web site, it’s a ghastly experience. Only the dated photos of ancient Playmates save Playboy from the oblivion it deserves. ( Especially with its shady business practices that I experienced in 2019. )
2. Bob Yuckione is in fact Bob Guccione. He wasted his fortune in a quest for social approval, by funding such schemes as “cold fusion”. ( Nuclear power at room temperature. ) Guccione died penniless in a hostel. My Apple spell checker has no idea who he is.
3. Greg Gutfeld is a nightly guest on the Kat Timpf show, on the Fox News Channel. Note to Fox: when Katherine Timpf is speaking, KEEP THE CAMERA ON KAT! Do not switch to views of other guests.
Especially, do not switch to a view of Tyrus. I do not like jerking-off to Kat, only to wind up ejaculating over Tyrus. I will sue Fox for emotional distress if this happens again.
4. I besmirched Guam’s capital with my ejaculatory prowls there. Guam was forced to change the name of its capital from Agana to Hagatna.
5. Lying in bed, I got out a Playboy. I’d bought it at Aldamar Books. This meant that I’d bought it in a plastic bag. I flipped through the Playboy. Coming upon the centerfold, what did I find? Some jerkoff had jerked-off on it before me! He’d literally jerked-off on the centerfold.
I confronted the owner of Aldamar Books about his stains. He was guilty. However, as there was only one copy of this issue ( the one he’d jerked-off on ), I was obliged to keep it.
6. It was the early 1980s. Upset about being a jerkoff, I committed a great sin. I threw out all of my carefully curated issues of Playboy. I committed a still greater sin. I chucked the original, uncensored version of “The Brooke Book”. It features Brooke Shields, at age 11 and younger.
I am attempting to atone for my sins. I regularly worship a photo of Brooke, at age 10, that I found on the internet. It’s a photo of her that was unavailable to me in the 1970s. Brooke’s in a bathtub, her bottom bare. I worship her properly, with my own ass bare.
Salvation is possible, if you try, um, hard.
7. Natalie Porthole played “Mathilda”, at age 12, in the film “The Professional”. ( Now known by the less mellifluous title of “Leon: The Professional”. )
TODAY’S HEADLINE
God Cancels Earth.
——————————————————————————————————————————
Copyright 2021 by Andrew L. Roller. ET, Editorial Thunder, and ARSE, Andrew Roller Stories and Essays, are trademarks of Andrew L. Roller.
I am https://andrewroller.wordpress.com
Earlier posts by me are at https://asstr.org/files/Authors/Roller/
I’m on paper at: https://www.abebooks.com > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
and https://www.abebooks.co.uk > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
If you visit an “AbeBooks” website, you’ll be presented with a large square “Search” box. In the box labelled “Author”, type in “Andrew Roller”. In the box labelled “Title”, type in “Andrew Roller Presents”. This will bring up some of my pamphlets. I have not yet figured out how to bring up other pamphlets by me, under other titles. I don’t recall all the titles I published under.
I have no financial involvement in these resale items.
I am on You Tube as “Andrew Roller”. Use You Tube’s magnifying glass icon to search for “Andrew Roller”. That will take you to my You Tube channel. Or, on You Tube, tap my sun icon, if you see it. That will also take you to my You Tube channel. There, you can see songs and films that I like.
At the “home page” of my You Tube channel, you’ll see just a selection of playlists that I created. To see all my playlists, tap on the phrase, “Created playlists”.
The World Wide Web address for my You Tube channel is:
https://www.youtube.com/andrewroller
If you click on this link, you’ll be taken to a World Wide Web You Tube page. Here, You Tube displays a cartoon image of a monkey. The page says, “This page isn’t available. Sorry about that. Try searching for something else.”
My advice: on this page, search for “andrew roller”. By doing so, you’ll get to my World Wide Web You Tube channel. However, I have over 100 Playlists, that I created, at my You Tube app channel. The World Wide Web version of You Tube will only serve you 15 of my Playlists.
( Hence, access You Tube via its app. The You Tube app, like the WordPress app, is available for free at the Apple App Store. )
This is ET, Editorial Thunder, issue number 69
Arcana: This is ET, Editorial Thunder, issue number 69, version 11.0
Date Written: April 8, 2021. Live for the day that censorious Big Tech is dead.
——————————————————————————————————————————
This has been a presentation of A R S E news.
——————————————————————————————————————————
ET 69
Editorial Thunder presents...
What Sort of Jerkoff Reads Playboy?
——————————————————————————————————————————
Plus: Betrothed at age 8.
And: The latest from God.
——————————————————————————————————————————
What Sort of Jerkoff Reads Playboy?
by Andrew Roller
Kids today have it easy. Unlike my father, I don’t begrudge modern children their effortless lives. I’m not jealous of how easy it is for young men to answer The Call.
I’m not speaking of The Call that a future pastor receives, from God. Rather, I’m speaking of The Call that a jerkoff gets, from Eve. Or, rather, from photos of Eve, as portrayed in magazines like Playboy.
Today’s jerkoff can get free porn instantly, on his phone. In my day, that wasn’t the case. A phone was a rotary-dialed object in your parents’ home. For the average boy, porn was confined to a magazine in a store, watched over by a prudish cashier.
Come with me ( ahem! ) to the 1970s. I realize this topic is likely of no interest to you. However, as you’re reading this, probably by accident, you might humor me.
I got my hands on my first Playboy when I was 16 years old. This was in the basement of Hawaii’s legislature building. I was too scared to buy Playboy. This despite the fact that the saleswoman was blind. I had Gary buy Playboy for me. We were classmates, on a school field trip.
The Playmate in my first Playboy was Miss April 1977, Lisa Sohm. She greatly impressed me. Lisa has big tits and a perfect ass. Lisa can be seen lying nude, and spread-legged, in what appears to be a baby’s crib. This sold me on Playboy as the world’s premiere porn magazine.
Which meant that I had a problem. I couldn’t subscribe to Playboy. Our family was in a transient state at the time. Our mailbox was that of a church: Pearl Harbor Lutheran Church. The mailbox was many miles from where we lived. My father, the church’s pastor, picked up our mail.
Playboy was a thick magazine, exceeding 400 pages. I had a nosy younger brother. We slept in separate single beds, but in the same small room. This made it difficult for me to buy Playboy on a monthly basis.
Worse, Playboy was an expensive magazine. I didn’t have lots of money, and the cost of an issue of Playboy was $2.60.
Finally, Playboy was in its heyday. Many great issues of Playboy had already come and gone.
I’ll spare you the later story of my brother finding my Playboys, and my exposure, in our family, as a jerkoff.
Here’s another hazard of that era. The first time I looked at Lisa, I was kneeling on the floor by my bed. The Playboy was on my bed. I was worshipfully ogling Lisa. I guess it had been raining. Either that, or I was drooling. Water dripped from me onto Lisa! A magazine photo and water don’t go well together. So, no sooner had I gotten Lisa’s photos, than I ruined one of them.
I lived in the middle of Hawaii’s island of Oahu. No stores sold Playboy there. In my experience, as a high schooler, all the places that sold Playboy were downtown. That is, they were in that bastion of sin, Honolulu. That was many miles from where I lived. Fortunately, I was soon working and going to college in Honolulu. I took the bus there every day.
One of the places where I bought Playboy was in Woolworths department store. It was a big old building on Hotel Street, a place of porn theaters and transvestites. ( All the buses ran along Hotel Street. )
A sharp-eyed Asian woman minded the book and magazine section of Woolworths. The magazine rack was at a distance from her. However, it faced directly toward her. Anyone flipping through magazines had the woman’s eyes nailing his back. Given the woman’s suspicious attitude, I was tempted to outwit her.
In this era, Playboy wasn’t shrink-wrapped. Playboy was on a high shelf on the magazine rack. Standing on tiptoe, as Greg Gutfeld would, I pulled Playboy from it. I was holding my messily stuffed school binder horizontally. I laid the Playboy atop my binder. I flipped through the Playboy. I put the Playboy back on the magazine rack. I walked out of Woolworths, having bought nothing.
Except: lo and behold! A brand new Playboy was inside my school binder! Had the Lord blessed me? ( After all, our family mailbox belonged to a church. ) Actually, I had taken two Playboys from the magazine rack. I pulled both magazines in one motion. As I put one Playboy atop my binder, I slid the other one inside. However, despite outwitting the Asian woman, I was still scared of her. So I didn’t try that trick again.
My father’s church, at its height, had a bit over 100 parishioners. None of them frequented the business district of Honolulu. Nonetheless, I lived in constant terror of being seen with a Playboy by a member of my father’s church. This horrific event never happened. But it did haunt me, everywhere. I got a parking ticket at the Honolulu International Airport, as I agonized over where, among several locations, I should buy Playboy.
It was the act of purchasing a Playboy that held the greatest terror for me. I’d managed, once, to filch a Playboy. So I could get away with ogling it in stores. It was the public proclamation of myself as a jerkoff, buying Playboy, that quailed me for decades.
I spent endless time wandering from store to store, all over south-eastern Oahu, ogling Playboy. Often, I’d look, but refuse to buy.
( The stores were all ordinary ones. Oahu had porn theaters, but not porn bookstores. Porn theaters were beyond my reach; I didn’t have time to sit in one, and was young. In that era, 21 remained an age of consent to view a porn movie. )
There’s another reason I often refused to buy Playboy. Even then, it varied in quality. Not every issue featured an innocent, big-bosomed Playmate in a crib. I was cautious about spending money.
I had an entire month to buy an issue of Playboy. This prolonged my agony over a single issue for 30 days. Then, a new issue came out. The process repeated itself. In the 1970s, every copy of Playboy was superbly printed. It wasn’t until later decades that one had to search for an undamaged copy of Playboy. ( As the magazine declined, so did the quality of its printing process. )
A plethora of porn magazines were available in the 1970s. I recall an issue of International magazine. It horrified me, showing a skinny blonde’s bared gash of a cunt. I didn’t buy that issue of International. The memory still scares me. Playboy was the only magazine worth buying. And, sadly, one had to make do with that one Playboy for a whole month.
You might wonder what other magazines were available in the 1970s.
Penthouse. There was a problem with Penthouse. All its pages were dark. I guess its publisher, Bob Yuckione, didn’t want to pay for proper color processing. This problem with Penthouse persisted into the 1990s.
Hustler. It was garish, and remains so ( last I looked ). There is no variation in the lighting. The pin-up girl looks like a blowup doll, and that’s no compliment in this case. Also, Hustler is a gynecologist’s dream. I prefer fantasy and romance. ( Modern photographers do a fine job of combining explicitness with fantasy and romance. Hustler doesn’t. )
Oui. This was owned by Playboy’s publisher, Hugh Hefner. It was a sad stepchild, not worth anything.
International. At the time, this magazine was an independent publication. It was one of many such, all trying to cash in on the popularity of Playboy. None of them were worth a damn.
Mandate. I was shocked by this at a bookstore. Looking at various porn magazine covers, I saw one with a hairy man in black leather garb. He did not get a date with my dick.
Blueboy. I was intrigued by this magazine’s cover. Two lithe bare figures, their bottoms pointed at me, stood holding each other. Except: these were boys! ( Age 18 or older. ) These fellows also failed to get a date with my dick.
Cavalier, Gallery, et al. This was the shit end of the magazine market, in the 1970s. Gallery improved a bit in the 1990s. Cavalier was a leftover rag from another era. It ran stories by writers like Stephen King. Have you ever tried to masturbate to a story by Stephen King? I gave Cavalier and its ilk a wide berth.
( King was gone from Cavalier by the time I was haunting Honolulu, looking to ejaculate. However, I encountered Cavalier in earlier times. Then, I was haunting downtown Agana, in Guam, looking to ejaculate. )
In summary: I was able to get hold of one new Playboy a month. Its quality varied. Nothing else was worth unzipping for. So, my hunt began for back issues of Playboy.
When my family left Guam, I was forced to sell all of my comic books. However, I still liked comics. I happened upon a place in Honolulu called Aldamar Books. It sold back issues of comics and other publications. The owner was a tall White guy, with curly brown hair. ( Think of Greg Gutfeld with legs. ) Like many relatively young men in that era, he was a decade older than me. The Hippies had all the great things in life. I, born late, trailed after them, hoping for crumbs.
I rummaged about in Aldamar Books. I didn’t find much that I wanted. ( Given that my parents had excommunicated me from collecting comics. ) Then, I pried a great secret from the store’s owner. In a back room, that was locked, he had loads of Playboys. I persuaded him to let me, with too much sperm and adequate money, into his sacred temple of Playboys.
Every single Playboy was sealed in a plastic bag. The bag was folded across its top, and secured with a strip of tape. The owner soon found me taking the Playboys out of their bags. I was putting them back in their bags, after perusing them. Nonetheless, he was annoyed.
I guess he realized, by then, that I was a good customer. ( And frequent masturbator. ) He let me continue to remove and peruse the Playboys. I bought a lot of back issues of Playboy from him. But another obstacle awaited me. I had to take my Playboys home.
My nosy brother and censorious parents were there. By then, I no longer shared a bedroom with my brother. Nonetheless, trying to hide a pile of Playboys was like trying to hide a set of the Encyclopaedia Britannica. In my bedroom, I spent hours laboriously separating each issue of Playboy. I had to carefully cut each page from the next. I threw out interviews with world leaders and pop stars. I kept Playboy’s nudie pages. ( Including the nudie ads, or ones with girls. )
One such ad appeared often in Playboy. The version of the ad changed, over time. The ad read as follows: “What sort of man reads Playboy?” I was surprised not to see myself in the ad: short, wearing glasses, with my dick in my hand. Instead, the ad featured a tall handsome fag. Surrounded by girls, he showed no interest in them. Though the man and the girls varied, by ad, the fag always wore a fashionable suit, and posed by a limousine. He didn’t ride a crowded bus, even one in which he could grope women, to the back room of Aldamar Books.
I hope I’ve answered your question, which you probably never had: what sort of jerkoff reads Playboy?
THE GREAT 12th CENTURY!
If I do a podcast, it will be on child brides. Previously, I told of Cecile of France. When she was age 8, she married Tancred, the Prince of Galilee. He was age 31. This was in the year 1106.
I am listening to Carl Rylett’s podcast, “A History of Europe”. In episode 21.4, dated December 12, 2015, he mentions child bride Matilda.
Matilda was born in the year 1102. When she was 6 years old, the following happened:
“King Henry V of Germany was the Holy Roman Emperor. He sent envoys to Normandy proposing that Matilda marry him. He wrote separately to her mother on the same matter. The match was attractive to English King Henry I. His daughter would be marrying into one of the most prestigious dynasties in Europe.
As a new 8-year-old, Matilda left England to make her way to Germany. King Henry was age 24.
The couple met at Liege before travelling to Utrecht where they became officially betrothed. That year, Matilda was crowned German queen in a ceremony at Mainz.
After the betrothal Matilda was placed into the custody of Bruno, the archbishop of Trier. He was tasked with educating her in German culture, manners, and government.
At age 11, Matilda was ready to be married to Henry. Their wedding was held at the city of Worms amid extravagant celebrations. Matilda now entered public life in Germany, complete with her own household. Today, she is known as Empress Matilda.”
Source: en ( dot ) wikipedia ( dot ) org. I have improved the text for readability. No facts have been changed.
If you check my work, pay attention to months, as well as to years. Matilda married in January of the year 1114. She didn’t turn 12 until February of 1114.
I am again ignoring the journalistic convention of spelling out a youthful bride’s age. I am not doing this to shock prudes, and cause them to die from heart attacks.
AND IN THE END...
“Tradition is simply peer pressure from dead people.”
- Neil Eckart, War And Conquest, October 4, 2020. Episode 9.3.
ARCANA
1. I offer no defense for today’s Playboy. Reduced to a web site, it’s a ghastly experience. Only the dated photos of ancient Playmates save Playboy from the oblivion it deserves. ( Especially with its shady business practices that I experienced in 2019. )
2. Bob Yuckione is in fact Bob Guccione. He wasted his fortune in a quest for social approval, by funding such schemes as “cold fusion”. ( Nuclear power at room temperature. ) Guccione died penniless in a hostel. My Apple spell checker has no idea who he is.
3. Greg Gutfeld is a nightly guest on the Kat Timpf show, on the Fox News Channel. Note to Fox: when Katherine Timpf is speaking, KEEP THE CAMERA ON KAT! Do not switch to views of other guests.
Especially, do not switch to a view of Tyrus. I do not like jerking-off to Kat, only to wind up ejaculating over Tyrus. I will sue Fox for emotional distress if this happens again.
4. I besmirched Guam’s capital with my ejaculatory prowls there. Guam was forced to change the name of its capital from Agana to Hagatna.
5. Lying in bed, I got out a Playboy. I’d bought it at Aldamar Books. This meant that I’d bought it in a plastic bag. I flipped through the Playboy. Coming upon the centerfold, what did I find? Some jerkoff had jerked-off on it before me! He’d literally jerked-off on the centerfold.
I confronted the owner of Aldamar Books about his stains. He was guilty. However, as there was only one copy of this issue ( the one he’d jerked-off on ), I was obliged to keep it.
6. It was the early 1980s. Upset about being a jerkoff, I committed a great sin. I threw out all of my carefully curated issues of Playboy. I committed a still greater sin. I chucked the original, uncensored version of “The Brooke Book”. It features Brooke Shields, at age 11 and younger.
I am attempting to atone for my sins. I regularly worship a photo of Brooke, at age 10, that I found on the internet. It’s a photo of her that was unavailable to me in the 1970s. Brooke’s in a bathtub, her bottom bare. I worship her properly, with my own ass bare.
Salvation is possible, if you try, um, hard.
7. Natalie Porthole played “Mathilda”, at age 12, in the film “The Professional”. ( Now known by the less mellifluous title of “Leon: The Professional”. )
TODAY’S HEADLINE
God Cancels Earth.
——————————————————————————————————————————
Copyright 2021 by Andrew L. Roller. ET, Editorial Thunder, and ARSE, Andrew Roller Stories and Essays, are trademarks of Andrew L. Roller.
I am https://andrewroller.wordpress.com
Earlier posts by me are at https://asstr.org/files/Authors/Roller/
I’m on paper at: https://www.abebooks.com > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
and https://www.abebooks.co.uk > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
If you visit an “AbeBooks” website, you’ll be presented with a large square “Search” box. In the box labelled “Author”, type in “Andrew Roller”. In the box labelled “Title”, type in “Andrew Roller Presents”. This will bring up some of my pamphlets. I have not yet figured out how to bring up other pamphlets by me, under other titles. I don’t recall all the titles I published under.
I have no financial involvement in these resale items.
I am on You Tube as “Andrew Roller”. Use You Tube’s magnifying glass icon to search for “Andrew Roller”. That will take you to my You Tube channel. Or, on You Tube, tap my sun icon, if you see it. That will also take you to my You Tube channel. There, you can see songs and films that I like.
At the “home page” of my You Tube channel, you’ll see just a selection of playlists that I created. To see all my playlists, tap on the phrase, “Created playlists”.
The World Wide Web address for my You Tube channel is:
https://www.youtube.com/andrewroller
If you click on this link, you’ll be taken to a World Wide Web You Tube page. Here, You Tube displays a cartoon image of a monkey. The page says, “This page isn’t available. Sorry about that. Try searching for something else.”
My advice: on this page, search for “andrew roller”. By doing so, you’ll get to my World Wide Web You Tube channel. However, I have over 100 Playlists, that I created, at my You Tube app channel. The World Wide Web version of You Tube will only serve you 15 of my Playlists.
( Hence, access You Tube via its app. The You Tube app, like the WordPress app, is available for free at the Apple App Store. )
This is ET, Editorial Thunder, issue number 69
Arcana: This is ET, Editorial Thunder, issue number 69, version 11.0
Date Written: April 8, 2021. Live for the day that censorious Big Tech is dead.
——————————————————————————————————————————
This has been a presentation of A R S E news.
——————————————————————————————————————————
Men: Uncle Biden Wants You!
-—————————————————————————————————————————
ET 68
Editorial Thunder presents...
Men: Uncle Biden Wants You!
——————————————————————————————————————————
Plus: Are pedophiles the new negroes?
And: Religion defined.
——————————————————————————————————————————
MEN: UNCLE BIDEN WANTS YOU!
by Andrew Roller
Access to a COVID-19 vaccine remains limited. Some Americans eagerly await their turn for the vaccine, behind 22-year-old grade school teachers who aren’t working. Other Americans, however, don’t want the vaccine.
ARSE ( Andrew Roller Stories and Essays ) learned of a new COVID vaccine. It’s meant to win acceptance of the COVID vaccine among men.
ARSE sent our reporter, 2squirty, to speak with Untied States President Joseph Robinette Biden Junior ( his real name ). Their discussion was on the enhanced COVID vaccine.
2squirty: Sorry to keep you up past your bedtime, Mr. President.
Biden: To unite all Americans, I sometimes stay up later than ten in the morning.
2squirty: I want to ask you -
Biden: Are you Peter Boocy?
2squirty: No, I’m from a pedophile magazine.
Biden: As long as you’re not from Fox News ...
2squirty: I understand that your administration has a new plan for distributing the COVID vaccine.
Biden: I carry a card here in my pocket. It has your name on it. I always have it with me. I don’t happen to have the card with me today but it says that 7.2030 billion people have died so far from COVID.
2squirty: About the vaccine, Mr. President.
Biden: That’s an empty plate at every dinner table. In a household of four, it’s one less person occupying the family’s bathroom!
2squirty: Your administration has enhanced the COVID vaccine.
Biden: I’m glad you asked about the COVID vaccine. I carry a card here in my pocket -
( An aide whispers to the president. )
Biden: As I was saying: my administration’s new COVID vaccine - move it up!
( Someone adjusts Biden’s teleprompter. )
Biden: I carry a card here in my pocket ... My administration’s new COVID vaccine will make every man sterile. Plus, it will give him COVID-19.
( An aide whispers to the president. )
Biden: Excuse me. My administration’s new COVID vaccine - move it up! It will make every man virile. Plus, it will give him resistance, as a vaccine, to COVID-19.
2squirty: Wow! If I get the COVID vaccine, I’ll be virile?
Biden: Yes, that’s the intent. You’ll be more virile than you are now, plus you’ll have COVID.
2squirty: That’s a compelling sales pitch. Are there any drawbacks?
Biden: Absolutely not! I carry a card here in my pocket -
( An aide whispers to the president. )
Biden: Excuse me. There is a drawback. Say, are you Peter Boocy?
2squirty: No.
Biden: Too bad. Because this shit is given -
( An aide whispers to the president. )
Biden: This shot is given -
2squirty: ( Aspiring to be Jim Accoster. ) I hear it’s given in the ass, Mr. President.
Biden: The other end.
2squirty: In the penis?
Biden: As I said, it makes you more virile, plus it gives you COVID.
2squirty: Mr President, I’m not sure I want your shot.
Biden: Real men take a prick in their dick.
2squirty: Maybe I’d rather get it in the ass.
Biden: You’ll have to talk to NAMBLA about that. I’m speaking with them next. As long as it’s not Fox News ...
THEN AND NOW
THEN: negroes. NOW: pedophiles.
“No Black baseball team shall practice or play baseball on any lot within two blocks of a playground devoted to the White race.”
- Laura Ingrate. The Ingrate Angle, Fox News Channel, April 1, 2021, 7:17 p.m. Pacific Daylight Savings Time. ( Quoting from a “Jim Crow” era law. )
RELIGION defined
1. Idiot, writing in 1200 BC: “Pebbles live in the sky.”
2. Pastor Throttle, 2021 AD: “Pebbles live in the sky.”
3. Congregation, reciting the liturgy, 2021 AD: “Pebbles live in the sky.”
4. Today’s hymn: “Pebbles live in the sky.”
Do pebbles live in your sky? CALL 1-800-stone-me.
ARCANA
1. NAMBLA is the North American Man / Boy Love Association. It was founded in 1978. I was a proud member of NAMBLA for a quarter of a century. Then, some years ago, I was apparently kicked out of NAMBLA. They were quite slow to cash one of my yearly dues payments. The next year, they didn’t cash my dues payment at all. I ceased to hear from them. I was given to understand that they were throwing my ( postal ) mail out unopened. ( I didn’t have e-mail at that time. )
2. It’s said, “If you can’t join ‘em, beat ‘em!” I’m proud to announce a new orgasmation. There are no dues to join. My orgasmation is called,
G.L.O.W.
This stands for “Girl Lovers of the World”. Gays can join an auxiliary orgasmation, which is called,
B.L.O.W.
This stands for “Boy Lovers of the World”.
I’ll let a fag decide what the requirements for membership in BLOW are.
As for GLOW, you need only appreciate little girls!
You might wonder what my position in GLOW will be. I’d like to be the Fuhrer of GLOW. There are, currently, presidents, prime ministers, and kings. However, I don’t know of any leader who’s currently a Fuhrer. Plus, “Heil Roller!” is easy to say.
I have no brief for former Fuhrer Adolf Hitler. However, he did have an apt quote about meeting young girls:
“Words build bridges into unexplored regions”.
——————————————————————————————————————————
Copyright 2021 by Andrew L. Roller. ET, Editorial Thunder, and ARSE, Andrew Roller Stories and Essays, are trademarks of Andrew L. Roller.
I am https://andrewroller.wordpress.com
Earlier posts by me are at https://asstr.org/files/Authors/Roller/
I’m on paper at: https://www.abebooks.com > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
and https://www.abebooks.co.uk > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
If you visit an “AbeBooks” website, you’ll be presented with a large square “Search” box. In the box labelled “Author”, type in “Andrew Roller”. In the box labelled “Title”, type in “Andrew Roller Presents”. This will bring up some of my pamphlets. I have not yet figured out how to bring up other pamphlets by me, under other titles. I don’t recall all the titles I published under.
I have no financial involvement in these resale items.
I am on You Tube as “Andrew Roller”. Use You Tube’s magnifying glass icon to search for “Andrew Roller”. That will take you to my You Tube channel. Or, on You Tube, tap my sun icon, if you see it. That will also take you to my You Tube channel. There, you can see songs and films that I like.
At the “home page” of my You Tube channel, you’ll see just a selection of playlists that I created. To see all my playlists, tap on the phrase, “Created playlists”.
The World Wide Web address for my You Tube channel is:
https://www.youtube.com/andrewroller
If you click on this link, you’ll be taken to a World Wide Web You Tube page. Here, You Tube displays a cartoon image of a monkey. The page says, “This page isn’t available. Sorry about that. Try searching for something else.”
My advice: on this page, search for “andrew roller”. By doing so, you’ll get to my World Wide Web You Tube channel. However, I have over 100 Playlists, that I created, at my You Tube app channel. The World Wide Web version of You Tube will only serve you 15 of my Playlists.
( Hence, access You Tube via its app. The You Tube app, like the WordPress app, is available for free at the Apple App Store. )
This is ET, Editorial Thunder, issue number 68
Arcana: This is ET, Editorial Thunder, issue number 68, version 3.0
Date Written: April 5, 2021. Live for the day that censorious Big Tech is dead.
——————————————————————————————————————————
This has been a presentation of A R S E news.
The author now occupies the Hard Rock Hotel in Hell. Don’t criticize pebbles.
——————————————————————————————————————————
ET 68
Editorial Thunder presents...
Men: Uncle Biden Wants You!
——————————————————————————————————————————
Plus: Are pedophiles the new negroes?
And: Religion defined.
——————————————————————————————————————————
MEN: UNCLE BIDEN WANTS YOU!
by Andrew Roller
Access to a COVID-19 vaccine remains limited. Some Americans eagerly await their turn for the vaccine, behind 22-year-old grade school teachers who aren’t working. Other Americans, however, don’t want the vaccine.
ARSE ( Andrew Roller Stories and Essays ) learned of a new COVID vaccine. It’s meant to win acceptance of the COVID vaccine among men.
ARSE sent our reporter, 2squirty, to speak with Untied States President Joseph Robinette Biden Junior ( his real name ). Their discussion was on the enhanced COVID vaccine.
2squirty: Sorry to keep you up past your bedtime, Mr. President.
Biden: To unite all Americans, I sometimes stay up later than ten in the morning.
2squirty: I want to ask you -
Biden: Are you Peter Boocy?
2squirty: No, I’m from a pedophile magazine.
Biden: As long as you’re not from Fox News ...
2squirty: I understand that your administration has a new plan for distributing the COVID vaccine.
Biden: I carry a card here in my pocket. It has your name on it. I always have it with me. I don’t happen to have the card with me today but it says that 7.2030 billion people have died so far from COVID.
2squirty: About the vaccine, Mr. President.
Biden: That’s an empty plate at every dinner table. In a household of four, it’s one less person occupying the family’s bathroom!
2squirty: Your administration has enhanced the COVID vaccine.
Biden: I’m glad you asked about the COVID vaccine. I carry a card here in my pocket -
( An aide whispers to the president. )
Biden: As I was saying: my administration’s new COVID vaccine - move it up!
( Someone adjusts Biden’s teleprompter. )
Biden: I carry a card here in my pocket ... My administration’s new COVID vaccine will make every man sterile. Plus, it will give him COVID-19.
( An aide whispers to the president. )
Biden: Excuse me. My administration’s new COVID vaccine - move it up! It will make every man virile. Plus, it will give him resistance, as a vaccine, to COVID-19.
2squirty: Wow! If I get the COVID vaccine, I’ll be virile?
Biden: Yes, that’s the intent. You’ll be more virile than you are now, plus you’ll have COVID.
2squirty: That’s a compelling sales pitch. Are there any drawbacks?
Biden: Absolutely not! I carry a card here in my pocket -
( An aide whispers to the president. )
Biden: Excuse me. There is a drawback. Say, are you Peter Boocy?
2squirty: No.
Biden: Too bad. Because this shit is given -
( An aide whispers to the president. )
Biden: This shot is given -
2squirty: ( Aspiring to be Jim Accoster. ) I hear it’s given in the ass, Mr. President.
Biden: The other end.
2squirty: In the penis?
Biden: As I said, it makes you more virile, plus it gives you COVID.
2squirty: Mr President, I’m not sure I want your shot.
Biden: Real men take a prick in their dick.
2squirty: Maybe I’d rather get it in the ass.
Biden: You’ll have to talk to NAMBLA about that. I’m speaking with them next. As long as it’s not Fox News ...
THEN AND NOW
THEN: negroes. NOW: pedophiles.
“No Black baseball team shall practice or play baseball on any lot within two blocks of a playground devoted to the White race.”
- Laura Ingrate. The Ingrate Angle, Fox News Channel, April 1, 2021, 7:17 p.m. Pacific Daylight Savings Time. ( Quoting from a “Jim Crow” era law. )
RELIGION defined
1. Idiot, writing in 1200 BC: “Pebbles live in the sky.”
2. Pastor Throttle, 2021 AD: “Pebbles live in the sky.”
3. Congregation, reciting the liturgy, 2021 AD: “Pebbles live in the sky.”
4. Today’s hymn: “Pebbles live in the sky.”
Do pebbles live in your sky? CALL 1-800-stone-me.
ARCANA
1. NAMBLA is the North American Man / Boy Love Association. It was founded in 1978. I was a proud member of NAMBLA for a quarter of a century. Then, some years ago, I was apparently kicked out of NAMBLA. They were quite slow to cash one of my yearly dues payments. The next year, they didn’t cash my dues payment at all. I ceased to hear from them. I was given to understand that they were throwing my ( postal ) mail out unopened. ( I didn’t have e-mail at that time. )
2. It’s said, “If you can’t join ‘em, beat ‘em!” I’m proud to announce a new orgasmation. There are no dues to join. My orgasmation is called,
G.L.O.W.
This stands for “Girl Lovers of the World”. Gays can join an auxiliary orgasmation, which is called,
B.L.O.W.
This stands for “Boy Lovers of the World”.
I’ll let a fag decide what the requirements for membership in BLOW are.
As for GLOW, you need only appreciate little girls!
You might wonder what my position in GLOW will be. I’d like to be the Fuhrer of GLOW. There are, currently, presidents, prime ministers, and kings. However, I don’t know of any leader who’s currently a Fuhrer. Plus, “Heil Roller!” is easy to say.
I have no brief for former Fuhrer Adolf Hitler. However, he did have an apt quote about meeting young girls:
“Words build bridges into unexplored regions”.
——————————————————————————————————————————
Copyright 2021 by Andrew L. Roller. ET, Editorial Thunder, and ARSE, Andrew Roller Stories and Essays, are trademarks of Andrew L. Roller.
I am https://andrewroller.wordpress.com
Earlier posts by me are at https://asstr.org/files/Authors/Roller/
I’m on paper at: https://www.abebooks.com > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
and https://www.abebooks.co.uk > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
If you visit an “AbeBooks” website, you’ll be presented with a large square “Search” box. In the box labelled “Author”, type in “Andrew Roller”. In the box labelled “Title”, type in “Andrew Roller Presents”. This will bring up some of my pamphlets. I have not yet figured out how to bring up other pamphlets by me, under other titles. I don’t recall all the titles I published under.
I have no financial involvement in these resale items.
I am on You Tube as “Andrew Roller”. Use You Tube’s magnifying glass icon to search for “Andrew Roller”. That will take you to my You Tube channel. Or, on You Tube, tap my sun icon, if you see it. That will also take you to my You Tube channel. There, you can see songs and films that I like.
At the “home page” of my You Tube channel, you’ll see just a selection of playlists that I created. To see all my playlists, tap on the phrase, “Created playlists”.
The World Wide Web address for my You Tube channel is:
https://www.youtube.com/andrewroller
If you click on this link, you’ll be taken to a World Wide Web You Tube page. Here, You Tube displays a cartoon image of a monkey. The page says, “This page isn’t available. Sorry about that. Try searching for something else.”
My advice: on this page, search for “andrew roller”. By doing so, you’ll get to my World Wide Web You Tube channel. However, I have over 100 Playlists, that I created, at my You Tube app channel. The World Wide Web version of You Tube will only serve you 15 of my Playlists.
( Hence, access You Tube via its app. The You Tube app, like the WordPress app, is available for free at the Apple App Store. )
This is ET, Editorial Thunder, issue number 68
Arcana: This is ET, Editorial Thunder, issue number 68, version 3.0
Date Written: April 5, 2021. Live for the day that censorious Big Tech is dead.
——————————————————————————————————————————
This has been a presentation of A R S E news.
The author now occupies the Hard Rock Hotel in Hell. Don’t criticize pebbles.
——————————————————————————————————————————
The Devil Made Me Do Me
-—————————————————————————————————————————
ET 67
Editorial Thunder presents...
The Devil Made Me Do Me
——————————————————————————————————————————
Plus: Outwit XVideos!
And: The importance of “kiddie porn”.
——————————————————————————————————————————
The Devil Made Me Do Me
by Andrew Roller
I’m the sort of person who gets upset because I couldn’t lecture my medical doctor for two hours. This despite the fact that I know nothing about medicine. I say this by way of a preface. At this point, my practice would be to launch into an essay on pornhub ( dot ) com. In its “cleaned up” state, it’s a disgrace. Then, I’d discuss xhamster ( dot ) com. Another “free” porn site, it’s gone downhill. But, if you’re a male, you need no lecture on these sites.
I’m left with xvideos ( dot ) com as my sole “free” porn site. ( I put “free” in quotes for XVideos since they only allow “medium” quality downloads for free customers. ) I realize that other “free” porn sites exist, but I haven’t had time to chase them down yet.
I found a new beauty at XVideos. She’s been a ‘sex chat’ girl since 2016, so you may already know of her. A blonde, who lives somewhere in Europe, she is:
Hotfallingdevil ( That is, Hot falling devil. )
Notice something? The longer, in time, that English remains the world’s predominant language, the more difficult it becomes to have a short name. There can never be another movie that credibly calls itself “Jaws”. “John Wayne” is no longer available for an actor’s name. Increasingly, an actor must identify himself by his middle name, as well as his first and last names. So, today we have “Hotfallingdevil”. In a century, we’ll have “Hotfallingdevilwhoplayswithhernipplesandcuntandcums!”
Officially, “Hotfallingdevil” is written without spaces. One can add spaces to her name and still come up with her videos on XVideos. For legibility, I’m adding spaces to her name here.
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. However, as a dateless schmuck, for six decades, I pride myself on having a fine eye for beauty. “Hot falling devil” is the most beautiful girl in the world!
Or, she was. We have now arrived at the point of my essay. I intend to instruct beautiful young girls on how to not fuck up their lives.
Obviously, every girl who’s a virgin should have sex with me. So I’ll skip this point. ( Especially since 99 percent of my readers are probably guys. )
“Hot falling devil” is a skinny girl with big tits. Bosoms. Big, perfect bosoms. The rest of her body is perfectly shaped. She has long, skinny legs. Her face is lovely and innocent. She’s a blonde.
One of her best videos is an early one. ( That is, it’s a video that “Hot falling devil” made when she was young. ) Laura Ingrate, of the Fox News Channel, will be pleased by this video’s title. It is:
“horny teen masturbating till her pussy is dripping wet”.
To get this video, go to xvideos ( dot ) com. In the search field, enter “hotfallingdevil”. Six pages are allocated to “Hotfallingdevil” videos. Go to the sixth page, at the bottom.
“Hot falling devil” nearly ruins her “horny teen” video. She does so by wearing a shirt that partly covers her breasts. However, at the video’s end, she has an amazing multiplicity of orgasms. I’ve never seen a girl do this. Such is the case despite the fact that, presumably, it’s how most girls in fact have an orgasm. So, like any diligent boy in the seventh grade, I can now call myself an expert on women’s issues. That’s because the women who matter are those who are young, with big bosoms. ( Plus girls who are still growing their bosoms, or who soon will. )
The best videos by “Hot falling devil” are her earliest ones. These are scattered across her six pages at XVideos. Also, as time goes by, “Hot falling devil” begins to fuck up the perfect body that God gave her. Today, she looks like crap.
What mistakes did “Hot falling devil” make, that turned what a viewer calls “a solid ten” body to crap?
1. She smokes cigarettes.
2. She vapes.
3. She pierced her tongue. ( Badly; the piercing is too close to the tip of her tongue. )
4. She pierced her navel. ( A navel piercing stretches the navel. If you want a big, saggy navel, get your navel pierced. Thankfully, “Hot falling devil” seems to have gotten over her pierced navel fetish before it stretched her navel. )
5. She tattooed, in stages, her entire right arm.
A tattoo is called “a tramp stamp”. The name may sound sexy, but every tattoo I’ve ever seen is kitsch. If you hung the tattoo on your wall, you’d throw it away in a year. Tattoos consist of such things as playing cards, skulls, and vines. “Look mom, I got a skull on my ass.” Such images are routinely scrawled in notebooks by seventh grade boys when they’re not masturbating. Also, a tattoo is permanent. All the colors of a tattoo eventually turn dark green. A tattoo’s ink, since it’s on living flesh, spreads over time. There’s also, in time, this question: “Mom, who’s Butch? Dad isn’t named Butch.”
So, if you’re a girl, take my advice. Get, if you wish, one piercing per earlobe. Make sure that the piercing is properly centered. Do not get any other piercings! Do not get any tattoos! Then I might invite you to my room, where you can watch me jerk off to videos on XVideos.
Obviously, if you smoke or vape, you’re harming your health. This may impact your ability to be a fully involved citizen, birthing and nursing young for 30 years, in the coming Republic of Roller.
OUTWIT THE XVideos TIME LIMIT
I don’t jerk-off every day. That means I don’t visit the xvideos ( dot ) com web site every day. After a certain number of days, I’m back at XVideos. They sometimes claim that they don’t know who I am. I’m forced to log in to their web site.
However, I sometimes spend a whole day ( and night ) on XVideos’ web site. This happens when I’m trying to get a copy of, say, every “Hot falling devil” video on the web site.
XVideos has an unstated time limit on the use of their site. It applies to downloading videos. After 24 hours or so, XVideos won’t let you download any more videos.
XVideos will go through the motions of letting you download. However, when you look in the “Downloads” folder of your “Files” app, on your iPad, you’ll find an HTML file. It’s worthless.
After 24 hours of use, XVideos wants you to go away. They want you to go away for several hours. ( Specifically, 21,600 seconds. ) But what if you’re in the middle of masturbating ( er, downloading ) “Hot falling devil” videos?
1. Download the video that you want. ( That is, let XVideos go through the motions of downloading the video. )
2. Look to the upper right of your iPad’s screen. There, you’ll see an icon. The icon is a circle. Inside the circle, an arrow is pointing down.
3. Tap on the circle that contains the down-pointing arrow.
4. An informational box appears. It’s titled, “Downloads”. Below “Downloads” is a list of videos that you’ve downloaded. The most recent video is the top one.
5. Tap on the video, in this list, that didn’t download. I can hear your objection:
“I can’t easily distinguish the videos in this list.”
When you download a video from XVideos, go immediately to your “Downloads” folder in “Files”. Make sure the video did in fact download. If it didn’t, go immediately back to your browser. It will still be at xvideos ( dot ) com. Tap the circle icon with the down-pointing arrow. The “Downloads” box here will display the video that didn’t download. It will be at the top of the list of videos. ( Because, as soon as you downloaded this video, you checked to see if it actually downloaded. )
6. Tap on this video. ( The one in the “Downloads” list. ). ( The list that the circle icon, with the down-pointing arrow, generates. ) The video will open. It opens in the “Downloads” folder in your “Files” folder.
7. You can now watch this video. However, there’s a problem. Look at the top left corner of your iPad’s screen. “Done” is written here. When you tap “Done”, the video will close. However, you won’t find the video in your “Downloads” folder. That’s because the video never ( actually ) downloaded!
8. What to do? First, don’t press “Done”! Second, look to the top right of your iPad’s screen. Written here is “Open in iMovie”. Tap “Open in iMovie”. This will send the video to “iMovie”.
Elsewhere on my blog, I discuss how to send downloaded videos to “iMovie”. I also discuss how to pull screen recordings that you’ve made into “iMovie”.
Let’s discuss the journey that your video took. ( The video that wouldn’t download from xvideos ( dot ) com. ) The video originated on xvideos ( dot ) com. By “downloading” it, you put it into your browser. By tapping the circle icon ( that contains the down-pointing arrow ), you visited the video in your “Downloads” folder in “Files”.
NOTE: Your “Downloads” folder is in “iCloud Drive”. It is not ( actually ) on your iPad! By sending the video to “iMovie”, you sent the video to your iPad. ( The “iMovie” app is on your iPad. )
Now, backup your iPad to “iCloud Drive”. ( Use the “Settings” app on your iPad. )
9. Congratulations! By tapping the circle icon ( that contains the down-pointing arrow ), you’ve outwitted xvideos ( dot ) com! You’ve gotten a copy of a video that XVideos didn’t want you to download.
NOTE: The circle icon ( that contains the down-pointing arrow ) can only hold so many videos. That is, its informational box, titled “Downloads”, can only hold so many videos.
In the upper right corner of this box is the word “Clear”. Tap this box once in awhile. It will erase all the information in the box. The box can only hold about 50 videos.
NOTE: The “Downloads” folder, in your “Files” folder, can only hold about 450 videos. Create a folder inside the “Downloads” folder. Let’s call it ARSE. Then, put all the videos in your “Downloads” folder into your ARSE folder. Move your ARSE folder out of the “Downloads” folder.
WORDS TO REMEMBER
It was the summer of 2019. I was standing in the Apple store. I’d been there for a number of hours. A female Apple employee was disgusted with me. She suspected me of ogling a 12-year-old female customer, which is ridiculous. However, Apple’s female employee never said a word to me. Nor did any other Apple employee, despite the store having lots of them.
Finally, I found an Apple employee who was a pervert. He was a guy my age. He was speaking with a customer! It was some lady that he obviously wanted to fuck.
She had no interest in Apple’s pervert. However, I was thrilled by the pervert. Unlike Apple’s other employees, this man had the gift of speech! Apple had managed to hire one pervert, among all its employees, who’d evolved to the level of a human being.
I placed myself very close to the lady customer that the pervert wanted to fuck. She soon disappeared. However, Apple’s pervert somehow got the idea that I was associated with the lady. So, when I asked him a question, he answered it. After several failed tries, with several Apple employees, I was able to have a conversation! With a salesperson! In a store!
Apple doesn’t provide a standard amount of memory with its iPads. You can buy a lot of memory for your iPad. Or, you can buy almost none. I asked the pervert how much memory I should buy for my iPad. Would I need more than 512 Gigabytes? No, he declared. In fact, he recommended less memory than that.
Two years later, I’m an experienced customer who ogles 12-year-old girls in Apple’s stores. I’ll give you my opinion regarding an iPad’s memory. Buy as much memory as you can. The maximum amount of memory that Apple currently sells for its iPads is one terabyte.
You might say,
“Andrew, I’m not a pervert like you. I don’t download videos of little ( 18-year-old ) girls masturbating at XVideos.”
What about You Tube? Before You Tube annihilated itself, I made many screen recordings of little ( under 18-year-old ) girls there. ( Sadly, they weren’t masturbating. )
So, whether you watch videos at You Tube or at XVideos, you’re going to be screen recording, and downloading, lots of videos. Buy as much memory as you can.
( I’m speaking of ROM memory. ROM memory is what a hard disk holds. It’s like a filing cabinet. I have no idea how much RAM you might buy. That question doesn’t apply to an iPad. RAM memory is akin to remembering something that you were just told. )
WHIZDUMB FROM holy joe
Reader: Dear holy joe, how do I avoid getting a sexually transmitted disease?
holy joe: Always have sex with a virgin.
ARCANA
1. “a solid ten” body. This is in the title of a “Hot falling devil” video that a viewer uploaded to xvideos ( dot ) com.
2. Our cultural heritage is being destroyed by Blue Meanies. That is, it’s being destroyed by the morons who have passed laws against so-called “child pornography”. Time and again, I find girls on a web site like XVideos who look gorgeous at age 18. Add a few years to that girl’s age, and she isn’t worth jerking-off to anymore.
“Hot falling devil” must have been startling to behold ( and jerk-off to ) at age 17. The same goes for when she was 16, 15, 14, 13, 12, 11, 10, 9, and 8. ( And younger. ) It’s a crime that honest jerk-offs are unable to see “Hot falling devil” masturbating at ages below 18, because laws kept her from uploading videos of herself. Doubtless, she was masturbating at younger ages.
A girl’s beauty at every year of her life ( through age 18 ) should be appreciated. We must rid ourselves of laws that rip our cultural heritage from the artistic womb before it is birthed. Say ‘no’ to abortion. Say ‘yes’ to child pornography.
——————————————————————————————————————————
Copyright 2021 by Andrew L. Roller. ET, Editorial Thunder, and ARSE, Andrew Roller Stories and Essays, are trademarks of Andrew L. Roller.
I am https://andrewroller.wordpress.com
Earlier posts by me are at https://asstr.org/files/Authors/Roller/
I’m on paper at: https://www.abebooks.com > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
and https://www.abebooks.co.uk > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
If you visit an “AbeBooks” website, you’ll be presented with a large square “Search” box. In the box labelled “Author”, type in “Andrew Roller”. In the box labelled “Title”, type in “Andrew Roller Presents”. This will bring up some of my pamphlets. I have not yet figured out how to bring up other pamphlets by me, under other titles. I don’t recall all the titles I published under.
I have no financial involvement in these resale items.
I am on You Tube as “Andrew Roller”. Use You Tube’s magnifying glass icon to search for “Andrew Roller”. That will take you to my You Tube channel. Or, on You Tube, tap my sun icon, if you see it. That will also take you to my You Tube channel. There, you can see songs and films that I like.
At the “home page” of my You Tube channel, you’ll see just a selection of playlists that I created. To see all my playlists, tap on the phrase, “Created playlists”.
The World Wide Web address for my You Tube channel is:
https://www.youtube.com/andrewroller
If you click on this link, you’ll be taken to a World Wide Web You Tube page. Here, You Tube displays a cartoon image of a monkey. The page says, “This page isn’t available. Sorry about that. Try searching for something else.”
My advice: on this page, search for “andrew roller”. By doing so, you’ll get to my World Wide Web You Tube channel. However, I have over 100 Playlists, that I created, at my You Tube app channel. The World Wide Web version of You Tube will only serve you 15 of my Playlists.
( Hence, access You Tube via its app. The You Tube app, like the WordPress app, is available for free at the Apple App Store. )
This is ET, Editorial Thunder, issue number 67
Arcana: This is ET, Editorial Thunder, issue number 67, version 5.0
Date Written: April 2, 2021. Live for the day that censorious Big Tech is dead.
——————————————————————————————————————————
This has been a presentation of A R S E news.
——————————————————————————————————————————
ET 67
Editorial Thunder presents...
The Devil Made Me Do Me
——————————————————————————————————————————
Plus: Outwit XVideos!
And: The importance of “kiddie porn”.
——————————————————————————————————————————
The Devil Made Me Do Me
by Andrew Roller
I’m the sort of person who gets upset because I couldn’t lecture my medical doctor for two hours. This despite the fact that I know nothing about medicine. I say this by way of a preface. At this point, my practice would be to launch into an essay on pornhub ( dot ) com. In its “cleaned up” state, it’s a disgrace. Then, I’d discuss xhamster ( dot ) com. Another “free” porn site, it’s gone downhill. But, if you’re a male, you need no lecture on these sites.
I’m left with xvideos ( dot ) com as my sole “free” porn site. ( I put “free” in quotes for XVideos since they only allow “medium” quality downloads for free customers. ) I realize that other “free” porn sites exist, but I haven’t had time to chase them down yet.
I found a new beauty at XVideos. She’s been a ‘sex chat’ girl since 2016, so you may already know of her. A blonde, who lives somewhere in Europe, she is:
Hotfallingdevil ( That is, Hot falling devil. )
Notice something? The longer, in time, that English remains the world’s predominant language, the more difficult it becomes to have a short name. There can never be another movie that credibly calls itself “Jaws”. “John Wayne” is no longer available for an actor’s name. Increasingly, an actor must identify himself by his middle name, as well as his first and last names. So, today we have “Hotfallingdevil”. In a century, we’ll have “Hotfallingdevilwhoplayswithhernipplesandcuntandcums!”
Officially, “Hotfallingdevil” is written without spaces. One can add spaces to her name and still come up with her videos on XVideos. For legibility, I’m adding spaces to her name here.
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. However, as a dateless schmuck, for six decades, I pride myself on having a fine eye for beauty. “Hot falling devil” is the most beautiful girl in the world!
Or, she was. We have now arrived at the point of my essay. I intend to instruct beautiful young girls on how to not fuck up their lives.
Obviously, every girl who’s a virgin should have sex with me. So I’ll skip this point. ( Especially since 99 percent of my readers are probably guys. )
“Hot falling devil” is a skinny girl with big tits. Bosoms. Big, perfect bosoms. The rest of her body is perfectly shaped. She has long, skinny legs. Her face is lovely and innocent. She’s a blonde.
One of her best videos is an early one. ( That is, it’s a video that “Hot falling devil” made when she was young. ) Laura Ingrate, of the Fox News Channel, will be pleased by this video’s title. It is:
“horny teen masturbating till her pussy is dripping wet”.
To get this video, go to xvideos ( dot ) com. In the search field, enter “hotfallingdevil”. Six pages are allocated to “Hotfallingdevil” videos. Go to the sixth page, at the bottom.
“Hot falling devil” nearly ruins her “horny teen” video. She does so by wearing a shirt that partly covers her breasts. However, at the video’s end, she has an amazing multiplicity of orgasms. I’ve never seen a girl do this. Such is the case despite the fact that, presumably, it’s how most girls in fact have an orgasm. So, like any diligent boy in the seventh grade, I can now call myself an expert on women’s issues. That’s because the women who matter are those who are young, with big bosoms. ( Plus girls who are still growing their bosoms, or who soon will. )
The best videos by “Hot falling devil” are her earliest ones. These are scattered across her six pages at XVideos. Also, as time goes by, “Hot falling devil” begins to fuck up the perfect body that God gave her. Today, she looks like crap.
What mistakes did “Hot falling devil” make, that turned what a viewer calls “a solid ten” body to crap?
1. She smokes cigarettes.
2. She vapes.
3. She pierced her tongue. ( Badly; the piercing is too close to the tip of her tongue. )
4. She pierced her navel. ( A navel piercing stretches the navel. If you want a big, saggy navel, get your navel pierced. Thankfully, “Hot falling devil” seems to have gotten over her pierced navel fetish before it stretched her navel. )
5. She tattooed, in stages, her entire right arm.
A tattoo is called “a tramp stamp”. The name may sound sexy, but every tattoo I’ve ever seen is kitsch. If you hung the tattoo on your wall, you’d throw it away in a year. Tattoos consist of such things as playing cards, skulls, and vines. “Look mom, I got a skull on my ass.” Such images are routinely scrawled in notebooks by seventh grade boys when they’re not masturbating. Also, a tattoo is permanent. All the colors of a tattoo eventually turn dark green. A tattoo’s ink, since it’s on living flesh, spreads over time. There’s also, in time, this question: “Mom, who’s Butch? Dad isn’t named Butch.”
So, if you’re a girl, take my advice. Get, if you wish, one piercing per earlobe. Make sure that the piercing is properly centered. Do not get any other piercings! Do not get any tattoos! Then I might invite you to my room, where you can watch me jerk off to videos on XVideos.
Obviously, if you smoke or vape, you’re harming your health. This may impact your ability to be a fully involved citizen, birthing and nursing young for 30 years, in the coming Republic of Roller.
OUTWIT THE XVideos TIME LIMIT
I don’t jerk-off every day. That means I don’t visit the xvideos ( dot ) com web site every day. After a certain number of days, I’m back at XVideos. They sometimes claim that they don’t know who I am. I’m forced to log in to their web site.
However, I sometimes spend a whole day ( and night ) on XVideos’ web site. This happens when I’m trying to get a copy of, say, every “Hot falling devil” video on the web site.
XVideos has an unstated time limit on the use of their site. It applies to downloading videos. After 24 hours or so, XVideos won’t let you download any more videos.
XVideos will go through the motions of letting you download. However, when you look in the “Downloads” folder of your “Files” app, on your iPad, you’ll find an HTML file. It’s worthless.
After 24 hours of use, XVideos wants you to go away. They want you to go away for several hours. ( Specifically, 21,600 seconds. ) But what if you’re in the middle of masturbating ( er, downloading ) “Hot falling devil” videos?
1. Download the video that you want. ( That is, let XVideos go through the motions of downloading the video. )
2. Look to the upper right of your iPad’s screen. There, you’ll see an icon. The icon is a circle. Inside the circle, an arrow is pointing down.
3. Tap on the circle that contains the down-pointing arrow.
4. An informational box appears. It’s titled, “Downloads”. Below “Downloads” is a list of videos that you’ve downloaded. The most recent video is the top one.
5. Tap on the video, in this list, that didn’t download. I can hear your objection:
“I can’t easily distinguish the videos in this list.”
When you download a video from XVideos, go immediately to your “Downloads” folder in “Files”. Make sure the video did in fact download. If it didn’t, go immediately back to your browser. It will still be at xvideos ( dot ) com. Tap the circle icon with the down-pointing arrow. The “Downloads” box here will display the video that didn’t download. It will be at the top of the list of videos. ( Because, as soon as you downloaded this video, you checked to see if it actually downloaded. )
6. Tap on this video. ( The one in the “Downloads” list. ). ( The list that the circle icon, with the down-pointing arrow, generates. ) The video will open. It opens in the “Downloads” folder in your “Files” folder.
7. You can now watch this video. However, there’s a problem. Look at the top left corner of your iPad’s screen. “Done” is written here. When you tap “Done”, the video will close. However, you won’t find the video in your “Downloads” folder. That’s because the video never ( actually ) downloaded!
8. What to do? First, don’t press “Done”! Second, look to the top right of your iPad’s screen. Written here is “Open in iMovie”. Tap “Open in iMovie”. This will send the video to “iMovie”.
Elsewhere on my blog, I discuss how to send downloaded videos to “iMovie”. I also discuss how to pull screen recordings that you’ve made into “iMovie”.
Let’s discuss the journey that your video took. ( The video that wouldn’t download from xvideos ( dot ) com. ) The video originated on xvideos ( dot ) com. By “downloading” it, you put it into your browser. By tapping the circle icon ( that contains the down-pointing arrow ), you visited the video in your “Downloads” folder in “Files”.
NOTE: Your “Downloads” folder is in “iCloud Drive”. It is not ( actually ) on your iPad! By sending the video to “iMovie”, you sent the video to your iPad. ( The “iMovie” app is on your iPad. )
Now, backup your iPad to “iCloud Drive”. ( Use the “Settings” app on your iPad. )
9. Congratulations! By tapping the circle icon ( that contains the down-pointing arrow ), you’ve outwitted xvideos ( dot ) com! You’ve gotten a copy of a video that XVideos didn’t want you to download.
NOTE: The circle icon ( that contains the down-pointing arrow ) can only hold so many videos. That is, its informational box, titled “Downloads”, can only hold so many videos.
In the upper right corner of this box is the word “Clear”. Tap this box once in awhile. It will erase all the information in the box. The box can only hold about 50 videos.
NOTE: The “Downloads” folder, in your “Files” folder, can only hold about 450 videos. Create a folder inside the “Downloads” folder. Let’s call it ARSE. Then, put all the videos in your “Downloads” folder into your ARSE folder. Move your ARSE folder out of the “Downloads” folder.
WORDS TO REMEMBER
It was the summer of 2019. I was standing in the Apple store. I’d been there for a number of hours. A female Apple employee was disgusted with me. She suspected me of ogling a 12-year-old female customer, which is ridiculous. However, Apple’s female employee never said a word to me. Nor did any other Apple employee, despite the store having lots of them.
Finally, I found an Apple employee who was a pervert. He was a guy my age. He was speaking with a customer! It was some lady that he obviously wanted to fuck.
She had no interest in Apple’s pervert. However, I was thrilled by the pervert. Unlike Apple’s other employees, this man had the gift of speech! Apple had managed to hire one pervert, among all its employees, who’d evolved to the level of a human being.
I placed myself very close to the lady customer that the pervert wanted to fuck. She soon disappeared. However, Apple’s pervert somehow got the idea that I was associated with the lady. So, when I asked him a question, he answered it. After several failed tries, with several Apple employees, I was able to have a conversation! With a salesperson! In a store!
Apple doesn’t provide a standard amount of memory with its iPads. You can buy a lot of memory for your iPad. Or, you can buy almost none. I asked the pervert how much memory I should buy for my iPad. Would I need more than 512 Gigabytes? No, he declared. In fact, he recommended less memory than that.
Two years later, I’m an experienced customer who ogles 12-year-old girls in Apple’s stores. I’ll give you my opinion regarding an iPad’s memory. Buy as much memory as you can. The maximum amount of memory that Apple currently sells for its iPads is one terabyte.
You might say,
“Andrew, I’m not a pervert like you. I don’t download videos of little ( 18-year-old ) girls masturbating at XVideos.”
What about You Tube? Before You Tube annihilated itself, I made many screen recordings of little ( under 18-year-old ) girls there. ( Sadly, they weren’t masturbating. )
So, whether you watch videos at You Tube or at XVideos, you’re going to be screen recording, and downloading, lots of videos. Buy as much memory as you can.
( I’m speaking of ROM memory. ROM memory is what a hard disk holds. It’s like a filing cabinet. I have no idea how much RAM you might buy. That question doesn’t apply to an iPad. RAM memory is akin to remembering something that you were just told. )
WHIZDUMB FROM holy joe
Reader: Dear holy joe, how do I avoid getting a sexually transmitted disease?
holy joe: Always have sex with a virgin.
ARCANA
1. “a solid ten” body. This is in the title of a “Hot falling devil” video that a viewer uploaded to xvideos ( dot ) com.
2. Our cultural heritage is being destroyed by Blue Meanies. That is, it’s being destroyed by the morons who have passed laws against so-called “child pornography”. Time and again, I find girls on a web site like XVideos who look gorgeous at age 18. Add a few years to that girl’s age, and she isn’t worth jerking-off to anymore.
“Hot falling devil” must have been startling to behold ( and jerk-off to ) at age 17. The same goes for when she was 16, 15, 14, 13, 12, 11, 10, 9, and 8. ( And younger. ) It’s a crime that honest jerk-offs are unable to see “Hot falling devil” masturbating at ages below 18, because laws kept her from uploading videos of herself. Doubtless, she was masturbating at younger ages.
A girl’s beauty at every year of her life ( through age 18 ) should be appreciated. We must rid ourselves of laws that rip our cultural heritage from the artistic womb before it is birthed. Say ‘no’ to abortion. Say ‘yes’ to child pornography.
——————————————————————————————————————————
Copyright 2021 by Andrew L. Roller. ET, Editorial Thunder, and ARSE, Andrew Roller Stories and Essays, are trademarks of Andrew L. Roller.
I am https://andrewroller.wordpress.com
Earlier posts by me are at https://asstr.org/files/Authors/Roller/
I’m on paper at: https://www.abebooks.com > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
and https://www.abebooks.co.uk > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
If you visit an “AbeBooks” website, you’ll be presented with a large square “Search” box. In the box labelled “Author”, type in “Andrew Roller”. In the box labelled “Title”, type in “Andrew Roller Presents”. This will bring up some of my pamphlets. I have not yet figured out how to bring up other pamphlets by me, under other titles. I don’t recall all the titles I published under.
I have no financial involvement in these resale items.
I am on You Tube as “Andrew Roller”. Use You Tube’s magnifying glass icon to search for “Andrew Roller”. That will take you to my You Tube channel. Or, on You Tube, tap my sun icon, if you see it. That will also take you to my You Tube channel. There, you can see songs and films that I like.
At the “home page” of my You Tube channel, you’ll see just a selection of playlists that I created. To see all my playlists, tap on the phrase, “Created playlists”.
The World Wide Web address for my You Tube channel is:
https://www.youtube.com/andrewroller
If you click on this link, you’ll be taken to a World Wide Web You Tube page. Here, You Tube displays a cartoon image of a monkey. The page says, “This page isn’t available. Sorry about that. Try searching for something else.”
My advice: on this page, search for “andrew roller”. By doing so, you’ll get to my World Wide Web You Tube channel. However, I have over 100 Playlists, that I created, at my You Tube app channel. The World Wide Web version of You Tube will only serve you 15 of my Playlists.
( Hence, access You Tube via its app. The You Tube app, like the WordPress app, is available for free at the Apple App Store. )
This is ET, Editorial Thunder, issue number 67
Arcana: This is ET, Editorial Thunder, issue number 67, version 5.0
Date Written: April 2, 2021. Live for the day that censorious Big Tech is dead.
——————————————————————————————————————————
This has been a presentation of A R S E news.
——————————————————————————————————————————
Sex Slaves in Space
-—————————————————————————————————————————
BO 5
Book Observations presents...
Sex Slaves in Space
——————————————————————————————————————————
Plus: Our “innocent” children.
And: Modern man revealed!
——————————————————————————————————————————
SEX SLAVES IN SPACE
by Andrew Roller
A book review of The Forever War, by Joe Haldeman. Published in 1974. ( Amazon Kindle. )
Note: As always, I strive to avoid any “spoilers” in this review.
I’m going to assume you’re a sadist. That is, you like to torture children. Specifically, ‘college kids’, or those in high school.
Have you guessed what sort of person I’m assuming you are? That’s right: you teach English literature. In this case, you teach a class in science fiction. But the trendy sound of your course won’t spare your students. That’s because, in my experience, it’s tough to get a position teaching English literature if you aren’t a sadist.
Given your perversion, is “The Forever War” appropriate for your pupils?
1. The book must be boring. Twenty times, as I read “The Forever War”, I wanted to chuck it out the window. It can be a tedious read.
2. The book must have historical value that’s now pointless. “The Forever War” is a big victor here. I was repeatedly struck by how inscrutable it must seem to children who are younger than my 60 years. If you never experienced the Vietnam War, in its time, even just on T.V., you may find “The Forever War” impossible to understand.
Why? According to Stephen King, a novel has three elements:
A. The good guy.
B. The bad guy.
C. The question, “Who gets the girl?”
“The Forever War” has a sympathetic protagonist: William Mandella. ( Probably named after Nelson Mandela, who was a prisoner in South Africa when this book was published. )
In “The Forever War”, the ‘bad guy’ is an enemy force that’s largely unseen. Hence, it’s the Vietcong.
“Who gets the girl” is a mostly irrelevant question in “The Forever War”.
The author mentions Alvin Toffler’s ( once ) famous book, “Future Shock”. ( Published in 1970. ) In many ways, “The Forever War” can be summed up as: the Vietnam War meets “Future Shock”.
I’ve never read “Future Shock”. However, it inundated ‘my’ junior high on Guam. I saw a film about the book more than once, in school. If you lack a gut-level understanding of Toffler’s book, “The Forever War” may leave you mentally adrift.
3. The book must advance the current leftist political agenda. “The Forever War” is loaded with relevancy on this point. Wolfwind, a reviewer on Amazon, gave the book one star. The headline for his review reads:
“Umm ????? Story of a hetero man facing his fears of a LGBT future.”
Wolfwind is correct. However, he fails to mention the connection with “Future Shock”. The signature line in that book ( or the film that I saw ) is,
“I now pronounce you man and man.”
In the early 1970s, the idea of gay marriage was ridiculous. To someone older than a junior high schooler, it was likely revolting. One thing was certain: no one would ever marry two men.
Conveniently for a professor, children under age 60 probably take gay marriage for granted. So a professor can lecture for hours on a topic that his students regard as irrelevant.
That’s why, if you like English, a professor is likely lying in wait for you with an assignment to read “The Forever War”.
Reviewers on Amazon whine about female military recruits being used as sex slaves by male recruits. This happens in “The Forever War”. I’m pleased to say that, being enlightened, I took that part of the book for granted. When I’m reading for pleasure, the book is often the “Story of O”. Of course, I read it one-handed.
( There’s no erotic thrill regarding the female ‘sex slavery’ in “The Forever War”. Joe Haldeman fails to include whips, chains, and innocent virgins. )
A sign of a great book is that it originates terms that are used by subsequent generations. This happens often in “The Forever War”. Two examples:
1. Stargate. A planet in this book, the name was later that of a T.V. show.
2. breeders. The term is applied to heterosexuals. It’s now in general use, with the same meaning. It also became the name of a band.
“The Forever War” is a stalwart addition to science fiction literature. However, it’s often boring. The book’s historical relevance is likely lost on the modern reader. It advances the LGBT agenda, but in a manner that today’s reader would likely miss.
Note: if you’d like to read a fine battle narrative, read the section titled “Major Mandella”. This runs from page 188 to the end of the book. You’ll pick up the LGBT theme here. Have fun with the cat. Look for a good example of foreshadowing near the book’s finish.
In this section, Haldeman wrongly refers to a “fighter” ( a spacecraft ) as a “small cruiser”. He does this when he introduces the craft on page 225. Haldeman refers to the craft as a “fighter” on page 242 and elsewhere.
The Amazon Kindle version of “The Forever War” has a great cover. The cover has nothing to do with the book’s contents.
The Amazon Kindle version, like other Kindle books, fails to include the book’s copyright page. ( This is called an indicia page in a magazine. ) For instance, the date of publication is missing from “The Forever War”.
It’s time for all publishers to treat e-books like real books. Every e-book should include all the information that a paper book has. The book must include a proper cover. ( Some publishers give their e-books a generic cover. That is, each of their e-books has the same cover. )
OUR “innocent” CHILDREN
Two Black girls, age 13 and 15, carjacked and killed an Uber driver in Washington D.C. The driver was a Pakistani senior citizen. The girls’ abuse of the man included shocking him with a stun gun. The girls expressed no remorse, except for one girl’s phone that was in the wrecked car.
- Tucker Carlson, Tucker Carlson Tonight, Fox News Channel, March 29, 2021.
( If there were less White people in Washington D.C., there would be less crime. - Editor. )
AND IN THE END...
Modern Man Revealed!
1. “I came, I saw, I asked permission.” - Julius Caesar.
2. “War is inappropriate.” - George Patton.
3. “I can tell a lie, if it’s a woke lie.” - George Washington.
Arcana:
My comments regarding English literature professors are based on my experiences at the University of Hawaii ( UH ). Specifically, in UH’s English department. This was in the late 1970s. Even then, the English department was pushing a politically correct agenda.
At the time, I was a freshman. Attempting to avoid trouble, I enrolled in the hip-sounding class, “English 170: media”. David Nelson, a White man, was the professor. He was a typical hippie of the time. Nelson, like many his age at UH, was well on his way to becoming a yuppie. Also, like his professorial peers, he was horrific. That is, he was:
1. Stupid.
2. Arrogant.
3. He singled me out for abuse.
I got a “C” in Nelson’s class. That was, practically speaking, the lowest grade a student could get at UH.
I gotta ask: Nelson, how much have you posted on the internet? Anything?
My opinion of assigned literature comes from further UH experiences, as well as those in law school. Regarding English literature, I prefer Victorian porn novels to Doris Less ( ing ).
——————————————————————————————————————————
Copyright 2021 by Andrew L. Roller. BO, Book Observations, and ARSE, Andrew Roller Stories and Essays, are trademarks of Andrew L. Roller.
I am https://andrewroller.wordpress.com
Earlier posts by me are at https://asstr.org/files/Authors/Roller/
I’m on paper at: https://www.abebooks.com > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
and https://www.abebooks.co.uk > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
If you visit an “AbeBooks” website, you’ll be presented with a large square “Search” box. In the box labelled “Author”, type in “Andrew Roller”. In the box labelled “Title”, type in “Andrew Roller Presents”. This will bring up some of my pamphlets. I have not yet figured out how to bring up other pamphlets by me, under other titles. I don’t recall all the titles I published under.
I have no financial involvement in these resale items.
I am on You Tube as “Andrew Roller”. Use You Tube’s magnifying glass icon to search for “Andrew Roller”. That will take you to my You Tube channel. Or, on You Tube, tap my sun icon, if you see it. That will also take you to my You Tube channel. There, you can see songs and films that I like.
At the “home page” of my You Tube channel, you’ll see just a selection of playlists that I created. To see all my playlists, tap on the phrase, “Created playlists”.
The World Wide Web address for my You Tube channel is:
https://www.youtube.com/andrewroller
If you click on this link, you’ll be taken to a World Wide Web You Tube page. Here, You Tube displays a cartoon image of a monkey. The page says, “This page isn’t available. Sorry about that. Try searching for something else.”
My advice: on this page, search for “andrew roller”. By doing so, you’ll get to my World Wide Web You Tube channel. However, I have over 100 Playlists, that I created, at my You Tube app channel. The World Wide Web version of You Tube will only serve you 15 of my Playlists.
( Hence, access You Tube via its app. The You Tube app, like the WordPress app, is available for free at the Apple App Store. )
This is BO, Book Observations, issue number 5
Arcana: This is BO, Book Observations, issue number 5, version 7.0
Date Written: March 30, 2021. Live for the day that censorious Big Tech is dead.
——————————————————————————————————————————
This has been a presentation of A R S E news.
——————————————————————————————————————————
BO 5
Book Observations presents...
Sex Slaves in Space
——————————————————————————————————————————
Plus: Our “innocent” children.
And: Modern man revealed!
——————————————————————————————————————————
SEX SLAVES IN SPACE
by Andrew Roller
A book review of The Forever War, by Joe Haldeman. Published in 1974. ( Amazon Kindle. )
Note: As always, I strive to avoid any “spoilers” in this review.
I’m going to assume you’re a sadist. That is, you like to torture children. Specifically, ‘college kids’, or those in high school.
Have you guessed what sort of person I’m assuming you are? That’s right: you teach English literature. In this case, you teach a class in science fiction. But the trendy sound of your course won’t spare your students. That’s because, in my experience, it’s tough to get a position teaching English literature if you aren’t a sadist.
Given your perversion, is “The Forever War” appropriate for your pupils?
1. The book must be boring. Twenty times, as I read “The Forever War”, I wanted to chuck it out the window. It can be a tedious read.
2. The book must have historical value that’s now pointless. “The Forever War” is a big victor here. I was repeatedly struck by how inscrutable it must seem to children who are younger than my 60 years. If you never experienced the Vietnam War, in its time, even just on T.V., you may find “The Forever War” impossible to understand.
Why? According to Stephen King, a novel has three elements:
A. The good guy.
B. The bad guy.
C. The question, “Who gets the girl?”
“The Forever War” has a sympathetic protagonist: William Mandella. ( Probably named after Nelson Mandela, who was a prisoner in South Africa when this book was published. )
In “The Forever War”, the ‘bad guy’ is an enemy force that’s largely unseen. Hence, it’s the Vietcong.
“Who gets the girl” is a mostly irrelevant question in “The Forever War”.
The author mentions Alvin Toffler’s ( once ) famous book, “Future Shock”. ( Published in 1970. ) In many ways, “The Forever War” can be summed up as: the Vietnam War meets “Future Shock”.
I’ve never read “Future Shock”. However, it inundated ‘my’ junior high on Guam. I saw a film about the book more than once, in school. If you lack a gut-level understanding of Toffler’s book, “The Forever War” may leave you mentally adrift.
3. The book must advance the current leftist political agenda. “The Forever War” is loaded with relevancy on this point. Wolfwind, a reviewer on Amazon, gave the book one star. The headline for his review reads:
“Umm ????? Story of a hetero man facing his fears of a LGBT future.”
Wolfwind is correct. However, he fails to mention the connection with “Future Shock”. The signature line in that book ( or the film that I saw ) is,
“I now pronounce you man and man.”
In the early 1970s, the idea of gay marriage was ridiculous. To someone older than a junior high schooler, it was likely revolting. One thing was certain: no one would ever marry two men.
Conveniently for a professor, children under age 60 probably take gay marriage for granted. So a professor can lecture for hours on a topic that his students regard as irrelevant.
That’s why, if you like English, a professor is likely lying in wait for you with an assignment to read “The Forever War”.
Reviewers on Amazon whine about female military recruits being used as sex slaves by male recruits. This happens in “The Forever War”. I’m pleased to say that, being enlightened, I took that part of the book for granted. When I’m reading for pleasure, the book is often the “Story of O”. Of course, I read it one-handed.
( There’s no erotic thrill regarding the female ‘sex slavery’ in “The Forever War”. Joe Haldeman fails to include whips, chains, and innocent virgins. )
A sign of a great book is that it originates terms that are used by subsequent generations. This happens often in “The Forever War”. Two examples:
1. Stargate. A planet in this book, the name was later that of a T.V. show.
2. breeders. The term is applied to heterosexuals. It’s now in general use, with the same meaning. It also became the name of a band.
“The Forever War” is a stalwart addition to science fiction literature. However, it’s often boring. The book’s historical relevance is likely lost on the modern reader. It advances the LGBT agenda, but in a manner that today’s reader would likely miss.
Note: if you’d like to read a fine battle narrative, read the section titled “Major Mandella”. This runs from page 188 to the end of the book. You’ll pick up the LGBT theme here. Have fun with the cat. Look for a good example of foreshadowing near the book’s finish.
In this section, Haldeman wrongly refers to a “fighter” ( a spacecraft ) as a “small cruiser”. He does this when he introduces the craft on page 225. Haldeman refers to the craft as a “fighter” on page 242 and elsewhere.
The Amazon Kindle version of “The Forever War” has a great cover. The cover has nothing to do with the book’s contents.
The Amazon Kindle version, like other Kindle books, fails to include the book’s copyright page. ( This is called an indicia page in a magazine. ) For instance, the date of publication is missing from “The Forever War”.
It’s time for all publishers to treat e-books like real books. Every e-book should include all the information that a paper book has. The book must include a proper cover. ( Some publishers give their e-books a generic cover. That is, each of their e-books has the same cover. )
OUR “innocent” CHILDREN
Two Black girls, age 13 and 15, carjacked and killed an Uber driver in Washington D.C. The driver was a Pakistani senior citizen. The girls’ abuse of the man included shocking him with a stun gun. The girls expressed no remorse, except for one girl’s phone that was in the wrecked car.
- Tucker Carlson, Tucker Carlson Tonight, Fox News Channel, March 29, 2021.
( If there were less White people in Washington D.C., there would be less crime. - Editor. )
AND IN THE END...
Modern Man Revealed!
1. “I came, I saw, I asked permission.” - Julius Caesar.
2. “War is inappropriate.” - George Patton.
3. “I can tell a lie, if it’s a woke lie.” - George Washington.
Arcana:
My comments regarding English literature professors are based on my experiences at the University of Hawaii ( UH ). Specifically, in UH’s English department. This was in the late 1970s. Even then, the English department was pushing a politically correct agenda.
At the time, I was a freshman. Attempting to avoid trouble, I enrolled in the hip-sounding class, “English 170: media”. David Nelson, a White man, was the professor. He was a typical hippie of the time. Nelson, like many his age at UH, was well on his way to becoming a yuppie. Also, like his professorial peers, he was horrific. That is, he was:
1. Stupid.
2. Arrogant.
3. He singled me out for abuse.
I got a “C” in Nelson’s class. That was, practically speaking, the lowest grade a student could get at UH.
I gotta ask: Nelson, how much have you posted on the internet? Anything?
My opinion of assigned literature comes from further UH experiences, as well as those in law school. Regarding English literature, I prefer Victorian porn novels to Doris Less ( ing ).
——————————————————————————————————————————
Copyright 2021 by Andrew L. Roller. BO, Book Observations, and ARSE, Andrew Roller Stories and Essays, are trademarks of Andrew L. Roller.
I am https://andrewroller.wordpress.com
Earlier posts by me are at https://asstr.org/files/Authors/Roller/
I’m on paper at: https://www.abebooks.com > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
and https://www.abebooks.co.uk > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
If you visit an “AbeBooks” website, you’ll be presented with a large square “Search” box. In the box labelled “Author”, type in “Andrew Roller”. In the box labelled “Title”, type in “Andrew Roller Presents”. This will bring up some of my pamphlets. I have not yet figured out how to bring up other pamphlets by me, under other titles. I don’t recall all the titles I published under.
I have no financial involvement in these resale items.
I am on You Tube as “Andrew Roller”. Use You Tube’s magnifying glass icon to search for “Andrew Roller”. That will take you to my You Tube channel. Or, on You Tube, tap my sun icon, if you see it. That will also take you to my You Tube channel. There, you can see songs and films that I like.
At the “home page” of my You Tube channel, you’ll see just a selection of playlists that I created. To see all my playlists, tap on the phrase, “Created playlists”.
The World Wide Web address for my You Tube channel is:
https://www.youtube.com/andrewroller
If you click on this link, you’ll be taken to a World Wide Web You Tube page. Here, You Tube displays a cartoon image of a monkey. The page says, “This page isn’t available. Sorry about that. Try searching for something else.”
My advice: on this page, search for “andrew roller”. By doing so, you’ll get to my World Wide Web You Tube channel. However, I have over 100 Playlists, that I created, at my You Tube app channel. The World Wide Web version of You Tube will only serve you 15 of my Playlists.
( Hence, access You Tube via its app. The You Tube app, like the WordPress app, is available for free at the Apple App Store. )
This is BO, Book Observations, issue number 5
Arcana: This is BO, Book Observations, issue number 5, version 7.0
Date Written: March 30, 2021. Live for the day that censorious Big Tech is dead.
——————————————————————————————————————————
This has been a presentation of A R S E news.
——————————————————————————————————————————
Resolution
-—————————————————————————————————————————
ET 66
Editorial Thunder presents...
Resolution
——————————————————————————————————————————
Plus: Rylett, Europe, and Vaseline.
And: Cecile, the 8 year old bride.
——————————————————————————————————————————
RESOLUTION
by Andrew Roller
UC San Diego Health
Patient Experience 200 West Arbor Drive # 8916 San Diego, CA 92103-8916 T: 619-543-5678 F: 619-543-6817
February 9, 2021
Dear Mr. Roller:
This letter is in response to your January 25, 2021 e-mail to UC San Diego Health, Office of Patient Experience. We attempted to call you ... however, we were unable to make contact with you to review the details of your concerns, which is a necessary part of our review process.
...
Sincerely,
The Office of Patient Experience UC San Diego Health
——————————————————————
UC San Diego Health
Patient Experience 200 West Arbor Drive # 8916 San Diego, CA 92103-8916 T: 619-543-5678 F: 619-543-6817
February 23, 2021
Dear Mr. Roller:
A Representative at Congressman Scott Peter’s office alerted the Director of Health Community Relations at UC San Diego Health that you needed assistance with resolving a billing issue. Financial Services Leadership at UC San Diego Health has since reviewed your billing concerns regarding date of service May 20, 2020.
Our review was completed on February 17, 2021 and revealed that UC San Diego Health adjusted the balance on February 4 2021. Please be assured that you are not responsible for this balance and we will work with the insurance company on the missing check. We sincerely apologize for any frustrations this matter may have caused you.
Thank you for allowing us the opportunity to review the service and communication provided. If you should have any other feedback or concerns please contact Patient Experience at welisten@health ( dot ) ucsd ( dot ) edu or ( 619 ) 543-5678.
Sincerely,
Nicole Morgan, Patient Experience Specialist UC San Diego Health
————————————— end of documents ————————————
My thanks to:
Scott Peters Member of Congress US House of Representatives California, 52nd District
and Jason Itch ( Jason Bercovitch, for Rep. Scott Peters. )
The above documents conclude my series on UCSD, its billing practices, and medical care. My series also dealt with my experiences at United States military hospitals.
-—————————————————————————————————————————
LISTEN to Carl Rylett’s podcast
A H I S T O R Y O F E U R O P E
Available in your Apple “Podcasts” app and elsewhere.
-—————————————————————————————————————————
RYLETT, EUROPE, AND VASELINE
“Don’t judge a book by its cover,” we’re told. I’ve come up with a new maxim. You probably already know it:
Don’t judge a podcast by its initial episodes.
Recently, I listened to David narrate the podcast, “Ages of Conquest”. As is my practice, I listened to every episode. It’s a fine podcast.
However, I never found out anything about David. I learned a bit more about his companion, Jack Wilson. Nonetheless, compared to podcasts like “Emperors of Rome”, and Barry Strauss’ “ANTIQUITAS”, I felt I never learned enough about David or Jack.
Next, I listened to all the episodes of Neil Eckart’s podcast, “War And Conquest”. I definitely learned about Neil. I guess he learned more about me than he wanted to. ( See “War And Conquest”, episode 10.7, March 14, 2021 for more. )
Neil’s podcast can be boisterous. ( Try his “drunk” episode, where he chucks beer bottles away as he speaks. ( Which hurt my ears. ) ( Source: “War And Conquest”, episode unnumbered, March 24, 2019. )
Neil is a genius. He continues to put out new episodes. However, once I’ve heard all the ( then ) extant episodes of a podcast, I move on to a new one.
Also, after having Neil in my head for two months, I was ready for David again! Except: like Barry Strauss, David and Jack have ceased releasing new episodes.
I decided to try the podcast “A History of Europe”. It’s by Carl Rylett. “A History of Europe” relates Western history from ancient to modern times. It does so by focusing on battles.
Rylett lives near Oxford, England. He does not speak English as a first language. When I began listening to Rylett, it was difficult for me to understand him. This was especially so since I do other things while I’m listening.
Rylett now speaks English much better. By “now”, I mean as of 2014. That’s as far as I’ve listened to “A History of Europe”, as yet. Rylett’s podcast begins in 2013.
Rylett speaks too softly in his early episodes. His voice is now louder.
However, Rylett’s smooth, professional delivery remains emotionally modest and soft-spoken. Then an advertisement comes on. It arrives with no warning. Mostly, an advertisement will follow the podcast. Once, it came prior to the podcast. Another time, the ad popped up in the middle of the podcast.
You can guess what the volume is of the advertisement. It’s loud! I’m thrilled that Rylett was able to attract advertisers from his earliest episodes. However, he needs to give me a warning to turn down my earphones’ volume! ( Which isn’t much help if my hands are wet, which they often are. )
Recently, I was looking at porn star Kay Jay, circa age 12 ( in appearance ). I can’t look at Kay without yanking my wiener out. I grabbed my squirt bottle of “Vaseline Intensive Care Soothing Hydration With Triple Hydration Complex Glycerin one percent Aloe Vera Vaseline Jelly”.
I hadn’t meant to look at Kay Jay. It happened by accident. I was multitasking, as Neil Eckart does. In my case, I have a long wiener. I was looking at Kay and listening to Rylett.
Then, an ad appeared, in Rylett’s podcast. It was very loud. It was the ad about two Irish guys laughing about the mom of one being in “the loo”. “I’m in here, if anyone needs me!” she’d always cry. So I’ve got this fucking ad blasting my ears, and both my hands are on my dick, covered with Vaseline. Worse, I’d just had a new “accident” ( besides looking at Kay ). So my hands were wetly creamy and sticky. I wasn’t able to turn down my headphone’s volume. I think my hearing capacity has been reduced to that of Pete Townshend’s.
I’ve since learned to hit my headphone’s volume control with my wrist, when I can’t use my hands. I do that a lot now.
Like most podcasts, “A History of Europe” skimps on information in its early episodes. Rylett provides much fuller podcasts now, in terms of content.
I listen to “A History of Europe” on Apple’s “Podcasts” app. There, each episode segues into the next one. This is a godsend. Often, when an episode ends, I’m stuck on the toilet. ( Not looking at Kay Jay. ) I don’t have to get up from the toilet to go to my iPad to start the next episode. ( This is especially useful if I have Vaseline all over my dick and my hands. )
We live in an era when “the West”, and “Western history”, are being denigrated by our society. I’m proud to study the history of men at war, in Europe and elsewhere, and the females ( including 8 year old brides ), who intersected their lives.
I highly recommend “A History of Europe” by Carl Rylett.
YOUNG GIRL
Young girl, get into my life Missing you is giving me mental strife You’re eight, girl You’re not too young, girl!
With all the allure of a woman You’re brimming with youth You led me to believe You’re old enough to give me Love And now it hurts to have you gone, oh
Young girl, get into my life Missing you is giving me mental strife You’re eight, girl You’re not too young, girl!
Beneath your scent of gum and candy You’re far from being a baby And though you know That it is wrong to be away from me Your come on look lingers with me, oh
Young girl, get into my life Missing you is giving me mental strife You’re eight, girl You’re not too young, girl!
So hurry back to my hunky self Don’t think that you’re the only elf Get back with me before I change my mind Commit yourself to wedding ties ‘Cause I’m afraid I’ll stray from you, oh
Young girl, get into my life Missing you is giving me mental strife You’re eight, girl You’re not too young, girl!
Young girl, get into my life Missing you is giving me mental strife You’re eight, girl You’re not too young, girl!
Young girl, get into my life!
- Original songwriter: Jerry Fuller Pussy.
- Original band: Gary Fuckett and The Pussy Gap.
Source: lyricsmode ( dot ) com.
WORD OF THE DAY...
nymphet
1. A pubescent girl regarded as sexually precocious.
2. A young girl who is sexually precocious and desirable.
3. A sexually precocious girl.
Source: The Free Dictionary by Farlex.
AND IN THE END...
1. “In the days of Charlemagne, a 13-year-old woman was middle-aged.”
- Neil Eckart, War And Conquest, episode 9.7, November 8, 2020.
2. “Years ago, a 15-year-old bride was normal.”
- Neil Eckart, War And Conquest, episode 10.3, January 31, 2021.
3. “People really don’t change, just societies and cultures do.”
- Neil Eckart, War And Conquest, episode 9.7, November 8, 2020.
Arcana:
1. UCSD misplaced the possessive apostrophe in “Peter’s”. ( It should read “Peters’”. ) UCSD omitted the comma in “February 4 2021”. ( Based on their use elsewhere, it should read, “February 4, 2021”. )
2. Pete Townshend, of the rock band “The Who” ( which plays real music, not “metal” ), has had hearing problems since about 1980. He was, more recently, accused by the British police of being involved in so-called “child pornography” ( as a viewer or possessor ).
3. Cecile of France was 8 years old when she married Tancred, the Prince of Galilee. Tancred was age 31. The couple was wed in the year 1106. Cecile’s name is pronounced with a soft “c”, followed by a quasi-hard “c”. That is, the correct pronunciation is “Sexcile”.
There is always a possibility that I could cease publishing. That is, I could disappear. If I do, please do not look for me in the year 1106. I definitely won’t be there with a girl harem.
Source for Cecile: en ( dot ) wikipedia ( dot ) org. “List of child brides”.
4. I happily ignore the convention of spelling out an age like 8, when referring to a child bride. That’s because the word “eight” glides by the eye, while 8 pops out.
5. Our English language is being forcibly changed by elites. You can buy dictionaries in fine condition from the 1970s, for about $20.00 or less. In those dictionaries, you can find a number of definitions, of sexually-themed words, that call the protagonist “a girl”, or “a young girl”.
Today, in most dictionaries, this has changed. Most such entries now ( wrongly ) use just the word “woman”. I commend “The Free Dictionary” for not submitting to the reigning dogma.
I’m using the word “fine” to describe a book’s acceptability to the general reader, not in a collector’s sense.
——————————————————————————————————————————
Copyright 2021 by Andrew L. Roller. ET, Editorial Thunder, and ARSE, Andrew Roller Stories and Essays, are trademarks of Andrew L. Roller.
I am https://andrewroller.wordpress.com
Earlier posts by me are at https://asstr.org/files/Authors/Roller/
I’m on paper at: https://www.abebooks.com > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
and https://www.abebooks.co.uk > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
If you visit an “AbeBooks” website, you’ll be presented with a large square “Search” box. In the box labelled “Author”, type in “Andrew Roller”. In the box labelled “Title”, type in “Andrew Roller Presents”. This will bring up some of my pamphlets. I have not yet figured out how to bring up other pamphlets by me, under other titles. I don’t recall all the titles I published under.
I have no financial involvement in these resale items.
I am on You Tube as “Andrew Roller”. Use You Tube’s magnifying glass icon to search for “Andrew Roller”. That will take you to my You Tube channel. Or, on You Tube, tap my sun icon, if you see it. That will also take you to my You Tube channel. There, you can see songs and films that I like.
At the “home page” of my You Tube channel, you’ll see just a selection of playlists that I created. To see all my playlists, tap on the phrase, “Created playlists”.
The World Wide Web address for my You Tube channel is:
https://www.youtube.com/andrewroller
If you click on this link, you’ll be taken to a World Wide Web You Tube page. Here, You Tube displays a cartoon image of a monkey. The page says, “This page isn’t available. Sorry about that. Try searching for something else.”
My advice: on this page, search for “andrew roller”. By doing so, you’ll get to my World Wide Web You Tube channel. However, I have over 100 Playlists, that I created, at my You Tube app channel. The World Wide Web version of You Tube will only serve you 15 of my Playlists.
( Hence, access You Tube via its app. The You Tube app, like the WordPress app, is available for free at the Apple App Store. )
This is ET, Editorial Thunder, issue number 66
Arcana: This is ET, Editorial Thunder, issue number 66, version 5.0
Date Written: March 25, 2021. Live for the day that censorious Big Tech is dead.
——————————————————————————————————————————
This has been a presentation of A R S E news.
——————————————————————————————————————————
ET 66
Editorial Thunder presents...
Resolution
——————————————————————————————————————————
Plus: Rylett, Europe, and Vaseline.
And: Cecile, the 8 year old bride.
——————————————————————————————————————————
RESOLUTION
by Andrew Roller
UC San Diego Health
Patient Experience 200 West Arbor Drive # 8916 San Diego, CA 92103-8916 T: 619-543-5678 F: 619-543-6817
February 9, 2021
Dear Mr. Roller:
This letter is in response to your January 25, 2021 e-mail to UC San Diego Health, Office of Patient Experience. We attempted to call you ... however, we were unable to make contact with you to review the details of your concerns, which is a necessary part of our review process.
...
Sincerely,
The Office of Patient Experience UC San Diego Health
——————————————————————
UC San Diego Health
Patient Experience 200 West Arbor Drive # 8916 San Diego, CA 92103-8916 T: 619-543-5678 F: 619-543-6817
February 23, 2021
Dear Mr. Roller:
A Representative at Congressman Scott Peter’s office alerted the Director of Health Community Relations at UC San Diego Health that you needed assistance with resolving a billing issue. Financial Services Leadership at UC San Diego Health has since reviewed your billing concerns regarding date of service May 20, 2020.
Our review was completed on February 17, 2021 and revealed that UC San Diego Health adjusted the balance on February 4 2021. Please be assured that you are not responsible for this balance and we will work with the insurance company on the missing check. We sincerely apologize for any frustrations this matter may have caused you.
Thank you for allowing us the opportunity to review the service and communication provided. If you should have any other feedback or concerns please contact Patient Experience at welisten@health ( dot ) ucsd ( dot ) edu or ( 619 ) 543-5678.
Sincerely,
Nicole Morgan, Patient Experience Specialist UC San Diego Health
————————————— end of documents ————————————
My thanks to:
Scott Peters Member of Congress US House of Representatives California, 52nd District
and Jason Itch ( Jason Bercovitch, for Rep. Scott Peters. )
The above documents conclude my series on UCSD, its billing practices, and medical care. My series also dealt with my experiences at United States military hospitals.
-—————————————————————————————————————————
LISTEN to Carl Rylett’s podcast
A H I S T O R Y O F E U R O P E
Available in your Apple “Podcasts” app and elsewhere.
-—————————————————————————————————————————
RYLETT, EUROPE, AND VASELINE
“Don’t judge a book by its cover,” we’re told. I’ve come up with a new maxim. You probably already know it:
Don’t judge a podcast by its initial episodes.
Recently, I listened to David narrate the podcast, “Ages of Conquest”. As is my practice, I listened to every episode. It’s a fine podcast.
However, I never found out anything about David. I learned a bit more about his companion, Jack Wilson. Nonetheless, compared to podcasts like “Emperors of Rome”, and Barry Strauss’ “ANTIQUITAS”, I felt I never learned enough about David or Jack.
Next, I listened to all the episodes of Neil Eckart’s podcast, “War And Conquest”. I definitely learned about Neil. I guess he learned more about me than he wanted to. ( See “War And Conquest”, episode 10.7, March 14, 2021 for more. )
Neil’s podcast can be boisterous. ( Try his “drunk” episode, where he chucks beer bottles away as he speaks. ( Which hurt my ears. ) ( Source: “War And Conquest”, episode unnumbered, March 24, 2019. )
Neil is a genius. He continues to put out new episodes. However, once I’ve heard all the ( then ) extant episodes of a podcast, I move on to a new one.
Also, after having Neil in my head for two months, I was ready for David again! Except: like Barry Strauss, David and Jack have ceased releasing new episodes.
I decided to try the podcast “A History of Europe”. It’s by Carl Rylett. “A History of Europe” relates Western history from ancient to modern times. It does so by focusing on battles.
Rylett lives near Oxford, England. He does not speak English as a first language. When I began listening to Rylett, it was difficult for me to understand him. This was especially so since I do other things while I’m listening.
Rylett now speaks English much better. By “now”, I mean as of 2014. That’s as far as I’ve listened to “A History of Europe”, as yet. Rylett’s podcast begins in 2013.
Rylett speaks too softly in his early episodes. His voice is now louder.
However, Rylett’s smooth, professional delivery remains emotionally modest and soft-spoken. Then an advertisement comes on. It arrives with no warning. Mostly, an advertisement will follow the podcast. Once, it came prior to the podcast. Another time, the ad popped up in the middle of the podcast.
You can guess what the volume is of the advertisement. It’s loud! I’m thrilled that Rylett was able to attract advertisers from his earliest episodes. However, he needs to give me a warning to turn down my earphones’ volume! ( Which isn’t much help if my hands are wet, which they often are. )
Recently, I was looking at porn star Kay Jay, circa age 12 ( in appearance ). I can’t look at Kay without yanking my wiener out. I grabbed my squirt bottle of “Vaseline Intensive Care Soothing Hydration With Triple Hydration Complex Glycerin one percent Aloe Vera Vaseline Jelly”.
I hadn’t meant to look at Kay Jay. It happened by accident. I was multitasking, as Neil Eckart does. In my case, I have a long wiener. I was looking at Kay and listening to Rylett.
Then, an ad appeared, in Rylett’s podcast. It was very loud. It was the ad about two Irish guys laughing about the mom of one being in “the loo”. “I’m in here, if anyone needs me!” she’d always cry. So I’ve got this fucking ad blasting my ears, and both my hands are on my dick, covered with Vaseline. Worse, I’d just had a new “accident” ( besides looking at Kay ). So my hands were wetly creamy and sticky. I wasn’t able to turn down my headphone’s volume. I think my hearing capacity has been reduced to that of Pete Townshend’s.
I’ve since learned to hit my headphone’s volume control with my wrist, when I can’t use my hands. I do that a lot now.
Like most podcasts, “A History of Europe” skimps on information in its early episodes. Rylett provides much fuller podcasts now, in terms of content.
I listen to “A History of Europe” on Apple’s “Podcasts” app. There, each episode segues into the next one. This is a godsend. Often, when an episode ends, I’m stuck on the toilet. ( Not looking at Kay Jay. ) I don’t have to get up from the toilet to go to my iPad to start the next episode. ( This is especially useful if I have Vaseline all over my dick and my hands. )
We live in an era when “the West”, and “Western history”, are being denigrated by our society. I’m proud to study the history of men at war, in Europe and elsewhere, and the females ( including 8 year old brides ), who intersected their lives.
I highly recommend “A History of Europe” by Carl Rylett.
YOUNG GIRL
Young girl, get into my life Missing you is giving me mental strife You’re eight, girl You’re not too young, girl!
With all the allure of a woman You’re brimming with youth You led me to believe You’re old enough to give me Love And now it hurts to have you gone, oh
Young girl, get into my life Missing you is giving me mental strife You’re eight, girl You’re not too young, girl!
Beneath your scent of gum and candy You’re far from being a baby And though you know That it is wrong to be away from me Your come on look lingers with me, oh
Young girl, get into my life Missing you is giving me mental strife You’re eight, girl You’re not too young, girl!
So hurry back to my hunky self Don’t think that you’re the only elf Get back with me before I change my mind Commit yourself to wedding ties ‘Cause I’m afraid I’ll stray from you, oh
Young girl, get into my life Missing you is giving me mental strife You’re eight, girl You’re not too young, girl!
Young girl, get into my life Missing you is giving me mental strife You’re eight, girl You’re not too young, girl!
Young girl, get into my life!
- Original songwriter: Jerry Fuller Pussy.
- Original band: Gary Fuckett and The Pussy Gap.
Source: lyricsmode ( dot ) com.
WORD OF THE DAY...
nymphet
1. A pubescent girl regarded as sexually precocious.
2. A young girl who is sexually precocious and desirable.
3. A sexually precocious girl.
Source: The Free Dictionary by Farlex.
AND IN THE END...
1. “In the days of Charlemagne, a 13-year-old woman was middle-aged.”
- Neil Eckart, War And Conquest, episode 9.7, November 8, 2020.
2. “Years ago, a 15-year-old bride was normal.”
- Neil Eckart, War And Conquest, episode 10.3, January 31, 2021.
3. “People really don’t change, just societies and cultures do.”
- Neil Eckart, War And Conquest, episode 9.7, November 8, 2020.
Arcana:
1. UCSD misplaced the possessive apostrophe in “Peter’s”. ( It should read “Peters’”. ) UCSD omitted the comma in “February 4 2021”. ( Based on their use elsewhere, it should read, “February 4, 2021”. )
2. Pete Townshend, of the rock band “The Who” ( which plays real music, not “metal” ), has had hearing problems since about 1980. He was, more recently, accused by the British police of being involved in so-called “child pornography” ( as a viewer or possessor ).
3. Cecile of France was 8 years old when she married Tancred, the Prince of Galilee. Tancred was age 31. The couple was wed in the year 1106. Cecile’s name is pronounced with a soft “c”, followed by a quasi-hard “c”. That is, the correct pronunciation is “Sexcile”.
There is always a possibility that I could cease publishing. That is, I could disappear. If I do, please do not look for me in the year 1106. I definitely won’t be there with a girl harem.
Source for Cecile: en ( dot ) wikipedia ( dot ) org. “List of child brides”.
4. I happily ignore the convention of spelling out an age like 8, when referring to a child bride. That’s because the word “eight” glides by the eye, while 8 pops out.
5. Our English language is being forcibly changed by elites. You can buy dictionaries in fine condition from the 1970s, for about $20.00 or less. In those dictionaries, you can find a number of definitions, of sexually-themed words, that call the protagonist “a girl”, or “a young girl”.
Today, in most dictionaries, this has changed. Most such entries now ( wrongly ) use just the word “woman”. I commend “The Free Dictionary” for not submitting to the reigning dogma.
I’m using the word “fine” to describe a book’s acceptability to the general reader, not in a collector’s sense.
——————————————————————————————————————————
Copyright 2021 by Andrew L. Roller. ET, Editorial Thunder, and ARSE, Andrew Roller Stories and Essays, are trademarks of Andrew L. Roller.
I am https://andrewroller.wordpress.com
Earlier posts by me are at https://asstr.org/files/Authors/Roller/
I’m on paper at: https://www.abebooks.com > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
and https://www.abebooks.co.uk > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
If you visit an “AbeBooks” website, you’ll be presented with a large square “Search” box. In the box labelled “Author”, type in “Andrew Roller”. In the box labelled “Title”, type in “Andrew Roller Presents”. This will bring up some of my pamphlets. I have not yet figured out how to bring up other pamphlets by me, under other titles. I don’t recall all the titles I published under.
I have no financial involvement in these resale items.
I am on You Tube as “Andrew Roller”. Use You Tube’s magnifying glass icon to search for “Andrew Roller”. That will take you to my You Tube channel. Or, on You Tube, tap my sun icon, if you see it. That will also take you to my You Tube channel. There, you can see songs and films that I like.
At the “home page” of my You Tube channel, you’ll see just a selection of playlists that I created. To see all my playlists, tap on the phrase, “Created playlists”.
The World Wide Web address for my You Tube channel is:
https://www.youtube.com/andrewroller
If you click on this link, you’ll be taken to a World Wide Web You Tube page. Here, You Tube displays a cartoon image of a monkey. The page says, “This page isn’t available. Sorry about that. Try searching for something else.”
My advice: on this page, search for “andrew roller”. By doing so, you’ll get to my World Wide Web You Tube channel. However, I have over 100 Playlists, that I created, at my You Tube app channel. The World Wide Web version of You Tube will only serve you 15 of my Playlists.
( Hence, access You Tube via its app. The You Tube app, like the WordPress app, is available for free at the Apple App Store. )
This is ET, Editorial Thunder, issue number 66
Arcana: This is ET, Editorial Thunder, issue number 66, version 5.0
Date Written: March 25, 2021. Live for the day that censorious Big Tech is dead.
——————————————————————————————————————————
This has been a presentation of A R S E news.
——————————————————————————————————————————
Perfidious Pandora
-—————————————————————————————————————————
ET 65
Editorial Thunder presents...
Perfidious Pandora
——————————————————————————————————————————
Plus: Whizzing to fame.
And: Onward, “pervert” soldiers!
——————————————————————————————————————————
PERFIDIOUS PANDORA
I’m effectively banned from Pandora.
by Andrew Roller
In Book Observations issue number 4, I wrote an article. It’s titled, “Skip Pandora’s Ads”. I stated that, by using Pandora’s “search” function, you could avoid their numerous ads.
Within a week, Pandora retaliated. As best I can tell, they retaliated solely against me. I say this because of the clunky manner in which Pandora changed their service.
I went on Pandora last week. My user name is “andrewroller666”. My status on Pandora has always been that of a non-paying, basic user.
On Pandora, I was delivered to their station, “Paul Revere and the Raiders”. Pandora began playing its playlist of songs for this station.
As often happens, Pandora’s playlist began with the song “Kicks”. This is the title song in this Pandora playlist. The songs that follow are often very predicable. Inevitably, the songs are those that one is most likely to have heard in the relevant era.
( Hence, on the station “Paul Revere and the Raiders”, you’ll hear 1960s songs, plus a whole lot of 1970s songs that I, personally, don’t want to hear again. )
In any era, many songs are released. Yet Pandora remains mindlessly attached to the most familiar songs.
So, I rely on Pandora’s “search” function. I use it to search for new music. ( By which I mean, music new to me. It may have been recorded six decades ago. )
There are other benefits to using Pandora’s “search” function.
Pandora’s “search” function lets me skip Pandora’s many advertisements.
“Search” lets me skip Pandora’s numerous public service announcements. These are obnoxious. After being absent from Pandora for awhile, I began using it. This was last December. I was dunned with a host of ads and public service announcements. These all repeated the same propaganda. “Black lives matter!” I was told. This was not stated in a manner that was meant to convince me. ( Assuming I disagreed. ) Pandora was doing the equivalent of shouting “Heil, Hitler!” at me.
Last week, having booted up Pandora, I went straight to their “search” function. I’ve been using it routinely since the summer of 2019.
Here’s how Pandora’s “search” function is supposed to work. You find a song. Then, if you opt to play it, Pandora triggers a ( quasi ) “premium session”.
First, you watch a ( mercifully ) brief ad. Then, the “premium session” begins. During this time, you can collect songs, and add songs to your playlist(s).
Following my usual habit, I used the “search” function. Pandora informed me that I’d triggered a “premium session”. All I had to do was watch their brief ad.
I watched the ad. I was not given my “premium session”. Instead, a little white box appeared on my screen. It looked like the little white box that Apple sometimes puts on my iPad’s screen.
“Something went wrong.” the box informed me. This is highly unusual. I’d never seen this box before, including on Pandora.
I repeated the steps to trigger a “premium session”. I did so four times. The result? I got the “something went wrong” box each time.
Twice, very briefly, a white box appeared. It told me to upgrade to “Pandora Premium”. I had to screen shot this box to read it, before it vanished. As with the box that told me, “something went wrong”, this was a highly unusual box.
I pause to note that Pandora has a number of “premium” levels. The odd white box did not distinguish between Pandora’s levels.
Pandora has invited me, at times, to upgrade my membership. However, that invitation is a standard one, that is fully integrated into Pandora’s software.
I am no longer able to search for music on Pandora. I can use the search tool, but I get the odd “something went wrong” box when I do. This box appears AFTER I’ve watched Pandora’s ad. The box appears AFTER Pandora has PROMISED that I’ll enjoy a “premium session”.
During my nearly two years on Pandora, I was always able to use its “search” function. The deal was always the same: watch a short ad, trigger a “premium session”.
Now, I’m restricted to Pandora’s mind-numbing playlists on their various “stations”. This effectively bans me from Pandora. That’s because I now have less rights than even a non-paying basic user.
Facebook, and its employees, behave in a manner that can only be described as disgusting.
Google’s You Tube, and its employees, behave in a manner that can only be described as disgusting. The latest example at You Tube is this:
Recently, former President of the United States Donald Trump spoke at a convention called the Conservative Political Action Conference ( CPAC ). Trump has been a highly popular speaker at CPAC for years. The convention is hosted by the American Conservative Union ( ACU ).
The ACU filmed Trump’s speech. They posted it to You Tube. You Tube promptly banned Trump’s speech. Their reason? You Tube labelled Trump’s speech “a scam”. ( I’ve been accused of “a scam” more than once by You Tube. This despite the fact that I’ve never posted a single video on You Tube. )
I must now add Pandora to the list of internet companies that are disgusting. If Pandora wants to change its software to prohibit searches, so be it. However, as noted above, when I search for a song, Pandora continues to promise me a “premium session”. They show me an ad. Then they violate our agreement.
I had been planning to upgrade my membership on Pandora. Now, I don’t trust them. It will be a long time before I return to Pandora. I definitely won’t be giving them money.
I pay $15.99 a month to Google’s You Tube. However, due to You Tube’s bad conduct, I’ve been boycotting them since last year. I may well boycott You Tube for an entire year.
We customers of internet platforms must stand up for ourselves. If a company screws you, let people know. ( WordPress has blog space waiting for you. At the basic level, which I use, WordPress is free. )
If you can, boycott the company that screwed you. Try to do this for a significant length of time. Shoot for a boycott that lasts a year.
Compuserve owned the pre-internet world. Compuserve is now dead. America Online should be the most powerful internet platform. Instead, America Online is dead. I recall young people fleeing America Online for other ( dial up ) internet hosts. Then, America Online banned me ( stealing my money in the process ).
As best I can tell, young people are now posting fewer videos to You Tube. I say this because I sometimes accidentally “pull down” a “shade” on my iPad’s screen. It used to be full of You Tube notifications from girls like Dana Taranova and Mari Kruchkova. Yesterday, I accidentally pulled down my screen’s shade. I was stunned to see no notifications at all from anyone on You Tube. So perhaps Dana and Mari, and other girls, have departed You Tube for other internet platforms. Some months ago, enduring abuse from You Tube’s employees, Dana let everyone know that she preferred the platform “Likee”.
Big Tech should exist in a more competitive environment. Our government(s) have failed to make this happen.
Fortunately, young people like Dana and Mari may well create such competition, by seeking internet platforms that don’t abuse them.
holy joe, Commode Laureate, presents:
WHIZZING TO FAME
Rock of Ages cleft for me, Because I need to pee.
In the mountains, and in the sea, In the wind, and on the street.
Anywhere people can see I will take my relief!
AND IN THE END...
LOVE CONQUERS ALL
Onward “pervert” soldiers, marching as to war, With young girls’ panties going on before!
Roman, our liberator, leads against the foe; Forward into battle, see the panties go!
Onward “pervert” soldiers, marching as to war, With young girls’ panties going on before!
At our sign of triumph Blue Meanies will flee; On, then, “pervert” soldiers, on to victory!
Meanie Land doth shudder at praise for Roman; “Perverts”, lift your voices; fly girls’ panties high!
Onward “pervert” soldiers, marching as to war, With young girls’ panties going on before!
Like a mighty army march all “perverts” in the world; “Perverts” who are fighting for the rights of little girls!
Men and girls are not split; all one body we, One in free love and joy; You Tube we’ll destroy!
Onward “pervert” soldiers, marching as to war, With young girls’ panties going on before!
Onward, then, all people, join our loving throng; rectumfying wrongs in our winning song!
Arcana:
1. Trump’s CPAC speech “a scam”: The head of the American Conservative Union ( ACU ) is Matt Schlapp Dance. Schlapp complained live, on the Fox News Channel, about You Tube’s ban of the ACU’s video. You Tube banned the AUC’s video as Schlapp was speaking on Fox.
2. Roman, in the war hymn: Roman Polanski. The famed director, despite having sex with a 13-year-old girl, was not murdered by the state, as Neil Ickart advocates. ( In his podcast “War And Conquest”, episode 9.7. November 8, 2020. )
I personally reserve the death penalty for a person who uses tobacco, smokes marijuana, drinks alcohol, consumes hours playing video games, gambles, and makes tedious podcasts with Aaron Clueless.
( Eckart’s “War And Conquest” podcast is excellent. Sadly, Eckart sometimes teams up in “crossover” episodes with “Aaron C” of the podcast, “We Talk About Dead People”.
Aaron has an outstanding broadcasting voice. Unfortunately, Aaron follows a “morning zoo” radio station format in his podcast. If you want a lengthy, pointless podcast, with distracting music, listen to “We Talk About Dead People”. With luck, you’ll die before it ends. )
3. “Onward, Christian Soldiers” lyrics courtesy of godtube ( dot ) com. Via fucking Google.
Google’s sins are many. They keep pointlessly signing me out of their platform. Google routinely warns me to take their “security checkup”. When I do, Google invalidates my current password. The result of Google’s “security checkup” is often this: “You are not Andrew Roller.” ( Yes. I’m God, but I don’t like to mention this to the sinners at Google. They’re beyond redemption. Why remind them of their eternal damnation? )
All I use Google for is their search engine and their map. That’s because Google is a wretchedly censorious company. If I was writing this in “Google Docs”, Google would destroy what I’m writing.
Hitler burned books. Google bans writing that it deems to be supportive of “pedophilia”. Meanwhile, Google’s You Tube destroys girls’ innocuous videos.
