Why I Got Headaches After Sex with My Ex

After having sex with an ex, I'd usually get a screaming headache, and I never could figure out why. There was nothing weird, kinky, disrespectful or overly-strenuous going on, and it never happened with anyone else. In fact, sex with anyone else would cure a headache. It wasn't from being hungover or anything like that. There was no apparent reason for it, and it blew my mind, literally. 

 Turns out she was a narcissist, the worst kind, but at the time I didn't know that, or what narcissism was for that matter. She'd try to tell me bullshit like I'd gotten dehydrated, but that was stupid, because hydration is my thing, and she knew that.

 Then she'd try to tell me that it was a blood-pressure deal, but that was stupid too. It just goes to show that most narcissists aren't very bright, but they excel at bullshitting. After I'd ignore what she said, I'd try to figure it out, but I never could. I just knew it wasn't normal. 

 When I learned about narcissism, it dovetailed into my belief that God and the Devil are real. I think narcissists are possessed by demons, some or all of the time. If the Devil is real, then his ways fit the clinical definition of narcissism perfectly. That's interesting. Now I know why I got headaches after sex. I was fucking a demon.
 

Quote (and Reply) of the Day

"Money ain't never made no man happy, no kinda way." - Festus Haggen

"Yeah, but some of 'em never learn that." - Marshall Dillon
 

Quote of the Day

"Killing a human being with an untested treatment...it's unconscionable." - a researcher in the TV series Helix 
 

Humor?

Like most kids of my generation, I grew up on the original Star Trek series, and I was a huge fan of Mr. Spock. Of course I wasn't aware of Leonard Nimoy before the show, but he had an extensive career before Star Trek, which went all the way back to the days of black and white TV. 

 Years after the series ended, on TV anyway, I started seeing him in several old TV shows, including Wagon Train. It was a trip to see him in black and white, and with normal ears. My mom wasn't a big Trekkie, so I was surprised one day when we were watching an episode of Wagon Train that he was in, and she knew who he was. 

 She said "Isn't that Doctor Spock, from Star Trek?" I told her that it was "Mister" instead of "Doctor," but I was duly impressed that she knew him at all. Earlier today we saw him in an episode of WT. He was playing a gunslinger, dressed in black. When he first appeared onscreen, she asked "Is that our buddy Leonard?" "Yeah" I replied. "He was a cowboy before he was a spaceman." Is that even funny? I can't tell any more. 
 

 

Band Stories: "Pennies from Heaven" (rewritten)

This took place when I was playing in my main touring band. Every club and frat house was different, and after we'd played a place a few times, certain things were repeated, and became trademarks for the place. It's stories like this that really make learning music worthwhile, and make me want to finally write that book about our experiences in the Bud Greene band. 

 For bands out travelling the country playing music, one thing that I think is critically overlooked, and extremely ironic, considering the fact that playing music is always regarded as fun, is the inability to have fun, in constructive ways that is. Not all "fun" is the same.

 For a bunch of guys playing music four or five nights a week, travelling thousands of miles in a van and spending hours and hours in motel rooms, being able to entertain yourselves in a reasonably sane and healthy way is paramount. So many bands actually don't know how to do that, and the result can be excess drinkin' and druggin'. Showing up for the gig already wasted, because you got bored, is very counterproductive. Even if just one guy is wasted, it makes the whole band look stupid. It's kid stuff. 

 We called it "HUWS,' or "Hurry-Up-and-Wait Syndrome." Say you're playing out of town. If you're smart, you'll get there early, in case something goes wrong, and most times that means you'll have some time to kill. You've gotten rooms, set up your gear, soundchecked, eaten dinner, smoked a bowl, and now you might have two or three hours to wait before showtime. The problem isn't really the time, it's that fact that you're prematurely jacked-up.

 You know you have a gig coming up, so you get pumped, except that there's still a good way to go before you play. Your body's full of Adrenaline that has nowhere to go, without mitigation. You can get jittery or anxious, when you should be fairly calm. You need to blow-off some steam. What are you going to do...sit around the motel room looking at a bunch of other clowns? Maybe talk about the weather? I've seen far too many bands just hit the bottle in those situations. We felt that doing things like removing the Gideon's Bible from the top dresser drawer, tossing bottle rockets in and closing the drawer was way more fun, and smarter, than drinking, so we usually at least started the gig sober. 

 Since I never touched a drop of alcohol either before or during a gig, I had to work overtime coming up with fun shit to do. For most of the time of the band, I carried around an "anti-boredom" kit. It was a backpack or suitcase filled with things like magazines, cards, games, toys, glow-in-the-dark stuff, electronic toys and doodads, and fireworks...lots of fireworks. Fireworks were our #1 remedy for boredom, and we shot them everywhere we possibly could, including some places where you shouldn't shoot fireworks, like onstage, in motel rooms and wherever else that wasn't always appropriate.

