Subject To Change

Hello my name is Steve, I enjoy spiking my alcoholic beverages with Rohypnol while sleep walking. I've found it quite difficult keeping my hands off of myself, and have been incarcerated 3 times that I am aware of and 6 other times of which I am not completely sure for Premeditated Manual Stimulation.

Also known as PMS.

I've begun the recovering process by attending (PMS) anonymous meetings, however, I'm not convinced that it is working because every time I show up I have half a dozen irritated women saying "What the fuck are you doing here?"

Lynda (my sponsor) keeps hanging up on me, and the Police arrested me for stalking. The Judge recommended that I get help by going to a group aimed at rehabilitating those with my condition.

He ordered that I join "Persons who are Mentally codependent Stalkers" or...you got it (PMS)

I said: "That's exactly what I've been doing your honor! That's where I met Lynda and the other 6 women! For fucks sake man!"

I was sentenced to 2 years in prison for 7 counts of stalking.

I was sent to the "Penitentiary for the Morbidly Stealthy" or...you got it (PMS)

-S

Dear Mrs. Indra Nooyi (President and CFO of PepsiCo),

My name is Steve, I enjoy licking Blow Pops "Blue Raspberry" while snorkeling in the New Jersey waste management facility. Giving myself a saline drip I.V. into my scrotum because my cock is malnourished is another hobby of mine also.

Now that you know a little more about me, I'd like to ask you to stop putting addictive chemicals into your Code Red Mountain Dew product. There is no 12 step program for Code Red OK? There is no Code Red Anonymous.

SO...Mrs. Nooyi, PLEASE quit!

It has taken me 2 hours 6 minutes and 36 seconds to type this much. You might be asking yourself "Why is he so detailed with the time?" Because thats how long it has been since I've had my last Code Red Mountain Dew! And now I have the fucking shakes motherfucker!

I apologize for the swearing, that was rude of me. The diarrhea comes in waves, sorry. Look, I understand you didn't mean any harm. It was a business decision right? Yeah, get people hooked on your product and make more profit.

Sure, I understand that...totally.

But let me ask you a question Mrs. Nooyi, do you let your children drink Code Red? Do they? Wait, allow me to answer that for you.

NO! NO!, they don't! Why? You tell me Mrs. Nooyi! YOU fucking tell me! Tell me cocksucker! Tell me, tell me why your sons of bitching kids don't drink it?!

Wow, I'm so sorry...diarrhea again, whew boy! Again...sorry.

OK, so your kids don't drink it. What good parent would let their child drink a liquid that they would get addicted to right? Exactly! Protect you own yeah?

Sure, I understand that...totally.

Love,

-Steve

Several poems I dug up out of a notebook that I have written. Some are about five years old, some more recent. It's a little strange for me when I make my poetry so public because regardless of how I try to arrange the words, and no matter how many metaphors, its..."me". The story these poems tell is a lot of myself and a little of this person, and a little more of that etc...etc.

I rarely show my serious side because it makes me feel vulnerable, but here they are anyway:

Armored Hearts

She remembers when ... she was a a younger woman, waking up with no memories of them, and nothing hidden behind that smile. Now her eyes open and shes lucky if she can stop crying for just a little while.

Shes got a new obsession ... nurses it every day, ever since cupid clipped their wings and fell apart ...when they found out that their arrows couldn't pierce armored hearts.

The fabric of love isn't always what it seams, sowing herself that wedding dress before she got the ring. Now it burns like the black hearts in her skin ... remember when.

She remembers when ... it was just a living dream to walk out side in the pouring rain, now it's just to hide the tears behind the pain, of them not being by her side.

She's breaking her heart, one memory at a time ...

Nothing to her is the same, it's all been stolen and rearranged, and the world she created in her mind is coming to an end ... remember when.

She remembers ... the first light of the morning and how it made her eyes glow like the fading moon. But now those lights are growing dim with the blinding images she can't get out of her mind of him ... remember when.

Now it burns like the black hearts in her skin ... remember when.

Ivory (written about an old friend in a extremely abusive relationship, through what I thought her perspective would be.)