Live for the day that censorious Big Tech is dead.
——————————————————————————————————————————
Copyright 2021 by Andrew L. Roller. ET, Editorial Thunder, and ARSE, Andrew Roller Stories and Essays, are trademarks of Andrew L. Roller.
I am https://andrewroller.wordpress.com
Earlier posts by me are at https://asstr.org/files/Authors/Roller/
I’m on paper at: https://www.abebooks.com > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
and https://www.abebooks.co.uk > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
If you visit an “AbeBooks” website, you’ll be presented with a large square “Search” box. In the box labelled “Author”, type in “Andrew Roller”. In the box labelled “Title”, type in “Andrew Roller Presents”. This will bring up some of my pamphlets. I have not yet figured out how to bring up other pamphlets by me, under other titles. I don’t recall all the titles I published under.
I have no financial involvement in these resale items.
I am on You Tube as “Andrew Roller”. Use You Tube’s magnifying glass icon to search for “Andrew Roller”. That will take you to my You Tube channel. Or, on You Tube, tap my sun icon, if you see it. That will also take you to my You Tube channel. There, you can see songs and films that I like.
At the “home page” of my You Tube channel, you’ll see just a selection of playlists that I created. To see all my playlists, tap on the phrase, “Created playlists”.
The World Wide Web address for my You Tube channel is:
https://www.youtube.com/andrewroller
If you click on this link, you’ll be taken to a World Wide Web You Tube page. Here, You Tube displays a cartoon image of a monkey. The page says, “This page isn’t available. Sorry about that. Try searching for something else.”
My advice: on this page, search for “andrew roller”. By doing so, you’ll get to my World Wide Web You Tube channel. However, I have over 100 Playlists, that I created, at my You Tube app channel. The World Wide Web version of You Tube will only serve you 15 of my Playlists.
( Hence, access You Tube via its app. The You Tube app, like the WordPress app, is available for free at the Apple App Store. )
This is ET, Editorial Thunder, issue number 65
Arcana: This is ET, Editorial Thunder, issue number 65, version 4.0
Date Written: March 14, 2021.
——————————————————————————————————————————
This has been a presentation of A R S E news.
( Nearly 40 years ago, someone told me, “You’ve been kicked out of more things than I’ve ever been in!” )
——————————————————————————————————————————
ET 65
Editorial Thunder presents...
Perfidious Pandora
——————————————————————————————————————————
Plus: Whizzing to fame.
And: Onward, “pervert” soldiers!
——————————————————————————————————————————
PERFIDIOUS PANDORA
I’m effectively banned from Pandora.
by Andrew Roller
In Book Observations issue number 4, I wrote an article. It’s titled, “Skip Pandora’s Ads”. I stated that, by using Pandora’s “search” function, you could avoid their numerous ads.
Within a week, Pandora retaliated. As best I can tell, they retaliated solely against me. I say this because of the clunky manner in which Pandora changed their service.
I went on Pandora last week. My user name is “andrewroller666”. My status on Pandora has always been that of a non-paying, basic user.
On Pandora, I was delivered to their station, “Paul Revere and the Raiders”. Pandora began playing its playlist of songs for this station.
As often happens, Pandora’s playlist began with the song “Kicks”. This is the title song in this Pandora playlist. The songs that follow are often very predicable. Inevitably, the songs are those that one is most likely to have heard in the relevant era.
( Hence, on the station “Paul Revere and the Raiders”, you’ll hear 1960s songs, plus a whole lot of 1970s songs that I, personally, don’t want to hear again. )
In any era, many songs are released. Yet Pandora remains mindlessly attached to the most familiar songs.
So, I rely on Pandora’s “search” function. I use it to search for new music. ( By which I mean, music new to me. It may have been recorded six decades ago. )
There are other benefits to using Pandora’s “search” function.
Pandora’s “search” function lets me skip Pandora’s many advertisements.
“Search” lets me skip Pandora’s numerous public service announcements. These are obnoxious. After being absent from Pandora for awhile, I began using it. This was last December. I was dunned with a host of ads and public service announcements. These all repeated the same propaganda. “Black lives matter!” I was told. This was not stated in a manner that was meant to convince me. ( Assuming I disagreed. ) Pandora was doing the equivalent of shouting “Heil, Hitler!” at me.
Last week, having booted up Pandora, I went straight to their “search” function. I’ve been using it routinely since the summer of 2019.
Here’s how Pandora’s “search” function is supposed to work. You find a song. Then, if you opt to play it, Pandora triggers a ( quasi ) “premium session”.
First, you watch a ( mercifully ) brief ad. Then, the “premium session” begins. During this time, you can collect songs, and add songs to your playlist(s).
Following my usual habit, I used the “search” function. Pandora informed me that I’d triggered a “premium session”. All I had to do was watch their brief ad.
I watched the ad. I was not given my “premium session”. Instead, a little white box appeared on my screen. It looked like the little white box that Apple sometimes puts on my iPad’s screen.
“Something went wrong.” the box informed me. This is highly unusual. I’d never seen this box before, including on Pandora.
I repeated the steps to trigger a “premium session”. I did so four times. The result? I got the “something went wrong” box each time.
Twice, very briefly, a white box appeared. It told me to upgrade to “Pandora Premium”. I had to screen shot this box to read it, before it vanished. As with the box that told me, “something went wrong”, this was a highly unusual box.
I pause to note that Pandora has a number of “premium” levels. The odd white box did not distinguish between Pandora’s levels.
Pandora has invited me, at times, to upgrade my membership. However, that invitation is a standard one, that is fully integrated into Pandora’s software.
I am no longer able to search for music on Pandora. I can use the search tool, but I get the odd “something went wrong” box when I do. This box appears AFTER I’ve watched Pandora’s ad. The box appears AFTER Pandora has PROMISED that I’ll enjoy a “premium session”.
During my nearly two years on Pandora, I was always able to use its “search” function. The deal was always the same: watch a short ad, trigger a “premium session”.
Now, I’m restricted to Pandora’s mind-numbing playlists on their various “stations”. This effectively bans me from Pandora. That’s because I now have less rights than even a non-paying basic user.
Facebook, and its employees, behave in a manner that can only be described as disgusting.
Google’s You Tube, and its employees, behave in a manner that can only be described as disgusting. The latest example at You Tube is this:
Recently, former President of the United States Donald Trump spoke at a convention called the Conservative Political Action Conference ( CPAC ). Trump has been a highly popular speaker at CPAC for years. The convention is hosted by the American Conservative Union ( ACU ).
The ACU filmed Trump’s speech. They posted it to You Tube. You Tube promptly banned Trump’s speech. Their reason? You Tube labelled Trump’s speech “a scam”. ( I’ve been accused of “a scam” more than once by You Tube. This despite the fact that I’ve never posted a single video on You Tube. )
I must now add Pandora to the list of internet companies that are disgusting. If Pandora wants to change its software to prohibit searches, so be it. However, as noted above, when I search for a song, Pandora continues to promise me a “premium session”. They show me an ad. Then they violate our agreement.
I had been planning to upgrade my membership on Pandora. Now, I don’t trust them. It will be a long time before I return to Pandora. I definitely won’t be giving them money.
I pay $15.99 a month to Google’s You Tube. However, due to You Tube’s bad conduct, I’ve been boycotting them since last year. I may well boycott You Tube for an entire year.
We customers of internet platforms must stand up for ourselves. If a company screws you, let people know. ( WordPress has blog space waiting for you. At the basic level, which I use, WordPress is free. )
If you can, boycott the company that screwed you. Try to do this for a significant length of time. Shoot for a boycott that lasts a year.
Compuserve owned the pre-internet world. Compuserve is now dead. America Online should be the most powerful internet platform. Instead, America Online is dead. I recall young people fleeing America Online for other ( dial up ) internet hosts. Then, America Online banned me ( stealing my money in the process ).
As best I can tell, young people are now posting fewer videos to You Tube. I say this because I sometimes accidentally “pull down” a “shade” on my iPad’s screen. It used to be full of You Tube notifications from girls like Dana Taranova and Mari Kruchkova. Yesterday, I accidentally pulled down my screen’s shade. I was stunned to see no notifications at all from anyone on You Tube. So perhaps Dana and Mari, and other girls, have departed You Tube for other internet platforms. Some months ago, enduring abuse from You Tube’s employees, Dana let everyone know that she preferred the platform “Likee”.
Big Tech should exist in a more competitive environment. Our government(s) have failed to make this happen.
Fortunately, young people like Dana and Mari may well create such competition, by seeking internet platforms that don’t abuse them.
holy joe, Commode Laureate, presents:
WHIZZING TO FAME
Rock of Ages cleft for me, Because I need to pee.
In the mountains, and in the sea, In the wind, and on the street.
Anywhere people can see I will take my relief!
AND IN THE END...
LOVE CONQUERS ALL
Onward “pervert” soldiers, marching as to war, With young girls’ panties going on before!
Roman, our liberator, leads against the foe; Forward into battle, see the panties go!
Onward “pervert” soldiers, marching as to war, With young girls’ panties going on before!
At our sign of triumph Blue Meanies will flee; On, then, “pervert” soldiers, on to victory!
Meanie Land doth shudder at praise for Roman; “Perverts”, lift your voices; fly girls’ panties high!
Onward “pervert” soldiers, marching as to war, With young girls’ panties going on before!
Like a mighty army march all “perverts” in the world; “Perverts” who are fighting for the rights of little girls!
Men and girls are not split; all one body we, One in free love and joy; You Tube we’ll destroy!
Onward “pervert” soldiers, marching as to war, With young girls’ panties going on before!
Onward, then, all people, join our loving throng; rectumfying wrongs in our winning song!
Arcana:
1. Trump’s CPAC speech “a scam”: The head of the American Conservative Union ( ACU ) is Matt Schlapp Dance. Schlapp complained live, on the Fox News Channel, about You Tube’s ban of the ACU’s video. You Tube banned the AUC’s video as Schlapp was speaking on Fox.
2. Roman, in the war hymn: Roman Polanski. The famed director, despite having sex with a 13-year-old girl, was not murdered by the state, as Neil Ickart advocates. ( In his podcast “War And Conquest”, episode 9.7. November 8, 2020. )
I personally reserve the death penalty for a person who uses tobacco, smokes marijuana, drinks alcohol, consumes hours playing video games, gambles, and makes tedious podcasts with Aaron Clueless.
( Eckart’s “War And Conquest” podcast is excellent. Sadly, Eckart sometimes teams up in “crossover” episodes with “Aaron C” of the podcast, “We Talk About Dead People”.
Aaron has an outstanding broadcasting voice. Unfortunately, Aaron follows a “morning zoo” radio station format in his podcast. If you want a lengthy, pointless podcast, with distracting music, listen to “We Talk About Dead People”. With luck, you’ll die before it ends. )
3. “Onward, Christian Soldiers” lyrics courtesy of godtube ( dot ) com. Via fucking Google.
Google’s sins are many. They keep pointlessly signing me out of their platform. Google routinely warns me to take their “security checkup”. When I do, Google invalidates my current password. The result of Google’s “security checkup” is often this: “You are not Andrew Roller.” ( Yes. I’m God, but I don’t like to mention this to the sinners at Google. They’re beyond redemption. Why remind them of their eternal damnation? )
All I use Google for is their search engine and their map. That’s because Google is a wretchedly censorious company. If I was writing this in “Google Docs”, Google would destroy what I’m writing.
Hitler burned books. Google bans writing that it deems to be supportive of “pedophilia”. Meanwhile, Google’s You Tube destroys girls’ innocuous videos.
Live for the day that censorious Big Tech is dead.
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Copyright 2021 by Andrew L. Roller. ET, Editorial Thunder, and ARSE, Andrew Roller Stories and Essays, are trademarks of Andrew L. Roller.
I am https://andrewroller.wordpress.com
Earlier posts by me are at https://asstr.org/files/Authors/Roller/
I’m on paper at: https://www.abebooks.com > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
and https://www.abebooks.co.uk > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
If you visit an “AbeBooks” website, you’ll be presented with a large square “Search” box. In the box labelled “Author”, type in “Andrew Roller”. In the box labelled “Title”, type in “Andrew Roller Presents”. This will bring up some of my pamphlets. I have not yet figured out how to bring up other pamphlets by me, under other titles. I don’t recall all the titles I published under.
I have no financial involvement in these resale items.
I am on You Tube as “Andrew Roller”. Use You Tube’s magnifying glass icon to search for “Andrew Roller”. That will take you to my You Tube channel. Or, on You Tube, tap my sun icon, if you see it. That will also take you to my You Tube channel. There, you can see songs and films that I like.
At the “home page” of my You Tube channel, you’ll see just a selection of playlists that I created. To see all my playlists, tap on the phrase, “Created playlists”.
The World Wide Web address for my You Tube channel is:
https://www.youtube.com/andrewroller
If you click on this link, you’ll be taken to a World Wide Web You Tube page. Here, You Tube displays a cartoon image of a monkey. The page says, “This page isn’t available. Sorry about that. Try searching for something else.”
My advice: on this page, search for “andrew roller”. By doing so, you’ll get to my World Wide Web You Tube channel. However, I have over 100 Playlists, that I created, at my You Tube app channel. The World Wide Web version of You Tube will only serve you 15 of my Playlists.
( Hence, access You Tube via its app. The You Tube app, like the WordPress app, is available for free at the Apple App Store. )
This is ET, Editorial Thunder, issue number 65
Arcana: This is ET, Editorial Thunder, issue number 65, version 4.0
Date Written: March 14, 2021.
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This has been a presentation of A R S E news.
( Nearly 40 years ago, someone told me, “You’ve been kicked out of more things than I’ve ever been in!” )
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Sun Kills
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“Thunder!” - AC/DC
ET 64
Editorial Thunder presents...
Sun Kills
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Plus: Clean up the internet!
And: Age 8 and married.
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Exclusive: Young “Kay Jay” in bondage?
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SUN KILLS
by Andrew Roller
Social conservatives, and others, preach about “the importance of the family”. I’ll tell you about my family.
I was 9-years-old. My brother was 4-years-old. We were on a beach in Margate, New Jersey. Specifically, it was the strand adjacent to South Keyon Avenue.
Later, in Guam, I lived on a beach with shady palm trees. ( Specifically, atop the Lutheran Church of Guam. )
Back to Margate. The date is summer 1970. At this time, Margate’s beach would never be confused with a beach on Guam, or one in Hawaii. Margate’s beach has no trees. There are no buildings. It is a broad stretch of sand, without any shade.
My family arrived at the beach at about 10:30 a.m. Being 9-years-old, I was thrilled. A dermatologist would have advised my parents to avoid the beach at such an hour. That’s because high noon was on the way.
The hour of 1 p.m. came. Wearying of the beach, and the blazing sun, I spoke to my father. I said,
“Could we go home now?”
My father wasn’t a dermatologist. He made his money by shooting off his mouth once a week, on Sunday. He was a Man of God.
My father gave me a severe look. He called me a pansy. I don’t recall the word pansy being in use at that time, so perhaps the word was not literally “pansy”. Nonetheless, my father was, yet again, accusing me of being insufficiently masculine.
I’m not an expert on the Holy Bible. I have read the Bible in its entirety five times. So, I’m familiar with how God’s chosen people behave, in the Old Testament.
I’m not insufficiently masculine. Being the son of a Man of God, I would not rape your daughter. If I could, I would kill every male on earth, and rape every female. I need go no further than the Bible to justify my behavior.
Back to Margate. The Man of God, my father, wasn’t leaving the beach. Nor was my mother. So, my 9-year-old self, along with my 4-year-old brother, were required by our parents to remain with them at the Margate beach all day. I recall my parents slathering themselves with suntan lotion. I do not recall being offered suntan lotion by my parents.
I don’t know what my brother’s situation was, with regard to suntan lotion. Probably, I was playing with him. That’s because I didn’t play with anyone else that day. If I had, I’d have remembered it. I’ve been involuntarily alone for most of my life.
Probably, my brother got little or no suntan lotion, like me. My parents were devoted to saving money, even when they had plenty.
In any event, putting suntan lotion on a 9-year-old and a 4-year-old ( in 1970 ) would have been useless. That’s because little boys at a beach are constantly moving into and out of the ocean, which washes off suntan lotion. That’s especially true on the Margate beach, which is constantly being assailed by waves. ( A Pacific beach has fewer or no waves. That’s because, absent a storm, the Pacific is, well, pacific! Also, a Pacific island beach is often protected by a reef. )
I recall the sun setting on the Margate beach. As dusk arrived, my family went home to my grandfather’s small dwelling. ( On South Kenyon Avenue. ) My grandfather’s dwelling was equipped with an outdoor shower. It was for returning beachgoers. My parents told my brother and I to wash off under the outdoor shower. Innocently, we boys made to do so. As the shower’s water struck us, I screamed in pain. My brother screamed in pain too. Both of us were sunburned lobsters from being at the beach all day. ( My parents were deeply tanned, but not sunburned. )
Did my parents show concern for the pain my brother and I were in? No. They laughed. They laughed quite heartily. It was a big joke to them. My brother and I were told that our very painful sunburned skin would peel off in a few days. That eventually happened. I was, in the meantime, miserable.
I’m not a sun person. I’m a book person. This has been true throughout my life. On Guam, and in Hawaii, there was lots of racism. It didn’t consist of White people behaving as racists toward Black people. In Guam, it consisted of Guamanians being racist toward Whites, Filipinos, and, by 1976, Japanese tourists. In Hawaii, it consisted of non-Whites being racists toward Whites.
In Guam, the bulk of the population is Guamanian. In Hawaii, the bulk of the population is non-White. If you’re a White person in either place, watch out for the word “Chamorro”. I’m fine with “Chamorro” to the extent that it represents racial pride. Often, it’s used as a term for racial superiority. Violence soon follows.
I can, in fact, endure people of whatever race who feel racially superior. ( Absent violence. ) In many regions on earth, the dominant race will feel racially superior. They’ll engage in a certain amount of racism toward racial minorities.
Unfortunately, “Chamorro” can be bandied as a motivator for racial violence. On Guam, this consisted of racial violence by Guamanians against White people, Filipinos, and, by 1976, Japanese tourists.
I would have claimed that “Chamorro” was inapplicable to Hawaii. However, on Ala Moana Beach, in the late 1970s or early 1980s, I saw a large public display. It was a large painting featuring proud, indeed brutish, Chamorro males. They weren’t headed to a library. Though brown, and mostly naked, they resembled Nazis on the march. “Chamorro” was written prominently above the painting. So, I’ll use “Chamorro” to cover non-Whites on both Guam and in Hawaii.
Specifically, I’m using “Chamorro” to cover non-Whites who seek to be violent toward Whites.
The dominant race in Hawaii is Japanese. Other non-White races include Chinese, Samoans, native Hawaiians, and “Portagee”. In my many years in Hawaii, I never figured out what “Portagee” meant. It was a term of derision, I guess, that non-Whites used toward those of mixed ancestry. Perhaps it was akin to defining someone as a mongrel dog.
A White person is derisively referred to, on Guam and in Hawaii, as a “howlie”, or a “fucking howlie”. The spelling of “haole” is what my dictionary demands. Note the prominence of the “o” in the middle of “haole”. It reminds me of the word “asshole”. )
One reason I’m not a sun person is because of the threat, and the actuality, of racial violence toward me on Guam, and in Hawaii. Let’s consider Hawaii. I lived very far from Waikiki beach. However, for me to visit a beach, except Waikiki’s, was dangerous. I risked getting beat up, or worse, by non-Whites.
I was attacked by a non-White at a U.S. military beach. The beach is currently called ( in 2021 ) Bellows Field Beach Park. By the time of this attack, I had earned the right to set foot on U.S. military property. That’s because I’d joined the military, and been retired for kidney disease.
I was attacked at Bellows Field Beach Park in 1984. The military section of this beach directly abuts a civilian section. I was in the surf on the military side of the beach. However, I was close to where the military beach abuts the civilian beach. The ( unmarked ) border between these beaches was a small stream that meandered into the sea. ( I considered it quite a pretty stream. In my imagination, playful young ‘mermaids’ frolicked in it. However, that was solely in my mind. The stream went mostly unoccupied, except by me. )
The civilian side of the beach was open to anyone. As non-Whites are the dominant population in Hawaii, most people on the civilian side were non-Whites. In this era, the U.S. military mostly consisted of Whites. My attacker was some years younger than me. He was not, however, an irresponsible child. He was at, or near, “draft age”.
This bully was one of a number of non-Whites who, as individuals, were trespassing in the military’s surf. ( Which I had no objection to. ) ( Also, he wasn’t connected in any way with the cute stream. I hadn’t visited it for awhile. ) Nonetheless, over some length of time, my attacker aggressively ran over me numerous times with his boogie board.
My attacker had no clue who I was. I hadn’t offended him, or anyone, in any way. My attacker did know that I was a White person.
As stated, this attack occurred in 1984. Unlike some mainland beaches, no lifeguards observed or patrolled Bellows Field Beach Park. No recreational beach in the world was monitored by cameras. I had no redress to the violence committed against me.
In Guam, in 1976, a White judge’s 11-year-old daughter was abducted, probably raped, and murdered. The response of the “authorities”, other than posting fliers while she was missing, was a collective shrug.
In Guam, in 1976, Japanese newlyweds began honeymooning on Guam. These couples, caught unawares, were indiscriminately murdered by Guamanians. Each couple was caught “alone”; that is, the husband and wife were together, but without anyone else but their killers.
So many Japanese tourists were being murdered that it became a big joke on the island. It was a joke in my own family. As in: “Two more Japanese tourists were murdered. Ho! Ho! Ho!” There was no animosity in this joke, at least among White people. Rather, it was a question of, how stupid can these Japanese be? Guamanians kept killing them, yet more Japanese kept arriving! I guess Japanese and Guamanian businesses had a big financial interest in pumping clueless young Japanese into Guam.
Of course, if there had been legal consequences for the killers, the promiscuous murder of Japanese wouldn’t have been a joke. Also, the frequency of the murders would have lessoned.
You might have a question for me about Bellows Field Beach Park. Specifically, your question might regard my attacker. You might ask me, “Why didn’t you beat the shit out of him?”
First, I was in kidney failure. Second, I was unable to catch him after his attacks. He managed to stay clear of me as he planned his next attack.
I was utterly alone at Bellows Field Beach Park. I knew absolutely no one there. As Bellows Field Beach Park was extremely far from where I lived, I knew little of my surroundings.
My attacker was probably 17 years old. I was 23. He could claim innocence in hitting me with his boogie board in the surf. However, I couldn’t claim innocence if I grabbed him. Worse, I was a retired military officer. Also, any legal case would ultimately have been tried in a local court. I would have been the ( White ) defendant. In such a courtroom, the jury would have been mostly the race of my attacker; that is, non-White.
I’ll tell you a story that occurred in Oak Park. That’s a neighborhood in Sacramento, which is the capital of California. It was 1985.
I was in a vehicle with a White guy. He worked for a car rental agency, and was driving me to their office. Oak Park has a law school. Though few Blacks attended, in 1985, the neighborhood was entirely Black.
On his own initiative, and to my surprise, my driver began yelling racial slurs out of our car window. ( That day, I learned the meaning of the word “Coon”. )
Merrily, the White driver turned to me. He said,
“You gotta watch out doing something like this. The whole neighborhood could rush out.”
That’s how it is, on Guam and in Hawaii. White people stupidly live as a “nuclear family”. Non-Whites on Guam, and in Hawaii, do not. Let’s say that I’d responded aggressively to my attacker at Bellows Field Beach Park. I doubt that I’d have found myself facing just him. All his fucking relatives were probably at Bellows Field Beach Park.
I have advice for my former neighbors in the Pacific. My advice includes Australia and New Zealand. You’re either going to speak English ( plus your native tongue ), or you’ll speak Chinese. Pick whichever country you like, but those are your choices. Any independence you think you have is an illusion, and has been for decades.
Back to the sun, and its effects.
Today, my insufficiently masculine self visited a dermatologist. I have to see a dermatologist often, because I’m a “survivor” of skin cancer. Not once, not twice, but three times! That’s how often I’ve had skin cancer surgery. More surgeries are highly likely. I have skin cancer due to excessive sun exposure.
The second time I had skin cancer surgery, the female doctor kept asking me a question. It was, “Are you going to stay out of the sun now?” She was rabidly in love with some guy, and looking to get married. Presumably, she’d be a mother a few years later. Hence, I didn’t tell her that I was being cut and stitched by her because of my parents. I didn’t want to spoil her vision of the glories of “raising” children.
The third time I had skin cancer, I decided to cut short any false accusations about my sun exposure. The first thing I said in the operating room was,
“I’m here because of my parents. They forced me to be in the sun.”
I wasn’t just forced to be in the sun on the Margate beach. In Guam, my parents forced me to be on swim teams for four years. Swim team practice occurred almost daily, for two hours, in the afternoon. There was no joy in these sessions. We young people, age 8 and up, swam for two hours. That’s it. No games, no fun, just fucking swimming laps in a pool.
However, I’ve never complained about the swim team practice. I simply endured it.
I do have a huge complaint about the weekly Saturday swim meets. These tedious affairs lasted all day.
I was far from being a champion swimmer. There was no reason for me to compete for trophies or ribbons. I wasn’t getting any. ( Other than the perfunctory handful that any kid on a team will eventually stumble into. )
My parents forced my brother and I to attend all the swim meets. A better title for these dumpsters of boredom would have been “sun meets”. That’s because “swimmers” were left to bake in the sun all day, on land, for no useful purpose.
We baked in the sun because each “swimmer” had to wait to be called to his event. Like other kids, I would gorge on sugar. By the time I was called to an event, I had passed from a sugar high to a sugar low. I had about as much energy to swim as a drowsy dog on a hot unroofed porch.
Some effort was made by adults to erect parachute tents. However, these tents were fairly transparent. This was especially true because Guam’s sun is a tropical sun.
The team swimsuit for my brother and I resembled the American flag. So, being brown as baked beans after a swim meet, we had striped bottoms. That’s because the red stripes admitted sunlight, while the white stripes didn’t.
Some parents were avid participants in swim meets. My parents weren’t. I don’t recall them attending a single swim meet. I think my brother and I were dumped into the cancerous sun all day so they could have sex.
Upon arriving on Guam, my father coached a swim team for two years. I was 9 years old when my father began coaching on Guam. I mostly recall the period after my father stopped coaching. At that point, my parents, ever dominant, forcibly transferred my brother and I to a competing swim team.
When I was 13, my parents abruptly ceased requiring my brother and I to be on a swim team. Had I continued with a swim team, I might have wound up with a girlfriend. This was the ultimate sin to my parents, to be avoided at all costs. So, my parents made no further swim team demands. The Nimitz Hill team, which my brother and I were then on, was on a high hill, far from our home. ( That is, far from the Lutheran Church of Guam. )
On a rare instance or two, I’ve tried explaining my life to someone. Inevitably, that person grew up in an American suburb that was teeming with children. Hence, such a person finds it impossible to understand my “childhood”. They have no idea how a child could be isolated from other children. However, keeping me away from girls my age was my parents’ “Prime Directive”. That, and ensuring that I was sufficiently masculine, by forcing me into “masculine” situations that gave me skin cancer.
My father was “ashen”, according to my mother, when my brother told my parents that he was getting married. My brother was, by then, 30-years-old. His prospective bride was also 30.
Fortunately, I’ve never embittered my parents in that regard. Now 60, I would never marry any girl who was over age 11.
As stated, I visited my dermatologist today. The paperwork I got from my dermatologist says this:
“The following issues were addressed:
Sun-damaged skin”.
“No balls” is also listed, but that’s irrelevant to this discussion.
I recall, many times, hearing my father say,
“I want to get a good sunburn”. Not “suntan”, but “sunburn”. Certain words were swear words to my father, besides the ordinary ones. A prominent swear word was “leisure”. “Amenities” was another swear word, as was “entertainment”. One dared not utter the word “pleasure” in the presence of either of my parents.
Hence, my father couldn’t enjoy a day at the beach. To experience pleasure was, to him, immoral. However, if he combined the pain of a sunburn with pleasure, then he was, in his mind, working. “Work”, and “hard work”, were holy words to my parents, to be cherished.
Besides my sunburn, my day at the Margate beach ended sadly. At that time, there was a cereal called “Kaboom!”. As I recall, “Kaboom!” tasted like crap. However, if one ate enough boxes of “Kaboom!”, one could acquire a total of four cartoon characters, rendered as small rubber figurines. A single ( unidentified ) figurine was in each box of “Kaboom!”
Somehow, I managed to collect all four figurines. Naturally, being 9, I decided to take my figurines to the ocean. I managed to play with them all day without losing any of them. Unfortunately, at the end of the day, my mother told me to go wash off my figurines. ( Or I stupidly decided to do so. ) You can guess the outcome. I lost Underdog to the sea.
I don’t recall any further boxes of “Kaboom!” coming into my life. So, after that, I had just three figurines. I no longer had a complete set.
I’ve never claimed that I didn’t have a middle-class childhood. My complaint is that my parents went to extraordinary lengths to keep me isolated from other children. They were especially horrified at the prospect of me ever interacting with any girl.
So, in my opinion, the only worthwhile thing in the universe is attractive “little” girls.
This is a reason that I didn’t graduate from law school. I was required by the school to take a course in divorce law. It was called Community Property. There I sat, having never held hands with a female, but studying divorce law.
My final memory of this class was of my woman professor. She was obsessing over the “table of consanguinity”. It can be a determinant of what divorcing partners get when their marriage ends. ( I guess. ) I said to myself, “fuck this”. I ceased attending the class. Instead, I busied myself publishing and distributing pamphlets like “Naughty Naked Dreamgirls”. Who cares what an aging couple gets when one can imagine naked girls being whipped and fucked?
You may wonder what happened to The Man of God. ( My father. ) Living until age 93, he was afflicted in his latter decades by squamous.
“That kills people!” a dermatologist exclaimed, when I mentioned that my father had squamous. It’s the worst form of skin cancer.
My father had innumerable surgeries for squamous. Last I heard, before he died, he had open wounds in his legs from squamous. I haven’t been told my father’s cause of death. It may have been from squamous. So, yes, Dad got a “good sunburn”. It probably sent him to his grave. And, for a man opposed to pleasure, squamous made his latter decades of life painful. The U.S. taxpayer got stuck with the bill for his “holy” sunburned life.
I don’t agree much with what “Black Lives Matter” is promoting. I do agree with them on one point: destroy the nuclear family. The nuclear family is nothing but a vector for exploitation by the state. What should be an extended family unit, that includes other families, is stripped to the individual man and woman. Each individual is scrutinized in numerous ways by the state, ordered about, and taxed. So is each of their children.
Humans weren’t born yesterday. Civilization has only existed for the last 11,000 years. Humanity itself has existed for around 300,000 years. By “humanity”, I mean people that are biologically identical to us. You could deodorize and dress a human from 300,000 years ago and include him among any modern humans. He would be absolutely identical to us. He wouldn’t have a name, and wouldn’t speak any language. However, he would have the exact mental capacity that we do to acquire a name and language.
The lineage of prehumans can be traced to 7 million years ago. The creatures from which prehumans evolved can be dated to 541 million years ago. Life existed on Earth even prior to this. Since that life managed to do whatever passed for fucking back then, we, and all other creatures, are here today. Earth is 4.5 billion years old.
Each of us has a “tail” that we carry with us. It’s no longer a real “tail”, but a biological one. Throughout much of history, including prehistory, humans didn’t live in nuclear families. I recall seeing a film about modern natives in Papua New Guinea. They live communally. At night, they all sleep in large hut. They sleep as a group. What do you think goes on in that group when the members get horny? Do you think a man says,
“You’re only 14 years old! I can’t have sex with you! I’d be a child rapist!” Of course not. Living communally, people have sex, or otherwise express intimacy, as the spirit moves them.
Chimpanzees are our near relatives. If a troupe of chimpanzees finds food, all the chimpanzees have sex. All of them. There is no “age of consent” that omits chimpanzees from the sex. ( Personally, I wouldn’t be frisky with the youngest females. However, I’m reporting the facts. )
In many species, including humans, the male is bigger and stronger than the female. Would you like to know why? It’s because nature wants to leave as little to chance as it can. Humans, like other species, are primarily here to reproduce. That’s right; we’re here for Spring Break. We’re here to fuck.
The male is bigger and stronger than the female so he can catch her, hold her down, and fuck her. Males were put on earth to fuck. Females were put on earth to be fucked. That’s reality. Contemporary feminists, like contemporary trans folk, are living in a self-made fantasy.
In my day, men who were trans embraced their lifestyle as men. They were men who liked being sissies. I have no complaint about trans men who embrace being trans men; that is, men who like dressing and behaving as women. The same goes for women who are tomboys.
I am utterly opposed to a man mutilating his genitals, or undergoing any other such surgery. I’m also opposed to any drugs used for this purpose. Klinger, in M.A.S.H., was a trans man who embraced his sissy tendencies as a man. Tim Curry, in The Rocky Horror Picture Show, embraced his sissy self as a man. World War Two’s Rosie the Riveter embraced her tomboy nature as a woman.
I knew a guy at a gym. Of him, I once asked the night clerk, “Why does Tom look awful? Something must be wrong with him.”
The clerk’s answer was,
“Tom isn’t wearing his eye makeup.”
So, I’m glad that Tom usually resorted to eye makeup. He looked much better wearing it. I ran the Disney Channel a lot at the gym, on its T.V.s. In a certain episode of “Dog with a Blog”, the show’s father winds up stuck outside in sissy attire. I recall Tom, more than once, eyeing me with approval at this scene. Tom hoped I loved the scene as much as he did. It was a great scene, but I liked it from a comedic perspective. Tom liked it as an affirmation of his trans lifestyle.
I have nothing against Trans folk. I welcome their contributions to our society. However, a trans man should recognize that he’s a man - who likes presenting himself to the world as a woman. ( To whatever degree he sees fit. ) The same goes for trans women.
The band The Who released a film starring their lead singer, Roger Daltrey. Called “Tommy”, it came out in March 1975. I’ve not seen the film in its entirety. However, at the end, Roger Daltrey is stripped to denim cutoffs. He’s standing knee-deep in the sea. If society had allowed it, Daltrey probably would have been nude in this scene.
Such a scene is quintessential of the period in America lasting from November 22, 1963 to December 12, 1977. That is, from JFK’s assassination to the release of the film, “Saturday Night Fever”. Being from this era, I embrace the look of Roger Daltrey in “Tommy”. A person, including a trans one, should strive to be natural.
I recall a Biden appointee testifying recently before the U.S. Senate. The appointee was a trans man. His ( current ) name is Rachel Levine. Levine wants to be mistaken for a woman. So, dressing gaudily as a woman, including by wearing a butterscotch blonde wig, he insists on being called by a feminine name. “Rachel” also demands to be addressed as “she”.
The man cut a ridiculous figure. Even on my old-fashioned T.V., with its dusty screen, it was obvious that “Rachel” was a man. I wouldn’t have addressed him as “she”. To me, he’s a “Mr.” If he wants to be a “Mr.” who dresses as a woman, so be it. However, he should cut the crap with regard to his gaudy attire. I say: “Mr. lady doth protest too much” in denying his manhood. Levine’s wig ( etc. ) is the equivalent of myself going about in short pants, licking a lollipop, to convince folks that I’m a prepubescent. I wouldn’t mind being a prepubescent, but I’m not one. I embrace being a 60 year old “pedophile”.
My main concern with Levine wasn’t his attire. I’m concerned that he may have mutilated his genitals ( not a big loss ). I’m also worried that he’s on bodily modifying drugs.
Specifically, I’m horrified by Levine’s advocacy for those known as “our precious children”. Levine supports children mutilating their genitals ( with the help of a “doctor” ). He also supports children taking bodily modifying drugs.
I say: everyone should be like Daltrey in “Tommy”. You should live as Nature intends. You need to be able to strip to denim cutoffs. If your identity requires genital mutilation, unneeded drugs, and an outfit best left to a bank robber in a comedy, you’ve screwed up your life and yourself.
Above, you’ve read about my experience with the nuclear family. My father’s obsession with “morality” likely killed him. It gave me skin cancer. ( Which, like Dad’s skin cancer, the U.S. taxpayer winds up paying to treat. ) Hence, I agree with Black Lives Matter that the nuclear family should be abolished.
“I’m not a pervert!” a character in the film Logan’s Run exclaims. He says this when he’s asked a question. The question is,
“Do you know who your parents are?” Of course he doesn’t know who his parents are! That’s because only a pervert would wish to have such information.
The film Logan’s Run was released in June 1976. In Logan’s Run, people live communally. The world of Logan’s Run has a “live action” version of the internet. At one point, in his apartment, Logan is feeling lonely. He accesses the “live action” internet. A man appears in his apartment. This man is a stranger to Logan, but wants to be romantic with Logan. ( i.e. this represents a potential gay lover. ) Logan politely turns down the gay man as a romantic companion.
Next, a “little” girl appears in Logan’s apartment. Logan politely declines romancing her.
Lastly, Jenny Gutter appears. Being 23, she’s “age appropriate”. So she becomes Logan’s love interest.
Note that Logan didn’t go on a crusade to “save” or “rescue” the little girl. I hope she soon found someone. If she pops into my room, I won’t deny her.
( When I watched Logan’s Run on the Disney channel, a channel that supposedly caters to “children”, the scene with the little girl was missing. Note that, in film, things always occur in a group of three. Two is too few. Four is too many. Hence, I’m not inventing the little girl. If you watch Logan’s Run and only see the fag and Miss Gutter, you’re watching a bowdlerized version. )
( And yes, pirates did chase women in Disney’s original version of the amusement park ride, “Pirates of the Caribbean”. In the revised version, the pirates chase chickens. ) ( As of the 1970s. The ride itself also debuted in the 1970s. )
In conclusion: be natural, and don’t take the concept of the nuclear family as gospel. It’s likely the worst way that humans can organize themselves. However, it’s great for promoting an invasive state that dominates you from birth to death.
CLEAN UP THE INTERNET!
As I write these words, I’m suffering from emotional trauma. I was on the free porn site www ( dot ) pornpics ( dot ) com. There, I was gathering nude photos of Kay Jay. I’m particularly interested in photos of Kay where she looks 12 years old.
Ads sometimes popped up on this porn site. They didn’t get in my way. I ignored them.
Then, around midnight, new ads began appearing. I was shocked by these ads. They were disgusting. They depicted bare-breasted women my age.
In all my decades of life, I’ve never seen a single photo of an old, bare-breasted woman. I was horrified by this adult content. It revolted me.
My fellow Americans, it’s time to clean up the internet. Photos of bare-breasted old ladies should be outlawed.
I guess that getting rid of images of old, topless grannies will reduce the amount of porn on the internet. A ( deviant ) masturbator might complain about this. The solution is simple. For every old lady who gets, er, yanked from the internet, a replacement photo should be uploaded. The photo should be of a beautiful, naked “underage” girl.
Having been exposed to topless old ladies, I’m not sure when I’ll be able to look at porn again. I think my wiener has died. Please, if you’re an old lady, keep your bra on. Better yet, wear a burka. All of us must do our part to keep the internet a safe place for all, including for jerkoffs like me.
AGE 8 AND MARRIED
Recently, I was on the web site freeones ( dot ) com. I was reading about nude model Kay Jay. Freeones ( dot ) com says that Kay began her “adult model”career in 2016, at age 20. On the internet, there are photos of Kay at various ages. In some photos, she’s older. In some, she’s younger.
However, I hadn’t seen her youngest photos! I found a number of these at the website www ( dot ) pornpics ( dot ) com. All of Kay’s photos are legal. In her youngest photos, however, I’d swear she wasn’t a day over 14. She even looks 12 years old in some of her photos.
Kay’s youngest photos are breathtaking. The easiest way to find them is to scroll to the bottom of her library at www ( dot ) pornpics ( dot ) com. However, as I slogged from the top to the bottom of her library, taking screen shots, I found some super photos of young Kay about halfway down.
You’ll think an “identical” gallery, containing some duplicate photos, can be skipped. Don’t skip any of Kay’s galleries. Amid duplicate photos, in an “identical” gallery, you’ll find new photos!
Gazing at the cover photo for some of Kay’s galleries, you’ll say, “Skip this one. Kay is old and fat.” However, some of the cover photos for Kay’s galleries are deceptive. You’ll think she’s old and fat. Then, opening the gallery, you’ll find she’s not.
I found a gallery of Kay that was deliberately deceptive. Its cover photo shows an old and fat Kay. Opening the gallery, I found all the photos were of a wonderfully young Kay!
Which brings up an observation. I have been studying girls in porn photos for over 40 years. I’ve come to these conclusions:
1. An 18 year old girl is “kid cute”. She’s the female ideal, in my opinion.
2. A 19 year old girl looks like a fucking woman.
3. A 20 year old girl looks like an even older fucking woman.
4. Is the girl 21 years old? Trash her photo. This definitely applies once she’s age 22 or 23.
5. In its later years, a Playboy Playmate was no longer “the girl next door”. Every Playmate was 26 years old, or slightly older. My God! Those women looked awful! Talk about a woman being fat and loose. ( Even if she did still have some semblance of attractive curves. )
What idiot man ever agreed that no girl should marry before age 18? If you marry a girl when she’s 18, you have exactly one year to enjoy her. Then she’s just a fucking adult, another boring woman.
Let’s consider an enlightened man’s view. Marry the girl when she’s 8. You might worry that, as a husband, you’ll get what is ( in fact ) “the two year itch”. ( Not “the seven year itch”. ) “My God”, you’ll soon say, “I’ve been yoked into marriage for two whole years!”
Then you’ll realize that your wife is 10 years old. She’s in 5th grade. She’s growing nice breasts. How bad can that be? So, you’ll remain faithful to your wife.
Let’s consider the possibility of “the seven year itch”. “My God”, you’ll say. “I’ll soon have been married for a whole decade!” Then you’ll realize that your wife is 15 years old. Your wife is in 10th grade. To educators, 10th grade is known as “the terrible twos”. That’s because 10th graders don’t want to do much besides fuck. ( As Nature intends. ) So, you’re in bed every night with a girl who wants to get cock-hammered. How bad can that be? So, you’ll do your marital duty.
This is why I say the “age of consent” should be 8. It gives a man plenty of years to enjoy his wife before she gets old and fat. America is plagued by divorce. But only a man who’s a moron would divorce a hot young girl. Hence, in my America, with an age of consent of age 8, there will be little divorce. Offspring will grow up in the much-acclaimed “two parent” family.
Let’s say your wife wants to be a doctor. Such a pursuit involves many hours of study, school, and work. This is troublesome for a husband, who needs his wife to cook, clean, and screw. However, 8-year-olds don’t go to medical school. Hence, if your wife is 8, or even 17, or ( gag! ) 21, you won’t be stuck with some gal who has no time for you. Also, if your wife is 8, you might raise your family during the years that she’s age 12 to 22. So, by age 23, your wife will be able to devote herself fully to medical school. That’s because her daughters will themselves have been married off at age 8.
MY MIND ( and more ) IS BLOWN
I entered the following search term on Google: Kay Jay in bondage. I got nothing. I’ve never seen photos of her in bondage. Nonetheless, I’ve concluded that Kay Jay was a bondage princess, at least once in her life. ( At the time, she would have been too young to be a bondage queen; she looks no more than 14 years old. ) Kay would have been on the receiving end of any punishments. ( Neil Eckart, had you been present, your nipples would have been safe. )
Recently, I visited freeones ( dot ) com. In their field labelled “Search on FreeOnes”, I entered “kay j”.
A host of faces appeared. I tapped on the face of “Kay Jay”.
A new page appeared on freeones ( dot ) com. It’s titled, “Kay Jay”.
Scroll down on this page.
Stop scrolling when you see a rectangular blue ‘button’. Printed on the ‘button’ is this: “All Kay Jay videos”.
Tap on this ‘button’.
You’re taken to a new page.
Scroll down on this page.
Stop scrolling when you see “1 2 Next”.
The number 1 is illuminated. The number 2 isn’t illuminated. Tap on the number 2.
You’re taken to a new page. Scroll down on page 2. ( There are no further pages. )
Here, we’re concerned with the last video. It’s titled,
“Young Kay Jay enjoys posing naked in her Bedroom”. ( No quote marks or period. )
We’re also concerned with the second to last Kay Jay video. It’s titled,
“Kay Jay gives Upskirt View before getting naked”. ( No quote marks or period. )
Let’s study “Young Kay Jay enjoys posing naked in her Bedroom” first. Here, evoking a 12 year old, Kay masturbates in her bed. She also humps her bare bottom high for action, with her panties pulled down. It is in this film that you can best observe the agonizing ordeal that Kay must have endured.
Gaze upon her right bosom. Near her nipple, on her breast’s inner curve, are two near-vertical slash marks. These must have been caused by a riding crop, or a whip.
Gaze upon the right cheek of her bottom. A mark is present close to her bottom’s cleft. Another mark is present farther to the right on her asscheek. These too evoke marks from a riding crop, or a whip.
Now, let’s look at the film, “Kay Jay gives Upskirt View before getting naked”. The same punishment marks are present! They’re not as obvious in this video, but you’ll see them if you look closely. ( You get to see her pussy and butthole too! )
None of these punishment marks were meant to be in Kay’s videos. They’re unrelated to the theme of each film. ( Which is mostly about innocent sexual expression. ) Kay must have gotten whipped at something akin to a bondage party. A few marks lingered on her when it was time to shoot her video.
Seeing these videos, I took Kay’s “wild child” marks in stride. That is, until I found wrenchingly young photos of her on www ( dot ) pornpics ( dot ) com. She is the same age in these photos as she is in the videos on freeones ( dot ) com. ( Age 20, but appearing younger. )
In 2019, I was shocked by the video “Sloan”. I’d never seen a near “child”, that is, “Ivey / Lilly Anne”, getting fucked by two guys. I hadn’t seen it in films, photos, or in real life. ( Read my issue “VD 1” for more. You won’t catch a venereal disease doing so. )
Since I’ve ( mentally ) linked young Kay Jay’s photos with young Kay Jay’s videos, my world has again been rocked. You may think I’m speaking of blissful pleasure. Sure, my dick’s happy. However, psychologically, I feel crushed. Here I sit, doing my best in life, but utterly missing out on something like Kay Jay in bondage. ( In real life. ) I suffered similarly from “Ivey / Lilly Anne’s” poolside screw. ( Kids of a certain age would have jumped in the big pool in “Sloan”. Not “Ivey / Lilly Anne”, and her male friends. They’re present to fuck!
If you want to make your dick happy, but possibly commit suicide, check out Kay Jay’s “wild child” videos that reveal her bondage experience.
To do this:
1. Make a screen recording of Kay’s videos.
2. In Apple’s app iMovie, import the screen recordings.
3. Scrolling slowly through iMovie, take screen shots of the relevant images.
4. Using Apple Photos, enlarge each iMovie screen shot.
5. You can keep enlarging any given screen shot by taking another screen shot of it. There is no loss of resolution.
6. However, these videos are five years old. They don’t have the resolution of modern videos.
7. Which is why new young girls need to attend bondage parties, and later be filmed! ( Or: film them at the party. I won’t complain. )
AWFUL AMAZON
I discovered Amazon Kindle in 2019. Then, it was a fun app. Now it isn’t. Here’s why:
Every time I boot up my Amazon Kindle app, Amazon sends me lots of information over Wi-Fi. It takes a long time for this information to be sent to my device. When it arrives, I learn ( yet again ), that White folks ( like Jeff Bozo ) are evil. Besides this propaganda, I’m told how many days in a row I’ve read ( on the Amazon app ). I read every day. I don’t need to be reminded of it.
( I guess Amazon isn’t the only sinner in this category. Yesterday, childporn ( dot ) com alerted me to this fact: “You’re on a jerk-off streak! You’ve masturbated to little girls for 21,990 days in a row!”
Of course I have. Do you remember last year, when the world ran out of toilet paper? It wasn’t due to COVID-19. I need to clean up the messes I make. )
Amazon ( dot ) com no longer provides free samples of books. You can request a free sample of a book there. Amazon ( dot ) com will tell you that your free sample is on the way. However, it never arrives.
Instead, you have to search for the free sample within your Amazon Kindle app. Unfortunately, the Kindle app doesn’t know about every free sample that’s available at Amazon ( dot ) com. Also, the “Search” bar in the Kindle app is now very slow. Try to type in more than one letter there. You can’t, for many seconds.
In the past, whenever I heard of a book I might like, I went to Amazon ( dot ) com. There, I got a free sample of the book. I no longer do this. The reason is because the Amazon Kindle app, which is now the source of free samples, is cumbersome and slow. Instead, I scribble a book’s title in my cluttered paper notebook. Then I promptly forget it.
I do learn of Amazon’s contemporary “popular” books. ( Otherwise known as “trash”. ) Besides telling me that White people are evil, Amazon is keen on telling me of their trash. ( Which consists of writers who reassure me that White people are evil. )
Little that Amazon downloads to me over Wi-Fi, against my will, has anything to do with my reading interests. Also, the last thing I need to do is buy more books. I first learned this in the 1970s. Some people fear becoming drug addicts. I found my wallet was addicted to buying books. My addiction persists. However, I am buying less e-books from Amazon since Amazon screwed ( up ) their Kindle app.
AND IN THE END...
“Having achieved supremacy in their chosen area, many tech firms, especially the big ones, have shown little appetite to compete directly with each other in the past decade.”
- The Economist, February 27, 2021, pg. 9.
Arcana:
1. In their printed lyrics, “Thunder”, in the song “Thunderstruck”, by AC/DC, isn’t followed by an exclamation point. However, as sung, “Thunder” is proclaimed with great emphasis, and repeatedly.
( The lyric is courtesy of LyricFind, on a page generated by Google. The song, as heard, is courtesy of Screw You Tube. )
2. I can hear it now: “Oh well, some guy ran over Roller with his boogie board.” However, that wasn’t the only racial violence that I endured on Guam, and in Hawaii. Once, I nearly lost my testicles. Another time, I was on a crowded city bus in Hawaii. A group of Samoan males got on it. They were roughly draft age. The Samoans noticed that I had White skin. I became the target of their aggression. They would have beat the shit out of me. However, the bus was literally packed with ( non-White ) people. None of the Samoans could physically get to me as I, and they, stood on the bus.
Then an intelligent, middle-aged Hawaiian spoke up. A rider, he was literally trapped in the space adjacent to the bus’s front door.
“Fuck you Samoans!” the Hawaiian yelled. He went on to say something like this: “You Samoans think you’re hot, but you’re not.”
The Samoans told the Hawaiian man to shut up. They told him that he wasn’t the person they were after. ( Their exact words escape me. )
The Hawaiian continued to loudly declare his ( erudite ) opinion of the Samoans. As it turned out, the Hawaii State Fair was underway. ( I had no prior knowledge of this. That’s how big my “social life” was. ) The Samoans, calling themselves “The Sam”, were riding the bus to the fair. They got off at the fair in the manner that they’d boarded the crowded bus. They got off the back of the bus.
And what did they do? The front door of the bus remained open. The Samoans trooped to the front of the bus, and jammed themselves in on the Hawaiian man. They beat the shit out of him.
The bus driver sat in his driver’s seat by the Hawaiian man. What did the driver do? Absolutely nothing. He didn’t even attempt to close the bus’s front door. In that era, a bus was not equipped with cameras, or a telephone for the driver. No cell phones existed.
Years later, I lived in Sacramento. I was stunned to watch ( entirely ) White teenagers go on placid dates to such events as the state fair, or a music concert. These teens went, enjoyed each other, and the venue, and left. Nobody got hurt. Nobody got beat up. By then, of course, I wasn’t a teenager. Had I taken any interest in a teen ( female or male ), I’d be enjoying racial diversity in a violent California prison.
To all the “fucking howlies” who complain about “white supremacy”, I say: move your family to Guam. Or move your family to Hawaii. Your son, having no social life there, might wind up being a “pedophile” like me. But diversity is our strength.
Currently, there is a White jackass from South Africa who busies himself with anti-pedophile rhetoric, and much more, in America. He is associated in some way with the movie “Trust”. I saw this jackass twice on Fox News’ “Life, Liberty & Levin”. That’s why I don’t watch Mark Levin anymore. I could endure the South African jackass for one episode of “Life, Liberty & Levin”. However, Levin put the jackass on for a whole hour, two weeks in a row!
To the South African jackass, I say, don’t busy yourself with so-called “pedophiles” in America. Move back to your own goddamn country. South Africa has much worse problems than America. As happened in Rhodesia, Blacks in South Africa are murdering White families. The Black South African government is encouraging this.
Consider this: in America, we have a girl who was ( allegedly ) “touched”. ( As in the accusatory statement of, “He touched the child!” )
In South Africa, girls are being murdered. Only Levin’s jackass would hustle around America complaining about girls being “molested”, when girls are being murdered in South Africa.
I look forward to the day when Fox is an un-Levin-ed channel.
( Actually, I enjoy Levin, absent his anti-pedophile episodes. He rants as well as Adolf Hitler. “It’s not the Jews, it’s the pedophiles!” ))
3. I can give an expanded view of my parents’ “Prime Directive”. It consisted of the following precepts, as applied to me.
A. You’re not an adult. You’re a child in our family. Therefore, you will only be allowed to watch content that concerns families. ( By “watch”, I mean interaction with all forms of media. )
B. You’re a boy child. Therefore, you will associate solely with other boys.
C. You’ll be forced into activities with other boys, to ensure that you become sufficiently masculine.
D. We will absolutely control all your contacts with other boys. These will consist solely of brief encounters, with boys you otherwise won’t have access to.
E. You will never exhibit, or be perceived to be interested in, sexual activity. ( Including that found in books, songs, T.V. shows, and movies. ) The reason for this prohibition is because you’re a child.
Dumped out by my parents, on the mainland, with kidney disease, my parents’ “Prime Directive” changed. I was now required to ( somehow ) have friends. I was apparently supposed to interact with females my age. ( All of these females were, by age 24, non-virgins. They’d had lots of childhood experiences involving romance and sex. In other words, I’d missed the party. However, my parents were allowing me to lick the vomit off the floor where the party had been held. )
F. When I was 33, my father said to me, over the phone, “We’d kinda like to have some grandchildren.” ( Mom never favored this. Such a decision would require me to interact with a female other than herself. Mom then lived 2,458 miles away from me, with The Man of God. )
Dad didn’t want grandchildren. He knew I’d never held hands with a female. Dad, being a senior citizen, wanted to keep up with other seniors.
What’s the first thing two seniors do when they meet? One senior asks the other, “How many grandchildren do you have?” Dad had one, courtesy of my brother. My brother’s divorce made Dad’s one grandson the near-exclusive property of my brother’s ex-wife, and her family. Dad and that family didn’t get along. In fact, Dad and the Dad of my brother’s ex-wife had gotten into a huge argument at my brother’s wedding. I wasn’t present. However, knowing my Dad, I could have predicted that outcome.
In his last decades, The Man of God had no defensible reason for why he had just one grandchild. ( Other than the obvious: I screwed my sons. ) So, Dad ended these decades of his life declaring,
“If I could do it again, I’d be stricter”.
If Dad had been stricter, Dad would have gone to his maker well before age 93. I’m not so un-masculine as to be unable to provide that outcome.
4. I again thank Neil Eckart, of the War And Conquest podcast, for ( unwittingly ) improving my writing. It’s now more personable. ( If, that is, one has a predilection for war and conquest. )
5. “Jenny Gutter” is, of course, actually Jenny Agutter. I, being as yet unsaved by pedophilia, was ardently in love with her in 1976. Thank you Roman Polanski, Jeffrey Epstein, and other Gods of our molester universe. I was blind, but now I see!
6. Kay Jay is also known as “Kay J”. ( As in “jack off”. )
7. On freeones ( dot ) com, a dancer overlays the screen. She’s in the lower right corner of your screen. This ( attractive ) piece of shit will dance in front of videos that you try to watch on freeones ( dot ) com.
An option is provided to get rid of this dancing shit. I had to tap this option multiple times, over a number of minutes. After I’d watched two videos on freeones ( dot ) com, I managed to flush the dancing shit down the toilet.
Which brings up the question: can you believe how much crap is pumped at you, in the form of obnoxious overlaid ads, when you visit a website? I’m not speaking solely of a porn website. Even important mainstream websites engage in such ghastly behavior.
I’m please to say that my humble “child molester” website doesn’t engage in such conduct. At least, it doesn’t on my account. I do my utmost to provide a clean page with no distractions. ( Unless, of course, you’re irked by pedophilia. )
( If half your readers love you, and half detest you, you’re doing great! Anything else is lukewarm water. Lukewarm water tastes like spit. )
8. “I am not a crook!” President Nixon famously said. The other day, I was speaking with one of my doctors. ( Not my dermatologist. ) My doctor got it into his head that I wander the earth, publicly masturbating. I view myself as presidential material. So, in view of my future campaign, I feel obliged to say that while I am a “child molester”, I do not publicly masturbate. ( The preschool that I walk by is now closed. It remains a good place to take a whiz. )
9. It’s said that Marilyn Monroe became a star for this reason: she felt that she absolutely had to be one.
In the summer of 1986, around midnight, my brother found me in downtown Honolulu, far from our home. I was xeroxing issue three of my publication, “Comic Update”. I was supposed to be in California, studying law. Politely, My brother asked,
“What the fuck are you doing?”
“Peter”, I answered, clutching unsorted pages of Comic Update, “I could do this until the year 2000!” ( A date that was too far in the future to ever arrive. )
The year 2000 is long gone. However, as in the early 1970s, when I was selling my mimeographed pamphlet, “Botcher’s Blotches”, I’m still publishing. I don’t publish for money. I don’t publish because I want to. I publish because I feel that I absolutely have to. So I guess I’ll be doing this until the year 3000.
Someday, when I’ve grown famous by killing all the males and raping all the females, my pamphlets will be worth money. ( In fact, like Alexander, I’ll be “great”. )
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Copyright 2021 by Andrew L. Roller. ET, Editorial Thunder, and ARSE, Andrew Roller Stories and Essays, are trademarks of Andrew L. Roller.
I am https://andrewroller.wordpress.com
Earlier posts by me are at https://asstr.org/files/Authors/Roller/
I’m on paper at: https://www.abebooks.com > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
and https://www.abebooks.co.uk > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
If you visit an “AbeBooks” website, you’ll be presented with a large square “Search” box. In the box labelled “Author”, type in “Andrew Roller”. In the box labelled “Title”, type in “Andrew Roller Presents”. This will bring up some of my pamphlets. I have not yet figured out how to bring up other pamphlets by me, under other titles. I don’t recall all the titles I published under.
I have no financial involvement in these resale items.
I am on You Tube as “Andrew Roller”. Use You Tube’s magnifying glass icon to search for “Andrew Roller”. That will take you to my You Tube channel. Or, on You Tube, tap my sun icon, if you see it. That will also take you to my You Tube channel. There, you can see songs and films that I like.
At the “home page” of my You Tube channel, you’ll see just a selection of playlists that I created. To see all my playlists, tap on the phrase, “Created playlists”.
The World Wide Web address for my You Tube channel is:
https://www.youtube.com/andrewroller
If you click on this link, you’ll be taken to a World Wide Web You Tube page. Here, You Tube displays a cartoon image of a monkey. The page says, “This page isn’t available. Sorry about that. Try searching for something else.”
My advice: on this page, search for “andrew roller”. By doing so, you’ll get to my World Wide Web You Tube channel. However, I have over 100 Playlists, that I created, at my You Tube app channel. The World Wide Web version of You Tube will only serve you 15 of my Playlists.
( Hence, access You Tube via its app. The You Tube app, like the WordPress app, is available for free at the Apple App Store. )
I’m on Pandora as: andrewroller666
On Pandora, I just have a basic account.
This is ET, Editorial Thunder, issue number 64
Arcana: This is ET, Editorial Thunder, issue number 64, version 5.0
Date Written: March 9, 2021. Live for the day that censorious Big Tech is dead.
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This has been a presentation of A R S E news.
Alert! This issue may contain content that is meet, right, and salutary for perverts.
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“Thunder!” - AC/DC
ET 64
Editorial Thunder presents...
Sun Kills
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Plus: Clean up the internet!
And: Age 8 and married.
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Exclusive: Young “Kay Jay” in bondage?
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SUN KILLS
by Andrew Roller
Social conservatives, and others, preach about “the importance of the family”. I’ll tell you about my family.
I was 9-years-old. My brother was 4-years-old. We were on a beach in Margate, New Jersey. Specifically, it was the strand adjacent to South Keyon Avenue.
Later, in Guam, I lived on a beach with shady palm trees. ( Specifically, atop the Lutheran Church of Guam. )
Back to Margate. The date is summer 1970. At this time, Margate’s beach would never be confused with a beach on Guam, or one in Hawaii. Margate’s beach has no trees. There are no buildings. It is a broad stretch of sand, without any shade.
My family arrived at the beach at about 10:30 a.m. Being 9-years-old, I was thrilled. A dermatologist would have advised my parents to avoid the beach at such an hour. That’s because high noon was on the way.
The hour of 1 p.m. came. Wearying of the beach, and the blazing sun, I spoke to my father. I said,
“Could we go home now?”
My father wasn’t a dermatologist. He made his money by shooting off his mouth once a week, on Sunday. He was a Man of God.
My father gave me a severe look. He called me a pansy. I don’t recall the word pansy being in use at that time, so perhaps the word was not literally “pansy”. Nonetheless, my father was, yet again, accusing me of being insufficiently masculine.
I’m not an expert on the Holy Bible. I have read the Bible in its entirety five times. So, I’m familiar with how God’s chosen people behave, in the Old Testament.
I’m not insufficiently masculine. Being the son of a Man of God, I would not rape your daughter. If I could, I would kill every male on earth, and rape every female. I need go no further than the Bible to justify my behavior.
Back to Margate. The Man of God, my father, wasn’t leaving the beach. Nor was my mother. So, my 9-year-old self, along with my 4-year-old brother, were required by our parents to remain with them at the Margate beach all day. I recall my parents slathering themselves with suntan lotion. I do not recall being offered suntan lotion by my parents.
I don’t know what my brother’s situation was, with regard to suntan lotion. Probably, I was playing with him. That’s because I didn’t play with anyone else that day. If I had, I’d have remembered it. I’ve been involuntarily alone for most of my life.
Probably, my brother got little or no suntan lotion, like me. My parents were devoted to saving money, even when they had plenty.
In any event, putting suntan lotion on a 9-year-old and a 4-year-old ( in 1970 ) would have been useless. That’s because little boys at a beach are constantly moving into and out of the ocean, which washes off suntan lotion. That’s especially true on the Margate beach, which is constantly being assailed by waves. ( A Pacific beach has fewer or no waves. That’s because, absent a storm, the Pacific is, well, pacific! Also, a Pacific island beach is often protected by a reef. )
I recall the sun setting on the Margate beach. As dusk arrived, my family went home to my grandfather’s small dwelling. ( On South Kenyon Avenue. ) My grandfather’s dwelling was equipped with an outdoor shower. It was for returning beachgoers. My parents told my brother and I to wash off under the outdoor shower. Innocently, we boys made to do so. As the shower’s water struck us, I screamed in pain. My brother screamed in pain too. Both of us were sunburned lobsters from being at the beach all day. ( My parents were deeply tanned, but not sunburned. )
Did my parents show concern for the pain my brother and I were in? No. They laughed. They laughed quite heartily. It was a big joke to them. My brother and I were told that our very painful sunburned skin would peel off in a few days. That eventually happened. I was, in the meantime, miserable.
I’m not a sun person. I’m a book person. This has been true throughout my life. On Guam, and in Hawaii, there was lots of racism. It didn’t consist of White people behaving as racists toward Black people. In Guam, it consisted of Guamanians being racist toward Whites, Filipinos, and, by 1976, Japanese tourists. In Hawaii, it consisted of non-Whites being racists toward Whites.
In Guam, the bulk of the population is Guamanian. In Hawaii, the bulk of the population is non-White. If you’re a White person in either place, watch out for the word “Chamorro”. I’m fine with “Chamorro” to the extent that it represents racial pride. Often, it’s used as a term for racial superiority. Violence soon follows.
I can, in fact, endure people of whatever race who feel racially superior. ( Absent violence. ) In many regions on earth, the dominant race will feel racially superior. They’ll engage in a certain amount of racism toward racial minorities.
Unfortunately, “Chamorro” can be bandied as a motivator for racial violence. On Guam, this consisted of racial violence by Guamanians against White people, Filipinos, and, by 1976, Japanese tourists.
I would have claimed that “Chamorro” was inapplicable to Hawaii. However, on Ala Moana Beach, in the late 1970s or early 1980s, I saw a large public display. It was a large painting featuring proud, indeed brutish, Chamorro males. They weren’t headed to a library. Though brown, and mostly naked, they resembled Nazis on the march. “Chamorro” was written prominently above the painting. So, I’ll use “Chamorro” to cover non-Whites on both Guam and in Hawaii.
Specifically, I’m using “Chamorro” to cover non-Whites who seek to be violent toward Whites.
The dominant race in Hawaii is Japanese. Other non-White races include Chinese, Samoans, native Hawaiians, and “Portagee”. In my many years in Hawaii, I never figured out what “Portagee” meant. It was a term of derision, I guess, that non-Whites used toward those of mixed ancestry. Perhaps it was akin to defining someone as a mongrel dog.
A White person is derisively referred to, on Guam and in Hawaii, as a “howlie”, or a “fucking howlie”. The spelling of “haole” is what my dictionary demands. Note the prominence of the “o” in the middle of “haole”. It reminds me of the word “asshole”. )
One reason I’m not a sun person is because of the threat, and the actuality, of racial violence toward me on Guam, and in Hawaii. Let’s consider Hawaii. I lived very far from Waikiki beach. However, for me to visit a beach, except Waikiki’s, was dangerous. I risked getting beat up, or worse, by non-Whites.
I was attacked by a non-White at a U.S. military beach. The beach is currently called ( in 2021 ) Bellows Field Beach Park. By the time of this attack, I had earned the right to set foot on U.S. military property. That’s because I’d joined the military, and been retired for kidney disease.
I was attacked at Bellows Field Beach Park in 1984. The military section of this beach directly abuts a civilian section. I was in the surf on the military side of the beach. However, I was close to where the military beach abuts the civilian beach. The ( unmarked ) border between these beaches was a small stream that meandered into the sea. ( I considered it quite a pretty stream. In my imagination, playful young ‘mermaids’ frolicked in it. However, that was solely in my mind. The stream went mostly unoccupied, except by me. )
The civilian side of the beach was open to anyone. As non-Whites are the dominant population in Hawaii, most people on the civilian side were non-Whites. In this era, the U.S. military mostly consisted of Whites. My attacker was some years younger than me. He was not, however, an irresponsible child. He was at, or near, “draft age”.
This bully was one of a number of non-Whites who, as individuals, were trespassing in the military’s surf. ( Which I had no objection to. ) ( Also, he wasn’t connected in any way with the cute stream. I hadn’t visited it for awhile. ) Nonetheless, over some length of time, my attacker aggressively ran over me numerous times with his boogie board.
My attacker had no clue who I was. I hadn’t offended him, or anyone, in any way. My attacker did know that I was a White person.
As stated, this attack occurred in 1984. Unlike some mainland beaches, no lifeguards observed or patrolled Bellows Field Beach Park. No recreational beach in the world was monitored by cameras. I had no redress to the violence committed against me.
In Guam, in 1976, a White judge’s 11-year-old daughter was abducted, probably raped, and murdered. The response of the “authorities”, other than posting fliers while she was missing, was a collective shrug.
In Guam, in 1976, Japanese newlyweds began honeymooning on Guam. These couples, caught unawares, were indiscriminately murdered by Guamanians. Each couple was caught “alone”; that is, the husband and wife were together, but without anyone else but their killers.
So many Japanese tourists were being murdered that it became a big joke on the island. It was a joke in my own family. As in: “Two more Japanese tourists were murdered. Ho! Ho! Ho!” There was no animosity in this joke, at least among White people. Rather, it was a question of, how stupid can these Japanese be? Guamanians kept killing them, yet more Japanese kept arriving! I guess Japanese and Guamanian businesses had a big financial interest in pumping clueless young Japanese into Guam.
Of course, if there had been legal consequences for the killers, the promiscuous murder of Japanese wouldn’t have been a joke. Also, the frequency of the murders would have lessoned.
You might have a question for me about Bellows Field Beach Park. Specifically, your question might regard my attacker. You might ask me, “Why didn’t you beat the shit out of him?”
First, I was in kidney failure. Second, I was unable to catch him after his attacks. He managed to stay clear of me as he planned his next attack.
I was utterly alone at Bellows Field Beach Park. I knew absolutely no one there. As Bellows Field Beach Park was extremely far from where I lived, I knew little of my surroundings.
My attacker was probably 17 years old. I was 23. He could claim innocence in hitting me with his boogie board in the surf. However, I couldn’t claim innocence if I grabbed him. Worse, I was a retired military officer. Also, any legal case would ultimately have been tried in a local court. I would have been the ( White ) defendant. In such a courtroom, the jury would have been mostly the race of my attacker; that is, non-White.
I’ll tell you a story that occurred in Oak Park. That’s a neighborhood in Sacramento, which is the capital of California. It was 1985.
I was in a vehicle with a White guy. He worked for a car rental agency, and was driving me to their office. Oak Park has a law school. Though few Blacks attended, in 1985, the neighborhood was entirely Black.
On his own initiative, and to my surprise, my driver began yelling racial slurs out of our car window. ( That day, I learned the meaning of the word “Coon”. )
Merrily, the White driver turned to me. He said,
“You gotta watch out doing something like this. The whole neighborhood could rush out.”
That’s how it is, on Guam and in Hawaii. White people stupidly live as a “nuclear family”. Non-Whites on Guam, and in Hawaii, do not. Let’s say that I’d responded aggressively to my attacker at Bellows Field Beach Park. I doubt that I’d have found myself facing just him. All his fucking relatives were probably at Bellows Field Beach Park.
I have advice for my former neighbors in the Pacific. My advice includes Australia and New Zealand. You’re either going to speak English ( plus your native tongue ), or you’ll speak Chinese. Pick whichever country you like, but those are your choices. Any independence you think you have is an illusion, and has been for decades.
Back to the sun, and its effects.
Today, my insufficiently masculine self visited a dermatologist. I have to see a dermatologist often, because I’m a “survivor” of skin cancer. Not once, not twice, but three times! That’s how often I’ve had skin cancer surgery. More surgeries are highly likely. I have skin cancer due to excessive sun exposure.
The second time I had skin cancer surgery, the female doctor kept asking me a question. It was, “Are you going to stay out of the sun now?” She was rabidly in love with some guy, and looking to get married. Presumably, she’d be a mother a few years later. Hence, I didn’t tell her that I was being cut and stitched by her because of my parents. I didn’t want to spoil her vision of the glories of “raising” children.
The third time I had skin cancer, I decided to cut short any false accusations about my sun exposure. The first thing I said in the operating room was,
“I’m here because of my parents. They forced me to be in the sun.”
I wasn’t just forced to be in the sun on the Margate beach. In Guam, my parents forced me to be on swim teams for four years. Swim team practice occurred almost daily, for two hours, in the afternoon. There was no joy in these sessions. We young people, age 8 and up, swam for two hours. That’s it. No games, no fun, just fucking swimming laps in a pool.
However, I’ve never complained about the swim team practice. I simply endured it.
I do have a huge complaint about the weekly Saturday swim meets. These tedious affairs lasted all day.
I was far from being a champion swimmer. There was no reason for me to compete for trophies or ribbons. I wasn’t getting any. ( Other than the perfunctory handful that any kid on a team will eventually stumble into. )
My parents forced my brother and I to attend all the swim meets. A better title for these dumpsters of boredom would have been “sun meets”. That’s because “swimmers” were left to bake in the sun all day, on land, for no useful purpose.
We baked in the sun because each “swimmer” had to wait to be called to his event. Like other kids, I would gorge on sugar. By the time I was called to an event, I had passed from a sugar high to a sugar low. I had about as much energy to swim as a drowsy dog on a hot unroofed porch.
Some effort was made by adults to erect parachute tents. However, these tents were fairly transparent. This was especially true because Guam’s sun is a tropical sun.
The team swimsuit for my brother and I resembled the American flag. So, being brown as baked beans after a swim meet, we had striped bottoms. That’s because the red stripes admitted sunlight, while the white stripes didn’t.
Some parents were avid participants in swim meets. My parents weren’t. I don’t recall them attending a single swim meet. I think my brother and I were dumped into the cancerous sun all day so they could have sex.
Upon arriving on Guam, my father coached a swim team for two years. I was 9 years old when my father began coaching on Guam. I mostly recall the period after my father stopped coaching. At that point, my parents, ever dominant, forcibly transferred my brother and I to a competing swim team.
When I was 13, my parents abruptly ceased requiring my brother and I to be on a swim team. Had I continued with a swim team, I might have wound up with a girlfriend. This was the ultimate sin to my parents, to be avoided at all costs. So, my parents made no further swim team demands. The Nimitz Hill team, which my brother and I were then on, was on a high hill, far from our home. ( That is, far from the Lutheran Church of Guam. )
On a rare instance or two, I’ve tried explaining my life to someone. Inevitably, that person grew up in an American suburb that was teeming with children. Hence, such a person finds it impossible to understand my “childhood”. They have no idea how a child could be isolated from other children. However, keeping me away from girls my age was my parents’ “Prime Directive”. That, and ensuring that I was sufficiently masculine, by forcing me into “masculine” situations that gave me skin cancer.
My father was “ashen”, according to my mother, when my brother told my parents that he was getting married. My brother was, by then, 30-years-old. His prospective bride was also 30.
Fortunately, I’ve never embittered my parents in that regard. Now 60, I would never marry any girl who was over age 11.
As stated, I visited my dermatologist today. The paperwork I got from my dermatologist says this:
“The following issues were addressed:
Sun-damaged skin”.
“No balls” is also listed, but that’s irrelevant to this discussion.
I recall, many times, hearing my father say,
“I want to get a good sunburn”. Not “suntan”, but “sunburn”. Certain words were swear words to my father, besides the ordinary ones. A prominent swear word was “leisure”. “Amenities” was another swear word, as was “entertainment”. One dared not utter the word “pleasure” in the presence of either of my parents.
Hence, my father couldn’t enjoy a day at the beach. To experience pleasure was, to him, immoral. However, if he combined the pain of a sunburn with pleasure, then he was, in his mind, working. “Work”, and “hard work”, were holy words to my parents, to be cherished.
Besides my sunburn, my day at the Margate beach ended sadly. At that time, there was a cereal called “Kaboom!”. As I recall, “Kaboom!” tasted like crap. However, if one ate enough boxes of “Kaboom!”, one could acquire a total of four cartoon characters, rendered as small rubber figurines. A single ( unidentified ) figurine was in each box of “Kaboom!”
Somehow, I managed to collect all four figurines. Naturally, being 9, I decided to take my figurines to the ocean. I managed to play with them all day without losing any of them. Unfortunately, at the end of the day, my mother told me to go wash off my figurines. ( Or I stupidly decided to do so. ) You can guess the outcome. I lost Underdog to the sea.
I don’t recall any further boxes of “Kaboom!” coming into my life. So, after that, I had just three figurines. I no longer had a complete set.
I’ve never claimed that I didn’t have a middle-class childhood. My complaint is that my parents went to extraordinary lengths to keep me isolated from other children. They were especially horrified at the prospect of me ever interacting with any girl.
So, in my opinion, the only worthwhile thing in the universe is attractive “little” girls.
This is a reason that I didn’t graduate from law school. I was required by the school to take a course in divorce law. It was called Community Property. There I sat, having never held hands with a female, but studying divorce law.
My final memory of this class was of my woman professor. She was obsessing over the “table of consanguinity”. It can be a determinant of what divorcing partners get when their marriage ends. ( I guess. ) I said to myself, “fuck this”. I ceased attending the class. Instead, I busied myself publishing and distributing pamphlets like “Naughty Naked Dreamgirls”. Who cares what an aging couple gets when one can imagine naked girls being whipped and fucked?
You may wonder what happened to The Man of God. ( My father. ) Living until age 93, he was afflicted in his latter decades by squamous.
“That kills people!” a dermatologist exclaimed, when I mentioned that my father had squamous. It’s the worst form of skin cancer.
My father had innumerable surgeries for squamous. Last I heard, before he died, he had open wounds in his legs from squamous. I haven’t been told my father’s cause of death. It may have been from squamous. So, yes, Dad got a “good sunburn”. It probably sent him to his grave. And, for a man opposed to pleasure, squamous made his latter decades of life painful. The U.S. taxpayer got stuck with the bill for his “holy” sunburned life.
I don’t agree much with what “Black Lives Matter” is promoting. I do agree with them on one point: destroy the nuclear family. The nuclear family is nothing but a vector for exploitation by the state. What should be an extended family unit, that includes other families, is stripped to the individual man and woman. Each individual is scrutinized in numerous ways by the state, ordered about, and taxed. So is each of their children.
Humans weren’t born yesterday. Civilization has only existed for the last 11,000 years. Humanity itself has existed for around 300,000 years. By “humanity”, I mean people that are biologically identical to us. You could deodorize and dress a human from 300,000 years ago and include him among any modern humans. He would be absolutely identical to us. He wouldn’t have a name, and wouldn’t speak any language. However, he would have the exact mental capacity that we do to acquire a name and language.
The lineage of prehumans can be traced to 7 million years ago. The creatures from which prehumans evolved can be dated to 541 million years ago. Life existed on Earth even prior to this. Since that life managed to do whatever passed for fucking back then, we, and all other creatures, are here today. Earth is 4.5 billion years old.
Each of us has a “tail” that we carry with us. It’s no longer a real “tail”, but a biological one. Throughout much of history, including prehistory, humans didn’t live in nuclear families. I recall seeing a film about modern natives in Papua New Guinea. They live communally. At night, they all sleep in large hut. They sleep as a group. What do you think goes on in that group when the members get horny? Do you think a man says,
“You’re only 14 years old! I can’t have sex with you! I’d be a child rapist!” Of course not. Living communally, people have sex, or otherwise express intimacy, as the spirit moves them.
Chimpanzees are our near relatives. If a troupe of chimpanzees finds food, all the chimpanzees have sex. All of them. There is no “age of consent” that omits chimpanzees from the sex. ( Personally, I wouldn’t be frisky with the youngest females. However, I’m reporting the facts. )
In many species, including humans, the male is bigger and stronger than the female. Would you like to know why? It’s because nature wants to leave as little to chance as it can. Humans, like other species, are primarily here to reproduce. That’s right; we’re here for Spring Break. We’re here to fuck.
The male is bigger and stronger than the female so he can catch her, hold her down, and fuck her. Males were put on earth to fuck. Females were put on earth to be fucked. That’s reality. Contemporary feminists, like contemporary trans folk, are living in a self-made fantasy.
In my day, men who were trans embraced their lifestyle as men. They were men who liked being sissies. I have no complaint about trans men who embrace being trans men; that is, men who like dressing and behaving as women. The same goes for women who are tomboys.
I am utterly opposed to a man mutilating his genitals, or undergoing any other such surgery. I’m also opposed to any drugs used for this purpose. Klinger, in M.A.S.H., was a trans man who embraced his sissy tendencies as a man. Tim Curry, in The Rocky Horror Picture Show, embraced his sissy self as a man. World War Two’s Rosie the Riveter embraced her tomboy nature as a woman.
I knew a guy at a gym. Of him, I once asked the night clerk, “Why does Tom look awful? Something must be wrong with him.”
The clerk’s answer was,
“Tom isn’t wearing his eye makeup.”
So, I’m glad that Tom usually resorted to eye makeup. He looked much better wearing it. I ran the Disney Channel a lot at the gym, on its T.V.s. In a certain episode of “Dog with a Blog”, the show’s father winds up stuck outside in sissy attire. I recall Tom, more than once, eyeing me with approval at this scene. Tom hoped I loved the scene as much as he did. It was a great scene, but I liked it from a comedic perspective. Tom liked it as an affirmation of his trans lifestyle.
I have nothing against Trans folk. I welcome their contributions to our society. However, a trans man should recognize that he’s a man - who likes presenting himself to the world as a woman. ( To whatever degree he sees fit. ) The same goes for trans women.
The band The Who released a film starring their lead singer, Roger Daltrey. Called “Tommy”, it came out in March 1975. I’ve not seen the film in its entirety. However, at the end, Roger Daltrey is stripped to denim cutoffs. He’s standing knee-deep in the sea. If society had allowed it, Daltrey probably would have been nude in this scene.
Such a scene is quintessential of the period in America lasting from November 22, 1963 to December 12, 1977. That is, from JFK’s assassination to the release of the film, “Saturday Night Fever”. Being from this era, I embrace the look of Roger Daltrey in “Tommy”. A person, including a trans one, should strive to be natural.
I recall a Biden appointee testifying recently before the U.S. Senate. The appointee was a trans man. His ( current ) name is Rachel Levine. Levine wants to be mistaken for a woman. So, dressing gaudily as a woman, including by wearing a butterscotch blonde wig, he insists on being called by a feminine name. “Rachel” also demands to be addressed as “she”.
The man cut a ridiculous figure. Even on my old-fashioned T.V., with its dusty screen, it was obvious that “Rachel” was a man. I wouldn’t have addressed him as “she”. To me, he’s a “Mr.” If he wants to be a “Mr.” who dresses as a woman, so be it. However, he should cut the crap with regard to his gaudy attire. I say: “Mr. lady doth protest too much” in denying his manhood. Levine’s wig ( etc. ) is the equivalent of myself going about in short pants, licking a lollipop, to convince folks that I’m a prepubescent. I wouldn’t mind being a prepubescent, but I’m not one. I embrace being a 60 year old “pedophile”.
My main concern with Levine wasn’t his attire. I’m concerned that he may have mutilated his genitals ( not a big loss ). I’m also worried that he’s on bodily modifying drugs.
Specifically, I’m horrified by Levine’s advocacy for those known as “our precious children”. Levine supports children mutilating their genitals ( with the help of a “doctor” ). He also supports children taking bodily modifying drugs.
I say: everyone should be like Daltrey in “Tommy”. You should live as Nature intends. You need to be able to strip to denim cutoffs. If your identity requires genital mutilation, unneeded drugs, and an outfit best left to a bank robber in a comedy, you’ve screwed up your life and yourself.
Above, you’ve read about my experience with the nuclear family. My father’s obsession with “morality” likely killed him. It gave me skin cancer. ( Which, like Dad’s skin cancer, the U.S. taxpayer winds up paying to treat. ) Hence, I agree with Black Lives Matter that the nuclear family should be abolished.
“I’m not a pervert!” a character in the film Logan’s Run exclaims. He says this when he’s asked a question. The question is,
“Do you know who your parents are?” Of course he doesn’t know who his parents are! That’s because only a pervert would wish to have such information.
The film Logan’s Run was released in June 1976. In Logan’s Run, people live communally. The world of Logan’s Run has a “live action” version of the internet. At one point, in his apartment, Logan is feeling lonely. He accesses the “live action” internet. A man appears in his apartment. This man is a stranger to Logan, but wants to be romantic with Logan. ( i.e. this represents a potential gay lover. ) Logan politely turns down the gay man as a romantic companion.
Next, a “little” girl appears in Logan’s apartment. Logan politely declines romancing her.
Lastly, Jenny Gutter appears. Being 23, she’s “age appropriate”. So she becomes Logan’s love interest.
Note that Logan didn’t go on a crusade to “save” or “rescue” the little girl. I hope she soon found someone. If she pops into my room, I won’t deny her.
( When I watched Logan’s Run on the Disney channel, a channel that supposedly caters to “children”, the scene with the little girl was missing. Note that, in film, things always occur in a group of three. Two is too few. Four is too many. Hence, I’m not inventing the little girl. If you watch Logan’s Run and only see the fag and Miss Gutter, you’re watching a bowdlerized version. )
( And yes, pirates did chase women in Disney’s original version of the amusement park ride, “Pirates of the Caribbean”. In the revised version, the pirates chase chickens. ) ( As of the 1970s. The ride itself also debuted in the 1970s. )
In conclusion: be natural, and don’t take the concept of the nuclear family as gospel. It’s likely the worst way that humans can organize themselves. However, it’s great for promoting an invasive state that dominates you from birth to death.
CLEAN UP THE INTERNET!
As I write these words, I’m suffering from emotional trauma. I was on the free porn site www ( dot ) pornpics ( dot ) com. There, I was gathering nude photos of Kay Jay. I’m particularly interested in photos of Kay where she looks 12 years old.
Ads sometimes popped up on this porn site. They didn’t get in my way. I ignored them.
Then, around midnight, new ads began appearing. I was shocked by these ads. They were disgusting. They depicted bare-breasted women my age.
In all my decades of life, I’ve never seen a single photo of an old, bare-breasted woman. I was horrified by this adult content. It revolted me.
My fellow Americans, it’s time to clean up the internet. Photos of bare-breasted old ladies should be outlawed.
I guess that getting rid of images of old, topless grannies will reduce the amount of porn on the internet. A ( deviant ) masturbator might complain about this. The solution is simple. For every old lady who gets, er, yanked from the internet, a replacement photo should be uploaded. The photo should be of a beautiful, naked “underage” girl.
Having been exposed to topless old ladies, I’m not sure when I’ll be able to look at porn again. I think my wiener has died. Please, if you’re an old lady, keep your bra on. Better yet, wear a burka. All of us must do our part to keep the internet a safe place for all, including for jerkoffs like me.
AGE 8 AND MARRIED
Recently, I was on the web site freeones ( dot ) com. I was reading about nude model Kay Jay. Freeones ( dot ) com says that Kay began her “adult model”career in 2016, at age 20. On the internet, there are photos of Kay at various ages. In some photos, she’s older. In some, she’s younger.
However, I hadn’t seen her youngest photos! I found a number of these at the website www ( dot ) pornpics ( dot ) com. All of Kay’s photos are legal. In her youngest photos, however, I’d swear she wasn’t a day over 14. She even looks 12 years old in some of her photos.
Kay’s youngest photos are breathtaking. The easiest way to find them is to scroll to the bottom of her library at www ( dot ) pornpics ( dot ) com. However, as I slogged from the top to the bottom of her library, taking screen shots, I found some super photos of young Kay about halfway down.
You’ll think an “identical” gallery, containing some duplicate photos, can be skipped. Don’t skip any of Kay’s galleries. Amid duplicate photos, in an “identical” gallery, you’ll find new photos!
Gazing at the cover photo for some of Kay’s galleries, you’ll say, “Skip this one. Kay is old and fat.” However, some of the cover photos for Kay’s galleries are deceptive. You’ll think she’s old and fat. Then, opening the gallery, you’ll find she’s not.
I found a gallery of Kay that was deliberately deceptive. Its cover photo shows an old and fat Kay. Opening the gallery, I found all the photos were of a wonderfully young Kay!
Which brings up an observation. I have been studying girls in porn photos for over 40 years. I’ve come to these conclusions:
1. An 18 year old girl is “kid cute”. She’s the female ideal, in my opinion.
2. A 19 year old girl looks like a fucking woman.
3. A 20 year old girl looks like an even older fucking woman.
4. Is the girl 21 years old? Trash her photo. This definitely applies once she’s age 22 or 23.
5. In its later years, a Playboy Playmate was no longer “the girl next door”. Every Playmate was 26 years old, or slightly older. My God! Those women looked awful! Talk about a woman being fat and loose. ( Even if she did still have some semblance of attractive curves. )
What idiot man ever agreed that no girl should marry before age 18? If you marry a girl when she’s 18, you have exactly one year to enjoy her. Then she’s just a fucking adult, another boring woman.
Let’s consider an enlightened man’s view. Marry the girl when she’s 8. You might worry that, as a husband, you’ll get what is ( in fact ) “the two year itch”. ( Not “the seven year itch”. ) “My God”, you’ll soon say, “I’ve been yoked into marriage for two whole years!”
Then you’ll realize that your wife is 10 years old. She’s in 5th grade. She’s growing nice breasts. How bad can that be? So, you’ll remain faithful to your wife.
Let’s consider the possibility of “the seven year itch”. “My God”, you’ll say. “I’ll soon have been married for a whole decade!” Then you’ll realize that your wife is 15 years old. Your wife is in 10th grade. To educators, 10th grade is known as “the terrible twos”. That’s because 10th graders don’t want to do much besides fuck. ( As Nature intends. ) So, you’re in bed every night with a girl who wants to get cock-hammered. How bad can that be? So, you’ll do your marital duty.
This is why I say the “age of consent” should be 8. It gives a man plenty of years to enjoy his wife before she gets old and fat. America is plagued by divorce. But only a man who’s a moron would divorce a hot young girl. Hence, in my America, with an age of consent of age 8, there will be little divorce. Offspring will grow up in the much-acclaimed “two parent” family.
Let’s say your wife wants to be a doctor. Such a pursuit involves many hours of study, school, and work. This is troublesome for a husband, who needs his wife to cook, clean, and screw. However, 8-year-olds don’t go to medical school. Hence, if your wife is 8, or even 17, or ( gag! ) 21, you won’t be stuck with some gal who has no time for you. Also, if your wife is 8, you might raise your family during the years that she’s age 12 to 22. So, by age 23, your wife will be able to devote herself fully to medical school. That’s because her daughters will themselves have been married off at age 8.
MY MIND ( and more ) IS BLOWN
I entered the following search term on Google: Kay Jay in bondage. I got nothing. I’ve never seen photos of her in bondage. Nonetheless, I’ve concluded that Kay Jay was a bondage princess, at least once in her life. ( At the time, she would have been too young to be a bondage queen; she looks no more than 14 years old. ) Kay would have been on the receiving end of any punishments. ( Neil Eckart, had you been present, your nipples would have been safe. )
Recently, I visited freeones ( dot ) com. In their field labelled “Search on FreeOnes”, I entered “kay j”.
A host of faces appeared. I tapped on the face of “Kay Jay”.
A new page appeared on freeones ( dot ) com. It’s titled, “Kay Jay”.
Scroll down on this page.
Stop scrolling when you see a rectangular blue ‘button’. Printed on the ‘button’ is this: “All Kay Jay videos”.
Tap on this ‘button’.
You’re taken to a new page.
Scroll down on this page.
Stop scrolling when you see “1 2 Next”.
The number 1 is illuminated. The number 2 isn’t illuminated. Tap on the number 2.
You’re taken to a new page. Scroll down on page 2. ( There are no further pages. )
Here, we’re concerned with the last video. It’s titled,
“Young Kay Jay enjoys posing naked in her Bedroom”. ( No quote marks or period. )
We’re also concerned with the second to last Kay Jay video. It’s titled,
“Kay Jay gives Upskirt View before getting naked”. ( No quote marks or period. )
Let’s study “Young Kay Jay enjoys posing naked in her Bedroom” first. Here, evoking a 12 year old, Kay masturbates in her bed. She also humps her bare bottom high for action, with her panties pulled down. It is in this film that you can best observe the agonizing ordeal that Kay must have endured.
Gaze upon her right bosom. Near her nipple, on her breast’s inner curve, are two near-vertical slash marks. These must have been caused by a riding crop, or a whip.
Gaze upon the right cheek of her bottom. A mark is present close to her bottom’s cleft. Another mark is present farther to the right on her asscheek. These too evoke marks from a riding crop, or a whip.
Now, let’s look at the film, “Kay Jay gives Upskirt View before getting naked”. The same punishment marks are present! They’re not as obvious in this video, but you’ll see them if you look closely. ( You get to see her pussy and butthole too! )
None of these punishment marks were meant to be in Kay’s videos. They’re unrelated to the theme of each film. ( Which is mostly about innocent sexual expression. ) Kay must have gotten whipped at something akin to a bondage party. A few marks lingered on her when it was time to shoot her video.
Seeing these videos, I took Kay’s “wild child” marks in stride. That is, until I found wrenchingly young photos of her on www ( dot ) pornpics ( dot ) com. She is the same age in these photos as she is in the videos on freeones ( dot ) com. ( Age 20, but appearing younger. )
In 2019, I was shocked by the video “Sloan”. I’d never seen a near “child”, that is, “Ivey / Lilly Anne”, getting fucked by two guys. I hadn’t seen it in films, photos, or in real life. ( Read my issue “VD 1” for more. You won’t catch a venereal disease doing so. )
Since I’ve ( mentally ) linked young Kay Jay’s photos with young Kay Jay’s videos, my world has again been rocked. You may think I’m speaking of blissful pleasure. Sure, my dick’s happy. However, psychologically, I feel crushed. Here I sit, doing my best in life, but utterly missing out on something like Kay Jay in bondage. ( In real life. ) I suffered similarly from “Ivey / Lilly Anne’s” poolside screw. ( Kids of a certain age would have jumped in the big pool in “Sloan”. Not “Ivey / Lilly Anne”, and her male friends. They’re present to fuck!
If you want to make your dick happy, but possibly commit suicide, check out Kay Jay’s “wild child” videos that reveal her bondage experience.
To do this:
1. Make a screen recording of Kay’s videos.
2. In Apple’s app iMovie, import the screen recordings.
3. Scrolling slowly through iMovie, take screen shots of the relevant images.
4. Using Apple Photos, enlarge each iMovie screen shot.
5. You can keep enlarging any given screen shot by taking another screen shot of it. There is no loss of resolution.
6. However, these videos are five years old. They don’t have the resolution of modern videos.
7. Which is why new young girls need to attend bondage parties, and later be filmed! ( Or: film them at the party. I won’t complain. )
AWFUL AMAZON
I discovered Amazon Kindle in 2019. Then, it was a fun app. Now it isn’t. Here’s why:
Every time I boot up my Amazon Kindle app, Amazon sends me lots of information over Wi-Fi. It takes a long time for this information to be sent to my device. When it arrives, I learn ( yet again ), that White folks ( like Jeff Bozo ) are evil. Besides this propaganda, I’m told how many days in a row I’ve read ( on the Amazon app ). I read every day. I don’t need to be reminded of it.
( I guess Amazon isn’t the only sinner in this category. Yesterday, childporn ( dot ) com alerted me to this fact: “You’re on a jerk-off streak! You’ve masturbated to little girls for 21,990 days in a row!”
Of course I have. Do you remember last year, when the world ran out of toilet paper? It wasn’t due to COVID-19. I need to clean up the messes I make. )
Amazon ( dot ) com no longer provides free samples of books. You can request a free sample of a book there. Amazon ( dot ) com will tell you that your free sample is on the way. However, it never arrives.
Instead, you have to search for the free sample within your Amazon Kindle app. Unfortunately, the Kindle app doesn’t know about every free sample that’s available at Amazon ( dot ) com. Also, the “Search” bar in the Kindle app is now very slow. Try to type in more than one letter there. You can’t, for many seconds.
In the past, whenever I heard of a book I might like, I went to Amazon ( dot ) com. There, I got a free sample of the book. I no longer do this. The reason is because the Amazon Kindle app, which is now the source of free samples, is cumbersome and slow. Instead, I scribble a book’s title in my cluttered paper notebook. Then I promptly forget it.
I do learn of Amazon’s contemporary “popular” books. ( Otherwise known as “trash”. ) Besides telling me that White people are evil, Amazon is keen on telling me of their trash. ( Which consists of writers who reassure me that White people are evil. )
Little that Amazon downloads to me over Wi-Fi, against my will, has anything to do with my reading interests. Also, the last thing I need to do is buy more books. I first learned this in the 1970s. Some people fear becoming drug addicts. I found my wallet was addicted to buying books. My addiction persists. However, I am buying less e-books from Amazon since Amazon screwed ( up ) their Kindle app.
AND IN THE END...
“Having achieved supremacy in their chosen area, many tech firms, especially the big ones, have shown little appetite to compete directly with each other in the past decade.”
- The Economist, February 27, 2021, pg. 9.
Arcana:
1. In their printed lyrics, “Thunder”, in the song “Thunderstruck”, by AC/DC, isn’t followed by an exclamation point. However, as sung, “Thunder” is proclaimed with great emphasis, and repeatedly.
( The lyric is courtesy of LyricFind, on a page generated by Google. The song, as heard, is courtesy of Screw You Tube. )
2. I can hear it now: “Oh well, some guy ran over Roller with his boogie board.” However, that wasn’t the only racial violence that I endured on Guam, and in Hawaii. Once, I nearly lost my testicles. Another time, I was on a crowded city bus in Hawaii. A group of Samoan males got on it. They were roughly draft age. The Samoans noticed that I had White skin. I became the target of their aggression. They would have beat the shit out of me. However, the bus was literally packed with ( non-White ) people. None of the Samoans could physically get to me as I, and they, stood on the bus.
Then an intelligent, middle-aged Hawaiian spoke up. A rider, he was literally trapped in the space adjacent to the bus’s front door.
“Fuck you Samoans!” the Hawaiian yelled. He went on to say something like this: “You Samoans think you’re hot, but you’re not.”
The Samoans told the Hawaiian man to shut up. They told him that he wasn’t the person they were after. ( Their exact words escape me. )
The Hawaiian continued to loudly declare his ( erudite ) opinion of the Samoans. As it turned out, the Hawaii State Fair was underway. ( I had no prior knowledge of this. That’s how big my “social life” was. ) The Samoans, calling themselves “The Sam”, were riding the bus to the fair. They got off at the fair in the manner that they’d boarded the crowded bus. They got off the back of the bus.
And what did they do? The front door of the bus remained open. The Samoans trooped to the front of the bus, and jammed themselves in on the Hawaiian man. They beat the shit out of him.
The bus driver sat in his driver’s seat by the Hawaiian man. What did the driver do? Absolutely nothing. He didn’t even attempt to close the bus’s front door. In that era, a bus was not equipped with cameras, or a telephone for the driver. No cell phones existed.
Years later, I lived in Sacramento. I was stunned to watch ( entirely ) White teenagers go on placid dates to such events as the state fair, or a music concert. These teens went, enjoyed each other, and the venue, and left. Nobody got hurt. Nobody got beat up. By then, of course, I wasn’t a teenager. Had I taken any interest in a teen ( female or male ), I’d be enjoying racial diversity in a violent California prison.
To all the “fucking howlies” who complain about “white supremacy”, I say: move your family to Guam. Or move your family to Hawaii. Your son, having no social life there, might wind up being a “pedophile” like me. But diversity is our strength.
Currently, there is a White jackass from South Africa who busies himself with anti-pedophile rhetoric, and much more, in America. He is associated in some way with the movie “Trust”. I saw this jackass twice on Fox News’ “Life, Liberty & Levin”. That’s why I don’t watch Mark Levin anymore. I could endure the South African jackass for one episode of “Life, Liberty & Levin”. However, Levin put the jackass on for a whole hour, two weeks in a row!
To the South African jackass, I say, don’t busy yourself with so-called “pedophiles” in America. Move back to your own goddamn country. South Africa has much worse problems than America. As happened in Rhodesia, Blacks in South Africa are murdering White families. The Black South African government is encouraging this.
Consider this: in America, we have a girl who was ( allegedly ) “touched”. ( As in the accusatory statement of, “He touched the child!” )
In South Africa, girls are being murdered. Only Levin’s jackass would hustle around America complaining about girls being “molested”, when girls are being murdered in South Africa.
I look forward to the day when Fox is an un-Levin-ed channel.
( Actually, I enjoy Levin, absent his anti-pedophile episodes. He rants as well as Adolf Hitler. “It’s not the Jews, it’s the pedophiles!” ))
3. I can give an expanded view of my parents’ “Prime Directive”. It consisted of the following precepts, as applied to me.
A. You’re not an adult. You’re a child in our family. Therefore, you will only be allowed to watch content that concerns families. ( By “watch”, I mean interaction with all forms of media. )
B. You’re a boy child. Therefore, you will associate solely with other boys.
C. You’ll be forced into activities with other boys, to ensure that you become sufficiently masculine.
D. We will absolutely control all your contacts with other boys. These will consist solely of brief encounters, with boys you otherwise won’t have access to.
E. You will never exhibit, or be perceived to be interested in, sexual activity. ( Including that found in books, songs, T.V. shows, and movies. ) The reason for this prohibition is because you’re a child.
Dumped out by my parents, on the mainland, with kidney disease, my parents’ “Prime Directive” changed. I was now required to ( somehow ) have friends. I was apparently supposed to interact with females my age. ( All of these females were, by age 24, non-virgins. They’d had lots of childhood experiences involving romance and sex. In other words, I’d missed the party. However, my parents were allowing me to lick the vomit off the floor where the party had been held. )
F. When I was 33, my father said to me, over the phone, “We’d kinda like to have some grandchildren.” ( Mom never favored this. Such a decision would require me to interact with a female other than herself. Mom then lived 2,458 miles away from me, with The Man of God. )
Dad didn’t want grandchildren. He knew I’d never held hands with a female. Dad, being a senior citizen, wanted to keep up with other seniors.
What’s the first thing two seniors do when they meet? One senior asks the other, “How many grandchildren do you have?” Dad had one, courtesy of my brother. My brother’s divorce made Dad’s one grandson the near-exclusive property of my brother’s ex-wife, and her family. Dad and that family didn’t get along. In fact, Dad and the Dad of my brother’s ex-wife had gotten into a huge argument at my brother’s wedding. I wasn’t present. However, knowing my Dad, I could have predicted that outcome.
In his last decades, The Man of God had no defensible reason for why he had just one grandchild. ( Other than the obvious: I screwed my sons. ) So, Dad ended these decades of his life declaring,
“If I could do it again, I’d be stricter”.
If Dad had been stricter, Dad would have gone to his maker well before age 93. I’m not so un-masculine as to be unable to provide that outcome.
4. I again thank Neil Eckart, of the War And Conquest podcast, for ( unwittingly ) improving my writing. It’s now more personable. ( If, that is, one has a predilection for war and conquest. )
5. “Jenny Gutter” is, of course, actually Jenny Agutter. I, being as yet unsaved by pedophilia, was ardently in love with her in 1976. Thank you Roman Polanski, Jeffrey Epstein, and other Gods of our molester universe. I was blind, but now I see!
6. Kay Jay is also known as “Kay J”. ( As in “jack off”. )
7. On freeones ( dot ) com, a dancer overlays the screen. She’s in the lower right corner of your screen. This ( attractive ) piece of shit will dance in front of videos that you try to watch on freeones ( dot ) com.
An option is provided to get rid of this dancing shit. I had to tap this option multiple times, over a number of minutes. After I’d watched two videos on freeones ( dot ) com, I managed to flush the dancing shit down the toilet.
Which brings up the question: can you believe how much crap is pumped at you, in the form of obnoxious overlaid ads, when you visit a website? I’m not speaking solely of a porn website. Even important mainstream websites engage in such ghastly behavior.
I’m please to say that my humble “child molester” website doesn’t engage in such conduct. At least, it doesn’t on my account. I do my utmost to provide a clean page with no distractions. ( Unless, of course, you’re irked by pedophilia. )
( If half your readers love you, and half detest you, you’re doing great! Anything else is lukewarm water. Lukewarm water tastes like spit. )
8. “I am not a crook!” President Nixon famously said. The other day, I was speaking with one of my doctors. ( Not my dermatologist. ) My doctor got it into his head that I wander the earth, publicly masturbating. I view myself as presidential material. So, in view of my future campaign, I feel obliged to say that while I am a “child molester”, I do not publicly masturbate. ( The preschool that I walk by is now closed. It remains a good place to take a whiz. )
9. It’s said that Marilyn Monroe became a star for this reason: she felt that she absolutely had to be one.
In the summer of 1986, around midnight, my brother found me in downtown Honolulu, far from our home. I was xeroxing issue three of my publication, “Comic Update”. I was supposed to be in California, studying law. Politely, My brother asked,
“What the fuck are you doing?”
“Peter”, I answered, clutching unsorted pages of Comic Update, “I could do this until the year 2000!” ( A date that was too far in the future to ever arrive. )
The year 2000 is long gone. However, as in the early 1970s, when I was selling my mimeographed pamphlet, “Botcher’s Blotches”, I’m still publishing. I don’t publish for money. I don’t publish because I want to. I publish because I feel that I absolutely have to. So I guess I’ll be doing this until the year 3000.
Someday, when I’ve grown famous by killing all the males and raping all the females, my pamphlets will be worth money. ( In fact, like Alexander, I’ll be “great”. )
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Copyright 2021 by Andrew L. Roller. ET, Editorial Thunder, and ARSE, Andrew Roller Stories and Essays, are trademarks of Andrew L. Roller.
I am https://andrewroller.wordpress.com
Earlier posts by me are at https://asstr.org/files/Authors/Roller/
I’m on paper at: https://www.abebooks.com > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
and https://www.abebooks.co.uk > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
If you visit an “AbeBooks” website, you’ll be presented with a large square “Search” box. In the box labelled “Author”, type in “Andrew Roller”. In the box labelled “Title”, type in “Andrew Roller Presents”. This will bring up some of my pamphlets. I have not yet figured out how to bring up other pamphlets by me, under other titles. I don’t recall all the titles I published under.
I have no financial involvement in these resale items.
I am on You Tube as “Andrew Roller”. Use You Tube’s magnifying glass icon to search for “Andrew Roller”. That will take you to my You Tube channel. Or, on You Tube, tap my sun icon, if you see it. That will also take you to my You Tube channel. There, you can see songs and films that I like.
At the “home page” of my You Tube channel, you’ll see just a selection of playlists that I created. To see all my playlists, tap on the phrase, “Created playlists”.
The World Wide Web address for my You Tube channel is:
https://www.youtube.com/andrewroller
If you click on this link, you’ll be taken to a World Wide Web You Tube page. Here, You Tube displays a cartoon image of a monkey. The page says, “This page isn’t available. Sorry about that. Try searching for something else.”
My advice: on this page, search for “andrew roller”. By doing so, you’ll get to my World Wide Web You Tube channel. However, I have over 100 Playlists, that I created, at my You Tube app channel. The World Wide Web version of You Tube will only serve you 15 of my Playlists.
( Hence, access You Tube via its app. The You Tube app, like the WordPress app, is available for free at the Apple App Store. )
I’m on Pandora as: andrewroller666
On Pandora, I just have a basic account.
This is ET, Editorial Thunder, issue number 64
Arcana: This is ET, Editorial Thunder, issue number 64, version 5.0
Date Written: March 9, 2021. Live for the day that censorious Big Tech is dead.
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This has been a presentation of A R S E news.
Alert! This issue may contain content that is meet, right, and salutary for perverts.
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Fast Forward Future
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BO 4
Book Observations presents...
Fast Forward Future
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Plus: Erotic Hotties!
And: Boobs at age 7.
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FAST FORWARD FUTURE
by Andrew Roller
A book review of The Accidental Time Machine, by Joe Haldeman. ( Amazon Kindle. )
Note: As always, I strive to avoid any “spoilers” in this review.
Joe Haldeman is the author of the much acclaimed novel, “The Forever War.” ( Which I have yet to read. )
In “The Accidental Time Machine”, a loop is opened in time. The question is, can it be closed? That’s my view of the novel from 30,000 feet.
The story has a compelling start. However, it’s soon plodding along, for 40 pages. We finally meet an interesting side character. His name is Dopey Denny. Sadly, Dopey soon passes out of the story.
Much of the ensuing narrative is powered by a mystery. I’d tell you what it is, but you’ll spot it the minute it occurs.
After the book’s slow start, I found it to be gripping reading. I was disappointed by the book’s ending. It’s a mature ending, something a mature author like Joe Haldeman must have found satisfying. The book’s last words do give it touching significance.
However, Adam’s exit from Eden didn’t leave him pleased. I find it impossible to believe that Matt, this story’s protagonist, would have welcomed his ultimate fate. The same goes for Matt’s companion. ( Whom I’ll leave unnamed. )
Late in this story, I want to scream at Matt, “Don’t get off the boat!” That’s a quote from the film “Apocalypse Now”. Like Haldeman’s novel, “The Forever War”, “Apocalypse Now” is based on the Vietnam War.
On page 91, Haldeman speaks of “gorgeous teenaged girls”. He also writes:
“ ... some teenaged girls wore jeans or short skirts, startlingly seductive.” ( Page 91. )
However, just after this, Haldeman writes:
“ ... a sixteen-year-old was by definition a child, and so couldn’t be an object of desire.”
A 16-year-old is not “by definition a child”. The age of consent in Britain is 16. In the 1990s, the age of consent in both Pennsylvania and Hawaii was 14. In Spain, it was 12.
“The Accidental Time Machine” was published in 2007. I guess, in his “by definition a child” remark, Haldeman is bowing to America’s reigning dogma. Otherwise, publishers might have refused to publish “The Accidental Time Machine”. Also, publishers would have refused to review his book.
I’m not giving much away by noting that Matt meets a love interest. He meets a 20-year-old woman, who’s about to turn 21. Conveniently, she lives in a highly religious society. Which means, of course, that she’s a sexually innocent virgin. So Haldeman bows to the reigning dogma by inventing an unreal female.
This is equivalent to what Tom Wolfe did in his book, “I am Charlotte Simmons”. ( Which I haven’t read; but have seen reviews of. ) In Wolfe’s book, he creates a heroine who’s a gorgeous 18-year-old blonde. She’s a sexually innocent virgin. As one reviewer noted, “the only way this girl could be a sexually innocent virgin is if she’s highly religious. However, she isn’t described by Wolfe as being highly religious.” ( Paraphrased. )
My advice: if a story requires a sexually innocent virgin, write about a girl who’s 11 years old, or younger.
You might say: that’s only now. In America’s past, things were different.
Lolita, by Vladimir Nabokov, was published well before any Hippies came along, advocating free love. Lolita was published in 1955.
Lolita is not a virgin when she meets our hero, Humbert Humbert. Lolita first had sex at a summer camp, after watching a boy and a girl at the camp have sex a number of times. Lolita was 11 years old when she first had sex. Her sexually active girlfriend was 10 or 11 years old.
( I’ve tried to find the relevant quote in Lolita. However, Lolita consists of page after page of dense paragraphs. Read Lolita, and you’ll see that I’m right. And remember: you are what you read! )
I hope to never adulterate my writing to satisfy our ever more bullying techno-state. Currently, I’m supposed to hate myself for being a “pedophile”, and a White person! I subsist in a room where I have a fine view of my toilet from the table where I eat. Nonetheless, our society now says that I’m “privileged”. In reality, my small room is too expensive. I have to move out.
I think that Haldeman himself would agree that “The Accidental Time Machine” is a B-movie novel. It’s a solid science fiction adventure. It is not, however, Asimov’s Foundation trilogy, Bradbury’s Mars, or, indeed, Haldeman’s Forever War.
I have written about a flying saucer, and may do so again. I found part of “The Accidental Time Machine” to be a useful resource for future writing that I may do.
If you like science fiction, “The Accidental Time Machine” is a worthy read. It is not essential. Books that I would call essential are Poul Anderson’s “Brain Wave”, and “Tau Zero”. Also, “On the Beach”, by Nevil ( not Evil ) Shute.
APPLE “Beats” UPDATE
In another article, I reviewed Apple’s wireless headphones. I reviewed them as a new purchase. The headphones I reviewed are Apple “beats studio 3 wireless”. These are the best headphones that Apple makes. I recall paying $300.00 for them, in 2019, in a military “Exchange”. ( An on-base department store. )
I have made moderate use of these headphones. The sound quality is excellent. They perform as expected. So why am I reviewing them again?
I have a pair of ear protectors that I bought in the late 1980s, or early 1990s, in a gun store. I have used them heavily, as everyday wear. They’re especially handy in a gym, where weights are needlessly, yet constantly, banged. My ear protectors are also useful to combat the noise of fire engines, ambulances, garbage trucks, the airbrakes of buses and trucks, and loud U-Scan terminals in grocery stores.
Despite heavy and even abusive use, my ear protectors remain in perfect condition. The same cannot be said for my pricey Apple headphones.