 During gigs, my buddy and keyboardist O' could drink epic amounts of alcohol and still function, but I stuck with spring water. A little reefer was okay though, and on any given break, taking a puffy-puff or two was a great way to have a bit of fun without drinking, but I always wanted to up the game, so I tried to find fun things to do, in 15 minutes or so, after I'd had a puffy-puff. Although we came up with stuff that we repeated at clubs and parties all over the country, this activity was limited to a single bar. We came up with a little game we called "Pennies from Heaven."

 I can't recall the name of the place, even though we played there a million times, but it had been a movie theater. The bar was in front, in the former lobby, and the band played in back in the former theater. It had a high ceiling, maybe 20', with massive curtains on the wall, which made for some good acoustics. They'd removed the seats and put in a stage, I think maybe a dancefloor, and added some tables. A catwalk circled the room, about 5' below the ceiling. It was pretty dark, especially above the stage. Some of the stage lights were hung from below it, and if you looked up, you couldn't really see beyond the lights. It was perfect. 

 The crowd would migrate between the theater when we were playing, to the bar section when we took a break. They played really loud music in the bar area, but with all the curtains, the theater area was quiet, so anyone who wanted to have a nice, quiet conversation would grab a table in the theater. There were always a few couples, sharing their thoughts over a beverage. Poor things.

 O' and I would carefully walk out onto the catwalk, position ourselves over the drum kit, try to stifle laughter, and get comfortable. Oh, and we'd have a pocketful of pennies. We'd take turns dropping pennies onto the drums. The sound of pennies hitting drums and cymbals from about 15' was surprisingly loud, clear and quite startling. It made an "almighty clatter," as Bill Bruford would say. The first hit was always the killer, since nobody was ready for it and it scared the shit out of all the loving couples, but of course we didn't stop at one. We'd wait a minute or two, and then drop another one. 

 The patrons' reactions were priceless, and honestly, I hope they all left with dry underwear, because to hear a loud drum hit or cymbal crash without warning is pretty harsh, not to mention looking up at the stage, expecting to see the drummer but there's nobody behind the kit. That had to be crazy for those people, bless their hearts.At the first hit, they'd snap their heads around and stare in confusion at an unoccupied drum kit. 

 It was more than just a couple of assholes making loud noises and scaring the shit out of people who'd done nothing to us, and in fact had paid good money to come see us...we made it into a game of skill. With the various angles of the drums and cymbals, and the downward slope going around the toms, down to the floor tom and finally the bass drum, it was possible to hit more than one drum with a single penny. 

 For instance, I remember that if you dropped a penny in just the right spot on the Ride cymbal, it would bounce from there to the first tom, and sometimes on to the snare or the other toms. I'm pretty sure the most hits from one penny that we ever got was five, and that was rare. Since the head of the bass drum was parallel to the line of flight of the penny and hard to hit, we'd get bonus points for nailing it. Sometimes we'd spin the pennies, and a couple of times they'd land on the snare drum, still spinning, and emulate a perfect buzz-roll. It was beautiful, and we'd usually give ourselves away by laughing when it happened. 

 After the loving couples got over the initial shock of the hit, and did an underwear check, they'd try to figure out what was going on. They'd looooook at the drums, and they'd looooooook around the stage and around the room, and finally they'd loooooook toward the ceiling, but with the lights shining down, all they saw was darkness. We could see them, but they couldn't see us. It was like being on the fun side of a two-way mirror. How could we possibly resist such an opportunity? 

 Yes, we were juvenile assholes, but for us it was much better than hitting the stage wasted, for lack of anything fun to do besides drinking. Obviously most people figured out what was going on, even though they never saw us, but from the looks on a few people's faces, and an overheard conversation or two, not everyone did. Once we heard one girl say to her date, "Umm...is this place supposed to be haunted?"

 We had to put our hands over our mouths to keep from losing it laughing. I almost let out a big "BWOOOOHAAAHAA" but I didn't want to scare her off for good, because she was fine. Maybe we started a legend there..."I think that place is haunted, and the ghost plays drums." Several of our antics in that band became legend, and one such incident, the "gas-main affair," was even featured in a bestseller called "On Fire," by author Larry Brown, a former firefighter in Oxford, Mississippi, where the incident took place. Maybe the "drumming ghost" became another legend. I hope so. 