Sitting with pieces of glass from the broken window in my hand, you'll never change, you'll never change. I can deal with your part time affection, lost without your sentimental rage, you'll never change, you'll never change. It's written on the walls, you'll never change.

The colors of your wrath on my skin, running out of my ivory base, you'll never change, you'll never change. I can live with the other women, downgraded when you tell me they have a prettier face, you'll never change, you'll never change. It's reflected in your eyes, you'll never change.

I can't do any better than you as you say, you'll never change, you'll never change. I can handle your jealousy and the embracing finger impressions around my throat, you'll never change, you'll never change.

For some reason I stay, for some reason I love you, knowing you will kill me someday...I'll never change.

Popular Unlikely

She hasn't bought a year book since the 9th grade, why would she want pictures of all those that she hates? Now it's only 3 weeks until graduation, so she borrows one from a half-ass friend out of morbid fascination.

Flipping through the book 10 pages at a time, finally reaches her photograph and stares wild-eyed at the underlying paragraph ... it say's:

"Voted popular unlikely for the 3rd year in a row, this beats the old record set back in nineteen ninety four. Popular Unlikely is most likely to never amount to anything, so let's all give 3 hooray's for our new unpopular queen."

She lit a cigarette with her last match, ripped out the page and set the book on fire, tossed it in the trash. With tears streaming down her face she just walked away, saying that she'll prove them wrong when she becomes somebody some day.

Now sitting in her room looking at the page she taped upon her wall, talking a pull from a stolen whiskey bottle she screams "It's happening all over again, fuck them all! Somewhere out there is a place for me, away from all this bullshit known as popularity. And when I find it I'm never coming back again ..." then the bottle shatters on the floor out of her frustration, because she was ...

Voted popular unlikely for the 3rd year in a row, this beats the old record set back in nineteen ninety four. Popular Unlikely is most likely to never amount to anything, so let's all give 3 hooray's for our new unpopular queen.

Now it's 48 hours before the big night, she's preparing for the worst by putting the final touches on her preemptive strike.

She's got everything squared away, the letters written out and all the phone calls made. Hugged her little sister and told her "Now everything will be ok."

"Welcome graduates, we're proud of you one and all" smiling at the sign as she walks into the auditorium hall. Looking around at the crowd, she understands what she's been after all this time can't be found ... and then she takes her seat and thinks "They're gonna be sorry now for voting me ..."

Popular unlikely for the 3rd year in a row, this beats the old record set back in nineteen ninety four. Popular Unlikely is most likely to never amount to anything, so let's all give 3 hooray's for our new unpopular queen.

Finally the time has come for the calling of the names, she hears hers and stands up turns around and starts to wave. Taking a strange pleasure from the confused looks on the others face.

Walking up the stairs she goes past the principle to the podium on the stage, opens her graduation gown to reveal the explosive device and blows them all away.

Then the police arrive to her home, laying on the coffee table was a envelope ... they took the letter out and this is what she wrote:

"They voted me popular unlikely 3 times in a row ... did you know that beat the old record set by my big brother when I was the age of two ... 15 years ago?

He pinned the year book page to his shirt just before he put the barrel under his chin, so if you're reading this it means we both got our revenge.

I could only imagine what "now" they'll say about me ... but I'm willing to bet they will think twice before voting someone else "popular unlikely."

Between Then and Now (I wrote this in the perspective of a woman who's husband is an alcoholic. Why? I'm not really sure, it's just one of those moments when an inspiration hits me and I can't explain it.)

It's 10am and I know where you've been, you're smiling but nobody is laughing at the condition that you're in.

It's all the same everyday, you're the one that I still love when you drive away.

When you come back to this house, you've changed and turned into something else.

Is this the best that you can do?

Is there something missing inside of you?

I'm running in circles trying to get things straight, but you won't even walk that mile in my shoes to meet me half way.

I really can't tell you how things became so complicated, but if it's not love keeping us together then it's love that's keeping us separated.

We've been on this long hard road since we took those vows, what's come over us between then and now?

Was it me that drove you to this point in your life? I'm so sorry if I haven't been the perfect wife.

Maybe this is the best I can do, the only thing missing inside me are the memories of the good times with you.