A leather-like material is used as a coating on my Apple headphones. The coating goes over cushion-like pads. These pads go around my ears when I don Apple’s headphones. The coating is flaking off. The flakes look like little black bugs. They’re scattered about the areas where I wear my headphones.
Apple is a trillion dollar company. It’s a disgrace that they’re selling headphones that flake. It’s annoying to have my living area showered by flakes that look like little black bugs. You will want to consider this fact when deciding whether to buy Apple’s headphones.
( In my case, I make sure I have plenty of cum shots scattered about my room. Visitors, distracted by my cum shots, don’t notice Apple’s ‘little black bugs’. Visitors also soon leave. )
( Actually, I don’t have any visitors. But I’m prepared! )
EROTIC HOTTIES!
It was the “null” era of the 2000s. I found myself outside a mall store called, “Hot Topic”. A large cardboard display was erected outside the store. It depicted “Emily the Strange”.
Emily is a fictional cartoon girl. She is the best, most exotic sort of girl: a prepubescent, on the edge of being a teen. I was, of course, instantly entranced by her. Earlier, at a grocery store, I’d managed to get a cardboard display featuring Batman. I wondered if I could acquire the cardboard display of Emily.
You can guess how the store’s female manager reacted. She instantly pegged me as a “pedophile”. I offered to buy her display of Emily when she was done with it. She said, “no”. She said she had to return the cardboard display to the company that had provided it. She claimed that “Emily the Strange” was created by a woman.
The manager was lying. Here’s why:
1. It costs a lot of money to ship a big cardboard display.
2. Let’s say you’re the company that provided the “Emily the Strange” display. “Hot Topic” is a chain of stores. Every store was obliged to erect the Emily display. These displays sat outside in the sun, wind, and rain. They received the usual battering that mall displays do. What would you do upon receiving hundreds of these displays back from “Hot Topic” stores? You’d throw them away. Hence, the manager of “Hot Topic” was sending the Emily display to the dumpster once she was no longer required to use it.
3. “Emily the Strange” was created by “Rob Reger”. In an era when a man is evil if he likes girls, but wonderful if he castrates himself, I feel obliged to report that Google refers to Rob as a man. Of Rob, Google writes: “ ... his company Cosmic Debris etc.” ( Source term: emily the strange ).
I have looked at many “Emily the Strange” images, including those on merchandise sold by “Hot Topic”. Sadly, none of them depict Emily as she was on the cardboard display. That image of her was truly magical.
Would you like to jerk-off to a real Emily? Good news! You can find the Ukrainian model Li Moon at freeones ( dot ) com. Videos and photos of her are available at other web sites too. People sometimes call Li Moon an Asian. She has nice bosoms.
Another hot “Moon” awaits you:
xvideos ( dot ) com features “priscillamoon”. ( Note: don’t put a space between “priscilla” and “moon”. At least, not on xvideos ( dot ) com. ) Priscilla Moon is described as a Russian. She’s the ideal “Barbie” blonde.
A number of videos of Priscilla are available on xvideos ( dot ) com. However, I’ve only found one that’s worthwhile:
“CB - PRISCILLAMOON Cute Teen Multi Orgasm - xfreecamshows (dot ) com”.
( Ignore the quote marks, and the period. Those are added by me, here and below. )
I replaced the period in xfreecamshows ( dot ) com. That’s so I don’t link to it. There’s no need to visit xfreecamshows ( dot ) com. It’s simply part of the xvideos ( dot ) com title.
Priscilla is also referred to as “priscillabrite”. ( Again, there is no space between “priscilla” and “brite”. )
Jack off to Jay:
I’ve mentioned her in another article, but it’s worth doing so again. I’m speaking of “Kay J”. She’s known on freeones ( dot ) com as “Kay Jay”. Videos and photos of her show her at various ages. At any web site featuring “Kay”, go to the very end of her images to find the ones where she’s youngest. ( Of course, I like the young Kay the best! )
And let’s not forget Alisa:
I’ve mentioned her in another article, but it’s worth doing so again. I’m speaking of “Alisa I.”. She’s also known as “Alisa”, and as “Jessica Albanka”. Alisa is the classic “Playboy” pinup-type girl. In beauty, she’s far above the crap that Playboy now calls “Playmates”. ( Maybe your dog would play with such a girl; I wouldn’t. )
Plus, there’s Jasmin:
Another classic pinup girl is “Jasmin Akrivy”.
Time for nude teen basketball:
A thrilling video, that I treasure, is at xvideos ( dot ) com. It’s called, “All nude basketball team”. I like the little blonde best. Other videos of her were available in 2019. However, I only had an iPhone, with a tiny screen, and I had no idea what I was doing. All the little blonde’s other videos have now vanished.
Other fun videos at xvideos ( dot ) com:
“Yes that gaggle of chicks in the background is wa”.
“8 teen girls taking a shower together”.
I suppose it’s incumbent upon me to state: all the girls mentioned above appear to comply with the current dogma; that is, they are 18 or older.
BOOBS AT AGE 7
“I started growing breasts when I was seven. ... I was in a bra by the time I was in third grade. Like a real bra; not a training bra. ... boys were always looking at my boobs from a young age. ... I love them. [ Her boobs. ] They’re great.”
The above is spoken by a lovely girl. She’s in a video that I got from xhamster ( dot ) com when it still allowed downloads. ( Now, you’ll need to do a ‘screen recording’ of videos there. ) The video is:
“xhamster ( dot ) com_9238876_sexy_redhead_with_perfect_breasts_mounts_sex”.
The girl rides a Sybian sex machine. This is a fabulous video.
I put every video that I love into Apple’s “iMovie” app. There, I watch them in slow motion. As I do this, I take screen shots of the video. I then expand those, in size, in Apple’s “Photos” app. You can read my earlier articles if you need help doing this.
America’s medical establishment has sold its soul to contemporary feminism. A girl growing breasts at age seven is said to be doing so “too early”. She becomes a candidate for “puberty blockers”. These inhibit her further maturation. Puberty blockers don’t just inhibit her sexual maturation; they inhibit all maturation. The girl’s brain is affected. Its maturation slows. So does the growth of her bones. If you want your daughter to be stupid and frail, give her puberty blockers.
The girl in the “sexy redhead” video is proof that growing breasts at age seven isn’t “dangerous”, as the medical community claims. The girl in the “sexy redhead” video is a perfectly healthy person. That’s why she was chosen to star in a porn video!
Giving a girl puberty blockers doesn’t stop men from ogling her. I’ve ogled many young beauties who had yet to grow breasts. They include internet stars Dana Taranova, Mari Kruchkova, and Milana from Minsk. ( All of whom now have breasts. )
I’m not much of a fan of capital punishment. However, I believe that any person who gives a girl puberty blockers should be hanged, drawn, quartered, and decapitated. I have a similar view of abortionists who abort healthy girls, before and after their birth.
GOODBYE LIMBAUGH; HELLO ECKART
I’m continuing to listen to “War And Conquest”, by Neil Eckart, on Apple’s “Podcasts” app. “War And Conquest” is available on other podcast apps too. My practice is to listen to every episode of a podcast, from its first episode. I’m about a year behind Neil’s current episode.
Neil discusses Western history, focusing on battles. He also discusses his personal life. I often find myself wishing he’d continue with his remarks on his life, in a given episode, and leave Western history for later. But, I wind up hearing about Julius Caesar instead of Neil Eckart.
Neil remains in the roustabout laboring class, despite being a highly conscientious employee. He’s a genius. Neil researches each of his episodes using multiple sources. How he manages to corral such information on a weekly basis is beyond me. What is truly amazing is how he’ll reference unrelated matters with specificity: for instance, the German Stuka, in an episode on another topic. Neil has an outstanding vocabulary.
He’s quite clever. He recently built a siege machine. I’d have been satisfied to slap together a reasonable facsimile of such. Not Neil. As I’m listening, Neil continues to improve his war-worthy siege machine. If you have a castle, you’re in trouble. If you live in a usual sort of house, constructed of softwood lumber, don’t get in a fight with Neil. Your house won’t survive.
Recently, Neil was selling rocks. That’s right, rocks. ( For his siege machine to throw. ) Neil had a highly successful campaign, selling rocks. So, he’s an excellent salesman.
In my opinion, Neil would make an outstanding general. Sadly, America no longer cares about winning wars. America assumes that it will reign over the world forever. America’s military is currently purging itself of supporters of Donald Trump! It also prioritizes “social justice” campaigns, like shaming all White people for being “privileged”. That’s a sign of a country destined to lose.
( The military’s current purge reminds me of when they kicked out gay soldiers. This continued into the 2000s. Then, the military began allowing gay soldiers. )
Somewhere, Neil refers to America’s dollar as being “imaginary money”. This is correct. Our dollar is fiat money. If America loses a war that matters, you’ll be broke, no matter how many dollars you have.
Right wing radio host Rush Limbaugh is now dead. Having listened to many episodes of Neil’s podcast, I feel that he could replace Limbaugh. ( Amazingly, Neil bought ads on a “metal” music radio station, but the station failed to hire him! This despite the fact that Neil is a big “metal” fan. )
I vehemently disagree with Neil’s negative view of “pedophiles”. However, Neil was born during the era of anti-pedophile fever. Probably, he was forcibly educated in this dogma. Predictably, he drank the Kool-Aid.
I have often dreamed of compiling a history of pedophiles. Neil points out when he feels a historical figure is a pedophile. Thanks, Neil.
Neil occasionally cracks a funny joke about pedophiles. One of his jokes ended with, “ ... the other three people in the car were children.” ( Making the butt of the joke a pedophile. )
This is akin to saying, “ ... the man was a Nigger.” ( A Nigger? Haw! Haw! Haw! ) The joke is only funny if the butt of the joke is disfavored.
Neil sometimes discusses dating sites, like Tinder. Thanks, but I’ll stick with Kinder.
Neil uses “metal” music in his podcast. This is another reason to listen; you’ll learn about “metal” music.
If you own a radio station, and want to make lots of money, hire Neil Eckart.
SKIP PANDORA’S ADS
Due to capricious and malicious conduct by You Tube’s staff, I’m now relying on Pandora for music. The app is free at Apple’s App Store.
I remain a free user of Pandora. I haven’t upgraded to a paid level. As such, I’m inundated by ads. These include “public service” ads. Did you know that Black lives matter? Listen to Pandora for awhile, and you’ll be thoroughly propagandized on this point. Of course, pedophile lives matter too. But Pandora will never tell you that.
( Or, to perfect the slogan, in terms of alliteration: Molesters’ Lives Matter! )
I’ve figured out how to skip Pandora’s ads. First, boot up Pandora.
Within a minute or two, go to Pandora’s “search” field. You can probably think of a song title or lyric. Put it in the “search” field.
You’ll be asked if you’re willing to listen to an advertisement. Tap “Play Song”.
A short ad will play. Then, you’ll get about 20 minutes of ad-free music. During this time, you can play whatever songs you like. You can return to “Auto-Play”. You can leave “Auto-Play”. ( As often as you wish. ) You also get near-full access to Pandora’s “Premium” level. Let’s explore this further.
You’ve watched the ad.
Now, a song begins playing. As an example, I’ll use a fictional song title: “Little Girls”.
So, “Little Girls” is playing. Let’s look at your screen.
Note the “My Collection” icon at the bottom of your screen. If you’ve been using Pandora, you likely have songs stored there. You can now access your songs by tapping “My Collection”. That will take you to a separate screen.
Meanwhile, on the original screen, the ‘album cover’ of “Little Girls” is displayed. Under the right corner of the ‘album cover’ are three dots. Tap on those dots.
A dashboard rises from the bottom of your screen. Tap the icon marked, “Add to Playlist”.
A new screen arises. Any playlist that you’ve created will be shown here. Tap the playlist that you want to add “Little Girls” to.
You are taken back to the screen depicting the “Little Girls” ‘album cover’. However, at the very top of this screen, on the right, you’ll see the words, “VIEW PLAYLIST”. You have several seconds to tap on “VIEW PLAYLIST”. Do this.
You’re now taken to a dashboard displaying the ( relevant ) playlist. You can play any songs in this playlist. Sadly, it isn’t possible to rearrange them.
You might want to erase a song from your playlist. To do so, put your finger somewhere near the middle of your screen, to the right of the song. Then, pull left. A red bar should appear as you drag your finger to the left. ( On an Apple iPad. )
I’m on Pandora as “andrewroller666”. Currently, I have zero followers. However, if you’d like to ogle several Disney girls, and like 1960s music, you might want to visit me on Pandora.
I don’t know how to visit other users on Pandora. Perhaps that isn’t possible for me, since I’m a basic user.
Pandora gives me the option of adding a photo to my profile. I tried to do this. Pandora should take me to my ‘photo library’ in Apple’s “Photos” app. Instead, I’m told to sign in to Facebook.
Having been banned by Facebook, I can’t sign in there. Pandora offers no other options. Also, despite a statement on Google ( the browser ), there’s no way to unlink Pandora from Facebook.
Instagram, owned by Facebook, looks interesting. However, in my brief experience with Facebook, it was crap. Facebook only displayed potential “friends” to me who were 18 years old, or older. All of these were men in foreign countries. None of them, it turned out, could read English. My Facebook page was continually swamped by messages from these men. None of the messages had anything to do with what I was writing.
Since I’ve been banned by Facebook, I’m also banned from every platform that Facebook owns, including Instagram. I’m proud to be in the company of other banned Facebook users, like Donald Trump, Louis Farrakhan, and the country of Australia.
Facebook offered me no credible explanation for why I was banned. There was no appeal. If Mark Fuckerberg winds up dying from a dick up his ass, I won’t be sorry.
( I don’t agree with Farrakhan’s views. However, his speeches and writings are worth studying, as an example of great rhetoric. )
REALITY
“Now look at that naughty Mabel. She is not much more than twelve years old ... I still keep her in short frocks to let her remember that she is not grown up yet. But ... for all that Mabel is grown up, and could marry tomorrow, and get children as fast as could be. You would be surprised if you were to see her in her bath ... Mabel has breasts like a woman, thighs like an unmarried woman, and hair - hem! ahem! what was I saying? Oh! yes, she is fully developed.”
- Venus in India, by Charles Devereaux, page 151. ( Amazon Kindle. ) Note: Venus in India was published in 1889, long before any Hippies came along ( in England ), advocating free love.
ON “CHILD PORNOGRAPHY”
“It’s like all my life they’ve told me what to believe and only let me see and read things that agreed with them.”
- The Accidental Time Machine, by Joe Haldeman, page 196. ( Amazon Kindle. )
Arcana:
1. I’ve opted to capitalize “Western” in “Western world”. I recall this as being the accepted usage in earlier decades. Now, one is supposed to leave “Western” uncapitalized, while capitalizing such words as “Asian”.
This is akin to another modern usage. It forbids the capitalization of “white”. However, it mandates that one capitalize “Asian”, “Black”, and the holier-than-thou “African American” ( now without a dash ).
Soon, with regard to any White male, we’ll be required to use the following acronym: “EW SHT RP”. It will stand for, “evil white sexist homophobe transphobe racist predator”. Men who are Democrats, and other castrated males, may be exempt from this acronym.
2. As I recall, my source for the age of consent for Britain is an early 2000s issue of “Mayfair” magazine. My source for the age of consent in Pennsylvania and Hawaii is a 1990s issue of “Playboy”. My source for the age of consent in Spain is a 1990s issue of “The Economist” magazine.
That issue of “The Economist” listed the ages of consent for many European countries. Few, if any, of those countries then pegged their age of consent at the elderly age of 18.
Until very recently, the age of consent in France was zero. France had no age of consent; sex among all ages was legal. The age of consent in France is now 15.
France, like the rest of the West, continues to decline.
3. I am using the word “web site”, as opposed to my dictionary’s options of “website” or “Web site”.
4. Kool-Aid was poisoned by adherents of the “Jim Jones” cult. They then used syringes to inject the poisoned Kool-Aid into the mouths of infants. This was done during the cult’s mass murder-suicide in 1978. Google source term: jim jones.
5. The butt of Neil’s pedophile joke regarding “three other people” was James Degenerate. Source: “War And Conquest” episode: “Off The Rails: All Present and Past What the Fuck Hosts.” December 15, 2019.
James Degenerate restricts his name to “James D”. However, if a podcast host won’t supply his last name, I will.
( Whether James’ last name is actually “Degenerate”, “Dickless,” or “Damned” remains to be determined. )
The “What the Fuck” podcast is actually called, “We Talk About Dead People”. I tried suffering through one of their podcasts. It was called, “Cleopatra’s Pleasure Barge”. The episode date is February 27, 2019. In this episode, Neil apparently made a brief appearance.
I’ve never had two numbskulls ( James D and Aaron C ) burn my time so wastefully. I had to turn their podcast off. I never got to the segment featuring Neil.
I do enjoy the 1920s music in “We Talk About Dead People”. However, it’s highly distracting.
“We Talk About Dead People” has a fun and effective podcast “cover” image. Included in it are two ( numb ) skulls.
The last name of Aaron C is, no doubt, Aaron Cunt. Then again, given what I’ve heard by him, he could be Aaron Clueless.
6. The focus of my publishing remains lovely prepubescent girls. Right now, I don’t have time to slog through the censorious Hell that You Tube has become. Nor do I have time to figure out how other online platforms work.
I continue to avoid my Apple e-mail account. Thanks to Hell Tube, otherwise known as You Tube, I’ve stayed out of my Google Gmail account for months. My apologies.
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Copyright 2021 by Andrew L. Roller. BO, Book Observations, and ARSE, Andrew Roller Stories and Essays, are trademarks of Andrew L. Roller.
I am https://andrewroller.wordpress.com
Earlier posts by me are at https://asstr.org/files/Authors/Roller/
I’m on paper at: https://www.abebooks.com > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
and https://www.abebooks.co.uk > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
If you visit an “AbeBooks” website, you’ll be presented with a large square “Search” box. In the box labelled “Author”, type in “Andrew Roller”. In the box labelled “Title”, type in “Andrew Roller Presents”. This will bring up some of my pamphlets. I have not yet figured out how to bring up other pamphlets by me, under other titles. I don’t recall all the titles I published under.
I have no financial involvement in these resale items.
I am on You Tube as “Andrew Roller”. Use You Tube’s magnifying glass icon to search for “Andrew Roller”. That will take you to my You Tube channel. Or, on You Tube, tap my sun icon, if you see it. That will also take you to my You Tube channel. There, you can see songs and films that I like.
At the “home page” of my You Tube channel, you’ll see just a selection of playlists that I created. To see all my playlists, tap on the phrase, “Created playlists”.
The World Wide Web address for my You Tube channel is:
https://www.youtube.com/andrewroller
If you click on this link, you’ll be taken to a World Wide Web You Tube page. Here, You Tube displays a cartoon image of a monkey. The page says, “This page isn’t available. Sorry about that. Try searching for something else.”
My advice: on this page, search for “andrew roller”. By doing so, you’ll get to my World Wide Web You Tube channel. However, I have over 100 Playlists, that I created, at my You Tube app channel. The World Wide Web version of You Tube will only serve you 15 of my Playlists.
( Hence, access You Tube via its app. The You Tube app, like the WordPress app, is available for free at the Apple App Store. )
I’m on Pandora as: andrewroller666
On Pandora, I just have a basic account.
This is BO, Book Observations, issue number 4
Arcana: This is BO, Book Observations, issue number 4, version 10.0
Date Written: March 1, 2021. Live for the day that censorious Big Tech is dead.
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This has been a presentation of A R S E news.
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BO 4
Book Observations presents...
Fast Forward Future
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Plus: Erotic Hotties!
And: Boobs at age 7.
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FAST FORWARD FUTURE
by Andrew Roller
A book review of The Accidental Time Machine, by Joe Haldeman. ( Amazon Kindle. )
Note: As always, I strive to avoid any “spoilers” in this review.
Joe Haldeman is the author of the much acclaimed novel, “The Forever War.” ( Which I have yet to read. )
In “The Accidental Time Machine”, a loop is opened in time. The question is, can it be closed? That’s my view of the novel from 30,000 feet.
The story has a compelling start. However, it’s soon plodding along, for 40 pages. We finally meet an interesting side character. His name is Dopey Denny. Sadly, Dopey soon passes out of the story.
Much of the ensuing narrative is powered by a mystery. I’d tell you what it is, but you’ll spot it the minute it occurs.
After the book’s slow start, I found it to be gripping reading. I was disappointed by the book’s ending. It’s a mature ending, something a mature author like Joe Haldeman must have found satisfying. The book’s last words do give it touching significance.
However, Adam’s exit from Eden didn’t leave him pleased. I find it impossible to believe that Matt, this story’s protagonist, would have welcomed his ultimate fate. The same goes for Matt’s companion. ( Whom I’ll leave unnamed. )
Late in this story, I want to scream at Matt, “Don’t get off the boat!” That’s a quote from the film “Apocalypse Now”. Like Haldeman’s novel, “The Forever War”, “Apocalypse Now” is based on the Vietnam War.
On page 91, Haldeman speaks of “gorgeous teenaged girls”. He also writes:
“ ... some teenaged girls wore jeans or short skirts, startlingly seductive.” ( Page 91. )
However, just after this, Haldeman writes:
“ ... a sixteen-year-old was by definition a child, and so couldn’t be an object of desire.”
A 16-year-old is not “by definition a child”. The age of consent in Britain is 16. In the 1990s, the age of consent in both Pennsylvania and Hawaii was 14. In Spain, it was 12.
“The Accidental Time Machine” was published in 2007. I guess, in his “by definition a child” remark, Haldeman is bowing to America’s reigning dogma. Otherwise, publishers might have refused to publish “The Accidental Time Machine”. Also, publishers would have refused to review his book.
I’m not giving much away by noting that Matt meets a love interest. He meets a 20-year-old woman, who’s about to turn 21. Conveniently, she lives in a highly religious society. Which means, of course, that she’s a sexually innocent virgin. So Haldeman bows to the reigning dogma by inventing an unreal female.
This is equivalent to what Tom Wolfe did in his book, “I am Charlotte Simmons”. ( Which I haven’t read; but have seen reviews of. ) In Wolfe’s book, he creates a heroine who’s a gorgeous 18-year-old blonde. She’s a sexually innocent virgin. As one reviewer noted, “the only way this girl could be a sexually innocent virgin is if she’s highly religious. However, she isn’t described by Wolfe as being highly religious.” ( Paraphrased. )
My advice: if a story requires a sexually innocent virgin, write about a girl who’s 11 years old, or younger.
You might say: that’s only now. In America’s past, things were different.
Lolita, by Vladimir Nabokov, was published well before any Hippies came along, advocating free love. Lolita was published in 1955.
Lolita is not a virgin when she meets our hero, Humbert Humbert. Lolita first had sex at a summer camp, after watching a boy and a girl at the camp have sex a number of times. Lolita was 11 years old when she first had sex. Her sexually active girlfriend was 10 or 11 years old.
( I’ve tried to find the relevant quote in Lolita. However, Lolita consists of page after page of dense paragraphs. Read Lolita, and you’ll see that I’m right. And remember: you are what you read! )
I hope to never adulterate my writing to satisfy our ever more bullying techno-state. Currently, I’m supposed to hate myself for being a “pedophile”, and a White person! I subsist in a room where I have a fine view of my toilet from the table where I eat. Nonetheless, our society now says that I’m “privileged”. In reality, my small room is too expensive. I have to move out.
I think that Haldeman himself would agree that “The Accidental Time Machine” is a B-movie novel. It’s a solid science fiction adventure. It is not, however, Asimov’s Foundation trilogy, Bradbury’s Mars, or, indeed, Haldeman’s Forever War.
I have written about a flying saucer, and may do so again. I found part of “The Accidental Time Machine” to be a useful resource for future writing that I may do.
If you like science fiction, “The Accidental Time Machine” is a worthy read. It is not essential. Books that I would call essential are Poul Anderson’s “Brain Wave”, and “Tau Zero”. Also, “On the Beach”, by Nevil ( not Evil ) Shute.
APPLE “Beats” UPDATE
In another article, I reviewed Apple’s wireless headphones. I reviewed them as a new purchase. The headphones I reviewed are Apple “beats studio 3 wireless”. These are the best headphones that Apple makes. I recall paying $300.00 for them, in 2019, in a military “Exchange”. ( An on-base department store. )
I have made moderate use of these headphones. The sound quality is excellent. They perform as expected. So why am I reviewing them again?
I have a pair of ear protectors that I bought in the late 1980s, or early 1990s, in a gun store. I have used them heavily, as everyday wear. They’re especially handy in a gym, where weights are needlessly, yet constantly, banged. My ear protectors are also useful to combat the noise of fire engines, ambulances, garbage trucks, the airbrakes of buses and trucks, and loud U-Scan terminals in grocery stores.
Despite heavy and even abusive use, my ear protectors remain in perfect condition. The same cannot be said for my pricey Apple headphones.
A leather-like material is used as a coating on my Apple headphones. The coating goes over cushion-like pads. These pads go around my ears when I don Apple’s headphones. The coating is flaking off. The flakes look like little black bugs. They’re scattered about the areas where I wear my headphones.
Apple is a trillion dollar company. It’s a disgrace that they’re selling headphones that flake. It’s annoying to have my living area showered by flakes that look like little black bugs. You will want to consider this fact when deciding whether to buy Apple’s headphones.
( In my case, I make sure I have plenty of cum shots scattered about my room. Visitors, distracted by my cum shots, don’t notice Apple’s ‘little black bugs’. Visitors also soon leave. )
( Actually, I don’t have any visitors. But I’m prepared! )
EROTIC HOTTIES!
It was the “null” era of the 2000s. I found myself outside a mall store called, “Hot Topic”. A large cardboard display was erected outside the store. It depicted “Emily the Strange”.
Emily is a fictional cartoon girl. She is the best, most exotic sort of girl: a prepubescent, on the edge of being a teen. I was, of course, instantly entranced by her. Earlier, at a grocery store, I’d managed to get a cardboard display featuring Batman. I wondered if I could acquire the cardboard display of Emily.
You can guess how the store’s female manager reacted. She instantly pegged me as a “pedophile”. I offered to buy her display of Emily when she was done with it. She said, “no”. She said she had to return the cardboard display to the company that had provided it. She claimed that “Emily the Strange” was created by a woman.
The manager was lying. Here’s why:
1. It costs a lot of money to ship a big cardboard display.
2. Let’s say you’re the company that provided the “Emily the Strange” display. “Hot Topic” is a chain of stores. Every store was obliged to erect the Emily display. These displays sat outside in the sun, wind, and rain. They received the usual battering that mall displays do. What would you do upon receiving hundreds of these displays back from “Hot Topic” stores? You’d throw them away. Hence, the manager of “Hot Topic” was sending the Emily display to the dumpster once she was no longer required to use it.
3. “Emily the Strange” was created by “Rob Reger”. In an era when a man is evil if he likes girls, but wonderful if he castrates himself, I feel obliged to report that Google refers to Rob as a man. Of Rob, Google writes: “ ... his company Cosmic Debris etc.” ( Source term: emily the strange ).
I have looked at many “Emily the Strange” images, including those on merchandise sold by “Hot Topic”. Sadly, none of them depict Emily as she was on the cardboard display. That image of her was truly magical.
Would you like to jerk-off to a real Emily? Good news! You can find the Ukrainian model Li Moon at freeones ( dot ) com. Videos and photos of her are available at other web sites too. People sometimes call Li Moon an Asian. She has nice bosoms.
Another hot “Moon” awaits you:
xvideos ( dot ) com features “priscillamoon”. ( Note: don’t put a space between “priscilla” and “moon”. At least, not on xvideos ( dot ) com. ) Priscilla Moon is described as a Russian. She’s the ideal “Barbie” blonde.
A number of videos of Priscilla are available on xvideos ( dot ) com. However, I’ve only found one that’s worthwhile:
“CB - PRISCILLAMOON Cute Teen Multi Orgasm - xfreecamshows (dot ) com”.
( Ignore the quote marks, and the period. Those are added by me, here and below. )
I replaced the period in xfreecamshows ( dot ) com. That’s so I don’t link to it. There’s no need to visit xfreecamshows ( dot ) com. It’s simply part of the xvideos ( dot ) com title.
Priscilla is also referred to as “priscillabrite”. ( Again, there is no space between “priscilla” and “brite”. )
Jack off to Jay:
I’ve mentioned her in another article, but it’s worth doing so again. I’m speaking of “Kay J”. She’s known on freeones ( dot ) com as “Kay Jay”. Videos and photos of her show her at various ages. At any web site featuring “Kay”, go to the very end of her images to find the ones where she’s youngest. ( Of course, I like the young Kay the best! )
And let’s not forget Alisa:
I’ve mentioned her in another article, but it’s worth doing so again. I’m speaking of “Alisa I.”. She’s also known as “Alisa”, and as “Jessica Albanka”. Alisa is the classic “Playboy” pinup-type girl. In beauty, she’s far above the crap that Playboy now calls “Playmates”. ( Maybe your dog would play with such a girl; I wouldn’t. )
Plus, there’s Jasmin:
Another classic pinup girl is “Jasmin Akrivy”.
Time for nude teen basketball:
A thrilling video, that I treasure, is at xvideos ( dot ) com. It’s called, “All nude basketball team”. I like the little blonde best. Other videos of her were available in 2019. However, I only had an iPhone, with a tiny screen, and I had no idea what I was doing. All the little blonde’s other videos have now vanished.
Other fun videos at xvideos ( dot ) com:
“Yes that gaggle of chicks in the background is wa”.
“8 teen girls taking a shower together”.
I suppose it’s incumbent upon me to state: all the girls mentioned above appear to comply with the current dogma; that is, they are 18 or older.
BOOBS AT AGE 7
“I started growing breasts when I was seven. ... I was in a bra by the time I was in third grade. Like a real bra; not a training bra. ... boys were always looking at my boobs from a young age. ... I love them. [ Her boobs. ] They’re great.”
The above is spoken by a lovely girl. She’s in a video that I got from xhamster ( dot ) com when it still allowed downloads. ( Now, you’ll need to do a ‘screen recording’ of videos there. ) The video is:
“xhamster ( dot ) com_9238876_sexy_redhead_with_perfect_breasts_mounts_sex”.
The girl rides a Sybian sex machine. This is a fabulous video.
I put every video that I love into Apple’s “iMovie” app. There, I watch them in slow motion. As I do this, I take screen shots of the video. I then expand those, in size, in Apple’s “Photos” app. You can read my earlier articles if you need help doing this.
America’s medical establishment has sold its soul to contemporary feminism. A girl growing breasts at age seven is said to be doing so “too early”. She becomes a candidate for “puberty blockers”. These inhibit her further maturation. Puberty blockers don’t just inhibit her sexual maturation; they inhibit all maturation. The girl’s brain is affected. Its maturation slows. So does the growth of her bones. If you want your daughter to be stupid and frail, give her puberty blockers.
The girl in the “sexy redhead” video is proof that growing breasts at age seven isn’t “dangerous”, as the medical community claims. The girl in the “sexy redhead” video is a perfectly healthy person. That’s why she was chosen to star in a porn video!
Giving a girl puberty blockers doesn’t stop men from ogling her. I’ve ogled many young beauties who had yet to grow breasts. They include internet stars Dana Taranova, Mari Kruchkova, and Milana from Minsk. ( All of whom now have breasts. )
I’m not much of a fan of capital punishment. However, I believe that any person who gives a girl puberty blockers should be hanged, drawn, quartered, and decapitated. I have a similar view of abortionists who abort healthy girls, before and after their birth.
GOODBYE LIMBAUGH; HELLO ECKART
I’m continuing to listen to “War And Conquest”, by Neil Eckart, on Apple’s “Podcasts” app. “War And Conquest” is available on other podcast apps too. My practice is to listen to every episode of a podcast, from its first episode. I’m about a year behind Neil’s current episode.
Neil discusses Western history, focusing on battles. He also discusses his personal life. I often find myself wishing he’d continue with his remarks on his life, in a given episode, and leave Western history for later. But, I wind up hearing about Julius Caesar instead of Neil Eckart.
Neil remains in the roustabout laboring class, despite being a highly conscientious employee. He’s a genius. Neil researches each of his episodes using multiple sources. How he manages to corral such information on a weekly basis is beyond me. What is truly amazing is how he’ll reference unrelated matters with specificity: for instance, the German Stuka, in an episode on another topic. Neil has an outstanding vocabulary.
He’s quite clever. He recently built a siege machine. I’d have been satisfied to slap together a reasonable facsimile of such. Not Neil. As I’m listening, Neil continues to improve his war-worthy siege machine. If you have a castle, you’re in trouble. If you live in a usual sort of house, constructed of softwood lumber, don’t get in a fight with Neil. Your house won’t survive.
Recently, Neil was selling rocks. That’s right, rocks. ( For his siege machine to throw. ) Neil had a highly successful campaign, selling rocks. So, he’s an excellent salesman.
In my opinion, Neil would make an outstanding general. Sadly, America no longer cares about winning wars. America assumes that it will reign over the world forever. America’s military is currently purging itself of supporters of Donald Trump! It also prioritizes “social justice” campaigns, like shaming all White people for being “privileged”. That’s a sign of a country destined to lose.
( The military’s current purge reminds me of when they kicked out gay soldiers. This continued into the 2000s. Then, the military began allowing gay soldiers. )
Somewhere, Neil refers to America’s dollar as being “imaginary money”. This is correct. Our dollar is fiat money. If America loses a war that matters, you’ll be broke, no matter how many dollars you have.
Right wing radio host Rush Limbaugh is now dead. Having listened to many episodes of Neil’s podcast, I feel that he could replace Limbaugh. ( Amazingly, Neil bought ads on a “metal” music radio station, but the station failed to hire him! This despite the fact that Neil is a big “metal” fan. )
I vehemently disagree with Neil’s negative view of “pedophiles”. However, Neil was born during the era of anti-pedophile fever. Probably, he was forcibly educated in this dogma. Predictably, he drank the Kool-Aid.
I have often dreamed of compiling a history of pedophiles. Neil points out when he feels a historical figure is a pedophile. Thanks, Neil.
Neil occasionally cracks a funny joke about pedophiles. One of his jokes ended with, “ ... the other three people in the car were children.” ( Making the butt of the joke a pedophile. )
This is akin to saying, “ ... the man was a Nigger.” ( A Nigger? Haw! Haw! Haw! ) The joke is only funny if the butt of the joke is disfavored.
Neil sometimes discusses dating sites, like Tinder. Thanks, but I’ll stick with Kinder.
Neil uses “metal” music in his podcast. This is another reason to listen; you’ll learn about “metal” music.
If you own a radio station, and want to make lots of money, hire Neil Eckart.
SKIP PANDORA’S ADS
Due to capricious and malicious conduct by You Tube’s staff, I’m now relying on Pandora for music. The app is free at Apple’s App Store.
I remain a free user of Pandora. I haven’t upgraded to a paid level. As such, I’m inundated by ads. These include “public service” ads. Did you know that Black lives matter? Listen to Pandora for awhile, and you’ll be thoroughly propagandized on this point. Of course, pedophile lives matter too. But Pandora will never tell you that.
( Or, to perfect the slogan, in terms of alliteration: Molesters’ Lives Matter! )
I’ve figured out how to skip Pandora’s ads. First, boot up Pandora.
Within a minute or two, go to Pandora’s “search” field. You can probably think of a song title or lyric. Put it in the “search” field.
You’ll be asked if you’re willing to listen to an advertisement. Tap “Play Song”.
A short ad will play. Then, you’ll get about 20 minutes of ad-free music. During this time, you can play whatever songs you like. You can return to “Auto-Play”. You can leave “Auto-Play”. ( As often as you wish. ) You also get near-full access to Pandora’s “Premium” level. Let’s explore this further.
You’ve watched the ad.
Now, a song begins playing. As an example, I’ll use a fictional song title: “Little Girls”.
So, “Little Girls” is playing. Let’s look at your screen.
Note the “My Collection” icon at the bottom of your screen. If you’ve been using Pandora, you likely have songs stored there. You can now access your songs by tapping “My Collection”. That will take you to a separate screen.
Meanwhile, on the original screen, the ‘album cover’ of “Little Girls” is displayed. Under the right corner of the ‘album cover’ are three dots. Tap on those dots.
A dashboard rises from the bottom of your screen. Tap the icon marked, “Add to Playlist”.
A new screen arises. Any playlist that you’ve created will be shown here. Tap the playlist that you want to add “Little Girls” to.
You are taken back to the screen depicting the “Little Girls” ‘album cover’. However, at the very top of this screen, on the right, you’ll see the words, “VIEW PLAYLIST”. You have several seconds to tap on “VIEW PLAYLIST”. Do this.
You’re now taken to a dashboard displaying the ( relevant ) playlist. You can play any songs in this playlist. Sadly, it isn’t possible to rearrange them.
You might want to erase a song from your playlist. To do so, put your finger somewhere near the middle of your screen, to the right of the song. Then, pull left. A red bar should appear as you drag your finger to the left. ( On an Apple iPad. )
I’m on Pandora as “andrewroller666”. Currently, I have zero followers. However, if you’d like to ogle several Disney girls, and like 1960s music, you might want to visit me on Pandora.
I don’t know how to visit other users on Pandora. Perhaps that isn’t possible for me, since I’m a basic user.
Pandora gives me the option of adding a photo to my profile. I tried to do this. Pandora should take me to my ‘photo library’ in Apple’s “Photos” app. Instead, I’m told to sign in to Facebook.
Having been banned by Facebook, I can’t sign in there. Pandora offers no other options. Also, despite a statement on Google ( the browser ), there’s no way to unlink Pandora from Facebook.
Instagram, owned by Facebook, looks interesting. However, in my brief experience with Facebook, it was crap. Facebook only displayed potential “friends” to me who were 18 years old, or older. All of these were men in foreign countries. None of them, it turned out, could read English. My Facebook page was continually swamped by messages from these men. None of the messages had anything to do with what I was writing.
Since I’ve been banned by Facebook, I’m also banned from every platform that Facebook owns, including Instagram. I’m proud to be in the company of other banned Facebook users, like Donald Trump, Louis Farrakhan, and the country of Australia.
Facebook offered me no credible explanation for why I was banned. There was no appeal. If Mark Fuckerberg winds up dying from a dick up his ass, I won’t be sorry.
( I don’t agree with Farrakhan’s views. However, his speeches and writings are worth studying, as an example of great rhetoric. )
REALITY
“Now look at that naughty Mabel. She is not much more than twelve years old ... I still keep her in short frocks to let her remember that she is not grown up yet. But ... for all that Mabel is grown up, and could marry tomorrow, and get children as fast as could be. You would be surprised if you were to see her in her bath ... Mabel has breasts like a woman, thighs like an unmarried woman, and hair - hem! ahem! what was I saying? Oh! yes, she is fully developed.”
- Venus in India, by Charles Devereaux, page 151. ( Amazon Kindle. ) Note: Venus in India was published in 1889, long before any Hippies came along ( in England ), advocating free love.
ON “CHILD PORNOGRAPHY”
“It’s like all my life they’ve told me what to believe and only let me see and read things that agreed with them.”
- The Accidental Time Machine, by Joe Haldeman, page 196. ( Amazon Kindle. )
Arcana:
1. I’ve opted to capitalize “Western” in “Western world”. I recall this as being the accepted usage in earlier decades. Now, one is supposed to leave “Western” uncapitalized, while capitalizing such words as “Asian”.
This is akin to another modern usage. It forbids the capitalization of “white”. However, it mandates that one capitalize “Asian”, “Black”, and the holier-than-thou “African American” ( now without a dash ).
Soon, with regard to any White male, we’ll be required to use the following acronym: “EW SHT RP”. It will stand for, “evil white sexist homophobe transphobe racist predator”. Men who are Democrats, and other castrated males, may be exempt from this acronym.
2. As I recall, my source for the age of consent for Britain is an early 2000s issue of “Mayfair” magazine. My source for the age of consent in Pennsylvania and Hawaii is a 1990s issue of “Playboy”. My source for the age of consent in Spain is a 1990s issue of “The Economist” magazine.
That issue of “The Economist” listed the ages of consent for many European countries. Few, if any, of those countries then pegged their age of consent at the elderly age of 18.
Until very recently, the age of consent in France was zero. France had no age of consent; sex among all ages was legal. The age of consent in France is now 15.
France, like the rest of the West, continues to decline.
3. I am using the word “web site”, as opposed to my dictionary’s options of “website” or “Web site”.
4. Kool-Aid was poisoned by adherents of the “Jim Jones” cult. They then used syringes to inject the poisoned Kool-Aid into the mouths of infants. This was done during the cult’s mass murder-suicide in 1978. Google source term: jim jones.
5. The butt of Neil’s pedophile joke regarding “three other people” was James Degenerate. Source: “War And Conquest” episode: “Off The Rails: All Present and Past What the Fuck Hosts.” December 15, 2019.
James Degenerate restricts his name to “James D”. However, if a podcast host won’t supply his last name, I will.
( Whether James’ last name is actually “Degenerate”, “Dickless,” or “Damned” remains to be determined. )
The “What the Fuck” podcast is actually called, “We Talk About Dead People”. I tried suffering through one of their podcasts. It was called, “Cleopatra’s Pleasure Barge”. The episode date is February 27, 2019. In this episode, Neil apparently made a brief appearance.
I’ve never had two numbskulls ( James D and Aaron C ) burn my time so wastefully. I had to turn their podcast off. I never got to the segment featuring Neil.
I do enjoy the 1920s music in “We Talk About Dead People”. However, it’s highly distracting.
“We Talk About Dead People” has a fun and effective podcast “cover” image. Included in it are two ( numb ) skulls.
The last name of Aaron C is, no doubt, Aaron Cunt. Then again, given what I’ve heard by him, he could be Aaron Clueless.
6. The focus of my publishing remains lovely prepubescent girls. Right now, I don’t have time to slog through the censorious Hell that You Tube has become. Nor do I have time to figure out how other online platforms work.
I continue to avoid my Apple e-mail account. Thanks to Hell Tube, otherwise known as You Tube, I’ve stayed out of my Google Gmail account for months. My apologies.
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Copyright 2021 by Andrew L. Roller. BO, Book Observations, and ARSE, Andrew Roller Stories and Essays, are trademarks of Andrew L. Roller.
I am https://andrewroller.wordpress.com
Earlier posts by me are at https://asstr.org/files/Authors/Roller/
I’m on paper at: https://www.abebooks.com > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
and https://www.abebooks.co.uk > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
If you visit an “AbeBooks” website, you’ll be presented with a large square “Search” box. In the box labelled “Author”, type in “Andrew Roller”. In the box labelled “Title”, type in “Andrew Roller Presents”. This will bring up some of my pamphlets. I have not yet figured out how to bring up other pamphlets by me, under other titles. I don’t recall all the titles I published under.
I have no financial involvement in these resale items.
I am on You Tube as “Andrew Roller”. Use You Tube’s magnifying glass icon to search for “Andrew Roller”. That will take you to my You Tube channel. Or, on You Tube, tap my sun icon, if you see it. That will also take you to my You Tube channel. There, you can see songs and films that I like.
At the “home page” of my You Tube channel, you’ll see just a selection of playlists that I created. To see all my playlists, tap on the phrase, “Created playlists”.
The World Wide Web address for my You Tube channel is:
https://www.youtube.com/andrewroller
If you click on this link, you’ll be taken to a World Wide Web You Tube page. Here, You Tube displays a cartoon image of a monkey. The page says, “This page isn’t available. Sorry about that. Try searching for something else.”
My advice: on this page, search for “andrew roller”. By doing so, you’ll get to my World Wide Web You Tube channel. However, I have over 100 Playlists, that I created, at my You Tube app channel. The World Wide Web version of You Tube will only serve you 15 of my Playlists.
( Hence, access You Tube via its app. The You Tube app, like the WordPress app, is available for free at the Apple App Store. )
I’m on Pandora as: andrewroller666
On Pandora, I just have a basic account.
This is BO, Book Observations, issue number 4
Arcana: This is BO, Book Observations, issue number 4, version 10.0
Date Written: March 1, 2021. Live for the day that censorious Big Tech is dead.
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This has been a presentation of A R S E news.
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A Great Podcast!
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WINNER of the “Most Politically Correct” prize!
ET 63
Editorial Thunder presents...
A Great Podcast!
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Plus: “Space Time” without You Tube.
And: Will America have a civil war?
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A GREAT PODCAST!
A gardener is the Stephen Hawking of history.
by Andrew Roller
Recently, Tucker Carlson, of Fox News, joked about a politician. I don’t recall who the politician was. However, of him, Tucker said the following:
“He’s so dumb that, were he not in politics, the landscaping companies would take a pass on hiring him.” ( Paraphrased. )
Neil Eckart ( not Ickart ) is a landscaper. His job, as of 2018, was paying him less than $1,000 every two weeks. Nonetheless, in my experience, Neil, age 24 in 2018, is our era’s greatest historian. I consider him to be the Stephen Hawking of history.
I recently discovered Neil’s podcast. I discovered it on Apple’s “Podcasts” app. Neil’s podcast is called, “War And Conquest”. ( “And” is capitalized. )
I always begin listening to a podcast from its first episode. So far, “War And Conquest” is an awesome podcast.
Season one of “War And Conquest” has been withdrawn by Neil. He says it’s too amateurish, in terms of its production values.
Neil claims that season two is amateurish as well, for the same reason. It’s amateurish, Neil says, compared to what he is producing now.
The first episode or two of season two is a bit choppy. However, I instantly fell in love with “War And Conquest”. Neil is a superb announcer. He doesn’t read from a script, as David does, in the podcast, “Ages of Conquest.” Neil is the author of his material. He memorizes it, and then speaks, from memory and a few notes, into his recording device.
In an episode, Neil said that he spoke with his sister on the phone. At the time, Neil was still thinking about starting his podcast. His sister, skeptical of Neil’s chances for success, asked him what he would do that was different from what others were already doing.
Neil’s answer:
“I’ll tell my listeners about items in history that other podcasters overlook.”
I have an answer for Neil’s sister. It is:
“Neil’s podcast has something that no other podcast has. It has Neil Eckart!”
Neil’s approach to history fluctuates between a professional T.V. show’s narrative and someone telling campfire stories. It is this quality that puts Neil at the top of podcast producers.
Listening to Neil has helped my writing. I now write in a more personable style. Unfortunately, I’m now stuck with more text to edit.
“War And Conquest” is the history of the western world. Modern historians disparage the telling of history from the perspective of wars, battles, and leaders. Fortunately, we have Neil.
I highly recommend “War And Conquest”, based on the two seasons I’ve heard so far. ( Season two, and season three. )
Thank you, Neil!
APPLE: IMPROVE YOUR “PODCASTS” APP!
I discovered “War And Conquest” just recently. This despite the fact that I’ve been searching in Apple’s “Podcasts” app for some months, looking for podcasts like “War And Conquest”. ( I’ve since discovered still more podcasts like it. ) Apple needs to provide better access to its podcasts in “Podcasts”.
I recommend the following to Apple: have an ( optional ) form that the listener can fill out. This form would provide a variety of topics that the reader can checkmark. Hence, this form would list, and I would answer, as follows:
War ( yes ).
Battles ( yes ).
Marriage ( no ).
As I’ve written elsewhere, I’m boycotting You Tube. This caused me to try Apple’s “Podcasts” app. Here’s how you can too:
1. Boot up Apple’s “Podcasts” app.
2. A page opens in “Podcasts”. It’s titled, “Browse”. Let’s see the exciting offerings here, reading from the top left of the page, and across it:
A. FEATURED COLLECTION Pedophile History Month Celebrating and honoring.
( Oops! This is actually titled, “Black History Month”. ) Let’s save this for later. I think I can squeeze it into my schedule in the year 3021.
B. FEATURED SHOW The Jeffrey Epstein Podcast. Conversations with loved ones.
( Oops! This is actually titled, “The Michelle Obama Podcast”. ) Let’s save this for later. If I get bored in my grave, after I’m dead, maybe I’ll check out Michelle.
Hmmm. The next podcast is by a Black male sports star. After that is a podcast by a bunch of Black women. Then there’s a podcast by ( another ) Black man. Then there’s a podcast by ( another ) Black woman. Then there’s a podcast by Black men and Black women. Next comes a Black man’s podcast, yet another Black man’s podcast, and yet another podcast by a Black woman.
I wonder if Apple is engaging in social and political engineering?
3. On the page titled, “Browse”, scroll down. Let’s see if anyone besides Black people make podcasts.
4. We come to a section titled, “Categories”. Look to the right side of your screen in this section. Here, you’ll find the phrase, “See All”.
5. Tap on “See All”. You’re taken to a page that is glaringly white. I thought black was beautiful. Oh well.
6. This white page is titled, “All Categories”.
7. Here, tap on “History”. A new page appears. It’s titled, “History”. This page displays various podcasts. They are split into different categories. One category is labelled “Top Shows”. Another is called “New Shows”.
In “New Shows” we find: “Kamala: Next in Line”. This podcast is about Devil Harris, America’s current Vice President. It’s a joint production by “Wondery” and MSNBC. ( Note: “My stupid nigger bullshit channel” is not what the acronym MSNBC stands for. )
In “Top Shows”, we find a podcast by The New York Times. It’s titled, “1619”. Based on what I’ve heard about 1619, this podcast informs us of the following:
America was settled by evil White people. Among other atrocities, such as committing genocide against America’s Indians, these evil white people brought ( then pagan ) God-fearing Blacks to America.
By dating the start of United States history to 1619, we can redeem America from the evil white people. America will then be delivered into the hands of Mexicans who arrived in the U.S. yesterday morning.
No evil White person, like me, needs to listen to this podcast. This is what Satan has waiting for me when I go to Hell.
8. Taking the “History” page as a whole, you’ll find that “See All” is written on the far right side of each of its categories.
You’ll also find that you’ve soon scrolled to the bottom of the page labelled “History”.
To summarize: from the perspective of an evil white person ( who’s a pedophile ), I’ve found nothing but trash, so far, as I’ve guided you through Apple’s podcast offerings. ( This is not to say that such podcasts are actually trash. Perhaps, someday, I’ll listen to them and become Einstein. )
I eventually managed to set up my Apple “Podcasts” app so it bypasses the ‘trash’. Modernly, when I boot up Apple’s “Podcasts” app, the following happens:
A page titled “Listen Now” opens. You would think I’d be happy. Unfortunately, Apple’s “Podcasts” app remains infuriating. Below are the steps to take to proceed from the “Listen Now” page to a podcast’s COMPLETE list of episodes. ( Not simply its latest episode, or a truncated list of episodes titled, “My Episodes”. )
1. I boot up my Apple “Podcasts” app. It opens to a page titled, “Listen Now”. This page is useless to me.
2. On the page “Listen Now”, look to its “power bar”. This “power bar” is located at the very bottom of the page. It’s a power bar that is unique to the “Podcasts” app. It isn’t my iPad’s power bar. ( From which You Tube’s app has now been banished, by me. )
( You Tube’s CEO, Susan Wojkickme, censors and terminates talented prepubescent girls from You Tube. She does the same to teen girls. Fans of these girls, like myself, are also censored and terminated.
You might wonder what Wojkickme wants on You Tube. Based on a public letter by her, written last June, she wants the following on You Tube: “Black beauty”, fags, and trannies. I have nothing against these groups. However, under the law, Wojkickme is supposed to be running an open platform that allows equal access.
Instead, Wojkickme is acting on an ideological basis. She’s engaged in social and political engineering. If I was Black, castrated myself, wore makeup, loved being sodomized, dressed as a woman, frequented little girls’ bathrooms, and spouted liberal idiocies, Wojkickme would love me. )
Back to Apple’s “Podcasts” app:
3. I am speaking of the page titled, “Listen Now”. Specifically, I’m speaking of this page’s “power bar”. On this power bar, click on “Library”.
4. You are taken to a new page. It’s titled, “Recently Updated”. This page is also useless to me. Look to the “sidebar” at the left of your screen. Click on, “Shows”.
5. You are taken to a new page. It’s titled, “Shows”. Here, you’ll see all the podcasts that you’ve subscribed to.
The easiest podcast to find is, “Emperors of Rome”. ( If you subscribed to it. )
If you’re thinking of making a podcast, I recommend that you use the clean, bright look of “Emperors of Rome” as a guide to your podcast’s “cover”. Neil Eckart’s podcast has a fun cover. ( That is, it’s fun if you take a screen shot of it, and enlarge it in Apple’s “Photos” app. )
Sadly, Neil’s podcast cover is probably one of the worst covers in Apple’s “Podcasts” app. The title of Neil’s podcast is illegible. ( Unless you enlarge it in Apple’s “Photos” app. ) His cover is dark. I can’t make out what his drawing represents ( without enlarging it ). His cover comes across as insignificant, making it easy to ignore. ( It looks like a cover that an ignorant landscaper would make. ) I have a suggestion for Neil. Put your drawing of a skull on a white, or pale yellow, background. Rewrite “War And Conquest” so that it’s legible.
6. On the page titled “Shows”, click on “War And Conquest”.
7. You are taken to a page titled, “War And Conquest”. You think you’ve arrived at “War And Conquest”, and are ready to listen. However, look closely. The title atop the various episodes reads, “My Episodes”.
“My Episodes” doesn’t hold all the episodes of “War And Conquest”. It doesn’t even hold episodes that you’ve chosen. I did not favor any episode in “War And Conquest”, by downloading it. Nonetheless, Apple presents me with a truncated list of episodes, called, “My Episodes”.
8. Infuriatingly, I have to scroll all the way down to the bottom of the list of “My Episodes”. I have to do this, and the various steps that I’ve listed above, every fucking time that I want to listen to “War And Conquest”!
9. At the bottom of the list of “My Episodes,” you’ll see several options. Here, click on “See All Episodes”.
10. You are taken to a new page. It’s titled, “Episodes”. Scroll down through this list of episodes to whichever one you wish to hear.
11. Your problems won’t end. In the podcasts “War And Conquest,” and “Emperors of Rome”, the episodes play in reverse order.
12. Let’s say that you listen to the second extant episode of “War And Conquest”. It is, “Season Two”, “Episode Two”. ( Written as, “Season 2, [ episode ] 2.2” )
13. You listen to episode 2.2. You would think that Apple would advance you to episode 2.3. Nope! Apple sends you to episode 2.1, which ( presumably ) you’ve already heard. This occurs throughout “War And Conquest”. It occurs throughout “Emperors of Rome”. It does not happen when I listen to “Ages of Conquest”. Unfortunately, the episodes of “Ages of Conquest” are, visually, disordered.
THE “EPISODE POWER BAR”
Let’s continue our discussion of Apple’s “Podcasts” app. We have acquired a complete list of episodes for Neil Eckart’s podcast, “War And Conquest”.
When I listen to an episode, I usually bring up what I’ll call the episodes’ “power bar”. Let’s do this.
1. If you tap on an episode, it will begin to play. When you tap on it to stop it, the episode won’t stop playing. Instead, the “episode power bar” will appear. It’s a big vertical bar that appears on the right side of your screen.
2. Tap the “stop” button ( two parallel, vertical lines ) in this “power bar”. The episode will stop playing.
Here’s a guide to the functions of the “episode power bar”.
A. The gray horizontal line at the top of the “episode power bar” gets rid of the power bar.
B. Under a box displaying the podcast’s cover is a horizontal gray line. A tiny gray ball is somewhere on this line. Put your finger on this gray ball. Sliding the ball back and forth, you’ll go backwards and forwards in the episode.
Let’s look lower on the “episode power bar”.
C. The big black arrow, pointing right, plays the episode. This becomes a “stop” button while the episode is playing. The “stop” button consists of two parallel, vertical lines. Press it to stop the episode from playing.
D. To the left of the “play” arrow is “15”, written inside of a circle. Tap this, and you’ll go back 15 seconds in the episode. Often, I’ll stop an episode while it’s playing. When I want to listen to it again, I tap “15” about eight times. Then I press “play”.
E. To the right of the “play” arrow is “30”, written inside of a circle. Tap this, and you’ll go forward 30 seconds in the episode.
F. Under the “play” arrow is a second gray line. Sliding the gray ball in this line adjusts the volume of your iPad, or of your headphones.
G. One day, David, of “Ages of Conquest”, was talking at the speed of an auctioneer. I had accidentally increased the speed at which “Ages of Conquest” was playing.
Under the volume line is “1x”. This adjusts the speed at which an episode plays. The setting of “1x” is the normal speed.
H. You’ll see three horizontal dots on the “episode power bar”. If you tap on these dots, an informational box will appear. The important option in this box is, “Go to Show”. If you get frustrated, tap on “Go to Show”. It will take you to the podcast’s “My Episodes” page. ( Where you can scroll down, and tap on “See All Episodes”. )
Unless you have awful Wi-Fi, don’t download episodes. That will just fill up your iPad’s memory.
Some podcasts urge you to donate to them on their patreon ( dot ) com page. There, if you pay money, you’ll get extra content. With all due respect to folks like Neil ( now on patreon ), there is an abundance of free content in Apple’s “Podcasts” app. More free content awaits you in Apple’s “iTunes U” app. ( Not to be confused with Apple’s “iTunes” app, which costs money. )
My advice: listen to everything that’s free before you splurge on patreon ( dot ) com’s content. ( Excluding, perhaps, podcasts about Devil Harris, who has persecuted and imprisoned pedophiles. )
Note: In “Season 3”, episode “10,000 View Celebration”, Neil Eckart, of the podcast “War And Conquest”, makes an excellent argument for why you should contribute money to his Patreon page.
SPACE TIME WITHOUT YOU TUBE
As stated above, I’m boycotting You Tube. This left me with a problem. Besides girls on You Tube, I liked watching such shows as “PBS Space Time”. I was also interested in the show “PBS Eons”. I’ve now learned how to watch these shows without going to You Tube.
I use my internet browser to view, or simply listen to, “PBS Space Time”. Here’s how:
1. Open your internet browser of choice. Type in “PBS Space Time”. A search results page appears. One result will read, “PBS Space Time - YouTube”. Don’t click on this, unless you want to. Instead, click on, “PBS Space Time | PBS”.
Note: It helps to look directly ABOVE the proffered phrase. For instance, above “PBS Space Time | PBS” is written, “www ( dot ) pbs (dot ) org.” This tells you what website the proffered phrase will be taking you to. ( Why half my search results always promise to take me to “www ( dot ) childporn ( dot ) org” is beyond me.
Note: Don’t type “pbs ( dot ) org” into your internet browser. That won’t give you ready access to “PBS Space Time”. Instead, type “PBS Space Time” into your browser.
2. Doing so, you’ll be taken to a web page marked, “SPACE TIME”. However, in your browser’s search bar for this page you’ll read: pbs ( dot ) org. That’s fine.
3. On the page marked “SPACE TIME”, you’ll have the option to “Visit Official Site”. I tapped on the button marked “Visit Official Site”. It took me to You Tube. Currently, I’m listed as someone who has to “sign in” to You Tube. This despite the fact that I pay You Tube $15.99 every month.
I was able to play the video on You Tube without signing in to You Tube.
Let’s access “PBS Space Time” on its own page, without going to its “Official Site” on You Tube. Instructions for how to do this follow:
1. I typed “PBS Space Time” into my browser. It took me to a page marked, “SPACE TIME”. Here, I chose not to go to the “Official Site” for “PBS Space Time”, which is on You Tube.
2. The “PBS Space Time” page is divided into two parts. The top part is black. ( Since black is beautiful. ) The bottom half is white. Ignore the evil white half of this page.
3. In the black half of this page, on the left, you’ll see an episode of “PBS Space Time”. Tap on the box holding this episode. You might say to me,
“Andrew, this episode of “PBS Space Time” is titled, ‘Why child molesters will destroy our universe’. I don’t want to watch this episode!”
4. Tap on this episode anyway. Doing so will take us to a complete list of episodes.
5. The episode will begin to play. Since we’re not dumb viewers, who watch whatever is put in front of us, stop the episode from playing.
6. Tap the box that the video is playing in.
7. Augh! The video keeps playing! However, the box now offers new options. Look at the box that the video is playing in. You’ll see a “stop” button at the bottom left of this box. ( Two parallel, vertical lines. ) Tap on the “stop” button.
8. Whew! The video stopped playing. The “stop” button is now a “play” button.
Let’s pause to examine other options in this box.
A. An icon resembles a megaphone. Tap this to turn the video’s sound off and on.
B. “1x” adjusts the speed at which the video plays. The setting of “1x” is the normal speed.
C. A pair of arrows enlarge the box, so that it fills your screen.
To reduce the size of the box, tap the pair of arrows again. Or, tap the “X” in the top left corner of your screen.
Let’s return to our quest for a complete list of episodes of “PBS Space Time”.
Look directly below the small box that the video plays in. There, you’ll see, “Continuous Play: On”. This is a slide bar. It took me months to learn about slide bars. You don’t slide the button in such a bar. You tap on it.
9. Tap on the slide bar. It will now read, “Continuous Play: Off”. This will let you be in charge of this page, instead of merely being a recipient of whatever it wants to dump on you.
10. Now, let’s proceed to the evil white section of this page. At the top of the white section is written,
“More Episodes >”.
A horizontal line of episodes is presented below “More Episodes >”. Don’t bother with this line. It only gives you a selection of episodes. As wise viewers, we want to see a complete list of episodes.
11. Look to the far right of “More Episodes >”. You’ll see what looks like a search bar. It isn’t. This bar merely lets you choose which season of “PBS Space Time” you wish to view. Let’s choose “All”.
12. Now, look again at the phrase, “More Episodes >”. Tap on “More Episodes >”.
13. You’re taken to a new page. It’s titled, “Season 6”. All the episodes of “Season 6” are listed here. But I want to show you more.
Note: I want to show you more because “All” didn’t work. It only gave us the episodes for “Season 6”.
14. Tap the blue arrow, that points to the left, at the top of your screen “<“. This takes you back to the page where “More Episodes >” is written.
15. Look again to the box on the right that resembles a search bar. Here, change “All” to “Season 5”.
16. Now, tap on “More Episodes >”.
17. You’re taken to a new page. It’s titled, “Season 5”. You might think that all the episodes for “Season 5” would be listed here. Nope!
18. Scroll to the bottom of the page titled, “Season 5”. A bit above the pages’s bottom, you’ll see “1” and “Next”. These are in the center of the page.
19. Tap on “Next”. You’re taken to another page titled “Season 5”. Here are more episodes from “Season 5”. If you scroll down on this page, you’ll see “Prev” and “2”. So you’ve now seen every episode that’s in “Season 5”.
This completes all the steps for how to access “PBS Space Time” without resorting to You Tube. It also explains how to access a complete list of episodes.
KEEP YOUR BRAIN HEALTHY!
By boycotting You Tube, I’m finding new locations on the internet, and learning how to use them. I hate learning new things. However, I guess it’s good for me. Some years ago, on PBS, I learned that a person’s brain begins to shrink after age 45. This eventually leads to senility. However, by learning new things, and by ogling prepubescent girls on the internet, I keep my brain healthy. Probably, the reason President Joe Biden is senile is because he doesn’t know much about the internet, and isn’t a pedophile.
WORD PRESS’ WORD LIMIT
I recently typed an article, and published it on WordPress. I published it using the WordPress app. My article was a bit over 20,000 words in length. From my perspective, I’d successfully published it.
Then, using dickdickgo ( dot ) com, I went to my WordPress webpage. Only my new article’s headline was present. ( I type the headline directly into my WordPress app. )
It turns out that there is a limit to how long my articles can be on WordPress. I was able to publish an article on WordPress that was 12,869 words in length. I was not able to publish an article that was a bit over 20,000 words in length.
If you are publishing on WordPress, you’ll want to break a long article that you write into several parts.
I am a basic WordPress customer. That is, I use the WordPress app for free. ( Indeed, being at the basic level, I am a “user”, although WordPress does make money by placing ads in my articles. )
WORDPRESS VS. FACEBOOK AND YOU TUBE
WordPress is the only company I’ve found that provides an internet platform that treats its customers well. So far, I’ve been able to publish my articles on WordPress without any problems.
I publish my articles from the perspective of running a newspaper. It would be horrific for me to have “content managers” ( censors ) nitpicking at my articles, or removing them wholesale.
It would be still worse to have my newspaper prohibited from publishing for a week or more, due to some supposed “Terms of Service” violation. Imagine The New York Times being told that it’s shut down for the next two weeks because, say, Facebook doesn’t like something it’s published! Imagine past issues of The New York Times being deleted because a You Tube employee took umbrage to them, months after they’d appeared. Imagine You Tube’s “machine learning” doing this! ( Apparently, You Tube’s computers now delete customers’ content, entirely on their own. I divined this from reading You Tube’s “Terms of Service” and “Community Guidelines”. )
You Tube claims that it provides an “appeal” process. I found that I was living in daily dread of having my content capriciously and maliciously deleted from You Tube, by You Tube’s staff. If my content was deleted, I appealed. However, I often lost my appeals. The appeal department doesn’t write back to me if I lose an appeal. So, I never know why I lost my appeal. Nor does You Tube give a meaningful reason why my content was deleted in the first place. ( My “content” consists solely of playlists. These are playlists of videos by other people on You Tube. I have never uploaded a video to You Tube. )
On WordPress, I simply publish my content. I’ve never had any problems with WordPress.
It’s for this reason that, once again, I warn against buying stock in Facebook, which owns Instagram and other social media apps. I also warn against buying stock in Google, which owns You Tube. I’ve never been on Twitter. A person will not stick with an app that is constantly censoring him.
ADVICE FOR INTERNET COMPANIES
If you’re an internet company, and you have extra cash, I recommend building a search engine. Google’s search engine is rigged. It’s rigged to whatever predilections Google’s owners happen to have, at any given moment. I can only reach you via a search engine.
Parler’s travails prove the peril of renting “cloud” services. It’s best to build your own “cloud”, rather than rent from a company like Amazon. Similarly, relying on a company like Apple to distribute your app is unwise.
The above can be summarized. I’ll summarize it from the perspective of a social media company.
1. Don’t remove any users’ or customers’ content. Only remove content if ordered to do so by the government. Take the government to court if the government orders you to remove content.
2. Use extra cash to build a browser. Your goal won’t be to achieve dominance in the browser market. Your goal will be to provide a browser that isn’t rigged. That is, a browser that doesn’t discriminate against your company.
3. Build your own cloud.
4. A final problem remains. As a social media company, your internet hosting service may terminate you. Hence, you’ll want to buy your own internet hosting service. ( However that is done. )
“PAGES” ONLY LOOKS LIKE IT’S FROZEN
I use an Apple iPad to write. I write in Apple’s “Pages” app. Writing a recent article, I learned to avoid going over 20,000 words.
To publish on WordPress, I have to “copy” my entire “Pages” document. It takes forever to “copy” a 20,000 word document. I thought my iPad had frozen when I first attempted to copy my 20,000 word document.
I explain this problem below, so you’ll understand it if it happens to you.
1. Type a long document.
2. Press your finger on your iPad’s screen between two paragraphs in your document. A small black bar appears. It reads, “Select All”, etc.
3. Tap “Select All”. All the words in your document are instantly highlighted in blue.
4. Here is where the problem occurs. You expect to see the small black bar again. Except, no small black bar is present. You wait. And wait. And wait.
5. The reason you’re waiting is because you have a long document. “Pages” isn’t frozen. Give it ( a lot of ) time.
6. Finally, the small black bar appears. It reads, “Copy”, etc. You can now copy your document, and publish it on WordPress.
( Unfortunately, I found that it’s impossible to publish a 20,000 word document on WordPress. )
( In the WordPress app, I press “command” on my iPad’s keyboard. Holding down the “command” key, I then press the “v” key. This “pastes” my document into the WordPress app. )
APPLE’S “PAGES” ERASES MY WORDS!
As I typed my most recent articles, Apple’s “Pages” app often erased the last two lines that I’d typed. The problem occurs as follows:
1. My right pinkie finger accidentally hits both my keyboard’s right shift key, and my keyboard’s left arrow key.
2. Then, holding both these keys down, I type a letter. As in, “D”. ( Hoping to capitalize “D”. ) Instead, a blue line appears where I’ve last typed on my iPad’s screen. The blue line is akin to that which a highlighter marker makes. Moving backwards at ( in this instance ) incredible speed, the highlighter line erases the last two lines of text that I’ve typed.
When I say that the blue highlighter line moves at incredible speed, I mean that it happens in the blink of an eye. You can watch this occur at a slow speed if you do so as an experiment. ( Create a new document, type some gibberish, and experiment with it. )
I’m extremely upset when the “Pages” app erases what I’ve just typed. Since I’m thinking as I’m typing, it’s impossible for me to recreate the exact words that have been erased.
I’ve complained about this problem in previous articles. I’ve complained about this problem to Apple. This flaw is, apparently, regarded as a “feature”. It may afflict many writing programs.
The supposed benefit of this flaw is that you can immediately erase the last two lines that you’ve typed. Obviously, such a “feature” was imposed by computer programmers who are ignorant of writing, except to type their symbols that comprise their quickly outdated computer programs. These folks definitely aren’t authors. Probably, they’re two-finger typists.
Recently, on the Fox News program, Fox News Sunday, Apple’s Tim Cook urged viewers to “learn to code”. In other words, don’t think. Don’t write. Just pound out symbols as a slave of Big Tech, so Big Tech can further dominate your life. ( Including highly biased Apple. )
I have some advice for Tim Cook. ( Since he refuses to fix his “Pages” program, among other things. ) Tim, you are wealthy enough to have a man’s penis shoved up your ass for the rest of your life. Please go about ensuring that this occurs. Stop fucking up Apple, and concentrate on getting yourself fucked. You deserve it. You’ve earned it!
( Now you know why Apple’s apple symbol resembles a buttocks, viewed at an angle. )
WILL AMERICA HAVE A CIVIL WAR?
I was thinking about You Tube today. Until today, I had viewed You Tube as an American company that capriciously and maliciously censors its customers. Suddenly, a thought occurred to me. It was:
“You Tube is enemy territory.”
I now wonder if I should have a channel in the enemy territory of You Tube. Am I committing treason, to a ‘real’ America, by doing so? I must say, viewing You Tube as enemy territory crystallized my thinking on contemporary America. That’s how a civil war starts.
I began this WordPress website to celebrate young, and specifically prepubescent, female creators on the internet. ( Specifically, girls on You Tube, since I’d been kicked off of Facebook before I found any girls there, or had visited Facebook-owned platforms like Instagram. )
As of my last visit to You Tube, its censorship regime had crushed most prepubescent, and teen girl creators there.
It would be odd if my WordPress website wound up being a chronicle of America’s march to a civil war.
God knows if articles that exist solely in electronic form, like this WordPress website, would survive such a conflict.
A civil war in America would most likely lead to a global “civil war”, as nations like Russia and China fought to control whatever embers of a post-civil war America remained.
A WORD OF WHIZDUMB FROM HOLY JOE:
A female is never unemployed. Her job is to spread her legs.
( It may be time to take away holy joe’s copy of the “Story of O”. )
Arcana:
1. Tucker Carlson’s show on Fox News is called, “Tucker Carlson Tonight”.
2. As of 2018, Neil Eckart was recording his podcasts in a high school in Haddon Township, New Jersey, near Philadelphia. ( As best as I can determine. )
3. Neil Eckart says that his podcast, “War And Conquest”, is available from many podcasting services. He also has a You Tube channel. Right now, I’m boycotting You Tube, so I can’t confirm this. Neil also has his own web page: www ( dot ) warandconquest ( dot ) com.
4. Journalistic practice dictates that one refer to a person by his last name. However, familiarity, in my case, breeds not contempt, as the saying goes, but warm regard.
Hence, I am referring to Eckart as “Neil”, rather than “Eckart”. I vehemently disagree with Tucker Carlson on his ( negative ) view of intergenerational relationships. However, I agree with much else that he says.
5. In regard to Black podcasters on Apple’s “Podcasts” app, I recommend “StarTalk Radio” by Neil deGrasse Tyson. I haven’t had time yet to listen to Tyson’s podcast. However, I’ve enjoyed him in other venues. He is a superb presenter of information.
Note that Tyson was a victim of cancel culture. ( Via “hashtag me too”. ) This seriously impacted Tyson’s career, causing him to be fired by several employers. Hence, I like Tyson more than America’s traitorous liberals do.
( I’ve now learned a hard lesson. Above, I’m speaking of two Neils: Eckart, and Tyson. I guess that’s why a newspaper refers to folks by their last names. )
6. “PBS” stands for the “Penis Broadcasting System”. ( Though some folks argue that it stands for the “Pubic Broadcasting System”, or even the “Public Broadcasting System”. ) Begun as a project by the United States government, for U.S. viewers, PBS’ most famous show is “Sesame Street”.
7. Quicker access to “PBS Space Time” episodes. ( Using the internet method discussed above. )
A. The top half of the page marked “SPACE TIME” is black. There is a box on the left side of this page. Tap on this box.
I said that the video in this box would immediately begin to play. This is wrong. Instead, the box, once tapped, offers a white “play” arrow. Also, the box, once tapped, offers controls, such as a pair of arrows to enlarge the box.
B. Now that you’ve tapped the box ( which isn’t playing a video ), look at the lower half of the page. This half is white. On the far right, you’ll see the fake search box. Change it so that it reads, “All”.
C. Now, look again to the left. Here, tap on “More Episodes >”.
D. A new page appears. This page only displays the episodes of “Season 6”. However, on the right side of this page is ( another ) fake search box. By manipulating this box, you can switch to whichever “PBS Space Time” season that you want.
E. You manipulate the fake search box, and switch to any season you want. Don’t forget to scroll to the bottom of a given page. There, you can see if more episodes are present on a second page. ( As is the case with “Season 5”. )
8. dickdickgo ( dot ) com is obviously duckduckgo ( dot ) com. But I’ll bet a lot more internet users would resort to it if it was called dickdickgo.
Of course, duckduckgo could also be called fuckfuckgo. If I launch a search engine, it’ll be called, pussynow ( dot ) org. ( “org” being short, of course, for “orgasm”. )
( I would not call my search engine cuntnow (dot ) com. That might insult someone. But pussynow ( dot ) org sounds cute, at least to me. )
9. Parler was a social media platform, until it was abruptly destroyed by colluding Big Tech companies.
I once visited Parler. I read its Terms of Service. I found them to be far too censorious for me.
Parler, based on its Terms of Service, struck me as the equivalent of a Libertarian dinner party. Of course, ladies’ rules regarding dinner party conversation applied.
Parler’s concept was that a user posts a “parley”. Other users were then expected to approve or disapprove of the parley, including telling Parler to censor it. I don’t publish parleys. I publish a newspaper. A person can read it or not.
10. Andrew doesn’t live here anymore.
If you’ve sent me a comment, I apologize for not reading it yet. I tried to sign up to WordPress using my Apple e-mail address. Unfortunately, WordPress told me that my Apple e-mail address was invalid. I experienced this problem on other internet platforms.
Hence, I signed up to WordPress using my Google Gmail app. You Tube harries me by sending e-mails to my Gmail app. Whenever a You Tube employee wants to kick my ass, they do so by censoring my content on You Tube. Then, the You Tube employee sends an e-mail to my Gmail app. The result is that I no longer open my Gmail app. I’m boycotting it.
I’m also limiting my use of Apple’s e-mail app. The only e-mails I get there are irrelevant to my life. Or, they’re unpleasant.
I hope to eventually read any comments that you’ve sent to me, including comments about my WordPress articles.
( For what it’s worth, I boycott my T.V. whenever Fox News goes on a verbal rampage against so-called “pedophiles”. )
11. “>”. Apple’s “Pages” app does not give me complete control of quote marks. That’s why, in my article ( above ) you’ll find a quote mark that curves in the wrong direction.
12. I am continuing my practice of spelling “YouTube” as “You Tube”, except when quoting from others. I also continue to spell “Internet” as “internet”.
13. I probably fixed that error later; unless it’s too late.
Here, I discuss making corrections to an article that I’ve published on WordPress. This information covers any article that I publish.
A. I read an article in several fonts before I publish it on WordPress.
B. Then, I read my article on WordPress. I use the browser duckduckgo ( dot ) com to do this.
C. Reading my article on WordPress, I always find errors. ( Reading on WordPress is, in fact, an excellent way to proofread your article. )
D. I fix my article in “Pages”. Then, I publish it on WordPress. After this, I “trash” the previous version of my article.
Note: Always publish a new version of your article before deleting the old one. If you delete the old version first, you may wind up with no ( current ) article. That’s because the F.B.I. could raid you before you publish the new version.
( On You Tube, a girl would sometimes delete her current video before publishing an updated version of it. I, and other fans, would go nuts when she did this. “What happened to your video?!” we used to cry, when it was possible to post comments to girls’ channels on You Tube. )
( One of the reasons that I stopped bothering with You Tube was because Danatar ( Dana Taranova ) deleted all of her videos that she made as a “little” girl. She did this upon turning 13. The endless attacks by You Tube’s employees on Danatar’s videos and channels obviously played a part in her decision. You Tube’s employees couldn’t issue “strikes” against Danatar videos that no longer existed.
There is another reason that Danatar may have deleted videos of herself when she was younger.
Danatar had deleted a number of her “little” girl videos while she was 12 years old. I think Danatar, at age 12, decided that she didn’t want anyone to know that she’d ever been younger than 12. At that time, I asked her what she was going to do when she turned 13.
At age 13, Danatar deleted the rest of her “little” girl videos, plus videos of herself when she was 12. Apparently, she decided that she didn’t want anyone to know that she’d ever been 12!
Unfortunately, for me, by age 13 Danatar had become just another teenage girl. She was still fun to watch, but not the magical creature she’d been from age eight through age 11. )
Back to how I correct my current WordPress article:
E. For the next day or so, I continue to read my article on WordPress. Sometimes, I add more content to my article. Hopefully, after a day or so, my article is in its final form. Then I leave it alone.
F. If I read my article later, I sometimes find further ( very minor ) errors. ( Such as a word that should not be capitalized. ) I would love to fix these errors. However, if I delete an article from WordPress, that deletes it from all the search engines. When I republish my article, the search engines view it as a new article.
When you type a query into a search engine, the search engine gives you the article that is the most popular one on that subject. ( Absent rigging by the search engine. ) So, if I delete an article from WordPress, that kills my “page rank” for that article. It ceases to be a popular article, with a high “page rank”.
When I republish my article, search engines view it as an article that nobody has ever read. As a result, my article now has a low “page rank”.
Every day, on my WordPress website, the same articles are the most popular ones. They are articles about girls, that I wrote in the past. Specifically, they are articles about Danatar, and Milana from Minsk.
Last year, my articles about Milana from Minsk were always the most popular ones. Danatar was in second place. This year, my articles about Danatar are always the most popular ones. Milana from Minsk is in second place.
( Probably, Milana from Minsk got banned from You Tube again. Danatar, last I looked, had survived many attempts by You Tube’s staff to terminate her. )
( Danatar, last I looked, hadn’t posted a number of ( G-rated ) videos of herself in a string bikini, as Milana does. Milana’s string bikini videos cover her life over a number of years, swimming. )
( Note: It is not the case that You Tube’s staff is simply opposed to string bikinis. Recently, You Tube’s staff deleted all but one video by ( then ) prepubescent Milanka Kudel. Milanka wasn’t wearing a swimsuit in any of her videos.
By that, I mean that Milanka was clothed. Unfortunately.
Note: I chuck in a “then”, when referring to Milanka’s age. That’s because I don’t know exactly what age she is.
Plus, she gets older every day. If she’s newly 12, I don’t want to insult her by saying that she’s just 11. )
Back to the exciting topic of how I edit my articles:
G. I have another problem: my WordPress articles are “stacked” atop each other. If I delete an article, to fix minor errors, how do I republish it? I would have to put it atop the “stack”. Then, I’d have to renumber every article in my “Table of Contents” page, and in my “Addendum” page.
Hence, with regard to my current article, I’ll leave it be, after correcting it a number of times. You can see which version of this article that you’re reading by looking at the bottom of it.
H. For now, my articles are exclusively on WordPress. When I tried to expand my presence to Facebook, Facebook banned me in just over a week.
I hate learning new things. If something works, like WordPress, I just stick with that.
I. I don’t mind learning about new little girls! I hope to resume doing so when:
A. I have time. ( Currently, I’m swamped with many unpleasant chores. )
B. I return to You Tube. Or,
C. I find a social media platform that is what You Tube once was: a place where customers can freely publish and interact.
( WordPress is primarily a publishing utility. This is excellent; when I’m publishing my articles, I don’t want anything interfering with me. The process of getting an article from my head, to raw text, to a finished article is very laborious. )
14. The “Most Politically Correct” prize was awarded by the Andrew Roller Foundation, an unfunded private foundation dedicated to the promotion of Andrew Roller.
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Copyright 2021 by Andrew L. Roller. ET, Editorial Thunder, and ARSE, Andrew Roller Stories and Essays, are trademarks of Andrew L. Roller. I am https://andrewroller.wordpress.com
Earlier posts by me are at https://asstr.org/files/Authors/Roller/
I’m on paper at: https://www.abebooks.com > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
and https://www.abebooks.co.uk > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
If you visit an “AbeBooks” website, you’ll be presented with a large square “Search” box. In the box labelled “Author”, type in “Andrew Roller”. In the box labelled “Title”, type in “Andrew Roller Presents”. This will bring up some of my pamphlets. I have not yet figured out how to bring up other pamphlets by me, under other titles. I don’t recall all the titles I published under.
I have no financial involvement in these resale items.
I am on You Tube as “Andrew Roller”. Use You Tube’s magnifying glass icon to search for “Andrew Roller”. That will take you to my You Tube channel. Or, on You Tube, tap my sun icon, if you see it. That will also take you to my You Tube channel. There, you can see songs and films that I like.
At the “home page” of my You Tube channel, you’ll see just a selection of playlists that I created. To see all my playlists, tap on the phrase, “Created playlists”.
The World Wide Web address for my You Tube channel is:
https://www.youtube.com/andrewroller
If you click on this link, you’ll be taken to a World Wide Web You Tube page. Here, You Tube displays a cartoon image of a monkey. The page says, “This page isn’t available. Sorry about that. Try searching for something else.”
My advice: on this page, search for “andrew roller”. By doing so, you’ll get to my World Wide Web You Tube channel. However, I have over 100 Playlists, that I created, at my You Tube app channel. The World Wide Web version of You Tube will only serve you 15 of my Playlists.
( Hence, access You Tube via its app. The You Tube app, like the WordPress app, is available for free at the Apple App Store. )
This is ET, Editorial Thunder, issue number 63
Arcana: This is ET, Editorial Thunder, issue number 63, version 5.0
Date Written: February 4, 2021.
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This has been a presentation of A R S E news.
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WINNER of the “Most Politically Correct” prize!
ET 63
Editorial Thunder presents...
A Great Podcast!
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Plus: “Space Time” without You Tube.
And: Will America have a civil war?
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A GREAT PODCAST!
A gardener is the Stephen Hawking of history.
by Andrew Roller
Recently, Tucker Carlson, of Fox News, joked about a politician. I don’t recall who the politician was. However, of him, Tucker said the following:
“He’s so dumb that, were he not in politics, the landscaping companies would take a pass on hiring him.” ( Paraphrased. )
Neil Eckart ( not Ickart ) is a landscaper. His job, as of 2018, was paying him less than $1,000 every two weeks. Nonetheless, in my experience, Neil, age 24 in 2018, is our era’s greatest historian. I consider him to be the Stephen Hawking of history.
I recently discovered Neil’s podcast. I discovered it on Apple’s “Podcasts” app. Neil’s podcast is called, “War And Conquest”. ( “And” is capitalized. )
I always begin listening to a podcast from its first episode. So far, “War And Conquest” is an awesome podcast.
Season one of “War And Conquest” has been withdrawn by Neil. He says it’s too amateurish, in terms of its production values.
Neil claims that season two is amateurish as well, for the same reason. It’s amateurish, Neil says, compared to what he is producing now.
The first episode or two of season two is a bit choppy. However, I instantly fell in love with “War And Conquest”. Neil is a superb announcer. He doesn’t read from a script, as David does, in the podcast, “Ages of Conquest.” Neil is the author of his material. He memorizes it, and then speaks, from memory and a few notes, into his recording device.
In an episode, Neil said that he spoke with his sister on the phone. At the time, Neil was still thinking about starting his podcast. His sister, skeptical of Neil’s chances for success, asked him what he would do that was different from what others were already doing.
Neil’s answer:
“I’ll tell my listeners about items in history that other podcasters overlook.”
I have an answer for Neil’s sister. It is:
“Neil’s podcast has something that no other podcast has. It has Neil Eckart!”
Neil’s approach to history fluctuates between a professional T.V. show’s narrative and someone telling campfire stories. It is this quality that puts Neil at the top of podcast producers.
Listening to Neil has helped my writing. I now write in a more personable style. Unfortunately, I’m now stuck with more text to edit.
“War And Conquest” is the history of the western world. Modern historians disparage the telling of history from the perspective of wars, battles, and leaders. Fortunately, we have Neil.
I highly recommend “War And Conquest”, based on the two seasons I’ve heard so far. ( Season two, and season three. )
Thank you, Neil!
APPLE: IMPROVE YOUR “PODCASTS” APP!
I discovered “War And Conquest” just recently. This despite the fact that I’ve been searching in Apple’s “Podcasts” app for some months, looking for podcasts like “War And Conquest”. ( I’ve since discovered still more podcasts like it. ) Apple needs to provide better access to its podcasts in “Podcasts”.
I recommend the following to Apple: have an ( optional ) form that the listener can fill out. This form would provide a variety of topics that the reader can checkmark. Hence, this form would list, and I would answer, as follows:
War ( yes ).
Battles ( yes ).
Marriage ( no ).
As I’ve written elsewhere, I’m boycotting You Tube. This caused me to try Apple’s “Podcasts” app. Here’s how you can too:
1. Boot up Apple’s “Podcasts” app.
2. A page opens in “Podcasts”. It’s titled, “Browse”. Let’s see the exciting offerings here, reading from the top left of the page, and across it:
A. FEATURED COLLECTION Pedophile History Month Celebrating and honoring.
( Oops! This is actually titled, “Black History Month”. ) Let’s save this for later. I think I can squeeze it into my schedule in the year 3021.
B. FEATURED SHOW The Jeffrey Epstein Podcast. Conversations with loved ones.
( Oops! This is actually titled, “The Michelle Obama Podcast”. ) Let’s save this for later. If I get bored in my grave, after I’m dead, maybe I’ll check out Michelle.
Hmmm. The next podcast is by a Black male sports star. After that is a podcast by a bunch of Black women. Then there’s a podcast by ( another ) Black man. Then there’s a podcast by ( another ) Black woman. Then there’s a podcast by Black men and Black women. Next comes a Black man’s podcast, yet another Black man’s podcast, and yet another podcast by a Black woman.
I wonder if Apple is engaging in social and political engineering?
3. On the page titled, “Browse”, scroll down. Let’s see if anyone besides Black people make podcasts.
4. We come to a section titled, “Categories”. Look to the right side of your screen in this section. Here, you’ll find the phrase, “See All”.
5. Tap on “See All”. You’re taken to a page that is glaringly white. I thought black was beautiful. Oh well.
6. This white page is titled, “All Categories”.
7. Here, tap on “History”. A new page appears. It’s titled, “History”. This page displays various podcasts. They are split into different categories. One category is labelled “Top Shows”. Another is called “New Shows”.
In “New Shows” we find: “Kamala: Next in Line”. This podcast is about Devil Harris, America’s current Vice President. It’s a joint production by “Wondery” and MSNBC. ( Note: “My stupid nigger bullshit channel” is not what the acronym MSNBC stands for. )
In “Top Shows”, we find a podcast by The New York Times. It’s titled, “1619”. Based on what I’ve heard about 1619, this podcast informs us of the following:
America was settled by evil White people. Among other atrocities, such as committing genocide against America’s Indians, these evil white people brought ( then pagan ) God-fearing Blacks to America.
By dating the start of United States history to 1619, we can redeem America from the evil white people. America will then be delivered into the hands of Mexicans who arrived in the U.S. yesterday morning.
No evil White person, like me, needs to listen to this podcast. This is what Satan has waiting for me when I go to Hell.
8. Taking the “History” page as a whole, you’ll find that “See All” is written on the far right side of each of its categories.
You’ll also find that you’ve soon scrolled to the bottom of the page labelled “History”.
To summarize: from the perspective of an evil white person ( who’s a pedophile ), I’ve found nothing but trash, so far, as I’ve guided you through Apple’s podcast offerings. ( This is not to say that such podcasts are actually trash. Perhaps, someday, I’ll listen to them and become Einstein. )
I eventually managed to set up my Apple “Podcasts” app so it bypasses the ‘trash’. Modernly, when I boot up Apple’s “Podcasts” app, the following happens:
A page titled “Listen Now” opens. You would think I’d be happy. Unfortunately, Apple’s “Podcasts” app remains infuriating. Below are the steps to take to proceed from the “Listen Now” page to a podcast’s COMPLETE list of episodes. ( Not simply its latest episode, or a truncated list of episodes titled, “My Episodes”. )
1. I boot up my Apple “Podcasts” app. It opens to a page titled, “Listen Now”. This page is useless to me.
2. On the page “Listen Now”, look to its “power bar”. This “power bar” is located at the very bottom of the page. It’s a power bar that is unique to the “Podcasts” app. It isn’t my iPad’s power bar. ( From which You Tube’s app has now been banished, by me. )
( You Tube’s CEO, Susan Wojkickme, censors and terminates talented prepubescent girls from You Tube. She does the same to teen girls. Fans of these girls, like myself, are also censored and terminated.
You might wonder what Wojkickme wants on You Tube. Based on a public letter by her, written last June, she wants the following on You Tube: “Black beauty”, fags, and trannies. I have nothing against these groups. However, under the law, Wojkickme is supposed to be running an open platform that allows equal access.
Instead, Wojkickme is acting on an ideological basis. She’s engaged in social and political engineering. If I was Black, castrated myself, wore makeup, loved being sodomized, dressed as a woman, frequented little girls’ bathrooms, and spouted liberal idiocies, Wojkickme would love me. )
Back to Apple’s “Podcasts” app:
3. I am speaking of the page titled, “Listen Now”. Specifically, I’m speaking of this page’s “power bar”. On this power bar, click on “Library”.
4. You are taken to a new page. It’s titled, “Recently Updated”. This page is also useless to me. Look to the “sidebar” at the left of your screen. Click on, “Shows”.
5. You are taken to a new page. It’s titled, “Shows”. Here, you’ll see all the podcasts that you’ve subscribed to.
The easiest podcast to find is, “Emperors of Rome”. ( If you subscribed to it. )
If you’re thinking of making a podcast, I recommend that you use the clean, bright look of “Emperors of Rome” as a guide to your podcast’s “cover”. Neil Eckart’s podcast has a fun cover. ( That is, it’s fun if you take a screen shot of it, and enlarge it in Apple’s “Photos” app. )
Sadly, Neil’s podcast cover is probably one of the worst covers in Apple’s “Podcasts” app. The title of Neil’s podcast is illegible. ( Unless you enlarge it in Apple’s “Photos” app. ) His cover is dark. I can’t make out what his drawing represents ( without enlarging it ). His cover comes across as insignificant, making it easy to ignore. ( It looks like a cover that an ignorant landscaper would make. ) I have a suggestion for Neil. Put your drawing of a skull on a white, or pale yellow, background. Rewrite “War And Conquest” so that it’s legible.
6. On the page titled “Shows”, click on “War And Conquest”.
7. You are taken to a page titled, “War And Conquest”. You think you’ve arrived at “War And Conquest”, and are ready to listen. However, look closely. The title atop the various episodes reads, “My Episodes”.
“My Episodes” doesn’t hold all the episodes of “War And Conquest”. It doesn’t even hold episodes that you’ve chosen. I did not favor any episode in “War And Conquest”, by downloading it. Nonetheless, Apple presents me with a truncated list of episodes, called, “My Episodes”.
8. Infuriatingly, I have to scroll all the way down to the bottom of the list of “My Episodes”. I have to do this, and the various steps that I’ve listed above, every fucking time that I want to listen to “War And Conquest”!
9. At the bottom of the list of “My Episodes,” you’ll see several options. Here, click on “See All Episodes”.
10. You are taken to a new page. It’s titled, “Episodes”. Scroll down through this list of episodes to whichever one you wish to hear.
11. Your problems won’t end. In the podcasts “War And Conquest,” and “Emperors of Rome”, the episodes play in reverse order.
12. Let’s say that you listen to the second extant episode of “War And Conquest”. It is, “Season Two”, “Episode Two”. ( Written as, “Season 2, [ episode ] 2.2” )
13. You listen to episode 2.2. You would think that Apple would advance you to episode 2.3. Nope! Apple sends you to episode 2.1, which ( presumably ) you’ve already heard. This occurs throughout “War And Conquest”. It occurs throughout “Emperors of Rome”. It does not happen when I listen to “Ages of Conquest”. Unfortunately, the episodes of “Ages of Conquest” are, visually, disordered.
THE “EPISODE POWER BAR”
Let’s continue our discussion of Apple’s “Podcasts” app. We have acquired a complete list of episodes for Neil Eckart’s podcast, “War And Conquest”.
When I listen to an episode, I usually bring up what I’ll call the episodes’ “power bar”. Let’s do this.
1. If you tap on an episode, it will begin to play. When you tap on it to stop it, the episode won’t stop playing. Instead, the “episode power bar” will appear. It’s a big vertical bar that appears on the right side of your screen.
2. Tap the “stop” button ( two parallel, vertical lines ) in this “power bar”. The episode will stop playing.
Here’s a guide to the functions of the “episode power bar”.
A. The gray horizontal line at the top of the “episode power bar” gets rid of the power bar.
B. Under a box displaying the podcast’s cover is a horizontal gray line. A tiny gray ball is somewhere on this line. Put your finger on this gray ball. Sliding the ball back and forth, you’ll go backwards and forwards in the episode.
Let’s look lower on the “episode power bar”.
C. The big black arrow, pointing right, plays the episode. This becomes a “stop” button while the episode is playing. The “stop” button consists of two parallel, vertical lines. Press it to stop the episode from playing.
D. To the left of the “play” arrow is “15”, written inside of a circle. Tap this, and you’ll go back 15 seconds in the episode. Often, I’ll stop an episode while it’s playing. When I want to listen to it again, I tap “15” about eight times. Then I press “play”.
E. To the right of the “play” arrow is “30”, written inside of a circle. Tap this, and you’ll go forward 30 seconds in the episode.
F. Under the “play” arrow is a second gray line. Sliding the gray ball in this line adjusts the volume of your iPad, or of your headphones.
G. One day, David, of “Ages of Conquest”, was talking at the speed of an auctioneer. I had accidentally increased the speed at which “Ages of Conquest” was playing.
Under the volume line is “1x”. This adjusts the speed at which an episode plays. The setting of “1x” is the normal speed.
H. You’ll see three horizontal dots on the “episode power bar”. If you tap on these dots, an informational box will appear. The important option in this box is, “Go to Show”. If you get frustrated, tap on “Go to Show”. It will take you to the podcast’s “My Episodes” page. ( Where you can scroll down, and tap on “See All Episodes”. )
Unless you have awful Wi-Fi, don’t download episodes. That will just fill up your iPad’s memory.
Some podcasts urge you to donate to them on their patreon ( dot ) com page. There, if you pay money, you’ll get extra content. With all due respect to folks like Neil ( now on patreon ), there is an abundance of free content in Apple’s “Podcasts” app. More free content awaits you in Apple’s “iTunes U” app. ( Not to be confused with Apple’s “iTunes” app, which costs money. )
My advice: listen to everything that’s free before you splurge on patreon ( dot ) com’s content. ( Excluding, perhaps, podcasts about Devil Harris, who has persecuted and imprisoned pedophiles. )
Note: In “Season 3”, episode “10,000 View Celebration”, Neil Eckart, of the podcast “War And Conquest”, makes an excellent argument for why you should contribute money to his Patreon page.
SPACE TIME WITHOUT YOU TUBE
As stated above, I’m boycotting You Tube. This left me with a problem. Besides girls on You Tube, I liked watching such shows as “PBS Space Time”. I was also interested in the show “PBS Eons”. I’ve now learned how to watch these shows without going to You Tube.
I use my internet browser to view, or simply listen to, “PBS Space Time”. Here’s how:
1. Open your internet browser of choice. Type in “PBS Space Time”. A search results page appears. One result will read, “PBS Space Time - YouTube”. Don’t click on this, unless you want to. Instead, click on, “PBS Space Time | PBS”.
Note: It helps to look directly ABOVE the proffered phrase. For instance, above “PBS Space Time | PBS” is written, “www ( dot ) pbs (dot ) org.” This tells you what website the proffered phrase will be taking you to. ( Why half my search results always promise to take me to “www ( dot ) childporn ( dot ) org” is beyond me.
Note: Don’t type “pbs ( dot ) org” into your internet browser. That won’t give you ready access to “PBS Space Time”. Instead, type “PBS Space Time” into your browser.
2. Doing so, you’ll be taken to a web page marked, “SPACE TIME”. However, in your browser’s search bar for this page you’ll read: pbs ( dot ) org. That’s fine.
3. On the page marked “SPACE TIME”, you’ll have the option to “Visit Official Site”. I tapped on the button marked “Visit Official Site”. It took me to You Tube. Currently, I’m listed as someone who has to “sign in” to You Tube. This despite the fact that I pay You Tube $15.99 every month.
I was able to play the video on You Tube without signing in to You Tube.
Let’s access “PBS Space Time” on its own page, without going to its “Official Site” on You Tube. Instructions for how to do this follow:
1. I typed “PBS Space Time” into my browser. It took me to a page marked, “SPACE TIME”. Here, I chose not to go to the “Official Site” for “PBS Space Time”, which is on You Tube.
2. The “PBS Space Time” page is divided into two parts. The top part is black. ( Since black is beautiful. ) The bottom half is white. Ignore the evil white half of this page.
3. In the black half of this page, on the left, you’ll see an episode of “PBS Space Time”. Tap on the box holding this episode. You might say to me,
“Andrew, this episode of “PBS Space Time” is titled, ‘Why child molesters will destroy our universe’. I don’t want to watch this episode!”
4. Tap on this episode anyway. Doing so will take us to a complete list of episodes.
5. The episode will begin to play. Since we’re not dumb viewers, who watch whatever is put in front of us, stop the episode from playing.
6. Tap the box that the video is playing in.
7. Augh! The video keeps playing! However, the box now offers new options. Look at the box that the video is playing in. You’ll see a “stop” button at the bottom left of this box. ( Two parallel, vertical lines. ) Tap on the “stop” button.
8. Whew! The video stopped playing. The “stop” button is now a “play” button.
Let’s pause to examine other options in this box.
A. An icon resembles a megaphone. Tap this to turn the video’s sound off and on.
B. “1x” adjusts the speed at which the video plays. The setting of “1x” is the normal speed.
C. A pair of arrows enlarge the box, so that it fills your screen.
To reduce the size of the box, tap the pair of arrows again. Or, tap the “X” in the top left corner of your screen.
Let’s return to our quest for a complete list of episodes of “PBS Space Time”.
Look directly below the small box that the video plays in. There, you’ll see, “Continuous Play: On”. This is a slide bar. It took me months to learn about slide bars. You don’t slide the button in such a bar. You tap on it.
9. Tap on the slide bar. It will now read, “Continuous Play: Off”. This will let you be in charge of this page, instead of merely being a recipient of whatever it wants to dump on you.
10. Now, let’s proceed to the evil white section of this page. At the top of the white section is written,
“More Episodes >”.
A horizontal line of episodes is presented below “More Episodes >”. Don’t bother with this line. It only gives you a selection of episodes. As wise viewers, we want to see a complete list of episodes.
11. Look to the far right of “More Episodes >”. You’ll see what looks like a search bar. It isn’t. This bar merely lets you choose which season of “PBS Space Time” you wish to view. Let’s choose “All”.
12. Now, look again at the phrase, “More Episodes >”. Tap on “More Episodes >”.
13. You’re taken to a new page. It’s titled, “Season 6”. All the episodes of “Season 6” are listed here. But I want to show you more.
Note: I want to show you more because “All” didn’t work. It only gave us the episodes for “Season 6”.
14. Tap the blue arrow, that points to the left, at the top of your screen “<“. This takes you back to the page where “More Episodes >” is written.
15. Look again to the box on the right that resembles a search bar. Here, change “All” to “Season 5”.
16. Now, tap on “More Episodes >”.
17. You’re taken to a new page. It’s titled, “Season 5”. You might think that all the episodes for “Season 5” would be listed here. Nope!
18. Scroll to the bottom of the page titled, “Season 5”. A bit above the pages’s bottom, you’ll see “1” and “Next”. These are in the center of the page.
19. Tap on “Next”. You’re taken to another page titled “Season 5”. Here are more episodes from “Season 5”. If you scroll down on this page, you’ll see “Prev” and “2”. So you’ve now seen every episode that’s in “Season 5”.
This completes all the steps for how to access “PBS Space Time” without resorting to You Tube. It also explains how to access a complete list of episodes.
KEEP YOUR BRAIN HEALTHY!
By boycotting You Tube, I’m finding new locations on the internet, and learning how to use them. I hate learning new things. However, I guess it’s good for me. Some years ago, on PBS, I learned that a person’s brain begins to shrink after age 45. This eventually leads to senility. However, by learning new things, and by ogling prepubescent girls on the internet, I keep my brain healthy. Probably, the reason President Joe Biden is senile is because he doesn’t know much about the internet, and isn’t a pedophile.
WORD PRESS’ WORD LIMIT
I recently typed an article, and published it on WordPress. I published it using the WordPress app. My article was a bit over 20,000 words in length. From my perspective, I’d successfully published it.
Then, using dickdickgo ( dot ) com, I went to my WordPress webpage. Only my new article’s headline was present. ( I type the headline directly into my WordPress app. )
It turns out that there is a limit to how long my articles can be on WordPress. I was able to publish an article on WordPress that was 12,869 words in length. I was not able to publish an article that was a bit over 20,000 words in length.
If you are publishing on WordPress, you’ll want to break a long article that you write into several parts.
I am a basic WordPress customer. That is, I use the WordPress app for free. ( Indeed, being at the basic level, I am a “user”, although WordPress does make money by placing ads in my articles. )
WORDPRESS VS. FACEBOOK AND YOU TUBE
WordPress is the only company I’ve found that provides an internet platform that treats its customers well. So far, I’ve been able to publish my articles on WordPress without any problems.
I publish my articles from the perspective of running a newspaper. It would be horrific for me to have “content managers” ( censors ) nitpicking at my articles, or removing them wholesale.
It would be still worse to have my newspaper prohibited from publishing for a week or more, due to some supposed “Terms of Service” violation. Imagine The New York Times being told that it’s shut down for the next two weeks because, say, Facebook doesn’t like something it’s published! Imagine past issues of The New York Times being deleted because a You Tube employee took umbrage to them, months after they’d appeared. Imagine You Tube’s “machine learning” doing this! ( Apparently, You Tube’s computers now delete customers’ content, entirely on their own. I divined this from reading You Tube’s “Terms of Service” and “Community Guidelines”. )
You Tube claims that it provides an “appeal” process. I found that I was living in daily dread of having my content capriciously and maliciously deleted from You Tube, by You Tube’s staff. If my content was deleted, I appealed. However, I often lost my appeals. The appeal department doesn’t write back to me if I lose an appeal. So, I never know why I lost my appeal. Nor does You Tube give a meaningful reason why my content was deleted in the first place. ( My “content” consists solely of playlists. These are playlists of videos by other people on You Tube. I have never uploaded a video to You Tube. )
On WordPress, I simply publish my content. I’ve never had any problems with WordPress.
It’s for this reason that, once again, I warn against buying stock in Facebook, which owns Instagram and other social media apps. I also warn against buying stock in Google, which owns You Tube. I’ve never been on Twitter. A person will not stick with an app that is constantly censoring him.
ADVICE FOR INTERNET COMPANIES
If you’re an internet company, and you have extra cash, I recommend building a search engine. Google’s search engine is rigged. It’s rigged to whatever predilections Google’s owners happen to have, at any given moment. I can only reach you via a search engine.
Parler’s travails prove the peril of renting “cloud” services. It’s best to build your own “cloud”, rather than rent from a company like Amazon. Similarly, relying on a company like Apple to distribute your app is unwise.
The above can be summarized. I’ll summarize it from the perspective of a social media company.
1. Don’t remove any users’ or customers’ content. Only remove content if ordered to do so by the government. Take the government to court if the government orders you to remove content.
2. Use extra cash to build a browser. Your goal won’t be to achieve dominance in the browser market. Your goal will be to provide a browser that isn’t rigged. That is, a browser that doesn’t discriminate against your company.
3. Build your own cloud.
4. A final problem remains. As a social media company, your internet hosting service may terminate you. Hence, you’ll want to buy your own internet hosting service. ( However that is done. )
“PAGES” ONLY LOOKS LIKE IT’S FROZEN
I use an Apple iPad to write. I write in Apple’s “Pages” app. Writing a recent article, I learned to avoid going over 20,000 words.
To publish on WordPress, I have to “copy” my entire “Pages” document. It takes forever to “copy” a 20,000 word document. I thought my iPad had frozen when I first attempted to copy my 20,000 word document.
I explain this problem below, so you’ll understand it if it happens to you.
1. Type a long document.
2. Press your finger on your iPad’s screen between two paragraphs in your document. A small black bar appears. It reads, “Select All”, etc.
3. Tap “Select All”. All the words in your document are instantly highlighted in blue.
4. Here is where the problem occurs. You expect to see the small black bar again. Except, no small black bar is present. You wait. And wait. And wait.
5. The reason you’re waiting is because you have a long document. “Pages” isn’t frozen. Give it ( a lot of ) time.
6. Finally, the small black bar appears. It reads, “Copy”, etc. You can now copy your document, and publish it on WordPress.
( Unfortunately, I found that it’s impossible to publish a 20,000 word document on WordPress. )
( In the WordPress app, I press “command” on my iPad’s keyboard. Holding down the “command” key, I then press the “v” key. This “pastes” my document into the WordPress app. )
APPLE’S “PAGES” ERASES MY WORDS!
As I typed my most recent articles, Apple’s “Pages” app often erased the last two lines that I’d typed. The problem occurs as follows:
1. My right pinkie finger accidentally hits both my keyboard’s right shift key, and my keyboard’s left arrow key.
2. Then, holding both these keys down, I type a letter. As in, “D”. ( Hoping to capitalize “D”. ) Instead, a blue line appears where I’ve last typed on my iPad’s screen. The blue line is akin to that which a highlighter marker makes. Moving backwards at ( in this instance ) incredible speed, the highlighter line erases the last two lines of text that I’ve typed.
When I say that the blue highlighter line moves at incredible speed, I mean that it happens in the blink of an eye. You can watch this occur at a slow speed if you do so as an experiment. ( Create a new document, type some gibberish, and experiment with it. )
I’m extremely upset when the “Pages” app erases what I’ve just typed. Since I’m thinking as I’m typing, it’s impossible for me to recreate the exact words that have been erased.
I’ve complained about this problem in previous articles. I’ve complained about this problem to Apple. This flaw is, apparently, regarded as a “feature”. It may afflict many writing programs.
The supposed benefit of this flaw is that you can immediately erase the last two lines that you’ve typed. Obviously, such a “feature” was imposed by computer programmers who are ignorant of writing, except to type their symbols that comprise their quickly outdated computer programs. These folks definitely aren’t authors. Probably, they’re two-finger typists.
Recently, on the Fox News program, Fox News Sunday, Apple’s Tim Cook urged viewers to “learn to code”. In other words, don’t think. Don’t write. Just pound out symbols as a slave of Big Tech, so Big Tech can further dominate your life. ( Including highly biased Apple. )
I have some advice for Tim Cook. ( Since he refuses to fix his “Pages” program, among other things. ) Tim, you are wealthy enough to have a man’s penis shoved up your ass for the rest of your life. Please go about ensuring that this occurs. Stop fucking up Apple, and concentrate on getting yourself fucked. You deserve it. You’ve earned it!
( Now you know why Apple’s apple symbol resembles a buttocks, viewed at an angle. )
WILL AMERICA HAVE A CIVIL WAR?
I was thinking about You Tube today. Until today, I had viewed You Tube as an American company that capriciously and maliciously censors its customers. Suddenly, a thought occurred to me. It was:
“You Tube is enemy territory.”
I now wonder if I should have a channel in the enemy territory of You Tube. Am I committing treason, to a ‘real’ America, by doing so? I must say, viewing You Tube as enemy territory crystallized my thinking on contemporary America. That’s how a civil war starts.
I began this WordPress website to celebrate young, and specifically prepubescent, female creators on the internet. ( Specifically, girls on You Tube, since I’d been kicked off of Facebook before I found any girls there, or had visited Facebook-owned platforms like Instagram. )
As of my last visit to You Tube, its censorship regime had crushed most prepubescent, and teen girl creators there.
It would be odd if my WordPress website wound up being a chronicle of America’s march to a civil war.
God knows if articles that exist solely in electronic form, like this WordPress website, would survive such a conflict.
A civil war in America would most likely lead to a global “civil war”, as nations like Russia and China fought to control whatever embers of a post-civil war America remained.
A WORD OF WHIZDUMB FROM HOLY JOE:
A female is never unemployed. Her job is to spread her legs.
( It may be time to take away holy joe’s copy of the “Story of O”. )
Arcana:
1. Tucker Carlson’s show on Fox News is called, “Tucker Carlson Tonight”.
2. As of 2018, Neil Eckart was recording his podcasts in a high school in Haddon Township, New Jersey, near Philadelphia. ( As best as I can determine. )
3. Neil Eckart says that his podcast, “War And Conquest”, is available from many podcasting services. He also has a You Tube channel. Right now, I’m boycotting You Tube, so I can’t confirm this. Neil also has his own web page: www ( dot ) warandconquest ( dot ) com.
4. Journalistic practice dictates that one refer to a person by his last name. However, familiarity, in my case, breeds not contempt, as the saying goes, but warm regard.
Hence, I am referring to Eckart as “Neil”, rather than “Eckart”. I vehemently disagree with Tucker Carlson on his ( negative ) view of intergenerational relationships. However, I agree with much else that he says.
5. In regard to Black podcasters on Apple’s “Podcasts” app, I recommend “StarTalk Radio” by Neil deGrasse Tyson. I haven’t had time yet to listen to Tyson’s podcast. However, I’ve enjoyed him in other venues. He is a superb presenter of information.
Note that Tyson was a victim of cancel culture. ( Via “hashtag me too”. ) This seriously impacted Tyson’s career, causing him to be fired by several employers. Hence, I like Tyson more than America’s traitorous liberals do.
( I’ve now learned a hard lesson. Above, I’m speaking of two Neils: Eckart, and Tyson. I guess that’s why a newspaper refers to folks by their last names. )
6. “PBS” stands for the “Penis Broadcasting System”. ( Though some folks argue that it stands for the “Pubic Broadcasting System”, or even the “Public Broadcasting System”. ) Begun as a project by the United States government, for U.S. viewers, PBS’ most famous show is “Sesame Street”.
7. Quicker access to “PBS Space Time” episodes. ( Using the internet method discussed above. )
A. The top half of the page marked “SPACE TIME” is black. There is a box on the left side of this page. Tap on this box.
I said that the video in this box would immediately begin to play. This is wrong. Instead, the box, once tapped, offers a white “play” arrow. Also, the box, once tapped, offers controls, such as a pair of arrows to enlarge the box.
B. Now that you’ve tapped the box ( which isn’t playing a video ), look at the lower half of the page. This half is white. On the far right, you’ll see the fake search box. Change it so that it reads, “All”.
C. Now, look again to the left. Here, tap on “More Episodes >”.
D. A new page appears. This page only displays the episodes of “Season 6”. However, on the right side of this page is ( another ) fake search box. By manipulating this box, you can switch to whichever “PBS Space Time” season that you want.