 Music is sacred, and I've been incredibly blessed to be able to not only play music all over the place, but to make a very good living at times. I always say that I'd do it all over again just for the women, and also for the little peripherals like this...the adventures. I couldn't have dreamed of a better time than playing music. "Pennies from Heaven" was a hell of a lot of fun, and it never got old. Good times.
 

Mocking God

One night some years back, my ex asked how I'd describe Satanism. I said that it was an inversion of Christianity. Of course there's lots more that goes with that, but that's the bottom line. Hence the upside-down cross. This image is from a recent Mercyful Fate concert in Poland. I have to say that, whether or not I like these guys, it's good to see live music again, if only for a while, and as long as you can show that you've done the "Hokey-Pokey."

 This cross held pride-of-place in their stage show. The show started with the stage dark of course, and the first thing that happened, before a note of music was played, was that the cross lit up. Right off the bat, get that message out...mock Christ. It's more important than the band itself, but that's how they roll. They have to play the game by the rules if they sign up for it. They have no choice in the matter. Satan first...incidental shit later. 

 Sure enough, cheers erupted from the crowd when the cross was lit, but it actually wasn't as big as I was expecting. It gave a little bit of hope for those lost souls, and I swear I could feel the energy of a few people in the audience, who were thinking: "Maybe this isn't right." Bingo.

 To me this stuff begs the question that if God isn't real, then why the mockery? Why? Most people don't believe in the Easter Bunny, but we don't go around mocking it. Further, why don't we ever mock other religious figures like "Bu," or "Mo" or "Al?" I think we know why...because it's forbidden. Again, why? 

If you put a little statue of Mo in a jar of pee, you'd be called every name in the book and ostracized by everyone, if not worse, but if you do the same thing with a statue of Jesus, you win first place in an art exhibit. It's true. Why? Try mocking Al, and they'll order a hit on your ass, and they're not kidding. Just ask Salmon Rushdie. 

 If the Good Book is true, and again, it either is or it isn't- a 50-50 chance, then this shit is all par for the course, and it's only going to ramp-up, like everything else in the world (hint, hint), and it will only get worse until our guy shows up. There won't be any mockery then. There may be a dash of regret, but no mockery. So, mock-on folks. It's destiny. Speaking of...what will yours be? Have a nice day. 

 

Retrieving Deleted Data

Some years back I learned that deleted files can be retrieved from memory devices, mainly used in court cases, and supposedly needing specialized forensic equipment. I don't know how the Cloud stuff may or may not change this, but that's another deal. 

 I'm no expert on data storage (or anything else for that matter), but I do know that it's gotten thousands of times smaller, cheaper and more sophisticated over the decades, and that the SD card works like the cathode ray tube, like those in old analog TV sets, which is utterly fascinating. 

 I got to pondering on how it works. I Googled it, but only found one article relating to the process that law enforcement uses. It was titled something like: "How do Police Retrieve Deleted Files?" Of course they didn't really say how it works, just that it does. I didn't expect to find anything, but I tried. Basically they wrote an entire article just to tell us what we already knew, and that they had some really cool and really expensive shit to retrieve the data. 

 The article basically stated obvious things, like how doing bad things online is bad, and that deleted files can indeed be retrieved, and used against the bad guys. We got it. The gist of the article pretty much was "Well, it's a bitch, but we can do it." Okay then. Seeing as how the article was non-information, I was forced to try and figure it out on my own.

 Right away I'd assume that SD cards and other storage devices have way more storage capacity than is stated. Either that, or each unit of storage can hold more data that they say, but it's probably the former. I'm assuming that the files are compressed, or made smaller, which decreases resolution but allows more data to be stored in the same amount of space. Even so, there has to be storage space, and unless something else is at work, it indicates that there should be a good bit more storage space than is stated. 

 If it's "something else," then what could it be...some technology we're not aware of? It couldn't be some variation of the "Cloud," unless an SD card could send and receive signals. Maybe it has its own teeny-tiny WiFi unit, with an even teeny-tinier sticker that says "WiFi Inside." Who knows...I wouldn't be too surprised at anything these days. Does the data leave something like a "digital footprint" or a "shadow" of itself, and the deleted data can be reconstituted from that? Is it some sort of strange magic? Elephino, but it still has to be stored, and that takes storage space.

 I'm not positive, but I think that when they hook up a phone to retrieve deleted files, they hook up the phone with the card inside, rather than just the card, although I'm guessing they can do that too. I guess the phone is like what a CD player is to a CD- just a way to "play" the media. In other words if there is extra storage space, I wouldn't think it's on the device, plus I'm sure the phone is damaged sometimes, and then it's like the Black Box in a plane...you don't need the whole plane just to read the Box, and that's usually a good thing. Man, I say stupid shit sometimes, but I'm just trying to look at all angles.