I really can't tell you how things became so complicated, but if it's not love keeping us together then it's love that's keeping us separated.

The lights go out and you're laying next to me, but it's not the you that I once knew but he's still there in my dreams. It's not too late to turn this around, but we've got to find some common ground. The later we wait the more it's driving us apart, but I'm not ready to throw away the pieces of my broken heart. But sooner or later enough will be enough, of all the hidden bottles you chose over this woman you swore that you loved.

I really can't tell you how things became so complicated, but if it's not love keeping us together then it's love that's keeping us separated.

If it's not love keeping us together then it's love that's keeping us separated.

---------------------------

That's all for now, thank you for reading these.

-S

Cover Letter:

Dear Secret Service Personnel Division,


Hello, my name is Steve.

I enjoy smashing my face into wooden cylindrical objects on a bimonthly basis to keep current on the perspective of bowling balls.

I feel that I would be a great asset to the Secret Service Agency for many reasons, I have begun my own training regimen over the past 2 weeks to be in top performance.

Some of my training involves but not limited to:

Helping old ladies across the street in on coming traffic at 5:07 pm.

Doing jumping jacks and bear crawls at the local firing range.

Playing chess while wake-boarding on my PDA.

Ingesting medium quantities of Strychnine, Asbestos, Silica sand and Thallium mixed in a shot glass with liquefied Zyklon B, that's given to me by a 6'7 Jewish man named Vilhem Von Klassen-burg, who likes to be called Amelia Earhart.

So, as you can see I am a immortal, eternal, and never ending being. These powers have been bestowed upon me by the great lord Droolhunger from the planet Boobooginks, meaning I'm not some poser like someone else we know :::cough SUPERMAN cough :::

I am the obvious choice for this position when the safety of our Commander and Chief is at stake, and if you do not choose me for this position you can expect a call from my attorney J.J. Wolf-n-Sheepsclothen the 26th Jr. for Discrimination Against Super-Hero's or (DASH) under the DASH Rights To Freedom act " Justice League v. Legion of Doom" 414 U.S. 119 (1983)

Thanks so much for your consideration, see you soon.

-Steve

Postscript: I am going to need some serious firepower like Super-soakers, Cork guns, Nerf footballs, if you expect for me to do my job with proficiency... instead of those pussyfied .357's, Sub-Machine Guns, Grenade Launchers, Fighter Planes, .50 cals and Stinger Missiles.

I'd appreciate it...amateur's

S.

The Reply I Just Received Moments Ago:

Dear Steve,

Is this some type of a joke? Here at The United States Secret Service Agency we do not like jokes.

We find individuals who are threats to National Security often make "jokes".

So, as you are reading this letter there are approximately 3 Secret Service Agents waiting for you outside of your residence, they have a few questions they'd like to ask.

You may be held indefinitely at an undisclosed location until this issue is resolved in a manner that suits the United States Secret Service and upholds all of their policy requirements.

This may included but not limited to:

Never seeing your family, friends, pets, co-workers, acquaintances, girlfriend, mail man, milk man, wife, television, home, vehicles, other personal belongings and the light of day ever again as long as you live.

In some instances that may not be very long either.

Enclosing, thank you for your inquiries on employment opportunities with the United States Secret Service.

Take it easy,

-United States Secret Service Agent Bob

Uh...I gotta go.

-S

All books by Steve

Books for Children:


1. Fun Facts About Crack

2. Why You Should Kick Daddy Repeatedly Between The Legs

3. Outlets: And What To Put In Them

4. The Sharper The Better

5. The Monster Under Your Bed Is Only The Manifestation Of Mommy And Daddy's Wrong Doings Coming Back To Punish You For Their Mistakes


6. The Monster In The Closet Is A Idea Placed In Your Head By Daddy So He'll Have The Opportunity To Be The Hero By Making The Monster Go Away With The Magic Words "Boogie Boogie Motherfucker!"