E. You manipulate the fake search box, and switch to any season you want. Don’t forget to scroll to the bottom of a given page. There, you can see if more episodes are present on a second page. ( As is the case with “Season 5”. )
8. dickdickgo ( dot ) com is obviously duckduckgo ( dot ) com. But I’ll bet a lot more internet users would resort to it if it was called dickdickgo.
Of course, duckduckgo could also be called fuckfuckgo. If I launch a search engine, it’ll be called, pussynow ( dot ) org. ( “org” being short, of course, for “orgasm”. )
( I would not call my search engine cuntnow (dot ) com. That might insult someone. But pussynow ( dot ) org sounds cute, at least to me. )
9. Parler was a social media platform, until it was abruptly destroyed by colluding Big Tech companies.
I once visited Parler. I read its Terms of Service. I found them to be far too censorious for me.
Parler, based on its Terms of Service, struck me as the equivalent of a Libertarian dinner party. Of course, ladies’ rules regarding dinner party conversation applied.
Parler’s concept was that a user posts a “parley”. Other users were then expected to approve or disapprove of the parley, including telling Parler to censor it. I don’t publish parleys. I publish a newspaper. A person can read it or not.
10. Andrew doesn’t live here anymore.
If you’ve sent me a comment, I apologize for not reading it yet. I tried to sign up to WordPress using my Apple e-mail address. Unfortunately, WordPress told me that my Apple e-mail address was invalid. I experienced this problem on other internet platforms.
Hence, I signed up to WordPress using my Google Gmail app. You Tube harries me by sending e-mails to my Gmail app. Whenever a You Tube employee wants to kick my ass, they do so by censoring my content on You Tube. Then, the You Tube employee sends an e-mail to my Gmail app. The result is that I no longer open my Gmail app. I’m boycotting it.
I’m also limiting my use of Apple’s e-mail app. The only e-mails I get there are irrelevant to my life. Or, they’re unpleasant.
I hope to eventually read any comments that you’ve sent to me, including comments about my WordPress articles.
( For what it’s worth, I boycott my T.V. whenever Fox News goes on a verbal rampage against so-called “pedophiles”. )
11. “>”. Apple’s “Pages” app does not give me complete control of quote marks. That’s why, in my article ( above ) you’ll find a quote mark that curves in the wrong direction.
12. I am continuing my practice of spelling “YouTube” as “You Tube”, except when quoting from others. I also continue to spell “Internet” as “internet”.
13. I probably fixed that error later; unless it’s too late.
Here, I discuss making corrections to an article that I’ve published on WordPress. This information covers any article that I publish.
A. I read an article in several fonts before I publish it on WordPress.
B. Then, I read my article on WordPress. I use the browser duckduckgo ( dot ) com to do this.
C. Reading my article on WordPress, I always find errors. ( Reading on WordPress is, in fact, an excellent way to proofread your article. )
D. I fix my article in “Pages”. Then, I publish it on WordPress. After this, I “trash” the previous version of my article.
Note: Always publish a new version of your article before deleting the old one. If you delete the old version first, you may wind up with no ( current ) article. That’s because the F.B.I. could raid you before you publish the new version.
( On You Tube, a girl would sometimes delete her current video before publishing an updated version of it. I, and other fans, would go nuts when she did this. “What happened to your video?!” we used to cry, when it was possible to post comments to girls’ channels on You Tube. )
( One of the reasons that I stopped bothering with You Tube was because Danatar ( Dana Taranova ) deleted all of her videos that she made as a “little” girl. She did this upon turning 13. The endless attacks by You Tube’s employees on Danatar’s videos and channels obviously played a part in her decision. You Tube’s employees couldn’t issue “strikes” against Danatar videos that no longer existed.
There is another reason that Danatar may have deleted videos of herself when she was younger.
Danatar had deleted a number of her “little” girl videos while she was 12 years old. I think Danatar, at age 12, decided that she didn’t want anyone to know that she’d ever been younger than 12. At that time, I asked her what she was going to do when she turned 13.
At age 13, Danatar deleted the rest of her “little” girl videos, plus videos of herself when she was 12. Apparently, she decided that she didn’t want anyone to know that she’d ever been 12!
Unfortunately, for me, by age 13 Danatar had become just another teenage girl. She was still fun to watch, but not the magical creature she’d been from age eight through age 11. )
Back to how I correct my current WordPress article:
E. For the next day or so, I continue to read my article on WordPress. Sometimes, I add more content to my article. Hopefully, after a day or so, my article is in its final form. Then I leave it alone.
F. If I read my article later, I sometimes find further ( very minor ) errors. ( Such as a word that should not be capitalized. ) I would love to fix these errors. However, if I delete an article from WordPress, that deletes it from all the search engines. When I republish my article, the search engines view it as a new article.
When you type a query into a search engine, the search engine gives you the article that is the most popular one on that subject. ( Absent rigging by the search engine. ) So, if I delete an article from WordPress, that kills my “page rank” for that article. It ceases to be a popular article, with a high “page rank”.
When I republish my article, search engines view it as an article that nobody has ever read. As a result, my article now has a low “page rank”.
Every day, on my WordPress website, the same articles are the most popular ones. They are articles about girls, that I wrote in the past. Specifically, they are articles about Danatar, and Milana from Minsk.
Last year, my articles about Milana from Minsk were always the most popular ones. Danatar was in second place. This year, my articles about Danatar are always the most popular ones. Milana from Minsk is in second place.
( Probably, Milana from Minsk got banned from You Tube again. Danatar, last I looked, had survived many attempts by You Tube’s staff to terminate her. )
( Danatar, last I looked, hadn’t posted a number of ( G-rated ) videos of herself in a string bikini, as Milana does. Milana’s string bikini videos cover her life over a number of years, swimming. )
( Note: It is not the case that You Tube’s staff is simply opposed to string bikinis. Recently, You Tube’s staff deleted all but one video by ( then ) prepubescent Milanka Kudel. Milanka wasn’t wearing a swimsuit in any of her videos.
By that, I mean that Milanka was clothed. Unfortunately.
Note: I chuck in a “then”, when referring to Milanka’s age. That’s because I don’t know exactly what age she is.
Plus, she gets older every day. If she’s newly 12, I don’t want to insult her by saying that she’s just 11. )
Back to the exciting topic of how I edit my articles:
G. I have another problem: my WordPress articles are “stacked” atop each other. If I delete an article, to fix minor errors, how do I republish it? I would have to put it atop the “stack”. Then, I’d have to renumber every article in my “Table of Contents” page, and in my “Addendum” page.
Hence, with regard to my current article, I’ll leave it be, after correcting it a number of times. You can see which version of this article that you’re reading by looking at the bottom of it.
H. For now, my articles are exclusively on WordPress. When I tried to expand my presence to Facebook, Facebook banned me in just over a week.
I hate learning new things. If something works, like WordPress, I just stick with that.
I. I don’t mind learning about new little girls! I hope to resume doing so when:
A. I have time. ( Currently, I’m swamped with many unpleasant chores. )
B. I return to You Tube. Or,
C. I find a social media platform that is what You Tube once was: a place where customers can freely publish and interact.
( WordPress is primarily a publishing utility. This is excellent; when I’m publishing my articles, I don’t want anything interfering with me. The process of getting an article from my head, to raw text, to a finished article is very laborious. )
14. The “Most Politically Correct” prize was awarded by the Andrew Roller Foundation, an unfunded private foundation dedicated to the promotion of Andrew Roller.
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Copyright 2021 by Andrew L. Roller. ET, Editorial Thunder, and ARSE, Andrew Roller Stories and Essays, are trademarks of Andrew L. Roller. I am https://andrewroller.wordpress.com
Earlier posts by me are at https://asstr.org/files/Authors/Roller/
I’m on paper at: https://www.abebooks.com > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
and https://www.abebooks.co.uk > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
If you visit an “AbeBooks” website, you’ll be presented with a large square “Search” box. In the box labelled “Author”, type in “Andrew Roller”. In the box labelled “Title”, type in “Andrew Roller Presents”. This will bring up some of my pamphlets. I have not yet figured out how to bring up other pamphlets by me, under other titles. I don’t recall all the titles I published under.
I have no financial involvement in these resale items.
I am on You Tube as “Andrew Roller”. Use You Tube’s magnifying glass icon to search for “Andrew Roller”. That will take you to my You Tube channel. Or, on You Tube, tap my sun icon, if you see it. That will also take you to my You Tube channel. There, you can see songs and films that I like.
At the “home page” of my You Tube channel, you’ll see just a selection of playlists that I created. To see all my playlists, tap on the phrase, “Created playlists”.
The World Wide Web address for my You Tube channel is:
https://www.youtube.com/andrewroller
If you click on this link, you’ll be taken to a World Wide Web You Tube page. Here, You Tube displays a cartoon image of a monkey. The page says, “This page isn’t available. Sorry about that. Try searching for something else.”
My advice: on this page, search for “andrew roller”. By doing so, you’ll get to my World Wide Web You Tube channel. However, I have over 100 Playlists, that I created, at my You Tube app channel. The World Wide Web version of You Tube will only serve you 15 of my Playlists.
( Hence, access You Tube via its app. The You Tube app, like the WordPress app, is available for free at the Apple App Store. )
This is ET, Editorial Thunder, issue number 63
Arcana: This is ET, Editorial Thunder, issue number 63, version 5.0
Date Written: February 4, 2021.
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This has been a presentation of A R S E news.
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How to be an Inpatient Part 1 of 3
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ET 62 Part 1 of 3
Editorial Thunder presents...
How to be an Inpatient
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Plus: A list of what to take to the hospital.
And: The best hours for human sacrifice.
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HOW TO BE AN INPATIENT
Your hospital survival guide.
by Andrew Roller Part 1 of 3
“What was it like in the hospital, being waited on hand and foot every day?” My barber asked me this, when I mentioned that I’d recently been an inpatient.
Smart as my barber is, with regard to hospitals, he’s a moron. Being a hospital inpatient is one of the most unpleasant experiences you can have.
In this article, I sometimes write in an imperative tone. This can make for unpleasant reading. It’s as if I’m trying to order you around. I apologize for this.
Mostly, you’ll be naked and alone in the hospital. They’re the boss, and they make sure you know that. Hence, with my imperative writing style, I’m simply trying to help you avoid any unneeded battles with the hospital’s staff. You’ll have enough trouble with them without doing stupid things that get you in worse difficulties. It took me four decades as a patient to write what’s below.
Your experience as a hospital inpatient will be heavily influenced by your hospital room. Many patients are assigned to a room with two or more people. An advantage of this room is that you’ll have more free space around your bed. This is especially true of a room meant to hold four people. It will be easier to access your supplies from home in this space.
The finest hospital room is a single room that holds a bathroom, including a shower. When I’m a transplant patient, I’m put in a single room. It usually has a bathroom, but not a shower. To take a shower, you’ll have to resort to other rooms in your hospital ward. These are often located at the far end of the ward. Several rooms are there. Each holds a single shower.
The usual hospital room that I’m put into is rectangular. From the perspective of my bed, my room gives onto my room’s hallway, beside which is a bathroom. At the end of my room’s hallway is the door to my room. Beyond that is the ward’s hallway.
In the ward’s hallway, there is a room number. This is a sign that is mounted on the wall. It is here that you can, if you wish, put your menu. More on that below.
Let’s look at what a hospital room holds.
1. A bedside table.
From the perspective of my bed’s pillow, a bedside table is to my right. This table, which has wheels, is meant to be portable. In fact, it’s about as portable as a stubborn mule. If you try to move it, you’ll resort to giving it a hard shove. Then everything on this table, like your ice bucket, will fall on the floor.
Stunningly, this table is also where you’re to eat all your meals. Three times a day, you’ll be forced to clear your table, so you can eat. Hence, I recommend that you ask the hospital for a second beside table. You’ll then always have two tables in your room: one to hold various needed items, and one to eat from.
What does your main bedside table hold?
A. Your ice bucket.
B. Your second ice bucket, hidden under one or more towels. ( Discussed below. )
C. Beverages, which are under the towel with your second ice bucket. ( Discussed below. )
D. Your twice-folded sheet of paper. Hook your Bic pen onto this paper, for ready use. ( Discussed below. )
E. Your box of Kleenex.
F. Your box of baby wipes.
G. Extra plastic utensils, packets of sugar, pepper, etc. ( Put these in a Ziploc bag. Discussed below. )
If you wind up with, say, lots of packets of sugar, hide some in your bureau. Then you won’t be accused of having “too much” sugar.
2. A trash can.
The trash can is large. It’s near your room’s hallway. As I recall, the lid of this trash can is flat. I remember eating off of the lid of my trash can, without pajama pants on, but with pajama pants tied around my head. This was at UCSD Hospital. ( A civilian hospital. ) Hence, though someone complained about how I looked, I was not declared insane. ( Read my article, “Military Hospital Abuse”, for more on my being declared crazy. )
3. An upholstered chair.
From the perspective of my pillow, an upholstered chair is beyond the left corner of the foot of my bed. Once you’re an inpatient, in hospital clothing, don’t sit in this chair! Any dipshit in street clothing can use it. Hence, it’s not clean. Below, I’ll tell you how to prepare this chair for your use.
4. A chair that isn’t upholstered.
I’m usually so encumbered with medical equipment that I can’t get to my upholstered chair. In any event, I prefer eating in a chair that’s not upholstered. ( My butt sinks too low in an upholstered chair; that’s why there isn’t one by my lunch table at home. )
5. The nurse’s table.
By the head of my bed is a computer. It sits on a table. Your nurse will always be resorting to the computer. There is no extra space on the computer’s table that you can use. This item, and its computer, is strictly reserved to the nurse.
Hospitals are very particular about the items that are reserved to their staff. This is especially true of their computer. Don’t get yourself into a conflict over such items; leave the few items that the hospital reserves to itself, for sensible reasons, to them.
An aside: I occupied a room, as an inpatient, where the nurse’s table faced me. So did, of course, the hospital’s computer. When the nurse was done with her computer, she switched on her computer’s screen saver. This is a standard practice. The screen saver keeps you out of the hospital’s computer. You might wonder what the screen saver does. It gives ( mostly useless ) information about the hospital. It also displays every one of the hospital’s goddamn rules. It gives rules for staff as well as for patients.
At night, when I attempted to sleep, I turned off all the nights in my room. ( Or my nurse did. ) You can imagine which “light” was left on: the nurse’s computer screen.
Jesus Christ! All night, every night, that screen blazed at me. Repeatedly, its screen saver kept telling me all of the hospital’s rules. Naturally, I can’t just look at the rules. I deconstruct them, from every possible angle. Are they promoting other races at the expense of White people? Are they anti-male? Are they glorifying fags, lesbians, and trannies, while damning pedophiles? Are they politically correct? Are they mandating stupid behaviors that make no sense?
As you can expect, the answer to every one of these questions is “yes”. Imagine being subjected to that crap all night long. I’d rather have been in a Soviet reeducation camp.
If you meet a truly nice nurse, ask her if you can drape a pillowcase over the screen. ( Only, however, if it’s facing you. ) If you’re about to die, shoot the damn screen with a pisstol.
6. A stool by the nurse’s table.
I can’t recall if this is exclusively for nurses. ( i.e. forbidden to you. ) Explore sitting elsewhere before resorting to the nurse’s stool.
7. The laundry bin.
From the perspective of my pillow, the laundry bin is beyond the right corner of the foot of my bed. This is where you put your dirty laundry. If you stay in a hospital in the manner that I do, you’ll be regularly filling your laundry bin. You should feel free to do so.
8. The heater.
The heater is to the left of my bed. Have someone show you how to use it. Probably, it’s best to ask a lower-ranking person, like a hospital technician, about your heater. A nurse, especially the ward’s head nurse, may prefer the room to be heated to a temperature that she likes. ( That is, for someone accustomed to cold weather, who’s fully dressed in her street clothes. As for yourself, you’ll likely be “bathing” naked in your room. )
Similarly, the ward’s head nurse will like seeing your room the way she wants it. She’ll want it to look like no patient is present. That is, she’ll want it to look like a hospital room in an issue of “House Beautiful” magazine.
An aside: You may temporarily exit your room. Try to look it over before you do. If no one is present, hide any supplies that look like they need to be stowed. Get anything that you want to keep off of your bed.
As an inpatient, I acquire a reputation for keeping my room as a sane, intelligent person would. That is, its kept for a person who has to live in it for many days. My room does not look like a room in “House Beautiful” magazine.
The time would come when I’d go for a walk, or be taken to a medical procedure.
“Roller is out of his room!” must have raced through the ward’s employees, at the speed of juicy gossip. I’d come back to find my room “cleaned”. All my carefully managed hospital supplies, that the staff could find, would be gone. I would have to begin anew the laborious process of acquiring sufficient supplies. ( By now, of course, the word would have gone out: “Don’t give Roller ‘too many’ supplies.” )
You might wonder if the ward has an excuse for “cleaning” my room. Inevitably, it’s this: “We changed your bedding.” After days of my asking to have my bedding changed, to which the answer was “no”, suddenly my bedding was changed.
And indeed, my bedding was changed. But this was mostly an excuse to “clean” my room.
Someday, I’m going to stick a bunch of porn magazines under the sheet that covers my mattress. That will be sweet revenge.
( Now you know why there are photos of a nude 10-year-old Brooke Shields on the internet. Print ‘em out and stick them in your hospital bed! )
9. A bedside bureau.
A bedside bureau, with three drawers, is by the head of my bed, on the left.
The bureau is yours. Do with it as you wish. Unless you’ve just arrived at the hospital, or are almost discharged, no hospital employee should be rooting around in your bureau.
By “almost discharged”, I mean this: you were expected to have departed your room an hour before. As you might guess, I’m slow getting out of my room. That’s because I don’t have “friends and family” to help me exit my room. Also, I can’t just have “friends and family” tote my belongings to an automobile. I have to carefully pack everything into two bags, and hand-carry these bags out of the hospital. I use paper grocery bags, with handles, to carry my belongings.
10. Privacy curtains.
A hospital room that’s a “single” room has two privacy curtains. The primary one is by your bed. Another separates your bedroom from your room’s hallway.
( Exactly where privacy curtains are located in your room depends on the size of your room. Other factors to consider are the hospital, and the era that one is speaking of. )
I’ve never troubled myself with privacy curtains. My room’s privacy curtains stay open, unless a hospital staffer closes one. I am fussy about my room’s door. I like it closed. If your room’s door is open, you’ll enjoy the following:
A. Cold air coming in from the ward’s hallway. I need my room to be like Guam. Otherwise, I get sick. Those who run the hospital insist that it must be the temperature of the North Pole. ( Hospitals can’t make money from healthy patients, just from sick ones. )
B. Nurse chatter. ( This is especially so if your room is close to the nurses’ station. )
C. Noise from other rooms. ( Enjoy that movie you can’t watch, that’s blasting from another room’s DVD player. )
D. Dust, dirt, and germs from the hallway. ( Get every disease that every visitor brings to your ward! )
E. People walk in on you abruptly. I like to know when someone is entering my room, by hearing my door being opened.
Mostly, you can keep your privacy curtains as you like. However, being encumbered with medical equipment, you won’t have much ability to move your privacy curtains. The one by your bed, which is capable of surrounding your bed, is very long. Being long, it’s bulky.
Don’t endure an improperly arranged window curtain. Ask how to use it. Ask this as soon as you arrive. You can ask this of any employee, including your nurse.
As the sun slips away, you’ll want to open your window curtain. Hopefully, since a hospital is a tall building, you’ll have a spectacular nighttime view. If you’re a night person, remember to close your window curtain before you go to sleep as dawn nears. Otherwise, you’ll wake up to find the sun unpleasantly blazing into your room. If you’re a vampire, you may turn to dust.
Keep reading my WordPress website. I’ll soon be offering “Roller’s Anti-Rot” medicine. Its secret formula contains everything from houseflies, to spider shit, to rats’ testicles. By drinking it, you’ll exist well beyond your 500th year.
11. The room’s lights.
A big neon light is above the head of your bed. It has several settings, including “off”. This light is controlled by a beaded chain. Operating this light will seem complicated when you first arrive. Try to learn about this light, and the other lights in your room, before you become encumbered by medical equipment.
There’s a standard light switch at the near end of your room’s hallway. It controls an ordinary light above your bed. This light is mounted in the ceiling.
At the end of your room’s hallway, just inside your room’s door, is a standard light switch. It controls an ordinary light in your hallway.
12. Your medical call device.
This device calls the nurses’ station. Mostly, technicians there answer your call. They’re supposed to pass your request on to your nurse, or to another technician. Sometimes, they won’t. Around the time of “crew change”, discussed below, anything less than a serious emergency will be ignored. During this period you may find that your call is completely ignored; no one answers at all.
An aside: if you really need something, you’ll want to walk to the nurses’ station, if you’re physically able to. Usually, only mundane things are happening there.
Your medical call device is connected to a cord. Your medical call device can wind up on the floor. It can also get stuck between your bed and your bed-rails.
13. Your T.V. controller.
This device controls your T.V. It’s connected to a cord, and can wind up on the floor. It can also get stuck between your bed and your bed-rails. This device probably doesn’t have a “zoom” feature, like your T.V. at home. Ask if it does. Then, if you watch cute girls on the “Disney Channel”, you’ll be able to see them up-close.
14. Your IV pole.
An IV will be inserted into you when you become an inpatient. Usually, this IV is put into your hand. I hate wearing an IV. However, the hospital wants it there, in case they need to give you medicine quickly.
15. Your hospital bracelet.
A hospital bracelet is a strip of plastic. It identifies you, and contains very basic medical information about you. This bracelet goes around either one of your wrists.
Ask that your bracelet be put on “loose”. That way, when you wash your hands, the bracelet won’t be an obstruction.
When I was young, I hated my hospital bracelet so much that I would slip it off of my hand. This is only possible if you have a loose bracelet.
At that time, I was in a military hospital. Although I’d lost 60 percent of my kidneys, I was otherwise healthy. So, I’d sometimes leave the hospital, and slip off my bracelet to look normal.
My advice on this if you’re a military hospital inpatient:
If you’re not supposed to be off of the hospital’s grounds, but you are, then take off your bracelet. Otherwise, someone who sees you might accuse you of being AWOL. ( Absent without leave. )
On the other hand, if you’re allowed to be off of the hospital’s grounds, wear your bracelet. That way people can help you if something happens to you. ( For instance, if you black out. )
I know what you’re thinking: I’ll meet three blondes, in bikinis, from Sweden. They’ll want to have sex with me right away. Then, they’ll see my hospital bracelet. They’ll decide I’m a retard, or crippled, and shun me.
I still say: wear your bracelet if you’re allowed to be off of the hospital’s grounds. However, you know best what the risk factors are for your body.
16. The blood pressure machine.
The blood pressure machine is part of your IV. You’re expected to wear a blood pressure cuff on your arm. It inflates at regular intervals. What those intervals are will be set by your doctor, or someone similar. If you’re in the ICU, your cuff will inflate every 15 minutes.
I have an awful memory from an ICU. I was standing by my bed, and peeing into my urinal bottle, when my blood pressure cuff expanded. Doing so, it compressed my arm. This was the arm that I was using to hold my urinal bottle. By compressing my arm, the cuff made it difficult for me to retain my hold on my urinal bottle. Meanwhile, my left arm was encumbered with an IV.
I didn’t drop my urinal bottle. Although, it would’ve been fun to see how long it took someone to arrive by my bed if I called the nurses’ station. As in:
“Hello, dictatorial dickheads? Your stupid rules have caused me to spill urine all over your floor.”
In a normal hospital room, your blood pressure cuff inflates every four hours. Unless I’m sleeping, I take my blood pressure cuff off.
If you’re not wearing your blood pressure cuff, it won’t register your blood pressure. This fact is sent to the nurses’ station. Then, an employee will come in your room, and put the cuff on you. Then your blood pressure will be taken.
If you’re not wearing your blood pressure cuff in the ICU, an employee will probably complain about this to you. However, if you’re not wearing your blood pressure cuff in a normal hospital room, you won’t get in trouble. Someone will simply come and take your blood pressure. You are expected to wear your blood pressure cuff when you’re actually sleeping, if it’s nighttime. ( Many ward employees, though on-duty, will be sleeping late at night. This includes nurses. ) If it’s late at night, wear your blood pressure cuff. You can take it off to go use the bathroom. But put it back on afterwards.
17. The clock.
There will be a clock in view from your bed. If possible, note the time that your blood pressure cuff inflates. Then, note the next time that it inflates. This will tell you how often your blood pressure cuff inflates. Then, you can take off your blood pressure cuff until it’s about to inflate again.
18. Your hospital bed.
Your hospital bed consists of three sections. One extends from your lower back to beyond your head. It can be raised or lowered.
The middle section is always flat.
The last section extends from your butt to beyond your feet. It can be raised or lowered.
Your entire bed can be elevated or lowered. Physicians will want your bed elevated, so they don’t have to stoop so far to examine you. Before they leave your room, ask to have your bed lowered “all the way down”. Your physician will assign this task to someone who’s not present. As in, “I’ll get the nurse to do it.” He won’t. He’ll go to the next patient, in the next room, and totally forget about your bed.
Tell the doctor that it sometimes takes awhile for the nurse to come and lower your bed, and that you can’t get out of it until this is done. Mention a need to pee. Then, hopefully, the lowest-ranking doctor who’s present will briefly linger in your room, and lower your bed. Probably, this will be a medical student.
It is very useful to learn the name of any medical student who helps you. That way, when he “makes rounds” with the doctors the next day, he’ll lower your bed again, when you ask. ( “Making rounds” is discussed below. )
19. Your hospital bed’s frame.
Your hospital bed comes with side-rails. My recommendation for these is as follows:
A. From the perspective of your pillow, keep the right side-rail lowered.
B. Keep the left side-rail raised.
Hospital personnel love to raise both of a patient’s side-rails. This is in line with the notion that your room is supposed to look like it’s in “House Beautiful” magazine. As for you, the assumption is that you’re an infant, or a corpse. Of course, you’ll soon need to pee, eat, or otherwise get out of your bed. Never let the right side-rail be raised unless you agree that there’s an important reason for it to be raised.
I recommend raising the left side-rail. This will give you something to push against, even if you just do this in your mind. If both your side-rails are down, you may fall out of your bed.
20. The goddamn heart monitor.
This is a device that sits on its own table. If one is delivered to your room, it winds up jammed in the vicinity of your nurse’s table and your bedside table. ( In such a case, the nurse’s stool is consigned to some other part of your room, where it stands useless. )
A cord connects you to your heart monitor. I was hooked up to a heart monitor. It was very encumbering. This was because, though I could move my IV pole ( with difficulty ), I couldn’t move the heart monitor. I’d detach it to go to the bathroom. If I didn’t quickly get it back on, some technician elsewhere in the hospital would phone my nurses. A nurse may be slow to answer your request for socks. She is never slow to respond regarding your heart monitor.
“Mr. Roller! You’re not wearing your heart monitor!” a nurse would complain, hurrying into my room.
I’d had heart problems when I’d entered the hospital, but they were related to another medical condition. I was operated on for that condition. Though my heart had stopped during the operation ( which I’d expected ), my heart troubles were now gone. Nonetheless, I was required by the hospital to be hooked up to the monitor. I finally got a nice nurse to call the technician who was elsewhere in the hospital and tell him that I would no longer be attached to the monitor. I was disconnected from it.
21. The fucking calf massager.
A calf massager consists of fabric that is wrapped around your lower legs. Due to velcro, it’s detachable. ( Like King Missile’s detachable penis. ) When turned on, the calf massager vibrates, massaging your calves.
Modernly, when I’m an inpatient, I’m always being hooked up to a calf massager. The assumption is that i’ll spend most of my time lying in bed. This is never the case with me. Even when I want to be in my bed, I’m usually too busy to be in it. Also, I walk in the ward for exercise.
Supposedly, a calf massager keeps the blood in my legs circulating to the rest of my body. In theory, this prevents blood clots in my legs. I’m required to lie in my bed and let this fucking machine massage my calves. Yep! That’s what I need as an inpatient: more time lying in bed.
My advice to the hospital: bring me a dick massager. My dick is soon craving attention when I’m stuck in your hospital.
I’ll tell you how crazy some hospital staffers are for the calf machine. I’ll go for a two hour walk in the ward. When I return to my room, an employee tells me,
“It’s time to put on your calf massager.” Indeed, she’s anxious that I haven’t been wearing it for awhile.
The calf massager goes between your sheet that covers your mattress, and your top sheet. Inevitably, it falls on the floor. This happens often. On the floor, of course, your calf massager gets dirty. There’s no way to wash it. If you put an extra sheet on the floor, where your massager falls, the nurses and others will complain. In fact, they’ll pick up the ( now ) dirty sheet, and toss it on your clean bed.
If you’re assigned a calf massager, you’ll have put up with it. The dirty thing will be at the foot of your bed, under your ( formerly clean ) blankets and sheets.
In time, you’ll be anchored to your calf massager less often. Generally, the longer you’re an inpatient, the more power you acquire. You become a real person, instead of just another patient. I guess staffers start telling each other,
“Never mind Roller’s calf massager. He doesn’t like wearing it, and I don’t think he’s actually going to get blood clots in his legs.”
Or maybe they say, “Wouldn’t it be great if Roller died from clots in his legs?” ( That’s a joke. )
Also: as you remain in the hospital, you’re supposedly getting healthier.
God forbid if I ever wind up dying in a hospital. It would be awful to become ever more encumbered, by hospital equipment. I’m used to getting rid of such equipment as I’m an inpatient.
Sadly, just when I’m about to file a change of address with the post office, I get discharged from the hospital. A hospital would be great if I wasn’t sick while I was there.
( A military hospital is much slower to discharge its patients. )
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Copyright 2021 by Andrew L. Roller. ET, Editorial Thunder, and ARSE, Andrew Roller Stories and Essays, are trademarks of Andrew L. Roller.
I am https://andrewroller.wordpress.com
Earlier posts by me are at https://asstr.org/files/Authors/Roller/
I’m on paper at: https://www.abebooks.com > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
and https://www.abebooks.co.uk > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
If you visit an “AbeBooks” website, you’ll be presented with a large square “Search” box. In the box labelled “Author”, type in “Andrew Roller”. In the box labelled “Title”, type in “Andrew Roller Presents”. This will bring up some of my pamphlets. I have not yet figured out how to bring up other pamphlets by me, under other titles. I don’t recall all the titles I published under.
I have no financial involvement in these resale items.
I am on You Tube as “Andrew Roller”. Use You Tube’s magnifying glass icon to search for “Andrew Roller”. That will take you to my You Tube channel. Or, on You Tube, tap my sun icon, if you see it. That will also take you to my You Tube channel. There, you can see songs and films that I like.
At the “home page” of my You Tube channel, you’ll see just a selection of playlists that I created. To see all my playlists, tap on the phrase, “Created playlists”.
The World Wide Web address for my You Tube channel is:
https://www.youtube.com/andrewroller
If you click on this link, you’ll be taken to a World Wide Web You Tube page. Here, You Tube displays a cartoon image of a monkey. The page says, “This page isn’t available. Sorry about that. Try searching for something else.”
My advice: on this page, search for “andrew roller”. By doing so, you’ll get to my World Wide Web You Tube channel. However, I have over 100 Playlists, that I created, at my You Tube app channel. The World Wide Web version of You Tube will only serve you 15 of my Playlists.
( Hence, access You Tube via its app. The You Tube app, like the WordPress app, is available for free at the Apple App Store. )
This is ET, Editorial Thunder, issue number 62
Arcana: This is ET, Editorial Thunder, issue number 62, version 4.0
Part 1 of 3
Date Written: February 1, 2021.
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This has been a presentation of A R S E news.
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ET 62 Part 1 of 3
Editorial Thunder presents...
How to be an Inpatient
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Plus: A list of what to take to the hospital.
And: The best hours for human sacrifice.
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HOW TO BE AN INPATIENT
Your hospital survival guide.
by Andrew Roller Part 1 of 3
“What was it like in the hospital, being waited on hand and foot every day?” My barber asked me this, when I mentioned that I’d recently been an inpatient.
Smart as my barber is, with regard to hospitals, he’s a moron. Being a hospital inpatient is one of the most unpleasant experiences you can have.
In this article, I sometimes write in an imperative tone. This can make for unpleasant reading. It’s as if I’m trying to order you around. I apologize for this.
Mostly, you’ll be naked and alone in the hospital. They’re the boss, and they make sure you know that. Hence, with my imperative writing style, I’m simply trying to help you avoid any unneeded battles with the hospital’s staff. You’ll have enough trouble with them without doing stupid things that get you in worse difficulties. It took me four decades as a patient to write what’s below.
Your experience as a hospital inpatient will be heavily influenced by your hospital room. Many patients are assigned to a room with two or more people. An advantage of this room is that you’ll have more free space around your bed. This is especially true of a room meant to hold four people. It will be easier to access your supplies from home in this space.
The finest hospital room is a single room that holds a bathroom, including a shower. When I’m a transplant patient, I’m put in a single room. It usually has a bathroom, but not a shower. To take a shower, you’ll have to resort to other rooms in your hospital ward. These are often located at the far end of the ward. Several rooms are there. Each holds a single shower.
The usual hospital room that I’m put into is rectangular. From the perspective of my bed, my room gives onto my room’s hallway, beside which is a bathroom. At the end of my room’s hallway is the door to my room. Beyond that is the ward’s hallway.
In the ward’s hallway, there is a room number. This is a sign that is mounted on the wall. It is here that you can, if you wish, put your menu. More on that below.
Let’s look at what a hospital room holds.
1. A bedside table.
From the perspective of my bed’s pillow, a bedside table is to my right. This table, which has wheels, is meant to be portable. In fact, it’s about as portable as a stubborn mule. If you try to move it, you’ll resort to giving it a hard shove. Then everything on this table, like your ice bucket, will fall on the floor.
Stunningly, this table is also where you’re to eat all your meals. Three times a day, you’ll be forced to clear your table, so you can eat. Hence, I recommend that you ask the hospital for a second beside table. You’ll then always have two tables in your room: one to hold various needed items, and one to eat from.
What does your main bedside table hold?
A. Your ice bucket.
B. Your second ice bucket, hidden under one or more towels. ( Discussed below. )
C. Beverages, which are under the towel with your second ice bucket. ( Discussed below. )
D. Your twice-folded sheet of paper. Hook your Bic pen onto this paper, for ready use. ( Discussed below. )
E. Your box of Kleenex.
F. Your box of baby wipes.
G. Extra plastic utensils, packets of sugar, pepper, etc. ( Put these in a Ziploc bag. Discussed below. )
If you wind up with, say, lots of packets of sugar, hide some in your bureau. Then you won’t be accused of having “too much” sugar.
2. A trash can.
The trash can is large. It’s near your room’s hallway. As I recall, the lid of this trash can is flat. I remember eating off of the lid of my trash can, without pajama pants on, but with pajama pants tied around my head. This was at UCSD Hospital. ( A civilian hospital. ) Hence, though someone complained about how I looked, I was not declared insane. ( Read my article, “Military Hospital Abuse”, for more on my being declared crazy. )
3. An upholstered chair.
From the perspective of my pillow, an upholstered chair is beyond the left corner of the foot of my bed. Once you’re an inpatient, in hospital clothing, don’t sit in this chair! Any dipshit in street clothing can use it. Hence, it’s not clean. Below, I’ll tell you how to prepare this chair for your use.
4. A chair that isn’t upholstered.
I’m usually so encumbered with medical equipment that I can’t get to my upholstered chair. In any event, I prefer eating in a chair that’s not upholstered. ( My butt sinks too low in an upholstered chair; that’s why there isn’t one by my lunch table at home. )
5. The nurse’s table.
By the head of my bed is a computer. It sits on a table. Your nurse will always be resorting to the computer. There is no extra space on the computer’s table that you can use. This item, and its computer, is strictly reserved to the nurse.
Hospitals are very particular about the items that are reserved to their staff. This is especially true of their computer. Don’t get yourself into a conflict over such items; leave the few items that the hospital reserves to itself, for sensible reasons, to them.
An aside: I occupied a room, as an inpatient, where the nurse’s table faced me. So did, of course, the hospital’s computer. When the nurse was done with her computer, she switched on her computer’s screen saver. This is a standard practice. The screen saver keeps you out of the hospital’s computer. You might wonder what the screen saver does. It gives ( mostly useless ) information about the hospital. It also displays every one of the hospital’s goddamn rules. It gives rules for staff as well as for patients.
At night, when I attempted to sleep, I turned off all the nights in my room. ( Or my nurse did. ) You can imagine which “light” was left on: the nurse’s computer screen.
Jesus Christ! All night, every night, that screen blazed at me. Repeatedly, its screen saver kept telling me all of the hospital’s rules. Naturally, I can’t just look at the rules. I deconstruct them, from every possible angle. Are they promoting other races at the expense of White people? Are they anti-male? Are they glorifying fags, lesbians, and trannies, while damning pedophiles? Are they politically correct? Are they mandating stupid behaviors that make no sense?
As you can expect, the answer to every one of these questions is “yes”. Imagine being subjected to that crap all night long. I’d rather have been in a Soviet reeducation camp.
If you meet a truly nice nurse, ask her if you can drape a pillowcase over the screen. ( Only, however, if it’s facing you. ) If you’re about to die, shoot the damn screen with a pisstol.
6. A stool by the nurse’s table.
I can’t recall if this is exclusively for nurses. ( i.e. forbidden to you. ) Explore sitting elsewhere before resorting to the nurse’s stool.
7. The laundry bin.
From the perspective of my pillow, the laundry bin is beyond the right corner of the foot of my bed. This is where you put your dirty laundry. If you stay in a hospital in the manner that I do, you’ll be regularly filling your laundry bin. You should feel free to do so.
8. The heater.
The heater is to the left of my bed. Have someone show you how to use it. Probably, it’s best to ask a lower-ranking person, like a hospital technician, about your heater. A nurse, especially the ward’s head nurse, may prefer the room to be heated to a temperature that she likes. ( That is, for someone accustomed to cold weather, who’s fully dressed in her street clothes. As for yourself, you’ll likely be “bathing” naked in your room. )
Similarly, the ward’s head nurse will like seeing your room the way she wants it. She’ll want it to look like no patient is present. That is, she’ll want it to look like a hospital room in an issue of “House Beautiful” magazine.
An aside: You may temporarily exit your room. Try to look it over before you do. If no one is present, hide any supplies that look like they need to be stowed. Get anything that you want to keep off of your bed.
As an inpatient, I acquire a reputation for keeping my room as a sane, intelligent person would. That is, its kept for a person who has to live in it for many days. My room does not look like a room in “House Beautiful” magazine.
The time would come when I’d go for a walk, or be taken to a medical procedure.
“Roller is out of his room!” must have raced through the ward’s employees, at the speed of juicy gossip. I’d come back to find my room “cleaned”. All my carefully managed hospital supplies, that the staff could find, would be gone. I would have to begin anew the laborious process of acquiring sufficient supplies. ( By now, of course, the word would have gone out: “Don’t give Roller ‘too many’ supplies.” )
You might wonder if the ward has an excuse for “cleaning” my room. Inevitably, it’s this: “We changed your bedding.” After days of my asking to have my bedding changed, to which the answer was “no”, suddenly my bedding was changed.
And indeed, my bedding was changed. But this was mostly an excuse to “clean” my room.
Someday, I’m going to stick a bunch of porn magazines under the sheet that covers my mattress. That will be sweet revenge.
( Now you know why there are photos of a nude 10-year-old Brooke Shields on the internet. Print ‘em out and stick them in your hospital bed! )
9. A bedside bureau.
A bedside bureau, with three drawers, is by the head of my bed, on the left.
The bureau is yours. Do with it as you wish. Unless you’ve just arrived at the hospital, or are almost discharged, no hospital employee should be rooting around in your bureau.
By “almost discharged”, I mean this: you were expected to have departed your room an hour before. As you might guess, I’m slow getting out of my room. That’s because I don’t have “friends and family” to help me exit my room. Also, I can’t just have “friends and family” tote my belongings to an automobile. I have to carefully pack everything into two bags, and hand-carry these bags out of the hospital. I use paper grocery bags, with handles, to carry my belongings.
10. Privacy curtains.
A hospital room that’s a “single” room has two privacy curtains. The primary one is by your bed. Another separates your bedroom from your room’s hallway.
( Exactly where privacy curtains are located in your room depends on the size of your room. Other factors to consider are the hospital, and the era that one is speaking of. )
I’ve never troubled myself with privacy curtains. My room’s privacy curtains stay open, unless a hospital staffer closes one. I am fussy about my room’s door. I like it closed. If your room’s door is open, you’ll enjoy the following:
A. Cold air coming in from the ward’s hallway. I need my room to be like Guam. Otherwise, I get sick. Those who run the hospital insist that it must be the temperature of the North Pole. ( Hospitals can’t make money from healthy patients, just from sick ones. )
B. Nurse chatter. ( This is especially so if your room is close to the nurses’ station. )
C. Noise from other rooms. ( Enjoy that movie you can’t watch, that’s blasting from another room’s DVD player. )
D. Dust, dirt, and germs from the hallway. ( Get every disease that every visitor brings to your ward! )
E. People walk in on you abruptly. I like to know when someone is entering my room, by hearing my door being opened.
Mostly, you can keep your privacy curtains as you like. However, being encumbered with medical equipment, you won’t have much ability to move your privacy curtains. The one by your bed, which is capable of surrounding your bed, is very long. Being long, it’s bulky.
Don’t endure an improperly arranged window curtain. Ask how to use it. Ask this as soon as you arrive. You can ask this of any employee, including your nurse.
As the sun slips away, you’ll want to open your window curtain. Hopefully, since a hospital is a tall building, you’ll have a spectacular nighttime view. If you’re a night person, remember to close your window curtain before you go to sleep as dawn nears. Otherwise, you’ll wake up to find the sun unpleasantly blazing into your room. If you’re a vampire, you may turn to dust.
Keep reading my WordPress website. I’ll soon be offering “Roller’s Anti-Rot” medicine. Its secret formula contains everything from houseflies, to spider shit, to rats’ testicles. By drinking it, you’ll exist well beyond your 500th year.
11. The room’s lights.
A big neon light is above the head of your bed. It has several settings, including “off”. This light is controlled by a beaded chain. Operating this light will seem complicated when you first arrive. Try to learn about this light, and the other lights in your room, before you become encumbered by medical equipment.
There’s a standard light switch at the near end of your room’s hallway. It controls an ordinary light above your bed. This light is mounted in the ceiling.
At the end of your room’s hallway, just inside your room’s door, is a standard light switch. It controls an ordinary light in your hallway.
12. Your medical call device.
This device calls the nurses’ station. Mostly, technicians there answer your call. They’re supposed to pass your request on to your nurse, or to another technician. Sometimes, they won’t. Around the time of “crew change”, discussed below, anything less than a serious emergency will be ignored. During this period you may find that your call is completely ignored; no one answers at all.
An aside: if you really need something, you’ll want to walk to the nurses’ station, if you’re physically able to. Usually, only mundane things are happening there.
Your medical call device is connected to a cord. Your medical call device can wind up on the floor. It can also get stuck between your bed and your bed-rails.
13. Your T.V. controller.
This device controls your T.V. It’s connected to a cord, and can wind up on the floor. It can also get stuck between your bed and your bed-rails. This device probably doesn’t have a “zoom” feature, like your T.V. at home. Ask if it does. Then, if you watch cute girls on the “Disney Channel”, you’ll be able to see them up-close.
14. Your IV pole.
An IV will be inserted into you when you become an inpatient. Usually, this IV is put into your hand. I hate wearing an IV. However, the hospital wants it there, in case they need to give you medicine quickly.
15. Your hospital bracelet.
A hospital bracelet is a strip of plastic. It identifies you, and contains very basic medical information about you. This bracelet goes around either one of your wrists.
Ask that your bracelet be put on “loose”. That way, when you wash your hands, the bracelet won’t be an obstruction.
When I was young, I hated my hospital bracelet so much that I would slip it off of my hand. This is only possible if you have a loose bracelet.
At that time, I was in a military hospital. Although I’d lost 60 percent of my kidneys, I was otherwise healthy. So, I’d sometimes leave the hospital, and slip off my bracelet to look normal.
My advice on this if you’re a military hospital inpatient:
If you’re not supposed to be off of the hospital’s grounds, but you are, then take off your bracelet. Otherwise, someone who sees you might accuse you of being AWOL. ( Absent without leave. )
On the other hand, if you’re allowed to be off of the hospital’s grounds, wear your bracelet. That way people can help you if something happens to you. ( For instance, if you black out. )
I know what you’re thinking: I’ll meet three blondes, in bikinis, from Sweden. They’ll want to have sex with me right away. Then, they’ll see my hospital bracelet. They’ll decide I’m a retard, or crippled, and shun me.
I still say: wear your bracelet if you’re allowed to be off of the hospital’s grounds. However, you know best what the risk factors are for your body.
16. The blood pressure machine.
The blood pressure machine is part of your IV. You’re expected to wear a blood pressure cuff on your arm. It inflates at regular intervals. What those intervals are will be set by your doctor, or someone similar. If you’re in the ICU, your cuff will inflate every 15 minutes.
I have an awful memory from an ICU. I was standing by my bed, and peeing into my urinal bottle, when my blood pressure cuff expanded. Doing so, it compressed my arm. This was the arm that I was using to hold my urinal bottle. By compressing my arm, the cuff made it difficult for me to retain my hold on my urinal bottle. Meanwhile, my left arm was encumbered with an IV.
I didn’t drop my urinal bottle. Although, it would’ve been fun to see how long it took someone to arrive by my bed if I called the nurses’ station. As in:
“Hello, dictatorial dickheads? Your stupid rules have caused me to spill urine all over your floor.”
In a normal hospital room, your blood pressure cuff inflates every four hours. Unless I’m sleeping, I take my blood pressure cuff off.
If you’re not wearing your blood pressure cuff, it won’t register your blood pressure. This fact is sent to the nurses’ station. Then, an employee will come in your room, and put the cuff on you. Then your blood pressure will be taken.
If you’re not wearing your blood pressure cuff in the ICU, an employee will probably complain about this to you. However, if you’re not wearing your blood pressure cuff in a normal hospital room, you won’t get in trouble. Someone will simply come and take your blood pressure. You are expected to wear your blood pressure cuff when you’re actually sleeping, if it’s nighttime. ( Many ward employees, though on-duty, will be sleeping late at night. This includes nurses. ) If it’s late at night, wear your blood pressure cuff. You can take it off to go use the bathroom. But put it back on afterwards.
17. The clock.
There will be a clock in view from your bed. If possible, note the time that your blood pressure cuff inflates. Then, note the next time that it inflates. This will tell you how often your blood pressure cuff inflates. Then, you can take off your blood pressure cuff until it’s about to inflate again.
18. Your hospital bed.
Your hospital bed consists of three sections. One extends from your lower back to beyond your head. It can be raised or lowered.
The middle section is always flat.
The last section extends from your butt to beyond your feet. It can be raised or lowered.
Your entire bed can be elevated or lowered. Physicians will want your bed elevated, so they don’t have to stoop so far to examine you. Before they leave your room, ask to have your bed lowered “all the way down”. Your physician will assign this task to someone who’s not present. As in, “I’ll get the nurse to do it.” He won’t. He’ll go to the next patient, in the next room, and totally forget about your bed.
Tell the doctor that it sometimes takes awhile for the nurse to come and lower your bed, and that you can’t get out of it until this is done. Mention a need to pee. Then, hopefully, the lowest-ranking doctor who’s present will briefly linger in your room, and lower your bed. Probably, this will be a medical student.
It is very useful to learn the name of any medical student who helps you. That way, when he “makes rounds” with the doctors the next day, he’ll lower your bed again, when you ask. ( “Making rounds” is discussed below. )
19. Your hospital bed’s frame.
Your hospital bed comes with side-rails. My recommendation for these is as follows:
A. From the perspective of your pillow, keep the right side-rail lowered.
B. Keep the left side-rail raised.
Hospital personnel love to raise both of a patient’s side-rails. This is in line with the notion that your room is supposed to look like it’s in “House Beautiful” magazine. As for you, the assumption is that you’re an infant, or a corpse. Of course, you’ll soon need to pee, eat, or otherwise get out of your bed. Never let the right side-rail be raised unless you agree that there’s an important reason for it to be raised.
I recommend raising the left side-rail. This will give you something to push against, even if you just do this in your mind. If both your side-rails are down, you may fall out of your bed.
20. The goddamn heart monitor.
This is a device that sits on its own table. If one is delivered to your room, it winds up jammed in the vicinity of your nurse’s table and your bedside table. ( In such a case, the nurse’s stool is consigned to some other part of your room, where it stands useless. )
A cord connects you to your heart monitor. I was hooked up to a heart monitor. It was very encumbering. This was because, though I could move my IV pole ( with difficulty ), I couldn’t move the heart monitor. I’d detach it to go to the bathroom. If I didn’t quickly get it back on, some technician elsewhere in the hospital would phone my nurses. A nurse may be slow to answer your request for socks. She is never slow to respond regarding your heart monitor.
“Mr. Roller! You’re not wearing your heart monitor!” a nurse would complain, hurrying into my room.
I’d had heart problems when I’d entered the hospital, but they were related to another medical condition. I was operated on for that condition. Though my heart had stopped during the operation ( which I’d expected ), my heart troubles were now gone. Nonetheless, I was required by the hospital to be hooked up to the monitor. I finally got a nice nurse to call the technician who was elsewhere in the hospital and tell him that I would no longer be attached to the monitor. I was disconnected from it.
21. The fucking calf massager.
A calf massager consists of fabric that is wrapped around your lower legs. Due to velcro, it’s detachable. ( Like King Missile’s detachable penis. ) When turned on, the calf massager vibrates, massaging your calves.
Modernly, when I’m an inpatient, I’m always being hooked up to a calf massager. The assumption is that i’ll spend most of my time lying in bed. This is never the case with me. Even when I want to be in my bed, I’m usually too busy to be in it. Also, I walk in the ward for exercise.
Supposedly, a calf massager keeps the blood in my legs circulating to the rest of my body. In theory, this prevents blood clots in my legs. I’m required to lie in my bed and let this fucking machine massage my calves. Yep! That’s what I need as an inpatient: more time lying in bed.
My advice to the hospital: bring me a dick massager. My dick is soon craving attention when I’m stuck in your hospital.
I’ll tell you how crazy some hospital staffers are for the calf machine. I’ll go for a two hour walk in the ward. When I return to my room, an employee tells me,
“It’s time to put on your calf massager.” Indeed, she’s anxious that I haven’t been wearing it for awhile.
The calf massager goes between your sheet that covers your mattress, and your top sheet. Inevitably, it falls on the floor. This happens often. On the floor, of course, your calf massager gets dirty. There’s no way to wash it. If you put an extra sheet on the floor, where your massager falls, the nurses and others will complain. In fact, they’ll pick up the ( now ) dirty sheet, and toss it on your clean bed.
If you’re assigned a calf massager, you’ll have put up with it. The dirty thing will be at the foot of your bed, under your ( formerly clean ) blankets and sheets.
In time, you’ll be anchored to your calf massager less often. Generally, the longer you’re an inpatient, the more power you acquire. You become a real person, instead of just another patient. I guess staffers start telling each other,
“Never mind Roller’s calf massager. He doesn’t like wearing it, and I don’t think he’s actually going to get blood clots in his legs.”
Or maybe they say, “Wouldn’t it be great if Roller died from clots in his legs?” ( That’s a joke. )
Also: as you remain in the hospital, you’re supposedly getting healthier.
God forbid if I ever wind up dying in a hospital. It would be awful to become ever more encumbered, by hospital equipment. I’m used to getting rid of such equipment as I’m an inpatient.
Sadly, just when I’m about to file a change of address with the post office, I get discharged from the hospital. A hospital would be great if I wasn’t sick while I was there.
( A military hospital is much slower to discharge its patients. )
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Copyright 2021 by Andrew L. Roller. ET, Editorial Thunder, and ARSE, Andrew Roller Stories and Essays, are trademarks of Andrew L. Roller.
I am https://andrewroller.wordpress.com
Earlier posts by me are at https://asstr.org/files/Authors/Roller/
I’m on paper at: https://www.abebooks.com > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
and https://www.abebooks.co.uk > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
If you visit an “AbeBooks” website, you’ll be presented with a large square “Search” box. In the box labelled “Author”, type in “Andrew Roller”. In the box labelled “Title”, type in “Andrew Roller Presents”. This will bring up some of my pamphlets. I have not yet figured out how to bring up other pamphlets by me, under other titles. I don’t recall all the titles I published under.
I have no financial involvement in these resale items.
I am on You Tube as “Andrew Roller”. Use You Tube’s magnifying glass icon to search for “Andrew Roller”. That will take you to my You Tube channel. Or, on You Tube, tap my sun icon, if you see it. That will also take you to my You Tube channel. There, you can see songs and films that I like.
At the “home page” of my You Tube channel, you’ll see just a selection of playlists that I created. To see all my playlists, tap on the phrase, “Created playlists”.
The World Wide Web address for my You Tube channel is:
https://www.youtube.com/andrewroller
If you click on this link, you’ll be taken to a World Wide Web You Tube page. Here, You Tube displays a cartoon image of a monkey. The page says, “This page isn’t available. Sorry about that. Try searching for something else.”
My advice: on this page, search for “andrew roller”. By doing so, you’ll get to my World Wide Web You Tube channel. However, I have over 100 Playlists, that I created, at my You Tube app channel. The World Wide Web version of You Tube will only serve you 15 of my Playlists.
( Hence, access You Tube via its app. The You Tube app, like the WordPress app, is available for free at the Apple App Store. )
This is ET, Editorial Thunder, issue number 62
Arcana: This is ET, Editorial Thunder, issue number 62, version 4.0
Part 1 of 3
Date Written: February 1, 2021.
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This has been a presentation of A R S E news.
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How to be an Inpatient Part 2 of 3
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ET 62 Part 2 of 3
Editorial Thunder presents...
How to be an Inpatient
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Plus: A list of what to take to the hospital.
And: The best hours for human sacrifice.
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HOW TO BE AN INPATIENT
Your hospital survival guide.
by Andrew Roller Part 2 of 3
SUPPLIES - FROM HOME, AND IN THE HOSPITAL
If you don’t have “friends and family” who visit you, bringing you supplies, then this section is for you. It’s also for you if your “friends and family” visit you, but neglect to bring you needed supplies.
A modern hospital restricts the supplies that it provides to its patients. If the hospital had its way, you’d be stuck with the following:
1. An “ice bucket” holding warm water.
2. Nothing between your clean pajama pants, or bathrobe, and your hospital room’s dirty upholstered chair.
3. Not nearly enough socks.
4. Not nearly enough medical wipe pads.
5. A disgusting urinal bottle.
What to do? The hospital has various employees. With luck, you won’t be stuck with just one or two of these. A number of employees will walk into your room. Whenever they do, ask them for something.
Don’t bother the doctors, and those who accompany them, when they make their medical rounds. Do bother them with your medical needs, but not your desire for more socks. ( Unless you’re desperate. )
When requesting supplies from someone, address them by name. How to do this?
Keep a piece of paper and a pen handy. Write down the name of everyone who enters your room. If the person doesn’t tell you his name, ask. Try to get as complete a name as possible. Note the person’s status. Is this person a doctor, or the janitor? Try to attach a brief description to the person’s name, so you can figure out who Mohammad Zolata is when you review your sheet of paper.
With regard to descriptions, don’t be politically correct. If the most noticeable thing about a person is that she’s fat, note that she’s fat.
You might worry, “What if someone reads my paper?” Fold your paper twice. Keep it tucked into or under something so you don’t lose it. Also, use a code for descriptions that might be considered offensive. Instead of writing the word “fat”, write: “Dolly Brannigan - fa” You’ll know “fa” means, “fat”. Dolly won’t. Some people don’t like to be identified by their race. So, if you remember Letitia Washington most easily because she’s black, write: “Letitia Washington - bla”.
I also recommend that you have a notebook. The nearest object to you will be your bedside table. That table will quickly become very cluttered. You will be unable to keep your notebook on this table for very long. I recommend that you stow your notebook in your bedside bureau. However, in my experience, my bedside bureau is always out of reach from my bed. Often, it’s totally out of reach. That’s because I’m always encumbered with IVs, connected to an IV pole, that make it impossible for me to get around my bed to my bureau. I’m sometimes wired up to a heart monitor too.
You might say, with regard to my bureau, from the perspective of my pillow: “Just reach to your left, dude.”
That’s not possible. Here’s what’s in the way:
A. The left bed-rail is raised.
B. My bed’s privacy curtain is not fully retracted.
C. My belongings, in garbage bags, are in front of my bureau, on the floor. Being in front of my bureau, they are blocking my bureau’s drawers. There is no space to shove my garbage bags aside. I can’t get around my bed to move my garbage bags.
If you’re hooked up to hospital equipment like me, you’ll feel like Swamp Thing or Man-Thing. The difference is, we aren’t superheroes.
Back to my list of what to take to the hospital.
I recommend the following notebook:
FIVE STAR COLLEGE RULED 1 SUBJECT 100 SHEETS by ACCO Brands P.O. Box 290001, Dayton, Ohio 45429. www ( dot ) meadfivestar ( dot ) com.
This “ACCO” notebook was once produced by a company called “Mead”.
A three subject 300 sheet notebook is available. Don’t buy it. You won’t need 300 sheets of paper at the hospital.
I buy my “FIVE STAR” notebooks at Ralphs grocery store, which is owned by Kroger. One day I was at Ralphs with my barber. He saw me buying “FIVE STAR” notebooks. They were on sale. Chastising me for buying such “expensive” notebooks, he told me he could get “paper” for $1.00 at “Food Barn”, or some such place, where he shops.
I knew exactly what sort of “paper” my barber was speaking of. “TOP-FLIGHT” notebooks, when discounted, usually sell for $1.00. They are shit. Flip the pages back and forth a few times in a “TOP-FLIGHT” notebook, and they’ll get stuck, somehow, to the steel ring that holds them. They’ll get stuck in the sense that you can no longer flip the pages back and forth. A notebook that you find unusable will be one that you don’t use.
“Why do I need a notebook?” you’ll ask. You won’t just need to write down people’s names. Doctors will tell you a variety of things about your medical condition. So will nurses. You might learn other things, from other people, that you consider important. Write all this down, if you can.
I start at the back page of my notebook when I write down medical ( and related ) information. But what if I want to write, say, a sex story? Start at the front of your notebook. The point is this: you’ll want to write down medical information, and information that has nothing to do with your stay at the hospital. Don’t commingle this information. Use the back end for medical information, and the front end for personal information. ( Or vice-versa. ) ( Probably, you should do it vice-versa. That’s because, if someone picks up your notebook, they’ll read it from the front. However, I’d rather tell you what I actually do, than make up things that I don’t in fact do. )
A “FIVE STAR” notebook has a sheet of paperboard bound into it. A pocket is on either side of this paperboard. I recommend that you stuff some blank sheets of paper into one of these pockets. Then, if you need more than one sheet of paper at your bedside, where you write people’s names, you’ll have more paper available.
Take a lot of pens to the hospital. If you only take one pen, you’ll quickly lose it. Being encumbered by IVs and cords, you won’t be able to search your room to find your dropped pen.
I like having black and red pens available. If you want to splurge, take blue pens too. However, I only ever use black and red pens at the hospital. I use the black pen for most of my writing. The red pen highlights things that I’ve written. Don’t take yellow highlighter pens. You won’t need them. Also, I’m not recommending that you take colored markers, crayons, and a panoply of other writing utensils to the hospital. Just take what works: black and red pens.
You might wonder what brand of pens to bring. I recommend “Bic Cristal Xtra-Smooth” pens. For whatever reason, red “Bic Cristal Xtra-Smooth” pens, though they are still being made, are becoming harder to find. In their place, I recommend “Bic Round Stic Grip Xtra-Comfort” pens. Do not buy “Paper Mate”. My aunt once gave me a package of those. They didn’t write.
At home, open the packages of pens. You won’t have access to scissors at the hospital, unless you take a pair. If you do take scissors, take nail scissors. Then, you can cut your nails, as well as open difficult packaging. Also, if you take a large pair of scissors, someone may forbid you to have them, under the theory that you might attack people with them.
Having opened your packages of pens, put your pens into a plastic bag. You’ll want plastic bags for all your loose items. I recommend:
“Hefty STORAGE Slider GALLON” bags. Do not buy “Ziploc”. In my experience, they don’t close.
Probably, you associate “Hefty” with garbage bags. Everyone associates “Ziploc” with gallon-sized Ziploc bags, no matter what brand they buy. In this article, I’m going to use the word Ziploc to mean gallon-sized Hefty bags.
You will be given sheets of paper that you need to keep. These sheets of paper will hold official information from the hospital. These sheets of paper won’t fit into Slider bags ( due to the slider tab ). Hence, for these sheets of paper, buy the following:
“Kroger STORAGE DOUBLE ZIPPER” bags. You won’t be able to close these bags once they’re holding paper. If that bothers you, slip a second bag over the first bag. That is, slip it over the top of the first bag. Then nothing can fall out of it.
Bring two pairs of flip-flops to the hospital. For footwear, the hospital will only give you hospital socks. Such socks fit quite tightly. Most flip-flops have a thong. That means, if you’re wearing hospital socks, you’ll need each sock to be fitting somewhat loosely. That is, don’t pull your socks all the way on. This will provide enough “give” in your socks to fit each flip-flop’s thong between your big toe and the toe adjoining it.
Why do you need flip-flops?
1. If you want to walk with any vigor, and for any distance, you’ll find that this is uncomfortable in hospital socks alone. Your feet land hard on the floor. If you have staples in your stomach, those harsh footfalls will noticeably jar your staples.
2. Let’s say you take a shower. Then, you’ll need two pairs of flip-flops. Wear a pair to the shower. Probably, you’ll want to wear your flip-flops in the shower. That’s so you won’t catch athlete’s foot.
( Athlete’s foot is something that I acquired at a young age. I did so by being forced to use my father’s shower. I complained about this to my mother.
“Oh well, your father has athlete’s foot,” my mother blithely replied. Thank God my father wasn’t castrated.
My mother was equally blithe about my nearly losing an eye, when she incited my brother to violence.
( And Tucker Carlson, of Fox News, goes on about the importance of “families”. I agree with the view of families in the film “Logan’s Run”. Families should be illegal. ))
Back to flip-flops:
You get out of the shower. You now go back to your room. What are you wearing? Wet flip-flops, in a room that’s chilly. That’s why you’ll need two pairs of flip-flops. It’s so, after you dry your feet, you have dry flip-flops to wear.
When I’m an inpatient, UCSD always gives me a huge folder. It contains all sorts of crap about being their patient, including their “contracts” with me. This is a load of shit. It is totally useless to your stay as an inpatient. Keep it, in case you get into difficulties with them, the sort that may result in a lawsuit. Otherwise, shove the thing into your bagged clothing.
Bring a bottle of shampoo to the hospital. Take it with you when you shower. You’ll want shampoo for your hair. It also works great on your body. Don’t dump too much shampoo on yourself. It takes forever to get all the shampoo off of your body. Generally, if you use the right amount of shampoo on your head, you can spread it from your head to the rest of your body.
You may be wearing taped plastic over surgical wounds that prevent you from remaining very long in the shower.
When you’re done with your shampoo bottle, rinse it off. Carry your sparkling clean shampoo bottle back to your room. It’s much easier to transport than a used bar of soap that you brought from home.
Hospital soap bars are small and hard. They don’t make suds very well. If you leave these soap bars behind in the shower, you leave a mess for the next guy. Nobody appreciates that.
USCD provides me with a single large plastic bag for my clothing. This is nearly worthless. Take large, new garbage bags with you, and twist ties to keep them closed. Let’s look at what clothing you’ll need to store. You’ll be storing your clothing in SEPARATE garbage bags.
1. Your shirt, trousers, ( used ) underpants, and ( used ) socks.
2. Your overcoat and related items. ( Winter headscarf, gloves, etc. )
3. Your shoes.
UCSD assumes that I’m going to somehow fit all my items into their single bag. They think I’m so moronic that I’m going to chuck my underpants and shoes into the same bag. I recommend that you put your ( used ) underpants into a Ziploc bag before putting them into a garbage bag. The same goes for your ( used ) socks.
You may want to take clean underpants and socks with you to the hospital. Then, you can wear them home when you’re discharged.
Put your clean pair of underpants into a Ziploc bag. Then, put three clean socks, plus your shoehorn, into a Ziploc bag.
Don’t stick your underpants into your sock bag. That’s because your shoehorn is in your sock bag. Your shoehorn is dirty.
( If you have the luxury of time, you can wash your shoehorn. But you’ll probably be in a hurry. I’m always in a hurry when I’m choking to death. )
Why take three socks? That’s so if one of your socks feels uncomfortable, you can simply put on a different sock. ( Socks are odd; sometimes they just don’t fit comfortably. )
There will be other personal supplies that you want to take to the hospital. If you take your phone, make sure that you take your phone’s charger. Remove any jewelry that you take to the hospital. This includes “private” jewelry, like clitoral rings, or whatever. The hospital forbids such items. Also, you’ll undergo procedures at the hospital in which “private” jewelry would be a problem.
Don’t lie to the hospital about what you’re bringing. The reason is this: if you tell them you don’t have a wallet, when you actually do, here’s what they’ll write in their computer:
WALLET - stored at bedside.
This information is readily available to any employee who looks you up in the hospital’s computer. They’ll know that you have your wallet in your room. So, if they want it, they’ll steal it while you’re sleeping.
You may want to bring $20.00 or less with you to the hospital. Modernly, I’m never healthy enough to go downstairs to the snack machines and the cafeteria. You might be. I don’t recommend telling the hospital that you have cash with you. Put your bills into the following:
“Kroger home sense Snack Bags Zipper”. These are exactly the right size to hold dollar bills. Have another bag handy for any change you receive. Take extra snack bags in case the ones that you’re using in the hospital rip.
I could tell you where to put your snack bag that’s holding your dollar bills. However, then everyone would know where I put my cash. So, be creative. There are a number of places where cash can be placed. The more items that you bring to the hospital, the more hiding places you’ll have for your cash. I recommend that you keep any change in a separate location from your dollar bills. Change, if shaken, makes noise. Bills don’t. Be willing to sacrifice your change for the sake of not having your bills stolen.
I do not stick my bag containing my bills up my ass.
If you’re on a sodium - restricted diet, you’ll get awful breakfasts. Once, I got a single egg-type thing for breakfast. If you’re healthy enough, head to the cafeteria and order yourself a big plate of bacon and eggs ( for which you’ll need cash ). You know your body better than any medical person does. If you feel you can handle a bacon and eggs breakfast, eat it! A sodium-restricted patient can handle a lot more salt than any dietician would ever recommend. The same is true for every other damn thing, like calories, that a dietician worries about.
If you do eat a big salty meal, as a sodium-restricted patient, I recommend going straight to bed afterwards. This is due to gravity. If you remain standing or sitting after your meal, all the salty fluid in you will pool in your legs, making them swell. On the other hand, if you lie flat, or with your legs elevated, then you’ll be able to pee out the salty liquid.
Another option, after a high-sodium meal, is to walk. If you walk for two hours straight, you’ll find that your hands swell. This is because walking takes salty fluid from your legs, and puts it into your hands. When you cease walking, the salty fluid will want to go back to your legs. To do this, it must pass through your abdomen. As it meets your abdomen, it tends to get peed out.
You might wonder how you can walk for two hours in a hospital. Circumnavigate your hospital ward. That is, walk in big circles. You’ll win gold stars from the ward’s staff for walking, instead of lying in your bed. You’ll also prove that you’re healthy, which may get you out of the hospital sooner.
However, in my case, I can walk very far and still be a medical disaster. In a civilian hospital, that puts me at risk of being discharged from the hospital when, medically, I’m far from ready to go home. In my case, I mostly walk late at night, when few people notice. ( Indeed, in the small hours of the morning, the ward’s on-duty staff is often asleep. )
An aside: If you work as a nurse, choose the graveyard shift if you can. Little happens, and you can sleep on the job.
Another aside: If you’re a vampire, you’ll crave fresh blood. The late night hours are when it’s easiest to suck blood from cute nurses, other workers, and your fellow patients. ( Including lovely girls in the children’s ward. )
Night’s wee hours are also the best time to reanimate corpses in the morgue. It never hurts to have a zombie army on call if the hospital pisses you off. Visits to graveyards are best undertaken during these hours. So is human sacrifice.
Another exception to my “don’t lie to the hospital” rule regards medicine. If you’re a transplant patient, you should always have a small amount of your transplant medicine with you. Put this medicine into a snack bag. Don’t carry just loose pills. If cops encounter you, they’ll think you’re carrying illegal drugs. Also, I was told there’s a federal rule against carrying medicine that isn’t in labelled medicine bottles. If so, this is a stupid rule. Bottles are too bulky to carry. Also, there are good bottles and bad bottles. Some bottles, if jarred as they’re opened, spill out their pills. In addition, you must not carry your entire supply of pills with you. If you lose the bottle, there go all your pills. What to do?
1. When a pharmacy gives you a bottle of pills, they provide a sheet of paper that identifies and discusses your pills. Make a xeroxed copy of this paper. Fold it, and put it in a snack bag. Hitch this snack bag to the one holding your loose pills with tape. Do this for every type of pill in your snack bag. Then, if you’re frisked by the police, you’ll have a sheet of paper that identifies each of your pills.
2. Wear a necklace or bracelet that identifies you as a person with medical problems. Over time, this necklace may become somewhat outdated. Don’t stress that it’s out of date. As long as it identifies your main medical issue ( that you’re, say, a transplant patient ), you’re fine.
In my experience, nobody listens to anything that I say. Telling the cops that “I’m a transplant patient” is useless. However, if I have a necklace and papers showing that I’m a transplant patient, this is information that they should take into consideration, and regard as legitimate. If they don’t, they can ( hopefully ) be held to account later.
If you tend to visit the hospital often, I recommend creating a “crash cart” at home for yourself. It holds items that you will need at the hospital. No cart is involved. Rather, it’s two bags, that you’ll want to cover so they don’t get dusty. Or, write a list of things that you need.
In my case, I don’t have space in my rented room for a “crash cart”. I’ve made lists, only to lose them. I have found that I sometimes resort to my own articles at my WordPress website for information.
If you’re currently sick in bed at home, and think you’ll land in the hospital, start making your “crash cart” right now! Don’t wait until the last minute. It takes me about two hours to assemble my “crash cart”.
Though dead, Dale Carnegie taught me, via audio cassettes, to always address a person by his name. Smile when you greet him. About the only “power” that you have, as an inpatient, is to show people positive regard. People love this, especially when you call them by name. In life, it’s easy to treat others, like hospital employees, as hired help. By not doing this, you’ll stand out from other patients. By offering positive regard, you’ll particularly impress low-ranking employees. Often, these low-ranking employees are treated by more senior staffers as, well, low-ranking employees.
Do not ignore the janitor. The rule is generally this: the lower ranking a person is, the more that person will be willing to help you. That doesn’t mean that the janitor can bring you hospital supplies. However, the janitor can ask an employee in the ward to help you.
Also, it’s much more enjoyable to have a janitor who likes you, than one who doesn’t. Many patients probably ignore their janitor. That’s why, by giving positive regard, you’ll have a janitor who esteems you. The only downside is this: you might be watching an interesting T.V. show when your janitor appears. You’ll be obliged to stop watching your T.V. show on, say, the origin of the universe, and listen instead to your janitor’s religious beliefs.
Let’s return to our discussion regarding supplies that the hospital issues. We’ll start with a list of commonly needed items:
1. An ice bucket.
2. Pillowcases.
3. Socks.
4. Medical wipe pads.
5. A urinal bottle.
Figure out what hospital supplies you want. These are, of course, only for your use while you’re an inpatient in the hospital. Such supplies are invaluable while you’re an inpatient, especially if you have no “friends and relatives” to bring you supplies from home. Any hospital supplies you take home, even if the hospital forces them on you, are worthless when you get home. You have much better supplies of your own at home.
So, you’ve decided what hospital supplies you ( currently ) want. As stated above, the rule is this: whenever anyone walks into your room ( except doctors ) ask for something. Often, employees will walk into your room for no reason. They’ll interrupt your T.V. show on the origin of the universe. Make them pay for this: ask for something. Let’s consider essential items.
1. The “ice bucket”.
No refrigerator is provided in a hospital room. Any “ice bucket” put on your bedside table will soon become a bucket of warm water. You’ll quickly notice this, even before all of the ice in your bucket has melted.
The ignorant patient will ask,
“May I please have another bucket of ice?”
Most employees will answer,
“You already have a bucket of ice.” Hence, their answer is “no”.
Here’s what to do:
When you get an ice bucket, wrap it in a towel. ( Of course, without “friends and family”, you’ll need a hospital-issued towel to do this. ) The towel will help keep the ice in your bucket from melting. When an employee comes in your room, ask,
“May I please have an ice bucket?” Act like you don’t have one. There will soon be a bunch of crap on your bedside table. If you have a box of Kleenex, and other items that you’ve brought from home, put them on your bedside table. That will make it cluttered. As a result, the employee won’t notice the towel that’s hiding your ice bucket. He will bring you a ( second ) ice bucket.
Always keep the ice bucket that’s worst off ( that is, the warmest one ) exposed. Keep the ice bucket that’s best off hidden ( and cool ) under your towel. If space allows, wrap your ice bucket in two towels. By “wrap”, I mean that you drape your towels over the ice bucket. Then you push the towels against the sides of the ice bucket.
2. Pillowcases.
A hospital employee’s view of a pillowcase is that it’s used to hold a pillow. You’ll need pillowcases for more reasons that that. Here are some reasons:
A. When having outpatient surgery, I wrap one or more pillowcases around my head to keep it warm. I do the same when I’m an inpatient. When I’m sleeping ( or anesthetized ), I don’t want pajama pants binding my head. I prefer having one or more loosely wrapped pillowcases on my head.
B. A pillowcase for your chair.
The chair I’m speaking of is an upholstered one. Generally, its covered in some sort of fuzzy material. ( It’s not covered in vinyl or leather, which could be easily wiped. ) This chair is dirty. I’ve never seen anyone clean such a chair. It’s where every asshole visitor sits, in his dirty street clothes.
What to do? Lay a sheet over the back of the chair ( where your back will come into contact with it ). Next, lay a pillowcase over the seat of the chair. Now, you can sit in your chair.
To hospital employees, this will look horrible. None of them understand that you don’t go home after 12 hours in the hospital, and take a shower. The employees get as dirty as they please, and go home and shower. You’re living in your hospital room. Mostly, you’ll have no way to actually bathe.
Eventually, you’ll want to turn your chair’s pillowcase inside out. Then you’ll again be sitting on clean fabric ( the inside of the pillowcase ). Eventually, you’ll want to replace this pillowcase.
3. Pajama pants.
I hate wearing pajama pants in a hospital. I state the reasons for this in my article, “Military Hospital Abuse”. This article is on my WordPress website.
Pajama pants are wonderful for tying around your head. They keep your head warm. That’s because they cover your head as well as your ears.
An employee might complain that you aren’t wearing pants the “normal” way, but on your head. Explain to him that nothing has a determinate use. The Wright brothers invented the airplane by flying a winged bicycle into the air!
4. Not nearly enough hospital socks.
I do not enjoy wearing the same goddamn socks for three days in a row. The ignorant patient gets stuck doing so. Ask for socks often. Let’s say Harry brings you socks at 4 p.m. Later, his shift ends, and Harry goes home. At 7:30 p.m., Walter walks into your room. Walter has no idea that you just got some socks a few hours ago. Ask Walter for socks. He’ll bring you some. ( Make sure that you’ve hidden the socks that you already have. )
5. Not nearly enough medical wipe pads.
The hospital won’t give you any baby wipes. What they will ( grudgingly ) provide is medical wipe pads. Using these is akin to rubbing your skin with steel wool pads. ( S.O.S pads ). Also, the medical wipe pads come with a big printed warning. It tells you that the pads contain chemicals, and must be kept away from your eyes. Enjoy wiping your face and your dick with these pads!
It will be difficult for you to acquire a sufficient number of medical wipe pads. Even though they’re crap, these are all that the hospital will give you for bedside “bathing”.
6. A disgusting urinal bottle.
You will be given one urinal bottle. You’ll be resorting to this all day, every day. Your urinal bottle will acquire visible crud from your use. However, UCSD’s policy is that you get one urinal bottle. That’s it. Having been stuck in hospitals for up to two months straight, I’m very conscious of the condition of my urinal bottle. Hey, I only have to stick my dick into it, all day, every day. What’s so bad about that? I can dream that I’m fucking a two dollar whore in Saigon. All day, every day.
Try to get more than one urinal bottle. Keep the clean one hidden. If a friendly employee visits you ( likely the lowest ranking medical person ) point out how crappy your urinal bottle looks. Sometimes, the idiot will take your urinal bottle to your bathroom, and rinse it over the toilet. ( It’s a special toilet, with extras for hospital staffers. ) Once, I overheard a student staffer say, of my toilet,
“This is the real Disneyland!”
No one could pay me enough to wash out guys’ urinal bottles. I guess that’s why we now have male nurses. If you’re gay...
With luck, the friendly employee will simply bring you a new urinal bottle.
7. Towels.
You’ll need a lot of towels. Here’s why:
A. I wrap them around my head, to stay warm.
B. Modernly, I’m always too encumbered with IVs and other items to take a shower. I’m stuck using medical wipe pads, and baby wipes, when I “bathe” in my room.
When I’m “bathing” with the medical wipe pads, I don’t want my feet touching the dirty floor. Also, the floor is cold. Hence, I put a towel on the floor. A towel, even when it’s wet, is warmer than the floor. Let’s call this your “drip towel”. If you drip water while “bathing”, it will land on the towel, not on the floor.
Don’t put a pillowcase on the floor instead of a towel. A pillowcase on a hospital floor is very slippery. If you stand on it, you’ll fall.
C. When I’m done “bathing” with the medical wipe pads, I use at least two towels to dry off. I dry my head with one towel. With the other towel, I dry my body.
Start with your head. It will be wet and cold. When you’re done drying your head, wrap your “head towel” around it.
Why shouldn’t you use your head towel on your body? If you have hair on your head, your hair will remain greasy. Some of your hair’s grease will now be on your “head towel”. You don’t want to rub this greasy towel on your body.
Now, dry your body with your “body towel”. You won’t be terribly clean after your “bath” with the medical wipe pads. Rubbing a towel against your wet skin does more than dry it. It also helps clean your skin.
When you’re done with your wet, dirty “head towel” and “body towel”, chuck them in your room’s laundry bin. The same goes for your “drip towel”.
But first: wrap your head with two clean towels. Put on one or more fresh medical gowns.
An aside: I have written the above from the perspective of having only one pair of flip-flops. Such slippers are quite big and bulky when you’re packing to go to the hospital. ( Especially if you’re limited to two bags, because you have to hand-carry them, having no one to help you. ) In such a case, you don’t want to get your lone pair of flip-flops wet.
If you have two pairs of flip-flops, you can substitute one of these for your “drip” towel.
An aside on bedside “bathing”: Use the medical wipe pads to “bathe” most of your body. Then, if you have baby wipes, use those for your face and genitals. If you want to rid your body of the chemicals that the medical wipe pads contain, use baby wipes when you’re done bathing with the medical wipe pads.
D. Let’s say that you take a shower. You’ll need several towels. Use a towel to dry off. That will make it wet. Chuck this towel in the room’s laundry bin.
Next, wrap two dry towels around your head. Put on clean hospital gowns. Then, wrap a dry towel around your neck. Note: nothing is waiting for you in the shower room. Bring everything you’ll need.
A hospital is cold. You won’t want to report to the hospital for kidney transplant problems, and then catch a head cold there.
Wear your flip-flops back to your room, with or without hospital socks.
E. I keep a “foot towel” handy. At the end of 24 hours, my used “foot towel” becomes my “drip towel”.
I use a clean towel to dry my feet when I’m done bathing with medical wipe pads. ( Or when I return from a shower. ) This towel then goes in the laundry bin. Now, I get another clean towel. It will be my “foot towel” for the next 24 hours. Then I’ll “bathe” again.
During the 24 hours, I use my “foot towel” to dry my feet if they’re sweaty. I also use it if my feet feel dusty from walking around.
God, how the nurses complain about my “foot towel”! This is especially true of the nurses who are supervisors, or who fancy themselves as such. These women complain that my “foot towel” is lying about. Of course it’s lying about! It’s my “foot towel”!
( The nurses also moan about my sheet and pillowcase on the upholstered chair. If I rest my feet on my bed, I put a pillowcase on that part of the bed. Resting my feet on this pillowcase then makes it somewhat dirty.
I don’t chuck this pillowcase in the laundry bin. I do leave it lying about. This, of course, becomes one more item that displeases the nurses. It’s also an item that they target for removal from my room. ( In which case, I have to wheedle yet another pillowcase from an employee. )
HIDE SPARE HOSPITAL - ISSUED SUPPLIES
As far as the hospital is concerned, you’re entitled to very few hospital-issued items. A hospital would like to give you one towel, one pair of socks ( etc. ), and expect you to survive with these for the length of your stay. As a UCSD “we listen” employee once wrote to me, “If you need more socks, you’ll be given more socks.” I guess this guy wears the same pair of socks for a month. I’d hate to get near his underpants.
As for your spare hospital-issued supplies, hide as many of them as you can. This is difficult. Basically, you just have your dresser to hide things in. Its drawers are meant to hold whatever you brought from home.
DO hide hospital supplies in your dresser, among your personal items. However, do NOT hide the hospital’s supplies in the trash bags holding your clothes. This leaves you open to the accusation that you’re attempting to steal the hospital’s supplies. As discussed elsewhere, none of the supplies that the hospital issues to you will be of any value at home.
Below, I discuss putting your clothing from home into garbage bags. These go on the far side of your bed, in front of your bedside dresser. Your other supplies from home go into the drawers of the dresser. You can hide your hospital supplies in your dresser. If the drawers of your dresser appear to be storing your personal possessions, no one will poke around in your dresser.
You might wonder: why can I hide hospital supplies in my dresser, among my personal possessions, but not in my garbage bags, that hold my clothes?
Answer: The dresser belongs to the hospital. It’s not unusual for a dresser to hold both personal and hospital supplies. ( That is, hospital supplies that you’ve requested. ) On the other hand, your garbage bags are yours. That’s why, if you stuff hospital supplies in them, you’ll be regarded as attempting to steal the hospital’s supplies.
Note: an unused dresser in a cluttered room will not remain unused by the nurses.
SIDEBAR: HOSPITAL THIEF
I’ve only had one problem with a thief in a hospital. It occurred a quarter century ago.
I was a patient in a military hospital. Having briefly left my room, I returned to it. I found a woman in my room. She was looking in my dresser. I instantly regarded this as odd. The woman left my room immediately. That was even more odd. A hospital employee would never be found rummaging in my dresser, only to leave. She would busy herself with my situation. ( Unless, of course, she’s a thief, who has no idea what my situation is. )
I quickly realized that this woman was a thief. She dressed ( more or less ) in hospital employee clothing. By this, I mean that she dressed as an employee would in a civilian hospital. She was not wearing a military uniform.
The thief was pretending to be a hospital employee. She stole things from hospital rooms where the patients were absent. She also knew the hospital’s layout. I was young and quick, but she disappeared before I could catch her.
I called hospital security about the thief. In that era, I had to use a pay phone to do this. I called from an area just beyond my ward. Although I called security shortly after the thief left my room, they didn’t catch her.
No security person visited my room, or talked to me about my experience. A patient complaint about attempted theft wasn’t considered important. ( Of course, if a patient who was a General had called security, I’m sure people would have hurried to assist him. In some ways, a military hospital is very different from a civilian one. Rank is everything in a military hospital. )
At this late date, I find myself pitying the thief. It seemed like some impulse was driving her, one that she couldn’t control. I doubt she needed what she was stealing.
Don’t hide anything under your bed. This might work swell at home. However, when a hospital room is cleaned, the janitor cleans under the bed.
8. Pillows.
Your hospital bed will have a pillow for your head. You might want a second pillow to hug, or to stick between your legs when you’re lying on your side. Your body may feel distressed in the hospital; hugging a second pillow helps alleviate some of this stress. Since a hospital bed is narrow, it’s not practical to keep three pillows in it.
9. Blankets.
A hospital will likely have two types of blankets:
A. Crap ones, that are unpleasant when they’re against your body.
B. Nice blankets, that are smooth, and not unpleasant against your body.
Your bedding will likely get very tangled. Due to the fact that you’re unwell, and encumbered with medical equipment, it won’t always be easy to untangle your bedding, especially when you’re groggy. Your blankets may wind up directly against your skin. Do your best to insist on the “nice” blankets. You’ll want at least two of these for your bed.
If you’re given “nice” blankets, you’ll want two more blankets to wrap yourself in when you sit in your upholstered chair. One blanket will be for your head and your upper body. The second blanket will be for your lap and thighs. Avoid losing this second blanket to the floor. If you fear you might, use a towel instead of this second blanket. Leave these blankets in the chair.
10. Sheets.
As discussed above, you’ll want to drape a sheet over the back of your upholstered chair. This sheet is separate from the sheets on your bed. It should remain on your upholstered chair.
You’ll like having a sheet to wrap yourself in when you sit in your upholstered chair. This is especially so if you’re only given crap blankets.
The best way to sit in your upholstered chair is with your feet elevated. This is especially true if you’re a kidney patient, and urine swells your legs. You may be able to put your feet on the end of your bed. If your bed is too distant, then put your feet on your chair that isn’t upholstered. You might be able to put your feet on the nurse’s stool. This is especially so if a heart monitor has rendered your nurse’s stool useless. Wipe the nurse’s stool before you use it, so it will be clean. The same is true of the chair that isn’t upholstered, if anyone has sat in it.
Your elevated feet will get cold. You’ll want to wrap them in your “foot towel”. Consider leaving your “foot towel” draped on an arm of your upholstered chair. ( I say “consider” since I can’t always get to my upholstered chair, as I’m burdened with hospital lines and cords. )
HOSPITAL BEVERAGES
When you finish a hospital meal in your room, you may find that you have leftover beverages. You may want to keep these. ( If you don’t, they’ll be thrown out. That’s because, modernly, you aren’t a person. You’re the embodiment of a zillion germs and viruses, that nobody wants. Anything that’s issued to you, even if you don’t touch it, is considered to be akin to a radioactive waste dump. )
In the past, it was possible, as a patient, to have your leftover beverages ( and food ) stored in the ward’s refrigerator. This is now forbidden. It was forbidden years before the Wuhan virus ( COVID-19 ).
Keep any beverages you get next to your coldest ice bucket. This, of course, is the ice bucket that’s on your bedside table. Keep your ice bucket and beverages under the two towels that I mentioned.
“BOOST” is a great protein supplement. At home, I drink milk, “Silk” or I eat protein bars. Doing so is much less expensive than drinking “BOOST”. However, “BOOST” is what a hospital offers, so enjoy as much of it as you wish. My favorite “BOOST” flavor is strawberry.
I like drinking soda or juice with the meals that I eat in the hospital. The flavors of juice that I like best are: cranberry juice, grape juice, and apple juice.
Using your menu ( discussed below ) order extra soda, juice, or “BOOST” that you’ll want between meal times. Remember: you’ll only have your ice bucket to keep these items cold.
In the past, it was easy to get beverages from your ward’s refrigerator. An employee of the ward would bring them. Now, this option is nearly nonexistent. If you want something, order it from your menu.
If an employee of the ward is willing to work with you, ask them to put one or more containers of cranberry juice in the ward’s freezer. Then, when they’re frozen, you’ll have a delicious time eating them. Make sure you give the employee enough time to freeze your juice. If he goes home before your juice freezes, you might not find another employee to help you. Also, you’ll need to have one or more utensils to eat your frozen juice.
HOSPITAL FOOD
It was late at night. I was hungry. I discovered that, at this particular hospital, I was entitled to a late night snack. This would come from the cafeteria. A late night snack was available around 10 p.m. I got a ward employee to have a chicken sandwich sent to me.
It arrived with packets of tartar sauce. The employee apologized for delivering tartar sauce with my chicken sandwich. Tartar sauce is usually put on fish sandwiches.
I found that tartar sauce on a chicken sandwich tastes delicious! This is so, in part, because a chicken sandwich that’s served to an inpatient consists of a chicken breast and two slices of bread. It doesn’t have such items as lettuce and tomatoes.
Let’s say that, in your room, you eat your regular hospital meal. When you’re done, you have a leftover egg salad sandwich. There’s no way to keep it meaningfully cold. I find that I soon have to chuck such food, uneaten.
Other food that I save, that doesn’t require refrigeration, also winds up being chucked. That spare box of Rice Krispies on your breakfast tray may look great in the moment. Days later, having saved it, you’ll realize you don’t want to eat it.
Don’t burden yourself taking such items as spare cereal home. Unless you’re flat out of food, you won’t eat it at home.
The same goes for the hospital’s ( unused ) vomit bucket, and whatever minimal exercise crap that the hospital forced on you. Leave it in your hospital room when you go home. Even those ever-so-valuable inpatient hospital socks are worthless when you get home.
THE HEALTH OF HOSPITAL FOOD
Amazingly, hospital food isn’t very healthy. At home, I like eating raw baby spinach and raw carrots. ( I eat such vegetables with salad dressing, or other flavorful food. ) In my 40 years as a hospital patient, in many locations, I’ve never been served an actual, honest-to-goodness salad. ( As in, raw spinach, and raw carrots, with a good amount of dressing. )
Condiments are a huge problem in a hospital. Take sugar, for example, or a saccharine equivalent. You order a box of cereal. Maybe you order two. The boxes of cereal arrive. They are tiny. What comes with your cereal? One tiny package of sugar, perhaps two.
At home, when I eat fully cooked, microwaveable bacon, I eat a minimum of twenty slices of bacon. I eat loads of raw spinach. I eat loads of raw carrots. To better enjoy the spinach, I eat loads of cheese curls. I smother the carrots in salad dressing. If I eat a big bowl of cereal for dessert, I smother it with saccharine. ( I usually do this several times as I’m eating cereal. ) I drink gallons of soda.
You might wonder how I “get away” with this, as a kidney patient. I’m too busy to eat more than once a day. Hence, when I finally do eat, I load the food in. I eat until I’m unable to eat more. Then, before all the fluid accumulates in my legs, I go to bed. By the next morning, I’ve peed off the excess fluid. Then, I drink very little until dinner. I eat nothing.
A hospital needs to realize that its customers aren’t just picky women, agonizing over their weight. A guy wants to get full!
Sadly, hospital meals are crappy cafeteria meals, consisting of tiny portions. When the cafeteria staff decides to get creative, they serve God-awful “yuppie” food.
Someday, I want a hospital menu to offer me a big cheeseburger, loaded with pickles, onions, ketchup, mustard, etc. Plus, potatoes, in the form of excellent french fries. Also, milk, in the form of a giant milkshake. And, a big soda, to wash down the milkshake. Chuck in some raw spinach, raw carrots, and fresh fruit, and that’s a healthy meal. Why can’t any hospital figure that out? Send me a big box of Lucky Charms for dessert. Since a very young age, I’ve loved Lucy Charms without milk. I eat them with my fingers. I promise not to throw the Lucky Charms all over my floor, and lie on my floor having adventures with them.
MORE ON REQUESTING HOSPITAL SUPPLIES
Never wait until you’re out of something to request more. The hospital expects you to wait until you’ve run out of something before you request another of the same thing.
But: you’re in a hospital. Let’s say that you’ve just finished “bathing” yourself with the medical wipe pads. You’re wet and cold. You realize that you don’t have a towel. You request another one. Let’s see how this works out for you:
1. If you’ve just requested anything, you’ll be ignored. The employees will say to themselves,
“We were just in that guy’s room. Why is he bothering us again?”
2. Calling for help in the hospital can be a very frustrating experience. Sometimes, it’s impossible to even get someone to answer your medical call device. If the employees regard you as generally healthy, no matter what malady afflicts you, they’ll put you at the bottom of their “triage” for helping people. You need a towel? Fuck you, you’re healthy. We’ll stop by in a few hours.
3. You need a towel. Several rooms down, a patient just had a heart attack. Do you think your need for a towel is more important than his heart attack?
Hence, monitor your supplies. If you’re running low on anything, ask for more.
If a “newbie” employee comes into your room, put him to work, no matter how many supplies you already have. A “newbie” is an extremely valuable person. Wanting to be pleasant, and having little familiarity with hospital rules, a “newbie” is akin to a big cow; one that’s ripe for milking. So, milk him! If nothing else, he’ll get good training on where the hospital keeps its supplies.
4. You’ll soon learn where the hospital keeps its supplies. Sadly, the days of “self help”, with regard to hospital supplies, are long over. Don’t get yourself into ( big ) trouble by taking hospital supplies yourself.
The hospital’s view of you is as follows: you are dirty. The hospital supplies, piled in the ward’s storage cabinets, are clean. If you begin grubbing about in the hospital’s storage cabinets, you are considered to have gotten all of their supplies dirty. They feel obliged to send all their supplies to the laundry. Even the plastic-wrapped socks are a problem, since your grubby hands touched the plastic. Maybe your germs will spread to all the other plastic that’s wrapping all the other socks.
It’s up to you to ensure that you have sufficient supplies. If you ask for nothing, that’s what you’ll get: nothing. Never settle for the stupid patient’s answer of, “I’m doing all right.” No opportunity to obtain supplies should be wasted. Frankly, having adequate supplies is your most important job in the hospital.
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Copyright 2021 by Andrew L. Roller. ET, Editorial Thunder, and ARSE, Andrew Roller Stories and Essays, are trademarks of Andrew L. Roller.
I am https://andrewroller.wordpress.com
Earlier posts by me are at https://asstr.org/files/Authors/Roller/
I’m on paper at: https://www.abebooks.com > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
and https://www.abebooks.co.uk > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
If you visit an “AbeBooks” website, you’ll be presented with a large square “Search” box. In the box labelled “Author”, type in “Andrew Roller”. In the box labelled “Title”, type in “Andrew Roller Presents”. This will bring up some of my pamphlets. I have not yet figured out how to bring up other pamphlets by me, under other titles. I don’t recall all the titles I published under.
I have no financial involvement in these resale items.
I am on You Tube as “Andrew Roller”. Use You Tube’s magnifying glass icon to search for “Andrew Roller”. That will take you to my You Tube channel. Or, on You Tube, tap my sun icon, if you see it. That will also take you to my You Tube channel. There, you can see songs and films that I like.
At the “home page” of my You Tube channel, you’ll see just a selection of playlists that I created. To see all my playlists, tap on the phrase, “Created playlists”.
The World Wide Web address for my You Tube channel is:
https://www.youtube.com/andrewroller
If you click on this link, you’ll be taken to a World Wide Web You Tube page. Here, You Tube displays a cartoon image of a monkey. The page says, “This page isn’t available. Sorry about that. Try searching for something else.”
My advice: on this page, search for “andrew roller”. By doing so, you’ll get to my World Wide Web You Tube channel. However, I have over 100 Playlists, that I created, at my You Tube app channel. The World Wide Web version of You Tube will only serve you 15 of my Playlists.
( Hence, access You Tube via its app. The You Tube app, like the WordPress app, is available for free at the Apple App Store. )
This is ET, Editorial Thunder, issue number 62
Arcana: This is ET, Editorial Thunder, issue number 62, version 4.0
Part 2 of 3
Date Written: February 1, 2021.
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This has been a presentation of A R S E news.
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ET 62 Part 2 of 3
Editorial Thunder presents...
How to be an Inpatient
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Plus: A list of what to take to the hospital.
And: The best hours for human sacrifice.
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HOW TO BE AN INPATIENT
Your hospital survival guide.
by Andrew Roller Part 2 of 3
SUPPLIES - FROM HOME, AND IN THE HOSPITAL
If you don’t have “friends and family” who visit you, bringing you supplies, then this section is for you. It’s also for you if your “friends and family” visit you, but neglect to bring you needed supplies.
A modern hospital restricts the supplies that it provides to its patients. If the hospital had its way, you’d be stuck with the following:
1. An “ice bucket” holding warm water.
2. Nothing between your clean pajama pants, or bathrobe, and your hospital room’s dirty upholstered chair.
3. Not nearly enough socks.
4. Not nearly enough medical wipe pads.
5. A disgusting urinal bottle.
What to do? The hospital has various employees. With luck, you won’t be stuck with just one or two of these. A number of employees will walk into your room. Whenever they do, ask them for something.
Don’t bother the doctors, and those who accompany them, when they make their medical rounds. Do bother them with your medical needs, but not your desire for more socks. ( Unless you’re desperate. )
When requesting supplies from someone, address them by name. How to do this?
Keep a piece of paper and a pen handy. Write down the name of everyone who enters your room. If the person doesn’t tell you his name, ask. Try to get as complete a name as possible. Note the person’s status. Is this person a doctor, or the janitor? Try to attach a brief description to the person’s name, so you can figure out who Mohammad Zolata is when you review your sheet of paper.
With regard to descriptions, don’t be politically correct. If the most noticeable thing about a person is that she’s fat, note that she’s fat.
You might worry, “What if someone reads my paper?” Fold your paper twice. Keep it tucked into or under something so you don’t lose it. Also, use a code for descriptions that might be considered offensive. Instead of writing the word “fat”, write: “Dolly Brannigan - fa” You’ll know “fa” means, “fat”. Dolly won’t. Some people don’t like to be identified by their race. So, if you remember Letitia Washington most easily because she’s black, write: “Letitia Washington - bla”.
I also recommend that you have a notebook. The nearest object to you will be your bedside table. That table will quickly become very cluttered. You will be unable to keep your notebook on this table for very long. I recommend that you stow your notebook in your bedside bureau. However, in my experience, my bedside bureau is always out of reach from my bed. Often, it’s totally out of reach. That’s because I’m always encumbered with IVs, connected to an IV pole, that make it impossible for me to get around my bed to my bureau. I’m sometimes wired up to a heart monitor too.
You might say, with regard to my bureau, from the perspective of my pillow: “Just reach to your left, dude.”
That’s not possible. Here’s what’s in the way:
A. The left bed-rail is raised.
B. My bed’s privacy curtain is not fully retracted.
C. My belongings, in garbage bags, are in front of my bureau, on the floor. Being in front of my bureau, they are blocking my bureau’s drawers. There is no space to shove my garbage bags aside. I can’t get around my bed to move my garbage bags.
If you’re hooked up to hospital equipment like me, you’ll feel like Swamp Thing or Man-Thing. The difference is, we aren’t superheroes.
Back to my list of what to take to the hospital.
I recommend the following notebook:
FIVE STAR COLLEGE RULED 1 SUBJECT 100 SHEETS by ACCO Brands P.O. Box 290001, Dayton, Ohio 45429. www ( dot ) meadfivestar ( dot ) com.
This “ACCO” notebook was once produced by a company called “Mead”.
A three subject 300 sheet notebook is available. Don’t buy it. You won’t need 300 sheets of paper at the hospital.
I buy my “FIVE STAR” notebooks at Ralphs grocery store, which is owned by Kroger. One day I was at Ralphs with my barber. He saw me buying “FIVE STAR” notebooks. They were on sale. Chastising me for buying such “expensive” notebooks, he told me he could get “paper” for $1.00 at “Food Barn”, or some such place, where he shops.
I knew exactly what sort of “paper” my barber was speaking of. “TOP-FLIGHT” notebooks, when discounted, usually sell for $1.00. They are shit. Flip the pages back and forth a few times in a “TOP-FLIGHT” notebook, and they’ll get stuck, somehow, to the steel ring that holds them. They’ll get stuck in the sense that you can no longer flip the pages back and forth. A notebook that you find unusable will be one that you don’t use.
“Why do I need a notebook?” you’ll ask. You won’t just need to write down people’s names. Doctors will tell you a variety of things about your medical condition. So will nurses. You might learn other things, from other people, that you consider important. Write all this down, if you can.
I start at the back page of my notebook when I write down medical ( and related ) information. But what if I want to write, say, a sex story? Start at the front of your notebook. The point is this: you’ll want to write down medical information, and information that has nothing to do with your stay at the hospital. Don’t commingle this information. Use the back end for medical information, and the front end for personal information. ( Or vice-versa. ) ( Probably, you should do it vice-versa. That’s because, if someone picks up your notebook, they’ll read it from the front. However, I’d rather tell you what I actually do, than make up things that I don’t in fact do. )
A “FIVE STAR” notebook has a sheet of paperboard bound into it. A pocket is on either side of this paperboard. I recommend that you stuff some blank sheets of paper into one of these pockets. Then, if you need more than one sheet of paper at your bedside, where you write people’s names, you’ll have more paper available.
Take a lot of pens to the hospital. If you only take one pen, you’ll quickly lose it. Being encumbered by IVs and cords, you won’t be able to search your room to find your dropped pen.
I like having black and red pens available. If you want to splurge, take blue pens too. However, I only ever use black and red pens at the hospital. I use the black pen for most of my writing. The red pen highlights things that I’ve written. Don’t take yellow highlighter pens. You won’t need them. Also, I’m not recommending that you take colored markers, crayons, and a panoply of other writing utensils to the hospital. Just take what works: black and red pens.
You might wonder what brand of pens to bring. I recommend “Bic Cristal Xtra-Smooth” pens. For whatever reason, red “Bic Cristal Xtra-Smooth” pens, though they are still being made, are becoming harder to find. In their place, I recommend “Bic Round Stic Grip Xtra-Comfort” pens. Do not buy “Paper Mate”. My aunt once gave me a package of those. They didn’t write.
At home, open the packages of pens. You won’t have access to scissors at the hospital, unless you take a pair. If you do take scissors, take nail scissors. Then, you can cut your nails, as well as open difficult packaging. Also, if you take a large pair of scissors, someone may forbid you to have them, under the theory that you might attack people with them.
Having opened your packages of pens, put your pens into a plastic bag. You’ll want plastic bags for all your loose items. I recommend:
“Hefty STORAGE Slider GALLON” bags. Do not buy “Ziploc”. In my experience, they don’t close.
Probably, you associate “Hefty” with garbage bags. Everyone associates “Ziploc” with gallon-sized Ziploc bags, no matter what brand they buy. In this article, I’m going to use the word Ziploc to mean gallon-sized Hefty bags.
You will be given sheets of paper that you need to keep. These sheets of paper will hold official information from the hospital. These sheets of paper won’t fit into Slider bags ( due to the slider tab ). Hence, for these sheets of paper, buy the following:
“Kroger STORAGE DOUBLE ZIPPER” bags. You won’t be able to close these bags once they’re holding paper. If that bothers you, slip a second bag over the first bag. That is, slip it over the top of the first bag. Then nothing can fall out of it.
Bring two pairs of flip-flops to the hospital. For footwear, the hospital will only give you hospital socks. Such socks fit quite tightly. Most flip-flops have a thong. That means, if you’re wearing hospital socks, you’ll need each sock to be fitting somewhat loosely. That is, don’t pull your socks all the way on. This will provide enough “give” in your socks to fit each flip-flop’s thong between your big toe and the toe adjoining it.
Why do you need flip-flops?
1. If you want to walk with any vigor, and for any distance, you’ll find that this is uncomfortable in hospital socks alone. Your feet land hard on the floor. If you have staples in your stomach, those harsh footfalls will noticeably jar your staples.
2. Let’s say you take a shower. Then, you’ll need two pairs of flip-flops. Wear a pair to the shower. Probably, you’ll want to wear your flip-flops in the shower. That’s so you won’t catch athlete’s foot.
( Athlete’s foot is something that I acquired at a young age. I did so by being forced to use my father’s shower. I complained about this to my mother.
“Oh well, your father has athlete’s foot,” my mother blithely replied. Thank God my father wasn’t castrated.
My mother was equally blithe about my nearly losing an eye, when she incited my brother to violence.
( And Tucker Carlson, of Fox News, goes on about the importance of “families”. I agree with the view of families in the film “Logan’s Run”. Families should be illegal. ))
Back to flip-flops:
You get out of the shower. You now go back to your room. What are you wearing? Wet flip-flops, in a room that’s chilly. That’s why you’ll need two pairs of flip-flops. It’s so, after you dry your feet, you have dry flip-flops to wear.
When I’m an inpatient, UCSD always gives me a huge folder. It contains all sorts of crap about being their patient, including their “contracts” with me. This is a load of shit. It is totally useless to your stay as an inpatient. Keep it, in case you get into difficulties with them, the sort that may result in a lawsuit. Otherwise, shove the thing into your bagged clothing.
Bring a bottle of shampoo to the hospital. Take it with you when you shower. You’ll want shampoo for your hair. It also works great on your body. Don’t dump too much shampoo on yourself. It takes forever to get all the shampoo off of your body. Generally, if you use the right amount of shampoo on your head, you can spread it from your head to the rest of your body.
You may be wearing taped plastic over surgical wounds that prevent you from remaining very long in the shower.
When you’re done with your shampoo bottle, rinse it off. Carry your sparkling clean shampoo bottle back to your room. It’s much easier to transport than a used bar of soap that you brought from home.
Hospital soap bars are small and hard. They don’t make suds very well. If you leave these soap bars behind in the shower, you leave a mess for the next guy. Nobody appreciates that.
USCD provides me with a single large plastic bag for my clothing. This is nearly worthless. Take large, new garbage bags with you, and twist ties to keep them closed. Let’s look at what clothing you’ll need to store. You’ll be storing your clothing in SEPARATE garbage bags.
1. Your shirt, trousers, ( used ) underpants, and ( used ) socks.
2. Your overcoat and related items. ( Winter headscarf, gloves, etc. )
3. Your shoes.
UCSD assumes that I’m going to somehow fit all my items into their single bag. They think I’m so moronic that I’m going to chuck my underpants and shoes into the same bag. I recommend that you put your ( used ) underpants into a Ziploc bag before putting them into a garbage bag. The same goes for your ( used ) socks.
You may want to take clean underpants and socks with you to the hospital. Then, you can wear them home when you’re discharged.
Put your clean pair of underpants into a Ziploc bag. Then, put three clean socks, plus your shoehorn, into a Ziploc bag.
Don’t stick your underpants into your sock bag. That’s because your shoehorn is in your sock bag. Your shoehorn is dirty.
( If you have the luxury of time, you can wash your shoehorn. But you’ll probably be in a hurry. I’m always in a hurry when I’m choking to death. )
Why take three socks? That’s so if one of your socks feels uncomfortable, you can simply put on a different sock. ( Socks are odd; sometimes they just don’t fit comfortably. )
There will be other personal supplies that you want to take to the hospital. If you take your phone, make sure that you take your phone’s charger. Remove any jewelry that you take to the hospital. This includes “private” jewelry, like clitoral rings, or whatever. The hospital forbids such items. Also, you’ll undergo procedures at the hospital in which “private” jewelry would be a problem.
Don’t lie to the hospital about what you’re bringing. The reason is this: if you tell them you don’t have a wallet, when you actually do, here’s what they’ll write in their computer:
WALLET - stored at bedside.
This information is readily available to any employee who looks you up in the hospital’s computer. They’ll know that you have your wallet in your room. So, if they want it, they’ll steal it while you’re sleeping.
You may want to bring $20.00 or less with you to the hospital. Modernly, I’m never healthy enough to go downstairs to the snack machines and the cafeteria. You might be. I don’t recommend telling the hospital that you have cash with you. Put your bills into the following:
“Kroger home sense Snack Bags Zipper”. These are exactly the right size to hold dollar bills. Have another bag handy for any change you receive. Take extra snack bags in case the ones that you’re using in the hospital rip.
I could tell you where to put your snack bag that’s holding your dollar bills. However, then everyone would know where I put my cash. So, be creative. There are a number of places where cash can be placed. The more items that you bring to the hospital, the more hiding places you’ll have for your cash. I recommend that you keep any change in a separate location from your dollar bills. Change, if shaken, makes noise. Bills don’t. Be willing to sacrifice your change for the sake of not having your bills stolen.
I do not stick my bag containing my bills up my ass.
If you’re on a sodium - restricted diet, you’ll get awful breakfasts. Once, I got a single egg-type thing for breakfast. If you’re healthy enough, head to the cafeteria and order yourself a big plate of bacon and eggs ( for which you’ll need cash ). You know your body better than any medical person does. If you feel you can handle a bacon and eggs breakfast, eat it! A sodium-restricted patient can handle a lot more salt than any dietician would ever recommend. The same is true for every other damn thing, like calories, that a dietician worries about.
If you do eat a big salty meal, as a sodium-restricted patient, I recommend going straight to bed afterwards. This is due to gravity. If you remain standing or sitting after your meal, all the salty fluid in you will pool in your legs, making them swell. On the other hand, if you lie flat, or with your legs elevated, then you’ll be able to pee out the salty liquid.
Another option, after a high-sodium meal, is to walk. If you walk for two hours straight, you’ll find that your hands swell. This is because walking takes salty fluid from your legs, and puts it into your hands. When you cease walking, the salty fluid will want to go back to your legs. To do this, it must pass through your abdomen. As it meets your abdomen, it tends to get peed out.
You might wonder how you can walk for two hours in a hospital. Circumnavigate your hospital ward. That is, walk in big circles. You’ll win gold stars from the ward’s staff for walking, instead of lying in your bed. You’ll also prove that you’re healthy, which may get you out of the hospital sooner.
However, in my case, I can walk very far and still be a medical disaster. In a civilian hospital, that puts me at risk of being discharged from the hospital when, medically, I’m far from ready to go home. In my case, I mostly walk late at night, when few people notice. ( Indeed, in the small hours of the morning, the ward’s on-duty staff is often asleep. )
An aside: If you work as a nurse, choose the graveyard shift if you can. Little happens, and you can sleep on the job.
Another aside: If you’re a vampire, you’ll crave fresh blood. The late night hours are when it’s easiest to suck blood from cute nurses, other workers, and your fellow patients. ( Including lovely girls in the children’s ward. )
Night’s wee hours are also the best time to reanimate corpses in the morgue. It never hurts to have a zombie army on call if the hospital pisses you off. Visits to graveyards are best undertaken during these hours. So is human sacrifice.
Another exception to my “don’t lie to the hospital” rule regards medicine. If you’re a transplant patient, you should always have a small amount of your transplant medicine with you. Put this medicine into a snack bag. Don’t carry just loose pills. If cops encounter you, they’ll think you’re carrying illegal drugs. Also, I was told there’s a federal rule against carrying medicine that isn’t in labelled medicine bottles. If so, this is a stupid rule. Bottles are too bulky to carry. Also, there are good bottles and bad bottles. Some bottles, if jarred as they’re opened, spill out their pills. In addition, you must not carry your entire supply of pills with you. If you lose the bottle, there go all your pills. What to do?
1. When a pharmacy gives you a bottle of pills, they provide a sheet of paper that identifies and discusses your pills. Make a xeroxed copy of this paper. Fold it, and put it in a snack bag. Hitch this snack bag to the one holding your loose pills with tape. Do this for every type of pill in your snack bag. Then, if you’re frisked by the police, you’ll have a sheet of paper that identifies each of your pills.
2. Wear a necklace or bracelet that identifies you as a person with medical problems. Over time, this necklace may become somewhat outdated. Don’t stress that it’s out of date. As long as it identifies your main medical issue ( that you’re, say, a transplant patient ), you’re fine.
In my experience, nobody listens to anything that I say. Telling the cops that “I’m a transplant patient” is useless. However, if I have a necklace and papers showing that I’m a transplant patient, this is information that they should take into consideration, and regard as legitimate. If they don’t, they can ( hopefully ) be held to account later.
If you tend to visit the hospital often, I recommend creating a “crash cart” at home for yourself. It holds items that you will need at the hospital. No cart is involved. Rather, it’s two bags, that you’ll want to cover so they don’t get dusty. Or, write a list of things that you need.