 So what is the mysterious mechanism at work here? Is it simply extra storage space, which is the obvious answer, or is it some technology we don't know about? It's all like magic to me anyway...the idea of having something akin to a microscopic analog TV inside of a tiny SD card blows my feeble mind. If it's just extra storage space, then technically they're not lying, because we still get to use all of the listed storage space, and I guess there's no need to say "64gb for you, 128gb for us." Interesting. Maybe I'll search again, because I'd really like to know how it works. Don't do bad things online. 

The Numbers Game: Total Score 6660

More triple sixes. I love it. This was my final score in this game, but in the end it was a losing score, as I lost the game. How apropos. 
 

The Pedo Files: How to Ruin Your Life

Right about now, this guy here, Bo I think is his name, is probably recovering from the mother of all hangovers, and getting a taste of what it's like to completely destroy your life, for the foreseeable future anyway. This image is from a livestream yesterday, where he was confronted by a dude and two women, instead of the underage girl he thought he was meeting. Oops.

 What a difference a day makes. 24 hours or so ago, he was on top of the world. He's on the Ball State football team; he has (or had, hopefully) a stunningly-beautiful girlfriend of three years, and he's in training to be a cop. I'm pretty sure he can kiss that dream goodbye, and I hope his woman has the sense to split.

 It just goes to show how strong the compulsion is for these people to do what they do. It's wiring. Again, all Pedos are narcissists...ALL of them. Only someone who has zero empathy could ever harm a child for life. All this fuck here kept saying was "Is this gonna go online? What can we do to make it go away?" Ha-ha, little did his dumb-ass know that he was already live on YouTube, in front of 1,500 people or so. He was so used to getting his way, by manipulation, cheating and bullshitting, that he thought it would just all go away. Sorry, pal. 

 Like Narcissism, there's no cure for Pedophilia, save for chemical or physical castration, and very few people want to take that route. And like narcissism, it gets worse with age. What's sickening and scary, and to me, demonic, is the amount of equally-sick fucks, no doubt predators themselves, who defend these monsters for whatever reason, but especially when they're young, like this guy. They'll say shit like "Give him a break...he's young. He's got his whole life ahead of him." Yeah, bullshit. Wrong is wrong.

 Legally, although narcissists are immature, hateful, jealous, petulant asshole children inside, he's an adult. If they ruin his life, then good for them. If nothing else it's one less child being preyed upon. These sick fucks need to be shut down, whatever it takes, and exposing them is a pretty big step. Many of these people are caught two, three, four or more times, often by the same catcher, and the ones that mention how their life has changed since the first time they were exposed, aren't very happy about it. 

This is me with my Homegirl Merriewether. About six weeks ago I went to see a band with my old buddy and bandmate Greg, and his girlfriend, and I saw at least thirty people whom I've known for a very long time. About half of them were either people I worked with at the crazy restaurant or knew through music, and they're very special to me. I may not look that great, but Merriewether sure does, and that's what matters. We buddies. 

 The other day I let my mind wander for a bit, and I tried to imagine that same scenario, except that all my friends had just found out I was a Pedo, and all those smiles turned to looks of anger and disgust. I shut that imaginary scene down in a hurry. It's brutal to think about. I'd be crushed. It's the same for Pedos, although they don't value friendships the way we do.

 These people talk about how they lost friends, family, jobs, relationships, careers and such, as well they should. The big difference is that narcissists are pathologically-unable to take responsibility for ANY of their actions, and it's always someone else's fault, usually the people who exposed them. That just goes to show how twisted and immature their thinking process is. Most of them will say to their exposers, "YOU'RE about to ruin my life!" Newsflash...it ain't the poachers who are ruining their shitty lives. Waaaaahhhhh. 

  The Peds universally will play the "poor me" card at some point, as if it excuses hurting a child. It's sickening, but in their minds it's perfectly okay, and they've done absolutely nothing wrong. To see them deny everything or blame it on someone or something else is pathetic, but since they possess zero empathy, the only point of view that can EVER see it from is their own. Just the fact that every single one of them denies that they're a predator, as they're in the very act of truing to meet a child, shows how completely fucked-up they are. 

 I can guarantee, from experience, that this young fool is going around trying to bullshit everybody that he's somehow innocent, and since narcissists are such incredibly good liars, some people will believe him, but then some thankfully won't. I doubt the football team at Ball State will want a Pedophile on the roster, and only the sickest of cheerleaders will ever want to sleep with him, and he can damn sure kiss his career as a cop goodbye. Really sucks, huh buddy? So does hurting children. Say goodbye to your old life. It's a wiring deal.