In my case, I don’t have space in my rented room for a “crash cart”. I’ve made lists, only to lose them. I have found that I sometimes resort to my own articles at my WordPress website for information.
If you’re currently sick in bed at home, and think you’ll land in the hospital, start making your “crash cart” right now! Don’t wait until the last minute. It takes me about two hours to assemble my “crash cart”.
Though dead, Dale Carnegie taught me, via audio cassettes, to always address a person by his name. Smile when you greet him. About the only “power” that you have, as an inpatient, is to show people positive regard. People love this, especially when you call them by name. In life, it’s easy to treat others, like hospital employees, as hired help. By not doing this, you’ll stand out from other patients. By offering positive regard, you’ll particularly impress low-ranking employees. Often, these low-ranking employees are treated by more senior staffers as, well, low-ranking employees.
Do not ignore the janitor. The rule is generally this: the lower ranking a person is, the more that person will be willing to help you. That doesn’t mean that the janitor can bring you hospital supplies. However, the janitor can ask an employee in the ward to help you.
Also, it’s much more enjoyable to have a janitor who likes you, than one who doesn’t. Many patients probably ignore their janitor. That’s why, by giving positive regard, you’ll have a janitor who esteems you. The only downside is this: you might be watching an interesting T.V. show when your janitor appears. You’ll be obliged to stop watching your T.V. show on, say, the origin of the universe, and listen instead to your janitor’s religious beliefs.
Let’s return to our discussion regarding supplies that the hospital issues. We’ll start with a list of commonly needed items:
1. An ice bucket.
2. Pillowcases.
3. Socks.
4. Medical wipe pads.
5. A urinal bottle.
Figure out what hospital supplies you want. These are, of course, only for your use while you’re an inpatient in the hospital. Such supplies are invaluable while you’re an inpatient, especially if you have no “friends and relatives” to bring you supplies from home. Any hospital supplies you take home, even if the hospital forces them on you, are worthless when you get home. You have much better supplies of your own at home.
So, you’ve decided what hospital supplies you ( currently ) want. As stated above, the rule is this: whenever anyone walks into your room ( except doctors ) ask for something. Often, employees will walk into your room for no reason. They’ll interrupt your T.V. show on the origin of the universe. Make them pay for this: ask for something. Let’s consider essential items.
1. The “ice bucket”.
No refrigerator is provided in a hospital room. Any “ice bucket” put on your bedside table will soon become a bucket of warm water. You’ll quickly notice this, even before all of the ice in your bucket has melted.
The ignorant patient will ask,
“May I please have another bucket of ice?”
Most employees will answer,
“You already have a bucket of ice.” Hence, their answer is “no”.
Here’s what to do:
When you get an ice bucket, wrap it in a towel. ( Of course, without “friends and family”, you’ll need a hospital-issued towel to do this. ) The towel will help keep the ice in your bucket from melting. When an employee comes in your room, ask,
“May I please have an ice bucket?” Act like you don’t have one. There will soon be a bunch of crap on your bedside table. If you have a box of Kleenex, and other items that you’ve brought from home, put them on your bedside table. That will make it cluttered. As a result, the employee won’t notice the towel that’s hiding your ice bucket. He will bring you a ( second ) ice bucket.
Always keep the ice bucket that’s worst off ( that is, the warmest one ) exposed. Keep the ice bucket that’s best off hidden ( and cool ) under your towel. If space allows, wrap your ice bucket in two towels. By “wrap”, I mean that you drape your towels over the ice bucket. Then you push the towels against the sides of the ice bucket.
2. Pillowcases.
A hospital employee’s view of a pillowcase is that it’s used to hold a pillow. You’ll need pillowcases for more reasons that that. Here are some reasons:
A. When having outpatient surgery, I wrap one or more pillowcases around my head to keep it warm. I do the same when I’m an inpatient. When I’m sleeping ( or anesthetized ), I don’t want pajama pants binding my head. I prefer having one or more loosely wrapped pillowcases on my head.
B. A pillowcase for your chair.
The chair I’m speaking of is an upholstered one. Generally, its covered in some sort of fuzzy material. ( It’s not covered in vinyl or leather, which could be easily wiped. ) This chair is dirty. I’ve never seen anyone clean such a chair. It’s where every asshole visitor sits, in his dirty street clothes.
What to do? Lay a sheet over the back of the chair ( where your back will come into contact with it ). Next, lay a pillowcase over the seat of the chair. Now, you can sit in your chair.
To hospital employees, this will look horrible. None of them understand that you don’t go home after 12 hours in the hospital, and take a shower. The employees get as dirty as they please, and go home and shower. You’re living in your hospital room. Mostly, you’ll have no way to actually bathe.
Eventually, you’ll want to turn your chair’s pillowcase inside out. Then you’ll again be sitting on clean fabric ( the inside of the pillowcase ). Eventually, you’ll want to replace this pillowcase.
3. Pajama pants.
I hate wearing pajama pants in a hospital. I state the reasons for this in my article, “Military Hospital Abuse”. This article is on my WordPress website.
Pajama pants are wonderful for tying around your head. They keep your head warm. That’s because they cover your head as well as your ears.
An employee might complain that you aren’t wearing pants the “normal” way, but on your head. Explain to him that nothing has a determinate use. The Wright brothers invented the airplane by flying a winged bicycle into the air!
4. Not nearly enough hospital socks.
I do not enjoy wearing the same goddamn socks for three days in a row. The ignorant patient gets stuck doing so. Ask for socks often. Let’s say Harry brings you socks at 4 p.m. Later, his shift ends, and Harry goes home. At 7:30 p.m., Walter walks into your room. Walter has no idea that you just got some socks a few hours ago. Ask Walter for socks. He’ll bring you some. ( Make sure that you’ve hidden the socks that you already have. )
5. Not nearly enough medical wipe pads.
The hospital won’t give you any baby wipes. What they will ( grudgingly ) provide is medical wipe pads. Using these is akin to rubbing your skin with steel wool pads. ( S.O.S pads ). Also, the medical wipe pads come with a big printed warning. It tells you that the pads contain chemicals, and must be kept away from your eyes. Enjoy wiping your face and your dick with these pads!
It will be difficult for you to acquire a sufficient number of medical wipe pads. Even though they’re crap, these are all that the hospital will give you for bedside “bathing”.
6. A disgusting urinal bottle.
You will be given one urinal bottle. You’ll be resorting to this all day, every day. Your urinal bottle will acquire visible crud from your use. However, UCSD’s policy is that you get one urinal bottle. That’s it. Having been stuck in hospitals for up to two months straight, I’m very conscious of the condition of my urinal bottle. Hey, I only have to stick my dick into it, all day, every day. What’s so bad about that? I can dream that I’m fucking a two dollar whore in Saigon. All day, every day.
Try to get more than one urinal bottle. Keep the clean one hidden. If a friendly employee visits you ( likely the lowest ranking medical person ) point out how crappy your urinal bottle looks. Sometimes, the idiot will take your urinal bottle to your bathroom, and rinse it over the toilet. ( It’s a special toilet, with extras for hospital staffers. ) Once, I overheard a student staffer say, of my toilet,
“This is the real Disneyland!”
No one could pay me enough to wash out guys’ urinal bottles. I guess that’s why we now have male nurses. If you’re gay...
With luck, the friendly employee will simply bring you a new urinal bottle.
7. Towels.
You’ll need a lot of towels. Here’s why:
A. I wrap them around my head, to stay warm.
B. Modernly, I’m always too encumbered with IVs and other items to take a shower. I’m stuck using medical wipe pads, and baby wipes, when I “bathe” in my room.
When I’m “bathing” with the medical wipe pads, I don’t want my feet touching the dirty floor. Also, the floor is cold. Hence, I put a towel on the floor. A towel, even when it’s wet, is warmer than the floor. Let’s call this your “drip towel”. If you drip water while “bathing”, it will land on the towel, not on the floor.
Don’t put a pillowcase on the floor instead of a towel. A pillowcase on a hospital floor is very slippery. If you stand on it, you’ll fall.
C. When I’m done “bathing” with the medical wipe pads, I use at least two towels to dry off. I dry my head with one towel. With the other towel, I dry my body.
Start with your head. It will be wet and cold. When you’re done drying your head, wrap your “head towel” around it.
Why shouldn’t you use your head towel on your body? If you have hair on your head, your hair will remain greasy. Some of your hair’s grease will now be on your “head towel”. You don’t want to rub this greasy towel on your body.
Now, dry your body with your “body towel”. You won’t be terribly clean after your “bath” with the medical wipe pads. Rubbing a towel against your wet skin does more than dry it. It also helps clean your skin.
When you’re done with your wet, dirty “head towel” and “body towel”, chuck them in your room’s laundry bin. The same goes for your “drip towel”.
But first: wrap your head with two clean towels. Put on one or more fresh medical gowns.
An aside: I have written the above from the perspective of having only one pair of flip-flops. Such slippers are quite big and bulky when you’re packing to go to the hospital. ( Especially if you’re limited to two bags, because you have to hand-carry them, having no one to help you. ) In such a case, you don’t want to get your lone pair of flip-flops wet.
If you have two pairs of flip-flops, you can substitute one of these for your “drip” towel.
An aside on bedside “bathing”: Use the medical wipe pads to “bathe” most of your body. Then, if you have baby wipes, use those for your face and genitals. If you want to rid your body of the chemicals that the medical wipe pads contain, use baby wipes when you’re done bathing with the medical wipe pads.
D. Let’s say that you take a shower. You’ll need several towels. Use a towel to dry off. That will make it wet. Chuck this towel in the room’s laundry bin.
Next, wrap two dry towels around your head. Put on clean hospital gowns. Then, wrap a dry towel around your neck. Note: nothing is waiting for you in the shower room. Bring everything you’ll need.
A hospital is cold. You won’t want to report to the hospital for kidney transplant problems, and then catch a head cold there.
Wear your flip-flops back to your room, with or without hospital socks.
E. I keep a “foot towel” handy. At the end of 24 hours, my used “foot towel” becomes my “drip towel”.
I use a clean towel to dry my feet when I’m done bathing with medical wipe pads. ( Or when I return from a shower. ) This towel then goes in the laundry bin. Now, I get another clean towel. It will be my “foot towel” for the next 24 hours. Then I’ll “bathe” again.
During the 24 hours, I use my “foot towel” to dry my feet if they’re sweaty. I also use it if my feet feel dusty from walking around.
God, how the nurses complain about my “foot towel”! This is especially true of the nurses who are supervisors, or who fancy themselves as such. These women complain that my “foot towel” is lying about. Of course it’s lying about! It’s my “foot towel”!
( The nurses also moan about my sheet and pillowcase on the upholstered chair. If I rest my feet on my bed, I put a pillowcase on that part of the bed. Resting my feet on this pillowcase then makes it somewhat dirty.
I don’t chuck this pillowcase in the laundry bin. I do leave it lying about. This, of course, becomes one more item that displeases the nurses. It’s also an item that they target for removal from my room. ( In which case, I have to wheedle yet another pillowcase from an employee. )
HIDE SPARE HOSPITAL - ISSUED SUPPLIES
As far as the hospital is concerned, you’re entitled to very few hospital-issued items. A hospital would like to give you one towel, one pair of socks ( etc. ), and expect you to survive with these for the length of your stay. As a UCSD “we listen” employee once wrote to me, “If you need more socks, you’ll be given more socks.” I guess this guy wears the same pair of socks for a month. I’d hate to get near his underpants.
As for your spare hospital-issued supplies, hide as many of them as you can. This is difficult. Basically, you just have your dresser to hide things in. Its drawers are meant to hold whatever you brought from home.
DO hide hospital supplies in your dresser, among your personal items. However, do NOT hide the hospital’s supplies in the trash bags holding your clothes. This leaves you open to the accusation that you’re attempting to steal the hospital’s supplies. As discussed elsewhere, none of the supplies that the hospital issues to you will be of any value at home.
Below, I discuss putting your clothing from home into garbage bags. These go on the far side of your bed, in front of your bedside dresser. Your other supplies from home go into the drawers of the dresser. You can hide your hospital supplies in your dresser. If the drawers of your dresser appear to be storing your personal possessions, no one will poke around in your dresser.
You might wonder: why can I hide hospital supplies in my dresser, among my personal possessions, but not in my garbage bags, that hold my clothes?
Answer: The dresser belongs to the hospital. It’s not unusual for a dresser to hold both personal and hospital supplies. ( That is, hospital supplies that you’ve requested. ) On the other hand, your garbage bags are yours. That’s why, if you stuff hospital supplies in them, you’ll be regarded as attempting to steal the hospital’s supplies.
Note: an unused dresser in a cluttered room will not remain unused by the nurses.
SIDEBAR: HOSPITAL THIEF
I’ve only had one problem with a thief in a hospital. It occurred a quarter century ago.
I was a patient in a military hospital. Having briefly left my room, I returned to it. I found a woman in my room. She was looking in my dresser. I instantly regarded this as odd. The woman left my room immediately. That was even more odd. A hospital employee would never be found rummaging in my dresser, only to leave. She would busy herself with my situation. ( Unless, of course, she’s a thief, who has no idea what my situation is. )
I quickly realized that this woman was a thief. She dressed ( more or less ) in hospital employee clothing. By this, I mean that she dressed as an employee would in a civilian hospital. She was not wearing a military uniform.
The thief was pretending to be a hospital employee. She stole things from hospital rooms where the patients were absent. She also knew the hospital’s layout. I was young and quick, but she disappeared before I could catch her.
I called hospital security about the thief. In that era, I had to use a pay phone to do this. I called from an area just beyond my ward. Although I called security shortly after the thief left my room, they didn’t catch her.
No security person visited my room, or talked to me about my experience. A patient complaint about attempted theft wasn’t considered important. ( Of course, if a patient who was a General had called security, I’m sure people would have hurried to assist him. In some ways, a military hospital is very different from a civilian one. Rank is everything in a military hospital. )
At this late date, I find myself pitying the thief. It seemed like some impulse was driving her, one that she couldn’t control. I doubt she needed what she was stealing.
Don’t hide anything under your bed. This might work swell at home. However, when a hospital room is cleaned, the janitor cleans under the bed.
8. Pillows.
Your hospital bed will have a pillow for your head. You might want a second pillow to hug, or to stick between your legs when you’re lying on your side. Your body may feel distressed in the hospital; hugging a second pillow helps alleviate some of this stress. Since a hospital bed is narrow, it’s not practical to keep three pillows in it.
9. Blankets.
A hospital will likely have two types of blankets:
A. Crap ones, that are unpleasant when they’re against your body.
B. Nice blankets, that are smooth, and not unpleasant against your body.
Your bedding will likely get very tangled. Due to the fact that you’re unwell, and encumbered with medical equipment, it won’t always be easy to untangle your bedding, especially when you’re groggy. Your blankets may wind up directly against your skin. Do your best to insist on the “nice” blankets. You’ll want at least two of these for your bed.
If you’re given “nice” blankets, you’ll want two more blankets to wrap yourself in when you sit in your upholstered chair. One blanket will be for your head and your upper body. The second blanket will be for your lap and thighs. Avoid losing this second blanket to the floor. If you fear you might, use a towel instead of this second blanket. Leave these blankets in the chair.
10. Sheets.
As discussed above, you’ll want to drape a sheet over the back of your upholstered chair. This sheet is separate from the sheets on your bed. It should remain on your upholstered chair.
You’ll like having a sheet to wrap yourself in when you sit in your upholstered chair. This is especially so if you’re only given crap blankets.
The best way to sit in your upholstered chair is with your feet elevated. This is especially true if you’re a kidney patient, and urine swells your legs. You may be able to put your feet on the end of your bed. If your bed is too distant, then put your feet on your chair that isn’t upholstered. You might be able to put your feet on the nurse’s stool. This is especially so if a heart monitor has rendered your nurse’s stool useless. Wipe the nurse’s stool before you use it, so it will be clean. The same is true of the chair that isn’t upholstered, if anyone has sat in it.
Your elevated feet will get cold. You’ll want to wrap them in your “foot towel”. Consider leaving your “foot towel” draped on an arm of your upholstered chair. ( I say “consider” since I can’t always get to my upholstered chair, as I’m burdened with hospital lines and cords. )
HOSPITAL BEVERAGES
When you finish a hospital meal in your room, you may find that you have leftover beverages. You may want to keep these. ( If you don’t, they’ll be thrown out. That’s because, modernly, you aren’t a person. You’re the embodiment of a zillion germs and viruses, that nobody wants. Anything that’s issued to you, even if you don’t touch it, is considered to be akin to a radioactive waste dump. )
In the past, it was possible, as a patient, to have your leftover beverages ( and food ) stored in the ward’s refrigerator. This is now forbidden. It was forbidden years before the Wuhan virus ( COVID-19 ).
Keep any beverages you get next to your coldest ice bucket. This, of course, is the ice bucket that’s on your bedside table. Keep your ice bucket and beverages under the two towels that I mentioned.
“BOOST” is a great protein supplement. At home, I drink milk, “Silk” or I eat protein bars. Doing so is much less expensive than drinking “BOOST”. However, “BOOST” is what a hospital offers, so enjoy as much of it as you wish. My favorite “BOOST” flavor is strawberry.
I like drinking soda or juice with the meals that I eat in the hospital. The flavors of juice that I like best are: cranberry juice, grape juice, and apple juice.
Using your menu ( discussed below ) order extra soda, juice, or “BOOST” that you’ll want between meal times. Remember: you’ll only have your ice bucket to keep these items cold.
In the past, it was easy to get beverages from your ward’s refrigerator. An employee of the ward would bring them. Now, this option is nearly nonexistent. If you want something, order it from your menu.
If an employee of the ward is willing to work with you, ask them to put one or more containers of cranberry juice in the ward’s freezer. Then, when they’re frozen, you’ll have a delicious time eating them. Make sure you give the employee enough time to freeze your juice. If he goes home before your juice freezes, you might not find another employee to help you. Also, you’ll need to have one or more utensils to eat your frozen juice.
HOSPITAL FOOD
It was late at night. I was hungry. I discovered that, at this particular hospital, I was entitled to a late night snack. This would come from the cafeteria. A late night snack was available around 10 p.m. I got a ward employee to have a chicken sandwich sent to me.
It arrived with packets of tartar sauce. The employee apologized for delivering tartar sauce with my chicken sandwich. Tartar sauce is usually put on fish sandwiches.
I found that tartar sauce on a chicken sandwich tastes delicious! This is so, in part, because a chicken sandwich that’s served to an inpatient consists of a chicken breast and two slices of bread. It doesn’t have such items as lettuce and tomatoes.
Let’s say that, in your room, you eat your regular hospital meal. When you’re done, you have a leftover egg salad sandwich. There’s no way to keep it meaningfully cold. I find that I soon have to chuck such food, uneaten.
Other food that I save, that doesn’t require refrigeration, also winds up being chucked. That spare box of Rice Krispies on your breakfast tray may look great in the moment. Days later, having saved it, you’ll realize you don’t want to eat it.
Don’t burden yourself taking such items as spare cereal home. Unless you’re flat out of food, you won’t eat it at home.
The same goes for the hospital’s ( unused ) vomit bucket, and whatever minimal exercise crap that the hospital forced on you. Leave it in your hospital room when you go home. Even those ever-so-valuable inpatient hospital socks are worthless when you get home.
THE HEALTH OF HOSPITAL FOOD
Amazingly, hospital food isn’t very healthy. At home, I like eating raw baby spinach and raw carrots. ( I eat such vegetables with salad dressing, or other flavorful food. ) In my 40 years as a hospital patient, in many locations, I’ve never been served an actual, honest-to-goodness salad. ( As in, raw spinach, and raw carrots, with a good amount of dressing. )
Condiments are a huge problem in a hospital. Take sugar, for example, or a saccharine equivalent. You order a box of cereal. Maybe you order two. The boxes of cereal arrive. They are tiny. What comes with your cereal? One tiny package of sugar, perhaps two.
At home, when I eat fully cooked, microwaveable bacon, I eat a minimum of twenty slices of bacon. I eat loads of raw spinach. I eat loads of raw carrots. To better enjoy the spinach, I eat loads of cheese curls. I smother the carrots in salad dressing. If I eat a big bowl of cereal for dessert, I smother it with saccharine. ( I usually do this several times as I’m eating cereal. ) I drink gallons of soda.
You might wonder how I “get away” with this, as a kidney patient. I’m too busy to eat more than once a day. Hence, when I finally do eat, I load the food in. I eat until I’m unable to eat more. Then, before all the fluid accumulates in my legs, I go to bed. By the next morning, I’ve peed off the excess fluid. Then, I drink very little until dinner. I eat nothing.
A hospital needs to realize that its customers aren’t just picky women, agonizing over their weight. A guy wants to get full!
Sadly, hospital meals are crappy cafeteria meals, consisting of tiny portions. When the cafeteria staff decides to get creative, they serve God-awful “yuppie” food.
Someday, I want a hospital menu to offer me a big cheeseburger, loaded with pickles, onions, ketchup, mustard, etc. Plus, potatoes, in the form of excellent french fries. Also, milk, in the form of a giant milkshake. And, a big soda, to wash down the milkshake. Chuck in some raw spinach, raw carrots, and fresh fruit, and that’s a healthy meal. Why can’t any hospital figure that out? Send me a big box of Lucky Charms for dessert. Since a very young age, I’ve loved Lucy Charms without milk. I eat them with my fingers. I promise not to throw the Lucky Charms all over my floor, and lie on my floor having adventures with them.
MORE ON REQUESTING HOSPITAL SUPPLIES
Never wait until you’re out of something to request more. The hospital expects you to wait until you’ve run out of something before you request another of the same thing.
But: you’re in a hospital. Let’s say that you’ve just finished “bathing” yourself with the medical wipe pads. You’re wet and cold. You realize that you don’t have a towel. You request another one. Let’s see how this works out for you:
1. If you’ve just requested anything, you’ll be ignored. The employees will say to themselves,
“We were just in that guy’s room. Why is he bothering us again?”
2. Calling for help in the hospital can be a very frustrating experience. Sometimes, it’s impossible to even get someone to answer your medical call device. If the employees regard you as generally healthy, no matter what malady afflicts you, they’ll put you at the bottom of their “triage” for helping people. You need a towel? Fuck you, you’re healthy. We’ll stop by in a few hours.
3. You need a towel. Several rooms down, a patient just had a heart attack. Do you think your need for a towel is more important than his heart attack?
Hence, monitor your supplies. If you’re running low on anything, ask for more.
If a “newbie” employee comes into your room, put him to work, no matter how many supplies you already have. A “newbie” is an extremely valuable person. Wanting to be pleasant, and having little familiarity with hospital rules, a “newbie” is akin to a big cow; one that’s ripe for milking. So, milk him! If nothing else, he’ll get good training on where the hospital keeps its supplies.
4. You’ll soon learn where the hospital keeps its supplies. Sadly, the days of “self help”, with regard to hospital supplies, are long over. Don’t get yourself into ( big ) trouble by taking hospital supplies yourself.
The hospital’s view of you is as follows: you are dirty. The hospital supplies, piled in the ward’s storage cabinets, are clean. If you begin grubbing about in the hospital’s storage cabinets, you are considered to have gotten all of their supplies dirty. They feel obliged to send all their supplies to the laundry. Even the plastic-wrapped socks are a problem, since your grubby hands touched the plastic. Maybe your germs will spread to all the other plastic that’s wrapping all the other socks.
It’s up to you to ensure that you have sufficient supplies. If you ask for nothing, that’s what you’ll get: nothing. Never settle for the stupid patient’s answer of, “I’m doing all right.” No opportunity to obtain supplies should be wasted. Frankly, having adequate supplies is your most important job in the hospital.
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Copyright 2021 by Andrew L. Roller. ET, Editorial Thunder, and ARSE, Andrew Roller Stories and Essays, are trademarks of Andrew L. Roller.
I am https://andrewroller.wordpress.com
Earlier posts by me are at https://asstr.org/files/Authors/Roller/
I’m on paper at: https://www.abebooks.com > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
and https://www.abebooks.co.uk > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
If you visit an “AbeBooks” website, you’ll be presented with a large square “Search” box. In the box labelled “Author”, type in “Andrew Roller”. In the box labelled “Title”, type in “Andrew Roller Presents”. This will bring up some of my pamphlets. I have not yet figured out how to bring up other pamphlets by me, under other titles. I don’t recall all the titles I published under.
I have no financial involvement in these resale items.
I am on You Tube as “Andrew Roller”. Use You Tube’s magnifying glass icon to search for “Andrew Roller”. That will take you to my You Tube channel. Or, on You Tube, tap my sun icon, if you see it. That will also take you to my You Tube channel. There, you can see songs and films that I like.
At the “home page” of my You Tube channel, you’ll see just a selection of playlists that I created. To see all my playlists, tap on the phrase, “Created playlists”.
The World Wide Web address for my You Tube channel is:
https://www.youtube.com/andrewroller
If you click on this link, you’ll be taken to a World Wide Web You Tube page. Here, You Tube displays a cartoon image of a monkey. The page says, “This page isn’t available. Sorry about that. Try searching for something else.”
My advice: on this page, search for “andrew roller”. By doing so, you’ll get to my World Wide Web You Tube channel. However, I have over 100 Playlists, that I created, at my You Tube app channel. The World Wide Web version of You Tube will only serve you 15 of my Playlists.
( Hence, access You Tube via its app. The You Tube app, like the WordPress app, is available for free at the Apple App Store. )
This is ET, Editorial Thunder, issue number 62
Arcana: This is ET, Editorial Thunder, issue number 62, version 4.0
Part 2 of 3
Date Written: February 1, 2021.
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This has been a presentation of A R S E news.
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How to be an Inpatient Part 3 of 3
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ET 62 Part 3 of 3
Editorial Thunder presents...
How to be an Inpatient
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Plus: A list of what to take to the hospital.
And: The best hours for human sacrifice.
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HOW TO BE AN INPATIENT
Your hospital survival guide.
by Andrew Roller Part 3 of 3
MORE ON HOW YOUR TIME WILL BE SPENT
I’m always very busy in a civilian hospital. ( Military hospitals, by contrast, move at a glacial pace. ) When I was last an inpatient in UCSD, for about half a month, I was out of my bed all day. I rarely left my room, and never left the ward. I wanted to be in my bed, but, for whatever reason, I hardly ever got the chance. This despite the fact that I ( pleasantly ) fired the attractive, young, exercise girl who visited me. I fired her on her first visit. I had no time, or spare energy, for her.
At night, I couldn’t sleep. This is because, due to kidney failure, I’ve been a “night person” for 40 years. Also, I liked watching PBS’s “Charlie Rose” at midnight. Frankly, the best educational television programming airs at night. So, I never got much sleep in the hospital, since “day people” kept bothering me in the daytime. Don’t mortals understand that a vampire is soundly asleep at noon?
THE HOSPITAL’S CANONICAL HOURS AND YOU
In the hospital, I followed a daily regimen. It was shaped by the hospital’s daily routine. Stated times are approximate.
Nurses, and ward employees, will enter your hospital room at all hours, except late at night.
A. 4:00 a.m. No matter how sleepy I was, I “bathed” with the medical wipe pads and baby wipes. If I was lucky, this took only one hour. I found that there wasn’t any other time in the day when I had enough free time to “bathe”.
B. 5 a.m. The blood draw guy arrives. This happens every morning, to most any inpatient. So, I had to be ready for the blood draw guy. I couldn’t still be bathing when he arrived.
C. 5:30 a.m. Lots of doctors walk into my room. This is called “making rounds”. It happens every day, even on weekends.
With regard to the doctors, they will have several ranks:
a. The head medical intern.
b. Subordinate medical interns.
c. Medical students.
d. Actual doctors.
Often, your actual doctor won’t be present in this group. Occasionally, he will be. Don’t expect to be visited by an actual doctor on weekends. Also, if your condition is improving, your actual doctor won’t be in this group. His job is to visit you when you’re in ( medical ) trouble.
Note: Interns are doctors. However, an “actual” doctor, one who’s no longer an intern, has considerably more power than an intern.
Only a few people matter in this large group that’s “making rounds”. They are:
a. The head medical intern.
Amazingly, you’ll be expected to identify, by name, the head medical intern. This is true even if you only saw him once before. Who the head medical intern is will vary as the days go by.
A head medical intern doesn’t know what an actual doctor knows. If you feel that the head medical intern is telling you things that aren’t true, let him know. Over the years, I’ve encountered this problem more than once.
b. Any intern that the head medical intern assigns to take care of you.
c. Any intern who’s been nice to you.
Hope for additional favors from this person. Such as, having your bed lowered, after you’ve been examined. Don’t ask this person for items like socks.
d. A medical student who’s been nice to you.
Hope for additional favors from this person. Such as, having your bed lowered, after you’ve been examined. Don’t ask this person for items like socks. A medical student is expected to keep up with the doctors as they make rounds. This is how he learns about medicine.
Also, he’ll need to be a gopher in other patients’ rooms, not just yours. The head intern will want him ready to hand. So, even though the student is a nice guy, don’t expect him to go find an employee on the ward so you can have more socks.
Note: if the medical student visits you when doctors aren’t “making rounds”, you can ask him for hospital supplies.
The head medical intern is in a rush. If he opens your wound, he’ll leave it to others to fix. Monitor what the head intern does. Try to get him, or someone in his group, to fix your bandages, etc., before they leave. From a patient comfort perspective, these doctors will arrive, screw up everything, and then leave.
Nonetheless, “making rounds” is the most important event of your day. It’s at this moment that the doctors decide what they’re going to do with you. If they think you’re healthy ( enough ), they’ll kick you out of the hospital. Never mind that you’re tied down with IVs, have wounds that need time to heal, and have no food at home, and nothing but dirty laundry there. Your “friends and family” can change your dressings at home ( etc. ), and we’ll send you a nurse. ( Who, for various reasons, never actually shows up. )
So, be as alert as possible when the doctors “make rounds”. You need to make sure that the doctors fully understand your medical condition. As for myself, I hate resorting to a hospital, for any reason. A note to the doctors: if I’d been feeling okay, I would never have come to the hospital!
An aside: Once I’m out of the hospital, I get hit with loads of insurance paperwork. I often have to deal with this paperwork while I’m still feeling unwell.
Never leave your T.V. on when a doctor or nurse is speaking to you. If you do, here’s what will happen:
You’ll offend the medical person. Let’s say that you semi-ignore your doctor as he’s speaking with you. He’ll decide that you aren’t very interested in your medical care. He’ll be confirmed in his opinion that only he can decide what to do with you.
The next day, you might want to convince your doctor that his opinion of your medical condition, or some aspect of it, is incorrect. Do you think your doctor will listen? No. That’s because, yesterday, you considered the T.V. more important than him.
( God help you if you were watching a T.V. show for morons, like “The Price is Right”, or a soap opera.
I find that doctors rank their patients in terms of a patient’s apparent intelligence. If you seem smart, you’ll have more influence over your doctor’s decisions about you.
Don’t pretend to be smarter than you are. I’ve said things to my doctors that turned out to be incorrect. Hence, I gave them incorrect information that then may have influenced their decisions about my medical condition.
Just be who you are. Keep in mind that your doctor isn’t your drinking buddy. Tailor your conversation with him appropriately. )
Whenever a medical person is speaking, they are conveying important information. Even if what they’re telling you is misguided, you need to hear that, and correct them.
In my early days as an inpatient, I screwed myself several times by semi-ignoring my doctor, in favor of Music Television. ( MTV ). ( Dude, the leggy girl in the “Legs” song, by ZZ Tops, was on my T.V. That’s definitely more important than my dying from kidney disease! )
Doctors are human. If you ignore your doctor, your doctor won’t like you. You will get few, if any, favors from your doctor. The doctor that I recall semi-ignoring later accused me of going “absent without leave” ( AWOL ). ( She did not do this officially. )
SIDEBAR: MY AWOL STORY, AND OTHER HOSPITAL ADVENTURES
Though on active duty, I was a hospital inpatient. This was in a military hospital in Illinois. My doctor ( a medical intern ) had made an abrupt request for me. For some purposeless reason, she’d demanded that I show up somewhere in the hospital. I didn’t. That’s because I didn’t know that she wanted me. I had yet to learn that I was supposed to remain in the hospital during hospital “business hours”.
In that era, I was young, and I moved around a lot. I was probably wandering about somewhere outside, on the hospital’s expansive grounds. I may even have been walking on the nearby golf course, where I was allowed to go. As I recall, I was not in an empty bathroom one floor below my ward, that was just outside of a locked psychiatric ward. Generally, I only used that bathroom to masturbate over Playboy at night. ( This was a different hospital than the one that held Psychoshit. )
Frankly, things moved so slowly in a military hospital, in that era, that it would have been ridiculous for me to lie in a bed all day. Also, my “room” was a large open space, that held perhaps three dozen men. Only a fag would want to be stuck with those guys.
In later days, the big room emptied out. Many patients had been discharged. It was early afternoon, and I was the only person in the room. So, I decided to ride my skateboard in the room. The head nurse came running down the hall. She cried,
“What?! You’re riding your skateboard?” She forbade me to do this. So, I didn’t do it. I guess she remained pissed at me about it.
Another time, this same room was again empty. It was evening. I set two T.V.s to the movie “Rock ‘n’ Roll High School”. The movie’s music soundtrack is by “The Ramones”, a punk rock band. Again, the head nurse came running down the hall.
“Your T.V. is too loud!” she yelled. She made me use just one T.V. Also, I had to turn the volume way down.
I was able to leave the hospital for several days. When I returned, I found that I, and another patient, had been removed from our ward. We’d been assigned to the ward for drunks. It was crowded and, well, full of drunks. ( None of whom had any intelligence. )
This is why I say, “Don’t ignore your doctor or nurse”. They can screw you in ways that won’t get them in any trouble.
D. 6:30 a.m. The last goodbye.
You will be assigned two nurses. One works from 7:00 a.m until 7 p.m. The other one works from 7:00 p.m. until 7 a.m. On each of these shifts, you’ll have the same nurse for several days.
Some nurses are nice. Some are okay, and some are awful. That’s a good reason to ask for supplies whenever someone walks into your room. If you’re stuck with an awful nurse for three days, you’ll run out of supplies. Also, she may confiscate supplies you “don’t need”, even though she can only chuck these items in the laundry bin, or throw them away.
At 6:30 a.m., your nighttime nurse makes a final visit to your room. Her main purpose in visiting your room is to enter information into her computer that’s in your room. Keep this in mind: from the hospital’s perspective, the information about you in their computer matters. You don’t. You’re just a crappy intruder that lets them bill an insurance company.
E. 7:00 a.m. Crew change.
All the nurses and ward employees go home. Prior to going home, the nurses gather in a room somewhere and discuss all their patients. God help you if you need anything in the hour or so surrounding 7 a.m. You need a towel? Well, the old crew is leaving, and the new crew is just arriving, so you don’t exist. Truly.
F. Breakfast.
This meal is often a problem for me. Here’s why:
a. About this time, my “new” nurse ( for the next 12 hours ) decides to visit me. She has lots of things she needs to do with me, including dispensing lots of pills. ( And I need to ensure she dispenses the correct pills, in the correct doses. ) Hence, breakfast is set aside. Many times, my breakfast has gone cold while the nurse was busying herself with me.
b. At times, I’ve gotten really crappy breakfasts. I remember one breakfast that consisted solely of some sort of egg object. I wanted bacon, and other such edible items. As usual, I was told that I was on a “sodium restricted diet”, so that’s all I was getting. Something that vaguely resembled an egg. In fact, I’ve been dealing with the God-awful sodium restriction for 40 years.
SIDEBAR: DAMNATION HOSPITAL
Once, at a hospital that I’ll call Damnation Hospital, I was refused any water. I was told that I was on a “fluid restriction”. ( Which is common for a kidney patient. When I drink, I want the water to at least be cold. ) At Damnation Hospital, I was forced to ( secretly ) drag my IV pole to a sink, and drink warm water from the sink.
I got revenge on Damnation Hospital. I made no effort to pay their bill. Maybe TRICARE paid them. I don’t actually recall getting a bill from Damnation Hospital. I do, however, recall being in their insufferable place. Maybe God did me a favor, and delivered whatever bills they sent me to where their “hospital” belonged: in Hell.
G. Noon. Lunch.
I get little sleep in a hospital. By lunch time, I’m often sound asleep. Awakened, I find myself unable to eat lunch. Often, the thought of eating lunch makes me sick to my stomach.
H. 5:00 p.m. Dinner.
I’m awake and ready to eat when dinner arrives.
The canonical hours above are for a civilian hospital. In a military hospital, the day starts later, and ends sooner.
When I was in military hospitals, I was able to go downstairs to the cafeteria. A civilian hospital’s cafeteria mostly serves crap. However, in a military hospital, you’ll think you’re dining on a fine cruise liner. There is a huge variety of delicious food, and a man can get full. In a military hospital, no one asks you for money until you check-out. In a civilian hospital, you’re expected to pay for food in the cafeteria. You must pay for this food at a cash register.
THE HOSPITAL MENU
The information below is for both military and civilian hospitals.
In your room, your evening food tray arrives with a menu. This is a very valuable item. Try to extract it from the things on your food tray before you spill something on it. Fill it out promptly. Someone will soon come and take your food tray away. This person is the best person to give your menu to.
I’m a slow eater. I’m hardly done with my meal when someone arrives to take it away. Also, I’m often busy when my food tray arrives. This is usually due to hospital issues. For instance, my nurse might be dispensing pills to me. This can be a complicated process. Or, some hospital employee might be in my room. He wants to finish dealing with me before I eat. Or I might have been called away for a hospital procedure somewhere. ( These problems mostly occur at breakfast and lunchtime. )
I fill out my menu while I’m eating dinner. Filling your menu out is easy after you’ve done it a few times.
Your menu consists of a sheet of paper. It arrives with a small pencil. ( Use a pen if you lose your pencil. The pencil has no eraser. )
You use your menu to order all of your meals for the next 24 hours. If you want two slices of bacon, write “Bacon X 2”. If you want two cartons of milk, write “Milk X 2.” My rule for this menu is akin to my rule for supplies. Basically, it’s this: order as much as possible. Don’t order things that you won’t eat. Do order things that you might be able to save. However, be cautious doing this. You don’t want to clutter up your small amount of space in your room with crap that winds up being useless.
Don’t be silly. If you order “Bacon X 12,” even though you would eat it, you’ll get two slices of bacon. However, if you order “Bacon X 4”, you’ll get four slices of bacon! ( If you’re lucky enough to be assigned to a “regular diet”. )
If you’re on a restricted diet, but want bacon, go ahead and order it. People who work in a kitchen are fine people. However, generally, they don’t go home and do rocket science. So, they’re not the brightest bulbs on the block. Also, they have to crank out a huge amount of meals in a short amount of time. So, if you order bacon, you just might get it! But you’ll never get 12 slices of bacon in one meal.
Four is the maximum number of any particular item ( like bacon ) that you can get in one meal.
Feel free to “go overboard”. Once you get the hang of using the menu, you’ll be amazed at how much you can order. Also, you can work considerable variety into your meals.
Sadly, after about two weeks in the hospital, you’ll find yourself getting the same exact meals that were offered to you in previous days. The once exciting menu of ( omigosh! ) hot meals, for a guy who otherwise goes without at home, becomes very monotonous. Modernly, few patients are expected to stay in any ( civilian ) hospital for long.
There are several ways to turn in your menu. The best way is to have it ready for the person who picks up your ( used ) food tray. Another method is to stick your menu in the sign outside the door to your room. This sign displays your room number. The sign is affixed to the wall. However, there is a slight gap between the side of the sign and the wall. Sticking your menu in this gap is considered an “official” way to return your menu. Whether anyone actually notices your menu, and delivers it to the hospital’s kitchen, is another matter. Try to hand your menu to an actual person. That is, to a person who actually knows what to do with it, and who will actually do as you ask.
This is why an important assignment for you, as an inpatient, is to make as many friends as possible. I haven’t found other patients to be worth anything, in the rare instances that I’ve encountered them.
( In theory, one could build a group of like-minded patients, in order to demand concessions from the hospital. However, while patients remain forever in a military hospital, they come and go quickly in a civilian hospital. Trying to build a group of like-minded patients in a civilian hospital will likely bring you no rewards. You will be interrupted as you watch a T.V. show on the origin of the universe, so some ignorant patient can “bullshit”. Also, they’ll soon want to “borrow” your stuff.
However, every hospital employee carries significant value. The more they know and like you, the more they’ll help you. They won’t waste your time “bullshitting”. They’re too busy.
If a “student” employee likes you, that’s great. A gay nursing student once spent considerable time helping me. He even fetched a “bouffant cap” ( a hair net ) whose purpose is to wash hair. He washed my hair with it. This was an excellent experience.
One night, around 7:15 p.m., a gorgeous female nursing student came in my room. She was as dolled up as she could be, without breaking the hospital’s rules. I guess she expected that her patient would be He-Man. Instead, she got me.
This girl spent one second in my room. She was supposed to help me over the next 12 hours. Instead, she fled to the adjoining ward. ( Where I wasn’t allowed, and didn’t go. ) The bitch appeared the next morning in my room, to fake that she’d helped me all night. I obviously didn’t get any supplies during this nurse’s shift. Fortunately, I had plenty of supplies on hand.
The following morning, this nurse stood at my bedside, entering information into the hospital computer. Casually, I asked her,
“Will I see you again?”
I was speaking of the following evening. Of course, she was free to interpret my question as an invitation to have wild, passionate sex.
In response to my question, the nurse blurted out,
“I hope not!”
Realizing that I might take this as an insult, she added that she hoped I’d get better soon, and be discharged.
( I was ready to discharge at that moment, though not from the hospital. In that era, I didn’t carry a phone with porn on it. )
THE ULTRA SECRET
You may wonder if there’s a secret to being an inpatient. ( Not an impatient! ) Is there some occult-like influence that one can project? A sway over others that only seasoned, “professional” patients know? That is, patients like me? Yes. I’ll reveal it, but just to you.
A ward’s head nurse is generally the oldest nurse. Likely, she was around when rock ‘n’ roll was popular. So, probably, a love of rock ‘n’ roll lies deep in her heart. Here’s how to get her, and most other nurses, to adore you.
1. Bring a “ghetto blaster” music device with you to the hospital.
2. Ready the following song in your “ghetto blaster”. It’s the live version of “I Want You Right Now”. That’s a song by the band “MC5”. My understanding is that “MC” stands for “mostly compliant”, as any good patient is. I think “5” stands for the number of minutes you’ll patiently wait, if you’ve called the nurses’ station, before you annoy them again. ( At five minute intervals, as any good patient would do. )
In hospital terms, “I Want You Right Now” is simply a mild joke. You would never demand a quick reply from your ward’s nurses. If they can’t get toilet paper to you until tomorrow, you’ll wait peaceably in a cold bathroom, with a shitty butt, as long as needed. You would never call a “code blue” just to wipe your ass.
3. The live version of “I Want You Right Now” is on the MC5 album titled, “MC5”. You will face one problem when you play “I Want You Right Now”. Old nurses are, well, old. They might be hard of hearing. Hence, you’ll want to make sure that the door to your hospital room is wide open. Also, turn the volume on your “ghetto blaster” to its maximum level. ( Mine goes to eleven. ) Isn’t it terrible when you can just barely hear a great song, but can’t hear it well? That’s why you need to turn your “ghetto blaster’s” volume all the way up. There are lots of nurses in a hospital. Make sure that they can all hear your song.
4. Oh. Put your pajama pants on. You don’t want “I Want You Right Now” to be misinterpreted as sexual harassment. On the other hand, if there is a children’s ward nearby, you’ll want to make sure that all the girls there can hear it. Girls love guys who are rockers.
5. So, when should you actually play “I Want You Right Now”? Wait until, for whatever reason, the nurses are pissed off at you. Next, call the nurses, and ask for something.
Likely, the nurses won’t bring what you want right away. That’s because they’re pissed at you. Now you’re ready to completely reverse their opinion of you, by making them super happy.
( If they were already super happy with you, you probably wouldn’t be able to make them more super happy. In that case, your song, “I Want You Right Now”, would be wasted. )
When you requested something from the nurses, I hope you asked for something trivial, or something that’s obnoxious. This sets you up well to generate maximum impact. You don’t just want to mildly amuse your nurses. You want to give them the equivalent of an orgasm.
I have a suggestion regarding your request of the nurses. Ask:
“Do you have some porn magazines?” Request these in a demanding voice. After all, you’re a man. As Caesar said,
“I came ( ahem ), I saw, I conquered!”
6. Now you’re all set. With the nurses refusing to come to your room, blast out “I Want You Right Now”. Soon, nurses will be flooding your room. They’ll be singing and dancing. You may have trouble keeping them clothed, since you’ll seem like a rocker. What female doesn’t want to hurl her underwear at a rocker? Of course, the nurses will attempt to please you, by showering you with gifts. Do you need more socks? More pillowcases? More urinal bottles? I once read a cartoon book about airline stewardesses. It was titled, “Coffee, Tea, or Me?” That’s the road you’ll be on, with your nurses. ( And possibly some girls who dashed over from the children's ward, in their pajamas, and carrying their stuffed animals. )
7. Yes, you’ll be the superstar of the hospital. Probably, some old farts will die of heart attacks while the nurses are busy with you. Perhaps, the girls from the children's ward will have their knowledge of human anatomy improved, as well as their knowledge of human reproduction. However, old farts are destined to die. And little girls are destined to grow up. Plus, as it is said, “knowledge is power”. Who would deny more education to a little girl? Especially a lovely one.
8. If, for some reason, your “event” slows, play “Cherry Bomb”, by “WANNABEASTAR”.
SUMMARY: What to bring to the hospital.
1. Dollar bills.
2. A snack bag to hold your dollar bills.
3. A snack bag to hold your change.
4. Several more snack bags, in case you need more, or the ones that you’re using rip.
5. Your wallet.
Strip your wallet of non-essential items, and most of its cash. Dump these items into a Ziploc bag and leave it at home.
6. A checkbook.
You’ll need your checkbook to pay for medicines that your doctor prescribes when he discharges you. If you don’t take a checkbook, you’ll have to fetch your checkbook from home when you’re discharged.
Going back to a hospital that you were just discharged from is unpleasant. Also, while you’re an inpatient, your nurse can contact the hospital’s pharmacy before you’re discharged. She’ll give them your new prescriptions.
Otherwise, you must go home, come back to the hospital, and then sit in the pharmacy for two hours waiting for your prescriptions.
The above discussion ignores the fact that you can probably fill your new prescriptions at, say, your grocery’s pharmacy. However, do you want to leave the hospital, only to sit for two hours in the grocery?
The best outcome is to have your nurse call your new prescriptions in to the hospital’s pharmacy while you’re still an inpatient. Then you can pick up your prescriptions at the pharmacy as you exit the hospital.
7. Your keys.
You will turn your keys and your wallet into the hospital when you arrive there. These items will be stored in the hospital’s safe. You will not have access to them during your stay. Make sure that you turn in your keys and wallet to the correct employee. He must give you a receipt for your valuables.
WARNING: The hospital will refuse to accept responsibility for anything that isn’t on the receipt. The receipt lists your personal items. If you turned in your wallet, but that isn’t on the receipt, then you’re ‘shit out of luck’.
Examine your receipt carefully for secondary items that you, or the employee, might have forgotten to jot down. ( For instance, the necklace that identifies you as a transplant patient. ) Make sure the receipt’s list of valuables is legible.
Your valuables will be stored in a small package. Not a lot can fit into this package. If a second package is filled, along with a first one, make sure that the receipt notes this. Try to have the two packages hitched to each other. See that the outside of each package identifies you as their owner.
( At a hospital, I once filled two garbage bags with my belongings for an outpatient procedure. ( Surgery. ) I got one garbage bag back. Fortunately, the other bag was located and returned to me. )
NOTE: There is always the possibility that an employee may give your package of valuables to another person. Hence, they carelessly return your package to Fred Smith. He happily ( or stupidly ) takes it home. Keep this in mind when taking valuables to the hospital.
8. Medicine. This consists of:
A. Medicine that you’ll declare upon arrival at the hospital. ( Transplant meds ).
B. Medicine that you will NOT declare upon arrival at the hospital. ( Blood pressure medicine. ) In another article, I reported on my travails regarding blood pressure medicine as an inpatient. My blood pressure was wildly out of control. For non-medical reasons, having to do with the pharmacy’s bureaucracy, I was refused blood pressure medicine. Then, later, I was given too much. Take some blood pressure medicine for your personal use, as needed.
You may have to confess to your use of personal ( but previously prescribed ) blood pressure medicine to the doctor who’s treating you in the hospital. This will be so if he is not prescribing you enough blood pressure medicine as an inpatient. ( Hence, your meds from home will be secretly lowering your blood pressure. )
If your doctor IS prescribing you enough blood pressure medicine as an inpatient, then don’t mention the instance or two when you had to resort to your own supply, due to an intransigent pharmacy. Your doctor’s only concern is that your blood pressure is generally controlled.
A normal blood pressure is this: 140 / 90. By “normal”, I mean that this is the MAXIMUM that is considered normal. Anything over this is too high. For instance: 165 / 105.
Do not take too much blood pressure medicine. If you do, you could die. A dangerously low blood pressure would be something like: 90 / 50.
Always note your pulse when considering whether to take blood pressure medicine. Generally, the higher, or “faster”, that your pulse is, the higher your blood pressure will be.
My normal pulse is about 59. Hence, if I have high blood pressure, and a high pulse, I don’t immediately resort to taking blood pressure medicine. That’s because, when my pulse drops, so will my blood pressure.
It is recommended that you NOT take blood pressure medicine if your pulse is under 55. Let your pulse rise to at least 55 before taking blood pressure medicine. ( I don’t follow this as a ‘hard and fast’ rule. If I know my blood pressure is high, I might take some blood pressure medicine even when my pulse is under 55. )
9. Sunglasses.
If you go to the hospital at night, remember that it will probably be daytime when you’re discharged.
10. A bus pass, or money for a taxi.
In your wallet, make sure that you have enough money to get home. If you have a bus pass, note that it may have expired before you’re discharged. ( If, say, the month is ending soon. )
Make sure you have your phone with you so you can call a taxi. Pay phones are no longer available. The hospital will be reluctant to let you use their phone. If you have to get medicines from the pharmacy before you go home, you won’t want to be paying a taxi to wait for you. Hence, calling a taxi from your bedside phone isn’t feasible. Getting completely clear of the hospital, with your meds in hand, is a process that can take up to two hours.
Having called a taxi, make sure that it picks you up. A number of patients will be waiting for taxis outside the hospital. A taxi arrived for me, but the driver didn’t want me as his fare. He preferred an old lady who was accompanied by her family. If the taxi is yours, insist that he take you. If he doesn’t, complain at once to the taxi company. Threaten to make the matter a legal one. It is illegal for a taxi driver to refuse service.
11. Your phone.
Recently, as an outpatient, I was unable to backup my phone over UCSD’s Wi-Fi. While you’re still at home, backup your phone. Also, if your phone is unlocked, and you want it locked, do so. However, don’t forget your password.
Traditionally, a hospital’s Wi-Fi is restricted. You might not be able to access internet porn sites during your hospital stay. Make sure that any porn you want is actually on your phone.
If you have an Apple iPhone, your “Photos” app may be optimizing all of your photos, by backing them up to the internet. Probably, your “Photos” app includes some screen shots of porn photos, or other nude images. ( Like 10-year-old Brooke Shields. ) If so, the hospital might stop you from downloading your photos from the internet.
12. A charger for your phone.
13. Kleenex.
Use Kleenex for your nose as well as your ass. Take as many boxes as you can. I recommend:
“Kleenex ultra soft 3-PLY TISSUES”. Two-ply tissues, by the brand “Puffs”, are fine too.
14. Garbage bags.
Do not buy garbage bags that are pre-treated with chemicals. These garbage bags ( that you’re buying ) are for your street clothes and shoes. I recommend:
Kroger LAWN & LEAF DRAWSTRING BAG 18 BAGS 39 GALLONS.
Do not buy kitchen wastebasket bags. They’re too small to hold your clothing, particularly your overcoat.
15. Twist ties.
You’ll want to close your garbage bags with twist ties. This is because you might be accessing these bags during your hospital stay. When you buy the garbage bags, go to your grocery’s vegetable area. Get a plastic bag there. ( The sort that one uses for such items as potatoes. ) Put the vegetable area’s twist ties into the plastic bag that you’re holding.
If a grocery employee asks what you’re doing, tell him that you’re getting the twist ties for your garbage bags. Even if your garbage bags come with plastic twist ties, get the vegetable area’s twist ties. Plastic twist ties aren’t designed for re-use. If necessary, tell the grocery employee the use that you intend to put these twist ties to. ( As a hospital inpatient. )
At home, put a number of twist ties into a snack bag for your hospital stay.
16. Baby wipes.
Baby wipes are easiest to access from a plastic container. I recommend taking two plastic containers of baby wipes. That way, if one container cracks, you’ll have a spare.
Take additional baby wipes in the form of refill packs. These are less bulky than plastic containers.
When I open a container of baby wipes, or refill it, I always add water to the container. This ensures that your baby wipes are actually wet. At the hospital, there’s a sink in your bathroom.
17. Dental floss.
Take two containers. Sometimes, the floss gets lost inside of its container. That’s why you’ll want the second box. Also, you can run out of dental floss.
When I’m at home, and dental floss gets stuck in its container, I pry up the container’s lid. I do this with a steel dinner knife. This knife is rounded at the edge.
18. A toothbrush.
You probably won’t like the toothbrush that the hospital issues. Take your own. If you use a second toothbrush for massaging your gums, take it too.
19. A razor.
The hospital does issue disposable razor blades. As you might expect, they’re not the best. You probably won’t shave so much that you need extra razor blades. The hospital will issue you shaving cream. It works fine.
20. Q-tips.
If you use Q-tips, as inside of your nose, you’ll want some at the hospital. You probably won’t be able to take a whole box of Q-tips. That would take up too much room in your bag of supplies. Put a bunch of Q-tips in a Ziploc bag.
21. Ziploc bags.
22. “Double zipper” bags. ( Without the “slider” tab, so these bags can hold sheets of paper. )
23. Snack bags.
24. A notebook.
25. Sheets of blank paper in the notebook’s pocket.
26. Black and red pens.
27. A case to hold your glasses.
28. Sunglasses in a case.
29. Your necklace or bracelet that identifies you as a transplant patient. ( Or that speaks of other medical conditions that you have. )
30. Your passport, if you’re overseas.
31. Xeroxed copies of pages from your passport, if you’re overseas. These papers should be in two “double zipper” bags.
32. A “VICKS”-style vapor inhaler, breath spray, and other such items that you normally use.
33. Nail scissors.
34. Two pairs of flip-flops.
35. Hefty JUMBO STORAGE SLIDER 2.5 GALLON SLIDER BAGS.
These are great bags to put your flip-flops in. Put one pair of flip-flops into each bag. Then wrap the bag tightly around itself. Take extra bags to the hospital if you want to put your flip-flops into clean bags when you’re discharged.
36. One reasonably big bottle of shampoo.
37. Food.
I never take any food to the hospital. I think the hospital doesn’t want patients bringing food in. ( Of course, “friends and family” can sneak in anything you desire. ) If there’s some particular food that you crave, and can hide among your belongings, consider bringing it.
Remember that “slim Jim” beef jerky will leave you with spicy breath. You’ll want something like flour tortillas, or “Tic Tac” candy, to get rid of your spicy breath. You’ll also want lots of soda. And, you’ll be stuck having to floss your teeth. That’s why I don’t bring food to the hospital.
38. Three paper grocery bags.
These bags should come with handles. Pack your belongings into two bags. Include a third folded bag in one of these bags.
I include a third bag in case the paper bags that I’m using rip.
If you end up with just one usable bag, put the items from your torn bag into a ( clean ) garbage bag. Unfortunately, a hand-carried garbage bag looks awful. It’s also more difficult to carry.
Bus drivers don’t like riders who board with garbage bags. However, in San Diego, you’re allowed to board with two hand-carried bags. Try to make sure that your garbage bag isn’t bulging too much. A driver can keep a rider from boarding if he has big, bulging bags.
If it rains, put your two hand-carried paper bags into garbage bags. No bus driver will keep you off of his bus, even if these bags bulge, if it’s raining. If a driver does try to deny you, explain that you’’re carrying your grocery bags in garbage bags because of the rain.
39. Your kitchen sink, in case your hospital room doesn’t have one.
( TRUE ) JOKE OF THE DAY
“How can there be any guarantee now of keeping regular office hours?”
- Nazi Joseph Goebbels, as the Russians closed in on Berlin. ( Adolf Hitler, by John Toland, page 1155. )
( I won’t reveal what this jackal and wife soon did with their many attractive children. )
Arcana:
1. The actual name for a hospital’s “ice bucket” is “ice pitcher”. The ice pitcher is made of flexible plastic. It’s wide at the top; wider than cups that you’ll have on hand.
If you attempt to pour with your “ice pitcher”, you may lose your pitcher’s contents to the floor.
About the worst thing that can happen to you, as in inpatient, is to lose your bucket of ice. Also, spilling the “pitcher’s” contents makes a big mess on the floor. Since you’ll probably be encumbered with medical equipment, you won’t be able to clean up this mess. A great way to irk your ward’s staff is to make messes that they feel you could have avoided.
Your ice bucket is for you to scoop ice from, using the plastic cup that comes with your ice bucket. You can also drink straight from your ice bucket.
2. “Age 10 and Naked”, an article on my WordPress website, discusses Brooke Shield’s bathtub photos.
3. I’ve opted for the word “side-rail” over the dictionary’s recommendation of “siderail”. I think my version is easiest to understand.
4. The “C” is capitalized in “Disney Channel”.
5. “ICU” does not have a period after each letter. It stands for “intensive care unit”.
6. “Detachable Penis”, a song by “King Missile”, is also a fabulous music video.
7. There is no apostrophe in “Ralphs” grocery store.
8. UCSD Hospital is “The University of California at San Diego Hospital”. There are two of these, and many outpatient clinic locations. Only use UCSD if you want to be tortured by their billing department.
9. The phrase: “This is the real Disneyland!” This was spoken by a European member of ISIS soon after joining ISIS. “ISIS” stood for the “Islamic State in Syria”. Since the goddess Isis has been claimed by African-American culture, U.S. President Hussein Obama called “ISIS” by the term “ISIL”. “ISIL” stood for the “Islamic State in the Levant”.
10. There is no apostrophe in “VICKS”.
11. On its packaging, the “s” in “slim Jim” is uncapitalized.
12. The phrase “salty fluid”. Salt causes your body to more readily retain fluid. Hence, army troops, in hot weather, are given salt tablets. Swallowing these, they don’t pee out as much fluid as they normally would. ( Of course, salt makes a person thirsty... )
If you’re a kidney patient, your kidneys don’t function properly. Hence, if you drink a “7-Eleven Big Gulp”, you can’t pee it out. It pools in your legs instead. ( Assuming that you’re standing or sitting. ) This fluid is, in effect, urine. I was being discreet by saying that “salty fluid” is moving from your legs to your hands.
13. I am a ( computer ) veteran of the 1990s internet, and of computer communication dating back to the 1980s. Hence, I avoid typography like italics. That’s because, in earlier years, computer communication systems couldn’t handle italics.
Ideally, quote marks are used to substitute for italics. However, when I keep using a word like “Ziploc”, it seems idiotic to keep putting it in quotes. That’s because “Ziploc” is so well known. Hence, after bracketing “Ziploc” in quotes once or twice in this article, I stopped.
14. The phrase “kitchen sink”. A once common expression is, “He brought everything but the kitchen sink.”
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Copyright 2021 by Andrew L. Roller. ET, Editorial Thunder, and ARSE, Andrew Roller Stories and Essays, are trademarks of Andrew L. Roller.
I am https://andrewroller.wordpress.com
Earlier posts by me are at https://asstr.org/files/Authors/Roller/
I’m on paper at: https://www.abebooks.com > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
and https://www.abebooks.co.uk > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
If you visit an “AbeBooks” website, you’ll be presented with a large square “Search” box. In the box labelled “Author”, type in “Andrew Roller”. In the box labelled “Title”, type in “Andrew Roller Presents”. This will bring up some of my pamphlets. I have not yet figured out how to bring up other pamphlets by me, under other titles. I don’t recall all the titles I published under.
I have no financial involvement in these resale items.
I am on You Tube as “Andrew Roller”. Use You Tube’s magnifying glass icon to search for “Andrew Roller”. That will take you to my You Tube channel. Or, on You Tube, tap my sun icon, if you see it. That will also take you to my You Tube channel. There, you can see songs and films that I like.
At the “home page” of my You Tube channel, you’ll see just a selection of playlists that I created. To see all my playlists, tap on the phrase, “Created playlists”.
The World Wide Web address for my You Tube channel is:
https://www.youtube.com/andrewroller
If you click on this link, you’ll be taken to a World Wide Web You Tube page. Here, You Tube displays a cartoon image of a monkey. The page says, “This page isn’t available. Sorry about that. Try searching for something else.”
My advice: on this page, search for “andrew roller”. By doing so, you’ll get to my World Wide Web You Tube channel. However, I have over 100 Playlists, that I created, at my You Tube app channel. The World Wide Web version of You Tube will only serve you 15 of my Playlists.
( Hence, access You Tube via its app. The You Tube app, like the WordPress app, is available for free at the Apple App Store. )
This is ET, Editorial Thunder, issue number 62
Arcana: This is ET, Editorial Thunder, issue number 62, version 4.0
Part 3 of 3
Date Written: February 1, 2021.
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This has been a presentation of A R S E news.
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ET 62 Part 3 of 3
Editorial Thunder presents...
How to be an Inpatient
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Plus: A list of what to take to the hospital.
And: The best hours for human sacrifice.
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HOW TO BE AN INPATIENT
Your hospital survival guide.
by Andrew Roller Part 3 of 3
MORE ON HOW YOUR TIME WILL BE SPENT
I’m always very busy in a civilian hospital. ( Military hospitals, by contrast, move at a glacial pace. ) When I was last an inpatient in UCSD, for about half a month, I was out of my bed all day. I rarely left my room, and never left the ward. I wanted to be in my bed, but, for whatever reason, I hardly ever got the chance. This despite the fact that I ( pleasantly ) fired the attractive, young, exercise girl who visited me. I fired her on her first visit. I had no time, or spare energy, for her.
At night, I couldn’t sleep. This is because, due to kidney failure, I’ve been a “night person” for 40 years. Also, I liked watching PBS’s “Charlie Rose” at midnight. Frankly, the best educational television programming airs at night. So, I never got much sleep in the hospital, since “day people” kept bothering me in the daytime. Don’t mortals understand that a vampire is soundly asleep at noon?
THE HOSPITAL’S CANONICAL HOURS AND YOU
In the hospital, I followed a daily regimen. It was shaped by the hospital’s daily routine. Stated times are approximate.
Nurses, and ward employees, will enter your hospital room at all hours, except late at night.
A. 4:00 a.m. No matter how sleepy I was, I “bathed” with the medical wipe pads and baby wipes. If I was lucky, this took only one hour. I found that there wasn’t any other time in the day when I had enough free time to “bathe”.
B. 5 a.m. The blood draw guy arrives. This happens every morning, to most any inpatient. So, I had to be ready for the blood draw guy. I couldn’t still be bathing when he arrived.
C. 5:30 a.m. Lots of doctors walk into my room. This is called “making rounds”. It happens every day, even on weekends.
With regard to the doctors, they will have several ranks:
a. The head medical intern.
b. Subordinate medical interns.
c. Medical students.
d. Actual doctors.
Often, your actual doctor won’t be present in this group. Occasionally, he will be. Don’t expect to be visited by an actual doctor on weekends. Also, if your condition is improving, your actual doctor won’t be in this group. His job is to visit you when you’re in ( medical ) trouble.
Note: Interns are doctors. However, an “actual” doctor, one who’s no longer an intern, has considerably more power than an intern.
Only a few people matter in this large group that’s “making rounds”. They are:
a. The head medical intern.
Amazingly, you’ll be expected to identify, by name, the head medical intern. This is true even if you only saw him once before. Who the head medical intern is will vary as the days go by.
A head medical intern doesn’t know what an actual doctor knows. If you feel that the head medical intern is telling you things that aren’t true, let him know. Over the years, I’ve encountered this problem more than once.
b. Any intern that the head medical intern assigns to take care of you.
c. Any intern who’s been nice to you.
Hope for additional favors from this person. Such as, having your bed lowered, after you’ve been examined. Don’t ask this person for items like socks.
d. A medical student who’s been nice to you.
Hope for additional favors from this person. Such as, having your bed lowered, after you’ve been examined. Don’t ask this person for items like socks. A medical student is expected to keep up with the doctors as they make rounds. This is how he learns about medicine.
Also, he’ll need to be a gopher in other patients’ rooms, not just yours. The head intern will want him ready to hand. So, even though the student is a nice guy, don’t expect him to go find an employee on the ward so you can have more socks.
Note: if the medical student visits you when doctors aren’t “making rounds”, you can ask him for hospital supplies.
The head medical intern is in a rush. If he opens your wound, he’ll leave it to others to fix. Monitor what the head intern does. Try to get him, or someone in his group, to fix your bandages, etc., before they leave. From a patient comfort perspective, these doctors will arrive, screw up everything, and then leave.
Nonetheless, “making rounds” is the most important event of your day. It’s at this moment that the doctors decide what they’re going to do with you. If they think you’re healthy ( enough ), they’ll kick you out of the hospital. Never mind that you’re tied down with IVs, have wounds that need time to heal, and have no food at home, and nothing but dirty laundry there. Your “friends and family” can change your dressings at home ( etc. ), and we’ll send you a nurse. ( Who, for various reasons, never actually shows up. )
So, be as alert as possible when the doctors “make rounds”. You need to make sure that the doctors fully understand your medical condition. As for myself, I hate resorting to a hospital, for any reason. A note to the doctors: if I’d been feeling okay, I would never have come to the hospital!
An aside: Once I’m out of the hospital, I get hit with loads of insurance paperwork. I often have to deal with this paperwork while I’m still feeling unwell.
Never leave your T.V. on when a doctor or nurse is speaking to you. If you do, here’s what will happen:
You’ll offend the medical person. Let’s say that you semi-ignore your doctor as he’s speaking with you. He’ll decide that you aren’t very interested in your medical care. He’ll be confirmed in his opinion that only he can decide what to do with you.
The next day, you might want to convince your doctor that his opinion of your medical condition, or some aspect of it, is incorrect. Do you think your doctor will listen? No. That’s because, yesterday, you considered the T.V. more important than him.
( God help you if you were watching a T.V. show for morons, like “The Price is Right”, or a soap opera.
I find that doctors rank their patients in terms of a patient’s apparent intelligence. If you seem smart, you’ll have more influence over your doctor’s decisions about you.
Don’t pretend to be smarter than you are. I’ve said things to my doctors that turned out to be incorrect. Hence, I gave them incorrect information that then may have influenced their decisions about my medical condition.
Just be who you are. Keep in mind that your doctor isn’t your drinking buddy. Tailor your conversation with him appropriately. )
Whenever a medical person is speaking, they are conveying important information. Even if what they’re telling you is misguided, you need to hear that, and correct them.
In my early days as an inpatient, I screwed myself several times by semi-ignoring my doctor, in favor of Music Television. ( MTV ). ( Dude, the leggy girl in the “Legs” song, by ZZ Tops, was on my T.V. That’s definitely more important than my dying from kidney disease! )
Doctors are human. If you ignore your doctor, your doctor won’t like you. You will get few, if any, favors from your doctor. The doctor that I recall semi-ignoring later accused me of going “absent without leave” ( AWOL ). ( She did not do this officially. )
SIDEBAR: MY AWOL STORY, AND OTHER HOSPITAL ADVENTURES
Though on active duty, I was a hospital inpatient. This was in a military hospital in Illinois. My doctor ( a medical intern ) had made an abrupt request for me. For some purposeless reason, she’d demanded that I show up somewhere in the hospital. I didn’t. That’s because I didn’t know that she wanted me. I had yet to learn that I was supposed to remain in the hospital during hospital “business hours”.
In that era, I was young, and I moved around a lot. I was probably wandering about somewhere outside, on the hospital’s expansive grounds. I may even have been walking on the nearby golf course, where I was allowed to go. As I recall, I was not in an empty bathroom one floor below my ward, that was just outside of a locked psychiatric ward. Generally, I only used that bathroom to masturbate over Playboy at night. ( This was a different hospital than the one that held Psychoshit. )
Frankly, things moved so slowly in a military hospital, in that era, that it would have been ridiculous for me to lie in a bed all day. Also, my “room” was a large open space, that held perhaps three dozen men. Only a fag would want to be stuck with those guys.
In later days, the big room emptied out. Many patients had been discharged. It was early afternoon, and I was the only person in the room. So, I decided to ride my skateboard in the room. The head nurse came running down the hall. She cried,
“What?! You’re riding your skateboard?” She forbade me to do this. So, I didn’t do it. I guess she remained pissed at me about it.
Another time, this same room was again empty. It was evening. I set two T.V.s to the movie “Rock ‘n’ Roll High School”. The movie’s music soundtrack is by “The Ramones”, a punk rock band. Again, the head nurse came running down the hall.
“Your T.V. is too loud!” she yelled. She made me use just one T.V. Also, I had to turn the volume way down.
I was able to leave the hospital for several days. When I returned, I found that I, and another patient, had been removed from our ward. We’d been assigned to the ward for drunks. It was crowded and, well, full of drunks. ( None of whom had any intelligence. )
This is why I say, “Don’t ignore your doctor or nurse”. They can screw you in ways that won’t get them in any trouble.
D. 6:30 a.m. The last goodbye.
You will be assigned two nurses. One works from 7:00 a.m until 7 p.m. The other one works from 7:00 p.m. until 7 a.m. On each of these shifts, you’ll have the same nurse for several days.
Some nurses are nice. Some are okay, and some are awful. That’s a good reason to ask for supplies whenever someone walks into your room. If you’re stuck with an awful nurse for three days, you’ll run out of supplies. Also, she may confiscate supplies you “don’t need”, even though she can only chuck these items in the laundry bin, or throw them away.
At 6:30 a.m., your nighttime nurse makes a final visit to your room. Her main purpose in visiting your room is to enter information into her computer that’s in your room. Keep this in mind: from the hospital’s perspective, the information about you in their computer matters. You don’t. You’re just a crappy intruder that lets them bill an insurance company.
E. 7:00 a.m. Crew change.
All the nurses and ward employees go home. Prior to going home, the nurses gather in a room somewhere and discuss all their patients. God help you if you need anything in the hour or so surrounding 7 a.m. You need a towel? Well, the old crew is leaving, and the new crew is just arriving, so you don’t exist. Truly.
F. Breakfast.
This meal is often a problem for me. Here’s why:
a. About this time, my “new” nurse ( for the next 12 hours ) decides to visit me. She has lots of things she needs to do with me, including dispensing lots of pills. ( And I need to ensure she dispenses the correct pills, in the correct doses. ) Hence, breakfast is set aside. Many times, my breakfast has gone cold while the nurse was busying herself with me.
b. At times, I’ve gotten really crappy breakfasts. I remember one breakfast that consisted solely of some sort of egg object. I wanted bacon, and other such edible items. As usual, I was told that I was on a “sodium restricted diet”, so that’s all I was getting. Something that vaguely resembled an egg. In fact, I’ve been dealing with the God-awful sodium restriction for 40 years.
SIDEBAR: DAMNATION HOSPITAL
Once, at a hospital that I’ll call Damnation Hospital, I was refused any water. I was told that I was on a “fluid restriction”. ( Which is common for a kidney patient. When I drink, I want the water to at least be cold. ) At Damnation Hospital, I was forced to ( secretly ) drag my IV pole to a sink, and drink warm water from the sink.
I got revenge on Damnation Hospital. I made no effort to pay their bill. Maybe TRICARE paid them. I don’t actually recall getting a bill from Damnation Hospital. I do, however, recall being in their insufferable place. Maybe God did me a favor, and delivered whatever bills they sent me to where their “hospital” belonged: in Hell.
G. Noon. Lunch.
I get little sleep in a hospital. By lunch time, I’m often sound asleep. Awakened, I find myself unable to eat lunch. Often, the thought of eating lunch makes me sick to my stomach.
H. 5:00 p.m. Dinner.
I’m awake and ready to eat when dinner arrives.
The canonical hours above are for a civilian hospital. In a military hospital, the day starts later, and ends sooner.
When I was in military hospitals, I was able to go downstairs to the cafeteria. A civilian hospital’s cafeteria mostly serves crap. However, in a military hospital, you’ll think you’re dining on a fine cruise liner. There is a huge variety of delicious food, and a man can get full. In a military hospital, no one asks you for money until you check-out. In a civilian hospital, you’re expected to pay for food in the cafeteria. You must pay for this food at a cash register.
THE HOSPITAL MENU
The information below is for both military and civilian hospitals.
In your room, your evening food tray arrives with a menu. This is a very valuable item. Try to extract it from the things on your food tray before you spill something on it. Fill it out promptly. Someone will soon come and take your food tray away. This person is the best person to give your menu to.
I’m a slow eater. I’m hardly done with my meal when someone arrives to take it away. Also, I’m often busy when my food tray arrives. This is usually due to hospital issues. For instance, my nurse might be dispensing pills to me. This can be a complicated process. Or, some hospital employee might be in my room. He wants to finish dealing with me before I eat. Or I might have been called away for a hospital procedure somewhere. ( These problems mostly occur at breakfast and lunchtime. )
I fill out my menu while I’m eating dinner. Filling your menu out is easy after you’ve done it a few times.
Your menu consists of a sheet of paper. It arrives with a small pencil. ( Use a pen if you lose your pencil. The pencil has no eraser. )
You use your menu to order all of your meals for the next 24 hours. If you want two slices of bacon, write “Bacon X 2”. If you want two cartons of milk, write “Milk X 2.” My rule for this menu is akin to my rule for supplies. Basically, it’s this: order as much as possible. Don’t order things that you won’t eat. Do order things that you might be able to save. However, be cautious doing this. You don’t want to clutter up your small amount of space in your room with crap that winds up being useless.
Don’t be silly. If you order “Bacon X 12,” even though you would eat it, you’ll get two slices of bacon. However, if you order “Bacon X 4”, you’ll get four slices of bacon! ( If you’re lucky enough to be assigned to a “regular diet”. )
If you’re on a restricted diet, but want bacon, go ahead and order it. People who work in a kitchen are fine people. However, generally, they don’t go home and do rocket science. So, they’re not the brightest bulbs on the block. Also, they have to crank out a huge amount of meals in a short amount of time. So, if you order bacon, you just might get it! But you’ll never get 12 slices of bacon in one meal.
Four is the maximum number of any particular item ( like bacon ) that you can get in one meal.
Feel free to “go overboard”. Once you get the hang of using the menu, you’ll be amazed at how much you can order. Also, you can work considerable variety into your meals.
Sadly, after about two weeks in the hospital, you’ll find yourself getting the same exact meals that were offered to you in previous days. The once exciting menu of ( omigosh! ) hot meals, for a guy who otherwise goes without at home, becomes very monotonous. Modernly, few patients are expected to stay in any ( civilian ) hospital for long.
There are several ways to turn in your menu. The best way is to have it ready for the person who picks up your ( used ) food tray. Another method is to stick your menu in the sign outside the door to your room. This sign displays your room number. The sign is affixed to the wall. However, there is a slight gap between the side of the sign and the wall. Sticking your menu in this gap is considered an “official” way to return your menu. Whether anyone actually notices your menu, and delivers it to the hospital’s kitchen, is another matter. Try to hand your menu to an actual person. That is, to a person who actually knows what to do with it, and who will actually do as you ask.
This is why an important assignment for you, as an inpatient, is to make as many friends as possible. I haven’t found other patients to be worth anything, in the rare instances that I’ve encountered them.
( In theory, one could build a group of like-minded patients, in order to demand concessions from the hospital. However, while patients remain forever in a military hospital, they come and go quickly in a civilian hospital. Trying to build a group of like-minded patients in a civilian hospital will likely bring you no rewards. You will be interrupted as you watch a T.V. show on the origin of the universe, so some ignorant patient can “bullshit”. Also, they’ll soon want to “borrow” your stuff.
However, every hospital employee carries significant value. The more they know and like you, the more they’ll help you. They won’t waste your time “bullshitting”. They’re too busy.
If a “student” employee likes you, that’s great. A gay nursing student once spent considerable time helping me. He even fetched a “bouffant cap” ( a hair net ) whose purpose is to wash hair. He washed my hair with it. This was an excellent experience.
One night, around 7:15 p.m., a gorgeous female nursing student came in my room. She was as dolled up as she could be, without breaking the hospital’s rules. I guess she expected that her patient would be He-Man. Instead, she got me.
This girl spent one second in my room. She was supposed to help me over the next 12 hours. Instead, she fled to the adjoining ward. ( Where I wasn’t allowed, and didn’t go. ) The bitch appeared the next morning in my room, to fake that she’d helped me all night. I obviously didn’t get any supplies during this nurse’s shift. Fortunately, I had plenty of supplies on hand.
The following morning, this nurse stood at my bedside, entering information into the hospital computer. Casually, I asked her,
“Will I see you again?”
I was speaking of the following evening. Of course, she was free to interpret my question as an invitation to have wild, passionate sex.
In response to my question, the nurse blurted out,
“I hope not!”
Realizing that I might take this as an insult, she added that she hoped I’d get better soon, and be discharged.
( I was ready to discharge at that moment, though not from the hospital. In that era, I didn’t carry a phone with porn on it. )
THE ULTRA SECRET
You may wonder if there’s a secret to being an inpatient. ( Not an impatient! ) Is there some occult-like influence that one can project? A sway over others that only seasoned, “professional” patients know? That is, patients like me? Yes. I’ll reveal it, but just to you.
A ward’s head nurse is generally the oldest nurse. Likely, she was around when rock ‘n’ roll was popular. So, probably, a love of rock ‘n’ roll lies deep in her heart. Here’s how to get her, and most other nurses, to adore you.
1. Bring a “ghetto blaster” music device with you to the hospital.
2. Ready the following song in your “ghetto blaster”. It’s the live version of “I Want You Right Now”. That’s a song by the band “MC5”. My understanding is that “MC” stands for “mostly compliant”, as any good patient is. I think “5” stands for the number of minutes you’ll patiently wait, if you’ve called the nurses’ station, before you annoy them again. ( At five minute intervals, as any good patient would do. )
In hospital terms, “I Want You Right Now” is simply a mild joke. You would never demand a quick reply from your ward’s nurses. If they can’t get toilet paper to you until tomorrow, you’ll wait peaceably in a cold bathroom, with a shitty butt, as long as needed. You would never call a “code blue” just to wipe your ass.
3. The live version of “I Want You Right Now” is on the MC5 album titled, “MC5”. You will face one problem when you play “I Want You Right Now”. Old nurses are, well, old. They might be hard of hearing. Hence, you’ll want to make sure that the door to your hospital room is wide open. Also, turn the volume on your “ghetto blaster” to its maximum level. ( Mine goes to eleven. ) Isn’t it terrible when you can just barely hear a great song, but can’t hear it well? That’s why you need to turn your “ghetto blaster’s” volume all the way up. There are lots of nurses in a hospital. Make sure that they can all hear your song.
4. Oh. Put your pajama pants on. You don’t want “I Want You Right Now” to be misinterpreted as sexual harassment. On the other hand, if there is a children’s ward nearby, you’ll want to make sure that all the girls there can hear it. Girls love guys who are rockers.
5. So, when should you actually play “I Want You Right Now”? Wait until, for whatever reason, the nurses are pissed off at you. Next, call the nurses, and ask for something.
Likely, the nurses won’t bring what you want right away. That’s because they’re pissed at you. Now you’re ready to completely reverse their opinion of you, by making them super happy.
( If they were already super happy with you, you probably wouldn’t be able to make them more super happy. In that case, your song, “I Want You Right Now”, would be wasted. )
When you requested something from the nurses, I hope you asked for something trivial, or something that’s obnoxious. This sets you up well to generate maximum impact. You don’t just want to mildly amuse your nurses. You want to give them the equivalent of an orgasm.
I have a suggestion regarding your request of the nurses. Ask:
“Do you have some porn magazines?” Request these in a demanding voice. After all, you’re a man. As Caesar said,
“I came ( ahem ), I saw, I conquered!”
6. Now you’re all set. With the nurses refusing to come to your room, blast out “I Want You Right Now”. Soon, nurses will be flooding your room. They’ll be singing and dancing. You may have trouble keeping them clothed, since you’ll seem like a rocker. What female doesn’t want to hurl her underwear at a rocker? Of course, the nurses will attempt to please you, by showering you with gifts. Do you need more socks? More pillowcases? More urinal bottles? I once read a cartoon book about airline stewardesses. It was titled, “Coffee, Tea, or Me?” That’s the road you’ll be on, with your nurses. ( And possibly some girls who dashed over from the children's ward, in their pajamas, and carrying their stuffed animals. )
7. Yes, you’ll be the superstar of the hospital. Probably, some old farts will die of heart attacks while the nurses are busy with you. Perhaps, the girls from the children's ward will have their knowledge of human anatomy improved, as well as their knowledge of human reproduction. However, old farts are destined to die. And little girls are destined to grow up. Plus, as it is said, “knowledge is power”. Who would deny more education to a little girl? Especially a lovely one.
8. If, for some reason, your “event” slows, play “Cherry Bomb”, by “WANNABEASTAR”.
SUMMARY: What to bring to the hospital.
1. Dollar bills.
2. A snack bag to hold your dollar bills.
3. A snack bag to hold your change.
4. Several more snack bags, in case you need more, or the ones that you’re using rip.
5. Your wallet.
Strip your wallet of non-essential items, and most of its cash. Dump these items into a Ziploc bag and leave it at home.
6. A checkbook.
You’ll need your checkbook to pay for medicines that your doctor prescribes when he discharges you. If you don’t take a checkbook, you’ll have to fetch your checkbook from home when you’re discharged.
Going back to a hospital that you were just discharged from is unpleasant. Also, while you’re an inpatient, your nurse can contact the hospital’s pharmacy before you’re discharged. She’ll give them your new prescriptions.
Otherwise, you must go home, come back to the hospital, and then sit in the pharmacy for two hours waiting for your prescriptions.
The above discussion ignores the fact that you can probably fill your new prescriptions at, say, your grocery’s pharmacy. However, do you want to leave the hospital, only to sit for two hours in the grocery?
The best outcome is to have your nurse call your new prescriptions in to the hospital’s pharmacy while you’re still an inpatient. Then you can pick up your prescriptions at the pharmacy as you exit the hospital.
7. Your keys.
You will turn your keys and your wallet into the hospital when you arrive there. These items will be stored in the hospital’s safe. You will not have access to them during your stay. Make sure that you turn in your keys and wallet to the correct employee. He must give you a receipt for your valuables.
WARNING: The hospital will refuse to accept responsibility for anything that isn’t on the receipt. The receipt lists your personal items. If you turned in your wallet, but that isn’t on the receipt, then you’re ‘shit out of luck’.
Examine your receipt carefully for secondary items that you, or the employee, might have forgotten to jot down. ( For instance, the necklace that identifies you as a transplant patient. ) Make sure the receipt’s list of valuables is legible.
Your valuables will be stored in a small package. Not a lot can fit into this package. If a second package is filled, along with a first one, make sure that the receipt notes this. Try to have the two packages hitched to each other. See that the outside of each package identifies you as their owner.
( At a hospital, I once filled two garbage bags with my belongings for an outpatient procedure. ( Surgery. ) I got one garbage bag back. Fortunately, the other bag was located and returned to me. )
NOTE: There is always the possibility that an employee may give your package of valuables to another person. Hence, they carelessly return your package to Fred Smith. He happily ( or stupidly ) takes it home. Keep this in mind when taking valuables to the hospital.
8. Medicine. This consists of:
A. Medicine that you’ll declare upon arrival at the hospital. ( Transplant meds ).
B. Medicine that you will NOT declare upon arrival at the hospital. ( Blood pressure medicine. ) In another article, I reported on my travails regarding blood pressure medicine as an inpatient. My blood pressure was wildly out of control. For non-medical reasons, having to do with the pharmacy’s bureaucracy, I was refused blood pressure medicine. Then, later, I was given too much. Take some blood pressure medicine for your personal use, as needed.
You may have to confess to your use of personal ( but previously prescribed ) blood pressure medicine to the doctor who’s treating you in the hospital. This will be so if he is not prescribing you enough blood pressure medicine as an inpatient. ( Hence, your meds from home will be secretly lowering your blood pressure. )
If your doctor IS prescribing you enough blood pressure medicine as an inpatient, then don’t mention the instance or two when you had to resort to your own supply, due to an intransigent pharmacy. Your doctor’s only concern is that your blood pressure is generally controlled.
A normal blood pressure is this: 140 / 90. By “normal”, I mean that this is the MAXIMUM that is considered normal. Anything over this is too high. For instance: 165 / 105.
Do not take too much blood pressure medicine. If you do, you could die. A dangerously low blood pressure would be something like: 90 / 50.
Always note your pulse when considering whether to take blood pressure medicine. Generally, the higher, or “faster”, that your pulse is, the higher your blood pressure will be.
My normal pulse is about 59. Hence, if I have high blood pressure, and a high pulse, I don’t immediately resort to taking blood pressure medicine. That’s because, when my pulse drops, so will my blood pressure.
It is recommended that you NOT take blood pressure medicine if your pulse is under 55. Let your pulse rise to at least 55 before taking blood pressure medicine. ( I don’t follow this as a ‘hard and fast’ rule. If I know my blood pressure is high, I might take some blood pressure medicine even when my pulse is under 55. )
9. Sunglasses.
If you go to the hospital at night, remember that it will probably be daytime when you’re discharged.
10. A bus pass, or money for a taxi.
In your wallet, make sure that you have enough money to get home. If you have a bus pass, note that it may have expired before you’re discharged. ( If, say, the month is ending soon. )
Make sure you have your phone with you so you can call a taxi. Pay phones are no longer available. The hospital will be reluctant to let you use their phone. If you have to get medicines from the pharmacy before you go home, you won’t want to be paying a taxi to wait for you. Hence, calling a taxi from your bedside phone isn’t feasible. Getting completely clear of the hospital, with your meds in hand, is a process that can take up to two hours.
Having called a taxi, make sure that it picks you up. A number of patients will be waiting for taxis outside the hospital. A taxi arrived for me, but the driver didn’t want me as his fare. He preferred an old lady who was accompanied by her family. If the taxi is yours, insist that he take you. If he doesn’t, complain at once to the taxi company. Threaten to make the matter a legal one. It is illegal for a taxi driver to refuse service.
11. Your phone.
Recently, as an outpatient, I was unable to backup my phone over UCSD’s Wi-Fi. While you’re still at home, backup your phone. Also, if your phone is unlocked, and you want it locked, do so. However, don’t forget your password.
Traditionally, a hospital’s Wi-Fi is restricted. You might not be able to access internet porn sites during your hospital stay. Make sure that any porn you want is actually on your phone.
If you have an Apple iPhone, your “Photos” app may be optimizing all of your photos, by backing them up to the internet. Probably, your “Photos” app includes some screen shots of porn photos, or other nude images. ( Like 10-year-old Brooke Shields. ) If so, the hospital might stop you from downloading your photos from the internet.
12. A charger for your phone.
13. Kleenex.
Use Kleenex for your nose as well as your ass. Take as many boxes as you can. I recommend:
“Kleenex ultra soft 3-PLY TISSUES”. Two-ply tissues, by the brand “Puffs”, are fine too.
14. Garbage bags.
Do not buy garbage bags that are pre-treated with chemicals. These garbage bags ( that you’re buying ) are for your street clothes and shoes. I recommend:
Kroger LAWN & LEAF DRAWSTRING BAG 18 BAGS 39 GALLONS.
Do not buy kitchen wastebasket bags. They’re too small to hold your clothing, particularly your overcoat.
15. Twist ties.
You’ll want to close your garbage bags with twist ties. This is because you might be accessing these bags during your hospital stay. When you buy the garbage bags, go to your grocery’s vegetable area. Get a plastic bag there. ( The sort that one uses for such items as potatoes. ) Put the vegetable area’s twist ties into the plastic bag that you’re holding.
If a grocery employee asks what you’re doing, tell him that you’re getting the twist ties for your garbage bags. Even if your garbage bags come with plastic twist ties, get the vegetable area’s twist ties. Plastic twist ties aren’t designed for re-use. If necessary, tell the grocery employee the use that you intend to put these twist ties to. ( As a hospital inpatient. )
At home, put a number of twist ties into a snack bag for your hospital stay.
16. Baby wipes.
Baby wipes are easiest to access from a plastic container. I recommend taking two plastic containers of baby wipes. That way, if one container cracks, you’ll have a spare.
Take additional baby wipes in the form of refill packs. These are less bulky than plastic containers.
When I open a container of baby wipes, or refill it, I always add water to the container. This ensures that your baby wipes are actually wet. At the hospital, there’s a sink in your bathroom.
17. Dental floss.
Take two containers. Sometimes, the floss gets lost inside of its container. That’s why you’ll want the second box. Also, you can run out of dental floss.
When I’m at home, and dental floss gets stuck in its container, I pry up the container’s lid. I do this with a steel dinner knife. This knife is rounded at the edge.
18. A toothbrush.
You probably won’t like the toothbrush that the hospital issues. Take your own. If you use a second toothbrush for massaging your gums, take it too.
19. A razor.
The hospital does issue disposable razor blades. As you might expect, they’re not the best. You probably won’t shave so much that you need extra razor blades. The hospital will issue you shaving cream. It works fine.
20. Q-tips.
If you use Q-tips, as inside of your nose, you’ll want some at the hospital. You probably won’t be able to take a whole box of Q-tips. That would take up too much room in your bag of supplies. Put a bunch of Q-tips in a Ziploc bag.
21. Ziploc bags.
22. “Double zipper” bags. ( Without the “slider” tab, so these bags can hold sheets of paper. )
23. Snack bags.
24. A notebook.
25. Sheets of blank paper in the notebook’s pocket.
26. Black and red pens.
27. A case to hold your glasses.
28. Sunglasses in a case.
29. Your necklace or bracelet that identifies you as a transplant patient. ( Or that speaks of other medical conditions that you have. )
30. Your passport, if you’re overseas.
31. Xeroxed copies of pages from your passport, if you’re overseas. These papers should be in two “double zipper” bags.
32. A “VICKS”-style vapor inhaler, breath spray, and other such items that you normally use.
33. Nail scissors.
34. Two pairs of flip-flops.
35. Hefty JUMBO STORAGE SLIDER 2.5 GALLON SLIDER BAGS.
These are great bags to put your flip-flops in. Put one pair of flip-flops into each bag. Then wrap the bag tightly around itself. Take extra bags to the hospital if you want to put your flip-flops into clean bags when you’re discharged.
36. One reasonably big bottle of shampoo.
37. Food.
I never take any food to the hospital. I think the hospital doesn’t want patients bringing food in. ( Of course, “friends and family” can sneak in anything you desire. ) If there’s some particular food that you crave, and can hide among your belongings, consider bringing it.
Remember that “slim Jim” beef jerky will leave you with spicy breath. You’ll want something like flour tortillas, or “Tic Tac” candy, to get rid of your spicy breath. You’ll also want lots of soda. And, you’ll be stuck having to floss your teeth. That’s why I don’t bring food to the hospital.
38. Three paper grocery bags.
These bags should come with handles. Pack your belongings into two bags. Include a third folded bag in one of these bags.
I include a third bag in case the paper bags that I’m using rip.
If you end up with just one usable bag, put the items from your torn bag into a ( clean ) garbage bag. Unfortunately, a hand-carried garbage bag looks awful. It’s also more difficult to carry.
Bus drivers don’t like riders who board with garbage bags. However, in San Diego, you’re allowed to board with two hand-carried bags. Try to make sure that your garbage bag isn’t bulging too much. A driver can keep a rider from boarding if he has big, bulging bags.
If it rains, put your two hand-carried paper bags into garbage bags. No bus driver will keep you off of his bus, even if these bags bulge, if it’s raining. If a driver does try to deny you, explain that you’’re carrying your grocery bags in garbage bags because of the rain.
39. Your kitchen sink, in case your hospital room doesn’t have one.
( TRUE ) JOKE OF THE DAY
“How can there be any guarantee now of keeping regular office hours?”
- Nazi Joseph Goebbels, as the Russians closed in on Berlin. ( Adolf Hitler, by John Toland, page 1155. )
( I won’t reveal what this jackal and wife soon did with their many attractive children. )
Arcana:
1. The actual name for a hospital’s “ice bucket” is “ice pitcher”. The ice pitcher is made of flexible plastic. It’s wide at the top; wider than cups that you’ll have on hand.
If you attempt to pour with your “ice pitcher”, you may lose your pitcher’s contents to the floor.
About the worst thing that can happen to you, as in inpatient, is to lose your bucket of ice. Also, spilling the “pitcher’s” contents makes a big mess on the floor. Since you’ll probably be encumbered with medical equipment, you won’t be able to clean up this mess. A great way to irk your ward’s staff is to make messes that they feel you could have avoided.
Your ice bucket is for you to scoop ice from, using the plastic cup that comes with your ice bucket. You can also drink straight from your ice bucket.
2. “Age 10 and Naked”, an article on my WordPress website, discusses Brooke Shield’s bathtub photos.
3. I’ve opted for the word “side-rail” over the dictionary’s recommendation of “siderail”. I think my version is easiest to understand.
4. The “C” is capitalized in “Disney Channel”.
5. “ICU” does not have a period after each letter. It stands for “intensive care unit”.
6. “Detachable Penis”, a song by “King Missile”, is also a fabulous music video.
7. There is no apostrophe in “Ralphs” grocery store.
8. UCSD Hospital is “The University of California at San Diego Hospital”. There are two of these, and many outpatient clinic locations. Only use UCSD if you want to be tortured by their billing department.
9. The phrase: “This is the real Disneyland!” This was spoken by a European member of ISIS soon after joining ISIS. “ISIS” stood for the “Islamic State in Syria”. Since the goddess Isis has been claimed by African-American culture, U.S. President Hussein Obama called “ISIS” by the term “ISIL”. “ISIL” stood for the “Islamic State in the Levant”.
10. There is no apostrophe in “VICKS”.
11. On its packaging, the “s” in “slim Jim” is uncapitalized.
12. The phrase “salty fluid”. Salt causes your body to more readily retain fluid. Hence, army troops, in hot weather, are given salt tablets. Swallowing these, they don’t pee out as much fluid as they normally would. ( Of course, salt makes a person thirsty... )
If you’re a kidney patient, your kidneys don’t function properly. Hence, if you drink a “7-Eleven Big Gulp”, you can’t pee it out. It pools in your legs instead. ( Assuming that you’re standing or sitting. ) This fluid is, in effect, urine. I was being discreet by saying that “salty fluid” is moving from your legs to your hands.
13. I am a ( computer ) veteran of the 1990s internet, and of computer communication dating back to the 1980s. Hence, I avoid typography like italics. That’s because, in earlier years, computer communication systems couldn’t handle italics.
Ideally, quote marks are used to substitute for italics. However, when I keep using a word like “Ziploc”, it seems idiotic to keep putting it in quotes. That’s because “Ziploc” is so well known. Hence, after bracketing “Ziploc” in quotes once or twice in this article, I stopped.
14. The phrase “kitchen sink”. A once common expression is, “He brought everything but the kitchen sink.”
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Copyright 2021 by Andrew L. Roller. ET, Editorial Thunder, and ARSE, Andrew Roller Stories and Essays, are trademarks of Andrew L. Roller.
I am https://andrewroller.wordpress.com
Earlier posts by me are at https://asstr.org/files/Authors/Roller/
I’m on paper at: https://www.abebooks.com > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
and https://www.abebooks.co.uk > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
If you visit an “AbeBooks” website, you’ll be presented with a large square “Search” box. In the box labelled “Author”, type in “Andrew Roller”. In the box labelled “Title”, type in “Andrew Roller Presents”. This will bring up some of my pamphlets. I have not yet figured out how to bring up other pamphlets by me, under other titles. I don’t recall all the titles I published under.
I have no financial involvement in these resale items.
I am on You Tube as “Andrew Roller”. Use You Tube’s magnifying glass icon to search for “Andrew Roller”. That will take you to my You Tube channel. Or, on You Tube, tap my sun icon, if you see it. That will also take you to my You Tube channel. There, you can see songs and films that I like.
At the “home page” of my You Tube channel, you’ll see just a selection of playlists that I created. To see all my playlists, tap on the phrase, “Created playlists”.
The World Wide Web address for my You Tube channel is:
https://www.youtube.com/andrewroller
If you click on this link, you’ll be taken to a World Wide Web You Tube page. Here, You Tube displays a cartoon image of a monkey. The page says, “This page isn’t available. Sorry about that. Try searching for something else.”
My advice: on this page, search for “andrew roller”. By doing so, you’ll get to my World Wide Web You Tube channel. However, I have over 100 Playlists, that I created, at my You Tube app channel. The World Wide Web version of You Tube will only serve you 15 of my Playlists.
( Hence, access You Tube via its app. The You Tube app, like the WordPress app, is available for free at the Apple App Store. )
This is ET, Editorial Thunder, issue number 62
Arcana: This is ET, Editorial Thunder, issue number 62, version 4.0
Part 3 of 3
Date Written: February 1, 2021.
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This has been a presentation of A R S E news.
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Military Hospital Abuse
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ET 61
Editorial Thunder presents...
Military Hospital Abuse
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Plus: How to get kids back in school now.
And: How to make your kid smart.
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MILITARY HOSPITAL ABUSE
I’m declared nuts by a predator psychiatrist.
by Andrew Roller
There are, allegedly, “benefits” to joining the U.S. military. One of the most touted benefits is “free health care”. However, this overlooks something: when you’re in the military, your body belongs to them. Imagine having nothing wrong with you, but being told that you’re insane. One or more doctors in the military then declare that they must forcibly drug you. They also intend to make you an ( involuntary ) inpatient in a psychiatric ward.
That’s what happened to me. At the time, I’d been retired, for kidney failure, from the military for some years. I also had a failing kidney transplant. Below are the facts regarding what happened to me. If you’re considering joining the military, I recommend that you consider my facts before doing so. It saddens me to say this, but I feel that I must. As a result of my “care” at military hospitals, I’ve done my best to avoid being an inpatient in one.
Civilian hospitals, like UCSD, can be awful. However, as a general rule, a civilian hospital has no time to waste trying to jam a patient into a psychiatric ward. Time is money at a civilian hospital. Also, a civilian hospital can be sued.
That’s not true of a military hospital. The taxpayer pays all the bills. The Internal Revenue Service ( I.R.S. ) can use violence against any taxpayer who refuses to pay. Also, a patient can’t sue a military hospital for its “care”.
Below are the facts of my stay at a military hospital, and the aftermath of this.
Years ago, at a military hospital, I was treated horribly. The prime offender was a psychiatrist. I’ll call him “Psychoshit”. He deserves no better name. I’m assigning fictitious names to others in this account too.
I live in California. I was happily masturbating in my apartment when I got a phone call. Naturally, I hoped it was a blonde calling from Sweden.
It wasn’t. It was my nephrologist. Dr. O told me, over the phone, that my kidney transplant was rejecting. He ordered me to report to a military base. This California base was about 100 miles from me. Nonetheless, it was where I received all my medical care.
I was to be flown by the military to Texas. This happened. Arriving at a military base there, I was then transferred to another base. At this base, I was made an inpatient at a big hospital. It was the only one that could handle my situation. I’ll call this big Texas hospital “Bizarro Hospital”.
I was obliged to undergo a kidney biopsy. I’d had a kidney biopsy some years before, at another military hospital. That hospital was in Illinois. My instructions for my biopsy there had been as follows:
“After your biopsy, you will lie supine in your bed for six hours. Do not move, or get up to use the bathroom.” I was provided with a urinal bottle. I had to place this between my legs, and stick my dick in it. A urinal bottle that is lying nearly flat fills quite quickly. That’s because it’s lying flat, instead of standing upright. Hence, I had to repeatedly call for someone to empty my urinal bottle. Someone always did.
For this new biopsy, in Bizarro Hospital, I followed the same procedure as before. I peed in the urinal bottle several times. Then, I called for someone to empty my urinal bottle.
“Why don’t you get up and go use the bathroom?” I recall a female nurse asking me. She gets the name of “Miss Pervert”. I have no idea if Miss Pervert was married or not. I had no romantic interest in her. ( After all, she was over 11 years old. )
I explained to Miss Pervert what I was doing. She ignored me. Later, I learned that Miss Pervert accused me of being “indecent”. This was because I had my pajama pants open, and was peeing into the urinal bottle.
A curtain blocked the view of myself from a busy hallway. I tried to keep this curtain closed. I guess a technician kept closing it for me. However, I noticed that a female nurse kept yanking the curtain open, so I was exposed to the hallway.
At the time, I couldn’t figure out why the nurse was doing this. Apparently, it was Miss Pervert. She yanked my curtain open so rapidly that I couldn’t identify who was doing it, beyond the fact that it was a female nurse.
Also, I was new to the ward, so I was not yet able to easily distinguish people. ( Every military employee in a military hospital ward wears the same clothing. It is only differentiated by gender. )
Apparently, Miss Pervert kept yanking open my curtain to expose my genitals to the busy hallway. This, supposedly, would shame me into closing my pajama pants, and getting out of bed whenever I needed to pee. That would cause me to disobey the doctors’ orders, that I’d been given in Illinois, for my previous biopsy. ( No doctor in Bizarro Hospital had told me what to do after my current biopsy. Nor had anyone else. )
I was faced with a choice. I didn’t understand this at the time. I didn’t understand a lot of what was happening to me. I did have some understanding of my medical situation. I didn’t understand why I was being harassed by a nurse. Gradually, it dawned on me that I’d entered no ordinary hospital, but one in The Twilight Zone.
Here were my choices:
1. Damage, perhaps permanently, my kidney transplant, by getting up and walking to the bathroom. Note that no one had ordered me to get up and walk to the bathroom.
2. Endure being exposed to the hallway. I didn’t like being exposed to the hallway. I didn’t give a damn if my genitals were exposed. However, I didn’t like being disturbed by the sight, and sounds, of the passersby. It was like lying on the side of a busy, noisy highway. I also felt that germs were coming in from the hallway. If you’ve ever been in front of lots of people on cycles and treadmills at a fitness center, you’ll agree with me about germs. You can literally feel the people exhaling their germs on you.
Apparently, Miss Pervert complained to her bosses, on the ward, that I was ‘not wearing my pants’. I was “indecent”. However, no employee on the ward told me of this. They simply called Psychoshit. His usual place of work was in the hospital’s psychiatric ward. I was in a ward that dealt with transplant patients.
I had never interacted with a psychiatrist before. However, when Psychoshit glided into my room, he did not identify himself by name or profession. I found this highly unusual. Psychoshit was in a military uniform. I at once told him that he must be a psychiatrist. ( The only other possibility was that he was a chaplain. However, I think a chaplain would have had the courtesy to tell me his name and profession. ) Assuming no malice on Psychoshit’s part, I didn’t object to his presence.
Writing this now, I realize that I should not have verbally identified Psychoshit. Such a statement was probably used by Psychoshit to “prove” that I was insane. In his ( malicious ) view, I wasn’t verbally identifying him because I was smart. I was verbally identifying him because I knew that I was having mental problems, and needed his “help”.
Psychoshit set about giving me a brief interview. The first thing he did was trick me. He demanded that I remember the phrase, “A red truck in Tennessee.” He claimed that it was meant to test my memory. ( I still remember it, dude. )
In fact, “A red truck in Tennessee” was meant to distract me. Instead of focusing on what Psychoshit was asking me, I was to blurt out ill-considered answers to his questions.
( If this should happen to you, tell the psychiatrist the following:
“If you want to test my memory, do that separately from this interview.”
A psychiatrist will only quit probing you on an issue if you tell him:
“That question makes me uncomfortable.” Nothing else will stop his probing.
Note what this accomplishes:
1. It puts you into his world of “comfort” and “discomfort”. I don’t view my life that way, but psychiatrists do. So, in effect, you’re submitting to their worldview.
2. It alerts the psychiatrist to issues that you don’t want to discuss. You’ll discuss guns, and UFOs, but not the girl next door. What does that tell the psychiatrist?
( By the way, the only answer to give to the Federal Bureau of Investigation ( F.B.I. ) is,
“I don’t want to talk to you.” No other answer will stop their probing.
( An aside to this: let’s say that the F.B.I. interviews you. Even if you’re truthful with them, they can claim that you lied to them. This then becomes a question of fact for a jury. If a trial ensues, who is a jury going to believe? You, the accused? Or a sworn federal law enforcement officer?
The F.B.I. is legally allowed to lie to anyone. An exception to this is that cops can’t lie in court. However, cops have a name for lying in court, when they do it. That name is “testilying”. ( As opposed to testifying. ) I learned this from a law professor, in a law school, who was also a policeman. )
Psychoshit didn’t ask me about “the girl next door”. His questions were rudely basic. He asked me what time it was. Since I was far from home, I attempted to explain to him the relevant nature of time. ( While trying to remember, “A red truck in Tennessee.” )
I was in Texas. “Home” was a small apartment in California. I knew what time it was in both Texas and California.
Since I’d lived in Hawaii, I also knew the time there. ( Including the fact that Hawaii has no Daylight Savings Time, so its time, relative to the continental United States, shifts over the course of a year. )
I’d also lived in Guam. I knew the time there. Since my family had taken me, in my younger years, to Japan (more than once ), I knew the time in Japan.
Of course, I was also acquainted with Einsteins’s relativistic views of time.
Basically, I told Psychoshit, “What the time is depends on what location you’re asking about.” I recall throwing in the idea that, whatever the time was on Earth, how one decided what time it was on Mars was another matter. Psychoshit was not pleased with my answer. I guess it didn’t fit into the simpleton notions of time that he’d learned in medical school.
( I retain the suspicion that a number of military doctors are only in the military because they barely got through medical school. Generally, great doctors go into civilian practice. That’s because the civilian side of medicine pays much more than the military does. Plus, doctors begin working as doctors with lots of student loan debt.
On the other hand, if a doctor goes into the military, he gets royal treatment. He is paid well. I think his student loan debt is wiped clean. A doctor enters the military with minimal, and quite comfy, “basic training”. ( Training that consists solely of “elite” medical personnel. ) A doctor enters the military at the advanced rank of Captain, and can expect to be promoted quickly.
Hence, if you barely scraped through medical school, you know you won’t make lots of money as a civilian doctor. Probably, you’ll be sued, and lose your medical license. The answer? Sign up for the military. Patients in military hospitals are forbidden to sue.
The military never ceases to need doctors. I’ve met at least one doctor in the military, whom I’ll call “Dr. Stupid”, who was an utter moron.
I’ve yet to meet a military doctor who entered the military because he was gung-ho for America. Dr. O, who had a high rank, struck me as anti-military. ( In the M.A.S.H sense. ) I don’t care whether a military doctor is gung-ho or not. However, this observation reinforces my suspicion that military doctors are in the military because they wouldn’t have succeeded as civilian doctors. They’re too dumb. )
Now, back to my interview by Psychoshit:
Psychoshit asked me another question. I don’t recall what it was, but I remember replying that I was fond of the 1960s. This answer greatly troubled Psychoshit. I visually witnessed this.
A modern psychiatrist interviews a patient with his patient sitting upright. You don’t lie on a couch, with the psychiatrist sitting slightly beyond your head, and out of your field of vision.
Seeing Psychoshit’s reaction to my reply, I went no deeper into my love of the 1960s. I didn’t want to piss the guy off. I always try to win over whoever I’m talking to. An ally is useful. An enemy is not. I failed to win over Psychoshit. Reflecting on this now, it was impossible to win over Psychoshit. He was pure malice, and an insane predator. He was a rabid dog in human form.
I had IVs in me. They ended in brittle plastic. This brittle plastic was present where the IVs entered my body. They easily broke. One, in my hand, broke several times as I was wearing it. This IV in particular made moving about difficult for me. I was constantly fearful of breaking it again. A broken IV has to be replaced. Not only is that painful, but medical people find starting IVs in me difficult. All IVs must be replaced every three days.
Psychoshit was still ( briefly ) interviewing me. I realized that my head was cold. I picked up a spare pair of pajama pants. I wrapped them around my head.
This shocked Psychoshit. It shocked him more than I realized. He asked me why I didn’t wear a baseball cap. It was some distance away, on a shelf with my belongings.
I didn’t mention that I was trying to be polite to Psychoshit. It would have been rude for me to get up from my chair, and walk off as he was interviewing me.
I told Psychoshit that my baseball cap was strictly for outdoor wear. It had never been laundered. It was, in effect, dirty. Also, the inside of my baseball cap was covered with Rogaine. It’s a liquid that a man applies to his head to stop going bald. Rogaine will, supposedly, grow hair on your head. You don’t want Rogaine anywhere on yourself except on the upper part of your head. That’s because, in my experience, Rogaine grows hair everywhere on me, except on top of my head.
Let’s say that, as a hospital patient, I got Rogaine on the upper part of my head. Normally, a hospital patient isn’t allowed to bathe or take showers.
So, let’s say that, with Rogaine on my head, I get in my bed. The Rogaine rubs off of my head, onto my pillow. Now I wind up sleeping on my side, or prone. Guess where the Rogaine on my pillow goes? It gets rubbed onto my nose and the rest of my face. I soon wind up with a hairy nose, and a hairy face. Beards weren’t popular in that era. A hairy nose never is.
Many medicines to prevent male pattern baldness grow hair everywhere except on your head. In later years, I took a drug, in pill form, to grow hair on my head. I can’t remember the name of the drug. It grew no hair on top of my head. However, it grew lots of hair on my nose. It did such a great job of giving me a hairy nose, plus unneeded hair elsewhere, that I had to stop taking the drug. Every day, while on this drug, I had to use a weed whacker on my pubic hair. I’m lucky that I still have my dick. ( Well, most of it. )
I still take pills to prevent baldness. I’ve found that Finasteride works well. It doesn’t grow much hair atop my head, but it does slow hair loss there. It does this so well that a doctor recently told me,
“Andrew, you don’t have male pattern baldness.”
My forearms are hairier than they should be, because of the Finasteride. I did make a few dollars off of my hairy forearms. They won me a part in a crowd of extras in the film, “Planet of the Apes”.
Psychoshit ignored my explanation, regarding the Rogaine. He cut me off before I fully explained myself.
Modern psychiatry doesn’t practice “talk therapy”. The assumption is that everyone suffers from some sort of mental illness. The psychiatrist’s job is to diagnose the illness. Then, he drugs the patient, with psychiatric drugs. These drugs can have side effects. If they’re physical, that’s just tough luck for the patient. Or, the patient is given more drugs, to control the side effects.
Sometimes, psychiatric drugs don’t work. The patient remains sane, with his views that the psychiatrist has declared insane. So, does the psychiatrist admit that he ( the psychiatrist ) was wrong? Nope. He jacks up the dose of the drug he’s prescribed. Only when the patient submits to the conventional wisdom is he declared “sane”.
Of course, the patient must keep taking the drugs, so he doesn’t become “insane” again. Hence, in the 1960s, gays and S&M folks were declared insane by psychiatry. Now, they’re regarded as sane. Prior to 1995, pedophiles were considered sane by psychiatry. Now, they’re considered insane. In the 1800s, a Black man who ran away from his White master was defined as insane by psychiatry. His mental illness was labelled, “Geppetto Mania”.
( I’ve done my best on the spelling of “Geppetto Mania”. Google isn’t bringing up anything relevant. However, decades ago, I read about Geppetto Mania in a psychology textbook. I also discussed it with my psychology professor. The “Geppetto” in the term refers to Pinocchio’s creator.
Reflect, for a moment, on the term Geppetto Mania. It implies that the White slave owner isn’t just the Black man’s master. He created the Black man! The Black man owes his whole existence to whichever White master currently owns him. )
Back to my interview by Psychoshit:
Although I told Psychoshit about the Rogaine, I never got to tell him that a baseball cap wouldn’t keep my ears warm. Pajama pants, tied around my head, would.
( A note on this: my ears get cold very easily. That’s because I once lived on Guam. I think that, when I was on Guam, my ears became a main way that I radiated away Guam’s extreme heat.
I was on Guam from age nine to age 15. For me, with regard to heat, it became an experience of, to quote the Eagles,
“You can check-out any time you like, But you can never leave!”
Now, in the continental United States, I shelter from the U.S.’s abysmal cold on its southern border. I pray for global warming. )
In a military hospital, a patient has no control over the amount of heat in his room. The hospital is centrally heated. You can guess what that means.
A military hospital proudly requires its patients to suffer in rooms that can get quite cold. Then, the military air-conditions the heck out of its rooms in the summer. Every penny must be saved on heat in winter, so the military can splurge on making their hospital rooms freezers in summer.
Psychoshit’s conclusion about me was this:
“Andrew Roller is so crazy that he refuses to wear pants to cover his genitals. However, he wears pants on his head.”
To this day, as a hospital inpatient, I do my utmost to avoid wearing pants. The reasons are these:
1. As a transplant patient, I’m not supposed to have anything binding my abdomen. The only way that you can wear hospital pants is to tie them around your abdomen. The hospital does not provide suspenders.
2. As an inpatient, what is your most difficult task? Staying clean. That’s because, during most of your stay, you won’t be allowed to bathe or shower. ( I’ve never seen a bathtub in a hospital. )
3. Let’s say you go to the bathroom. ( A place that is freezing cold, where a fan is loudly turning, making the room even colder. ) Let’s say you’re wearing pajama pants. Let’s say you’re sharing your hospital room with another patient. Of course, he regularly visits the toilet. Sometimes, using it, he misses the toilet, as he pees. So his pee goes on the floor.
Your roommate’s relatives visit. Of course, they come every day. I had a roommate whose wife stayed with him all night, every night, at UCSD. This despite the fact that it’s against UCSD’s rules. Your roommate’s visitors tramp outside on dirty sidewalks. Then, in your hospital room, they resort to the toilet. Likely, some of them miss the toilet too, as they pee.
So there you are, standing on a dirty bathroom floor. You feel obliged to drop your pajama pants. In a public bathroom, as an outpatient, I lay a clean, unused trash bag on the floor. However, I can’t bring dozens of unused trash bags with me to the hospital.
So, as an inpatient, using the toilet, I drop my pajama pants. Where do they go? On the dirty floor. Isn’t that wonderful? You can’t bathe, you’re going to get back in bed, but now you have dirty pajama pants. That means that you’ll wind up with dirty sheets. Modernly, a hospital grudgingly changes a patient’s sheets once in a while. They are not changed every day. Also, a hospital strictly limits how many pajama pants, and similar items, that you’ll be issued. So, if you’ve got dirty pajama pants, you’re stuck with them.
Sometimes, as an inpatient, you need to use the toilet quite quickly. There is little time to fool with pajama pants. As a result, while I don’t wear pants, I do wear a pajama shirt, and a bathrobe. ( UCSD does not issue bathrobes. There, I wear a hospital gown “backwards”; that is, as someone who is not insane would wear it. I wear my gown like a bathrobe.
On my most recent stay, as an inpatient at UCSD, the ward’s head nurse assured me that my not wearing pajama pants, but wearing a pajama shirt, and a hospital gown, was acceptable. As she said,
“You’re in the ward.”
The head nurse at UCSD was somewhat startled when I wrapped pajama pants around my head, to keep my head warm. At that time, I could only afford prescription sunglasses. So, I wore sunglasses, with my pajama pants wrapped around my head. Of this, UCSD’s head nurse told me,
“You look like a terrorist!”
Psychoshit ended his brief interview of me. He declared me to have schizophrenia. This is:
“A heterogeneous psychiatric disorder characterized by psychotic behavior including delusions, hallucinations, withdrawal from reality, and disorganized patterns of thinking and speech.”
Yeah, right, dude. “A red truck in Tennessee.”
I’ll give you my opinion of modern psychiatry: psychiatrists are cops who wear white instead of black. ( I’m citing modern conventions; cops I see are dressed in black, not blue. In the popular imagination, psychiatrists wear white gowns. )
Once, psychiatry was an independent profession, that followed its own path. Modernly, it has sold its soul to the state. If you disbelieve me, tell a psychiatrist that you’re a pedophile. See what happens after that.
Psychoshit did not accuse me of being a pedophile. He did proceed to engage in a wicked campaign against me. As a transplant patient undergoing transplant rejection, I was being given medicine to counteract the rejection. It’s considered so horrid that the doctors’ nickname for it is “shake-and-bake”. ( I.e. the medicine makes you shiver, and gives you a fever. )
Someone must have asked Psychoshit for evidence that I was insane. The answer that came back to me, via a medical person in the ward, was this:
“Andrew Roller isn’t actually insane. He’s only insane because he’s being given “shake-and-bake”! To my knowledge, I wasn’t yet on “shake-and-bake” when Miss Pervert complained that I was wearing pajama pants that left my genitals exposed.
It was impossible for me to stop taking “shake-and-bake”. That would have consigned my kidney transplant to death, via rejection. Hence, in Psychoshit’s view, I was “insane” for the duration of my stay in the hospital! That’s because I was in the hospital for a regimen of “shake-and-bake”.
I will now tell of Psychoshit’s campaign of harassment against me:
1. Psychoshit insisted on having me injected with drugs to make me “sane”. He assigned this dirty work to my primary nephrologist in this hospital. I’ll call this man “Nephroshit”. ( A nephrologist is a kidney doctor. For whatever reason, Nephroshit was collaborating with Psychoshit. From the moment I’d ( involuntarily ) met Nephroshit, I’d had a bad feeling about him. He’d struck me as arrogant, rude, and uncaring. I refused Nephroshit’s drugs. I can still picture Nephroshit standing over me, with a dozen big needles, saying,
“You’ve got to take the drugs.”
2. Psychoshit tried to get me imprisoned in his psychiatric ward. I managed to stay out of his psychiatric ward.
3. I wrote a complaint against Psychoshit. A xerox machine was in a snack room on the first floor of the hospital. Using it, I made a photocopy of my complaint.
Strangely, Psychoshit appeared in my hospital room the next morning, at 5:00 a.m. In a military hospital, this is very odd. I handed my compliant to Psychoshit. I gave him the original copy. He said something that caused me to assure him,
“I have a copy.” I showed him the photocopy. Psychoshit was maliciously thrilled. At once, he accused me, a retiree, of going AWOL ( Absent Without Leave ) from the hospital. I explained that I hadn’t gone AWOL. I’d used the xerox machine in the snack room. When I returned to this hospital some months later, the xerox machine was gone from the snack room. No xerox machine was there. Who do you think got the xerox machine removed? I say, it was Psychoshit.
You’ll recall that I said it was 5:00 a.m. At this hour, most people are unable to think clearly. Psychoshit assumed he’d find me in a groggy condition. What he didn’t know was that I’m a night person. Interview me at noon, and I’ll likely be groggy, if I’m awoken from sleep. A vampire isn’t groggy at 5 a.m.
Psychoshit had a proposal. He was going to put me on T.V.! ( The closed-circuit one in his psychiatric ward. ) He would videotape me as he interviewed me. Of course, Psychoshit wasn’t going to interview me in a normal way. He intended to put me under hypnosis, he said, before he interviewed me.
I guess, in that era, the average groggy patient would have been thrilled at the prospect of being on T.V. Then the patient could ( under hypnosis ) proclaim his worldview to an audience. That is, to Psychoshit. And to whomever Psychoshit showed the videotape to, to prove that the patient was insane.
T.V. was no lure to me. I’d been on a Public Broadcasting Service ( P.B.S. ) program when I was nine or 10 years old. This was when I was on Guam. The show, which I’d appeared in a number of times, was called “Quick on the Draw.” ( Not “Quack on the Draw”. Only a “doctor” like Psychoshit would be on a program called that. )
I’d also been the host of a community T.V. show in Sacramento. Initially, it was called, “The Libertarian Conspiracy”. Later, its name was changed to “The Libertarian Gang.” This riffed on the name of a T.V. show that was currently airing on the Cable News Network ( C.N.N. ).
4. Psychoshit stole my DNA. Modernly, anyone who enters the U.S. military must give a DNA sample. That was not the case during my time in the military.
It was, however, the case for those in the military when Psychoshit interviewed me. Every active duty person had to give his DNA. However, I had long since retired from the military.
You might wonder how Psychoshit stole my DNA.
First, he was successful in subjecting me to a psychiatric watch. Since I refused to be immured in his psychiatric ward, he brought his psychiatric ward to me. Psychoshit stationed enlisted people from his ward outside of my hospital room, in the transplant ward. I was subjected to this psychiatric watch 24 hours a day. I still remember one of these enlisted people. A young Black woman said snidely to her co-worker, of me,
“He’s schitzo.” This is how I learned what Psychoshit’s diagnosis of me was.
Back to Psychoshit’s theft of my DNA:
The hour was 8:00 p.m. This was long after any medical requests are made of a patient ( in a military hospital ). I was brushing my teeth in the bathroom that was in my hospital room. One of Psychoshit’s enlisted goons intruded on me. ( Psychoshit himself wasn’t present. ) The goon demanded that I spit into a cup. No reason was given for why I needed to spit in the cup. I spit in the cup. I figured it was a test for alcohol. I don’t drink alcohol. A vampire only drinks blood, preferably from young, beautiful girls.
Modern T.V. advertising, for voluntary DNA tests, speaks of spitting into a cup. That is how I now know that Psychoshit stole my DNA.
5. Psychoshit noticed that, in my hospital room, I sat in a chair and looked out my only window.
Psychoshit claimed that because I sat looking out of my window, this was ( further ) proof that I was insane. ( Miss Pervert may have been in on this scam. )
( Supposedly, a sane patient lies in bed all day watching moronic daytime T.V. Also, in Psychoshit and Miss Pervert’s opinion, there was nothing interesting outside of my window. It simply looked onto a view of an empty field. Water in the field reflected the sky. Some buildings were in the distance.
I, however, found this view interesting. ( As a hospital inpatient wearing brittle IVs, and on shake-and-bake. ))
6. Because I looked out the window, Psychoshit tried to have me physically removed from my room. This was no minor effort on his part. It was an attack that I endured for days.
Psychoshit wanted to put me in a dark room across the hall. It held three enlisted men. If you, my reader, are enlisted, my hat is off to you. Thank you for your service. However, the norm in a military hospital is that an officer is not bunked with enlisted men. I’m a retired officer. Like anyone, I protect what few rights I have.
There were other reasons that I didn’t want to be transferred to the room across the hall. For one, the three enlisted men gabbed all day. No offense, but what most guys say in such a situation is moronic.
I was once bunked, in another hospital, with an Indian. He was a big fat guy named “Tiny”. For a whole fucking day, I had to listen to Tiny tell me about his life as an Indian. Among fatso’s observations was this:
“No White man can ever catch an Indian.” I was surprised that Tiny could make it to our bathroom.
Also, the three enlisted men ran their T.V.s all day.
Coming among them, I’d be obliged to make friends with them. This is a long and difficult process. If I’d gotten it wrong, I would have been disliked by them, even shunned. Probably, my pro-pedophile comments wouldn’t have gone over too well with them.
Meanwhile, I had brittle IVs in me, and I was on shake-and-bake. Being on shake-and-bake, I was sometimes vomiting, and having sudden diarrhea. We four men would have been sharing one bathroom.
Finally, I was a kidney transplant patient. I’ve had a total of three kidney transplants. Maybe God wants me dead. I have no idea why.
The transplant medicine that I take lowers the effectiveness of my immune system. If it didn’t do that, my immune system would attack my kidney. That’s because “my” kidney was taken from a fresh corpse. From “my” kidney’s view, I am, in the words of a doctor, “a foreign body”. “My” kidney wants to be back in the corpse that it came from.
Being immunosuppressed, I’m at greater risk of infection. Any transplant patient is put in a single hospital room, without other patients. This is so other patients don’t infect him by their presence. ( This may sound insulting, but that’s how it is. It’s one reason that I stay out of whorehouses. )
You might wonder how I managed to avoid being physically manhandled into the enlisted mens’ room. Whenever someone tried to physically move me, I told them that their conduct was “tortious”. The word “tortious” is a legal term. It’s derived from the word “tort”. A tort is any unwanted physical contact that causes harm. The harm may be solely psychic. In a law case, a Black man was waiting in line at a buffet. He was holding a plate. A White waiter approached the Black man. Telling him,
“We don’t serve Niggers here,” the waiter yanked the plate out of the Black man’s hand. The Black man sued the restaurant, and recovered for his psychic injuries.
However, this sort of lawsuit won’t work in every case. Once I, a White man, was at Tower Books. I was thumbing through Penthouse magazine. A White male employee yanked the Penthouse out of my hand. He told me that I’d taken the Penthouse from the “overstock” shelf, instead of the shelf where the exact same magazine was offered for sale. Both shelves were by one another, and readily accessible to customers.
The employee had committed a tort against me. Yet, I had no hope of suing Tower Books and winning. Had I been Black, I might have sued and won. However, as a White man, I was not in any special group that our government favors.
The lesson from this is as follows: learn the word “tort”. If you’d like more information before deploying this word, buy a used tort casebook online. It probably won’t cost you more than $20.00. You’ll read the equivalent of short stories about people who suffered physical injuries, as a result of another’s misconduct.
7. As previously stated, I was in the hospital for transplant rejection. As a result of this, I was obliged to wear one or more IVs. At that time, the IVs ended in brittle plastic, that easily broke. At least one of these was in my hand. It significantly limited my ability to move.
In terms of drugs, I wasn’t just on shake-and-bake. I had to swallow lots of pills. As a result of the IVs, I dropped several pills on the floor as I attempted to take them. I had no hope of retrieving the pills, as it would break my brittle IVs. Hence, I left these pills on the floor.
They were my own pills. I’d brought all my pills to the hospital with me. In that era, the hospital had no objection to this. Hence, whenever I dropped a pill, I simply got another pill from my supply. I wound up with about three pills on the floor. As a result, Miss Pervert accused me of throwing my pills around the room, and wasting the government’s money.
8. Psychoshit told me that I was going to have “a commitment hearing”. He told me this as he stood with a number of female nurses at the ward’s front desk. The nurses all laughed at me.
A “commitment hearing”, if successful, robs you of your rights. You aren’t put into a psychiatric ward in a hospital. You’re committed to an insane asylum, for an indefinite period. You could spend the rest of your life there. This happens if the asylum’s doctors never declare you to be “cured”. Of course, as someone who’s “insane”, you’re forcibly drugged.
As an asylum patient, you lose your civil rights. In effect, you’re a prisoner. If you ever get out of the insane asylum, you’re now someone who’s tagged as being “mentally ill”. You won’t be allowed to purchase or own firearms. Say Goodbye to your Second Amendment rights. You can pretty much kiss your First Amendment rights goodbye too, in terms of your credibility. People are leery of crediting the words of someone who’s been declared “insane”.
9. Psychoshit made a big presentation to the transplant ward’s doctors, to prove that I was insane. Had I been on active duty, he would have succeeded. However, I was retired. Hence, the other doctors didn’t want to trouble themselves with claiming that I was insane. They told Psychoshit to send me home. ( Which, in this instance, was over a thousand miles away. )
10. The doctors’ and nurses’ harassment of me drove up my blood pressure. No matter how much blood pressure medicine I was given, my blood pressure stayed very high. Finally, Psychoshit was forced to stop harassing me. When I heard the news, my blood pressure dropped very low. It dropped so low that I wound up supine in my bed, unable to move. I couldn’t even use my medical call device. It was very close to me, but I had no strength to reach it. Nor could I cry out. Suffering low blood pressure, I passed in and out of consciousness. I came very close to dying. This went on for quite a few hours. During this time, absolutely no one checked on me.
I now feel that Psychoshit was a homosexual sexual predator. This was before gays were allowed in the military. Females don’t take much interest in me, but fags do. For them, I’m the ideal guy to fuck up the ass. I actually have nothing against gays. However, I am not gay. Over the years, I’ve come to realize how much gays covet me. Even now, I know of two gay men who would love to go to bed with me. This has been going on since I was 15 years old. At least, that’s when I first began to notice it.
Like I said, I have nothing against gays. I was a dues paying member of the North American Man / Boy Love Association ( NAMBLA ) for a quarter of a century. However, some years ago, NAMBLA stopped cashing my checks. As an organization, it was collapsing. Maybe NAMBLA considered my views too radical. I came to realize that I was mailing them too many letters. One day, I realized that I’d sent them so many letters that they were throwing them away unopened. This despite the fact that I always sent my letters unfolded, in big envelopes. My letters were neatly written and complimentary.
In the last NAMBLA newsletter that I received, NAMBLA credited me with most everyting that had been written in their newsletter for the last several years. This was nonsense. It was as if NAMBLA was telling the world, “If you want to arrest anyone for what NAMBLA has published, arrest Roller”.
But back to Psychoshit.
11. During the time I was being tortured by Psychoshit, I went downstairs in my pajama shirt and bathrobe. I went to the snack room. It was late at night. The room was empty. While I was there, a female nurse walked in. I went about my business. The nurse found my presence horrifying. She was shocked that, while I was wearing a pajama shirt, a bathrobe, and socks with flip-flops, I was not wearing pants. It’s possible that she complained about me.
I had a similar experience on a Monday morning. While most hospital employees had spent the weekend fucking, I’d undergone a long journey from Texas to California. I went downstairs, at about 7 a.m., to a snack shop. At that time, I was unfamiliar with hospital staff routines. Seven o’clock on a Monday morning is when hospital staffers, such as nosy nurses, have no interest in sex. As I said, they’ve been fucking all weekend. They’re married, or they have boyfriends.
I was in my hospital clothing. I think I was wearing pants. In that era, military stores, such as snack shops, sold porn magazines. So, as loads of nurses passed through the snack shop, I was rooting through the many porn magazines in the store. I had no interest in the nurses. After all, none of them were 11 years old or younger. I was willing to allow America to force me to make do with adult porn.
I eventually found a porn magazine that I liked. In it, two youthful females were drooling honey on each other. Then they were licking it off. I bought the magazine.
Later, under attack by Psychoshit and Miss Pervert, I wondered if Miss Pervert had seen me looking at the porn magazines in the snack shop.
( Decades later, I bought a Playboy magazine at a mall bookstore when it opened. The time was 10 a.m., on a weekday. My purchase horrified the store’s middle-aged female clerk. She considered me a major pervert for buying Playboy so early in the day. What did she think I was going to do? Wait until afternoon, or evening, when the store is crowded, and buy my Playboy then? What if a little girl, or a teen girl, saw me doing that? She’d think I was a jerkoff! Even a pedophile like me has some self-respect. )
12. In the ward, a nurse came into my room at night. She asked me what I was thinking about. I guess she expected pabulum about “friends and family”. Instead, I explained to her something I’d learned very recently, back home, from the T.V. show “The Mechanical Universe”.
It’s this: Earth does not travel in an ellipse around the Sun. Earth is always traveling in a straight line, through curved spacetime. Although I cited my source for this, I think the nurse reported that I was crazy. Probably, it was Miss Pervert who visited me. I was obliged to assure her that I was “decent” before she would come past my room’s drawn curtain. I had not, in fact, requested that anyone enter my room.
13. My parents visited me in Bizarro Hospital. They lived in Hawaii. My parents were useless. My father wasn’t there to help me. He visited Bizarro Hospital to demand that the military put me back on active duty.
Unknown to me, my doctors at Bizarro Hospital told my parents that I’d be dead in a month. ( Absent future dialysis treatments. ) Since the doctors told this to my parents, they ( the doctors ) felt no obligation to tell this to me. ( At the time, I was 30 years old. )
My parents did not tell me that I’d be dead in a month. Having failed to shove me back into the military, they flew back to Hawaii. It was much later, in a flippant comment, that my mother revealed to me that she, and my father, had been told that I’d be dead in a month.
My parents did nothing to ease my situation. When I was finally back in California, I survived a number of additional months. There, I wound up weighing 209 pounds. My normal weight was 125 pounds. The rest of the weight was urine that I couldn’t get rid of, because my kidney transplant was failing.
Dr. O, in California, didn’t warn me that I’d soon be dead, absent dialysis. I was unwittingly left on my own. One day, barely able to get my shoes on, due to my body’s swelling, I figured something was seriously wrong with me. I drove 100 miles to the California hospital.
There, I was made an inpatient. As I was only 31 years old, I was put in the children’s ward. I had no objection to this. However, I guess some nurse in the children’s ward didn’t like pedophiles. That’s because I was soon transferred to a fucking adult ward.
( I’m not the tallest guy you’ll meet. However I don’t consider myself exceptionally short. I’m just short enough to be addressed as “Ma’am”, when I’m bundled in warm clothing. )
Soon after I left Bizarro Hospital, a brief, but popular, fashion trend arose in America. It consisted of people wearing pants on their heads. I recall seeing people on T.V. wearing short pants on their heads. I did not participate in this goofy trend. I only wear long pajama pants on my head, as a hospital inpatient, to say warm.
Some months after Psychoshit attacked me, I returned to Bizarro Hospital. By then, I required dialysis. In the dialysis clinic, I saw Nephroshit enter. He had yet to notice me. Shutting my eyes, I pretended to be asleep. Making his rounds with nurses, Nephroshit eventually reached me. Nephroshit thought I was asleep. Of a nurse, he asked, in a haughty, offended manner,
“What’s HE doing here?” Nephroshit was speaking of me. I was confirmed in my belief that he deserved the name Nephroshit. He was an evil bastard.
On this visit to Bizarro Hospital, I was assigned to a hospital room that, in effect, had no window. One window was present in my room. However, it faced an open space that was high up in the hospital. It was the upper part of Bizarro Hospital’s main lobby. All I could see through my window was a wall some distance away. I couldn’t meaningfully see the floor of the hospital lobby.
However, I had this room to myself. This was so despite the fact that I was no longer a transplant patient, and was not at risk for infection. I am a Second Lieutenant. That is the lowest ranking military officer. I was also retired, which lowered my status further. ( In practical terms, my real “rank” in a military hospital, as a retired Second Lieutenant, is that of an Airman. An Airman is an Air Force rank that, in Army terms, is equivalent to a Private. )
Amazingly, on this visit to Bizarro Hospital, I was put in a wing of the transplant ward that was reserved for Colonels and above. Also, I was put next to the room that held the ward’s entire, quite large, supply of drugs. This room was mostly left accessible to anyone who wanted to enter it. That didn’t mean patients were allowed in the room. However, if I’d wanted to sneak into the room, and steal drugs, I had ample opportunity to do so.
I had no interest in poaching drugs. Since I’d refused Psychoshit’s mental illness drugs, I figured the hospital staff knew I wouldn’t steal their drugs. They may not have trusted Colonels and Generals to stay out of their room with the drugs, but they trusted me.
AFTERMATH
1. Amazingly, from Texas, Psychoshit kept pursuing me in California. This happened months later. One day, I was sitting in Dr. O’s office. His phone rang. Psychoshit was on the line! Dr. O was shocked. Though he didn’t tell me who’d called, as I sat there, he told the caller that he couldn’t talk to him.
At that time, patient privacy was no big deal. If the caller had been a doctor asking about any patient other than me, Dr. O would happily have discussed the patient. ( Without using the patient’s name. ) That’s because the conversation would have been between two doctors, about some patient whom I knew nothing about.
This may seem odd to you. However, I’m speaking of a military hospital. Imagine you’re a military patient in a military doctor’s office in World War Two. The phone rings. Is your military doctor going to refuse to discuss another patient, because you ( a patient ) are sitting there? Of course not! It’s all for one, and one for all, in the military. That’s how wars are won. Wars are not won by worrying about patient privacy. ( Or whether, modernly, a battalion has a representative number of trannies in it. )
2. Later, Dr. Stupid, in the California hospital, angrily told me that I’d been ordered to report to their psychiatric clinic. ( As an outpatient. ) No one at that hospital had ordered me to report to a psychiatric clinic. Even Dr. Stupid wasn’t ordering me to do so. His claim was that some ( nonexistent ) person had ordered me to do so, in the past.
Where did Dr. Stupid get the notion that I’d been ordered to report to a psychiatric clinic? There could only be one answer. It was Psychoshit, calling California from Texas.
The fact that Psychoshit kept pursuing me, months later, when I was over a thousand miles away, led me to conclude that Psychoshit was not concerned for my welfare. After all, if I’d been insane, I’d have been assigned a psychiatrist in California.
However, a homosexual sexual predator, like Psychoshit, WOULD keep pursuing me. That’s what a stalker does. It’s exactly what Psychoshit did. Of his many abuses, detailed above, the theft of my DNA grates on me most, at this late date. Psychoshit had absolutely no medical reason to steal my DNA. Unless, of course, he was an obsessed, homosexual, sexual predator. Maybe he’s in a lab somewhere making a clone of me. Then he’ll get to fuck me, or rather my clone, up the ass.
I once knew a customer at a fitness center. He presented himself as “a sailor”. Perhaps he’d once been a sailor. When I knew him, he was an aging, but still attractive, gay prostitute. Since he was aging, he was no longer getting the volume of johns that he was used to. Hence, he was homeless. He did, so he claimed, manage to sleep with a different young homeless man every night.
This prostitute talked obsessively about his homosexual urges. It blew the minds of the other men in the fitness center, particularly in the locker room. I had no problem with the prostitute. We got along very well. The prostitute took to calling me “honey”. By doing this, he again offended every man in the locker room, even another gay guy. However, I didn’t mind being called “honey”.
If I’d had lots of money, I’d have hired the prostitute as my bodyguard. My only fear was that I might wake up one night with his dick up my ass.
This is why I’m so offended by Psychoshit. I was perfectly willing to go along with his homosexuality ( even though gays were, at that time, banned from the military). Instead of allowing me to be his friend, Psychoshit was an obsessive monster. That’s why I say that he was the one who was insane, not me.
Dangerously, Psychoshit probably had a full career in the military. That’s because the military always needs doctors. Of course, a rigid hierarchy like the military protects those “in authority” from those that they abuse.
At the California military hospital, I was put on dialysis. The notion that I was insane continued to circulate there. An example:
One day, I was on dialysis. The nurses were, as usual, noisily chatting. I wanted to read. I got out my book, Homer’s Odyssey. Quietly, I began reading it aloud, since the nurses’ prattle made silent reading impossible. Also, historically, the Odyssey began as an oral tale. It was only written down centuries later. So, the Odyssey is not meant to be read silently.
The nurses were shocked that I was reading aloud. Of course, they knew nothing of the Odyssey, or its oral tradition. The nurses didn’t tell me to stop reading aloud. They did complain to Dr. O and Dr. Stupid that I must be crazy, since I was reading aloud.
Soon, I was kicked out of the dialysis clinic. Dr. O said that he was unable to get “Medicare subvention” for me. ( That is, Medicare would become the primary payer for my dialysis, instead of the military. ) Of course, when I joined the military, and even when I was forcibly retired, for kidney failure, nobody mentioned Medicare paying for me. I was far from being an old fart.
Hence, I was required to leave the military dialysis clinic. I wound up at a civilian clinic that I’d never heard of.
Initially, I was tasked with finding a civilian dialysis clinic myself. The military clinic’s nurses and doctors were too lazy to do this. They were too lazy despite being professionals in the field. I was supposed to find a civilian clinic while I remained responsible for driving to the military clinic three times a week. That trip was about 200 miles, round trip.
In the military dialysis clinic, I looked at the other patients. Was this clinic busy dialyzing soldiers? Nope. Mostly, the clinic’s patients were not Americans. They were aged foreigners, who somehow had the status of a “dependent” of a person who was on active duty. As I understand it, the person on active duty may himself not have been an American. These “dependent” patients were entitled to endless dialysis in a military clinic. I, an American-born officer who’d actually served, wasn’t.
A civilian dialysis clinic is very busy. It dialyzes patients from about 6:30 a.m. until around 8 p.m.
The military clinic dialyzed just a few patients a day. Starting at 8:00 a.m., they closed a bit after the hour of noon. Did they work the rest of the day, doing office chores? Nope. They went home. Why? Because, under the view that they were deployable 24 hours a day, they were entitled to take lots of time off. Someday, the government might order them to show up somewhere at midnight. Hence, they could spend most of their military careers not working. This was a decade before America undertook long wars in Iraq and Afghanistan.
For whatever ( possibly malicious ) reason, I’d been taken off of the military’s kidney transplant list. This had been done by Dr. O. I wanted to get back on the ( then short ) military transplant list. I wanted to be transplanted ( again ), and get the Hell out of the military dialysis clinic.
Instead, I had to tramp off to the civilian dialysis clinic. There, I had to start all over as a possible candidate for their ( much longer ) civilian kidney transplant list.
Kidney dialysis is not like, say, sitting on the toilet. This despite the fact that, functionally, a kidney dialysis clinic is a big bathroom. There, you pee out of your arm, through a big needle that’s stuck in your arm. ( You actually “pee” out your blood, which gets circulated through a big machine, and then pumped back into you. This can last for four hours. )
Kidney dialysis hammers the body. The full process takes most of a day. When you’re done, you feel like you’ve been in a washing machine. Even though you’ve been stuck in a chair for hours, you mostly just want to sleep when you go home. Two days later, you’re back in the dialysis chair again. This goes on for years.
There is a limited supply of kidneys available for transplantation. Often, a dialysis patient can’t look forward to getting a transplanted kidney. Anyone who is 70 years or older is considered too old to get a transplanted kidney. That’s because the person might get a transplanted kidney, and then die of a heart attack. A patient who’s labelled as “noncompliant” can’t get a transplanted kidney.
A normal person has two kidneys. He can survive on one. However, no one can sell their kidney, whether he’s alive or dead. The theory is that it’s immoral to have a live person sell their kidney. ( Which I mostly agree with. ) The same theory is applied to the dead. It’s applied this way:
“If someone could sell his kidney, he might kill himself to sell his kidney.”
However, if someone buys life insurance, he might kill himself to let his family cash in on his life insurance. Yet, as a society, we allow people to buy life insurance.
The same logic should apply to kidney ( and other ) transplants. If you die, and it’s shown that you didn’t commit suicide, your family should be able to sell your body parts.
Everyone gets paid in the transplant process ( absent the patient ), except the family of the corpse whose kidney is used. Why not pay the corpse’s family too? They could probably use the money. Why bury all of Uncle Joe in the graveyard, if you can help your family by selling his body parts? It’s not like Joe’s going to be calling you from underground, or from Heaven, asking,
“Where’s my dick? I want my dick back!” ( Or kidney, etc. )
TRUE TALES OF THE ( civilian ) DIALYSIS CLINIC
( Not that anyone there is insane. )
From the military dialysis clinic, I proceeded to a civilian dialysis clinic. I spent two years there.
At the civilian clinic, various dialysis technicians dialyzed me. I’ll call two of them, both White males, Beavis and Butthead. One day, Beavis sat down with me. He told me that he was troubled. This was because he’d pulled a prank on Butt-Head, and Butt-Head hadn’t found the prank funny.
The technicians had lockers. A standard feature in a medical unit is a shallow bowl. It’s called a vomit bowl. Beavis had taken a vomit bowl into the bathroom. He’d shitted in it. The result was a huge, long turd ( the size of my dick ), that was in Beavis’ vomit bowl. Beavis then put the vomit bowl with the turd into Butt-Head’s locker. Coming back from lunch, Butt-Head found the turd in his locker. Probably because Butt-Head wasn’t sane like Beavis, Butt-Head had found the turd disturbing. He’d decided that he didn’t like Beavis anymore.
My advice to Beavis was as follows: People don’t just shit. They pee too. Piss in a vomit bowl, and then put that in Butt-Head’s locker. Probably, Butt-Head is just pissed that, while you provided him with your shit, you denied him your pee. If you’re going to play a prank, you’ve got to play the whole prank; don’t do a half-assed one.
2. Next is a story that a dialysis technician told me. He said it was true.
One night, a man reported to the Emergency Room. You might wonder if he’d fallen somewhere. Or perhaps he was having heart problems. No, friend. This person’s problem was more basic than that. He was unable to defecate.
And why was he unable to defecate? He had a baseball shoved up his ass. Naturally, the doctors and nurses asked him how he’d gotten a baseball stuck up his butt. The man’s only reply was,
“I lost a bet.”
I guess getting a baseball shoved up his butt was better than turning his intestines into a playpen for a gerbil. One that was put in his ass.
HOW TO GET KIDS BACK IN SCHOOL NOW
In the employment market, I’m considered “unskilled labor”. The only real job I ever had was to commit mass murder, on demand, on a global scale, by launching nuclear missiles. That was when I was in the military. So, if you need to rapidly kill lots of “innocent babies”, to quote former President Donald Trump, call me! Otherwise, I’m an ignoramus.
Or maybe I’m a genius. Fox News is awash with parents moaning about public schools being closed. No one has come up with a solution for how to reopen public schools. It falls to me to provide an answer:
1. Fire all the public school teachers who refuse to return to their classrooms.
2. Hire, exclusively, pedophiles to be teachers. The word “pedophile” literally means,
“Lover of children.”
Recently, marijuana was legalized in California. It was decided, in the interest of “economic justice”, that licenses to operate drug dens ( marijuana shops ) would go first to people convicted of ( now former ) crimes involving marijuana.
I say that the same should apply to hiring teachers. Priority should be given to convicted child molesters. These folks get a raw deal. They have trouble getting a job, and even finding housing. Economic justice will be served by getting child molesters off of our streets, and into our children’s classrooms.
Having said the above, I doubt that “children” are as eager to return to school as Fox News proclaims. School, as I experienced it, was mostly a waste. Even college was mostly a waste. School is primarily a babysitting and warehousing service provided to parents. ( That is, it’s provided to children who fucked, and, fucking as they aged, got the female involved pregnant. Now, these fuckers are holy. That’s because they’re parents. )
I suppose the jocks and the cheerleaders will like returning to school. They usually get whatever social benefits school offers. ( Indeed, they monopolize such benefits, especially in Hollywood movies. )
Regularly attending school is a highly regimented existence. Old people ( those above age 18 ) soon grow to love sitting all day on their butts. It’s astonishing that this society has been able to get children to sit all day on their butts. Nature did not create children to sit on their butts. That, of course, is why modern psychiatry drugs children, and modern medicine drugs girls to prevent menarche. ( So girls don’t look and feel sexy, and get frisky with males. )
If you’ve been out of the “labor market” for some time ( called “wage slavery” by professor Peter Manikus ), you find that you change. The idea of working all day, every day, becomes increasingly bizarre. ( Especially if the offered “employment” is mindless, and the working conditions abusive. )
As for myself, I eventually discovered this: I could show up bright and shiny at my first day of work. ( At a mindless job, whose working conditions soon proved to be abusive. ) Then the second day of work would arrive.
“What?!” I’d say to myself. “I have to go back there again?! I was just there yesterday!” Going back to my “job” for a second day was especially difficult, as I’d picked up the habit of watching Charlie Rose, then on “CBS News Nightwatch”. The time that the show aired was irregular. My local CBS station would stop broadcasting at around 2:30 a.m., and then just switch to a satellite feed. They had no idea what the CBS satellite was sending over their airwaves in the dead of night. At about 5:30 a.m., my local CBS station would resume broadcasting. Hence, I would stay up at night watching Charlie Rose. The idea that I must then go to a full day of ( mindless ) work, after being awake since the previous day, was idiotic ( and almost impossible ).
Hence, I say, the children who have been out of school for a year are now different people. In the past, they were children who’d been harnessed to a regimented life since kindergarten, maybe even since preschool. Such children have now been divorced from a regimented life for a year.
( As I understand it, online learning can be somewhat ignored. It’s not like a child can be meaningfully disciplined by her teacher if she’s in her bedroom. )
( Then again, if her teacher is a child molester, as proposed above, he might be in her bedroom! That’s another reason to hire pedophiles as teachers. )
( It’s also a great reason to return corporal punishment to the learning process. )
My opinion is that it will be difficult to corral children into regimented lives as students. Even if the children are forced into schools, they may be present in name only. Also, it’s likely their willingness to resist being warehoused all day will rise. Such children will find ways of letting their schools know that they don’t like being there.
As a possible genius, I have another way to get kids back into school. Any child forced to go to school should be paid to be there. Let’s start by paying them a minimum wage of $15.00 per hour. Then, give them sick leave, maternity leave ( for frisky girls ), parental leave ( for proud student dads ), administrative leave ( for a child who’s late with his homework ), and retirement benefits.
A child starts school no later than age 5. By age 18, he’s worked, as a student, for a long time. By paying him, and giving him retirement benefits, he may have enough money by age 18 to never work again. This solves America’s unemployment problem. Everyone can retire at age 18. I guess I am a genius.
HOW TO MAKE YOUR KID SMART
Every parent claims that they want their kid to be smart. In fact, my mother once urged me not to be “too smart”. By this, she didn’t mean that I was sassy. She meant that she only wanted me to be smart enough to mindlessly obey my father, and her, and to readily submit to society’s dictates. In that era, society was not urging me to be a tranny faggot and spout today’s liberal gibberish. )
Let’s say you’re a parent. You truly want your kid to be smart. How to accomplish this? Spend lots of money on private schools? No. I never went to any private schools except ( briefly ) in college. Later, I attended two private law schools. The first was authoritarian, and abusive toward its students. The second school, which was tiny and new, swiftly devolved into ownership and senior staff conflicts. By the time I left, it was facing bankruptcy.
Here’s how to make your kid smart:
1. Make sure your kid is a “child molester”. A pedophile MUST think differently from conventional society. That’s because, in America, being a pedophile is like being a Jew in Nazi Germany. ( Absent, as yet, the gas chambers. )
2. Make sure your kid is unemployed. For life. Then he’ll have time to watch prepubescent girls on the internet, and read books about Adolf Hitler, like I do.
3. If your kid does go to school, make sure that the school is so disordered that he never gets any homework. While other kids struggled with homework to become corporate stooges, I read science fiction, fantasy, and other books. Most of what I know I learned on my own.
4. If you have a beautiful prepubescent daughter, have her move in with me. I’m pretty smart, so she’ll become smart too. ( If she isn’t already. By the way, I won’t mind if she’s dumb, if she’s a blonde. ) Call now. This is a limited time offer! Once I get around three dozen little girls living with me, that will be about all I can, ahem, handle.
Once three dozen little girls are living with me, I’ll apply for non-profit tax status, as an educational institution. I’ll call my home of higher learning “Andrew Roller’s Academy for Women Under Age 12.” Girls can stay with me until age 14 if they wish. Maybe even to age 17. However, I’m not running a senior home. That’s what the Playboy Mansion is for.
RACISM AND PANTS
The latest ideology is the following:
Someone asks you,
“Are you a racist?”
If you answer, “I’m not a racist,” then you are a racist.
Someone asks you,
“Are you a racist?”
If you answer, “Yes, I’m a racist”, and tell all the ways that you’ve engaged in racism, then you’re an excellent person, who’s dealing with his racism.
You might wonder how I feel about this. As a White bigot, and sexist, and ( Oh my God! ) heterosexual male, I heartily agree with this ideology.
However, this ideology must not be limited to racism.
Now, when I meet anyone, especially a politician, I ask him,
“Are you a child molester?”
If the politician says, “I’m not a child molester,” then, obviously, he is a child molester.
On the other hand, if the politician says,
“Yes, I’m a child molester,” and tells me all the ways that he’s groomed, molested, and raped children, then he’s an excellent person, who’s dealing with his pedophilia.
( And, hopefully, celebrating it. )
Another new ideology is that of cultural appropriation. In this ideology, cultural appropriation is bad. It spooked White women into no longer wearing hoop earrings. They, the White women, were told that wearing hoop earrings wrongfully appropriated Black culture.
Yesterday, I was outside of San Diego’s Children’s Museum. I got arrested for not wearing pants. The cops asked me what I was doing without my pants on. I told them,
“Pants were invented by the Arabs. I’m not an Arab. Therefore, if I wear pants, I’m wrongfully appropriating Arabic culture.”
That’s not all the cops wanted to know. They wanted to know why, at the Children’s Museum, I was telling little girls not to learn Mathematics.
“The Mathematics we use was invented by the Arabs,” I told the cops. “That’s why I’m warning any blondes, who have blue eyes, to not study Math. They’re obviously not Arabs. They must not wrongfully appropriate that which rightfully belongs to terrorists, and other Arabs.” I was telling the girls to stick to Roman numerals. If that got boring, I advised them, model nude on the internet.
THOUGHT FOR THE DAY
“Don’t get in a fight with a man who buys paper by the pound, and ink by the barrel.”
( The above is especially true if the “paper” and “ink” are free, thanks to the internet! )
Source of quote: me. However, I did not think up this quote. I read it somewhere, years ago. The website “quoteinvestigator ( dot ) com” gives versions of the above quote. It dates the earliest version to 1962, crediting “Attorney Roger Branigin”.
AND IN THE END...
The first big rainstorm of the year struck San Diego today. It’s raining cats and dogs. It’s not yet raining men. Hopefully, if children stay out of school long enough, it will be raining little girls!
Arcana:
1. UCSD Hospital is “The University of California at San Diego Hospital”. There are two of these, and many outpatient clinic locations.
2. In my dictionary, “DNA” is spelled without periods ( D.N.A. ). Giving the unabbreviated form of DNA is beyond the scope of this article.
3. As a retired disabled officer, I’m charged a small daily fee if I’m an inpatient at a U.S. military hospital. My TRICARE Supplement policy reimburses this. ( Less, of course, the cost of the Supplement’s premiums, the Supplement’s yearly deductible, and TRICARE’s yearly deductible. )
In a future article, I’ll discuss how to be an inpatient. The crucial point of this article will be the following:
As an inpatient at any hospital, write down the name of everyone who you meet. Do this as best you can, and don’t omit anyone. This will be crucial information if you later want to write about abuse you suffered at the hospital. You can decide to fictionalize the names if you wish, but you’ll want to keep straight who did what to you.
There wasn’t anything meaningful that I could do about Psychoshit, besides what I wrote above. However, I can hold him to account now, in this article. If enough patients, including veterans, write of what they’ve endured, maybe we’ll move beyond a society where the “authorities” always win, and crush those that they’ve abused. Do not suffer in silence.
Fighting back against abusive “authorities” is a great reason to read and write. We’re immured in a world of videos, video games, and ( once illegal ) narcotics. Apple’s Tim Cook doesn’t urge us to learn to write more effectively, in English, but to “learn to code”. That is, learn a bunch of symbols in a programming language that will soon be dead, for software that will soon be outdated.
I prefer learning more about English. Microsoft Basic ( or whatever ) only controls a machine. English goes straight into a person’s head.
In life, I never know where the next attack on my person is coming from. Unfortunately, I’ve learned that another attack is always on the way. I can’t plausibly defend myself by shooting people. I can hope to defend myself by writing.
If you’re a veteran, don’t kill yourself because your buddies died in Iraq, and you didn’t. Friend, the world is still coming for you, in a bad way. If you don’t know that, you have yet to experience enough of this world.
4. Ancient authors don’t explain everything that they’re writing about. Their audience consisted of people who were alive at the time. Mostly, those readers knew much of a culture that an author was writing about. As a result, an ancient author doesn’t explain everything. He only tells what his audience doesn’t yet know.
Hence, for my readers 2,000 years from now, who read my words as their central religious text, the song that I quoted from, by the Eagles, is “Hotel California”. ( I stayed there once. Since it was the juvenile wing of a women’s prison, I was pissed when I was forced to check-out. )
5. The phrase “innocent babies”. ( Then ) President Trump is referring to victims of a poison gas attack in Syria.
6. I can’t find anything about Peter Manikus on the internet. He was my political science professor in 1983. I may be slightly misspelling his name.
7. Apple’s C.E.O. ( Chief Executive Officer ) is Tim Cook. He appeared recently on the Fox News program, “Fox News Sunday.” Parroting the conventional views of today’s elites, Cook urged ordinary people to “learn to code”. He made no mention of his intent to outsource Apple’s coding tasks to foreign countries. Nor did he mention bringing lots of aliens into America to work at Apple, at Americans’ expense.
( I say this having applied for employment at Apple in about 1986. Was I hired? No, despite owning Apple’s products. ( Apple’s products were not ubiquitous then. ) Would I be hired by Apple today? Of course not! I’m an ordinary white male. We must be purged from America. Big Tech elites plan to rule the world with alien ( wage ) slave labor. Of course, I still ( stupidly? ) own Apple products. I can boycott You Tube. I have yet to figure out how to boycott Apple. )
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Copyright 2021 by Andrew L. Roller. ET, Editorial Thunder, and ARSE, Andrew Roller Stories and Essays, are trademarks of Andrew L. Roller.
I am https://andrewroller.wordpress.com
Earlier posts by me are at https://asstr.org/files/Authors/Roller/
I’m on paper at: https://www.abebooks.com > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
and https://www.abebooks.co.uk > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
If you visit an “AbeBooks” website, you’ll be presented with a large square “Search” box. In the box labelled “Author”, type in “Andrew Roller”. In the box labelled “Title”, type in “Andrew Roller Presents”. This will bring up some of my pamphlets. I have not yet figured out how to bring up other pamphlets by me, under other titles. I don’t recall all the titles I published under.
I have no financial involvement in these resale items.
I am on You Tube as “Andrew Roller”. Use You Tube’s magnifying glass icon to search for “Andrew Roller”. That will take you to my You Tube channel. Or, on You Tube, tap my sun icon, if you see it. That will also take you to my You Tube channel. There, you can see songs and films that I like.
At the “home page” of my You Tube channel, you’ll see just a selection of playlists that I created. To see all my playlists, tap on the phrase, “Created playlists”.
The World Wide Web address for my You Tube channel is:
https://www.youtube.com/andrewroller
If you click on this link, you’ll be taken to a World Wide Web You Tube page. Here, You Tube displays a cartoon image of a monkey. The page says, “This page isn’t available. Sorry about that. Try searching for something else.”
My advice: on this page, search for “andrew roller”. By doing so, you’ll get to my World Wide Web You Tube channel. However, I have over 100 Playlists, that I created, at my You Tube app channel. The World Wide Web version of You Tube will only serve you 15 of my Playlists.
( Hence, access You Tube via its app. The You Tube app, like the WordPress app, is available for free at the Apple App Store. )
This is ET, Editorial Thunder, issue number 61
Arcana: This is ET, Editorial Thunder, issue number 61, version 9.0
Date Written: January 29, 2021.
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This has been a presentation of A R S E news.
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ET 61
Editorial Thunder presents...
Military Hospital Abuse
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Plus: How to get kids back in school now.
And: How to make your kid smart.
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MILITARY HOSPITAL ABUSE
I’m declared nuts by a predator psychiatrist.
by Andrew Roller
There are, allegedly, “benefits” to joining the U.S. military. One of the most touted benefits is “free health care”. However, this overlooks something: when you’re in the military, your body belongs to them. Imagine having nothing wrong with you, but being told that you’re insane. One or more doctors in the military then declare that they must forcibly drug you. They also intend to make you an ( involuntary ) inpatient in a psychiatric ward.
That’s what happened to me. At the time, I’d been retired, for kidney failure, from the military for some years. I also had a failing kidney transplant. Below are the facts regarding what happened to me. If you’re considering joining the military, I recommend that you consider my facts before doing so. It saddens me to say this, but I feel that I must. As a result of my “care” at military hospitals, I’ve done my best to avoid being an inpatient in one.
Civilian hospitals, like UCSD, can be awful. However, as a general rule, a civilian hospital has no time to waste trying to jam a patient into a psychiatric ward. Time is money at a civilian hospital. Also, a civilian hospital can be sued.
That’s not true of a military hospital. The taxpayer pays all the bills. The Internal Revenue Service ( I.R.S. ) can use violence against any taxpayer who refuses to pay. Also, a patient can’t sue a military hospital for its “care”.
Below are the facts of my stay at a military hospital, and the aftermath of this.
Years ago, at a military hospital, I was treated horribly. The prime offender was a psychiatrist. I’ll call him “Psychoshit”. He deserves no better name. I’m assigning fictitious names to others in this account too.
I live in California. I was happily masturbating in my apartment when I got a phone call. Naturally, I hoped it was a blonde calling from Sweden.
It wasn’t. It was my nephrologist. Dr. O told me, over the phone, that my kidney transplant was rejecting. He ordered me to report to a military base. This California base was about 100 miles from me. Nonetheless, it was where I received all my medical care.
I was to be flown by the military to Texas. This happened. Arriving at a military base there, I was then transferred to another base. At this base, I was made an inpatient at a big hospital. It was the only one that could handle my situation. I’ll call this big Texas hospital “Bizarro Hospital”.
I was obliged to undergo a kidney biopsy. I’d had a kidney biopsy some years before, at another military hospital. That hospital was in Illinois. My instructions for my biopsy there had been as follows:
“After your biopsy, you will lie supine in your bed for six hours. Do not move, or get up to use the bathroom.” I was provided with a urinal bottle. I had to place this between my legs, and stick my dick in it. A urinal bottle that is lying nearly flat fills quite quickly. That’s because it’s lying flat, instead of standing upright. Hence, I had to repeatedly call for someone to empty my urinal bottle. Someone always did.
For this new biopsy, in Bizarro Hospital, I followed the same procedure as before. I peed in the urinal bottle several times. Then, I called for someone to empty my urinal bottle.
“Why don’t you get up and go use the bathroom?” I recall a female nurse asking me. She gets the name of “Miss Pervert”. I have no idea if Miss Pervert was married or not. I had no romantic interest in her. ( After all, she was over 11 years old. )
I explained to Miss Pervert what I was doing. She ignored me. Later, I learned that Miss Pervert accused me of being “indecent”. This was because I had my pajama pants open, and was peeing into the urinal bottle.
A curtain blocked the view of myself from a busy hallway. I tried to keep this curtain closed. I guess a technician kept closing it for me. However, I noticed that a female nurse kept yanking the curtain open, so I was exposed to the hallway.
At the time, I couldn’t figure out why the nurse was doing this. Apparently, it was Miss Pervert. She yanked my curtain open so rapidly that I couldn’t identify who was doing it, beyond the fact that it was a female nurse.
Also, I was new to the ward, so I was not yet able to easily distinguish people. ( Every military employee in a military hospital ward wears the same clothing. It is only differentiated by gender. )
Apparently, Miss Pervert kept yanking open my curtain to expose my genitals to the busy hallway. This, supposedly, would shame me into closing my pajama pants, and getting out of bed whenever I needed to pee. That would cause me to disobey the doctors’ orders, that I’d been given in Illinois, for my previous biopsy. ( No doctor in Bizarro Hospital had told me what to do after my current biopsy. Nor had anyone else. )
I was faced with a choice. I didn’t understand this at the time. I didn’t understand a lot of what was happening to me. I did have some understanding of my medical situation. I didn’t understand why I was being harassed by a nurse. Gradually, it dawned on me that I’d entered no ordinary hospital, but one in The Twilight Zone.
Here were my choices:
1. Damage, perhaps permanently, my kidney transplant, by getting up and walking to the bathroom. Note that no one had ordered me to get up and walk to the bathroom.
2. Endure being exposed to the hallway. I didn’t like being exposed to the hallway. I didn’t give a damn if my genitals were exposed. However, I didn’t like being disturbed by the sight, and sounds, of the passersby. It was like lying on the side of a busy, noisy highway. I also felt that germs were coming in from the hallway. If you’ve ever been in front of lots of people on cycles and treadmills at a fitness center, you’ll agree with me about germs. You can literally feel the people exhaling their germs on you.
Apparently, Miss Pervert complained to her bosses, on the ward, that I was ‘not wearing my pants’. I was “indecent”. However, no employee on the ward told me of this. They simply called Psychoshit. His usual place of work was in the hospital’s psychiatric ward. I was in a ward that dealt with transplant patients.
I had never interacted with a psychiatrist before. However, when Psychoshit glided into my room, he did not identify himself by name or profession. I found this highly unusual. Psychoshit was in a military uniform. I at once told him that he must be a psychiatrist. ( The only other possibility was that he was a chaplain. However, I think a chaplain would have had the courtesy to tell me his name and profession. ) Assuming no malice on Psychoshit’s part, I didn’t object to his presence.
Writing this now, I realize that I should not have verbally identified Psychoshit. Such a statement was probably used by Psychoshit to “prove” that I was insane. In his ( malicious ) view, I wasn’t verbally identifying him because I was smart. I was verbally identifying him because I knew that I was having mental problems, and needed his “help”.
Psychoshit set about giving me a brief interview. The first thing he did was trick me. He demanded that I remember the phrase, “A red truck in Tennessee.” He claimed that it was meant to test my memory. ( I still remember it, dude. )
In fact, “A red truck in Tennessee” was meant to distract me. Instead of focusing on what Psychoshit was asking me, I was to blurt out ill-considered answers to his questions.
( If this should happen to you, tell the psychiatrist the following:
“If you want to test my memory, do that separately from this interview.”
A psychiatrist will only quit probing you on an issue if you tell him:
“That question makes me uncomfortable.” Nothing else will stop his probing.
Note what this accomplishes:
1. It puts you into his world of “comfort” and “discomfort”. I don’t view my life that way, but psychiatrists do. So, in effect, you’re submitting to their worldview.
2. It alerts the psychiatrist to issues that you don’t want to discuss. You’ll discuss guns, and UFOs, but not the girl next door. What does that tell the psychiatrist?
( By the way, the only answer to give to the Federal Bureau of Investigation ( F.B.I. ) is,
“I don’t want to talk to you.” No other answer will stop their probing.
( An aside to this: let’s say that the F.B.I. interviews you. Even if you’re truthful with them, they can claim that you lied to them. This then becomes a question of fact for a jury. If a trial ensues, who is a jury going to believe? You, the accused? Or a sworn federal law enforcement officer?
The F.B.I. is legally allowed to lie to anyone. An exception to this is that cops can’t lie in court. However, cops have a name for lying in court, when they do it. That name is “testilying”. ( As opposed to testifying. ) I learned this from a law professor, in a law school, who was also a policeman. )
Psychoshit didn’t ask me about “the girl next door”. His questions were rudely basic. He asked me what time it was. Since I was far from home, I attempted to explain to him the relevant nature of time. ( While trying to remember, “A red truck in Tennessee.” )
I was in Texas. “Home” was a small apartment in California. I knew what time it was in both Texas and California.
Since I’d lived in Hawaii, I also knew the time there. ( Including the fact that Hawaii has no Daylight Savings Time, so its time, relative to the continental United States, shifts over the course of a year. )
I’d also lived in Guam. I knew the time there. Since my family had taken me, in my younger years, to Japan (more than once ), I knew the time in Japan.
Of course, I was also acquainted with Einsteins’s relativistic views of time.
Basically, I told Psychoshit, “What the time is depends on what location you’re asking about.” I recall throwing in the idea that, whatever the time was on Earth, how one decided what time it was on Mars was another matter. Psychoshit was not pleased with my answer. I guess it didn’t fit into the simpleton notions of time that he’d learned in medical school.
( I retain the suspicion that a number of military doctors are only in the military because they barely got through medical school. Generally, great doctors go into civilian practice. That’s because the civilian side of medicine pays much more than the military does. Plus, doctors begin working as doctors with lots of student loan debt.
On the other hand, if a doctor goes into the military, he gets royal treatment. He is paid well. I think his student loan debt is wiped clean. A doctor enters the military with minimal, and quite comfy, “basic training”. ( Training that consists solely of “elite” medical personnel. ) A doctor enters the military at the advanced rank of Captain, and can expect to be promoted quickly.
Hence, if you barely scraped through medical school, you know you won’t make lots of money as a civilian doctor. Probably, you’ll be sued, and lose your medical license. The answer? Sign up for the military. Patients in military hospitals are forbidden to sue.
The military never ceases to need doctors. I’ve met at least one doctor in the military, whom I’ll call “Dr. Stupid”, who was an utter moron.
I’ve yet to meet a military doctor who entered the military because he was gung-ho for America. Dr. O, who had a high rank, struck me as anti-military. ( In the M.A.S.H sense. ) I don’t care whether a military doctor is gung-ho or not. However, this observation reinforces my suspicion that military doctors are in the military because they wouldn’t have succeeded as civilian doctors. They’re too dumb. )
Now, back to my interview by Psychoshit:
Psychoshit asked me another question. I don’t recall what it was, but I remember replying that I was fond of the 1960s. This answer greatly troubled Psychoshit. I visually witnessed this.
A modern psychiatrist interviews a patient with his patient sitting upright. You don’t lie on a couch, with the psychiatrist sitting slightly beyond your head, and out of your field of vision.
Seeing Psychoshit’s reaction to my reply, I went no deeper into my love of the 1960s. I didn’t want to piss the guy off. I always try to win over whoever I’m talking to. An ally is useful. An enemy is not. I failed to win over Psychoshit. Reflecting on this now, it was impossible to win over Psychoshit. He was pure malice, and an insane predator. He was a rabid dog in human form.
I had IVs in me. They ended in brittle plastic. This brittle plastic was present where the IVs entered my body. They easily broke. One, in my hand, broke several times as I was wearing it. This IV in particular made moving about difficult for me. I was constantly fearful of breaking it again. A broken IV has to be replaced. Not only is that painful, but medical people find starting IVs in me difficult. All IVs must be replaced every three days.
Psychoshit was still ( briefly ) interviewing me. I realized that my head was cold. I picked up a spare pair of pajama pants. I wrapped them around my head.
This shocked Psychoshit. It shocked him more than I realized. He asked me why I didn’t wear a baseball cap. It was some distance away, on a shelf with my belongings.
I didn’t mention that I was trying to be polite to Psychoshit. It would have been rude for me to get up from my chair, and walk off as he was interviewing me.
I told Psychoshit that my baseball cap was strictly for outdoor wear. It had never been laundered. It was, in effect, dirty. Also, the inside of my baseball cap was covered with Rogaine. It’s a liquid that a man applies to his head to stop going bald. Rogaine will, supposedly, grow hair on your head. You don’t want Rogaine anywhere on yourself except on the upper part of your head. That’s because, in my experience, Rogaine grows hair everywhere on me, except on top of my head.
Let’s say that, as a hospital patient, I got Rogaine on the upper part of my head. Normally, a hospital patient isn’t allowed to bathe or take showers.
So, let’s say that, with Rogaine on my head, I get in my bed. The Rogaine rubs off of my head, onto my pillow. Now I wind up sleeping on my side, or prone. Guess where the Rogaine on my pillow goes? It gets rubbed onto my nose and the rest of my face. I soon wind up with a hairy nose, and a hairy face. Beards weren’t popular in that era. A hairy nose never is.
Many medicines to prevent male pattern baldness grow hair everywhere except on your head. In later years, I took a drug, in pill form, to grow hair on my head. I can’t remember the name of the drug. It grew no hair on top of my head. However, it grew lots of hair on my nose. It did such a great job of giving me a hairy nose, plus unneeded hair elsewhere, that I had to stop taking the drug. Every day, while on this drug, I had to use a weed whacker on my pubic hair. I’m lucky that I still have my dick. ( Well, most of it. )
I still take pills to prevent baldness. I’ve found that Finasteride works well. It doesn’t grow much hair atop my head, but it does slow hair loss there. It does this so well that a doctor recently told me,
“Andrew, you don’t have male pattern baldness.”
My forearms are hairier than they should be, because of the Finasteride. I did make a few dollars off of my hairy forearms. They won me a part in a crowd of extras in the film, “Planet of the Apes”.
Psychoshit ignored my explanation, regarding the Rogaine. He cut me off before I fully explained myself.
Modern psychiatry doesn’t practice “talk therapy”. The assumption is that everyone suffers from some sort of mental illness. The psychiatrist’s job is to diagnose the illness. Then, he drugs the patient, with psychiatric drugs. These drugs can have side effects. If they’re physical, that’s just tough luck for the patient. Or, the patient is given more drugs, to control the side effects.
Sometimes, psychiatric drugs don’t work. The patient remains sane, with his views that the psychiatrist has declared insane. So, does the psychiatrist admit that he ( the psychiatrist ) was wrong? Nope. He jacks up the dose of the drug he’s prescribed. Only when the patient submits to the conventional wisdom is he declared “sane”.
Of course, the patient must keep taking the drugs, so he doesn’t become “insane” again. Hence, in the 1960s, gays and S&M folks were declared insane by psychiatry. Now, they’re regarded as sane. Prior to 1995, pedophiles were considered sane by psychiatry. Now, they’re considered insane. In the 1800s, a Black man who ran away from his White master was defined as insane by psychiatry. His mental illness was labelled, “Geppetto Mania”.
( I’ve done my best on the spelling of “Geppetto Mania”. Google isn’t bringing up anything relevant. However, decades ago, I read about Geppetto Mania in a psychology textbook. I also discussed it with my psychology professor. The “Geppetto” in the term refers to Pinocchio’s creator.
Reflect, for a moment, on the term Geppetto Mania. It implies that the White slave owner isn’t just the Black man’s master. He created the Black man! The Black man owes his whole existence to whichever White master currently owns him. )
Back to my interview by Psychoshit:
Although I told Psychoshit about the Rogaine, I never got to tell him that a baseball cap wouldn’t keep my ears warm. Pajama pants, tied around my head, would.
( A note on this: my ears get cold very easily. That’s because I once lived on Guam. I think that, when I was on Guam, my ears became a main way that I radiated away Guam’s extreme heat.
I was on Guam from age nine to age 15. For me, with regard to heat, it became an experience of, to quote the Eagles,
“You can check-out any time you like, But you can never leave!”
Now, in the continental United States, I shelter from the U.S.’s abysmal cold on its southern border. I pray for global warming. )
In a military hospital, a patient has no control over the amount of heat in his room. The hospital is centrally heated. You can guess what that means.
A military hospital proudly requires its patients to suffer in rooms that can get quite cold. Then, the military air-conditions the heck out of its rooms in the summer. Every penny must be saved on heat in winter, so the military can splurge on making their hospital rooms freezers in summer.
Psychoshit’s conclusion about me was this:
“Andrew Roller is so crazy that he refuses to wear pants to cover his genitals. However, he wears pants on his head.”
To this day, as a hospital inpatient, I do my utmost to avoid wearing pants. The reasons are these:
1. As a transplant patient, I’m not supposed to have anything binding my abdomen. The only way that you can wear hospital pants is to tie them around your abdomen. The hospital does not provide suspenders.
2. As an inpatient, what is your most difficult task? Staying clean. That’s because, during most of your stay, you won’t be allowed to bathe or shower. ( I’ve never seen a bathtub in a hospital. )
3. Let’s say you go to the bathroom. ( A place that is freezing cold, where a fan is loudly turning, making the room even colder. ) Let’s say you’re wearing pajama pants. Let’s say you’re sharing your hospital room with another patient. Of course, he regularly visits the toilet. Sometimes, using it, he misses the toilet, as he pees. So his pee goes on the floor.
Your roommate’s relatives visit. Of course, they come every day. I had a roommate whose wife stayed with him all night, every night, at UCSD. This despite the fact that it’s against UCSD’s rules. Your roommate’s visitors tramp outside on dirty sidewalks. Then, in your hospital room, they resort to the toilet. Likely, some of them miss the toilet too, as they pee.
So there you are, standing on a dirty bathroom floor. You feel obliged to drop your pajama pants. In a public bathroom, as an outpatient, I lay a clean, unused trash bag on the floor. However, I can’t bring dozens of unused trash bags with me to the hospital.
So, as an inpatient, using the toilet, I drop my pajama pants. Where do they go? On the dirty floor. Isn’t that wonderful? You can’t bathe, you’re going to get back in bed, but now you have dirty pajama pants. That means that you’ll wind up with dirty sheets. Modernly, a hospital grudgingly changes a patient’s sheets once in a while. They are not changed every day. Also, a hospital strictly limits how many pajama pants, and similar items, that you’ll be issued. So, if you’ve got dirty pajama pants, you’re stuck with them.
Sometimes, as an inpatient, you need to use the toilet quite quickly. There is little time to fool with pajama pants. As a result, while I don’t wear pants, I do wear a pajama shirt, and a bathrobe. ( UCSD does not issue bathrobes. There, I wear a hospital gown “backwards”; that is, as someone who is not insane would wear it. I wear my gown like a bathrobe.
On my most recent stay, as an inpatient at UCSD, the ward’s head nurse assured me that my not wearing pajama pants, but wearing a pajama shirt, and a hospital gown, was acceptable. As she said,
“You’re in the ward.”
The head nurse at UCSD was somewhat startled when I wrapped pajama pants around my head, to keep my head warm. At that time, I could only afford prescription sunglasses. So, I wore sunglasses, with my pajama pants wrapped around my head. Of this, UCSD’s head nurse told me,
“You look like a terrorist!”
Psychoshit ended his brief interview of me. He declared me to have schizophrenia. This is:
“A heterogeneous psychiatric disorder characterized by psychotic behavior including delusions, hallucinations, withdrawal from reality, and disorganized patterns of thinking and speech.”
Yeah, right, dude. “A red truck in Tennessee.”
I’ll give you my opinion of modern psychiatry: psychiatrists are cops who wear white instead of black. ( I’m citing modern conventions; cops I see are dressed in black, not blue. In the popular imagination, psychiatrists wear white gowns. )
Once, psychiatry was an independent profession, that followed its own path. Modernly, it has sold its soul to the state. If you disbelieve me, tell a psychiatrist that you’re a pedophile. See what happens after that.
Psychoshit did not accuse me of being a pedophile. He did proceed to engage in a wicked campaign against me. As a transplant patient undergoing transplant rejection, I was being given medicine to counteract the rejection. It’s considered so horrid that the doctors’ nickname for it is “shake-and-bake”. ( I.e. the medicine makes you shiver, and gives you a fever. )
Someone must have asked Psychoshit for evidence that I was insane. The answer that came back to me, via a medical person in the ward, was this:
“Andrew Roller isn’t actually insane. He’s only insane because he’s being given “shake-and-bake”! To my knowledge, I wasn’t yet on “shake-and-bake” when Miss Pervert complained that I was wearing pajama pants that left my genitals exposed.
It was impossible for me to stop taking “shake-and-bake”. That would have consigned my kidney transplant to death, via rejection. Hence, in Psychoshit’s view, I was “insane” for the duration of my stay in the hospital! That’s because I was in the hospital for a regimen of “shake-and-bake”.
I will now tell of Psychoshit’s campaign of harassment against me:
1. Psychoshit insisted on having me injected with drugs to make me “sane”. He assigned this dirty work to my primary nephrologist in this hospital. I’ll call this man “Nephroshit”. ( A nephrologist is a kidney doctor. For whatever reason, Nephroshit was collaborating with Psychoshit. From the moment I’d ( involuntarily ) met Nephroshit, I’d had a bad feeling about him. He’d struck me as arrogant, rude, and uncaring. I refused Nephroshit’s drugs. I can still picture Nephroshit standing over me, with a dozen big needles, saying,
“You’ve got to take the drugs.”
2. Psychoshit tried to get me imprisoned in his psychiatric ward. I managed to stay out of his psychiatric ward.
3. I wrote a complaint against Psychoshit. A xerox machine was in a snack room on the first floor of the hospital. Using it, I made a photocopy of my complaint.
Strangely, Psychoshit appeared in my hospital room the next morning, at 5:00 a.m. In a military hospital, this is very odd. I handed my compliant to Psychoshit. I gave him the original copy. He said something that caused me to assure him,
“I have a copy.” I showed him the photocopy. Psychoshit was maliciously thrilled. At once, he accused me, a retiree, of going AWOL ( Absent Without Leave ) from the hospital. I explained that I hadn’t gone AWOL. I’d used the xerox machine in the snack room. When I returned to this hospital some months later, the xerox machine was gone from the snack room. No xerox machine was there. Who do you think got the xerox machine removed? I say, it was Psychoshit.
You’ll recall that I said it was 5:00 a.m. At this hour, most people are unable to think clearly. Psychoshit assumed he’d find me in a groggy condition. What he didn’t know was that I’m a night person. Interview me at noon, and I’ll likely be groggy, if I’m awoken from sleep. A vampire isn’t groggy at 5 a.m.
Psychoshit had a proposal. He was going to put me on T.V.! ( The closed-circuit one in his psychiatric ward. ) He would videotape me as he interviewed me. Of course, Psychoshit wasn’t going to interview me in a normal way. He intended to put me under hypnosis, he said, before he interviewed me.
I guess, in that era, the average groggy patient would have been thrilled at the prospect of being on T.V. Then the patient could ( under hypnosis ) proclaim his worldview to an audience. That is, to Psychoshit. And to whomever Psychoshit showed the videotape to, to prove that the patient was insane.
T.V. was no lure to me. I’d been on a Public Broadcasting Service ( P.B.S. ) program when I was nine or 10 years old. This was when I was on Guam. The show, which I’d appeared in a number of times, was called “Quick on the Draw.” ( Not “Quack on the Draw”. Only a “doctor” like Psychoshit would be on a program called that. )
I’d also been the host of a community T.V. show in Sacramento. Initially, it was called, “The Libertarian Conspiracy”. Later, its name was changed to “The Libertarian Gang.” This riffed on the name of a T.V. show that was currently airing on the Cable News Network ( C.N.N. ).
4. Psychoshit stole my DNA. Modernly, anyone who enters the U.S. military must give a DNA sample. That was not the case during my time in the military.
It was, however, the case for those in the military when Psychoshit interviewed me. Every active duty person had to give his DNA. However, I had long since retired from the military.
You might wonder how Psychoshit stole my DNA.
First, he was successful in subjecting me to a psychiatric watch. Since I refused to be immured in his psychiatric ward, he brought his psychiatric ward to me. Psychoshit stationed enlisted people from his ward outside of my hospital room, in the transplant ward. I was subjected to this psychiatric watch 24 hours a day. I still remember one of these enlisted people. A young Black woman said snidely to her co-worker, of me,
“He’s schitzo.” This is how I learned what Psychoshit’s diagnosis of me was.
Back to Psychoshit’s theft of my DNA:
The hour was 8:00 p.m. This was long after any medical requests are made of a patient ( in a military hospital ). I was brushing my teeth in the bathroom that was in my hospital room. One of Psychoshit’s enlisted goons intruded on me. ( Psychoshit himself wasn’t present. ) The goon demanded that I spit into a cup. No reason was given for why I needed to spit in the cup. I spit in the cup. I figured it was a test for alcohol. I don’t drink alcohol. A vampire only drinks blood, preferably from young, beautiful girls.
Modern T.V. advertising, for voluntary DNA tests, speaks of spitting into a cup. That is how I now know that Psychoshit stole my DNA.
5. Psychoshit noticed that, in my hospital room, I sat in a chair and looked out my only window.
Psychoshit claimed that because I sat looking out of my window, this was ( further ) proof that I was insane. ( Miss Pervert may have been in on this scam. )
( Supposedly, a sane patient lies in bed all day watching moronic daytime T.V. Also, in Psychoshit and Miss Pervert’s opinion, there was nothing interesting outside of my window. It simply looked onto a view of an empty field. Water in the field reflected the sky. Some buildings were in the distance.
I, however, found this view interesting. ( As a hospital inpatient wearing brittle IVs, and on shake-and-bake. ))
6. Because I looked out the window, Psychoshit tried to have me physically removed from my room. This was no minor effort on his part. It was an attack that I endured for days.
Psychoshit wanted to put me in a dark room across the hall. It held three enlisted men. If you, my reader, are enlisted, my hat is off to you. Thank you for your service. However, the norm in a military hospital is that an officer is not bunked with enlisted men. I’m a retired officer. Like anyone, I protect what few rights I have.
There were other reasons that I didn’t want to be transferred to the room across the hall. For one, the three enlisted men gabbed all day. No offense, but what most guys say in such a situation is moronic.
I was once bunked, in another hospital, with an Indian. He was a big fat guy named “Tiny”. For a whole fucking day, I had to listen to Tiny tell me about his life as an Indian. Among fatso’s observations was this:
“No White man can ever catch an Indian.” I was surprised that Tiny could make it to our bathroom.
Also, the three enlisted men ran their T.V.s all day.
Coming among them, I’d be obliged to make friends with them. This is a long and difficult process. If I’d gotten it wrong, I would have been disliked by them, even shunned. Probably, my pro-pedophile comments wouldn’t have gone over too well with them.
Meanwhile, I had brittle IVs in me, and I was on shake-and-bake. Being on shake-and-bake, I was sometimes vomiting, and having sudden diarrhea. We four men would have been sharing one bathroom.
Finally, I was a kidney transplant patient. I’ve had a total of three kidney transplants. Maybe God wants me dead. I have no idea why.
The transplant medicine that I take lowers the effectiveness of my immune system. If it didn’t do that, my immune system would attack my kidney. That’s because “my” kidney was taken from a fresh corpse. From “my” kidney’s view, I am, in the words of a doctor, “a foreign body”. “My” kidney wants to be back in the corpse that it came from.
Being immunosuppressed, I’m at greater risk of infection. Any transplant patient is put in a single hospital room, without other patients. This is so other patients don’t infect him by their presence. ( This may sound insulting, but that’s how it is. It’s one reason that I stay out of whorehouses. )
You might wonder how I managed to avoid being physically manhandled into the enlisted mens’ room. Whenever someone tried to physically move me, I told them that their conduct was “tortious”. The word “tortious” is a legal term. It’s derived from the word “tort”. A tort is any unwanted physical contact that causes harm. The harm may be solely psychic. In a law case, a Black man was waiting in line at a buffet. He was holding a plate. A White waiter approached the Black man. Telling him,
“We don’t serve Niggers here,” the waiter yanked the plate out of the Black man’s hand. The Black man sued the restaurant, and recovered for his psychic injuries.
However, this sort of lawsuit won’t work in every case. Once I, a White man, was at Tower Books. I was thumbing through Penthouse magazine. A White male employee yanked the Penthouse out of my hand. He told me that I’d taken the Penthouse from the “overstock” shelf, instead of the shelf where the exact same magazine was offered for sale. Both shelves were by one another, and readily accessible to customers.
The employee had committed a tort against me. Yet, I had no hope of suing Tower Books and winning. Had I been Black, I might have sued and won. However, as a White man, I was not in any special group that our government favors.
The lesson from this is as follows: learn the word “tort”. If you’d like more information before deploying this word, buy a used tort casebook online. It probably won’t cost you more than $20.00. You’ll read the equivalent of short stories about people who suffered physical injuries, as a result of another’s misconduct.
7. As previously stated, I was in the hospital for transplant rejection. As a result of this, I was obliged to wear one or more IVs. At that time, the IVs ended in brittle plastic, that easily broke. At least one of these was in my hand. It significantly limited my ability to move.
In terms of drugs, I wasn’t just on shake-and-bake. I had to swallow lots of pills. As a result of the IVs, I dropped several pills on the floor as I attempted to take them. I had no hope of retrieving the pills, as it would break my brittle IVs. Hence, I left these pills on the floor.
They were my own pills. I’d brought all my pills to the hospital with me. In that era, the hospital had no objection to this. Hence, whenever I dropped a pill, I simply got another pill from my supply. I wound up with about three pills on the floor. As a result, Miss Pervert accused me of throwing my pills around the room, and wasting the government’s money.
8. Psychoshit told me that I was going to have “a commitment hearing”. He told me this as he stood with a number of female nurses at the ward’s front desk. The nurses all laughed at me.
A “commitment hearing”, if successful, robs you of your rights. You aren’t put into a psychiatric ward in a hospital. You’re committed to an insane asylum, for an indefinite period. You could spend the rest of your life there. This happens if the asylum’s doctors never declare you to be “cured”. Of course, as someone who’s “insane”, you’re forcibly drugged.
As an asylum patient, you lose your civil rights. In effect, you’re a prisoner. If you ever get out of the insane asylum, you’re now someone who’s tagged as being “mentally ill”. You won’t be allowed to purchase or own firearms. Say Goodbye to your Second Amendment rights. You can pretty much kiss your First Amendment rights goodbye too, in terms of your credibility. People are leery of crediting the words of someone who’s been declared “insane”.
9. Psychoshit made a big presentation to the transplant ward’s doctors, to prove that I was insane. Had I been on active duty, he would have succeeded. However, I was retired. Hence, the other doctors didn’t want to trouble themselves with claiming that I was insane. They told Psychoshit to send me home. ( Which, in this instance, was over a thousand miles away. )
10. The doctors’ and nurses’ harassment of me drove up my blood pressure. No matter how much blood pressure medicine I was given, my blood pressure stayed very high. Finally, Psychoshit was forced to stop harassing me. When I heard the news, my blood pressure dropped very low. It dropped so low that I wound up supine in my bed, unable to move. I couldn’t even use my medical call device. It was very close to me, but I had no strength to reach it. Nor could I cry out. Suffering low blood pressure, I passed in and out of consciousness. I came very close to dying. This went on for quite a few hours. During this time, absolutely no one checked on me.
I now feel that Psychoshit was a homosexual sexual predator. This was before gays were allowed in the military. Females don’t take much interest in me, but fags do. For them, I’m the ideal guy to fuck up the ass. I actually have nothing against gays. However, I am not gay. Over the years, I’ve come to realize how much gays covet me. Even now, I know of two gay men who would love to go to bed with me. This has been going on since I was 15 years old. At least, that’s when I first began to notice it.
Like I said, I have nothing against gays. I was a dues paying member of the North American Man / Boy Love Association ( NAMBLA ) for a quarter of a century. However, some years ago, NAMBLA stopped cashing my checks. As an organization, it was collapsing. Maybe NAMBLA considered my views too radical. I came to realize that I was mailing them too many letters. One day, I realized that I’d sent them so many letters that they were throwing them away unopened. This despite the fact that I always sent my letters unfolded, in big envelopes. My letters were neatly written and complimentary.
In the last NAMBLA newsletter that I received, NAMBLA credited me with most everyting that had been written in their newsletter for the last several years. This was nonsense. It was as if NAMBLA was telling the world, “If you want to arrest anyone for what NAMBLA has published, arrest Roller”.
But back to Psychoshit.
11. During the time I was being tortured by Psychoshit, I went downstairs in my pajama shirt and bathrobe. I went to the snack room. It was late at night. The room was empty. While I was there, a female nurse walked in. I went about my business. The nurse found my presence horrifying. She was shocked that, while I was wearing a pajama shirt, a bathrobe, and socks with flip-flops, I was not wearing pants. It’s possible that she complained about me.
I had a similar experience on a Monday morning. While most hospital employees had spent the weekend fucking, I’d undergone a long journey from Texas to California. I went downstairs, at about 7 a.m., to a snack shop. At that time, I was unfamiliar with hospital staff routines. Seven o’clock on a Monday morning is when hospital staffers, such as nosy nurses, have no interest in sex. As I said, they’ve been fucking all weekend. They’re married, or they have boyfriends.
I was in my hospital clothing. I think I was wearing pants. In that era, military stores, such as snack shops, sold porn magazines. So, as loads of nurses passed through the snack shop, I was rooting through the many porn magazines in the store. I had no interest in the nurses. After all, none of them were 11 years old or younger. I was willing to allow America to force me to make do with adult porn.
I eventually found a porn magazine that I liked. In it, two youthful females were drooling honey on each other. Then they were licking it off. I bought the magazine.
Later, under attack by Psychoshit and Miss Pervert, I wondered if Miss Pervert had seen me looking at the porn magazines in the snack shop.
( Decades later, I bought a Playboy magazine at a mall bookstore when it opened. The time was 10 a.m., on a weekday. My purchase horrified the store’s middle-aged female clerk. She considered me a major pervert for buying Playboy so early in the day. What did she think I was going to do? Wait until afternoon, or evening, when the store is crowded, and buy my Playboy then? What if a little girl, or a teen girl, saw me doing that? She’d think I was a jerkoff! Even a pedophile like me has some self-respect. )
12. In the ward, a nurse came into my room at night. She asked me what I was thinking about. I guess she expected pabulum about “friends and family”. Instead, I explained to her something I’d learned very recently, back home, from the T.V. show “The Mechanical Universe”.
It’s this: Earth does not travel in an ellipse around the Sun. Earth is always traveling in a straight line, through curved spacetime. Although I cited my source for this, I think the nurse reported that I was crazy. Probably, it was Miss Pervert who visited me. I was obliged to assure her that I was “decent” before she would come past my room’s drawn curtain. I had not, in fact, requested that anyone enter my room.
13. My parents visited me in Bizarro Hospital. They lived in Hawaii. My parents were useless. My father wasn’t there to help me. He visited Bizarro Hospital to demand that the military put me back on active duty.
Unknown to me, my doctors at Bizarro Hospital told my parents that I’d be dead in a month. ( Absent future dialysis treatments. ) Since the doctors told this to my parents, they ( the doctors ) felt no obligation to tell this to me. ( At the time, I was 30 years old. )
My parents did not tell me that I’d be dead in a month. Having failed to shove me back into the military, they flew back to Hawaii. It was much later, in a flippant comment, that my mother revealed to me that she, and my father, had been told that I’d be dead in a month.
My parents did nothing to ease my situation. When I was finally back in California, I survived a number of additional months. There, I wound up weighing 209 pounds. My normal weight was 125 pounds. The rest of the weight was urine that I couldn’t get rid of, because my kidney transplant was failing.
Dr. O, in California, didn’t warn me that I’d soon be dead, absent dialysis. I was unwittingly left on my own. One day, barely able to get my shoes on, due to my body’s swelling, I figured something was seriously wrong with me. I drove 100 miles to the California hospital.
There, I was made an inpatient. As I was only 31 years old, I was put in the children’s ward. I had no objection to this. However, I guess some nurse in the children’s ward didn’t like pedophiles. That’s because I was soon transferred to a fucking adult ward.
( I’m not the tallest guy you’ll meet. However I don’t consider myself exceptionally short. I’m just short enough to be addressed as “Ma’am”, when I’m bundled in warm clothing. )
Soon after I left Bizarro Hospital, a brief, but popular, fashion trend arose in America. It consisted of people wearing pants on their heads. I recall seeing people on T.V. wearing short pants on their heads. I did not participate in this goofy trend. I only wear long pajama pants on my head, as a hospital inpatient, to say warm.
Some months after Psychoshit attacked me, I returned to Bizarro Hospital. By then, I required dialysis. In the dialysis clinic, I saw Nephroshit enter. He had yet to notice me. Shutting my eyes, I pretended to be asleep. Making his rounds with nurses, Nephroshit eventually reached me. Nephroshit thought I was asleep. Of a nurse, he asked, in a haughty, offended manner,
“What’s HE doing here?” Nephroshit was speaking of me. I was confirmed in my belief that he deserved the name Nephroshit. He was an evil bastard.
On this visit to Bizarro Hospital, I was assigned to a hospital room that, in effect, had no window. One window was present in my room. However, it faced an open space that was high up in the hospital. It was the upper part of Bizarro Hospital’s main lobby. All I could see through my window was a wall some distance away. I couldn’t meaningfully see the floor of the hospital lobby.
However, I had this room to myself. This was so despite the fact that I was no longer a transplant patient, and was not at risk for infection. I am a Second Lieutenant. That is the lowest ranking military officer. I was also retired, which lowered my status further. ( In practical terms, my real “rank” in a military hospital, as a retired Second Lieutenant, is that of an Airman. An Airman is an Air Force rank that, in Army terms, is equivalent to a Private. )
Amazingly, on this visit to Bizarro Hospital, I was put in a wing of the transplant ward that was reserved for Colonels and above. Also, I was put next to the room that held the ward’s entire, quite large, supply of drugs. This room was mostly left accessible to anyone who wanted to enter it. That didn’t mean patients were allowed in the room. However, if I’d wanted to sneak into the room, and steal drugs, I had ample opportunity to do so.
I had no interest in poaching drugs. Since I’d refused Psychoshit’s mental illness drugs, I figured the hospital staff knew I wouldn’t steal their drugs. They may not have trusted Colonels and Generals to stay out of their room with the drugs, but they trusted me.
AFTERMATH
1. Amazingly, from Texas, Psychoshit kept pursuing me in California. This happened months later. One day, I was sitting in Dr. O’s office. His phone rang. Psychoshit was on the line! Dr. O was shocked. Though he didn’t tell me who’d called, as I sat there, he told the caller that he couldn’t talk to him.
At that time, patient privacy was no big deal. If the caller had been a doctor asking about any patient other than me, Dr. O would happily have discussed the patient. ( Without using the patient’s name. ) That’s because the conversation would have been between two doctors, about some patient whom I knew nothing about.
This may seem odd to you. However, I’m speaking of a military hospital. Imagine you’re a military patient in a military doctor’s office in World War Two. The phone rings. Is your military doctor going to refuse to discuss another patient, because you ( a patient ) are sitting there? Of course not! It’s all for one, and one for all, in the military. That’s how wars are won. Wars are not won by worrying about patient privacy. ( Or whether, modernly, a battalion has a representative number of trannies in it. )
2. Later, Dr. Stupid, in the California hospital, angrily told me that I’d been ordered to report to their psychiatric clinic. ( As an outpatient. ) No one at that hospital had ordered me to report to a psychiatric clinic. Even Dr. Stupid wasn’t ordering me to do so. His claim was that some ( nonexistent ) person had ordered me to do so, in the past.
Where did Dr. Stupid get the notion that I’d been ordered to report to a psychiatric clinic? There could only be one answer. It was Psychoshit, calling California from Texas.
The fact that Psychoshit kept pursuing me, months later, when I was over a thousand miles away, led me to conclude that Psychoshit was not concerned for my welfare. After all, if I’d been insane, I’d have been assigned a psychiatrist in California.
However, a homosexual sexual predator, like Psychoshit, WOULD keep pursuing me. That’s what a stalker does. It’s exactly what Psychoshit did. Of his many abuses, detailed above, the theft of my DNA grates on me most, at this late date. Psychoshit had absolutely no medical reason to steal my DNA. Unless, of course, he was an obsessed, homosexual, sexual predator. Maybe he’s in a lab somewhere making a clone of me. Then he’ll get to fuck me, or rather my clone, up the ass.
I once knew a customer at a fitness center. He presented himself as “a sailor”. Perhaps he’d once been a sailor. When I knew him, he was an aging, but still attractive, gay prostitute. Since he was aging, he was no longer getting the volume of johns that he was used to. Hence, he was homeless. He did, so he claimed, manage to sleep with a different young homeless man every night.
This prostitute talked obsessively about his homosexual urges. It blew the minds of the other men in the fitness center, particularly in the locker room. I had no problem with the prostitute. We got along very well. The prostitute took to calling me “honey”. By doing this, he again offended every man in the locker room, even another gay guy. However, I didn’t mind being called “honey”.
If I’d had lots of money, I’d have hired the prostitute as my bodyguard. My only fear was that I might wake up one night with his dick up my ass.
This is why I’m so offended by Psychoshit. I was perfectly willing to go along with his homosexuality ( even though gays were, at that time, banned from the military). Instead of allowing me to be his friend, Psychoshit was an obsessive monster. That’s why I say that he was the one who was insane, not me.
Dangerously, Psychoshit probably had a full career in the military. That’s because the military always needs doctors. Of course, a rigid hierarchy like the military protects those “in authority” from those that they abuse.
At the California military hospital, I was put on dialysis. The notion that I was insane continued to circulate there. An example:
One day, I was on dialysis. The nurses were, as usual, noisily chatting. I wanted to read. I got out my book, Homer’s Odyssey. Quietly, I began reading it aloud, since the nurses’ prattle made silent reading impossible. Also, historically, the Odyssey began as an oral tale. It was only written down centuries later. So, the Odyssey is not meant to be read silently.
The nurses were shocked that I was reading aloud. Of course, they knew nothing of the Odyssey, or its oral tradition. The nurses didn’t tell me to stop reading aloud. They did complain to Dr. O and Dr. Stupid that I must be crazy, since I was reading aloud.
Soon, I was kicked out of the dialysis clinic. Dr. O said that he was unable to get “Medicare subvention” for me. ( That is, Medicare would become the primary payer for my dialysis, instead of the military. ) Of course, when I joined the military, and even when I was forcibly retired, for kidney failure, nobody mentioned Medicare paying for me. I was far from being an old fart.
Hence, I was required to leave the military dialysis clinic. I wound up at a civilian clinic that I’d never heard of.
Initially, I was tasked with finding a civilian dialysis clinic myself. The military clinic’s nurses and doctors were too lazy to do this. They were too lazy despite being professionals in the field. I was supposed to find a civilian clinic while I remained responsible for driving to the military clinic three times a week. That trip was about 200 miles, round trip.
In the military dialysis clinic, I looked at the other patients. Was this clinic busy dialyzing soldiers? Nope. Mostly, the clinic’s patients were not Americans. They were aged foreigners, who somehow had the status of a “dependent” of a person who was on active duty. As I understand it, the person on active duty may himself not have been an American. These “dependent” patients were entitled to endless dialysis in a military clinic. I, an American-born officer who’d actually served, wasn’t.
A civilian dialysis clinic is very busy. It dialyzes patients from about 6:30 a.m. until around 8 p.m.
The military clinic dialyzed just a few patients a day. Starting at 8:00 a.m., they closed a bit after the hour of noon. Did they work the rest of the day, doing office chores? Nope. They went home. Why? Because, under the view that they were deployable 24 hours a day, they were entitled to take lots of time off. Someday, the government might order them to show up somewhere at midnight. Hence, they could spend most of their military careers not working. This was a decade before America undertook long wars in Iraq and Afghanistan.
For whatever ( possibly malicious ) reason, I’d been taken off of the military’s kidney transplant list. This had been done by Dr. O. I wanted to get back on the ( then short ) military transplant list. I wanted to be transplanted ( again ), and get the Hell out of the military dialysis clinic.
Instead, I had to tramp off to the civilian dialysis clinic. There, I had to start all over as a possible candidate for their ( much longer ) civilian kidney transplant list.
Kidney dialysis is not like, say, sitting on the toilet. This despite the fact that, functionally, a kidney dialysis clinic is a big bathroom. There, you pee out of your arm, through a big needle that’s stuck in your arm. ( You actually “pee” out your blood, which gets circulated through a big machine, and then pumped back into you. This can last for four hours. )
Kidney dialysis hammers the body. The full process takes most of a day. When you’re done, you feel like you’ve been in a washing machine. Even though you’ve been stuck in a chair for hours, you mostly just want to sleep when you go home. Two days later, you’re back in the dialysis chair again. This goes on for years.
There is a limited supply of kidneys available for transplantation. Often, a dialysis patient can’t look forward to getting a transplanted kidney. Anyone who is 70 years or older is considered too old to get a transplanted kidney. That’s because the person might get a transplanted kidney, and then die of a heart attack. A patient who’s labelled as “noncompliant” can’t get a transplanted kidney.
A normal person has two kidneys. He can survive on one. However, no one can sell their kidney, whether he’s alive or dead. The theory is that it’s immoral to have a live person sell their kidney. ( Which I mostly agree with. ) The same theory is applied to the dead. It’s applied this way:
“If someone could sell his kidney, he might kill himself to sell his kidney.”
However, if someone buys life insurance, he might kill himself to let his family cash in on his life insurance. Yet, as a society, we allow people to buy life insurance.
The same logic should apply to kidney ( and other ) transplants. If you die, and it’s shown that you didn’t commit suicide, your family should be able to sell your body parts.
Everyone gets paid in the transplant process ( absent the patient ), except the family of the corpse whose kidney is used. Why not pay the corpse’s family too? They could probably use the money. Why bury all of Uncle Joe in the graveyard, if you can help your family by selling his body parts? It’s not like Joe’s going to be calling you from underground, or from Heaven, asking,
“Where’s my dick? I want my dick back!” ( Or kidney, etc. )
TRUE TALES OF THE ( civilian ) DIALYSIS CLINIC
( Not that anyone there is insane. )
From the military dialysis clinic, I proceeded to a civilian dialysis clinic. I spent two years there.
At the civilian clinic, various dialysis technicians dialyzed me. I’ll call two of them, both White males, Beavis and Butthead. One day, Beavis sat down with me. He told me that he was troubled. This was because he’d pulled a prank on Butt-Head, and Butt-Head hadn’t found the prank funny.
The technicians had lockers. A standard feature in a medical unit is a shallow bowl. It’s called a vomit bowl. Beavis had taken a vomit bowl into the bathroom. He’d shitted in it. The result was a huge, long turd ( the size of my dick ), that was in Beavis’ vomit bowl. Beavis then put the vomit bowl with the turd into Butt-Head’s locker. Coming back from lunch, Butt-Head found the turd in his locker. Probably because Butt-Head wasn’t sane like Beavis, Butt-Head had found the turd disturbing. He’d decided that he didn’t like Beavis anymore.
My advice to Beavis was as follows: People don’t just shit. They pee too. Piss in a vomit bowl, and then put that in Butt-Head’s locker. Probably, Butt-Head is just pissed that, while you provided him with your shit, you denied him your pee. If you’re going to play a prank, you’ve got to play the whole prank; don’t do a half-assed one.
2. Next is a story that a dialysis technician told me. He said it was true.
One night, a man reported to the Emergency Room. You might wonder if he’d fallen somewhere. Or perhaps he was having heart problems. No, friend. This person’s problem was more basic than that. He was unable to defecate.
And why was he unable to defecate? He had a baseball shoved up his ass. Naturally, the doctors and nurses asked him how he’d gotten a baseball stuck up his butt. The man’s only reply was,
“I lost a bet.”
I guess getting a baseball shoved up his butt was better than turning his intestines into a playpen for a gerbil. One that was put in his ass.
HOW TO GET KIDS BACK IN SCHOOL NOW
In the employment market, I’m considered “unskilled labor”. The only real job I ever had was to commit mass murder, on demand, on a global scale, by launching nuclear missiles. That was when I was in the military. So, if you need to rapidly kill lots of “innocent babies”, to quote former President Donald Trump, call me! Otherwise, I’m an ignoramus.
Or maybe I’m a genius. Fox News is awash with parents moaning about public schools being closed. No one has come up with a solution for how to reopen public schools. It falls to me to provide an answer:
1. Fire all the public school teachers who refuse to return to their classrooms.
2. Hire, exclusively, pedophiles to be teachers. The word “pedophile” literally means,
“Lover of children.”
Recently, marijuana was legalized in California. It was decided, in the interest of “economic justice”, that licenses to operate drug dens ( marijuana shops ) would go first to people convicted of ( now former ) crimes involving marijuana.
I say that the same should apply to hiring teachers. Priority should be given to convicted child molesters. These folks get a raw deal. They have trouble getting a job, and even finding housing. Economic justice will be served by getting child molesters off of our streets, and into our children’s classrooms.
Having said the above, I doubt that “children” are as eager to return to school as Fox News proclaims. School, as I experienced it, was mostly a waste. Even college was mostly a waste. School is primarily a babysitting and warehousing service provided to parents. ( That is, it’s provided to children who fucked, and, fucking as they aged, got the female involved pregnant. Now, these fuckers are holy. That’s because they’re parents. )
I suppose the jocks and the cheerleaders will like returning to school. They usually get whatever social benefits school offers. ( Indeed, they monopolize such benefits, especially in Hollywood movies. )
Regularly attending school is a highly regimented existence. Old people ( those above age 18 ) soon grow to love sitting all day on their butts. It’s astonishing that this society has been able to get children to sit all day on their butts. Nature did not create children to sit on their butts. That, of course, is why modern psychiatry drugs children, and modern medicine drugs girls to prevent menarche. ( So girls don’t look and feel sexy, and get frisky with males. )
If you’ve been out of the “labor market” for some time ( called “wage slavery” by professor Peter Manikus ), you find that you change. The idea of working all day, every day, becomes increasingly bizarre. ( Especially if the offered “employment” is mindless, and the working conditions abusive. )
As for myself, I eventually discovered this: I could show up bright and shiny at my first day of work. ( At a mindless job, whose working conditions soon proved to be abusive. ) Then the second day of work would arrive.
“What?!” I’d say to myself. “I have to go back there again?! I was just there yesterday!” Going back to my “job” for a second day was especially difficult, as I’d picked up the habit of watching Charlie Rose, then on “CBS News Nightwatch”. The time that the show aired was irregular. My local CBS station would stop broadcasting at around 2:30 a.m., and then just switch to a satellite feed. They had no idea what the CBS satellite was sending over their airwaves in the dead of night. At about 5:30 a.m., my local CBS station would resume broadcasting. Hence, I would stay up at night watching Charlie Rose. The idea that I must then go to a full day of ( mindless ) work, after being awake since the previous day, was idiotic ( and almost impossible ).
Hence, I say, the children who have been out of school for a year are now different people. In the past, they were children who’d been harnessed to a regimented life since kindergarten, maybe even since preschool. Such children have now been divorced from a regimented life for a year.
( As I understand it, online learning can be somewhat ignored. It’s not like a child can be meaningfully disciplined by her teacher if she’s in her bedroom. )
( Then again, if her teacher is a child molester, as proposed above, he might be in her bedroom! That’s another reason to hire pedophiles as teachers. )
( It’s also a great reason to return corporal punishment to the learning process. )
My opinion is that it will be difficult to corral children into regimented lives as students. Even if the children are forced into schools, they may be present in name only. Also, it’s likely their willingness to resist being warehoused all day will rise. Such children will find ways of letting their schools know that they don’t like being there.
As a possible genius, I have another way to get kids back into school. Any child forced to go to school should be paid to be there. Let’s start by paying them a minimum wage of $15.00 per hour. Then, give them sick leave, maternity leave ( for frisky girls ), parental leave ( for proud student dads ), administrative leave ( for a child who’s late with his homework ), and retirement benefits.
A child starts school no later than age 5. By age 18, he’s worked, as a student, for a long time. By paying him, and giving him retirement benefits, he may have enough money by age 18 to never work again. This solves America’s unemployment problem. Everyone can retire at age 18. I guess I am a genius.
HOW TO MAKE YOUR KID SMART
Every parent claims that they want their kid to be smart. In fact, my mother once urged me not to be “too smart”. By this, she didn’t mean that I was sassy. She meant that she only wanted me to be smart enough to mindlessly obey my father, and her, and to readily submit to society’s dictates. In that era, society was not urging me to be a tranny faggot and spout today’s liberal gibberish. )
Let’s say you’re a parent. You truly want your kid to be smart. How to accomplish this? Spend lots of money on private schools? No. I never went to any private schools except ( briefly ) in college. Later, I attended two private law schools. The first was authoritarian, and abusive toward its students. The second school, which was tiny and new, swiftly devolved into ownership and senior staff conflicts. By the time I left, it was facing bankruptcy.
Here’s how to make your kid smart:
1. Make sure your kid is a “child molester”. A pedophile MUST think differently from conventional society. That’s because, in America, being a pedophile is like being a Jew in Nazi Germany. ( Absent, as yet, the gas chambers. )
2. Make sure your kid is unemployed. For life. Then he’ll have time to watch prepubescent girls on the internet, and read books about Adolf Hitler, like I do.
3. If your kid does go to school, make sure that the school is so disordered that he never gets any homework. While other kids struggled with homework to become corporate stooges, I read science fiction, fantasy, and other books. Most of what I know I learned on my own.
4. If you have a beautiful prepubescent daughter, have her move in with me. I’m pretty smart, so she’ll become smart too. ( If she isn’t already. By the way, I won’t mind if she’s dumb, if she’s a blonde. ) Call now. This is a limited time offer! Once I get around three dozen little girls living with me, that will be about all I can, ahem, handle.
Once three dozen little girls are living with me, I’ll apply for non-profit tax status, as an educational institution. I’ll call my home of higher learning “Andrew Roller’s Academy for Women Under Age 12.” Girls can stay with me until age 14 if they wish. Maybe even to age 17. However, I’m not running a senior home. That’s what the Playboy Mansion is for.
RACISM AND PANTS
The latest ideology is the following:
Someone asks you,
“Are you a racist?”
If you answer, “I’m not a racist,” then you are a racist.
Someone asks you,
“Are you a racist?”
If you answer, “Yes, I’m a racist”, and tell all the ways that you’ve engaged in racism, then you’re an excellent person, who’s dealing with his racism.
You might wonder how I feel about this. As a White bigot, and sexist, and ( Oh my God! ) heterosexual male, I heartily agree with this ideology.
However, this ideology must not be limited to racism.
Now, when I meet anyone, especially a politician, I ask him,
“Are you a child molester?”
If the politician says, “I’m not a child molester,” then, obviously, he is a child molester.
On the other hand, if the politician says,
“Yes, I’m a child molester,” and tells me all the ways that he’s groomed, molested, and raped children, then he’s an excellent person, who’s dealing with his pedophilia.
( And, hopefully, celebrating it. )
Another new ideology is that of cultural appropriation. In this ideology, cultural appropriation is bad. It spooked White women into no longer wearing hoop earrings. They, the White women, were told that wearing hoop earrings wrongfully appropriated Black culture.
Yesterday, I was outside of San Diego’s Children’s Museum. I got arrested for not wearing pants. The cops asked me what I was doing without my pants on. I told them,
“Pants were invented by the Arabs. I’m not an Arab. Therefore, if I wear pants, I’m wrongfully appropriating Arabic culture.”
That’s not all the cops wanted to know. They wanted to know why, at the Children’s Museum, I was telling little girls not to learn Mathematics.
“The Mathematics we use was invented by the Arabs,” I told the cops. “That’s why I’m warning any blondes, who have blue eyes, to not study Math. They’re obviously not Arabs. They must not wrongfully appropriate that which rightfully belongs to terrorists, and other Arabs.” I was telling the girls to stick to Roman numerals. If that got boring, I advised them, model nude on the internet.
THOUGHT FOR THE DAY
“Don’t get in a fight with a man who buys paper by the pound, and ink by the barrel.”
( The above is especially true if the “paper” and “ink” are free, thanks to the internet! )
Source of quote: me. However, I did not think up this quote. I read it somewhere, years ago. The website “quoteinvestigator ( dot ) com” gives versions of the above quote. It dates the earliest version to 1962, crediting “Attorney Roger Branigin”.
AND IN THE END...
The first big rainstorm of the year struck San Diego today. It’s raining cats and dogs. It’s not yet raining men. Hopefully, if children stay out of school long enough, it will be raining little girls!
Arcana:
1. UCSD Hospital is “The University of California at San Diego Hospital”. There are two of these, and many outpatient clinic locations.
2. In my dictionary, “DNA” is spelled without periods ( D.N.A. ). Giving the unabbreviated form of DNA is beyond the scope of this article.
3. As a retired disabled officer, I’m charged a small daily fee if I’m an inpatient at a U.S. military hospital. My TRICARE Supplement policy reimburses this. ( Less, of course, the cost of the Supplement’s premiums, the Supplement’s yearly deductible, and TRICARE’s yearly deductible. )
In a future article, I’ll discuss how to be an inpatient. The crucial point of this article will be the following:
As an inpatient at any hospital, write down the name of everyone who you meet. Do this as best you can, and don’t omit anyone. This will be crucial information if you later want to write about abuse you suffered at the hospital. You can decide to fictionalize the names if you wish, but you’ll want to keep straight who did what to you.
There wasn’t anything meaningful that I could do about Psychoshit, besides what I wrote above. However, I can hold him to account now, in this article. If enough patients, including veterans, write of what they’ve endured, maybe we’ll move beyond a society where the “authorities” always win, and crush those that they’ve abused. Do not suffer in silence.
Fighting back against abusive “authorities” is a great reason to read and write. We’re immured in a world of videos, video games, and ( once illegal ) narcotics. Apple’s Tim Cook doesn’t urge us to learn to write more effectively, in English, but to “learn to code”. That is, learn a bunch of symbols in a programming language that will soon be dead, for software that will soon be outdated.
I prefer learning more about English. Microsoft Basic ( or whatever ) only controls a machine. English goes straight into a person’s head.
In life, I never know where the next attack on my person is coming from. Unfortunately, I’ve learned that another attack is always on the way. I can’t plausibly defend myself by shooting people. I can hope to defend myself by writing.
If you’re a veteran, don’t kill yourself because your buddies died in Iraq, and you didn’t. Friend, the world is still coming for you, in a bad way. If you don’t know that, you have yet to experience enough of this world.
4. Ancient authors don’t explain everything that they’re writing about. Their audience consisted of people who were alive at the time. Mostly, those readers knew much of a culture that an author was writing about. As a result, an ancient author doesn’t explain everything. He only tells what his audience doesn’t yet know.
Hence, for my readers 2,000 years from now, who read my words as their central religious text, the song that I quoted from, by the Eagles, is “Hotel California”. ( I stayed there once. Since it was the juvenile wing of a women’s prison, I was pissed when I was forced to check-out. )
5. The phrase “innocent babies”. ( Then ) President Trump is referring to victims of a poison gas attack in Syria.
6. I can’t find anything about Peter Manikus on the internet. He was my political science professor in 1983. I may be slightly misspelling his name.
7. Apple’s C.E.O. ( Chief Executive Officer ) is Tim Cook. He appeared recently on the Fox News program, “Fox News Sunday.” Parroting the conventional views of today’s elites, Cook urged ordinary people to “learn to code”. He made no mention of his intent to outsource Apple’s coding tasks to foreign countries. Nor did he mention bringing lots of aliens into America to work at Apple, at Americans’ expense.
( I say this having applied for employment at Apple in about 1986. Was I hired? No, despite owning Apple’s products. ( Apple’s products were not ubiquitous then. ) Would I be hired by Apple today? Of course not! I’m an ordinary white male. We must be purged from America. Big Tech elites plan to rule the world with alien ( wage ) slave labor. Of course, I still ( stupidly? ) own Apple products. I can boycott You Tube. I have yet to figure out how to boycott Apple. )
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Copyright 2021 by Andrew L. Roller. ET, Editorial Thunder, and ARSE, Andrew Roller Stories and Essays, are trademarks of Andrew L. Roller.
I am https://andrewroller.wordpress.com
Earlier posts by me are at https://asstr.org/files/Authors/Roller/
I’m on paper at: https://www.abebooks.com > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
and https://www.abebooks.co.uk > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
If you visit an “AbeBooks” website, you’ll be presented with a large square “Search” box. In the box labelled “Author”, type in “Andrew Roller”. In the box labelled “Title”, type in “Andrew Roller Presents”. This will bring up some of my pamphlets. I have not yet figured out how to bring up other pamphlets by me, under other titles. I don’t recall all the titles I published under.
I have no financial involvement in these resale items.
I am on You Tube as “Andrew Roller”. Use You Tube’s magnifying glass icon to search for “Andrew Roller”. That will take you to my You Tube channel. Or, on You Tube, tap my sun icon, if you see it. That will also take you to my You Tube channel. There, you can see songs and films that I like.
At the “home page” of my You Tube channel, you’ll see just a selection of playlists that I created. To see all my playlists, tap on the phrase, “Created playlists”.
The World Wide Web address for my You Tube channel is:
https://www.youtube.com/andrewroller
If you click on this link, you’ll be taken to a World Wide Web You Tube page. Here, You Tube displays a cartoon image of a monkey. The page says, “This page isn’t available. Sorry about that. Try searching for something else.”
My advice: on this page, search for “andrew roller”. By doing so, you’ll get to my World Wide Web You Tube channel. However, I have over 100 Playlists, that I created, at my You Tube app channel. The World Wide Web version of You Tube will only serve you 15 of my Playlists.
( Hence, access You Tube via its app. The You Tube app, like the WordPress app, is available for free at the Apple App Store. )
This is ET, Editorial Thunder, issue number 61
Arcana: This is ET, Editorial Thunder, issue number 61, version 9.0
Date Written: January 29, 2021.
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This has been a presentation of A R S E news.
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UCSD Engaging in Criminal Fraud
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ET 60
Editorial Thunder presents...
UCSD Engaging in Criminal Fraud
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Plus: Patient physically attacked by armed UCSD guard.
And: I get it up the ass. A full report.
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UCSD ENGAGING IN CRIMINAL FRAUD
UCSD’s crooked accounting seeks to rob veteran.
by Andrew Roller
I am a disabled veteran. I was forcibly retired from the U.S. military for kidney failure. I am on my third kidney transplant, which is failing.
On May 20, 2020 I went to my kidney transplant appointment, as required by my doctor. The location of my transplant appointments is a University of California, San Diego ( UCSD ) clinic. UCSD is owned and operated by the state of California. If you pay taxes in California, you are paying for UCSD.
Much of the expense of my medical care is covered by TRICARE. This is a medical insurance program for U.S. military personnel, their dependents, and retired veterans. If you are a U.S. taxpayer, you are paying for TRICARE, which then sends money to UCSD.
U.S. military veterans who served for a number of years in the military, but who did not retire from the military, often use the Veterans Administration for their medical care. Under “VA Choice”, these veterans can use UCSD for medical care. If you are a U.S. taxpayer, you are paying for the Veterans Administration, which then sends money to UCSD.
TRICARE paid UCSD for my transplant appointment of May 20, 2020. However, like Medicare, TRICARE does not cover the entire cost of a veteran’s medical needs. Hence, I pay for a “TRICARE Supplement” insurance policy. This policy is provided to me by the Military Officers Association of America ( MOAA ).
On July 7, 2020, MOAA paid UCSD for my transplant appointment of May 20, 2020. MOAA provided complete information to UCSD regarding their payment to UCSD. Included in MOAA’s information was the following:
“BENEFIT PAYMENT HAS BEEN ASSIGNED TO YOUR PROVIDER. DRAFT# 95232037 WAS ISSUED 07/07/2020 FOR $90.00 PAYABLE T0: UCSD MEDICAL GROUP.”
Let’s examine MOAA’s statement. First, MOAA wrote the above in all capital letters. Second, the reason that MOAA paid UCSD $90.00 is because MOAA was paying UCSD for more than one appointment. Third, I’m quoting from a document that MOAA sent to me. It’s a copy of what MOAA sent to UCSD. Hence, in my copy of MOAA’s document, “Y0UR PROVIDER” is UCSD.
MOAA sends such a document to UCSD whenever they pay UCSD. MOAA pays UCSD electronically.
MOAA’s payment, plus that from Tricare, paid for my appointment in full.
Here’s the problem: UCSD’s billing department failed to record MOAA’s payment. Or, UCSD is engaging in criminal fraud. Based on my experience, I’m forced to conclude that USCD’s billing department is crooked.
UCSD’s billing department re-billed MOAA for my appointment of May 20, 2020 on November 15, 2020. Of course, MOAA didn’t pay UCSD again. MOAA wrote the following to UCSD:
“OUR RECORDS INDICATE THIS CLAIM WAS PREVIOUSLY PROCESSED. AN EXPLANATION OR PAYMENT WAS MAILED AT THE TIME THE ORIGINAL CLAIM WAS PROCESSED. THE ORIGINAL CLAIM WAS RECEIVED ELECTRONICALLY FROM THE PRIMARY PAYER.”
Let’s examine MOAA’s statement. First, MOAA wrote the above in all capital letters. Second, I am quoting from a document that MOAA sent to me. Hence, in my copy of MOAA’s document, “THE PRIMARY PAYER” is TRICARE.
This isn’t the first time that UCSD’s billing department has re-billed MOAA for bills that MOAA has already paid. UCSD’s billing department routinely re-bills MOAA for bills that MOAA has already paid.
It gets worse. Often, MOAA is obliged to send part of their payment to UCSD, and part of their payment to the Internal Revenue Service ( IRS ). You’re probably wondering, why is MOAA paying the IRS? By law, MOAA is required to withhold some money from UCSD, and pay it instead to the IRS as partial payment of UCSD’s tax liability to the IRS.
If you’re employed, you undergo the same thing. You work, and your employer pays you. However, your employer pays some of your money to the IRS. When you pay taxes to the IRS, you don’t have to pay all that you owe. That’s because your employer has already sent some of your money to the IRS. Often, your employer overpays the IRS. This allows you to get a tax refund from the IRS.
( Hence, tax day becomes “refund day”. People are thrilled to get money from the IRS. They forget that this is their own money, that the government extracted from them by force. Nifty, huh? )
For years, UCSD’s billing department refused to understand that MOAA was paying their ( UCSD’s ) taxes. You can guess what UCSD did. They demanded cash from me. UCSD did this to get the money that MOAA “hadn’t paid” them. MOAA had paid the IRS on UCSD’s behalf.
On January 7, 2021, UCSD sent me a bill for my May 20, 2020 appointment. UCSD’s bill shows that they got paid by TRICARE. UCSD’s bill does not show MOAA’s payment.
I received USCD’s bill on January 19, 2021. I called USCD’s billing department at 1-855-827-3633. This is not a toll-free number. I spoke with a UCSD employee named Lynette. She claimed that UCSD had no record of MOAA’s payment. I explained that MOAA’s payment was made electronically, and was accompanied by an explanatory document from MOAA. I read to her the relevant parts of the document that MOAA had mailed to me.
Lynette continued to claim that UCSD had received no payment from MOAA. Lynette spoke to an unnamed supervisor. The unnamed supervisor told Lynette that UCSD had received no payment from MOAA.
I asked Lynette to call MOAA. Lynette refused to call MOAA. She said,
“I’m at a call center. I don’t have time to call MOAA.”
I told her,
“There should be someone in a back office that you can send a message to. Have them call MOAA at their convenience.” Lynette claimed that UCSD had no such back office. Hence, no one working for UCSD could call MOAA, including Lynette’s supervisor.
Lynette told me to call MOAA.
In my conversation with Lynette, she made the ridiculous claim that she only saw two payments from MOAA. One payment had been made in 2020, and another in 2019. In fact, MOAA routinely pays USCD on my behalf, many times a year.
I did as Lynette demanded. I called MOAA. I spoke with an MOAA employee named Salvadore. He told me that all he could send me was the MOAA paperwork that I had on my desk. To MOAA’s discredit, Salvadore refused to call UCSD, or to have anyone at MOAA call UCSD.
I called UCSD’s billing department back. This time, I spoke with a UCSD employee named Nichelle. She simply repeated what Lynette had told me. Nichelle refused to call MOAA. Nichelle claimed that no UCSD employee could call MOAA.
The disputed amount is $45.00. However, if don’t pay this amount, UCSD will undo various discounts that they apply to a bill covered by Tricare. If that happens, my total liability, for this single appointment, will be hundreds of dollars.
A bill for $45.00, or hundreds more, is not the only amount that I could be liable for. Some years back, I got the flu. ( My flu shot proved ineffective since, that year, the flu evolved after the flu vaccine was given to me. ) At that time, I racked up $150,000 in bills to UCSD. ( All of my prior bills for UCSD services have been paid in a timely manner. )
If you pay California taxes, or are a U.S. taxpayer, you’re the one whose dollars paid $150,000 to UCSD. ( I paid a small amount. ) Thanks for paying UCSD on my behalf! You may wonder how I wound up owing UCSD $150,000. Read on:
As stated above, I got the flu. As a result of the flu, I vomited 24 hours a day. This went on for three weeks. ( After two weeks, as mentioned below, I went to UCSD’s Emergency Room. )
During these three weeks, I managed to swallow, and keep down, my transplant medicines. This was because I usually took my transplant medicines right after I’d vomited. Once one vomits, there is usually a window of time during which one does not vomit. I also had endless hiccups. I was afflicted with them for two weeks straight.
In addition to my transplant medicines, I was supposed to take a lot of non-transplant medicines. I am not allowed to take my non-transplant medicines with my transplant medicines. However, I was vomiting too much to take my non-transplant medicines.
Worst of all, I became heavily constipated. I did not understand all that was happening to me. In retrospect, it was the constipation that was making me vomit.
The flu lasted for two weeks. Due to my constipation, my vomiting went on for three weeks.
After two weeks, I went to UCSD’s Emergency Room. I told them the following:
“I had the flu for two weeks. It’s now gone. However, I haven’t had anything to eat or drink for two weeks. I keep vomiting everything up. I need to be able to eat, drink, and poop”. I also told them, “I’m very dehydrated, as a result of vomiting for two weeks straight. As a side effect of my dehydration, I’m suffering from chest pains.”
UCSD’s Emergency Room kept me in a room that was extremely cold. As I recall, it was called, “the negative pressure room”. To prevent homeless people from needlessly using the emergency room, UCSD does not give its patients there any food or beverages. I didn’t want such anyway, since I was vomiting most everything that I ate or drank. However, since UCSD kept me in their emergency room for many hours, I would have been angry to be refused food or beverages, if I wasn’t vomiting.
Stupidly, UCSD did not protect the computer screen that was in my room. I never touched UCSD’s computer. However, I was able to monitor my status on the computer screen. I was also able to monitor the status of every other patient in the emergency room. That, plus what I overheard UCSD employees saying about other patients, kept me fully informed on the status of every emergency room patient, including ones with “sensitive” medical problems.
I was praying that UCSD would make me an inpatient. Instead, UCSD went nuts over my heart. They made me do a heart treadmill test. They completely ignored my reason for being at UCSD. ( I needed to be able to eat, drink, and poop. )
Eventually, UCSD sent me home. They sent me home with pills to prevent vomiting. I looked at the price of the vomit pills: $5,000. My insurance paid most of this. ( That is, you did. ) My “insurance co-pay” was probably around $20.00.
The pills to prevent vomiting did not work. Since TRICARE and MOAA paid for the pills, their money was wasted. The reason the vomit pills didn’t work is because, since I was heavily constipated, that overrode any effectiveness the pills might have had. UCSD also sent me home with pills to prevent hiccups. By then, my hiccups had gone away on their own. ( I was grateful to have the hiccup pills, in case my hiccups came back. )
Arriving home from UCSD’s Emergency Room, I vomited. UCSD’s paperwork says, “come back if you have further problems.” However, I’d just been in UCSD’s Emergency Room for many hours. I hadn’t been able to sleep at all in their cold room. I walked to the grocery store. Having been sick for two weeks, I didn’t have any food in my room.
A week passed. During this time, I remained unable to eat, drink, and poop. I did my laundry in a public laundry room. I blacked out a number of times as I did my laundry. ( I didn’t become unconscious, just temporarily blind. ) I kept a vomit bowl handy.
I slept with a vomit bowl by my bed. I didn’t use a hospital vomit bowl. A hospital vomit bowl was too shallow for me. I kept a deep Tupperware vomit bowl handy.
This third week of constipation heavily impacted my heart. I guess this was due to dehydration.
At this point, I’d been constipated for three weeks straight. Thinking I was healthy again, I ate half of a sandwich. I’d started on the second half of the sandwich when I felt the urge to defecate. I went to my bathroom. Sitting on my toilet, I felt an urge to vomit. I grabbed the trash can in my bathroom. As I explosively vomited into my trash can, I felt an extremely sharp pain in my abdomen. It was the most pain I’ve ever felt. All I could do was “ride it out”, as they say.
I never defecated in any meaningful way. I felt compelled to resort to my bed. I’d been walking about the city all day, doing chores. ( I can’t afford a car. ) I was utterly unable to take a shower. Hence, I haphazardly threw some ( unused ) trash bags on my bed, and lay on those. ( My bed doesn’t have a bedcover or blanket. I turned them in to my building’s management long ago. They were too bulky and expensive to launder. I use multiple towels as blankets, and run my heater as needed. )
As I lay in my bed, my T.V. was on. It was quite loud. I listened to Fox News for hours. I was unable to rise from my bed to turn down my T.V.
Often, I was forced out of my bed to vomit. This happened for many hours. I vomited in my kitchen sink. ( I was beyond any successful use of my vomit bowl. ) I tried drinking water out of my kitchen sink’s faucet. ( I was unable to open my refrigerator. ) Unfortunately, anything I drank I simply vomited back up, within a few minutes. I became even more dehydrated.
It became difficult for me to move the short distance between my kitchen sink and my bed. ( I live in a small room. ) Several times, I blacked out as I moved from my kitchen sink to my bed. I had to grab onto a table between my sink and my bed. I didn’t become unconscious. I did briefly go blind, more than once. Tremendous shudders went through me. I felt that I was on the brink of death.
Finally, I felt I was strong enough to get to my building’s lobby. I had no ability to prepare for a hospital stay. I went as I was. In my building’s lobby, I called a taxi. As I live in downtown San Diego, these arrive at my building within a few minutes.
As the taxi driver was taking me to the hospital, he realized that I was sick. He stopped the cab. He asked me what was wrong. I told him, “Keep driving!” I quieted his concerns with an opinion that I’d eaten a sandwich that hadn’t agreed with me. In fact, I knew that something worse was happening to me.
I arrived at UCSD’s Emergency Room. Here’s what happened:
1. As I’d arrived by taxi, UCSD’s Emergency Room employees regarded any problem I had as being unimportant. A patient who really had a medical problem would, in their opinion, arrive in an ambulance. What USCD’s employees ignored was the following:
A. I live downtown. Taxis are downtown. An ambulance company can’t afford to park its ambulances downtown. It’s too expensive. Hence, while a taxi can arrive quickly at my building, an ambulance takes a lot longer to arrive.
B. I have to pay for any ambulance ride. The minimum cost for an ambulance summoned on short notice is $150.00. I’ve been billed as much as $500.00 to ride in an ambulance. None of my insurance companies reimburse me for ambulance rides.
C. Once, when I rode in a commercial ambulance, I was strapped down to a gurney. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t even move my arms. Then, a breathing mask was put over my face. It was like a gas mask. I had great trouble breathing with this mask on. Hence, I was completely restrained, and unable to breathe. I couldn’t say much with the mask on. Nor could I be easily heard.
Then, the ambulance technicians forcibly stabbed me with a needle. This was to draw blood from me. Perhaps their procedures required them to see if I was a drug addict. However, I had lucidly explained my situation to them. I was deeply traumatized by this ambulance ride. I swore I’d never call another ambulance again, when I had a medical emergency.
( I’m required by UCSD to ride home in an ambulance after any outpatient procedure. That’s because I live alone, with no “friend or relative” to drive me home. UCSD won’t perform a medical procedure on me unless I provide proof, in advance, that I’m taking an ambulance home. UCSD won’t let me take the bus or a taxi home. I can’t “sneak out” of UCSD and go home in a taxi. That’s because, as stated, UCSD requires proof in advance that I’m taking an ambulance home. This is a standard rule that UCSD applies to everyone. Most people, of course, provide proof that a “friend or relative” is taking them home. )
D. UCSD only views America from a suburban perspective. In their view, if I truly had a medical emergency, my “friend or relative” would call for an ambulance. I have no “friend or relative”.
E. An aside: whenever I arrive for surgery at UCSD, I always do so with two grocery bags. Everything I bring is a necessity. For instance, if I’m to be an inpatient, I bring boxes of Kleenex. Only a masochist would use the toilet paper that UCSD provides to its patients. I also bring baby wipes. UCSD refuses to provide these. I bring dental floss. UCSD provides an inpatient with a toothbrush, but not dental floss. I choose the items that I’m going to bring with care. I always run out of Kleenex and baby wipes as an inpatient at UCSD. Hence, I’d bring more supplies if I could, but I can only haul so much weight.
“Did you buy groceries?” a UCSD employee invariably asks me, when I arrive. Several employees usually ask me this. Inevitably, they’re annoyed that I brought “so much”. Once, a male UCSD nurse treated me quite obnoxiously on this matter. I tried explaining to him that I had nobody to bring me supplies later on. There was no “friend or relative” who was going to visit me, and bring me supplies. He stubbornly persisted in his suburban view of America. This is amazing, since many people in downtown San Diego exist in the same circumstances as I do. Others, obviously mentally ill, wander the streets homeless, wrapped in blankets.
Now, back to how I was treated by UCSD’s Emergency Room employees:
2. UCSD’s employees did not give me any medical attention. They marooned me in the public area of the emergency room. This despite the fact that I told them I was badly dehydrated, and that it was causing me chest pains.
3. After I’d been marooned in the public area for some time ( under a blaring T.V., next to a homeless woman ), I remonstrated with UCSD’s desk clerk. He was a medical person. I emphasized to him that I was badly dehydrated, and that this was causing me chest pains. His response:
“Nobody ever died from pain.” In fact, pain is your body’s way of telling you that something is wrong.
4. I was finally let into the medical area of UCSD’s Emergency Room. A technician attempted to start a line of intravenous fluid in me. ( An IV. ) He failed. I felt an urge to vomit. I went to the sink to do so, but vomited without producing much. By then, the technician had disappeared. No further attempt was made by UCSD to put an IV in me for over an hour. This despite the fact that I told everyone that, as a result of dehydration, I was suffering from chest pains.
5. UCSD’s employees were disgruntled that I’d arrived at the Emergency Room at around 5:00 a.m. UCSD’s employees view 5:00 a.m. to 7:00 a.m. as their break time. They’re pissed when a person with a serious medical issue arrives at the Emergency Room during this time.
6. I was finally put in a bed in the Emergency Room. A female doctor visited me. I fully explained my problem to her, as I understood it. I also said, “I’ll need to take my kidney transplant medicines at 8:00 a.m. I was unable to bring any of these medicines with me. Please give me the doses at 8:00 a.m. Otherwise, my kidney transplant will reject.” ( The current wait time for a new kidney transplant exceeds a decade in length. A patient is not offered a new transplant if he lost his old transplant because of his negligence. )
Here was the doctor’s response:
1. You were just in the Emergency Room a week ago. Therefore, you’re a homeless bum who is needlessly resorting to our Emergency Room.
2. We won’t be giving you any transplant medications. We’re sending you home.
The doctor then stalked out of the room. She never examined me. She didn’t even get physically close to me. No one else had examined me, or did so in the ensuing hour. The female doctor never returned. ( My guess is that she went off for a long break in the doctors’ private dining room in UCSD’s cafeteria. )
What happened next? For over an hour, I lay in UCSD’s bed, in their emergency room, crying,
“Help! Help!” I was completely ignored by UCSD’s employees.
Finally, a nurse visited me. By then, I recalled that I’d had a bowel obstruction some years ago. I’d been treated for it at the exact same UCSD hospital that I was in now. That information was still in my medical records. Yet no UCSD employee, including their doctors, had bothered to examine my medical records for this fact.
“Maybe I have a bowel obstruction,” I told the nurse. In a hospital full of doctors and nurses, it was left to me to diagnose what was wrong with me.
A word about my prior bowel experience. In retrospect, I was simply constipated. All I needed was to drink some “poop juice”, as one does for a colonoscopy.
As an aside, I will now discuss this prior bowel experience. The length of my discussion is several paragraphs.
I had been vomiting uncontrollably. On this morning, I was expected at UCSD’s kidney transplant clinic. ( At its now former location. ) I decided to ride the bus to the hospital. ( Taxis, after all, cost money. I had already paid for my monthly bus pass. )
I figured I might vomit on the bus. So, I put a paper grocery bag inside of another paper grocery bag. Then I put both of these empty, open bags inside of a trash bag. I kept my big makeshift vomit bag at the ready. On the bus, I succeeded in holding back my vomit. With one exception.
Have you ever needed a toilet quite badly? I’m speaking of when you need a toilet, but none is nearby. This has happened to me more than once. I walk a considerable distance, successfully retaining my poop. Then, just as I’m nearing the toilet, everything breaks loose.
That’s what happened to me, as I rode the bus to UCSD Hospital. I was nearly there, when I began vomiting. Fortunately, most of the bus’ riders had already departed from the bus. I vomited several times as the bus went the final short distance to a stop near UCSD Hospital.
By the time I reached the transplant clinic, I’d vomited plenty. I was still doing so. Transplant said they couldn’t help me. A doctor there walked me to UCSD Hospital’s Emergency Room. UCSD made me an inpatient.
At this point, I encounter a problem in my narrative. That’s because, having arrived at my transplant appointment in the morning, my next memory is of some hour after midnight. It may be that UCSD didn’t make me an inpatient until a very late hour. More likely, my memory has merged two prior bowel experiences into one. Since I remain heavily afflicted by constipation, and take tons of medicine, daily, to keep my bowels moving, my latter view is likely the correct one. ( That, in prior years, I’d visited UCSD more than once with bowel problems. ) I will now tell of the prior bowel experience that occurred at the late night hour.
What did UCSD do at that time? They stuck a tube up my nose. It ran into my stomach. The purpose of the tube, and its accompanying equipment, was to drain my stomach. Supposedly, this would “calm by bowels”, and allow me to poop. I was plugged with this uncomfortable tube for a week. I was not allowed to eat anything. My guess is that I was not allowed much to drink. The tube screwed up the transplant medicines that I was swallowing. This was because, even though the tube mechanism was turned off when I took my medicines, and for an hour or so thereafter, it was still wrongfully draining the medicines from me.
I was unable to swallow the transplant medicines in pill form when I first arrived at UCSD. A male nurse gave me a plastic cup, but no milk or juice to mix the ( horrid ) liquid transplant medicine with. ( Liquid Cyclosporine. ) Cyclosporine even looks bad. It resembles urine. I told him,
“A plastic cup isn’t acceptable. Liquid Cyclosporine must be mixed with milk or juice in a ‘glass’ glass. The plastic in the plastic cup will absorb the medicine.” This wasn’t a theory of mine. It is the manufacturer’s printed instruction for how to take liquid Cyclosporine.
The nurse claimed that UCSD hospital did not have any ‘glass’ glasses. Of the Cyclosporine, which was in a hypodermic-style delivery tube, he said, “Shoot it down your throat, dude.” I did. It was horrid.
Here’s the important part. After a week in the hospital, UCSD’s doctors told me that I needed an operation. They said that, due to prior surgeries, I had “adhesions”. An “adhesion” occurs when your bowls stick together. Think of a garden hose that’s wrapped in your abdomen. The hose decides to stick to itself.
Hence, my abdomen needed to be cut open and my bowels unstuck. There are problems with such an operation. Besides the obvious risk of infection, the problems are these:
1. Any operation in the abdomen increases your risk of having more adhesions in the future.
2. You aren’t allowed to stay in the hospital while you heal. You’re sent home. I’ve undergone such an experience. Think of a thick steak that is sliced open, but joined together deep down in the cut. That’s your stomach. You’re totally responsible for taking care of this deep cut. The reason the doctors don’t sew you up is because they want your incision to heal from within. That is, you heal from deep within the cut to your stomach’s surface. This takes several weeks. It is recommended that you take as few baths or showers as possible during this time.
3. After a ( later ) abdominal operation at UCSD, my “normal” life didn’t stop. I wasn’t allowed to lift much while I was healing. Nonetheless, I had to walk to the grocery store, carry my groceries home, do my laundry in a public room, etc.
I was against having an abdominal operation for “adhesions”. Potentially, this made me a non-compliant patient. A non-compliant patient who needs another kidney doesn’t get one.
Fortunately, the date of my operation was the morning of Christmas Eve. I guess the UCSD doctor who was scheduled to operate on me didn’t want to work on Christmas Eve. My operation was cancelled. The tube was removed from my stomach. I was sent home. My life recovered on its own. The problem that had landed me in the hospital, massive vomiting, passed on its own.
I now return to my present narrative. In this narrative, I’d caught the flu three weeks prior. The flu had passed. I’d gone to UCSD’s Emergency Room a week before. I’d gone there because I couldn’t stop vomiting. I’d been sent home with $5,000 worth of vomit pills, which didn’t work. Now, a UCSD doctor had told me that I was a homeless bum, and that she was going to kick me out of UCSD’s Emergency Room. She’d since disappeared. No UCSD employee helped me for over an hour. Then, a nurse visited me, and I proceeded to diagnose myself.
I told the nurse I might have a bowel obstruction. She soon told me to get out of my bed and go get an X-RAY. I replied that I was utterly unable to get out of my bed.
Some time later, the nurse returned. Since I could’t get out of my bed for an X-RAY, she wanted to put me in a magnetic resonance imaging machine ( MRI ). I agreed to this.
I was put in the MRI machine. Then, I began to ( finally ) receive proper medical attention at UCSD. I was soon sent to an ultrasound room. An ultrasound was performed on me. Here was UCSD’s diagnosis: I was dying. As a result of my constipation, which UCSD had failed to diagnose a week prior, my bowels had ruptured. I was leaking feces into my abdomen. This is a deadly condition.
A ( new ) doctor told me that I needed an operation. I agreed. Here’s what I didn’t mention to her: during the operation, my heart would probably stop beating. This was because, as stated above, my third week of constipation had heavily impacted my heart. I figured that, if I spoke of my heart, my operation would be delayed. Once again, UCSD would screw around with heart examinations, instead of fixing the problem that was hurting my heart.
From the ultrasound room, I was taken immediately to an operating room. During my operation, my heart stopped. The doctor informed me of this when I woke up from my operation.
Once more, I had a tube put up my nose. The tube went into my stomach. My understanding is that I was given no transplant medicines at all for many hours. As I recall, I was kept in a surgical recovery room for more than a day, maybe longer. Then I was transferred to a hospital ward. After about 12 hours there, at around 4 a.m., someone showed up with transplant medicines. This was, as far as I know, the first time I was given transplant medicines, on this visit to UCSD.
Someone showed up with large Cyclosporine pills. I was supposed to swallow them. I tried. However, with the tube up my nose, I was unable to swallow the pills.
I asked for the IV version of Cyclosporine. I’d had it in various hospitals before. I was told,
“The IV version of Cyclosporine is expensive. So, UCSD hospital doesn’t stock it.”
I asked for little Cyclosporine pills. Two hours later, I was brought over a dozen of these. I managed to swallow the little Cyclosporine pills.
Meanwhile, I needed blood pressure medicine. I guess I was given some blood pressure medicine. However, the next day, my blood pressure was out of control. A bureaucratic problem ensued. I can sum it up as follows:
1. Based on my prior dose of blood pressure medicine, UCSD’s pharmacy refused to provide me with additional blood pressure medicine for 48 hours. My blood pressure continued to be out of control.
2. I complained about this. According to UCSD’s regulations, a patient is not to bring any medicine into the hospital. So, what did a male UCSD nurse tell me?
“Have someone from home bring you blood pressure medicine.” I live alone. Hence, there was nobody “at home” to bring me blood pressure medicine.
3. I walked in the hospital ward in an attempt to lower my blood pressure. I did this for two hours straight. It didn’t work.
Note: If you walk in a hospital ward just wearing hospital socks, it will jar the staples in your stomach. Try to bring flip-flops with you. Of course, hospital socks fit so tightly that it is difficult to wear flip flops with hospital socks. That’s because the ordinary flip-flop must fit between your big toe and the toe beside it.
4. After I’d suffered with high blood pressure for 48 hours, the pharmacy dispensed some blood pressure medicine to me. They did so via a female nurse. Stunningly, the dose was much more than I should take. I caught the error. So, after refusing to give me any blood pressure medicine for 48 hours, the pharmacy gave me too much. If you take too much blood pressure medicine, you can die.
As a result of my operation, I was no longer able to defecate out of my ass. My doctor had deliberately severed my rectum. ( This is a standard practice, and my doctor had explained this to me in advance. )
Two holes had been cut in my stomach. One had a plastic drainage tube sticking out of it. A plastic bag was affixed to it. Various abdominal fluids drained out of the plastic tube.
My intestine ( bowel ) stuck out of the other hole. I was obliged to learn the complicated process of attaching a plastic bag around my intestine. In my opinion, I wasn’t given enough training on how to do this. When I had a bowel movement, I defecated through my stomach, into the plastic bag. I then had to change the bag when I felt it was getting full. ( Hence, in “real life”, I went about with a bag of shit hanging off of my stomach. I did this 24 hours a day, every day. )
Most people are promised that they won’t have to “wear the bag”, as it’s called, for more than a few months. At a later appointment, sitting in a clinic room with my bag on, I could hear the doctor talking to patients in other rooms. Gaily, he told them how they would soon be off of their bags.
Then he came in my room. His mood was sober. I was a transplant patient. As a transplant patient, I was immunosuppressed. ( The transplant medicines deliberately lower my immunity. Otherwise, my immune system would kill the transplanted kidney that’s in my abdomen. That’s because, from my transplanted kidney’s perspective, I’m a “foreign body”. My transplanted kidney wants to be back in its original owner, who died. )
Someone who is immunosuppressed is at greater risk of infection after surgery. Of course, being a transplant patient for about 40 years, I’ve had many surgeries.
I would remain “on the bag” for a year. Absent arguments by me, UCSD would have happily left me “on the bag” for the rest of my life.
I’d gotten the flu in late May. I became an inpatient at UCSD in June. Although UCSD was determined to send me home, citing standard insurance reasons, I managed to stay in UCSD Hospital until July. Then, I was sent home with staples in my stomach. Later, one of my staples popped out. As a result, I did not heal correctly. I now have a “technical hernia”, which UCSD’s doctors diagnosed, but have refused to fix.
At some point, my staples were removed. A deep cut remained in my abdomen. I was required to service this cut myself, until it healed.
Supposedly, once I was home, a nurse was going to visit me every day. However, it took a number of days before nursing care was approved. By then, I had learned how to change my bag and deal with my cut-open abdomen. I remained in very poor health. I slept as much as I could. The only time I felt well enough to leave my room, and walk to the grocery store, was 2 p.m. Guess when the nurse insisted that she would visit me? At 2 p.m.
I told the nurse not to bother. I wanted to buy my groceries, take a shower, change my stomach bandage, and go back to bed.
It was useless for the nurse to change my stomach bandage before I left my room. Walking back and forth to the grocery store would make me sweaty and dirty. I needed to take my shower AFTER I’d been to the grocery store. That would be in the late afternoon, or early evening. Then I’d go to the trouble of changing my bandage, which was wet from my shower. ( I tried covering my bandage with taped plastic, but that wasn’t too effective. )
Throughout the summer, I could only eat beef jerky. ( Which a transplant patient isn’t supposed to eat, due to its high sodium content. ) Besides water, I could only drink grape juice. I drank milk when I took my medicines that have to be taken with food. ( Prednisone will give you ulcers if you swallow it with water. Fish oil capsules also require food, or milk. )
The first time I ate a real meal was in early September. Food that I’d bought, but found myself unable to eat, rotted. I had to throw out fully cooked bacon. I also had to throw out a bag of pretzels.
About a year after my bowel ruptured, I had another bowel operation. Although this was designated as an “interim” operation, the doctor actually repaired me in full.
Prior to my bowel operation, UCSD demanded that I get my anus checked. Their theory was this:
“Since you haven’t defecated in awhile, your anus might have gotten lazy. You might not be able to keep fecal matter inside your rectum.”
I reported to a room at UCSD to get my anus checked. I had to put on a hospital gown. Then I had to lie supine on a table. A female UCSD employee appeared. She told me to roll on my side, away from her. I was going to have liquid pumped into my ass. This was accomplished. I was allowed to lie supine again, and told to simultaneously draw up my knees. I accomplished this without incident. I was successfully retaining the liquid that has been pumped into my ass. None of it leaked out.
For some idiot reason, the woman now told me to straighten my legs. She said nothing about making sure the liquid stayed in my ass. So, I straightened my legs in a careless manner. The liquid came out of my ass.
As a result of this, the woman said that she had to pump more liquid into my ass. I rolled onto my side for her to ( again ) do this. Now, the woman savagely shoved a tube up my ass. She did this repeatedly, with no warning of what I was to experience. As she shunted the tube back and forth in my rectum, she pumped liquid into my ass. As I said, the woman did this savagely. She did this so savagely that she made my anus bleed. I complained about this. Wasn’t the purpose of this procedure to make sure I had a tight anus? Making my anus bleed wasn’t improving it. The woman blew off my complaint.
Now, she told me to get off the table. She claimed that the procedure was over. I simply had to walk to a bathroom. The bathroom, some distance away, was in the exam room. I was to defecate out the fluid that she’d pumped into my ass.
Here’s the crucial part. Your walk to the toilet IS the purpose of the procedure. The employee wants to know if you can hold the liquid in your ass until you reach the toilet. I was only told this later. Even though my anus had been damaged by the woman, and was now bleeding, I kept the liquid in my ass until I was seated on the toilet. Hence, I “passed the examination” and was cleared for my bowel operation.
To this day, I wonder about the woman who pumped the fluid into my ass. I wonder if this UCSD employee had a sadistic fetish for “pegging” men. I do not make this charge lightly. I have not made it prior to today. The UCSD employee should have fully explained this procedure to me, and its pitfalls. Then I could easily have retained her first injection of bowel fluid.
I’ll give you my opinion on the “lazy anus” theory. It’s nonsense. If a guy masturbates, especially 24 hours a day, like I do, he’s going to have a tight anus. That’s because masturbation involves many muscles, ranging from the abdomen to the thighs. ( Not the thighs themselves. )
So, if you’re a doctor, and have a patient who’s been put on the bag, I recommend the following prescription:
Watch videos by Danatar, Mari Kruchkova, Milana from Minsk ( etc. ) until we can get you off of the bag. That will keep your anus tight.
I have had other problems at UCSD.
After my third transplant, my UCSD surgeon deliberately left a hernia in me. ( Hence, he didn’t sew me all the way up, as is always done after a transplant operation. ) My surgeon never told me that he’d left a hernia in me. I learned later that he always left hernias in his patients. I guess his surgeries were easier for him, since he got away with doing a half-assed job. Aside from one other doctor, he’s the only Black doctor I’ve ever had. My other Black doctor, a dermatologist, was still learning how to use liquid nitrogen when he first started personally using it on me. I have at least one scar from that. It’s near the place the doctor was aiming for. However, he missed. He also sprayed the liquid nitrogen for longer than he should have. That’s why I have the scar.
As for my Black transplant surgeon, he also put “a stent” in my urethra. He never told me about this. Later on, I went regularly to a fitness center. I did sit-ups there. Over time, I noticed that, whenever I did sit-ups, I wound up peeing blood. I reported this to UCSD’s transplant clinic. By then, the Black surgeon was gone. UCSD subsequently removed the stent from my urethra. As a result, I no longer peed out blood.
You may be wondering about my hernia, from my third transplant. It was called “an incisional hernia”. That’s because a doctor caused it, by surgically cutting me open. I was given a referral to UCSD’s outpatient surgery clinic. Guess what I was told there?
“You’re a transplant patient,” the head of medical interns told me. “You’re immunosuppressed. Therefore, I’m not going to fix your hernia. Since it’s incisional, it’s not causing you any pain.” ( It wasn’t, but it looked awful. ) This doctor also told me that, since I was a bit over 50 years old, I was “too old” for him to bother fixing me. He literally said that, if I was younger, he’d operate on me. However, I was now, in his opinion, an old man. I won’t go into my romantic life here. However, it rhymes with none. As in, zero. Hence, I was not pleased to be informed by USCD that I was an old man who amounted to nothing for the rest of my life.
You might wonder why, after my transplant operation, I didn’t visibly notice that I had a hernia. That’s because, whenever I visited the fitness center, I did tons of sit-ups. My stomach was so strong that it held in the ( otherwise large ) incisional hernia. Later, I stopped going to the fitness center. My stomach muscles weakened. The hernia popped out.
Fortunately, UCSD has two hospitals. I eventually connected with an abdominal specialist at UCSD’s second hospital. I routinely wear oversized pants, with suspenders. That’s because, as a transplant patent, I’m not supposed to have anything constricting my stomach. The abdominal specialist noticed how big my pants were. He assumed that I’d once been fat, but had lost a lot of weight. This earned me a gold star, in his view. That’s because he routinely works with fat patients, and they have enormous trouble losing weight. So, I was a “good boy”, since I’d lost lots of weight.
In fact, I hadn’t lost weight. I just wore big pants. The doctor asked me if I’d previously been fat. I said, “yes”. I did not add that I’d been fat, probably from transplant medicines, twenty years prior. The doctor hadn’t asked when I’d been fat, just if I had been.
So, since I was, apparently, one of the most “compliant” patients he’d ever met, he agreed to fix my hernia.
That turned out to be a good experience. However, it stemmed from a bad experience. ( My transplant surgeon deliberately leaving a hernia in me. )
I have had other bad experiences at UCSD. I was physically attacked by a UCSD guard. He attacked me in front of three other UCSD guards. He did this just after I’d walked into UCSD hospital for an appointment. It was a “pre-op” appointment. A patient is required to go to a “pre-op” appointment a week prior to his appointment for surgery.
It was 7:00 a.m on a Monday morning. I took the bus to UCSD Hospital at Hillcrest. From the bus stop, the closest hospital entrance is a side entrance. Anyone is allowed to enter there.
As I approached the side entrance, I noticed several armed UCSD security officers ( guards ) standing about. This is not uncommon. The guards stood about as people, including me, walked toward the hospital, or exited it.
The only guard that I saw the face of was a White one. He had a mean look. However, I had no business to conduct with security, and walked on.
Entering the hospital, I went around the corner into an outpatient wing. This building connects directly to the hospital on its ground floor.
An excellent drinking fountain is located in the outpatient wing. It is easy to press the button on this drinking fountain. The water is cold. It shoots out in a high arc, then lands in an amply broad basin.
Whenever I go to UCSD hospital, I always use this drinking fountain. It is far superior to one located on the ground floor of UCSD Hospital. I have trouble pressing the button on that drinking fountain. It requires more force than I can ordinarily muster. Also, the water squirts out low in a low arc. It then splashes into a small, very shallow, basin.
As other people use this drinking fountain, I don’t want germs from their visits splashing into my face as I try to drink. Using this crap drinking fountain is equivalent to drinking warm spit.
After I use the excellent drinking fountain, I habitually take the elevator to the third floor. A bathroom is there. It isn’t a great bathroom, but it gets less traffic than a ground floor bathroom by USCD’s side entrance.
In my ( now ) 20 years as a patient at UCSD, I’ve come to dislike the ground floor bathroom. It has some problems:
1. Homeless people use the ground floor bathroom.
2. Wearing a bag of excrement, as I was at the time, my wish was to use a bathroom stall. In my experience, and during that time, the stalls in the ground floor bathroom couldn’t be locked. ( Presumably, this was so UCSD security could more easily remove homeless people from the stalls. )
3. The sinks in this bathroom deliver water very near to the backside of the sink. It is impossible to wash your hands in the sink without rubbing them against the backside of the sink.
Having drunk at the excellent drinking fountain, I now proceeded to an elevator. That is, I exited the hospital wing, going again into the hospital, near its side entrance.
At this point, four UCSD guards were inside the hospital. At least one of them was the mean-looking White guard who’d been standing outside. The guards had placed themselves near the lab check-in area. All four were gazing at me as I appeared from the wing. They looked like four mean schoolboys spoiling for a fight. None of them said a word to me. I proceeded into the alcove where there are two elevators. I got on one of the elevators. I then turned around in the elevator, by its panel. My intent was to press the button for the third floor.
Without warning, a Black UCSD guard had positioned himself between me and the elevator panel. He shoved his arm, or arms, against my arm. As I said, I was reaching for the elevator panel. Also, I wear ear protectors. They don’t play music. They protect my ears from the abundance of noise that occurs in a city. ( Bus’ air brakes, the workings of garbage trucks, noisy truck engines, car horns, ambulance sirens, and the sirens of fire engines. ) I wrap a black sweatshirt around my ear protectors to keep my head warm. So, if any noise accompanied the Black guard’s approach, I didn’t hear it. Also, he and his companions had just watched me walk by them without saying a word to me, or to anyone else.
The Black guard didn’t lightly bump me. He shoved his arms against mine with considerable force. His attack was so sudden that, for a moment, my arm continued to reach for the elevator panel. In that moment, it was as if two people were grappling. That’s how much force was involved. Also, the guard still wasn’t saying a word to me.
I was forced out of the elevator. The Black guards’ co-workers had joined him by now. They, and he, surrounded me. I took off my sweatshirt and ear protectors. I can accomplish this quickly. I recall standing there being surrounded, but being told nothing intelligible by the guards. UCSD’s “service”, called “we listen”, later attacked me by saying that I should have blurted out to the guards that I was wearing a bag of excrement, and needed the relative privacy that the third floor’s bathroom provided.
To quote ( now President ) Joe Biden: “Hey, man”. I was standing in a crowded lobby, near the hospital’s entrance. UCSD’s guards were not addressing me in any intelligible fashion. As they were ethnically mixed, I feel I’m able to say that it was as if I was surrounded by four gorillas. Why does “we listen” think I was going to blurt out that I was wearing a bag of shit in a crowded lobby, to four gorillas?
Eventually ( a word “we listen” ) chose to use against me, UCSD’s guards demanded that I proceed to UCSD’s main lobby. They insisted that I check-in there. This is not an obligation of any patient entering USCD. UCSD’s own signs, at its lab check-in area, tell patients to “proceed directly to your clinic”.
Nonetheless, I obeyed the guards. They accompanied me, as if I were a convict, to the main lobby’s check-in desk. A clerk there had me present identification. She then confirmed to UCSD’s guards that I was indeed a patent who was at UCSD for a scheduled “pre-op” appointment. In fact, I was about an hour early. This is a common practice of mine. If you arrive early for your appointment, you’re likely to be seen early. In fact, many patients fail to show up for their clinic appointments. So, you help UCSD, as a patient, by being available to replace the patient who has decided to skip their appointment.
As I stood at the check-in desk, four more armed UCSD guards arrived. I was now surrounded by eight UCSD guards. The Black guard had made himself the boss of this group. He didn’t care that I was validly in UCSD hospital. He continued to harass me, for no intelligible reason. I was now surrounded by eight gorillas, none of whom had visibly acquired an ability to reason.
I had become extremely thirsty. This was due to the stress that the guards were causing me. If you’ve ever been in a tense situation, you’ll soon find yourself getting quite thirsty. Recall Jesus Christ on the cross: “I’m thirsty.” I got thirsty.
I ( again ) told the guards that I was validly in the hospital. UCSD’s clerk had just confirmed this. Hence, I attempted to return to the excellent drinking fountain. Handily for the guards, this would nearly remove me from UCSD Hospital, since that drinking fountain was near UCSD’s exit.
I never made it to the excellent drinking fountain. I only got as far as the crap drinking fountain. Bizarrely, though UCSD’s guards had an ( unverbalized ) wish to kick me out of the hospital, they’d stopped me from going closer to the exit!
I now stood near the crap drinking fountain. I could get no farther. I was again surrounded by eight armed UCSD guards.
An aside: hiring security guards, a big facility like UCSD claims that it’s safe. This is nonsense. Pay a homeless man to walk into UCSD’s main lobby and to start yelling. Tell him to yell the “N-word”, and various other forbidden words. Tell him to show off his genitals.
I guarantee you, every UCSD guard will rush to the homeless man in the main lobby. Then, being criminally minded, you can walk into any entrance at UCSD, except the main lobby, and commit whatever chaos you please. Need to assassinate a patient? Feel free. You can come and go quickly without ever being noticed. I mention this not to be insulting. Rather, I mention it in the hope of improving security in large facilities like UCSD Hospital.
I now continue my narrative about the eight armed UCSD guards that were surrounding me:
I told the guards that I was thirsty. The Black guard refused to allow me to go to the excellent drinking fountain. If I needed a drink, I was to use the crap drinking fountain.
This struck me as odd. A big complaint of Blacks, during the civil rights era, was that White people told them which drinking fountain they were allowed to use. Now, a Black man was telling a White man which drinking fountain to use.
This may strike you, the reader, as funny, or as some sort of “justice”. I’ll tell you this:
1. I’ve never lived in any area of America that had separate facilities for Blacks and Whites.
2. I had nothing to do with America’s laws in the past. Even today, my ability to influence America’s laws is nil. If America decides tomorrow to gas Jews, America will gas Jews. One guy with an iPad can’t stop that.
3. America doesn’t have civil rights. It only has an illusion of civil rights. All that matters in America is power. This is true of any polity. The people who have power oppress those who don’t. We are seeing this play out before our eyes in 2021. It has also been quite evident in past years.
I obeyed the Black guard. Submitting to his demand, I did my best to drink from the crap drinking fountain. It wasn’t an easy or pleasant experience. This occurred some years before COVID-19. Hence, no extra cleaning of UCSD’s facilities was occurring.
Fed up with mistreatment, I told the guards that I was a disabled veteran. I also said that I was a retired officer. To this, a White guard snarkily said, to his co-workers, of me:
“I guess he wants us to salute him.”
( No. I want to go to my pre-op appointment! )
Even more fed up, I displayed my bag of excrement in the busy corridor.
Amazingly, the Black guard still harassed me. None of his co-workers stopped him.
I demanded to see the Black guard’s supervisor. Grudgingly, the Black guard called his supervisor. His supervisor, a Black man, soon appeared. The first thing the supervisor told me was,
“I have to back up my guard.” That is, he felt he had to agree with whatever his subordinate had decided to do. If, say, the subordinate had just raped a woman, all his supervisor could do was “back up” his subordinate.
I told the supervisor that he was obliged to view the situation from an unbiased perspective, and come to his own conclusion.
I recall the supervisor asking me, of his Black guard:
“Why do you think he stopped you?”
Beware of this question. It solicits an admission of guilt. Whatever you say may be twisted to assign guilt to you. Then you, the victim, will become the perpetrator.
The best answer to this question is,
“I don’t know.” In fact, I said that the reason the Black guard stopped me was,
“Probably because I have this sweatshirt wrapped around my head.” By then, it was tied around my neck, and hanging down my back.
Soon, the Black subordinate was lying. He accused me, to his supervisor, of accosting a short Spanish guard. I guess he picked the Spanish guard for this lie because I’m short. The Spanish guard was short too. All the other guards were taller than me.
Upon hearing the Black guard’s lie, I glanced at the Spanish guard. This was the first time I noticed the Spanish guard. He was gazing at me with his mouth hanging open. I’ve never seen a more harmless person. Obviously, I hadn’t accosted him. Nor had he accosted me.
I was eventually allowed to proceed to my appointment. I complained, in writing, to UCSD’s “we listen” program about my treatment. Here’s the response that I got from them, in writing:
1. It’s your fault that you didn’t tell our guards earlier that you were defecating into a plastic bag, and wanted a more private bathroom. But:
2. You must use whichever bathroom UCSD’s guards tell you to use.
( Yes, UCSD contradicts itself in its letter. No mention was made of drinking fountains. Probably, UCSD felt embarrassed about that. )
3. The reason you were attacked by UCSD’s guard was as follows:
Prior to my arrival ( so UCSD claims), a homeless man was found in an unauthorized area of the hospital. He was escorted by UCSD’s guards to a bus stop, and told not to come back. The guards thought you ( Andrew Roller ) were him ( the alleged homeless man ).
( Of course, UCSD’s “we listen” used verbiage that avoided the word “attacked”, with regard to their guard. )
4. As for my being physically attacked, UCSD was planning to implement a guard training program called “Leading the field”. This was a training program that had been scheduled PRIOR to the guard attacking and lying about me.
Let’s look at UCSD’s claim that I resembled the trespassing bum. First, I wear a bright safety vest. That’s because I’m a pedestrian, and don’t want a car to hit me. I dress warmly, even in summer. I wrap a black sweatshirt around my head. I’ve never seen anyone who dresses remotely like me.
Amazingly, UCSD’s “we listen” claimed that the homeless man was wearing a safety vest. How many homeless people have you seen wearing safety vests? I haven’t seen any. Being unwanted, most homeless people with any sense dress to be unnoticed. This is especially helpful when they piss or defecate in public places. That’s especially true since California dubs “public exposure”, when it occurs near a school, as a felony. Specifically, this offence makes one a felon who is a sex offender.
Probably, you attended a big school in your youth, that was easily seen. However, California has charter schools now. These can amount to a single room in a building.
UCSD’s “we listen” also claimed that the alleged homeless man looked like me, and was my age, height, and weight. My height is less than most men’s, so I doubt UCSD’s “we listen”.
UCSD’s “we listen” claimed that the homeless man was in “an unauthorized area”. If you know anything about homeless people, there’s only one logical “unauthorized” place that a homeless man would be, at UCSD. It would be at a dumpster. Along the far side of UCSD is a huge fenced area that resembles a parking lot. The gate to the fenced area is often left open. Inside it is at least one dumpster. As I understand, the dumpster mostly holds discarded construction material. To a homeless man, however, any dumpster is a gold mine. That’s especially true if the homeless man is mentally ill, and unable to predict what a dumpster is likely to hold.
( I know about the fenced area because, over 20 years, I’ve sometimes circumnavigated UCSD Hospital. This is invited by a public walkway that runs by the hospital’s far side. )
I will now discuss other bad experiences that I’ve had, as a customer of the UC hospital system.
I have been a customer of UC hospitals for nearly 30 years. A quarter century ago, I was an inpatient at UC Davis. I had undergone a kidney biopsy. After the biopsy, I was recovering in my room. I was the only patient in the room. A female minister was visiting me. ( I hadn’t requested a minister, she just showed up. )
Talking with the minister, I began experiencing extremely low blood pressure. I began shuddering uncontrollably. Using the help device in my bed, I called for help. I did this repeatedly. Nobody came. Every UC Davis employee ignored me. ( Unreasonably; I wasn’t a “problem patient”. )
It was the middle of a weekday. This is when the hospital is fully staffed. Yet nobody came, despite my urgent requests for help. The minister decided to help. She held my hand. This probably saved my life. Still, no UC Davis employee came.
Finally, the minister went to seek help. A UC Davis employee showed up at my bedside. Soon, the equivalent of the entire UC Davis hospital staff was in my room. I was told that I was dying. I was rushed to an operating room.
I will now discuss how I would up as a patient on death’s brink in a UC Davis operating room.
Why had my problem occurred? I had, as you’ll recall, a kidney biopsy earlier in the day. I was fully awake during my kidney biopsy. In that era, the standard practice was to not give the patient anesthesia. Hence, I lucidly recall everything that occurred.
I lay supine for my biopsy. I lay on a table. The subordinate doctor made ready to cut into me. The attending physician ( his boss), stood behind him. A telephone hung on the wall very close to the subordinate doctor.
The subordinate doctor cut into me. Just as he did, the telephone rang. The attending physician reached for it. As a meaningless act of courtesy, the subordinate doctor bowed. This was because the telephone hung quite close to him on the wall.
As a result, the subordinate doctor cut too deeply into me. Nobody knew this at the moment it happened. The fact that the subordinate doctor cut too deeply into me is what caused me problems later, when I was back in my hospital room with the chaplain.
In my room, I experienced the uncontrollable shuddering mentioned above, and the extremely low blood pressure. As a result of the cut that was too deep, I was bleeding into my abdomen. I was told that this was a deadly condition. This is because, if your blood pressure drops too low, you die.
My understanding is that, currently, California does not execute prisoners. You might wonder what method California used when it last killed a man. They drove his blood pressure up. His systolic blood pressure got up to around 300. That caused his heart and blood vessels to burst. ( In fact, being sedated, he awoke as his blood pressure was being jacked up. Witnesses found his awakening so gruesome that California banned the death penalty. )
If your blood pressure goes too high, you die. If your blood pressure goes too low, you die. You are required to keep your blood pressure within a certain range. Death awaits you at either end of this range. Obviously, no aging human can stay within this range for eternity. That’s one reason why we’re not immortal.
Above, I mentioned that I was getting a kidney biopsy. I understand that a biopsy is performed primarily with a big needle. In my description, I imply that the subordinate doctor was using a knife. This is the best description of this procedure, that nearly killed me, that I can provide. I have had a number of biopsies over 40 years.
As a result of this medical error ( the biopsy gone bad ), I could have sued UC Davis. In fact, later, when I was an outpatient, the subordinate doctor asked me,
“Are you going to sue me?” He blurted this out. He did this in front of a number of other doctors. I had not raised the issue. The doctors accompanying the subordinate doctor told him to shut up.
I never attempted to sue the subordinate doctor, or UC Davis. My reasoning was as follows: the doctor hadn’t hurt me due to malice. He had simply made a dumb error. Furthermore, his error was due to the placement of the telephone. UC Davis was at fault for putting the telephone so close to the operating room table. ( Fortunately for UC Davis, I didn’t think deeply on their fault in this matter, at the time. )
I will say the following to any doctor who reads this article:
When you are cutting into a patient, you are God. Your attending physician must be ignored at this moment. So must everything else. You have the knife. Hence, you hold the liability for your actions.
The attending physician was, perhaps, visiting UC Davis. He left soon after my “biopsy gone bad”. He went to a foreign country. My impression was that he was perhaps fleeing any liability that might attach to him from my “biopsy gone bad”.
My understanding is that the UC hospital system fully insures its doctors against medical errors. I don’t know if this was true a quarter century ago. Also, under current California law, the rule of “loser pays” applies. Hence, if you sue your doctor, and lose in court, you pay his court costs as well as your own.
Also, the statute of limitations for medical errors is one year.
I’m finished discussing my “biopsy gone bad” at UC Davis. It isn’t the only problem that I had at UC Davis. If you wish to, read on:
At UC Davis, I had outpatient surgery. I had it not at the hospital, but at an outpatient clinic. I was given anesthesia. When the surgery was over, I was allowed to remain in the clinic for only an hour or so. Then I was forced to leave. ( This was the UC Davis clinic’s standard procedure. )
At this time, there were no rules for how I was to go home. At this time, I owned a truck. I sat in my parked truck for awhile. I felt that it would be difficult for me to drive home. However, having no one to turn to, and with my truck stuck in the UC clinic’s parking lot, I finally decided to drive home.
Have you ever been on an acid trip? I haven’t. However, I bet my drive home, on a busy freeway in rush hour, was akin to an acid trip. I didn’t have psychedelic visions as I drove, but I was mentally impaired, from the anesthesia. My “truck” wasn’t a pickup, but a big, heavy Ford Bronco. Fortunately, I got home without hitting any cars, or children. “Mr. Toad”, of “The Wind in the Willows”, must have envied me.
Now, let’s return to the current problem: UCSD’s billing department. I remind you that, if you pay California or U.S. taxes, your dollars are going to UCSD. TRICARE sends many federal dollars to UCSD every year.
The question, then, is this:
Should you, the taxpayer, be paying for UCSD?
In my experience, all the employees of UCSD’s billing department do is demand cash from patients. UCSD’s contract with me declares me to be the “guarantor” for any money that my insurance doesn’t pay for. What UCSD’s employees fail to understand is that I’m only obligated to pay bills that are legal. It is against public policy for UCSD’s contract to demand that I pay bills that are fraudulent. No court would enforce a contract binding me to pay bills that amount to criminal fraud.
MOAA paid UCSD for my appointment on May 20, 2020. MOAA provided UCSD with paperwork proving that they paid UCSD. I have provided the same paperwork to UCSD.
MOAA’s paperwork is routinely used by UCSD as proof that MOAA paid UCSD. I use UCSD often. Hence, under contract law, my relationship with UCSD is equivalent to an “output” contract. Under an “output” contract, the usual method of proving payment is the accepted way of proving payment. ( Hence, it’s the document that MOAA sends to UCSD, along with MOAA’s electronic payment. ) UCSD can’t now claim that, because of their negligence, MOAA’s method of proving payment is unacceptable.
( An “output” contract, as often described in law books, is this: I’ll buy 2,000 widgets from your factory every month. The buyer and seller don’t trouble themselves with creating a new contract every month. Their initial contract, and their conduct then and thereafter, embody their contract.
Note that this is the modern Corbin view of contract law, not the outdated Williston view of contract law. Although Corbin’s view of contract law has been in use for decades, most non-lawyers view contract law using the outdated Williston view. They think a contract solely embodies “the four corners” of a document. They also fail to bring viewpoints like public policy into consideration. Therefore, your contract with your fitness center tells you that you’re fully responsible for any injuries you get in the fitness center. The contract fails to note that, if the roof collapses, that isn’t your fault. You can sue your fitness center if their roof collapses on you, and injures you. )
The employees at UCSD’s billing department are often ignorant, incompetent, lazy, and arrogant. They should view any situation from a full perspective, taking all aspects of that situation into account. Instead, they just demand cash. That they do so in a manner that is criminally fraudulent is a disgrace.
Currently, I’m a disabled veteran who has his wits about him. I won’t always be like this. My father had Parkinson’s disease when he died. That means his brain wasn’t working so well. My understanding is that my mother is suffering from senility. I only carry my parents’ genes, and those of their ancestors. Hence, if they aged into brain problems, so will I. What will I do then, when UCSD’s billing department engages in criminal fraud? What will aging veterans do right now? ( And, frankly, absent the obvious assistance that he’s receiving, what would Joe Biden do, if he lived alone in a small room like me? )
California, and the federal government, should conduct a review of UCSD hospital before sending UCSD any more money.
Perhaps the above will help you if you’re attempting to decide what hospital to use.
I am writing to various government representatives regarding my problem with UCSD’s billing department. I am, initially, doing this by U.S. mail. I include all relevant documents with my complaint.
I have more government representatives that I realized. They are as follows:
1. My U.S. congressman.
2. My two U.S. senators.
3. My state governor.
4. My state senator.
5. My state representative.
6. My mayor.
7. My city councilman.
In addition, there are various newspapers, and television stations, that one can write to.
You can, if you wish, use the above as a guide if you have a complaint. So far, I’ve had excellent luck looking up relevant addresses using a search engine. ( I use Google, but I loathe the company. For technical reasons, perhaps because it isn’t “installed”, I have yet to fully migrate to the search engine duckduckgo ( dot ) com. )
The sales trainer J Douglas Edwards asks the following question: “What’s the hardest thing to get rid of? A body.”
Unfortunately, UCSD does not permit any physical interaction with any UCSD employee regarding billing. ( Except when the patient is obliged to sign a contract. ) Nonetheless, complaining in person, to whomever, is the most favorable way to present your complaint. Unless, of course, the party is then able to accuse you of objectionable language or conduct; truthfully or not. )
The next best way to complain is by U.S. postal mail. Send your ( photocopied ) documents as follows: by certified mail, return receipt requested.
My opinion is that the next best way to complain is by telephone. Be prepared to sit through the voice mail options whose true purpose is to keep anyone from actually answering your call.
Last, there’s e-mail. My experience is that e-mail is something that’s very easy for the recipient to ignore.
ARCANA
Except for the current abuse by UCSD’s billing department, I’ve omitted names from this article. As for my prior experiences, I recall some names, but not all. Hence, I’ve decided to omit all names from the prior experiences.
There is no period after the third “S” in S.O.S pads.
Tossing multiple conventions aside, I’ve decided to employ “a.m.”, rather than “A.M.”, “AM”, or “am”. I think my choice is the easiest to read.
Google declares that a hospital’s “emergency room” is to be called its “emergency department.” However, my aunt, as an “ER nurse”, always called her workplace “the ER”. She worked in her occupation for decades.
Google declares that a hospital’s “emergency department” is to be abbreviated as “ED”. I have always interpreted “ed” as an abbreviation for “education”. Also, the T.V. show about a hospital’s emergency room was titled, “ER”. Would you know what I was referring to if I was speaking of an “ED”? I wouldn’t.
TRICARE is capitalized, even though TRICARE isn’t an acronym.
The Military Officers Association of America ( MOAA ) does not have an apostrophe.
The e-mail address for UCSD’s billing department is: askus@ucsd.edu
As is too often the case, the large entity ( UCSD ) assumes that they make no errors. “askus” implies this. “Please tell us how we’re incompetent, or engaged in criminal fraud,” is considered impossible.
UCSD operates another e-mail for its customers:
welisten@health.ucsd.edu
Last summer, a UCSD “we listen” employee told me that their address of:
welisten@ucsd.edu ( no “health” )
is invalid. Yet the no “health” e-mail address is the only one listed on the web page of “we listen”.
I have a name for both of UCSD’s “we listen” e-mail addresses. It’s:
we listed. ( Like the Titanic. )
As might be expected, UCSD doesn’t “listen” to customers who complain to them. You’re lucky if UCSD’s “we listen” even answers you.
I had to repeatedly e-mail UCSD’s “we listen” department some months ago. This was because they utterly failed to answer me. My complaint was this: I went to UCSD to get my blood drawn. Instead of letting me into the public area of the hospital, which has a huge lobby, UCSD forced me, and other customers, to stand outdoors in the cold. UCSD’s “on scene” employees, who were indoors, stated that we customers had to wait outside because of “COVID-19”. As a result, I got sick. I was sick for a week.
After my repeated complaints to UCSD’s “we listen”, they finally answered me. “We listen” did this by e-mail. Their answer was contradictory. It consisted of the following:
1. “We listen” claimed that they’d sent me a letter by U.S. mail. I never got any letter.
2. With regard to their failure to respond to me, UCSD’s “we listen” told me the following:
“Your transplant nurse posted a message in a UCSD app, addressed to you. Since we read her message, and generally agreed with what she said, we felt no obligation to respond directly to you.” I barely knew how to use UCSD’s complicated app at the time. I still don’t like, or fully understand, it. I also have to remember a user I.D. and a password to get into the app.
3. “We listen” also told me:
“Your nurse posted her message to you, in UCSD’s app, on Thursday. You didn’t read it until Friday.” I was just recovering from my illness on Friday. As stated above, my illness lasted a week.
4. “We will send you a letter by U.S. mail.” I never got their first letter, or their second one.
As stated above, I did get an e-mail from them. It didn’t arrive as an ordinary e-mail, but as a PDF document. Thank God that my little iPad had the software to open it.
When the PDF document opened, it did not do so in a legible way. It wasn’t upright. It was, as I recall, sideways. It might have been upside down.
I had to take screen shots of the document. One screen shot wasn’t enough; the document’s length exceeded that of my iPad’s screen.
Having taken two screen shots of the document, I then had to force each one upright in Apple Photos. Thank God I knew how to do that. In fact, I’d just taught myself how, a few days before. Only then was I able to read the e-mailed reply from UCSD’s “we listen”.
The e-mailed PDF document purported to be a copy of UCSD’s first letter to me. As you’ll recall, I never got any mailed letter from them. The e-mailed document arrived a long time after I’d sent my complaint to “we listen”.
UCSD’s “we listen” exists for one reason. It’s to tell their customer the following: we’re right, and you’re wrong.
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Copyright 2021 by Andrew L. Roller. ET, Editorial Thunder, and ARSE, Andrew Roller Stories and Essays, are trademarks of Andrew L. Roller.
I am https://andrewroller.wordpress.com
Earlier posts by me are at https://asstr.org/files/Authors/Roller/
I’m on paper at: https://www.abebooks.com > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
and https://www.abebooks.co.uk > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
If you visit an “AbeBooks” website, you’ll be presented with a large square “Search” box. In the box labelled “Author”, type in “Andrew Roller”. In the box labelled “Title”, type in “Andrew Roller Presents”. This will bring up some of my pamphlets. I have not yet figured out how to bring up other pamphlets by me, under other titles. I don’t recall all the titles I published under.
I have no financial involvement in these resale items.
I am on You Tube as “Andrew Roller”. Use You Tube’s magnifying glass icon to search for “Andrew Roller”. That will take you to my You Tube channel. Or, on You Tube, tap my sun icon, if you see it. That will also take you to my You Tube channel. There, you can see songs and films that I like.
At the “home page” of my You Tube channel, you’ll see just a selection of playlists that I created. To see all my playlists, tap on the phrase, “Created playlists”.
The World Wide Web address for my You Tube channel is:
https://www.youtube.com/andrewroller
If you click on this link, you’ll be taken to a World Wide Web You Tube page. Here, You Tube displays a cartoon image of a monkey. The page says, “This page isn’t available. Sorry about that. Try searching for something else.”
My advice: on this page, search for “andrew roller”. By doing so, you’ll get to my World Wide Web You Tube channel. However, I have over 100 Playlists, that I created, at my You Tube app channel. The World Wide Web version of You Tube will only serve you 15 of my Playlists.
( Hence, access You Tube via its app. The You Tube app, like the WordPress app, is available for free at the Apple App Store. )
This is ET, Editorial Thunder, issue number 60
Arcana: This is ET, Editorial Thunder, issue number 60, version 5.0
Date Written: January 25, 2021.
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This has been a presentation of A R S E news.
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ET 60
Editorial Thunder presents...
UCSD Engaging in Criminal Fraud
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Plus: Patient physically attacked by armed UCSD guard.
And: I get it up the ass. A full report.
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UCSD ENGAGING IN CRIMINAL FRAUD
UCSD’s crooked accounting seeks to rob veteran.
by Andrew Roller
I am a disabled veteran. I was forcibly retired from the U.S. military for kidney failure. I am on my third kidney transplant, which is failing.
On May 20, 2020 I went to my kidney transplant appointment, as required by my doctor. The location of my transplant appointments is a University of California, San Diego ( UCSD ) clinic. UCSD is owned and operated by the state of California. If you pay taxes in California, you are paying for UCSD.
Much of the expense of my medical care is covered by TRICARE. This is a medical insurance program for U.S. military personnel, their dependents, and retired veterans. If you are a U.S. taxpayer, you are paying for TRICARE, which then sends money to UCSD.
U.S. military veterans who served for a number of years in the military, but who did not retire from the military, often use the Veterans Administration for their medical care. Under “VA Choice”, these veterans can use UCSD for medical care. If you are a U.S. taxpayer, you are paying for the Veterans Administration, which then sends money to UCSD.
TRICARE paid UCSD for my transplant appointment of May 20, 2020. However, like Medicare, TRICARE does not cover the entire cost of a veteran’s medical needs. Hence, I pay for a “TRICARE Supplement” insurance policy. This policy is provided to me by the Military Officers Association of America ( MOAA ).
On July 7, 2020, MOAA paid UCSD for my transplant appointment of May 20, 2020. MOAA provided complete information to UCSD regarding their payment to UCSD. Included in MOAA’s information was the following:
“BENEFIT PAYMENT HAS BEEN ASSIGNED TO YOUR PROVIDER. DRAFT# 95232037 WAS ISSUED 07/07/2020 FOR $90.00 PAYABLE T0: UCSD MEDICAL GROUP.”
Let’s examine MOAA’s statement. First, MOAA wrote the above in all capital letters. Second, the reason that MOAA paid UCSD $90.00 is because MOAA was paying UCSD for more than one appointment. Third, I’m quoting from a document that MOAA sent to me. It’s a copy of what MOAA sent to UCSD. Hence, in my copy of MOAA’s document, “Y0UR PROVIDER” is UCSD.
MOAA sends such a document to UCSD whenever they pay UCSD. MOAA pays UCSD electronically.
MOAA’s payment, plus that from Tricare, paid for my appointment in full.
Here’s the problem: UCSD’s billing department failed to record MOAA’s payment. Or, UCSD is engaging in criminal fraud. Based on my experience, I’m forced to conclude that USCD’s billing department is crooked.
UCSD’s billing department re-billed MOAA for my appointment of May 20, 2020 on November 15, 2020. Of course, MOAA didn’t pay UCSD again. MOAA wrote the following to UCSD:
“OUR RECORDS INDICATE THIS CLAIM WAS PREVIOUSLY PROCESSED. AN EXPLANATION OR PAYMENT WAS MAILED AT THE TIME THE ORIGINAL CLAIM WAS PROCESSED. THE ORIGINAL CLAIM WAS RECEIVED ELECTRONICALLY FROM THE PRIMARY PAYER.”
Let’s examine MOAA’s statement. First, MOAA wrote the above in all capital letters. Second, I am quoting from a document that MOAA sent to me. Hence, in my copy of MOAA’s document, “THE PRIMARY PAYER” is TRICARE.
This isn’t the first time that UCSD’s billing department has re-billed MOAA for bills that MOAA has already paid. UCSD’s billing department routinely re-bills MOAA for bills that MOAA has already paid.
It gets worse. Often, MOAA is obliged to send part of their payment to UCSD, and part of their payment to the Internal Revenue Service ( IRS ). You’re probably wondering, why is MOAA paying the IRS? By law, MOAA is required to withhold some money from UCSD, and pay it instead to the IRS as partial payment of UCSD’s tax liability to the IRS.
If you’re employed, you undergo the same thing. You work, and your employer pays you. However, your employer pays some of your money to the IRS. When you pay taxes to the IRS, you don’t have to pay all that you owe. That’s because your employer has already sent some of your money to the IRS. Often, your employer overpays the IRS. This allows you to get a tax refund from the IRS.
( Hence, tax day becomes “refund day”. People are thrilled to get money from the IRS. They forget that this is their own money, that the government extracted from them by force. Nifty, huh? )
For years, UCSD’s billing department refused to understand that MOAA was paying their ( UCSD’s ) taxes. You can guess what UCSD did. They demanded cash from me. UCSD did this to get the money that MOAA “hadn’t paid” them. MOAA had paid the IRS on UCSD’s behalf.
On January 7, 2021, UCSD sent me a bill for my May 20, 2020 appointment. UCSD’s bill shows that they got paid by TRICARE. UCSD’s bill does not show MOAA’s payment.
I received USCD’s bill on January 19, 2021. I called USCD’s billing department at 1-855-827-3633. This is not a toll-free number. I spoke with a UCSD employee named Lynette. She claimed that UCSD had no record of MOAA’s payment. I explained that MOAA’s payment was made electronically, and was accompanied by an explanatory document from MOAA. I read to her the relevant parts of the document that MOAA had mailed to me.
Lynette continued to claim that UCSD had received no payment from MOAA. Lynette spoke to an unnamed supervisor. The unnamed supervisor told Lynette that UCSD had received no payment from MOAA.
I asked Lynette to call MOAA. Lynette refused to call MOAA. She said,
“I’m at a call center. I don’t have time to call MOAA.”
I told her,
“There should be someone in a back office that you can send a message to. Have them call MOAA at their convenience.” Lynette claimed that UCSD had no such back office. Hence, no one working for UCSD could call MOAA, including Lynette’s supervisor.
Lynette told me to call MOAA.
In my conversation with Lynette, she made the ridiculous claim that she only saw two payments from MOAA. One payment had been made in 2020, and another in 2019. In fact, MOAA routinely pays USCD on my behalf, many times a year.
I did as Lynette demanded. I called MOAA. I spoke with an MOAA employee named Salvadore. He told me that all he could send me was the MOAA paperwork that I had on my desk. To MOAA’s discredit, Salvadore refused to call UCSD, or to have anyone at MOAA call UCSD.
I called UCSD’s billing department back. This time, I spoke with a UCSD employee named Nichelle. She simply repeated what Lynette had told me. Nichelle refused to call MOAA. Nichelle claimed that no UCSD employee could call MOAA.
The disputed amount is $45.00. However, if don’t pay this amount, UCSD will undo various discounts that they apply to a bill covered by Tricare. If that happens, my total liability, for this single appointment, will be hundreds of dollars.
A bill for $45.00, or hundreds more, is not the only amount that I could be liable for. Some years back, I got the flu. ( My flu shot proved ineffective since, that year, the flu evolved after the flu vaccine was given to me. ) At that time, I racked up $150,000 in bills to UCSD. ( All of my prior bills for UCSD services have been paid in a timely manner. )
If you pay California taxes, or are a U.S. taxpayer, you’re the one whose dollars paid $150,000 to UCSD. ( I paid a small amount. ) Thanks for paying UCSD on my behalf! You may wonder how I wound up owing UCSD $150,000. Read on:
As stated above, I got the flu. As a result of the flu, I vomited 24 hours a day. This went on for three weeks. ( After two weeks, as mentioned below, I went to UCSD’s Emergency Room. )
During these three weeks, I managed to swallow, and keep down, my transplant medicines. This was because I usually took my transplant medicines right after I’d vomited. Once one vomits, there is usually a window of time during which one does not vomit. I also had endless hiccups. I was afflicted with them for two weeks straight.
In addition to my transplant medicines, I was supposed to take a lot of non-transplant medicines. I am not allowed to take my non-transplant medicines with my transplant medicines. However, I was vomiting too much to take my non-transplant medicines.
Worst of all, I became heavily constipated. I did not understand all that was happening to me. In retrospect, it was the constipation that was making me vomit.
The flu lasted for two weeks. Due to my constipation, my vomiting went on for three weeks.
After two weeks, I went to UCSD’s Emergency Room. I told them the following:
“I had the flu for two weeks. It’s now gone. However, I haven’t had anything to eat or drink for two weeks. I keep vomiting everything up. I need to be able to eat, drink, and poop”. I also told them, “I’m very dehydrated, as a result of vomiting for two weeks straight. As a side effect of my dehydration, I’m suffering from chest pains.”
UCSD’s Emergency Room kept me in a room that was extremely cold. As I recall, it was called, “the negative pressure room”. To prevent homeless people from needlessly using the emergency room, UCSD does not give its patients there any food or beverages. I didn’t want such anyway, since I was vomiting most everything that I ate or drank. However, since UCSD kept me in their emergency room for many hours, I would have been angry to be refused food or beverages, if I wasn’t vomiting.
Stupidly, UCSD did not protect the computer screen that was in my room. I never touched UCSD’s computer. However, I was able to monitor my status on the computer screen. I was also able to monitor the status of every other patient in the emergency room. That, plus what I overheard UCSD employees saying about other patients, kept me fully informed on the status of every emergency room patient, including ones with “sensitive” medical problems.
I was praying that UCSD would make me an inpatient. Instead, UCSD went nuts over my heart. They made me do a heart treadmill test. They completely ignored my reason for being at UCSD. ( I needed to be able to eat, drink, and poop. )
Eventually, UCSD sent me home. They sent me home with pills to prevent vomiting. I looked at the price of the vomit pills: $5,000. My insurance paid most of this. ( That is, you did. ) My “insurance co-pay” was probably around $20.00.
The pills to prevent vomiting did not work. Since TRICARE and MOAA paid for the pills, their money was wasted. The reason the vomit pills didn’t work is because, since I was heavily constipated, that overrode any effectiveness the pills might have had. UCSD also sent me home with pills to prevent hiccups. By then, my hiccups had gone away on their own. ( I was grateful to have the hiccup pills, in case my hiccups came back. )
Arriving home from UCSD’s Emergency Room, I vomited. UCSD’s paperwork says, “come back if you have further problems.” However, I’d just been in UCSD’s Emergency Room for many hours. I hadn’t been able to sleep at all in their cold room. I walked to the grocery store. Having been sick for two weeks, I didn’t have any food in my room.
A week passed. During this time, I remained unable to eat, drink, and poop. I did my laundry in a public laundry room. I blacked out a number of times as I did my laundry. ( I didn’t become unconscious, just temporarily blind. ) I kept a vomit bowl handy.
I slept with a vomit bowl by my bed. I didn’t use a hospital vomit bowl. A hospital vomit bowl was too shallow for me. I kept a deep Tupperware vomit bowl handy.
This third week of constipation heavily impacted my heart. I guess this was due to dehydration.
At this point, I’d been constipated for three weeks straight. Thinking I was healthy again, I ate half of a sandwich. I’d started on the second half of the sandwich when I felt the urge to defecate. I went to my bathroom. Sitting on my toilet, I felt an urge to vomit. I grabbed the trash can in my bathroom. As I explosively vomited into my trash can, I felt an extremely sharp pain in my abdomen. It was the most pain I’ve ever felt. All I could do was “ride it out”, as they say.
I never defecated in any meaningful way. I felt compelled to resort to my bed. I’d been walking about the city all day, doing chores. ( I can’t afford a car. ) I was utterly unable to take a shower. Hence, I haphazardly threw some ( unused ) trash bags on my bed, and lay on those. ( My bed doesn’t have a bedcover or blanket. I turned them in to my building’s management long ago. They were too bulky and expensive to launder. I use multiple towels as blankets, and run my heater as needed. )
As I lay in my bed, my T.V. was on. It was quite loud. I listened to Fox News for hours. I was unable to rise from my bed to turn down my T.V.
Often, I was forced out of my bed to vomit. This happened for many hours. I vomited in my kitchen sink. ( I was beyond any successful use of my vomit bowl. ) I tried drinking water out of my kitchen sink’s faucet. ( I was unable to open my refrigerator. ) Unfortunately, anything I drank I simply vomited back up, within a few minutes. I became even more dehydrated.
It became difficult for me to move the short distance between my kitchen sink and my bed. ( I live in a small room. ) Several times, I blacked out as I moved from my kitchen sink to my bed. I had to grab onto a table between my sink and my bed. I didn’t become unconscious. I did briefly go blind, more than once. Tremendous shudders went through me. I felt that I was on the brink of death.
Finally, I felt I was strong enough to get to my building’s lobby. I had no ability to prepare for a hospital stay. I went as I was. In my building’s lobby, I called a taxi. As I live in downtown San Diego, these arrive at my building within a few minutes.
As the taxi driver was taking me to the hospital, he realized that I was sick. He stopped the cab. He asked me what was wrong. I told him, “Keep driving!” I quieted his concerns with an opinion that I’d eaten a sandwich that hadn’t agreed with me. In fact, I knew that something worse was happening to me.
I arrived at UCSD’s Emergency Room. Here’s what happened:
1. As I’d arrived by taxi, UCSD’s Emergency Room employees regarded any problem I had as being unimportant. A patient who really had a medical problem would, in their opinion, arrive in an ambulance. What USCD’s employees ignored was the following:
A. I live downtown. Taxis are downtown. An ambulance company can’t afford to park its ambulances downtown. It’s too expensive. Hence, while a taxi can arrive quickly at my building, an ambulance takes a lot longer to arrive.
B. I have to pay for any ambulance ride. The minimum cost for an ambulance summoned on short notice is $150.00. I’ve been billed as much as $500.00 to ride in an ambulance. None of my insurance companies reimburse me for ambulance rides.
C. Once, when I rode in a commercial ambulance, I was strapped down to a gurney. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t even move my arms. Then, a breathing mask was put over my face. It was like a gas mask. I had great trouble breathing with this mask on. Hence, I was completely restrained, and unable to breathe. I couldn’t say much with the mask on. Nor could I be easily heard.
Then, the ambulance technicians forcibly stabbed me with a needle. This was to draw blood from me. Perhaps their procedures required them to see if I was a drug addict. However, I had lucidly explained my situation to them. I was deeply traumatized by this ambulance ride. I swore I’d never call another ambulance again, when I had a medical emergency.
( I’m required by UCSD to ride home in an ambulance after any outpatient procedure. That’s because I live alone, with no “friend or relative” to drive me home. UCSD won’t perform a medical procedure on me unless I provide proof, in advance, that I’m taking an ambulance home. UCSD won’t let me take the bus or a taxi home. I can’t “sneak out” of UCSD and go home in a taxi. That’s because, as stated, UCSD requires proof in advance that I’m taking an ambulance home. This is a standard rule that UCSD applies to everyone. Most people, of course, provide proof that a “friend or relative” is taking them home. )
D. UCSD only views America from a suburban perspective. In their view, if I truly had a medical emergency, my “friend or relative” would call for an ambulance. I have no “friend or relative”.
E. An aside: whenever I arrive for surgery at UCSD, I always do so with two grocery bags. Everything I bring is a necessity. For instance, if I’m to be an inpatient, I bring boxes of Kleenex. Only a masochist would use the toilet paper that UCSD provides to its patients. I also bring baby wipes. UCSD refuses to provide these. I bring dental floss. UCSD provides an inpatient with a toothbrush, but not dental floss. I choose the items that I’m going to bring with care. I always run out of Kleenex and baby wipes as an inpatient at UCSD. Hence, I’d bring more supplies if I could, but I can only haul so much weight.
“Did you buy groceries?” a UCSD employee invariably asks me, when I arrive. Several employees usually ask me this. Inevitably, they’re annoyed that I brought “so much”. Once, a male UCSD nurse treated me quite obnoxiously on this matter. I tried explaining to him that I had nobody to bring me supplies later on. There was no “friend or relative” who was going to visit me, and bring me supplies. He stubbornly persisted in his suburban view of America. This is amazing, since many people in downtown San Diego exist in the same circumstances as I do. Others, obviously mentally ill, wander the streets homeless, wrapped in blankets.
Now, back to how I was treated by UCSD’s Emergency Room employees:
2. UCSD’s employees did not give me any medical attention. They marooned me in the public area of the emergency room. This despite the fact that I told them I was badly dehydrated, and that it was causing me chest pains.
3. After I’d been marooned in the public area for some time ( under a blaring T.V., next to a homeless woman ), I remonstrated with UCSD’s desk clerk. He was a medical person. I emphasized to him that I was badly dehydrated, and that this was causing me chest pains. His response:
“Nobody ever died from pain.” In fact, pain is your body’s way of telling you that something is wrong.
4. I was finally let into the medical area of UCSD’s Emergency Room. A technician attempted to start a line of intravenous fluid in me. ( An IV. ) He failed. I felt an urge to vomit. I went to the sink to do so, but vomited without producing much. By then, the technician had disappeared. No further attempt was made by UCSD to put an IV in me for over an hour. This despite the fact that I told everyone that, as a result of dehydration, I was suffering from chest pains.
5. UCSD’s employees were disgruntled that I’d arrived at the Emergency Room at around 5:00 a.m. UCSD’s employees view 5:00 a.m. to 7:00 a.m. as their break time. They’re pissed when a person with a serious medical issue arrives at the Emergency Room during this time.
6. I was finally put in a bed in the Emergency Room. A female doctor visited me. I fully explained my problem to her, as I understood it. I also said, “I’ll need to take my kidney transplant medicines at 8:00 a.m. I was unable to bring any of these medicines with me. Please give me the doses at 8:00 a.m. Otherwise, my kidney transplant will reject.” ( The current wait time for a new kidney transplant exceeds a decade in length. A patient is not offered a new transplant if he lost his old transplant because of his negligence. )
Here was the doctor’s response:
1. You were just in the Emergency Room a week ago. Therefore, you’re a homeless bum who is needlessly resorting to our Emergency Room.
2. We won’t be giving you any transplant medications. We’re sending you home.
The doctor then stalked out of the room. She never examined me. She didn’t even get physically close to me. No one else had examined me, or did so in the ensuing hour. The female doctor never returned. ( My guess is that she went off for a long break in the doctors’ private dining room in UCSD’s cafeteria. )
What happened next? For over an hour, I lay in UCSD’s bed, in their emergency room, crying,
“Help! Help!” I was completely ignored by UCSD’s employees.
Finally, a nurse visited me. By then, I recalled that I’d had a bowel obstruction some years ago. I’d been treated for it at the exact same UCSD hospital that I was in now. That information was still in my medical records. Yet no UCSD employee, including their doctors, had bothered to examine my medical records for this fact.
“Maybe I have a bowel obstruction,” I told the nurse. In a hospital full of doctors and nurses, it was left to me to diagnose what was wrong with me.
A word about my prior bowel experience. In retrospect, I was simply constipated. All I needed was to drink some “poop juice”, as one does for a colonoscopy.
As an aside, I will now discuss this prior bowel experience. The length of my discussion is several paragraphs.
I had been vomiting uncontrollably. On this morning, I was expected at UCSD’s kidney transplant clinic. ( At its now former location. ) I decided to ride the bus to the hospital. ( Taxis, after all, cost money. I had already paid for my monthly bus pass. )
I figured I might vomit on the bus. So, I put a paper grocery bag inside of another paper grocery bag. Then I put both of these empty, open bags inside of a trash bag. I kept my big makeshift vomit bag at the ready. On the bus, I succeeded in holding back my vomit. With one exception.
Have you ever needed a toilet quite badly? I’m speaking of when you need a toilet, but none is nearby. This has happened to me more than once. I walk a considerable distance, successfully retaining my poop. Then, just as I’m nearing the toilet, everything breaks loose.
That’s what happened to me, as I rode the bus to UCSD Hospital. I was nearly there, when I began vomiting. Fortunately, most of the bus’ riders had already departed from the bus. I vomited several times as the bus went the final short distance to a stop near UCSD Hospital.
By the time I reached the transplant clinic, I’d vomited plenty. I was still doing so. Transplant said they couldn’t help me. A doctor there walked me to UCSD Hospital’s Emergency Room. UCSD made me an inpatient.
At this point, I encounter a problem in my narrative. That’s because, having arrived at my transplant appointment in the morning, my next memory is of some hour after midnight. It may be that UCSD didn’t make me an inpatient until a very late hour. More likely, my memory has merged two prior bowel experiences into one. Since I remain heavily afflicted by constipation, and take tons of medicine, daily, to keep my bowels moving, my latter view is likely the correct one. ( That, in prior years, I’d visited UCSD more than once with bowel problems. ) I will now tell of the prior bowel experience that occurred at the late night hour.
What did UCSD do at that time? They stuck a tube up my nose. It ran into my stomach. The purpose of the tube, and its accompanying equipment, was to drain my stomach. Supposedly, this would “calm by bowels”, and allow me to poop. I was plugged with this uncomfortable tube for a week. I was not allowed to eat anything. My guess is that I was not allowed much to drink. The tube screwed up the transplant medicines that I was swallowing. This was because, even though the tube mechanism was turned off when I took my medicines, and for an hour or so thereafter, it was still wrongfully draining the medicines from me.
I was unable to swallow the transplant medicines in pill form when I first arrived at UCSD. A male nurse gave me a plastic cup, but no milk or juice to mix the ( horrid ) liquid transplant medicine with. ( Liquid Cyclosporine. ) Cyclosporine even looks bad. It resembles urine. I told him,
“A plastic cup isn’t acceptable. Liquid Cyclosporine must be mixed with milk or juice in a ‘glass’ glass. The plastic in the plastic cup will absorb the medicine.” This wasn’t a theory of mine. It is the manufacturer’s printed instruction for how to take liquid Cyclosporine.
The nurse claimed that UCSD hospital did not have any ‘glass’ glasses. Of the Cyclosporine, which was in a hypodermic-style delivery tube, he said, “Shoot it down your throat, dude.” I did. It was horrid.
Here’s the important part. After a week in the hospital, UCSD’s doctors told me that I needed an operation. They said that, due to prior surgeries, I had “adhesions”. An “adhesion” occurs when your bowls stick together. Think of a garden hose that’s wrapped in your abdomen. The hose decides to stick to itself.
Hence, my abdomen needed to be cut open and my bowels unstuck. There are problems with such an operation. Besides the obvious risk of infection, the problems are these:
1. Any operation in the abdomen increases your risk of having more adhesions in the future.
2. You aren’t allowed to stay in the hospital while you heal. You’re sent home. I’ve undergone such an experience. Think of a thick steak that is sliced open, but joined together deep down in the cut. That’s your stomach. You’re totally responsible for taking care of this deep cut. The reason the doctors don’t sew you up is because they want your incision to heal from within. That is, you heal from deep within the cut to your stomach’s surface. This takes several weeks. It is recommended that you take as few baths or showers as possible during this time.
3. After a ( later ) abdominal operation at UCSD, my “normal” life didn’t stop. I wasn’t allowed to lift much while I was healing. Nonetheless, I had to walk to the grocery store, carry my groceries home, do my laundry in a public room, etc.
I was against having an abdominal operation for “adhesions”. Potentially, this made me a non-compliant patient. A non-compliant patient who needs another kidney doesn’t get one.
Fortunately, the date of my operation was the morning of Christmas Eve. I guess the UCSD doctor who was scheduled to operate on me didn’t want to work on Christmas Eve. My operation was cancelled. The tube was removed from my stomach. I was sent home. My life recovered on its own. The problem that had landed me in the hospital, massive vomiting, passed on its own.
I now return to my present narrative. In this narrative, I’d caught the flu three weeks prior. The flu had passed. I’d gone to UCSD’s Emergency Room a week before. I’d gone there because I couldn’t stop vomiting. I’d been sent home with $5,000 worth of vomit pills, which didn’t work. Now, a UCSD doctor had told me that I was a homeless bum, and that she was going to kick me out of UCSD’s Emergency Room. She’d since disappeared. No UCSD employee helped me for over an hour. Then, a nurse visited me, and I proceeded to diagnose myself.
I told the nurse I might have a bowel obstruction. She soon told me to get out of my bed and go get an X-RAY. I replied that I was utterly unable to get out of my bed.
Some time later, the nurse returned. Since I could’t get out of my bed for an X-RAY, she wanted to put me in a magnetic resonance imaging machine ( MRI ). I agreed to this.
I was put in the MRI machine. Then, I began to ( finally ) receive proper medical attention at UCSD. I was soon sent to an ultrasound room. An ultrasound was performed on me. Here was UCSD’s diagnosis: I was dying. As a result of my constipation, which UCSD had failed to diagnose a week prior, my bowels had ruptured. I was leaking feces into my abdomen. This is a deadly condition.
A ( new ) doctor told me that I needed an operation. I agreed. Here’s what I didn’t mention to her: during the operation, my heart would probably stop beating. This was because, as stated above, my third week of constipation had heavily impacted my heart. I figured that, if I spoke of my heart, my operation would be delayed. Once again, UCSD would screw around with heart examinations, instead of fixing the problem that was hurting my heart.
From the ultrasound room, I was taken immediately to an operating room. During my operation, my heart stopped. The doctor informed me of this when I woke up from my operation.
Once more, I had a tube put up my nose. The tube went into my stomach. My understanding is that I was given no transplant medicines at all for many hours. As I recall, I was kept in a surgical recovery room for more than a day, maybe longer. Then I was transferred to a hospital ward. After about 12 hours there, at around 4 a.m., someone showed up with transplant medicines. This was, as far as I know, the first time I was given transplant medicines, on this visit to UCSD.
Someone showed up with large Cyclosporine pills. I was supposed to swallow them. I tried. However, with the tube up my nose, I was unable to swallow the pills.
I asked for the IV version of Cyclosporine. I’d had it in various hospitals before. I was told,
“The IV version of Cyclosporine is expensive. So, UCSD hospital doesn’t stock it.”
I asked for little Cyclosporine pills. Two hours later, I was brought over a dozen of these. I managed to swallow the little Cyclosporine pills.
Meanwhile, I needed blood pressure medicine. I guess I was given some blood pressure medicine. However, the next day, my blood pressure was out of control. A bureaucratic problem ensued. I can sum it up as follows:
1. Based on my prior dose of blood pressure medicine, UCSD’s pharmacy refused to provide me with additional blood pressure medicine for 48 hours. My blood pressure continued to be out of control.
2. I complained about this. According to UCSD’s regulations, a patient is not to bring any medicine into the hospital. So, what did a male UCSD nurse tell me?
“Have someone from home bring you blood pressure medicine.” I live alone. Hence, there was nobody “at home” to bring me blood pressure medicine.
3. I walked in the hospital ward in an attempt to lower my blood pressure. I did this for two hours straight. It didn’t work.
Note: If you walk in a hospital ward just wearing hospital socks, it will jar the staples in your stomach. Try to bring flip-flops with you. Of course, hospital socks fit so tightly that it is difficult to wear flip flops with hospital socks. That’s because the ordinary flip-flop must fit between your big toe and the toe beside it.
4. After I’d suffered with high blood pressure for 48 hours, the pharmacy dispensed some blood pressure medicine to me. They did so via a female nurse. Stunningly, the dose was much more than I should take. I caught the error. So, after refusing to give me any blood pressure medicine for 48 hours, the pharmacy gave me too much. If you take too much blood pressure medicine, you can die.
As a result of my operation, I was no longer able to defecate out of my ass. My doctor had deliberately severed my rectum. ( This is a standard practice, and my doctor had explained this to me in advance. )
Two holes had been cut in my stomach. One had a plastic drainage tube sticking out of it. A plastic bag was affixed to it. Various abdominal fluids drained out of the plastic tube.
My intestine ( bowel ) stuck out of the other hole. I was obliged to learn the complicated process of attaching a plastic bag around my intestine. In my opinion, I wasn’t given enough training on how to do this. When I had a bowel movement, I defecated through my stomach, into the plastic bag. I then had to change the bag when I felt it was getting full. ( Hence, in “real life”, I went about with a bag of shit hanging off of my stomach. I did this 24 hours a day, every day. )
Most people are promised that they won’t have to “wear the bag”, as it’s called, for more than a few months. At a later appointment, sitting in a clinic room with my bag on, I could hear the doctor talking to patients in other rooms. Gaily, he told them how they would soon be off of their bags.
Then he came in my room. His mood was sober. I was a transplant patient. As a transplant patient, I was immunosuppressed. ( The transplant medicines deliberately lower my immunity. Otherwise, my immune system would kill the transplanted kidney that’s in my abdomen. That’s because, from my transplanted kidney’s perspective, I’m a “foreign body”. My transplanted kidney wants to be back in its original owner, who died. )
Someone who is immunosuppressed is at greater risk of infection after surgery. Of course, being a transplant patient for about 40 years, I’ve had many surgeries.
I would remain “on the bag” for a year. Absent arguments by me, UCSD would have happily left me “on the bag” for the rest of my life.
I’d gotten the flu in late May. I became an inpatient at UCSD in June. Although UCSD was determined to send me home, citing standard insurance reasons, I managed to stay in UCSD Hospital until July. Then, I was sent home with staples in my stomach. Later, one of my staples popped out. As a result, I did not heal correctly. I now have a “technical hernia”, which UCSD’s doctors diagnosed, but have refused to fix.
At some point, my staples were removed. A deep cut remained in my abdomen. I was required to service this cut myself, until it healed.
Supposedly, once I was home, a nurse was going to visit me every day. However, it took a number of days before nursing care was approved. By then, I had learned how to change my bag and deal with my cut-open abdomen. I remained in very poor health. I slept as much as I could. The only time I felt well enough to leave my room, and walk to the grocery store, was 2 p.m. Guess when the nurse insisted that she would visit me? At 2 p.m.
I told the nurse not to bother. I wanted to buy my groceries, take a shower, change my stomach bandage, and go back to bed.
It was useless for the nurse to change my stomach bandage before I left my room. Walking back and forth to the grocery store would make me sweaty and dirty. I needed to take my shower AFTER I’d been to the grocery store. That would be in the late afternoon, or early evening. Then I’d go to the trouble of changing my bandage, which was wet from my shower. ( I tried covering my bandage with taped plastic, but that wasn’t too effective. )
Throughout the summer, I could only eat beef jerky. ( Which a transplant patient isn’t supposed to eat, due to its high sodium content. ) Besides water, I could only drink grape juice. I drank milk when I took my medicines that have to be taken with food. ( Prednisone will give you ulcers if you swallow it with water. Fish oil capsules also require food, or milk. )
The first time I ate a real meal was in early September. Food that I’d bought, but found myself unable to eat, rotted. I had to throw out fully cooked bacon. I also had to throw out a bag of pretzels.
About a year after my bowel ruptured, I had another bowel operation. Although this was designated as an “interim” operation, the doctor actually repaired me in full.
Prior to my bowel operation, UCSD demanded that I get my anus checked. Their theory was this:
“Since you haven’t defecated in awhile, your anus might have gotten lazy. You might not be able to keep fecal matter inside your rectum.”
I reported to a room at UCSD to get my anus checked. I had to put on a hospital gown. Then I had to lie supine on a table. A female UCSD employee appeared. She told me to roll on my side, away from her. I was going to have liquid pumped into my ass. This was accomplished. I was allowed to lie supine again, and told to simultaneously draw up my knees. I accomplished this without incident. I was successfully retaining the liquid that has been pumped into my ass. None of it leaked out.
For some idiot reason, the woman now told me to straighten my legs. She said nothing about making sure the liquid stayed in my ass. So, I straightened my legs in a careless manner. The liquid came out of my ass.
As a result of this, the woman said that she had to pump more liquid into my ass. I rolled onto my side for her to ( again ) do this. Now, the woman savagely shoved a tube up my ass. She did this repeatedly, with no warning of what I was to experience. As she shunted the tube back and forth in my rectum, she pumped liquid into my ass. As I said, the woman did this savagely. She did this so savagely that she made my anus bleed. I complained about this. Wasn’t the purpose of this procedure to make sure I had a tight anus? Making my anus bleed wasn’t improving it. The woman blew off my complaint.
Now, she told me to get off the table. She claimed that the procedure was over. I simply had to walk to a bathroom. The bathroom, some distance away, was in the exam room. I was to defecate out the fluid that she’d pumped into my ass.
Here’s the crucial part. Your walk to the toilet IS the purpose of the procedure. The employee wants to know if you can hold the liquid in your ass until you reach the toilet. I was only told this later. Even though my anus had been damaged by the woman, and was now bleeding, I kept the liquid in my ass until I was seated on the toilet. Hence, I “passed the examination” and was cleared for my bowel operation.
To this day, I wonder about the woman who pumped the fluid into my ass. I wonder if this UCSD employee had a sadistic fetish for “pegging” men. I do not make this charge lightly. I have not made it prior to today. The UCSD employee should have fully explained this procedure to me, and its pitfalls. Then I could easily have retained her first injection of bowel fluid.
I’ll give you my opinion on the “lazy anus” theory. It’s nonsense. If a guy masturbates, especially 24 hours a day, like I do, he’s going to have a tight anus. That’s because masturbation involves many muscles, ranging from the abdomen to the thighs. ( Not the thighs themselves. )
So, if you’re a doctor, and have a patient who’s been put on the bag, I recommend the following prescription:
Watch videos by Danatar, Mari Kruchkova, Milana from Minsk ( etc. ) until we can get you off of the bag. That will keep your anus tight.
I have had other problems at UCSD.
After my third transplant, my UCSD surgeon deliberately left a hernia in me. ( Hence, he didn’t sew me all the way up, as is always done after a transplant operation. ) My surgeon never told me that he’d left a hernia in me. I learned later that he always left hernias in his patients. I guess his surgeries were easier for him, since he got away with doing a half-assed job. Aside from one other doctor, he’s the only Black doctor I’ve ever had. My other Black doctor, a dermatologist, was still learning how to use liquid nitrogen when he first started personally using it on me. I have at least one scar from that. It’s near the place the doctor was aiming for. However, he missed. He also sprayed the liquid nitrogen for longer than he should have. That’s why I have the scar.
As for my Black transplant surgeon, he also put “a stent” in my urethra. He never told me about this. Later on, I went regularly to a fitness center. I did sit-ups there. Over time, I noticed that, whenever I did sit-ups, I wound up peeing blood. I reported this to UCSD’s transplant clinic. By then, the Black surgeon was gone. UCSD subsequently removed the stent from my urethra. As a result, I no longer peed out blood.
You may be wondering about my hernia, from my third transplant. It was called “an incisional hernia”. That’s because a doctor caused it, by surgically cutting me open. I was given a referral to UCSD’s outpatient surgery clinic. Guess what I was told there?
“You’re a transplant patient,” the head of medical interns told me. “You’re immunosuppressed. Therefore, I’m not going to fix your hernia. Since it’s incisional, it’s not causing you any pain.” ( It wasn’t, but it looked awful. ) This doctor also told me that, since I was a bit over 50 years old, I was “too old” for him to bother fixing me. He literally said that, if I was younger, he’d operate on me. However, I was now, in his opinion, an old man. I won’t go into my romantic life here. However, it rhymes with none. As in, zero. Hence, I was not pleased to be informed by USCD that I was an old man who amounted to nothing for the rest of my life.
You might wonder why, after my transplant operation, I didn’t visibly notice that I had a hernia. That’s because, whenever I visited the fitness center, I did tons of sit-ups. My stomach was so strong that it held in the ( otherwise large ) incisional hernia. Later, I stopped going to the fitness center. My stomach muscles weakened. The hernia popped out.
Fortunately, UCSD has two hospitals. I eventually connected with an abdominal specialist at UCSD’s second hospital. I routinely wear oversized pants, with suspenders. That’s because, as a transplant patent, I’m not supposed to have anything constricting my stomach. The abdominal specialist noticed how big my pants were. He assumed that I’d once been fat, but had lost a lot of weight. This earned me a gold star, in his view. That’s because he routinely works with fat patients, and they have enormous trouble losing weight. So, I was a “good boy”, since I’d lost lots of weight.
In fact, I hadn’t lost weight. I just wore big pants. The doctor asked me if I’d previously been fat. I said, “yes”. I did not add that I’d been fat, probably from transplant medicines, twenty years prior. The doctor hadn’t asked when I’d been fat, just if I had been.
So, since I was, apparently, one of the most “compliant” patients he’d ever met, he agreed to fix my hernia.
That turned out to be a good experience. However, it stemmed from a bad experience. ( My transplant surgeon deliberately leaving a hernia in me. )
I have had other bad experiences at UCSD. I was physically attacked by a UCSD guard. He attacked me in front of three other UCSD guards. He did this just after I’d walked into UCSD hospital for an appointment. It was a “pre-op” appointment. A patient is required to go to a “pre-op” appointment a week prior to his appointment for surgery.
It was 7:00 a.m on a Monday morning. I took the bus to UCSD Hospital at Hillcrest. From the bus stop, the closest hospital entrance is a side entrance. Anyone is allowed to enter there.
As I approached the side entrance, I noticed several armed UCSD security officers ( guards ) standing about. This is not uncommon. The guards stood about as people, including me, walked toward the hospital, or exited it.
The only guard that I saw the face of was a White one. He had a mean look. However, I had no business to conduct with security, and walked on.
Entering the hospital, I went around the corner into an outpatient wing. This building connects directly to the hospital on its ground floor.
An excellent drinking fountain is located in the outpatient wing. It is easy to press the button on this drinking fountain. The water is cold. It shoots out in a high arc, then lands in an amply broad basin.
Whenever I go to UCSD hospital, I always use this drinking fountain. It is far superior to one located on the ground floor of UCSD Hospital. I have trouble pressing the button on that drinking fountain. It requires more force than I can ordinarily muster. Also, the water squirts out low in a low arc. It then splashes into a small, very shallow, basin.
As other people use this drinking fountain, I don’t want germs from their visits splashing into my face as I try to drink. Using this crap drinking fountain is equivalent to drinking warm spit.
After I use the excellent drinking fountain, I habitually take the elevator to the third floor. A bathroom is there. It isn’t a great bathroom, but it gets less traffic than a ground floor bathroom by USCD’s side entrance.
In my ( now ) 20 years as a patient at UCSD, I’ve come to dislike the ground floor bathroom. It has some problems:
1. Homeless people use the ground floor bathroom.
2. Wearing a bag of excrement, as I was at the time, my wish was to use a bathroom stall. In my experience, and during that time, the stalls in the ground floor bathroom couldn’t be locked. ( Presumably, this was so UCSD security could more easily remove homeless people from the stalls. )
3. The sinks in this bathroom deliver water very near to the backside of the sink. It is impossible to wash your hands in the sink without rubbing them against the backside of the sink.
Having drunk at the excellent drinking fountain, I now proceeded to an elevator. That is, I exited the hospital wing, going again into the hospital, near its side entrance.
At this point, four UCSD guards were inside the hospital. At least one of them was the mean-looking White guard who’d been standing outside. The guards had placed themselves near the lab check-in area. All four were gazing at me as I appeared from the wing. They looked like four mean schoolboys spoiling for a fight. None of them said a word to me. I proceeded into the alcove where there are two elevators. I got on one of the elevators. I then turned around in the elevator, by its panel. My intent was to press the button for the third floor.
Without warning, a Black UCSD guard had positioned himself between me and the elevator panel. He shoved his arm, or arms, against my arm. As I said, I was reaching for the elevator panel. Also, I wear ear protectors. They don’t play music. They protect my ears from the abundance of noise that occurs in a city. ( Bus’ air brakes, the workings of garbage trucks, noisy truck engines, car horns, ambulance sirens, and the sirens of fire engines. ) I wrap a black sweatshirt around my ear protectors to keep my head warm. So, if any noise accompanied the Black guard’s approach, I didn’t hear it. Also, he and his companions had just watched me walk by them without saying a word to me, or to anyone else.
The Black guard didn’t lightly bump me. He shoved his arms against mine with considerable force. His attack was so sudden that, for a moment, my arm continued to reach for the elevator panel. In that moment, it was as if two people were grappling. That’s how much force was involved. Also, the guard still wasn’t saying a word to me.
I was forced out of the elevator. The Black guards’ co-workers had joined him by now. They, and he, surrounded me. I took off my sweatshirt and ear protectors. I can accomplish this quickly. I recall standing there being surrounded, but being told nothing intelligible by the guards. UCSD’s “service”, called “we listen”, later attacked me by saying that I should have blurted out to the guards that I was wearing a bag of excrement, and needed the relative privacy that the third floor’s bathroom provided.
To quote ( now President ) Joe Biden: “Hey, man”. I was standing in a crowded lobby, near the hospital’s entrance. UCSD’s guards were not addressing me in any intelligible fashion. As they were ethnically mixed, I feel I’m able to say that it was as if I was surrounded by four gorillas. Why does “we listen” think I was going to blurt out that I was wearing a bag of shit in a crowded lobby, to four gorillas?
Eventually ( a word “we listen” ) chose to use against me, UCSD’s guards demanded that I proceed to UCSD’s main lobby. They insisted that I check-in there. This is not an obligation of any patient entering USCD. UCSD’s own signs, at its lab check-in area, tell patients to “proceed directly to your clinic”.
Nonetheless, I obeyed the guards. They accompanied me, as if I were a convict, to the main lobby’s check-in desk. A clerk there had me present identification. She then confirmed to UCSD’s guards that I was indeed a patent who was at UCSD for a scheduled “pre-op” appointment. In fact, I was about an hour early. This is a common practice of mine. If you arrive early for your appointment, you’re likely to be seen early. In fact, many patients fail to show up for their clinic appointments. So, you help UCSD, as a patient, by being available to replace the patient who has decided to skip their appointment.
As I stood at the check-in desk, four more armed UCSD guards arrived. I was now surrounded by eight UCSD guards. The Black guard had made himself the boss of this group. He didn’t care that I was validly in UCSD hospital. He continued to harass me, for no intelligible reason. I was now surrounded by eight gorillas, none of whom had visibly acquired an ability to reason.
I had become extremely thirsty. This was due to the stress that the guards were causing me. If you’ve ever been in a tense situation, you’ll soon find yourself getting quite thirsty. Recall Jesus Christ on the cross: “I’m thirsty.” I got thirsty.
I ( again ) told the guards that I was validly in the hospital. UCSD’s clerk had just confirmed this. Hence, I attempted to return to the excellent drinking fountain. Handily for the guards, this would nearly remove me from UCSD Hospital, since that drinking fountain was near UCSD’s exit.
I never made it to the excellent drinking fountain. I only got as far as the crap drinking fountain. Bizarrely, though UCSD’s guards had an ( unverbalized ) wish to kick me out of the hospital, they’d stopped me from going closer to the exit!
I now stood near the crap drinking fountain. I could get no farther. I was again surrounded by eight armed UCSD guards.
An aside: hiring security guards, a big facility like UCSD claims that it’s safe. This is nonsense. Pay a homeless man to walk into UCSD’s main lobby and to start yelling. Tell him to yell the “N-word”, and various other forbidden words. Tell him to show off his genitals.
I guarantee you, every UCSD guard will rush to the homeless man in the main lobby. Then, being criminally minded, you can walk into any entrance at UCSD, except the main lobby, and commit whatever chaos you please. Need to assassinate a patient? Feel free. You can come and go quickly without ever being noticed. I mention this not to be insulting. Rather, I mention it in the hope of improving security in large facilities like UCSD Hospital.
I now continue my narrative about the eight armed UCSD guards that were surrounding me:
I told the guards that I was thirsty. The Black guard refused to allow me to go to the excellent drinking fountain. If I needed a drink, I was to use the crap drinking fountain.
This struck me as odd. A big complaint of Blacks, during the civil rights era, was that White people told them which drinking fountain they were allowed to use. Now, a Black man was telling a White man which drinking fountain to use.
This may strike you, the reader, as funny, or as some sort of “justice”. I’ll tell you this:
1. I’ve never lived in any area of America that had separate facilities for Blacks and Whites.
2. I had nothing to do with America’s laws in the past. Even today, my ability to influence America’s laws is nil. If America decides tomorrow to gas Jews, America will gas Jews. One guy with an iPad can’t stop that.
3. America doesn’t have civil rights. It only has an illusion of civil rights. All that matters in America is power. This is true of any polity. The people who have power oppress those who don’t. We are seeing this play out before our eyes in 2021. It has also been quite evident in past years.
I obeyed the Black guard. Submitting to his demand, I did my best to drink from the crap drinking fountain. It wasn’t an easy or pleasant experience. This occurred some years before COVID-19. Hence, no extra cleaning of UCSD’s facilities was occurring.
Fed up with mistreatment, I told the guards that I was a disabled veteran. I also said that I was a retired officer. To this, a White guard snarkily said, to his co-workers, of me:
“I guess he wants us to salute him.”
( No. I want to go to my pre-op appointment! )
Even more fed up, I displayed my bag of excrement in the busy corridor.
Amazingly, the Black guard still harassed me. None of his co-workers stopped him.
I demanded to see the Black guard’s supervisor. Grudgingly, the Black guard called his supervisor. His supervisor, a Black man, soon appeared. The first thing the supervisor told me was,
“I have to back up my guard.” That is, he felt he had to agree with whatever his subordinate had decided to do. If, say, the subordinate had just raped a woman, all his supervisor could do was “back up” his subordinate.
I told the supervisor that he was obliged to view the situation from an unbiased perspective, and come to his own conclusion.
I recall the supervisor asking me, of his Black guard:
“Why do you think he stopped you?”
Beware of this question. It solicits an admission of guilt. Whatever you say may be twisted to assign guilt to you. Then you, the victim, will become the perpetrator.
The best answer to this question is,
“I don’t know.” In fact, I said that the reason the Black guard stopped me was,
“Probably because I have this sweatshirt wrapped around my head.” By then, it was tied around my neck, and hanging down my back.
Soon, the Black subordinate was lying. He accused me, to his supervisor, of accosting a short Spanish guard. I guess he picked the Spanish guard for this lie because I’m short. The Spanish guard was short too. All the other guards were taller than me.
Upon hearing the Black guard’s lie, I glanced at the Spanish guard. This was the first time I noticed the Spanish guard. He was gazing at me with his mouth hanging open. I’ve never seen a more harmless person. Obviously, I hadn’t accosted him. Nor had he accosted me.
I was eventually allowed to proceed to my appointment. I complained, in writing, to UCSD’s “we listen” program about my treatment. Here’s the response that I got from them, in writing:
1. It’s your fault that you didn’t tell our guards earlier that you were defecating into a plastic bag, and wanted a more private bathroom. But:
2. You must use whichever bathroom UCSD’s guards tell you to use.
( Yes, UCSD contradicts itself in its letter. No mention was made of drinking fountains. Probably, UCSD felt embarrassed about that. )
3. The reason you were attacked by UCSD’s guard was as follows:
Prior to my arrival ( so UCSD claims), a homeless man was found in an unauthorized area of the hospital. He was escorted by UCSD’s guards to a bus stop, and told not to come back. The guards thought you ( Andrew Roller ) were him ( the alleged homeless man ).
( Of course, UCSD’s “we listen” used verbiage that avoided the word “attacked”, with regard to their guard. )
4. As for my being physically attacked, UCSD was planning to implement a guard training program called “Leading the field”. This was a training program that had been scheduled PRIOR to the guard attacking and lying about me.
Let’s look at UCSD’s claim that I resembled the trespassing bum. First, I wear a bright safety vest. That’s because I’m a pedestrian, and don’t want a car to hit me. I dress warmly, even in summer. I wrap a black sweatshirt around my head. I’ve never seen anyone who dresses remotely like me.
Amazingly, UCSD’s “we listen” claimed that the homeless man was wearing a safety vest. How many homeless people have you seen wearing safety vests? I haven’t seen any. Being unwanted, most homeless people with any sense dress to be unnoticed. This is especially helpful when they piss or defecate in public places. That’s especially true since California dubs “public exposure”, when it occurs near a school, as a felony. Specifically, this offence makes one a felon who is a sex offender.
Probably, you attended a big school in your youth, that was easily seen. However, California has charter schools now. These can amount to a single room in a building.
UCSD’s “we listen” also claimed that the alleged homeless man looked like me, and was my age, height, and weight. My height is less than most men’s, so I doubt UCSD’s “we listen”.
UCSD’s “we listen” claimed that the homeless man was in “an unauthorized area”. If you know anything about homeless people, there’s only one logical “unauthorized” place that a homeless man would be, at UCSD. It would be at a dumpster. Along the far side of UCSD is a huge fenced area that resembles a parking lot. The gate to the fenced area is often left open. Inside it is at least one dumpster. As I understand, the dumpster mostly holds discarded construction material. To a homeless man, however, any dumpster is a gold mine. That’s especially true if the homeless man is mentally ill, and unable to predict what a dumpster is likely to hold.
( I know about the fenced area because, over 20 years, I’ve sometimes circumnavigated UCSD Hospital. This is invited by a public walkway that runs by the hospital’s far side. )
I will now discuss other bad experiences that I’ve had, as a customer of the UC hospital system.
I have been a customer of UC hospitals for nearly 30 years. A quarter century ago, I was an inpatient at UC Davis. I had undergone a kidney biopsy. After the biopsy, I was recovering in my room. I was the only patient in the room. A female minister was visiting me. ( I hadn’t requested a minister, she just showed up. )
Talking with the minister, I began experiencing extremely low blood pressure. I began shuddering uncontrollably. Using the help device in my bed, I called for help. I did this repeatedly. Nobody came. Every UC Davis employee ignored me. ( Unreasonably; I wasn’t a “problem patient”. )
It was the middle of a weekday. This is when the hospital is fully staffed. Yet nobody came, despite my urgent requests for help. The minister decided to help. She held my hand. This probably saved my life. Still, no UC Davis employee came.
Finally, the minister went to seek help. A UC Davis employee showed up at my bedside. Soon, the equivalent of the entire UC Davis hospital staff was in my room. I was told that I was dying. I was rushed to an operating room.
I will now discuss how I would up as a patient on death’s brink in a UC Davis operating room.
Why had my problem occurred? I had, as you’ll recall, a kidney biopsy earlier in the day. I was fully awake during my kidney biopsy. In that era, the standard practice was to not give the patient anesthesia. Hence, I lucidly recall everything that occurred.
I lay supine for my biopsy. I lay on a table. The subordinate doctor made ready to cut into me. The attending physician ( his boss), stood behind him. A telephone hung on the wall very close to the subordinate doctor.
The subordinate doctor cut into me. Just as he did, the telephone rang. The attending physician reached for it. As a meaningless act of courtesy, the subordinate doctor bowed. This was because the telephone hung quite close to him on the wall.
As a result, the subordinate doctor cut too deeply into me. Nobody knew this at the moment it happened. The fact that the subordinate doctor cut too deeply into me is what caused me problems later, when I was back in my hospital room with the chaplain.
In my room, I experienced the uncontrollable shuddering mentioned above, and the extremely low blood pressure. As a result of the cut that was too deep, I was bleeding into my abdomen. I was told that this was a deadly condition. This is because, if your blood pressure drops too low, you die.
My understanding is that, currently, California does not execute prisoners. You might wonder what method California used when it last killed a man. They drove his blood pressure up. His systolic blood pressure got up to around 300. That caused his heart and blood vessels to burst. ( In fact, being sedated, he awoke as his blood pressure was being jacked up. Witnesses found his awakening so gruesome that California banned the death penalty. )
If your blood pressure goes too high, you die. If your blood pressure goes too low, you die. You are required to keep your blood pressure within a certain range. Death awaits you at either end of this range. Obviously, no aging human can stay within this range for eternity. That’s one reason why we’re not immortal.
Above, I mentioned that I was getting a kidney biopsy. I understand that a biopsy is performed primarily with a big needle. In my description, I imply that the subordinate doctor was using a knife. This is the best description of this procedure, that nearly killed me, that I can provide. I have had a number of biopsies over 40 years.
As a result of this medical error ( the biopsy gone bad ), I could have sued UC Davis. In fact, later, when I was an outpatient, the subordinate doctor asked me,
“Are you going to sue me?” He blurted this out. He did this in front of a number of other doctors. I had not raised the issue. The doctors accompanying the subordinate doctor told him to shut up.
I never attempted to sue the subordinate doctor, or UC Davis. My reasoning was as follows: the doctor hadn’t hurt me due to malice. He had simply made a dumb error. Furthermore, his error was due to the placement of the telephone. UC Davis was at fault for putting the telephone so close to the operating room table. ( Fortunately for UC Davis, I didn’t think deeply on their fault in this matter, at the time. )
I will say the following to any doctor who reads this article:
When you are cutting into a patient, you are God. Your attending physician must be ignored at this moment. So must everything else. You have the knife. Hence, you hold the liability for your actions.
The attending physician was, perhaps, visiting UC Davis. He left soon after my “biopsy gone bad”. He went to a foreign country. My impression was that he was perhaps fleeing any liability that might attach to him from my “biopsy gone bad”.
My understanding is that the UC hospital system fully insures its doctors against medical errors. I don’t know if this was true a quarter century ago. Also, under current California law, the rule of “loser pays” applies. Hence, if you sue your doctor, and lose in court, you pay his court costs as well as your own.
Also, the statute of limitations for medical errors is one year.
I’m finished discussing my “biopsy gone bad” at UC Davis. It isn’t the only problem that I had at UC Davis. If you wish to, read on:
At UC Davis, I had outpatient surgery. I had it not at the hospital, but at an outpatient clinic. I was given anesthesia. When the surgery was over, I was allowed to remain in the clinic for only an hour or so. Then I was forced to leave. ( This was the UC Davis clinic’s standard procedure. )
At this time, there were no rules for how I was to go home. At this time, I owned a truck. I sat in my parked truck for awhile. I felt that it would be difficult for me to drive home. However, having no one to turn to, and with my truck stuck in the UC clinic’s parking lot, I finally decided to drive home.
Have you ever been on an acid trip? I haven’t. However, I bet my drive home, on a busy freeway in rush hour, was akin to an acid trip. I didn’t have psychedelic visions as I drove, but I was mentally impaired, from the anesthesia. My “truck” wasn’t a pickup, but a big, heavy Ford Bronco. Fortunately, I got home without hitting any cars, or children. “Mr. Toad”, of “The Wind in the Willows”, must have envied me.
Now, let’s return to the current problem: UCSD’s billing department. I remind you that, if you pay California or U.S. taxes, your dollars are going to UCSD. TRICARE sends many federal dollars to UCSD every year.
The question, then, is this:
Should you, the taxpayer, be paying for UCSD?
In my experience, all the employees of UCSD’s billing department do is demand cash from patients. UCSD’s contract with me declares me to be the “guarantor” for any money that my insurance doesn’t pay for. What UCSD’s employees fail to understand is that I’m only obligated to pay bills that are legal. It is against public policy for UCSD’s contract to demand that I pay bills that are fraudulent. No court would enforce a contract binding me to pay bills that amount to criminal fraud.
MOAA paid UCSD for my appointment on May 20, 2020. MOAA provided UCSD with paperwork proving that they paid UCSD. I have provided the same paperwork to UCSD.
MOAA’s paperwork is routinely used by UCSD as proof that MOAA paid UCSD. I use UCSD often. Hence, under contract law, my relationship with UCSD is equivalent to an “output” contract. Under an “output” contract, the usual method of proving payment is the accepted way of proving payment. ( Hence, it’s the document that MOAA sends to UCSD, along with MOAA’s electronic payment. ) UCSD can’t now claim that, because of their negligence, MOAA’s method of proving payment is unacceptable.
( An “output” contract, as often described in law books, is this: I’ll buy 2,000 widgets from your factory every month. The buyer and seller don’t trouble themselves with creating a new contract every month. Their initial contract, and their conduct then and thereafter, embody their contract.
Note that this is the modern Corbin view of contract law, not the outdated Williston view of contract law. Although Corbin’s view of contract law has been in use for decades, most non-lawyers view contract law using the outdated Williston view. They think a contract solely embodies “the four corners” of a document. They also fail to bring viewpoints like public policy into consideration. Therefore, your contract with your fitness center tells you that you’re fully responsible for any injuries you get in the fitness center. The contract fails to note that, if the roof collapses, that isn’t your fault. You can sue your fitness center if their roof collapses on you, and injures you. )
The employees at UCSD’s billing department are often ignorant, incompetent, lazy, and arrogant. They should view any situation from a full perspective, taking all aspects of that situation into account. Instead, they just demand cash. That they do so in a manner that is criminally fraudulent is a disgrace.
Currently, I’m a disabled veteran who has his wits about him. I won’t always be like this. My father had Parkinson’s disease when he died. That means his brain wasn’t working so well. My understanding is that my mother is suffering from senility. I only carry my parents’ genes, and those of their ancestors. Hence, if they aged into brain problems, so will I. What will I do then, when UCSD’s billing department engages in criminal fraud? What will aging veterans do right now? ( And, frankly, absent the obvious assistance that he’s receiving, what would Joe Biden do, if he lived alone in a small room like me? )
California, and the federal government, should conduct a review of UCSD hospital before sending UCSD any more money.
Perhaps the above will help you if you’re attempting to decide what hospital to use.
I am writing to various government representatives regarding my problem with UCSD’s billing department. I am, initially, doing this by U.S. mail. I include all relevant documents with my complaint.
I have more government representatives that I realized. They are as follows:
1. My U.S. congressman.
2. My two U.S. senators.
3. My state governor.
4. My state senator.
5. My state representative.
6. My mayor.
7. My city councilman.
In addition, there are various newspapers, and television stations, that one can write to.
You can, if you wish, use the above as a guide if you have a complaint. So far, I’ve had excellent luck looking up relevant addresses using a search engine. ( I use Google, but I loathe the company. For technical reasons, perhaps because it isn’t “installed”, I have yet to fully migrate to the search engine duckduckgo ( dot ) com. )
The sales trainer J Douglas Edwards asks the following question: “What’s the hardest thing to get rid of? A body.”
Unfortunately, UCSD does not permit any physical interaction with any UCSD employee regarding billing. ( Except when the patient is obliged to sign a contract. ) Nonetheless, complaining in person, to whomever, is the most favorable way to present your complaint. Unless, of course, the party is then able to accuse you of objectionable language or conduct; truthfully or not. )
The next best way to complain is by U.S. postal mail. Send your ( photocopied ) documents as follows: by certified mail, return receipt requested.
My opinion is that the next best way to complain is by telephone. Be prepared to sit through the voice mail options whose true purpose is to keep anyone from actually answering your call.
Last, there’s e-mail. My experience is that e-mail is something that’s very easy for the recipient to ignore.
ARCANA
Except for the current abuse by UCSD’s billing department, I’ve omitted names from this article. As for my prior experiences, I recall some names, but not all. Hence, I’ve decided to omit all names from the prior experiences.
There is no period after the third “S” in S.O.S pads.
Tossing multiple conventions aside, I’ve decided to employ “a.m.”, rather than “A.M.”, “AM”, or “am”. I think my choice is the easiest to read.
Google declares that a hospital’s “emergency room” is to be called its “emergency department.” However, my aunt, as an “ER nurse”, always called her workplace “the ER”. She worked in her occupation for decades.
Google declares that a hospital’s “emergency department” is to be abbreviated as “ED”. I have always interpreted “ed” as an abbreviation for “education”. Also, the T.V. show about a hospital’s emergency room was titled, “ER”. Would you know what I was referring to if I was speaking of an “ED”? I wouldn’t.
TRICARE is capitalized, even though TRICARE isn’t an acronym.
The Military Officers Association of America ( MOAA ) does not have an apostrophe.
The e-mail address for UCSD’s billing department is: askus@ucsd.edu
As is too often the case, the large entity ( UCSD ) assumes that they make no errors. “askus” implies this. “Please tell us how we’re incompetent, or engaged in criminal fraud,” is considered impossible.
UCSD operates another e-mail for its customers:
welisten@health.ucsd.edu
Last summer, a UCSD “we listen” employee told me that their address of:
welisten@ucsd.edu ( no “health” )
is invalid. Yet the no “health” e-mail address is the only one listed on the web page of “we listen”.
I have a name for both of UCSD’s “we listen” e-mail addresses. It’s:
we listed. ( Like the Titanic. )
As might be expected, UCSD doesn’t “listen” to customers who complain to them. You’re lucky if UCSD’s “we listen” even answers you.
I had to repeatedly e-mail UCSD’s “we listen” department some months ago. This was because they utterly failed to answer me. My complaint was this: I went to UCSD to get my blood drawn. Instead of letting me into the public area of the hospital, which has a huge lobby, UCSD forced me, and other customers, to stand outdoors in the cold. UCSD’s “on scene” employees, who were indoors, stated that we customers had to wait outside because of “COVID-19”. As a result, I got sick. I was sick for a week.
After my repeated complaints to UCSD’s “we listen”, they finally answered me. “We listen” did this by e-mail. Their answer was contradictory. It consisted of the following:
1. “We listen” claimed that they’d sent me a letter by U.S. mail. I never got any letter.
2. With regard to their failure to respond to me, UCSD’s “we listen” told me the following:
“Your transplant nurse posted a message in a UCSD app, addressed to you. Since we read her message, and generally agreed with what she said, we felt no obligation to respond directly to you.” I barely knew how to use UCSD’s complicated app at the time. I still don’t like, or fully understand, it. I also have to remember a user I.D. and a password to get into the app.
3. “We listen” also told me:
“Your nurse posted her message to you, in UCSD’s app, on Thursday. You didn’t read it until Friday.” I was just recovering from my illness on Friday. As stated above, my illness lasted a week.
4. “We will send you a letter by U.S. mail.” I never got their first letter, or their second one.
As stated above, I did get an e-mail from them. It didn’t arrive as an ordinary e-mail, but as a PDF document. Thank God that my little iPad had the software to open it.
When the PDF document opened, it did not do so in a legible way. It wasn’t upright. It was, as I recall, sideways. It might have been upside down.
I had to take screen shots of the document. One screen shot wasn’t enough; the document’s length exceeded that of my iPad’s screen.
Having taken two screen shots of the document, I then had to force each one upright in Apple Photos. Thank God I knew how to do that. In fact, I’d just taught myself how, a few days before. Only then was I able to read the e-mailed reply from UCSD’s “we listen”.
The e-mailed PDF document purported to be a copy of UCSD’s first letter to me. As you’ll recall, I never got any mailed letter from them. The e-mailed document arrived a long time after I’d sent my complaint to “we listen”.
UCSD’s “we listen” exists for one reason. It’s to tell their customer the following: we’re right, and you’re wrong.
——————————————————————————————————————————
Copyright 2021 by Andrew L. Roller. ET, Editorial Thunder, and ARSE, Andrew Roller Stories and Essays, are trademarks of Andrew L. Roller.
I am https://andrewroller.wordpress.com
Earlier posts by me are at https://asstr.org/files/Authors/Roller/
I’m on paper at: https://www.abebooks.com > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
and https://www.abebooks.co.uk > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
If you visit an “AbeBooks” website, you’ll be presented with a large square “Search” box. In the box labelled “Author”, type in “Andrew Roller”. In the box labelled “Title”, type in “Andrew Roller Presents”. This will bring up some of my pamphlets. I have not yet figured out how to bring up other pamphlets by me, under other titles. I don’t recall all the titles I published under.
I have no financial involvement in these resale items.
I am on You Tube as “Andrew Roller”. Use You Tube’s magnifying glass icon to search for “Andrew Roller”. That will take you to my You Tube channel. Or, on You Tube, tap my sun icon, if you see it. That will also take you to my You Tube channel. There, you can see songs and films that I like.
At the “home page” of my You Tube channel, you’ll see just a selection of playlists that I created. To see all my playlists, tap on the phrase, “Created playlists”.
The World Wide Web address for my You Tube channel is:
https://www.youtube.com/andrewroller
If you click on this link, you’ll be taken to a World Wide Web You Tube page. Here, You Tube displays a cartoon image of a monkey. The page says, “This page isn’t available. Sorry about that. Try searching for something else.”
My advice: on this page, search for “andrew roller”. By doing so, you’ll get to my World Wide Web You Tube channel. However, I have over 100 Playlists, that I created, at my You Tube app channel. The World Wide Web version of You Tube will only serve you 15 of my Playlists.
( Hence, access You Tube via its app. The You Tube app, like the WordPress app, is available for free at the Apple App Store. )
This is ET, Editorial Thunder, issue number 60
Arcana: This is ET, Editorial Thunder, issue number 60, version 5.0
Date Written: January 25, 2021.
——————————————————————————————————————————
This has been a presentation of A R S E news.
——————————————————————————————————————————
Over at Age Eight
-—————————————————————————————————————————
ET 59
Editorial Thunder presents...
Over at Age Eight
——————————————————————————————————————————
Plus: The sun also rises.
——————————————————————————————————————————
OVER AT AGE EIGHT
by Andrew Roller
“Sex by [ age ] eight, or it’s too late.” This was the slogan of an alleged group of so-called “pedophiles”. That, at least, is something I heard from the United States media, some decades ago. ( Probably in the 1990s. ) I could speculate on the slogan. However, as I have no further information about it, I won’t.
I watch the Fox News program, “Tucker Carlson Tonight”. Though Carlson disparages “group think”, his own bias becomes obvious to the regular viewer. In Carlson’s opinion, everyone over some undefined age is supposed to be married, with children. If you’re a male, according to Carlson, the pinnacle of your life is being Al Bundy. ( You won’t be Tucker Carlson. That’s because you probably won’t get the fine job of being a talk show host, whatever ability you may have. )
My father was married, with children. A minister, he was often declaiming to me about his responsibility to “channel, raise, and rear” me. What did this amount to? My father made the rules. My job, to quote Carlson, was to “shut up and obey”.
I have a riposte to my father’s philosophy. It’s this:
The parent channels, raises, and rears. The child renders the verdict.
Perhaps you’re a parent. Probably, whether you’ll admit it to yourself or not, you agree with my dad. A popular women’s T-shirt reads, “Because I’m the mom, that’s why.”
As a parent, you likely obsess over cultural influences that your child may encounter. You want your child to be exposed to “good” influences. You intend to, using a word popular with my father, “shield” your child from “bad” influences.
My father was born in 1927. All of his values were shaped by the global economic crisis of the 1930s known as The Great Depression. Note my father’s age during this period. And recall the slogan, written above, “Sex by eight or it’s too late”.
My mother was born in 1931. All of her values were shaped by World War Two rationing. She once split a single stick of chewing gum into three pieces for myself, my brother, and herself. This accomplishment pleased Mom very much. I was rarely served chocolate milk by my mother. I was never served chocolate milk by her without her insisting on adding white milk to the chocolate milk. Mom didn’t do this for a nutritional reason. She was intent on making the chocolate milk last longer, by ‘cutting’ it with white milk. Apparently, in the 1960s ( and ‘70s ), chocolate milk cost more than white milk. Much later in her life, my mom felt pressed to state the main achievement of her life. She said, with enthusiasm, “Never wasted a penny.”
I was born late in the year in 1960. The year I was born, the bikini was invented. Hippies and much else followed. My understanding is that the 1960s were a prosperous time in America. While my parents didn’t mind prosperity for themselves, they considered it immoral for America as a whole. My father clung to the notion that The Great Depression was good, because its poverty forced people to be moral. My mother agreed with this. However, her preference was for a morality imposed by the less dire poverty of Word War Two rationing.
My parents, particularly my father, were strenuously opposed to America’s culture of the 1960s. They were determined to shield me from the “bad” influence that was 1960s culture. ( And much of 1970s culture ).
The result? I regard the 1930s, when I didn’t exist, as America’s greatest era. I despise the 1960s, which I lived in. “Father Knows Best”, to quote the title of a T.V. show that I’ve never watched. I do just what Daddy and Mommy say, because a child’s biggest responsibility is to be a clone of his parents. ( Frankly, my father expected me to be just like him “in thought, word, and deed,” a line he may have gotten from the Bible. Both my parents prayed that I’d never take an interest in any female other than my mother. ( Since, after all, if Dad took an interest in another woman, that would be adultery. “Like father, like son,” as the saying goes. )
Of course, I was never to be a homosexual. A sexual attraction to sheep would, presumably, also have been “sick, sick, sick!” to quote Mom on gays.
See why I need to be a clone of my Dad? Greatness of mind like his must be preserved!
This brings me to you. That is, if you’re a parent, trying to shield your child from “bad” cultural influences. You’re probably wondering when you really need to get concerned about protecting your child. That is, from something other than illicit fondling. ( Or masturbation. ) “Watch out for junior high!” you might tell yourself. “That’s when the trouble starts.” A parent once warned, in a magazine, “If [ the child’s ] age is double, so is the trouble!” That is, your kid is safe at age nine from “bad” cultural influences, but is in danger at age ten and above.
Do you recall this phrase? “Sex by eight, or it’s too late.” That’s my message to you. Your kid’s opinion of what’s “good” and “bad”, with regard to cultural influences, is formed by age eight. After that, it’s too late. Nothing you do to “protect” your child from “bad” cultural influences will work. Your kid’s mind is made up. And what made up your kid’s mind? Whatever was culturally popular during the time your child was age five to age eight.
To prove my point, I’ll use myself as an example. In the 1960s, I was allowed to watch, in my father’s phrase, “One hour of television per week!” My parents chose the hour. It was a T.V. show called “The Wonderful World of Disney”. “Lassie” preceded “Disney”. I was not allowed to watch “Lassie”. That would have been too much T.V. Of course, my father’s actual parenting style ( seconded by Mom ) deployed force and bombast. So, in fact, I got to briefly watch “Captain Kangaroo” on some mornings, and some Saturday morning cartoons. I also watched “Lost in Space” ( about a family lost in space ).
I was forbidden to watch “Star Trek”. Mom considered that “too mod”. ( “Mod” meaning: “modern”. ) “Star Trek” featured unmarried men, who were sexually attracted to unmarried women. Mom’s dear, Mom-loving son might not grow up to be a “child molester” if he watched “Star Trek”. I have yet to see most of the classic “Star Trek” episodes.
Our family did not go to movies. An exception was the World War Two family drama, “The Sound of Music”. I suffered through that more than once. A sure way for Mom to infuriate me is when she sings a song from that movie. It’s about teen romance. Lyrics from the song go, “I am sixteen, you are seventeen.” Teens fleeing the Nazis, in the “Sound of Music”, enjoyed teen romance. I got the Auschwitz version of being a teenager. Thanks, Mom! ( And Dad. )
But let’s get back to that phrase: “Sex by eight, or it’s too late”. You might wonder what truly haunts me about the 1960s, since I got the cultural Auschwitz version of that decade, thanks to my parents. It’s the music. Of course, I was not allowed to listen to the radio. In another article, I mentioned my father forbidding me to buy a record by a band called, “The Byrds”. My father’s reason? “They have long hair!” ( By then, the year was 1970. A new decade didn’t mean that Dad was easing up on shielding me. )
Despite my parents’ protection, 1960s music somehow seeped into my life. I had no control over what I was hearing. My parents definitely weren’t playing the 1960s music. I have no idea where I heard 1960s songs, in the 1960s. I spent the vast bulk of my time, involuntarily, with my parents. They controlled my world. ( Dad’s favorite saying, in his last decades of life, was with regard to his perceived failings as a parent. His oft-said solution was this: “If I could do it again, I’d be stricter!” )
You might wonder what sort of music I like. Various sorts of rock music appeal to me. However, the music that really touches my heart are the songs from about 1966, when I was age five, to 1969, when I was age eight. I just learned this today.
You might wonder how I could like a particular form of music, yet not know that I liked it. Let me explain. I liked the songs that I’d heard, somehow, in the 1960s. I recalled them in my mind. However, I did not know the names of most of the bands. I did not know the names of most of the songs.
For nearly 60 years, I have ached for the music of 1966 to 1969. Not just any music from that period. Rock music, perhaps best known as “rock ‘n’ roll”, from that period.
By the late 1970s, when I finally had control of a radio, the music I ached for had vanished from the airwaves. That is, it had vanished from Hawaii’s airwaves, where I then lived, with my parents. Hawaii did not have the profusion of radio stations that a U.S. mainland area would likely have. Prior to living in Hawaii, I lived in Guam. The island of Guam had one radio station. ( Eventually, it had two, but advertisers refused to patronize the second radio station. They considered doing so to be an act of disloyalty to Guam’s original radio station. Worse, the “intruder” station on Guam was owned by White people. Guam’s original station was owned by God-fearing Guamanians, whose asses were saved by White Americans from rapacious Imperial Japanese. )
So, the music I ached for was not on the radio. You might say, “Go to a record store, idiot.” In that era, music was expensive. If I bought an album at a record store, and didn’t like it, my money was lost. I did not know the names of the bands that I ached for. I didn’t know the names of the songs. You might say, “Go to a record store and buy lots of albums.” Have you ever bought shrink-wrapped porn magazines? Good luck. Most porn magazines are garbage, and I’m not referencing immorality. Trying to buy record albums unheard is a similar experience. In that era, record stores did not have “listening stations”. For me to attempt to get help from a record store clerk would probably not have worked. I didn’t have enough knowledge of what I was seeking. I did not, for instance, know that I was searching for rock ‘n’ roll music, of a particular type, from the years 1966 to 1969. As I said, I just learned that today.
I am boycotting You Tube. I’m doing so because You Tube keeps giving my account “strikes”. Worse, I watched for over a year as You Tube abused, with “strikes”, their customers who were “little” girls. The last straw for me in this matter was when You Tube attacked ( then prepubescent ) Milanka Kudel. ( I write about this elsewhere. )
I am not trying to “protect” my account by boycotting You Tube. They kept giving me “strikes”, in my ( prior ) experience with them, even when I did virtually nothing. I expect You Tube to continue giving me “strikes”, despite my absence, in the hope of banning me from You Tube.
( My You Tube account, that is, my “channel”, only has playlists of videos by other people. I’ve never uploaded a video to You Tube, and don’t plan to. I still pay my You Tube bill. Last I looked, that is, last year, I had 100 subscribers to my channel. So my channel exists for my subscribers. Or, rather, what You Tube hasn’t destroyed of my channel exists for them. )
One thing I liked about my channel is that it had lots of music. Of course, boycotting You Tube, I’m deprived of this music. So, how do I listen to music now? I listen to Pandora. As I’m already paying for You Tube, plus several worthless subscription porn sites, I’m not paying for Pandora. I listen to Pandora’s music, and its many commercials.
Before I found out about Dana Taranova, and joined You Tube, I was using Pandora. I’ve collected a huge number of “stations” there. In fact, I’ve hit the limit for how many stations Pandora allows me to have ( about 400 ).
Today, I was listening to my various stations on Pandora. I wasn’t having much luck. I’ve heard a lot of music in my life. That is, I’ve heard a lot of music that was recorded before the year 2000. As best I can tell, most of the music that’s been recorded in the last 20 years is trash. Since when does every female singer in America, including every White one, think she needs to sound like a Mexican? Also, I call most “Rap” music “crap”.
You can definitely annoy me if you play rock songs from the 1970s. I’ve heard those tunes way too many times.
So, today, I was scrolling through my list of 400 stations on Pandora. I came to a station called, “Paul Revere and the Raiders”. I had no idea who the fuckers were. By their title, it sounded like they were a 1950s band. I loathe 1950s music.
Stabbing into the audio dark, I took a chance on Pandora’s station, “Paul Revere and the Raiders”. At Pandora, a station named for a band doesn’t just play that band’s music. It plays similar music by other bands.
The station began to play. I was stunned. The music that I’d ached for, for over 50 years, was in my headphones! And I had control of it! I wasn’t hearing a snatch of a tune from someone else’s music source, as had occurred in the 1960s. Even better, I could learn the names of the bands playing this music. I could learn the names of their songs. I’m doing so now.
“Man”, to quote Joe Biden, it’s all here! At the Pandora station, “Paul Revere and the Raiders! This is it! The Mother Lode, nirvana ( not Cobain’s ), Heaven. Real music. The tunes everyone would listen to, if they were just like me, which they should be.
I now call the music I ache for “echoes of a lost past”. Thank Pandora ( not my parents ) that I can finally listen to it.
Which brings us back to that phrase, “Sex by eight or it’s too late”. Pandora says that “Paul Revere and the Raiders” were most successful between the years 1966 and 1969. That’s why I say that I like rock ‘n’ roll from the years 1966 to 1969. That is, I like rock ‘n’ roll, and America’s culture, from the years when I was age five to age eight. Indeed, I worship this era. This era is me. It is not my goddamn father and mother’s era. It’s mine.
So, parent. You’re busily “protecting” your child from “bad” cultural influences. Is your kid age nine? Too late. Your child’s mind is already made up. That, at least, is my experience.
THE SUN ALSO RISES
I used to enjoy watching the news. That was when Walter Cronkite delivered the news, in the 1970s. The news has changed a lot since then. Today, we aren’t just told what “the news” is. ( In other words, whatever events fit a storyline that the media is inventing. ) We are told what to think about the news.
What did you think about Americans breaking into the U.S. Capitol building? I thought it was fucking great. I didn’t get to see it live, because I had no idea it was going to happen. I figured a bunch of Trump supporters would pathetically protest election fraud, and go home.
You gotta admit, when White people riot, they go straight for the jugular. They don’t fart around looting a Macy’s, or burning down a Wendy’s. Also, White people get the city correct. America’s capital isn’t a town in the Midwest. ( A fact Tim McVeigh might have noted. )
For several days now, in regard to the Capitol break-in, we’ve heard this from Fox News: “Violence is always wrong.” I would like to agree with this. Jesus would say that violence is always wrong. George Washington, and America’s other founders, did not say that violence is always wrong.
Democrats are hoping to classify those who broke into the Capitol as insurrectionists. George Washington, and our other founders, were traitors. Washington was a British Army officer when he led the revolt against Britain. You might say, “Yes, but Washington lived in America.” America was owned by the British, and her colonists in America were British.
As I was watching re-runs of the Capitol break-in, I was obliged to consider that it might not be entirely beneficial. ( Even if it was fucking great. ) Disorder in post World War One Germany led to Hitler shoving people into gas chambers. So, I agree that disorder can lead to awful outcomes.
I did not agree with any rioting engaged in by Bowel Movement Lives and Antifart. Perhaps I’m biased. However, the BML and Antifart violence was vicious. It randomly engulfed multiple neighborhoods, in multiple locales, seemingly everywhere in the country. People were beaten and killed for no reason. Looting occurred for private gain. Perhaps a bit of the looting might be excused as “economic reparations”. ( To quote someone on Fox News. ) However, I’ll bet most of the people who looted already had ample possessions. Also, Antifart is, apparently, mostly a bunch of spoiled White young adults.
Americans are now bombarded by “woke” pomposity. This is the result of the BML and Antifart riots. ( George Floyd was mishandled, but he died of an overdose of illegal narcotics that he chose to consume. ) The music service Pandora is currently flooded by “woke” pomposity, in the form of public service announcements. Apparently, the folks who brought us the BML and Antifart riots need more favor, in the form of greater societal rewards, so they don’t riot again. Meanwhile, we’re told that White people who broke into America’s Capitol are odious. They deserve only our condemnation.
It is best if society’s strains are dealt with in an orderly way. However, those who make a fetish of “law and order” forget how laws are made. Too often, “laws” are written into omnibus bills. They’re authored by special interests. These omnibus bills, at the time that they’re passed, are mostly unread by legislators. Our rights as citizens are then further curtailed by these omnibus bills.
Sometimes, it’s helpful if citizens remind their legislators of a basic fact. A society’s power ultimately rests with its people. Such a reminder is especially useful if election fraud is rampant. That is my view of the Capitol break-in. Be glad that its result, other than predictable collateral damage, was a few broken windows and doors. Left to fester, citizens’ grievances could result in lines of legislators waiting to be guillotined. Let’s hope that never happens.
Arcana: I realize that Americans of various ethnicities support various political causes. I am merely reflecting what I witnessed in T.V. footage of the above events, using shorthand descriptions. If Chris Rock can generalize to make a point, so can I.
Arcana: I regard “Dana Taranova” as a figure of common knowledge in my article ( above ). Nearly all her videos, at the time I discovered her existence on You Tube, were of her as a prepubescent girl.
AND IN THE END...
“He knew everything about being a father until he became one.”
- Bill Cosby.
Source: a TV Guide advertisement for a Bill Cosby T.V. show.
——————————————————————————————————————————
Copyright 2020 by Andrew L. Roller. ET, Editorial Thunder, and ARSE, Andrew Roller Stories and Essays, are trademarks of Andrew L. Roller.
I am https://andrewroller.wordpress.com
Earlier posts by me are at https://asstr.org/files/Authors/Roller/
I’m on paper at: https://www.abebooks.com > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
and https://www.abebooks.co.uk > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
If you visit an “AbeBooks” website, you’ll be presented with a large square “Search” box. In the box labelled “Author”, type in “Andrew Roller”. In the box labelled “Title”, type in “Andrew Roller Presents”. This will bring up some of my pamphlets. I have not yet figured out how to bring up other pamphlets by me, under other titles. I don’t recall all the titles I published under.
I have no financial involvement in these resale items.
I am on You Tube as “Andrew Roller”. Use You Tube’s magnifying glass icon to search for “Andrew Roller”. That will take you to my You Tube channel. Or, on You Tube, tap my sun icon, if you see it. That will also take you to my You Tube channel. There, you can see songs and films that I like.
At the “home page” of my You Tube channel, you’ll see just a selection of playlists that I created. To see all my playlists, tap on the phrase, “Created playlists”.
The World Wide Web address for my You Tube channel is:
https://www.youtube.com/andrewroller
If you click on this link, you’ll be taken to a World Wide Web You Tube page. Here, You Tube displays a cartoon image of a monkey. The page says, “This page isn’t available. Sorry about that. Try searching for something else.”
My advice: on this page, search for “andrew roller”. By doing so, you’ll get to my World Wide Web You Tube channel. However, I have over 100 Playlists, that I created, at my You Tube app channel. The World Wide Web version of You Tube will only serve you 15 of my Playlists.
( Hence, access You Tube via its app. The You Tube app, like the WordPress app, is available for free at the Apple App Store. )
This is ET, Editorial Thunder, issue number 59
Arcana: This is ET, Editorial Thunder, issue number 59, version 5.0
Date Written: January 8, 2021.
——————————————————————————————————————————
This has been a presentation of A R S E news.
——————————————————————————————————————————
ET 59
Editorial Thunder presents...
Over at Age Eight
——————————————————————————————————————————
Plus: The sun also rises.
——————————————————————————————————————————
OVER AT AGE EIGHT
by Andrew Roller
“Sex by [ age ] eight, or it’s too late.” This was the slogan of an alleged group of so-called “pedophiles”. That, at least, is something I heard from the United States media, some decades ago. ( Probably in the 1990s. ) I could speculate on the slogan. However, as I have no further information about it, I won’t.
I watch the Fox News program, “Tucker Carlson Tonight”. Though Carlson disparages “group think”, his own bias becomes obvious to the regular viewer. In Carlson’s opinion, everyone over some undefined age is supposed to be married, with children. If you’re a male, according to Carlson, the pinnacle of your life is being Al Bundy. ( You won’t be Tucker Carlson. That’s because you probably won’t get the fine job of being a talk show host, whatever ability you may have. )
My father was married, with children. A minister, he was often declaiming to me about his responsibility to “channel, raise, and rear” me. What did this amount to? My father made the rules. My job, to quote Carlson, was to “shut up and obey”.
I have a riposte to my father’s philosophy. It’s this:
The parent channels, raises, and rears. The child renders the verdict.
Perhaps you’re a parent. Probably, whether you’ll admit it to yourself or not, you agree with my dad. A popular women’s T-shirt reads, “Because I’m the mom, that’s why.”
As a parent, you likely obsess over cultural influences that your child may encounter. You want your child to be exposed to “good” influences. You intend to, using a word popular with my father, “shield” your child from “bad” influences.
My father was born in 1927. All of his values were shaped by the global economic crisis of the 1930s known as The Great Depression. Note my father’s age during this period. And recall the slogan, written above, “Sex by eight or it’s too late”.
My mother was born in 1931. All of her values were shaped by World War Two rationing. She once split a single stick of chewing gum into three pieces for myself, my brother, and herself. This accomplishment pleased Mom very much. I was rarely served chocolate milk by my mother. I was never served chocolate milk by her without her insisting on adding white milk to the chocolate milk. Mom didn’t do this for a nutritional reason. She was intent on making the chocolate milk last longer, by ‘cutting’ it with white milk. Apparently, in the 1960s ( and ‘70s ), chocolate milk cost more than white milk. Much later in her life, my mom felt pressed to state the main achievement of her life. She said, with enthusiasm, “Never wasted a penny.”
I was born late in the year in 1960. The year I was born, the bikini was invented. Hippies and much else followed. My understanding is that the 1960s were a prosperous time in America. While my parents didn’t mind prosperity for themselves, they considered it immoral for America as a whole. My father clung to the notion that The Great Depression was good, because its poverty forced people to be moral. My mother agreed with this. However, her preference was for a morality imposed by the less dire poverty of Word War Two rationing.
My parents, particularly my father, were strenuously opposed to America’s culture of the 1960s. They were determined to shield me from the “bad” influence that was 1960s culture. ( And much of 1970s culture ).
The result? I regard the 1930s, when I didn’t exist, as America’s greatest era. I despise the 1960s, which I lived in. “Father Knows Best”, to quote the title of a T.V. show that I’ve never watched. I do just what Daddy and Mommy say, because a child’s biggest responsibility is to be a clone of his parents. ( Frankly, my father expected me to be just like him “in thought, word, and deed,” a line he may have gotten from the Bible. Both my parents prayed that I’d never take an interest in any female other than my mother. ( Since, after all, if Dad took an interest in another woman, that would be adultery. “Like father, like son,” as the saying goes. )
Of course, I was never to be a homosexual. A sexual attraction to sheep would, presumably, also have been “sick, sick, sick!” to quote Mom on gays.
See why I need to be a clone of my Dad? Greatness of mind like his must be preserved!
This brings me to you. That is, if you’re a parent, trying to shield your child from “bad” cultural influences. You’re probably wondering when you really need to get concerned about protecting your child. That is, from something other than illicit fondling. ( Or masturbation. ) “Watch out for junior high!” you might tell yourself. “That’s when the trouble starts.” A parent once warned, in a magazine, “If [ the child’s ] age is double, so is the trouble!” That is, your kid is safe at age nine from “bad” cultural influences, but is in danger at age ten and above.
Do you recall this phrase? “Sex by eight, or it’s too late.” That’s my message to you. Your kid’s opinion of what’s “good” and “bad”, with regard to cultural influences, is formed by age eight. After that, it’s too late. Nothing you do to “protect” your child from “bad” cultural influences will work. Your kid’s mind is made up. And what made up your kid’s mind? Whatever was culturally popular during the time your child was age five to age eight.
To prove my point, I’ll use myself as an example. In the 1960s, I was allowed to watch, in my father’s phrase, “One hour of television per week!” My parents chose the hour. It was a T.V. show called “The Wonderful World of Disney”. “Lassie” preceded “Disney”. I was not allowed to watch “Lassie”. That would have been too much T.V. Of course, my father’s actual parenting style ( seconded by Mom ) deployed force and bombast. So, in fact, I got to briefly watch “Captain Kangaroo” on some mornings, and some Saturday morning cartoons. I also watched “Lost in Space” ( about a family lost in space ).
I was forbidden to watch “Star Trek”. Mom considered that “too mod”. ( “Mod” meaning: “modern”. ) “Star Trek” featured unmarried men, who were sexually attracted to unmarried women. Mom’s dear, Mom-loving son might not grow up to be a “child molester” if he watched “Star Trek”. I have yet to see most of the classic “Star Trek” episodes.
Our family did not go to movies. An exception was the World War Two family drama, “The Sound of Music”. I suffered through that more than once. A sure way for Mom to infuriate me is when she sings a song from that movie. It’s about teen romance. Lyrics from the song go, “I am sixteen, you are seventeen.” Teens fleeing the Nazis, in the “Sound of Music”, enjoyed teen romance. I got the Auschwitz version of being a teenager. Thanks, Mom! ( And Dad. )
But let’s get back to that phrase: “Sex by eight, or it’s too late”. You might wonder what truly haunts me about the 1960s, since I got the cultural Auschwitz version of that decade, thanks to my parents. It’s the music. Of course, I was not allowed to listen to the radio. In another article, I mentioned my father forbidding me to buy a record by a band called, “The Byrds”. My father’s reason? “They have long hair!” ( By then, the year was 1970. A new decade didn’t mean that Dad was easing up on shielding me. )
Despite my parents’ protection, 1960s music somehow seeped into my life. I had no control over what I was hearing. My parents definitely weren’t playing the 1960s music. I have no idea where I heard 1960s songs, in the 1960s. I spent the vast bulk of my time, involuntarily, with my parents. They controlled my world. ( Dad’s favorite saying, in his last decades of life, was with regard to his perceived failings as a parent. His oft-said solution was this: “If I could do it again, I’d be stricter!” )
You might wonder what sort of music I like. Various sorts of rock music appeal to me. However, the music that really touches my heart are the songs from about 1966, when I was age five, to 1969, when I was age eight. I just learned this today.
You might wonder how I could like a particular form of music, yet not know that I liked it. Let me explain. I liked the songs that I’d heard, somehow, in the 1960s. I recalled them in my mind. However, I did not know the names of most of the bands. I did not know the names of most of the songs.
For nearly 60 years, I have ached for the music of 1966 to 1969. Not just any music from that period. Rock music, perhaps best known as “rock ‘n’ roll”, from that period.
By the late 1970s, when I finally had control of a radio, the music I ached for had vanished from the airwaves. That is, it had vanished from Hawaii’s airwaves, where I then lived, with my parents. Hawaii did not have the profusion of radio stations that a U.S. mainland area would likely have. Prior to living in Hawaii, I lived in Guam. The island of Guam had one radio station. ( Eventually, it had two, but advertisers refused to patronize the second radio station. They considered doing so to be an act of disloyalty to Guam’s original radio station. Worse, the “intruder” station on Guam was owned by White people. Guam’s original station was owned by God-fearing Guamanians, whose asses were saved by White Americans from rapacious Imperial Japanese. )
So, the music I ached for was not on the radio. You might say, “Go to a record store, idiot.” In that era, music was expensive. If I bought an album at a record store, and didn’t like it, my money was lost. I did not know the names of the bands that I ached for. I didn’t know the names of the songs. You might say, “Go to a record store and buy lots of albums.” Have you ever bought shrink-wrapped porn magazines? Good luck. Most porn magazines are garbage, and I’m not referencing immorality. Trying to buy record albums unheard is a similar experience. In that era, record stores did not have “listening stations”. For me to attempt to get help from a record store clerk would probably not have worked. I didn’t have enough knowledge of what I was seeking. I did not, for instance, know that I was searching for rock ‘n’ roll music, of a particular type, from the years 1966 to 1969. As I said, I just learned that today.
I am boycotting You Tube. I’m doing so because You Tube keeps giving my account “strikes”. Worse, I watched for over a year as You Tube abused, with “strikes”, their customers who were “little” girls. The last straw for me in this matter was when You Tube attacked ( then prepubescent ) Milanka Kudel. ( I write about this elsewhere. )
I am not trying to “protect” my account by boycotting You Tube. They kept giving me “strikes”, in my ( prior ) experience with them, even when I did virtually nothing. I expect You Tube to continue giving me “strikes”, despite my absence, in the hope of banning me from You Tube.
( My You Tube account, that is, my “channel”, only has playlists of videos by other people. I’ve never uploaded a video to You Tube, and don’t plan to. I still pay my You Tube bill. Last I looked, that is, last year, I had 100 subscribers to my channel. So my channel exists for my subscribers. Or, rather, what You Tube hasn’t destroyed of my channel exists for them. )
One thing I liked about my channel is that it had lots of music. Of course, boycotting You Tube, I’m deprived of this music. So, how do I listen to music now? I listen to Pandora. As I’m already paying for You Tube, plus several worthless subscription porn sites, I’m not paying for Pandora. I listen to Pandora’s music, and its many commercials.
Before I found out about Dana Taranova, and joined You Tube, I was using Pandora. I’ve collected a huge number of “stations” there. In fact, I’ve hit the limit for how many stations Pandora allows me to have ( about 400 ).
Today, I was listening to my various stations on Pandora. I wasn’t having much luck. I’ve heard a lot of music in my life. That is, I’ve heard a lot of music that was recorded before the year 2000. As best I can tell, most of the music that’s been recorded in the last 20 years is trash. Since when does every female singer in America, including every White one, think she needs to sound like a Mexican? Also, I call most “Rap” music “crap”.
You can definitely annoy me if you play rock songs from the 1970s. I’ve heard those tunes way too many times.
So, today, I was scrolling through my list of 400 stations on Pandora. I came to a station called, “Paul Revere and the Raiders”. I had no idea who the fuckers were. By their title, it sounded like they were a 1950s band. I loathe 1950s music.
Stabbing into the audio dark, I took a chance on Pandora’s station, “Paul Revere and the Raiders”. At Pandora, a station named for a band doesn’t just play that band’s music. It plays similar music by other bands.
The station began to play. I was stunned. The music that I’d ached for, for over 50 years, was in my headphones! And I had control of it! I wasn’t hearing a snatch of a tune from someone else’s music source, as had occurred in the 1960s. Even better, I could learn the names of the bands playing this music. I could learn the names of their songs. I’m doing so now.
“Man”, to quote Joe Biden, it’s all here! At the Pandora station, “Paul Revere and the Raiders! This is it! The Mother Lode, nirvana ( not Cobain’s ), Heaven. Real music. The tunes everyone would listen to, if they were just like me, which they should be.
I now call the music I ache for “echoes of a lost past”. Thank Pandora ( not my parents ) that I can finally listen to it.
Which brings us back to that phrase, “Sex by eight or it’s too late”. Pandora says that “Paul Revere and the Raiders” were most successful between the years 1966 and 1969. That’s why I say that I like rock ‘n’ roll from the years 1966 to 1969. That is, I like rock ‘n’ roll, and America’s culture, from the years when I was age five to age eight. Indeed, I worship this era. This era is me. It is not my goddamn father and mother’s era. It’s mine.
So, parent. You’re busily “protecting” your child from “bad” cultural influences. Is your kid age nine? Too late. Your child’s mind is already made up. That, at least, is my experience.
THE SUN ALSO RISES
I used to enjoy watching the news. That was when Walter Cronkite delivered the news, in the 1970s. The news has changed a lot since then. Today, we aren’t just told what “the news” is. ( In other words, whatever events fit a storyline that the media is inventing. ) We are told what to think about the news.
What did you think about Americans breaking into the U.S. Capitol building? I thought it was fucking great. I didn’t get to see it live, because I had no idea it was going to happen. I figured a bunch of Trump supporters would pathetically protest election fraud, and go home.
You gotta admit, when White people riot, they go straight for the jugular. They don’t fart around looting a Macy’s, or burning down a Wendy’s. Also, White people get the city correct. America’s capital isn’t a town in the Midwest. ( A fact Tim McVeigh might have noted. )
For several days now, in regard to the Capitol break-in, we’ve heard this from Fox News: “Violence is always wrong.” I would like to agree with this. Jesus would say that violence is always wrong. George Washington, and America’s other founders, did not say that violence is always wrong.
Democrats are hoping to classify those who broke into the Capitol as insurrectionists. George Washington, and our other founders, were traitors. Washington was a British Army officer when he led the revolt against Britain. You might say, “Yes, but Washington lived in America.” America was owned by the British, and her colonists in America were British.
As I was watching re-runs of the Capitol break-in, I was obliged to consider that it might not be entirely beneficial. ( Even if it was fucking great. ) Disorder in post World War One Germany led to Hitler shoving people into gas chambers. So, I agree that disorder can lead to awful outcomes.
I did not agree with any rioting engaged in by Bowel Movement Lives and Antifart. Perhaps I’m biased. However, the BML and Antifart violence was vicious. It randomly engulfed multiple neighborhoods, in multiple locales, seemingly everywhere in the country. People were beaten and killed for no reason. Looting occurred for private gain. Perhaps a bit of the looting might be excused as “economic reparations”. ( To quote someone on Fox News. ) However, I’ll bet most of the people who looted already had ample possessions. Also, Antifart is, apparently, mostly a bunch of spoiled White young adults.
Americans are now bombarded by “woke” pomposity. This is the result of the BML and Antifart riots. ( George Floyd was mishandled, but he died of an overdose of illegal narcotics that he chose to consume. ) The music service Pandora is currently flooded by “woke” pomposity, in the form of public service announcements. Apparently, the folks who brought us the BML and Antifart riots need more favor, in the form of greater societal rewards, so they don’t riot again. Meanwhile, we’re told that White people who broke into America’s Capitol are odious. They deserve only our condemnation.
It is best if society’s strains are dealt with in an orderly way. However, those who make a fetish of “law and order” forget how laws are made. Too often, “laws” are written into omnibus bills. They’re authored by special interests. These omnibus bills, at the time that they’re passed, are mostly unread by legislators. Our rights as citizens are then further curtailed by these omnibus bills.
Sometimes, it’s helpful if citizens remind their legislators of a basic fact. A society’s power ultimately rests with its people. Such a reminder is especially useful if election fraud is rampant. That is my view of the Capitol break-in. Be glad that its result, other than predictable collateral damage, was a few broken windows and doors. Left to fester, citizens’ grievances could result in lines of legislators waiting to be guillotined. Let’s hope that never happens.
Arcana: I realize that Americans of various ethnicities support various political causes. I am merely reflecting what I witnessed in T.V. footage of the above events, using shorthand descriptions. If Chris Rock can generalize to make a point, so can I.
Arcana: I regard “Dana Taranova” as a figure of common knowledge in my article ( above ). Nearly all her videos, at the time I discovered her existence on You Tube, were of her as a prepubescent girl.
AND IN THE END...
“He knew everything about being a father until he became one.”
- Bill Cosby.
Source: a TV Guide advertisement for a Bill Cosby T.V. show.
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Copyright 2020 by Andrew L. Roller. ET, Editorial Thunder, and ARSE, Andrew Roller Stories and Essays, are trademarks of Andrew L. Roller.
I am https://andrewroller.wordpress.com
Earlier posts by me are at https://asstr.org/files/Authors/Roller/
I’m on paper at: https://www.abebooks.com > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
and https://www.abebooks.co.uk > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
If you visit an “AbeBooks” website, you’ll be presented with a large square “Search” box. In the box labelled “Author”, type in “Andrew Roller”. In the box labelled “Title”, type in “Andrew Roller Presents”. This will bring up some of my pamphlets. I have not yet figured out how to bring up other pamphlets by me, under other titles. I don’t recall all the titles I published under.
I have no financial involvement in these resale items.
I am on You Tube as “Andrew Roller”. Use You Tube’s magnifying glass icon to search for “Andrew Roller”. That will take you to my You Tube channel. Or, on You Tube, tap my sun icon, if you see it. That will also take you to my You Tube channel. There, you can see songs and films that I like.
At the “home page” of my You Tube channel, you’ll see just a selection of playlists that I created. To see all my playlists, tap on the phrase, “Created playlists”.
The World Wide Web address for my You Tube channel is:
https://www.youtube.com/andrewroller
If you click on this link, you’ll be taken to a World Wide Web You Tube page. Here, You Tube displays a cartoon image of a monkey. The page says, “This page isn’t available. Sorry about that. Try searching for something else.”
My advice: on this page, search for “andrew roller”. By doing so, you’ll get to my World Wide Web You Tube channel. However, I have over 100 Playlists, that I created, at my You Tube app channel. The World Wide Web version of You Tube will only serve you 15 of my Playlists.
( Hence, access You Tube via its app. The You Tube app, like the WordPress app, is available for free at the Apple App Store. )
This is ET, Editorial Thunder, issue number 59
Arcana: This is ET, Editorial Thunder, issue number 59, version 5.0
Date Written: January 8, 2021.
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This has been a presentation of A R S E news.
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Virgin Aliens
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ER 2 Exotic Rendezvous
( Continuing the Erotic Romances series )
Virgin Aliens
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Plus: The Perfect Wife.
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VIRGIN ALIENS
by Andrew Roller
As is my usual practice on Sunday morning, I was walking to church. I was dressed in my Sunday best. I was holding the Holy Bible, and reading verses from it.
A bum wandered up to me. I told him I didn’t have any money. He said he wasn’t that sort of bum; he was an entrepreneur. He wanted to sell me a manuscript of alien contact. I told him I had no interest in such trash. God created the universe, the earth, and man to rule over the animals. ( And man to rule over women. )
“Obviously, you don’t watch Tucker Carlson Tonight,” the bum answered. “Then you’d know that aliens are real.” He again offered to sell me the manuscript.
I considered what he was holding. It was several pieces of paper. They were a bit soiled, but neatly printed. The bum wanted alcohol money. He didn’t say that, of course. He claimed he was headed to church ( not mine ), and needed an offering for the collection plate, so people wouldn’t think he was a bum, even though he was dirty and stank.
I bought the bum’s manuscript. I considered typing it up and publishing it on Amazon, claiming it as my own. However, this account of alien contact is no “Communion”. I’m not sure if it’s true or not, but maybe Tucker Carlson will take an interest in it.
The account follows:
George Boyd was homeless. He was also unemployed. To the extent he had any meaningful skills, besides playing video games, he was a construction worker. George was 42 years old. However, he looked younger than 42. Probably, he looked about 35. That’s because he’d lived with his mom until he was 38, and hadn’t had too much stress in his life, except when he’d thrown out his Playboy magazines, and then wished he hadn’t. He’d thrown out his Playboys because he’d thought a girl liked him. It turned out she didn’t, but George didn’t learn that until his Playboys were gone.
George was a fairly big guy. He had shaggy brown hair and brown eyes. His appearance was nondescript, as was his clothing: jeans, a T-shirt, and a jacket, which he mostly left unzipped. When it was cold, George set about zipping his jacket up. This wasn’t always easy to do. That’s because the metal tab of George’s zipper had broken off. So, it sometimes took him awhile to get his zipper up. The fly of his jeans had the same problem. George left his jeans’ fly unzipped, like his jacket. Sometimes people noticed that George’s fly was unzipped. Sometimes they didn’t. However, when George got a boner, his dick would thrust through his jeans’ unzipped fly. Of course, George wore underpants. They weren’t the cleanest underpants, but they did ( sort of ) hold back his cock. However, underpants are just cotton, not denim. So George would get embarrassed when his penis was sticking out of his pants and he couldn’t zip up his jeans’ fly.
Once a year, in July, San Diego has a comic book convention. It’s called Comic-Con. The convention is held at San Diego’s Convention Center. Behind the Convention Center is a big park. It’s called South Embarcadero Park. The park juts into San Diego Bay.
South Embarcadero Park closes at 10:30 p.m. It reopens at 6 a.m. However, anyone who’s homeless, like George, knows that the early bird catches the worm. That’s why, at 2 a.m., in July, George was in the park; with his unzipped fly. He took a whiz on a tree. ( Not in the tree, just on the tree. George was a bit too big and heavy to be climbing around in trees. ) However, the main reason George was in the park was to beat out the other homeless guys. He was digging through the rubbish bins for recyclables. South Embarcadero Park is fairly popular, when it isn’t closed. So George was finding lots of valuable soda cans, bottles, and other debris left behind by visitors to the park. Taking this trash from the rubbish bins, he was putting it into a plastic garbage bag that he’d found somewhere, a month before.
To his amazement, George found a Playboy magazine in one of the rubbish bins. Some thoughtless person had dumped coffee on the Playboy. The magazine was soiled and damp. However, George couldn’t resist checking the Playboy centerfold. As it was the dead of night, he was figuring he might jerk-off to the centerfold, if it was worth losing his sperm over.
It was. George freed his dick from his underpants. It was sticking right out, bare and hard. ( And a bit wet at the tip. ) Suddenly, a bright light illuminated George. It did so from above. Cops fly around San Diego at night, in helicopters; George feared he’d been nailed by them. The Playboy fell from his hands. As Miss May, 1972, lay sprawled on the ground, her centerfold sticking out from the Playboy, George looked up. By then the light had passed by him. It, and other lights, were sweeping the surrounding grounds of the park, and the water beyond.
All the lights were emanating from a single point. George realized this as he strove to get his cock, which remained quite big, thanks to Miss May, back in his underpants. Abruptly, George realized that he was looking at a flying saucer. A large, silvery disk, it was wafting down toward the park, amid its projecting lights. George, his dick still sticking out, hid behind a tree. He got his dick back in his underpants as the saucer settled on a lawn by the tree. The saucer was so big that its backside stuck out over the bay. George, meanwhile, wasn’t hiding too well, since the tree he’d peed on was young, and slender, and so he was able to be seen behind it.
An airlock opened in the saucer’s side. George watched, Miss May at his feet, as a gangplank descended from the saucer’s airlock. The gangplank had stairs. George was trying to zip up his fly when several girls appeared in the airlock. They did so from within the saucer.
George’s big mouth fell open. He was stunned. Not only did the saucer hold girls, but they were prepubescent girls, of varying ages. Some had budding breasts, so they might have been teenagers, or nearly so. None of the girls were green. They looked like the girls that George had sometimes ogled at the community swimming pool, near his mom’s house, until he got kicked out of the pool for “leering at little girls”, according to the policewoman’s report.
The girls weren’t wearing much. Each had on a white string bikini, and over-the-knee boots. The boots that the older girls wore had high heels. The heels on the younger girls’ boots weren’t so high; all their boots were ivory-hued leather.
All the girls had long beautiful hair. Some of the girls’ hair was lank, several had curly hair. Some were blondes, others brunettes; there were girls with raven and red manes. The girls wore their hair different ways. A number had pulled part of their hair into high ponytails, while the remainder of their tresses hung free. A bow held each of their ponytails. Other girls had pigtails, which bows held. A girl had plaited some of her locks into a crown. A girl had dyed her blonde hair with cherry streaks. Some girls wore glowing bangles or chokers, or cloth friendship bracelets. As George watched from behind the tree, the girls began trooping down the gangplank. Some did so with stuffed animals. To George’s embarrassment, his penis began to emerge from his pants. He tried getting his fly up, but couldn’t.
To the east, a rising full moon began breaking above the convention center. One of the girls spotted George. Still behind the tree, he was astounded as the girls left the gangplank and came toward him. The moon made their tresses radiant as angels’ halos, especially those that were blondes. It reflected off their leather boots and made their milk white bikinis still more appealing. The oldest girl, like her companions, had long bare legs; skinny but shapely. She was growing nice breasts and had flaring hips. She was, like the other girls, lightly tanned. You could see the tan lines of a fuller swimsuit that she’d worn, but her string bikini was sinfully skimpy. She had a stuffed white rabbit. Unlike most other girls, who cradled their stuffed animals, she held hers casually by one of its long erect ears. It swung haplessly from her hand.
The oldest girl looked George over. Girls behind her, seeing his dick sticking out, giggled and blushed. So did the oldest girl but, with her firm breasts projecting, she managed to ask him a question.
“Are you playing hide-and-seek?” she inquired. Her voice was as lovely as her colt legs, high and mellifluous.
George was not playing hide-and-seek. However, he didn’t want to confess that he was rooting through rubbish bins, had peed on a tree, and had been on the brink of masturbating. So he said he was playing the game. He also stepped out from behind the tree, despite his rude dick.
“We’re here for Comic-Con,” a girl piped up.
“It isn’t happening,” George answered. He explained that because of COVID-19, the convention was cancelled. The girls were dismayed.
The oldest, who was named Lisa, looked George over again. She asked why his dick was sticking out of his pants. He explained about his zipper. Though the girls were again consumed by embarrassed laughter, Lisa asked George what he knew about astronautics. Had he gotten good grades in his quantum gravity classes? Was he up to speed on ether chromodynamics? A bit confused, George explained that he got top scores on the game Alien Invasion, which he sometimes played at the grocery that was by the recycling center. This satisfied Lisa. She admitted that she also liked the fact that he was big. Somewhere behind her, a girl said she liked what George had been unable to hide in his pants. That girl was named Betsy. She was always saying sassy things.
“We need a mechanic,” a girl named Debbie told George. Debbie was a brunette, while Lisa was blonde. ( Betsy was a redhead. ) The girls explained that fixing their flying saucer could be greasy, dirty work. They didn’t like doing it. But, since George looked sort of dirty already, and also smelled a bit, maybe he’d like to be their mechanic.
George wasn’t born yesterday. He knew the importance of negotiating; of never saying ‘yes’ to the first offer. He asked Lisa how much the job paid. Lisa, sighing, her bosoms heaving in her skimpy top, said she couldn’t pay George anything, except maybe some gumballs. George considered her offer. On the one hand, he could root in rubbish bins, and do other aforementioned things. Or he could whiz about in a flying saucer loaded with little girls. George said he’d take the job. The girls whooped and cheered with delight. Gathering about George, they took him aboard their flying saucer. The saucer zipped into the sky. Soon, it was heading away from Earth. This was a fortunate thing for George, since the girl whom he’d thought had liked him, but hadn’t, had filed a police report the previous day. In it, she’d claimed that George had molested her. He’d done it, she’d claimed, twenty years before, but she’d just found the courage to come forward with her complaint. The reason she’d done this, which she didn’t mention, was because she’d heard that “George Boyd” had won the California lottery. However, unknown to her, it was a different George Boyd who’d won, from the one she was accusing.
The girls had named their flying saucer Nightingale. Zooming away from Earth, they nearly collided it with the Moon. As George stood on the saucer’s bridge, gawking at its interior ( and the girls ), they asked him why Earthlings let their moon be so close to their planet.
“You’d think they’d move it a bit farther away,” a girl said.
“Yes!” another girl agreed. “It definitely interferes with spaceflight.”
A third girl pointed out that the Moon, being quite big, probably couldn’t be moved by even the most powerful tractor beam. She said this as she slipped out of her bikini. The other girls began getting naked too.
George’s dick got bigger, to his embarrassment. He asked the girls what they were doing. They told him they didn’t like wearing clothes, even bikinis; though they did like going about in boots. Lisa explained that they were refugees from the planet Avluv, in the Msagro Galaxy. There, people had lived quite happily, until the P.U. ladies had shown up. George asked what the P.U. ladies were.
“They’re big and fat,” Betsy said. P.U. stood for “Perfect Union”. The P.U. ladies, from the planet Elohtihs, in the Elohttub Galaxy, were determined to take over the universe. Their leader was Zyanya Zuck. Of course, the girls called her Zyanya Yuck.
The girls had been on a field trip in their saucer when the P.U. fleet had appeared. It had quickly conquered Avluv. Poor Miss Nerrab, the girls’ elderly counsellor, had been along on their flight. She’d been supervising it. The P.U. attack had caused her such distress that she’d died of a heart attack. Debbie had been piloting Nightingale. In her haste to escape, she’d lost contact with whatever other Avluvians had eluded the P.U. attack. In subsequent weeks, the girls had been flying about the cosmos in Nightingale, staying clear of the P.U. ladies.
As for Avluv, it was an ancient society. People had lived communally there. Relationships had been formed however they might be, on people’s whims. The girls missed those they’d known on Avluv. However, they had a nice set-up aboard Nightingale. Akin to a spaceborne yacht, it even had a tanning salon. It was the girls’ custom to tan in bikinis, and then go about naked; this was the fashion on Avluv.
His dick embarrassing him, George realized that the girls spoke English as their native language. He asked about this. Lisa explained that the language spoken by their ancestors, and many others in the universe, had been cumbersome. Then a British sailing ship had been accidentally beamed aboard an alien spacecraft. The British crew spoke English. The aliens liked English. They regarded it as a much simpler language than their own. So, the cosmic tongue had fallen into disuse, and aliens could now read great English literature like Anne Rice’s Sleeping Beauty. ( Which none of the girls admitted to reading. )
As Nightingale flew through space, the naked girls set about their usual activities ( in their long boots ). Lisa took George to Nightingale’s engine room. She told him the engine sometimes made annoying squeaks. Would George look into it? George, trying not to gawk at Lisa’s proud tits, whose pink nipples were taut, agreed. She departed. When George could no longer stare after her retreating bare bottom, he rummaged about in the room. There was information about the engines in Nightingale’s technical manuals, and on its various computer screens. George began reading up on quantum gravity and other related matters. It was slow going at first, but he didn’t want to disappoint a shipful of bare-assed alien girls, the oldest of whom had nice bosoms. The girls’ bath time came later. As for that, and George sleeping with the girls, in a big bed, it’s been censored by the P.U. ladies.
Later, George became the captain of Nightingale. This was because the girls sometimes argued about where to go, and what to do when they got there. However, with George as their captain, they could just obey his commands.
THE PERFECT WIFE
“ ... his new secretary, Gertraud Humps, had a special opportunity to get to know her Fuhrer. She was brought to the Wolfsschanze early that winter to replace the attractive and ebullient Gerda Daranowsky. ‘Dara’ had left a job with Elizabeth Arden to work for Hitler and now was marrying his Luftwaffe liaison officer.
“Traudl Humps, the granddaughter of a general, was twenty-two, naive and impressionable. She was so nervous the first time she took dicktation that Hitler soothed her as if she were a child. ‘You don’t have to get excited,’ he said, ‘I myself will make far more mistakes during the dicktation than you will.’ She was summoned again on January 3, 1943. This time Hitler asked if she would like the job of permanent private secretary. It was an exciting and flattering offer and, without hesitation, she accepted it. She soon became accustomed to this new, strange world. With no full office routine or fixed duty time, she had leisure to spend much of the day wandering in the snow-covered forest. She particularly enjoyed watching her new employer play with Blondi in the morning. The big dog would jump through hoops, leap over a six-foot wooden wall, climb up a ladder, then beg at the top. Whenever Hitler noticed Traudl, he would come over, shake hands and ask how she was doing.”
- Adolf Hitler, by John Toland, page 976.
——————————————————————————————————————————
Copyright 2021 by Andrew L. Roller. ER, Exotic Rendezvous, and ARSE, Andrew Roller Stories and Essays, are trademarks of Andrew L. Roller.
I am https://andrewroller.wordpress.com
Earlier posts by me are at https://asstr.org/files/Authors/Roller/
I’m on paper at: https://www.abebooks.com > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
and https://www.abebooks.co.uk > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
If you visit an “AbeBooks” website, you’ll be presented with a large square “Search” box. In the box labelled “Author”, type in “Andrew Roller”. In the box labelled “Title”, type in “Andrew Roller Presents”. This will bring up some of my pamphlets. I have not yet figured out how to bring up other pamphlets by me, under other titles. I don’t recall all the titles I published under.
I have no financial involvement in these resale items.
I am on You Tube as “Andrew Roller”. Use You Tube’s magnifying glass icon to search for “Andrew Roller”. That will take you to my You Tube channel. Or, on You Tube, tap my sun icon, if you see it. That will also take you to my You Tube channel. There, you can see songs and films that I like.
At the “home page” of my You Tube channel, you’ll see just a selection of playlists that I created. To see all my playlists, tap on the phrase, “Created playlists”.
The World Wide Web address for my You Tube channel is:
https://www.youtube.com/andrewroller
If you click on this link, you’ll be taken to a World Wide Web You Tube page. Here, You Tube displays a cartoon image of a monkey. The page says, “This page isn’t available. Sorry about that. Try searching for something else.”
My advice: on this page, search for “andrew roller”. By doing so, you’ll get to my World Wide Web You Tube channel. However, I have over 100 Playlists, that I created, at my You Tube app channel. The World Wide Web version of You Tube will only serve you 15 of my Playlists.
( Hence, access You Tube via its app. The You Tube app, like the WordPress app, is available for free at the Apple App Store. )
This is ER, Exotic Rendezvous, issue number 2
Arcana: This is ER, Exotic Rendezvous, issue number 2, version 11.0
Date Written: January 3, 2021.
——————————————————————————————————————————
This has been a presentation of A R S E entertainment.
——————————————————————————————————————————
ER 2 Exotic Rendezvous
( Continuing the Erotic Romances series )
Virgin Aliens
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Plus: The Perfect Wife.
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VIRGIN ALIENS
by Andrew Roller
As is my usual practice on Sunday morning, I was walking to church. I was dressed in my Sunday best. I was holding the Holy Bible, and reading verses from it.
A bum wandered up to me. I told him I didn’t have any money. He said he wasn’t that sort of bum; he was an entrepreneur. He wanted to sell me a manuscript of alien contact. I told him I had no interest in such trash. God created the universe, the earth, and man to rule over the animals. ( And man to rule over women. )
“Obviously, you don’t watch Tucker Carlson Tonight,” the bum answered. “Then you’d know that aliens are real.” He again offered to sell me the manuscript.
I considered what he was holding. It was several pieces of paper. They were a bit soiled, but neatly printed. The bum wanted alcohol money. He didn’t say that, of course. He claimed he was headed to church ( not mine ), and needed an offering for the collection plate, so people wouldn’t think he was a bum, even though he was dirty and stank.
I bought the bum’s manuscript. I considered typing it up and publishing it on Amazon, claiming it as my own. However, this account of alien contact is no “Communion”. I’m not sure if it’s true or not, but maybe Tucker Carlson will take an interest in it.
The account follows:
George Boyd was homeless. He was also unemployed. To the extent he had any meaningful skills, besides playing video games, he was a construction worker. George was 42 years old. However, he looked younger than 42. Probably, he looked about 35. That’s because he’d lived with his mom until he was 38, and hadn’t had too much stress in his life, except when he’d thrown out his Playboy magazines, and then wished he hadn’t. He’d thrown out his Playboys because he’d thought a girl liked him. It turned out she didn’t, but George didn’t learn that until his Playboys were gone.
George was a fairly big guy. He had shaggy brown hair and brown eyes. His appearance was nondescript, as was his clothing: jeans, a T-shirt, and a jacket, which he mostly left unzipped. When it was cold, George set about zipping his jacket up. This wasn’t always easy to do. That’s because the metal tab of George’s zipper had broken off. So, it sometimes took him awhile to get his zipper up. The fly of his jeans had the same problem. George left his jeans’ fly unzipped, like his jacket. Sometimes people noticed that George’s fly was unzipped. Sometimes they didn’t. However, when George got a boner, his dick would thrust through his jeans’ unzipped fly. Of course, George wore underpants. They weren’t the cleanest underpants, but they did ( sort of ) hold back his cock. However, underpants are just cotton, not denim. So George would get embarrassed when his penis was sticking out of his pants and he couldn’t zip up his jeans’ fly.
Once a year, in July, San Diego has a comic book convention. It’s called Comic-Con. The convention is held at San Diego’s Convention Center. Behind the Convention Center is a big park. It’s called South Embarcadero Park. The park juts into San Diego Bay.
South Embarcadero Park closes at 10:30 p.m. It reopens at 6 a.m. However, anyone who’s homeless, like George, knows that the early bird catches the worm. That’s why, at 2 a.m., in July, George was in the park; with his unzipped fly. He took a whiz on a tree. ( Not in the tree, just on the tree. George was a bit too big and heavy to be climbing around in trees. ) However, the main reason George was in the park was to beat out the other homeless guys. He was digging through the rubbish bins for recyclables. South Embarcadero Park is fairly popular, when it isn’t closed. So George was finding lots of valuable soda cans, bottles, and other debris left behind by visitors to the park. Taking this trash from the rubbish bins, he was putting it into a plastic garbage bag that he’d found somewhere, a month before.
To his amazement, George found a Playboy magazine in one of the rubbish bins. Some thoughtless person had dumped coffee on the Playboy. The magazine was soiled and damp. However, George couldn’t resist checking the Playboy centerfold. As it was the dead of night, he was figuring he might jerk-off to the centerfold, if it was worth losing his sperm over.
It was. George freed his dick from his underpants. It was sticking right out, bare and hard. ( And a bit wet at the tip. ) Suddenly, a bright light illuminated George. It did so from above. Cops fly around San Diego at night, in helicopters; George feared he’d been nailed by them. The Playboy fell from his hands. As Miss May, 1972, lay sprawled on the ground, her centerfold sticking out from the Playboy, George looked up. By then the light had passed by him. It, and other lights, were sweeping the surrounding grounds of the park, and the water beyond.
All the lights were emanating from a single point. George realized this as he strove to get his cock, which remained quite big, thanks to Miss May, back in his underpants. Abruptly, George realized that he was looking at a flying saucer. A large, silvery disk, it was wafting down toward the park, amid its projecting lights. George, his dick still sticking out, hid behind a tree. He got his dick back in his underpants as the saucer settled on a lawn by the tree. The saucer was so big that its backside stuck out over the bay. George, meanwhile, wasn’t hiding too well, since the tree he’d peed on was young, and slender, and so he was able to be seen behind it.
An airlock opened in the saucer’s side. George watched, Miss May at his feet, as a gangplank descended from the saucer’s airlock. The gangplank had stairs. George was trying to zip up his fly when several girls appeared in the airlock. They did so from within the saucer.
George’s big mouth fell open. He was stunned. Not only did the saucer hold girls, but they were prepubescent girls, of varying ages. Some had budding breasts, so they might have been teenagers, or nearly so. None of the girls were green. They looked like the girls that George had sometimes ogled at the community swimming pool, near his mom’s house, until he got kicked out of the pool for “leering at little girls”, according to the policewoman’s report.
The girls weren’t wearing much. Each had on a white string bikini, and over-the-knee boots. The boots that the older girls wore had high heels. The heels on the younger girls’ boots weren’t so high; all their boots were ivory-hued leather.
All the girls had long beautiful hair. Some of the girls’ hair was lank, several had curly hair. Some were blondes, others brunettes; there were girls with raven and red manes. The girls wore their hair different ways. A number had pulled part of their hair into high ponytails, while the remainder of their tresses hung free. A bow held each of their ponytails. Other girls had pigtails, which bows held. A girl had plaited some of her locks into a crown. A girl had dyed her blonde hair with cherry streaks. Some girls wore glowing bangles or chokers, or cloth friendship bracelets. As George watched from behind the tree, the girls began trooping down the gangplank. Some did so with stuffed animals. To George’s embarrassment, his penis began to emerge from his pants. He tried getting his fly up, but couldn’t.
To the east, a rising full moon began breaking above the convention center. One of the girls spotted George. Still behind the tree, he was astounded as the girls left the gangplank and came toward him. The moon made their tresses radiant as angels’ halos, especially those that were blondes. It reflected off their leather boots and made their milk white bikinis still more appealing. The oldest girl, like her companions, had long bare legs; skinny but shapely. She was growing nice breasts and had flaring hips. She was, like the other girls, lightly tanned. You could see the tan lines of a fuller swimsuit that she’d worn, but her string bikini was sinfully skimpy. She had a stuffed white rabbit. Unlike most other girls, who cradled their stuffed animals, she held hers casually by one of its long erect ears. It swung haplessly from her hand.
The oldest girl looked George over. Girls behind her, seeing his dick sticking out, giggled and blushed. So did the oldest girl but, with her firm breasts projecting, she managed to ask him a question.
“Are you playing hide-and-seek?” she inquired. Her voice was as lovely as her colt legs, high and mellifluous.
George was not playing hide-and-seek. However, he didn’t want to confess that he was rooting through rubbish bins, had peed on a tree, and had been on the brink of masturbating. So he said he was playing the game. He also stepped out from behind the tree, despite his rude dick.
“We’re here for Comic-Con,” a girl piped up.
“It isn’t happening,” George answered. He explained that because of COVID-19, the convention was cancelled. The girls were dismayed.
The oldest, who was named Lisa, looked George over again. She asked why his dick was sticking out of his pants. He explained about his zipper. Though the girls were again consumed by embarrassed laughter, Lisa asked George what he knew about astronautics. Had he gotten good grades in his quantum gravity classes? Was he up to speed on ether chromodynamics? A bit confused, George explained that he got top scores on the game Alien Invasion, which he sometimes played at the grocery that was by the recycling center. This satisfied Lisa. She admitted that she also liked the fact that he was big. Somewhere behind her, a girl said she liked what George had been unable to hide in his pants. That girl was named Betsy. She was always saying sassy things.
“We need a mechanic,” a girl named Debbie told George. Debbie was a brunette, while Lisa was blonde. ( Betsy was a redhead. ) The girls explained that fixing their flying saucer could be greasy, dirty work. They didn’t like doing it. But, since George looked sort of dirty already, and also smelled a bit, maybe he’d like to be their mechanic.
George wasn’t born yesterday. He knew the importance of negotiating; of never saying ‘yes’ to the first offer. He asked Lisa how much the job paid. Lisa, sighing, her bosoms heaving in her skimpy top, said she couldn’t pay George anything, except maybe some gumballs. George considered her offer. On the one hand, he could root in rubbish bins, and do other aforementioned things. Or he could whiz about in a flying saucer loaded with little girls. George said he’d take the job. The girls whooped and cheered with delight. Gathering about George, they took him aboard their flying saucer. The saucer zipped into the sky. Soon, it was heading away from Earth. This was a fortunate thing for George, since the girl whom he’d thought had liked him, but hadn’t, had filed a police report the previous day. In it, she’d claimed that George had molested her. He’d done it, she’d claimed, twenty years before, but she’d just found the courage to come forward with her complaint. The reason she’d done this, which she didn’t mention, was because she’d heard that “George Boyd” had won the California lottery. However, unknown to her, it was a different George Boyd who’d won, from the one she was accusing.
The girls had named their flying saucer Nightingale. Zooming away from Earth, they nearly collided it with the Moon. As George stood on the saucer’s bridge, gawking at its interior ( and the girls ), they asked him why Earthlings let their moon be so close to their planet.
“You’d think they’d move it a bit farther away,” a girl said.
“Yes!” another girl agreed. “It definitely interferes with spaceflight.”
A third girl pointed out that the Moon, being quite big, probably couldn’t be moved by even the most powerful tractor beam. She said this as she slipped out of her bikini. The other girls began getting naked too.
George’s dick got bigger, to his embarrassment. He asked the girls what they were doing. They told him they didn’t like wearing clothes, even bikinis; though they did like going about in boots. Lisa explained that they were refugees from the planet Avluv, in the Msagro Galaxy. There, people had lived quite happily, until the P.U. ladies had shown up. George asked what the P.U. ladies were.
“They’re big and fat,” Betsy said. P.U. stood for “Perfect Union”. The P.U. ladies, from the planet Elohtihs, in the Elohttub Galaxy, were determined to take over the universe. Their leader was Zyanya Zuck. Of course, the girls called her Zyanya Yuck.
The girls had been on a field trip in their saucer when the P.U. fleet had appeared. It had quickly conquered Avluv. Poor Miss Nerrab, the girls’ elderly counsellor, had been along on their flight. She’d been supervising it. The P.U. attack had caused her such distress that she’d died of a heart attack. Debbie had been piloting Nightingale. In her haste to escape, she’d lost contact with whatever other Avluvians had eluded the P.U. attack. In subsequent weeks, the girls had been flying about the cosmos in Nightingale, staying clear of the P.U. ladies.
As for Avluv, it was an ancient society. People had lived communally there. Relationships had been formed however they might be, on people’s whims. The girls missed those they’d known on Avluv. However, they had a nice set-up aboard Nightingale. Akin to a spaceborne yacht, it even had a tanning salon. It was the girls’ custom to tan in bikinis, and then go about naked; this was the fashion on Avluv.
His dick embarrassing him, George realized that the girls spoke English as their native language. He asked about this. Lisa explained that the language spoken by their ancestors, and many others in the universe, had been cumbersome. Then a British sailing ship had been accidentally beamed aboard an alien spacecraft. The British crew spoke English. The aliens liked English. They regarded it as a much simpler language than their own. So, the cosmic tongue had fallen into disuse, and aliens could now read great English literature like Anne Rice’s Sleeping Beauty. ( Which none of the girls admitted to reading. )
As Nightingale flew through space, the naked girls set about their usual activities ( in their long boots ). Lisa took George to Nightingale’s engine room. She told him the engine sometimes made annoying squeaks. Would George look into it? George, trying not to gawk at Lisa’s proud tits, whose pink nipples were taut, agreed. She departed. When George could no longer stare after her retreating bare bottom, he rummaged about in the room. There was information about the engines in Nightingale’s technical manuals, and on its various computer screens. George began reading up on quantum gravity and other related matters. It was slow going at first, but he didn’t want to disappoint a shipful of bare-assed alien girls, the oldest of whom had nice bosoms. The girls’ bath time came later. As for that, and George sleeping with the girls, in a big bed, it’s been censored by the P.U. ladies.
Later, George became the captain of Nightingale. This was because the girls sometimes argued about where to go, and what to do when they got there. However, with George as their captain, they could just obey his commands.
THE PERFECT WIFE
“ ... his new secretary, Gertraud Humps, had a special opportunity to get to know her Fuhrer. She was brought to the Wolfsschanze early that winter to replace the attractive and ebullient Gerda Daranowsky. ‘Dara’ had left a job with Elizabeth Arden to work for Hitler and now was marrying his Luftwaffe liaison officer.
“Traudl Humps, the granddaughter of a general, was twenty-two, naive and impressionable. She was so nervous the first time she took dicktation that Hitler soothed her as if she were a child. ‘You don’t have to get excited,’ he said, ‘I myself will make far more mistakes during the dicktation than you will.’ She was summoned again on January 3, 1943. This time Hitler asked if she would like the job of permanent private secretary. It was an exciting and flattering offer and, without hesitation, she accepted it. She soon became accustomed to this new, strange world. With no full office routine or fixed duty time, she had leisure to spend much of the day wandering in the snow-covered forest. She particularly enjoyed watching her new employer play with Blondi in the morning. The big dog would jump through hoops, leap over a six-foot wooden wall, climb up a ladder, then beg at the top. Whenever Hitler noticed Traudl, he would come over, shake hands and ask how she was doing.”
- Adolf Hitler, by John Toland, page 976.
——————————————————————————————————————————
Copyright 2021 by Andrew L. Roller. ER, Exotic Rendezvous, and ARSE, Andrew Roller Stories and Essays, are trademarks of Andrew L. Roller.
I am https://andrewroller.wordpress.com
Earlier posts by me are at https://asstr.org/files/Authors/Roller/
I’m on paper at: https://www.abebooks.com > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
and https://www.abebooks.co.uk > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
If you visit an “AbeBooks” website, you’ll be presented with a large square “Search” box. In the box labelled “Author”, type in “Andrew Roller”. In the box labelled “Title”, type in “Andrew Roller Presents”. This will bring up some of my pamphlets. I have not yet figured out how to bring up other pamphlets by me, under other titles. I don’t recall all the titles I published under.
I have no financial involvement in these resale items.
I am on You Tube as “Andrew Roller”. Use You Tube’s magnifying glass icon to search for “Andrew Roller”. That will take you to my You Tube channel. Or, on You Tube, tap my sun icon, if you see it. That will also take you to my You Tube channel. There, you can see songs and films that I like.
At the “home page” of my You Tube channel, you’ll see just a selection of playlists that I created. To see all my playlists, tap on the phrase, “Created playlists”.
The World Wide Web address for my You Tube channel is:
https://www.youtube.com/andrewroller
If you click on this link, you’ll be taken to a World Wide Web You Tube page. Here, You Tube displays a cartoon image of a monkey. The page says, “This page isn’t available. Sorry about that. Try searching for something else.”
My advice: on this page, search for “andrew roller”. By doing so, you’ll get to my World Wide Web You Tube channel. However, I have over 100 Playlists, that I created, at my You Tube app channel. The World Wide Web version of You Tube will only serve you 15 of my Playlists.
( Hence, access You Tube via its app. The You Tube app, like the WordPress app, is available for free at the Apple App Store. )
This is ER, Exotic Rendezvous, issue number 2
Arcana: This is ER, Exotic Rendezvous, issue number 2, version 11.0
Date Written: January 3, 2021.
——————————————————————————————————————————
This has been a presentation of A R S E entertainment.
——————————————————————————————————————————
On “woke” Culture
-—————————————————————————————————————————
ET 58
Editorial Thunder presents...
On “woke” Culture
——————————————————————————————————————————
Plus: On the road again.
And: Call me, Bang-Bang ( Junior ).
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ON THE ROAD AGAIN
by Andrew Roller
John Lennon sang, “Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans”. I find myself in such a situation.
For now, I’m refusing to open my Google Gmail. All I ever get in it is dictates from You Tube. Its staff tells me that I, a piece of shit, have ( once again ) violated their policies. I’m also staying off of the You Tube platform. I’m sick of getting “strikes” from them, and watching their staff abuse young girls.
I’m leaving the room that I’ve lived in for a long time. My room is now called “an apartment” by my landlord, but its unchanged from past years. My rent isn’t unchanged. It has gone way up, and continues to do so, every six months.
Moving is not easy for me. That’s not because I live near San Diego’s Children’s Museum. ( Though I do see some super cute girls coming and going from there. ) Moving is hard for me because I was born long ago. That is, I was born before the internet, and Amazon Kindle. My room is stuffed with books and magazines. They fill cardboard boxes to the ceiling throughout my room. More, unboxed, are in my bathroom, by my kitchen sink, and by my room’s front door. I have about six unabridged English dictionaries by my front door.
So, it will take me awhile to move. I’m already renting two storage lockers to hold my books and magazines. One storage locker is so far away that I haven’t visited it in 19 years. I’m now going to have to rent a third storage locker. Hopefully, I’ll have enough money left over to rent a room. If you visit San Diego, and an extremely handsome guy asks you for money, give him $1,000 or so. You don’t want me to be homeless. I’ll wind up masturbating by the Children’s Museum.
The upshot is that I won’t be on the internet much. However, I’ll do what I can, including on You Tube. ( You Tube is an utterly loathsome company. In my experience, only Mark Fuckerberg’s Fakebook is worse. )
ON “WOKE” CULTURE
I watch Fox news a lot. Sadly, the people on Fox don’t understand “woke” culture. I myself have been guilty of this. Now, however, I’ve seen the light.
People who are “woke” tell others how they ( the others ) are wrong. For instance, The New Dork Times recently gave its opinion on Tiki Bars. These are very bad. They aren’t quite a level of Hell. However, Tiki Bars are guilty of “racial inequity and cultural appropriation”. Source: Tucker Carlson Tonight, Fox News, December 29, 2020.
Who would have known that Tiki Bars are so horrible? We must thank The New Dork Times for this information. Without it, you or I might have wandered into a Tiki Bar. Even if nothing bad happened to us, we’d be violating “woke” values. We might then fail to riot when needed, or loot Neiman Marcus. ( For food, of course. Who needs a burger at McDonalds when you can eat a designer handbag? ). We might also miss out on beating and killing awful Americans who think this country is okay, and not a shit-hole.
Yes, we must revise our view of “woke” people. They are holy. A woke person isn’t giving you his opinion. ( Or hers, as she’s committing arson. ) A “woke” person is providing you with God’s Word. Even if you aren’t getting God’s Word, you’re surely getting the Word of Joke Biden. COVID-19 didn’t come from China. Its a “European virus”, Biden tells us. Probably, COVID-19 came from those disgustingly filthy people in Sweden, who refuse to eat live bats. If you don’t understand that, then you’re a one horse pony.
You Tube’s Susan Wojkickme is “woke”. She uses “woke” words like “equity”. Then again, she may just be trendy. If “Heil Hitler” becomes popular among “woke” folk, she’ll likely be spouting that. Still, if you see her, you should thank her for her “woke” efforts. A holy person like her deserves to be asked, “May I kiss your ass?” Mark Fuckerberg is also “woke” and holy. In his case, the best way to be thankful is to inquire of him, “May I fuck your ass”? Fuckerberg will likely be thrilled.
Hopefully, we’ll all soon be “woke”. Then, nobody will have to read George Orwell’s novel, “1984”. We can just live his novel. Be seeing you.
HELP WANTED
Suave, debonair, knowledgeable American homeless man seeks relationship with young, beautiful Chinese spy. Learn which dumpsters in San Diego have the most recyclables! Find out where you can take a shit without being arrested! Get the best times for seeing little girls visiting San Diego’s Children’s Museum! ( And which bushes to jerk-off in. ) Call 1-619-fuck-now. I am a non-attorney spokesperson. This message was not paid for by the Committee to Reelect the President ( CREEP ).
Addendum: CREEP, now a bygone term, was coined in 1972. Some Google references to CREEP are incorrect. Thankfully, I kept researching this term until I confirmed that my memory of what it stood for was correct. It pays to have been alive during the period in question.
——————————————————————————————————————————
Copyright 2020 by Andrew L. Roller. ET, Editorial Thunder, and ARSE, Andrew Roller Stories and Essays, are trademarks of Andrew L. Roller.
I am https://andrewroller.wordpress.com
Earlier posts by me are at https://asstr.org/files/Authors/Roller/
I’m on paper at: https://www.abebooks.com > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
and https://www.abebooks.co.uk > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
If you visit an “AbeBooks” website, you’ll be presented with a large square “Search” box. In the box labelled “Author”, type in “Andrew Roller”. In the box labelled “Title”, type in “Andrew Roller Presents”. This will bring up some of my pamphlets. I have not yet figured out how to bring up other pamphlets by me, under other titles. I don’t recall all the titles I published under.
I have no financial involvement in these resale items.
I am on You Tube as “Andrew Roller”. Use You Tube’s magnifying glass icon to search for “Andrew Roller”. That will take you to my You Tube channel. Or, on You Tube, tap my sun icon, if you see it. That will also take you to my You Tube channel. There, you can see songs and films that I like.
At the “home page” of my You Tube channel, you’ll see just a selection of playlists that I created. To see all my playlists, tap on the phrase, “Created playlists”.
The World Wide Web address for my You Tube channel is:
https://www.youtube.com/andrewroller
If you click on this link, you’ll be taken to a World Wide Web You Tube page. Here, You Tube displays a cartoon image of a monkey. The page says, “This page isn’t available. Sorry about that. Try searching for something else.”
My advice: on this page, search for “andrew roller”. By doing so, you’ll get to my World Wide Web You Tube channel. However, I have over 100 Playlists, that I created, at my You Tube app channel. The World Wide Web version of You Tube will only serve you 15 of my Playlists.
( Hence, access You Tube via its app. The You Tube app, like the WordPress app, is available for free at the Apple App Store. )
This is ET, Editorial Thunder, issue number 58
Arcana: This is ET, Editorial Thunder, issue number 58, version 2.0
Date Written: December 30, 2020.
——————————————————————————————————————————
This has been a presentation of A R S E news.
——————————————————————————————————————————
ET 58
Editorial Thunder presents...
On “woke” Culture
——————————————————————————————————————————
Plus: On the road again.
And: Call me, Bang-Bang ( Junior ).
——————————————————————————————————————————
ON THE ROAD AGAIN
by Andrew Roller
John Lennon sang, “Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans”. I find myself in such a situation.
For now, I’m refusing to open my Google Gmail. All I ever get in it is dictates from You Tube. Its staff tells me that I, a piece of shit, have ( once again ) violated their policies. I’m also staying off of the You Tube platform. I’m sick of getting “strikes” from them, and watching their staff abuse young girls.
I’m leaving the room that I’ve lived in for a long time. My room is now called “an apartment” by my landlord, but its unchanged from past years. My rent isn’t unchanged. It has gone way up, and continues to do so, every six months.
Moving is not easy for me. That’s not because I live near San Diego’s Children’s Museum. ( Though I do see some super cute girls coming and going from there. ) Moving is hard for me because I was born long ago. That is, I was born before the internet, and Amazon Kindle. My room is stuffed with books and magazines. They fill cardboard boxes to the ceiling throughout my room. More, unboxed, are in my bathroom, by my kitchen sink, and by my room’s front door. I have about six unabridged English dictionaries by my front door.
So, it will take me awhile to move. I’m already renting two storage lockers to hold my books and magazines. One storage locker is so far away that I haven’t visited it in 19 years. I’m now going to have to rent a third storage locker. Hopefully, I’ll have enough money left over to rent a room. If you visit San Diego, and an extremely handsome guy asks you for money, give him $1,000 or so. You don’t want me to be homeless. I’ll wind up masturbating by the Children’s Museum.
The upshot is that I won’t be on the internet much. However, I’ll do what I can, including on You Tube. ( You Tube is an utterly loathsome company. In my experience, only Mark Fuckerberg’s Fakebook is worse. )
ON “WOKE” CULTURE
I watch Fox news a lot. Sadly, the people on Fox don’t understand “woke” culture. I myself have been guilty of this. Now, however, I’ve seen the light.
People who are “woke” tell others how they ( the others ) are wrong. For instance, The New Dork Times recently gave its opinion on Tiki Bars. These are very bad. They aren’t quite a level of Hell. However, Tiki Bars are guilty of “racial inequity and cultural appropriation”. Source: Tucker Carlson Tonight, Fox News, December 29, 2020.
Who would have known that Tiki Bars are so horrible? We must thank The New Dork Times for this information. Without it, you or I might have wandered into a Tiki Bar. Even if nothing bad happened to us, we’d be violating “woke” values. We might then fail to riot when needed, or loot Neiman Marcus. ( For food, of course. Who needs a burger at McDonalds when you can eat a designer handbag? ). We might also miss out on beating and killing awful Americans who think this country is okay, and not a shit-hole.
Yes, we must revise our view of “woke” people. They are holy. A woke person isn’t giving you his opinion. ( Or hers, as she’s committing arson. ) A “woke” person is providing you with God’s Word. Even if you aren’t getting God’s Word, you’re surely getting the Word of Joke Biden. COVID-19 didn’t come from China. Its a “European virus”, Biden tells us. Probably, COVID-19 came from those disgustingly filthy people in Sweden, who refuse to eat live bats. If you don’t understand that, then you’re a one horse pony.
You Tube’s Susan Wojkickme is “woke”. She uses “woke” words like “equity”. Then again, she may just be trendy. If “Heil Hitler” becomes popular among “woke” folk, she’ll likely be spouting that. Still, if you see her, you should thank her for her “woke” efforts. A holy person like her deserves to be asked, “May I kiss your ass?” Mark Fuckerberg is also “woke” and holy. In his case, the best way to be thankful is to inquire of him, “May I fuck your ass”? Fuckerberg will likely be thrilled.
Hopefully, we’ll all soon be “woke”. Then, nobody will have to read George Orwell’s novel, “1984”. We can just live his novel. Be seeing you.
HELP WANTED
Suave, debonair, knowledgeable American homeless man seeks relationship with young, beautiful Chinese spy. Learn which dumpsters in San Diego have the most recyclables! Find out where you can take a shit without being arrested! Get the best times for seeing little girls visiting San Diego’s Children’s Museum! ( And which bushes to jerk-off in. ) Call 1-619-fuck-now. I am a non-attorney spokesperson. This message was not paid for by the Committee to Reelect the President ( CREEP ).
Addendum: CREEP, now a bygone term, was coined in 1972. Some Google references to CREEP are incorrect. Thankfully, I kept researching this term until I confirmed that my memory of what it stood for was correct. It pays to have been alive during the period in question.
——————————————————————————————————————————
Copyright 2020 by Andrew L. Roller. ET, Editorial Thunder, and ARSE, Andrew Roller Stories and Essays, are trademarks of Andrew L. Roller.
I am https://andrewroller.wordpress.com
Earlier posts by me are at https://asstr.org/files/Authors/Roller/
I’m on paper at: https://www.abebooks.com > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
and https://www.abebooks.co.uk > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
If you visit an “AbeBooks” website, you’ll be presented with a large square “Search” box. In the box labelled “Author”, type in “Andrew Roller”. In the box labelled “Title”, type in “Andrew Roller Presents”. This will bring up some of my pamphlets. I have not yet figured out how to bring up other pamphlets by me, under other titles. I don’t recall all the titles I published under.
I have no financial involvement in these resale items.
I am on You Tube as “Andrew Roller”. Use You Tube’s magnifying glass icon to search for “Andrew Roller”. That will take you to my You Tube channel. Or, on You Tube, tap my sun icon, if you see it. That will also take you to my You Tube channel. There, you can see songs and films that I like.
At the “home page” of my You Tube channel, you’ll see just a selection of playlists that I created. To see all my playlists, tap on the phrase, “Created playlists”.
The World Wide Web address for my You Tube channel is:
https://www.youtube.com/andrewroller
If you click on this link, you’ll be taken to a World Wide Web You Tube page. Here, You Tube displays a cartoon image of a monkey. The page says, “This page isn’t available. Sorry about that. Try searching for something else.”
My advice: on this page, search for “andrew roller”. By doing so, you’ll get to my World Wide Web You Tube channel. However, I have over 100 Playlists, that I created, at my You Tube app channel. The World Wide Web version of You Tube will only serve you 15 of my Playlists.
( Hence, access You Tube via its app. The You Tube app, like the WordPress app, is available for free at the Apple App Store. )
This is ET, Editorial Thunder, issue number 58
Arcana: This is ET, Editorial Thunder, issue number 58, version 2.0
Date Written: December 30, 2020.
——————————————————————————————————————————
This has been a presentation of A R S E news.
——————————————————————————————————————————
Pornhub and “Child Pornography”
-—————————————————————————————————————————
ET 57
Editorial Thunder presents...
Pornhub and “Child Pornography”
——————————————————————————————————————————
Plus: The odium attending Wojkickme.
And: Life after You Tube.
——————————————————————————————————————————
PORNHUB AND “CHILD PORNOGRAPHY”
Fake news from Laura Ingrate.
by Andrew Roller
Is the website pornhub ( dot ) com “disgusting”? According to Laura Ingrate, of Fox News, it is. ( The Ingrate Angle, December 7, 2020 ).
I don’t consider the Christmas season disgusting. I do hate it. Why? In a normal year, which this year ( in fact ) is, the Christmas season is a dead zone. It’s not a Stephen King dead zone. The Christmas season is a dead zone for news.
From Thanksgiving into the new year, there is no news. For instance, President Donald Trump says little now, since he soon won’t be president. Don’t expect President-Elect Joe Biden to say much, now or ever. At his present age, his mind is a dead zone. The United States Congress is doing little, and will soon be on Christmas recess, like schoolgirls everywhere. It doesn’t appear that anyone will be making news by starting a war.
So, what’s an ingrate to do? Especially one who has to shoot off her mouth five nights a week? Laura Ingrate’s answer is to traffic in specious news stories. She revisited the film “Cuties” the other night. “Cuties” is a film about 11-year-old female dancers. Since it is likely to receive ( yet more ) theatrical awards, Ingrate was upset.
Tonight, Ingrate is upset about Pornhub. She claims that it offers videos that can be classified as “child pornography”. She also claims that Pornhub features videos of women being raped.
Ingrate is riffing off a story by someone named Nicholas. I guess Nicholas is Ingrate’s version of “Saint Nick”, i.e. Santa Claus. Nicholas Jerkoff wrote a story about Pornhub for a newspaper. Specifically, “Saint Nick” wrote his story for the New York Toilet Paper Times. The paper is an infamous anti-Trump screed.
Ingrate’s guest, on the subject of Pornhub, was a woman. The woman was the source for Nicholas Jerkoff’s story.
Boxes of books block my television. As a result, I’m unable to see my T.V.’s screen. I use my T.V. as a radio. I listened to Ingrate’s guest. She’s just what you’d expect.
I recall the 1980’s ‘movement’ called “Enough is Enough”. Some lady who’d once been a beauty queen and a state governor’s lover decided that she was against so-called “pornography” ( i.e. Playboy magazine. ) The lady didn’t decide that she was against pornography when she was young and beautiful. She didn’t oppose porn when lots of men were taking an interest in her. She decided she didn’t like porn when she was getting old.
The woman wasn’t too old to study history or science, or lead a productive life. She simply wasn’t attracting as much male attention as she had when she was younger. Hence, she decided she hated “porn”, that is, art involving young, beautiful women.
Laura’s guest, in my opinion, is traveling along the same ideological path. I hasten to add that I have no idea what Laura’s guest looks like. I simply listened to her, and took notes. I’ll add that I’m speaking of “Enough is Enough”, and its frontwoman, from memory. If I’ve mischaracterized her, its unintentional.
So, the perfectly respectable site Pornhub is allegedly “infested” with so-called “child pornography” and rape videos, according to Ingrate’s guest. Also, according to her, a video of a 9-year-old girl being “sexually abused” circulates on Pornhub. Ingrate speaks of Pornhub as being involved in “the sexual exploitation of children”. She claims there is a “movement” ( that is, her guest ) to shut Pornhub down.
Pornhub is owned by a company called MindGeek. Run by the Mafia, it shelters in a little known island in the southern Pacific Ocean. The island is ruled by a ruthless dictator.
You might want to know the dictator’s name. It’s Justin Trudeau. That’s right: MindGeek is, in fact, a legitimate company, based in Canada. Canada is an Anglo-Saxon country. All the Anglo-Saxon countries are wretchedly prudish on the subject of so-called “child pornography”. The likelihood of Pornhub having so-called “child porn” videos is nil.
That, anyway, is my opinion. I’ve been on Pornhub a number of times. It’s probably the best online porn site. However, Pornhub is always trying to get me to pay them money. Hence, I prefer xhamster ( dot ) com, and xvideos ( dot ) com.
It is possible to obtain free videos at Pornhub. Simply make a screen recording of the video that you want. However, that means you have to sit and watch the entire video. I don’t like having to do that. ( If, however, I was a teenager, I’d probably live on Pornhub. )
I’m limiting my reporting of this story to The Ingrate Angle’s coverage of it. The story doesn’t interest me enough for me to rampage around the internet trying to do a complete rundown. Laura Ingrate promises more installments on this subject in the future.
Also, I don’t agree with contemporary United States laws regarding so-called “child sexual abuse”, and “child pornography”. I’m in the quandary of a Jew in Nazi Germany. How much anti-Jew propaganda can a Jew among Nazis stomach? I’ve long had my fill of America’s anti-pedophile bile.
Addendum: Laura Ingrate is known to some as Laura Ingraham. ( With the emphasis on “ham”. ) Nicholas Jerkoff is knowns to some as Nicholas Kristof.
AND IN THE END...
This issue of Editorial Thunder covers just one topic. Probably, I could add more subjects to this issue. All I need to do is open my Google Gmail account, and see how You Tube is screwing me.
Or, I could visit You Tube ( if that’s still possible for me ), and see how You Tube is screwing its young female customers.
However, I now check my Gmail once a week. I visit You Tube about once a week too. You Tube is a vile company. “The buck stops here”, Harry Truman said, of his responsibility for America’s actions. Susan Wojkickme is the Chief Executive Officer of You Tube. Hence, since You Tube is a vile company, she’s a vile human being. You Tube’s treatment of its young female customers has been atrocious. While I’ll likely be banned from You Tube, I’m proud that I was able to document some of You Tube’s abuses. Given the longevity of text in history, my reporting on You Tube will likely outlive the company.
Note: Susan Wojkickme is known to some as Susan Wojcicki. Given that she’s part Polish, her company’s treatment of Polish girl Julia Majewska was especially reprehensible.
LIFE AFTER YOU TUBE
If you get banned from You Tube, you can find fine educational content right on your Apple iPhone or iPad. The content is free. It’s at iTunes U. iTunes U contains lectures by college professors. iTunes U is completely separate from iTunes.
“Podcasts” is an app on your iPhone and iPad. There, if you choose the menu option “Browse”, you’ll see a lot of crap. ( In my opinion. ) However, scroll down in “Browse”. Look for the option called “Categories”. In “Categories”, tap “See All”. Under “See All”, find “History” and “Science”.
I’m currently working my way through the “History” section. “Emperors of Rome” is an outstanding podcast. Next, try “Antiquitas”. Its host, Barry Strauss, is a highly regarded author.
As for beautiful girls, I’m planning to try TikTok. I first encountered TikTok in the summer of 2019. Booting up the program, I was presented with a photo of a stunningly lovely blonde. She was about 13 years old. I didn’t know it was possible to take a screen shot of her. So, I left TikTok untouched. That is, I left it alone, except to visit my fabulous photo of the blonde. I figured if I didn’t fool with the TikTok app, the blonde would remain forever.
Of course, she didn’t. TikTok updated its home page. The blonde vanished. I was furious. I was so upset that I deleted the TikTok program from my iPad. Now, I guess I’ll go about stalking the blonde. Sadly, if I find her, she’ll be older. Then again, maybe she’ll have a little sister. After all, there’s Barbie - and then there’s Skipper! ( The original versions, of course! ) ( Barbie was allegedly inspired by a German sex doll. That era was one when men were men. )
Addendum: I guess I managed to squeeze three topics into this issue of Editorial Thunder. After all, there’s Barbie, Skipper, and Tutti!
WORDS OF WISDOM
“No, I don’t know how to act my age. I’ve never been this old before.”
- Verbiage on a greeting card.
——————————————————————————————————————————
Copyright 2020 by Andrew L. Roller. ET, Editorial Thunder, and ARSE, Andrew Roller Stories and Essays, are trademarks of Andrew L. Roller.
I am https://andrewroller.wordpress.com
Earlier posts by me are at https://asstr.org/files/Authors/Roller/
I’m on paper at: https://www.abebooks.com > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
and https://www.abebooks.co.uk > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
If you visit an “AbeBooks” website, you’ll be presented with a large square “Search” box. In the box labelled “Author”, type in “Andrew Roller”. In the box labelled “Title”, type in “Andrew Roller Presents”. This will bring up some of my pamphlets. I have not yet figured out how to bring up other pamphlets by me, under other titles. I don’t recall all the titles I published under.
I have no financial involvement in these resale items.
I am on You Tube as “Andrew Roller”. Use You Tube’s magnifying glass icon to search for “Andrew Roller”. That will take you to my You Tube channel. Or, on You Tube, tap my sun icon, if you see it. That will also take you to my You Tube channel. There, you can see songs and films that I like.
At the “home page” of my You Tube channel, you’ll see just a selection of playlists that I created. To see all my playlists, tap on the phrase, “Created playlists”.
The World Wide Web address for my You Tube channel is:
https://www.youtube.com/andrewroller
If you click on this link, you’ll be taken to a World Wide Web You Tube page. Here, You Tube displays a cartoon image of a monkey. The page says, “This page isn’t available. Sorry about that. Try searching for something else.”
My advice: on this page, search for “andrew roller”. By doing so, you’ll get to my World Wide Web You Tube channel. However, I have over 100 Playlists, that I created, at my You Tube app channel. The World Wide Web version of You Tube will only serve you 15 of my Playlists.
( Hence, access You Tube via its app. The You Tube app, like the WordPress app, is available for free at the Apple App Store. )
This is ET, Editorial Thunder, issue number 57
Arcana: This is ET, Editorial Thunder, issue number 57, version 2.0
Date Written: December 8, 2020.
——————————————————————————————————————————
This has been a presentation of A R S E news.
——————————————————————————————————————————
ET 57
Editorial Thunder presents...
Pornhub and “Child Pornography”
——————————————————————————————————————————
Plus: The odium attending Wojkickme.
And: Life after You Tube.
——————————————————————————————————————————
PORNHUB AND “CHILD PORNOGRAPHY”
Fake news from Laura Ingrate.
by Andrew Roller
Is the website pornhub ( dot ) com “disgusting”? According to Laura Ingrate, of Fox News, it is. ( The Ingrate Angle, December 7, 2020 ).
I don’t consider the Christmas season disgusting. I do hate it. Why? In a normal year, which this year ( in fact ) is, the Christmas season is a dead zone. It’s not a Stephen King dead zone. The Christmas season is a dead zone for news.
From Thanksgiving into the new year, there is no news. For instance, President Donald Trump says little now, since he soon won’t be president. Don’t expect President-Elect Joe Biden to say much, now or ever. At his present age, his mind is a dead zone. The United States Congress is doing little, and will soon be on Christmas recess, like schoolgirls everywhere. It doesn’t appear that anyone will be making news by starting a war.
So, what’s an ingrate to do? Especially one who has to shoot off her mouth five nights a week? Laura Ingrate’s answer is to traffic in specious news stories. She revisited the film “Cuties” the other night. “Cuties” is a film about 11-year-old female dancers. Since it is likely to receive ( yet more ) theatrical awards, Ingrate was upset.
Tonight, Ingrate is upset about Pornhub. She claims that it offers videos that can be classified as “child pornography”. She also claims that Pornhub features videos of women being raped.
Ingrate is riffing off a story by someone named Nicholas. I guess Nicholas is Ingrate’s version of “Saint Nick”, i.e. Santa Claus. Nicholas Jerkoff wrote a story about Pornhub for a newspaper. Specifically, “Saint Nick” wrote his story for the New York Toilet Paper Times. The paper is an infamous anti-Trump screed.
Ingrate’s guest, on the subject of Pornhub, was a woman. The woman was the source for Nicholas Jerkoff’s story.
Boxes of books block my television. As a result, I’m unable to see my T.V.’s screen. I use my T.V. as a radio. I listened to Ingrate’s guest. She’s just what you’d expect.
I recall the 1980’s ‘movement’ called “Enough is Enough”. Some lady who’d once been a beauty queen and a state governor’s lover decided that she was against so-called “pornography” ( i.e. Playboy magazine. ) The lady didn’t decide that she was against pornography when she was young and beautiful. She didn’t oppose porn when lots of men were taking an interest in her. She decided she didn’t like porn when she was getting old.
The woman wasn’t too old to study history or science, or lead a productive life. She simply wasn’t attracting as much male attention as she had when she was younger. Hence, she decided she hated “porn”, that is, art involving young, beautiful women.
Laura’s guest, in my opinion, is traveling along the same ideological path. I hasten to add that I have no idea what Laura’s guest looks like. I simply listened to her, and took notes. I’ll add that I’m speaking of “Enough is Enough”, and its frontwoman, from memory. If I’ve mischaracterized her, its unintentional.
So, the perfectly respectable site Pornhub is allegedly “infested” with so-called “child pornography” and rape videos, according to Ingrate’s guest. Also, according to her, a video of a 9-year-old girl being “sexually abused” circulates on Pornhub. Ingrate speaks of Pornhub as being involved in “the sexual exploitation of children”. She claims there is a “movement” ( that is, her guest ) to shut Pornhub down.
Pornhub is owned by a company called MindGeek. Run by the Mafia, it shelters in a little known island in the southern Pacific Ocean. The island is ruled by a ruthless dictator.
You might want to know the dictator’s name. It’s Justin Trudeau. That’s right: MindGeek is, in fact, a legitimate company, based in Canada. Canada is an Anglo-Saxon country. All the Anglo-Saxon countries are wretchedly prudish on the subject of so-called “child pornography”. The likelihood of Pornhub having so-called “child porn” videos is nil.
That, anyway, is my opinion. I’ve been on Pornhub a number of times. It’s probably the best online porn site. However, Pornhub is always trying to get me to pay them money. Hence, I prefer xhamster ( dot ) com, and xvideos ( dot ) com.
It is possible to obtain free videos at Pornhub. Simply make a screen recording of the video that you want. However, that means you have to sit and watch the entire video. I don’t like having to do that. ( If, however, I was a teenager, I’d probably live on Pornhub. )
I’m limiting my reporting of this story to The Ingrate Angle’s coverage of it. The story doesn’t interest me enough for me to rampage around the internet trying to do a complete rundown. Laura Ingrate promises more installments on this subject in the future.
Also, I don’t agree with contemporary United States laws regarding so-called “child sexual abuse”, and “child pornography”. I’m in the quandary of a Jew in Nazi Germany. How much anti-Jew propaganda can a Jew among Nazis stomach? I’ve long had my fill of America’s anti-pedophile bile.
Addendum: Laura Ingrate is known to some as Laura Ingraham. ( With the emphasis on “ham”. ) Nicholas Jerkoff is knowns to some as Nicholas Kristof.
AND IN THE END...
This issue of Editorial Thunder covers just one topic. Probably, I could add more subjects to this issue. All I need to do is open my Google Gmail account, and see how You Tube is screwing me.
Or, I could visit You Tube ( if that’s still possible for me ), and see how You Tube is screwing its young female customers.
However, I now check my Gmail once a week. I visit You Tube about once a week too. You Tube is a vile company. “The buck stops here”, Harry Truman said, of his responsibility for America’s actions. Susan Wojkickme is the Chief Executive Officer of You Tube. Hence, since You Tube is a vile company, she’s a vile human being. You Tube’s treatment of its young female customers has been atrocious. While I’ll likely be banned from You Tube, I’m proud that I was able to document some of You Tube’s abuses. Given the longevity of text in history, my reporting on You Tube will likely outlive the company.
Note: Susan Wojkickme is known to some as Susan Wojcicki. Given that she’s part Polish, her company’s treatment of Polish girl Julia Majewska was especially reprehensible.
LIFE AFTER YOU TUBE
If you get banned from You Tube, you can find fine educational content right on your Apple iPhone or iPad. The content is free. It’s at iTunes U. iTunes U contains lectures by college professors. iTunes U is completely separate from iTunes.
“Podcasts” is an app on your iPhone and iPad. There, if you choose the menu option “Browse”, you’ll see a lot of crap. ( In my opinion. ) However, scroll down in “Browse”. Look for the option called “Categories”. In “Categories”, tap “See All”. Under “See All”, find “History” and “Science”.
I’m currently working my way through the “History” section. “Emperors of Rome” is an outstanding podcast. Next, try “Antiquitas”. Its host, Barry Strauss, is a highly regarded author.
As for beautiful girls, I’m planning to try TikTok. I first encountered TikTok in the summer of 2019. Booting up the program, I was presented with a photo of a stunningly lovely blonde. She was about 13 years old. I didn’t know it was possible to take a screen shot of her. So, I left TikTok untouched. That is, I left it alone, except to visit my fabulous photo of the blonde. I figured if I didn’t fool with the TikTok app, the blonde would remain forever.
Of course, she didn’t. TikTok updated its home page. The blonde vanished. I was furious. I was so upset that I deleted the TikTok program from my iPad. Now, I guess I’ll go about stalking the blonde. Sadly, if I find her, she’ll be older. Then again, maybe she’ll have a little sister. After all, there’s Barbie - and then there’s Skipper! ( The original versions, of course! ) ( Barbie was allegedly inspired by a German sex doll. That era was one when men were men. )
Addendum: I guess I managed to squeeze three topics into this issue of Editorial Thunder. After all, there’s Barbie, Skipper, and Tutti!
WORDS OF WISDOM
“No, I don’t know how to act my age. I’ve never been this old before.”
- Verbiage on a greeting card.
——————————————————————————————————————————
Copyright 2020 by Andrew L. Roller. ET, Editorial Thunder, and ARSE, Andrew Roller Stories and Essays, are trademarks of Andrew L. Roller.
I am https://andrewroller.wordpress.com
Earlier posts by me are at https://asstr.org/files/Authors/Roller/
I’m on paper at: https://www.abebooks.com > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
and https://www.abebooks.co.uk > AbeBooks > Roller, Andrew
If you visit an “AbeBooks” website, you’ll be presented with a large square “Search” box. In the box labelled “Author”, type in “Andrew Roller”. In the box labelled “Title”, type in “Andrew Roller Presents”. This will bring up some of my pamphlets. I have not yet figured out how to bring up other pamphlets by me, under other titles. I don’t recall all the titles I published under.
I have no financial involvement in these resale items.
I am on You Tube as “Andrew Roller”. Use You Tube’s magnifying glass icon to search for “Andrew Roller”. That will take you to my You Tube channel. Or, on You Tube, tap my sun icon, if you see it. That will also take you to my You Tube channel. There, you can see songs and films that I like.
At the “home page” of my You Tube channel, you’ll see just a selection of playlists that I created. To see all my playlists, tap on the phrase, “Created playlists”.
The World Wide Web address for my You Tube channel is:
https://www.youtube.com/andrewroller
If you click on this link, you’ll be taken to a World Wide Web You Tube page. Here, You Tube displays a cartoon image of a monkey. The page says, “This page isn’t available. Sorry about that. Try searching for something else.”
My advice: on this page, search for “andrew roller”. By doing so, you’ll get to my World Wide Web You Tube channel. However, I have over 100 Playlists, that I created, at my You Tube app channel. The World Wide Web version of You Tube will only serve you 15 of my Playlists.
( Hence, access You Tube via its app. The You Tube app, like the WordPress app, is available for free at the Apple App Store. )
This is ET, Editorial Thunder, issue number 57
Arcana: This is ET, Editorial Thunder, issue number 57, version 2.0
Date Written: December 8, 2020.
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This has been a presentation of A R S E news.
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