7. Daddy Steals Your Food When He Is Alone With Mommy While You're Sleeping

8. If You Don't Succeed In Life There Is Always Suicide

9. Why You Still Get Cookies From The Babysitter Even Though They Hate You

10. Candy From Strangers: Go For It



General Book Ideas


1. Thumbs Down To The Brown: A Practical Guide To Anus Bleaching

2. The Extensive History Of The Poptart: A American Delicacy

3. Why Masturbation Makes You Go Blind (Available Only In Braille)

4. "No, Not Like That Stupid!": A Beginners Manual To Serial Killing For The Mentally Defective

5. Dragon Ball-Z Shirts: Why You Deserve To Be Murdered In A Grocery Store If You Wear One Past The Age Of Twelve

6. A Book With One Page: But It Has A Really Great Synopsis!

7. Vagina and The Gas Mask: A Romance Novel

8. Purple, Hard and Stiff: A Biography Of Rigamortis (pervert)

9. Open Up And Say "AH": Why You Should Never Let A Dentist Named "Richard" Administer Nitrous Oxide

10. The Birds Went North and All The Bees Are Killers: The Reason Teenage Boys Watch Porn and Grow Up To Be The Men Who Love It

-S

In 2002 I put a Personal Ad in the Newspaper of my Hometown "Shreveport Louisiana".

It received no replies and to this day I am still rather upset about it to be honest, I mean...don't get me wrong, I am perfectly happy with my marriage of course...it was just a huge hit to my ego.

So here it is in full:

---------------------------

Hello, my name is Steve and I enjoy being periodically tasered by random law enforcement agencies from around NorthAmerica. Next year I am planning a trip to Burundi, presently their police are not equipped with taster guns, however, they tend to make due with a box spring and car battery.

So I am excited about that, naturally.

People seem to be interested in race on these things, so allow me to give you a quick run down of my lineage.

My father was born in Nicaragua in 1953 and came down with bacterial diarrhea before he was 8 months old. At the age of 4 he was already working as a peanut farmer for 18 Córdoba or (2 cents) every 3 complete monthly orbital motions of the moon.

By the time he was 17 he was able to fill a mason jar to the brim with his savings. It was a proud moment, and when people say I have a strong work ethic, you won't need to ask why.

My mother was raised in Timisoara Romania, while originally born in Winooski Vermont she was kidnapped by a rouge sect of Hungarian Jesusit Priest and indoctrinated into the sex slave business before the age of 32.

And this is how my parents met each other, and here I am...a product of their love, devotion and sacrifice.

I haven't seen either of them since I was 9, I hope they are doing well and I am Caucasian.

I never know what to put in these things, hmmm...Oh my height and weight. OK, I am 5'3 and 712 lbs. I'm not morbidly obese, I'm merrily fat.

My complexion is perfect and the secret to my flawless skin is Sulfuric acid, Bacon grease, Red 40, Chlorine gas and Potassium permanganate.

Equal parts...shake vigorously and apply in a well ventilated room, preferably outdoors in a wooded area.

Oh yes, education and employment ... I have received my Masters in Bioengineering, a Bachelor's Degree in Civil Law and currently 1 semester away from attaining my PhD in Political Science and I work at a soft baked Pretzel stand in the mall.

What kind of woman am I looking for?

I dated a part-time chocolatier in Highschool that I met in ROTC named Agatha. She was abusive verbally, mentally and physically through out our entire 6 week relationship and routinely humiliated me in front of the entire student body.

That'll do.

Um, sexual history?

OK, I'll be totally up front about my sexual past...I have only had sex with 9 women in the past 12 years, 4 of those were last week.

I've never had sex with a 10, but once I fucked 5 two's.

This might be a turn off, but I'm not really into all the kinky stuff.

Scrotum suspension, Barbed wire anal beads, Cock binding, Habanero sensual oil therapy, is completely fine...but all that freaky stuff is out of the question, sorry.

Well ladies, I guess that pretty much sums it up.

So, if you're interested in hooking up and hanging out please reply.

Hope to hear from you!

-Steve

Postscript: I have an extensive collection of Serial Killer memorabilia including Jefferys refrigerator in original condition. A Must See!

S.
----------------------------

I don't get it, no replies...not one.

-S

This is my response to the question above in the subject line that I posted over at a discussion forum.
---------------------------

I'm not a theologian, or historian of Christianity, however I was once a Roman Catholic and during that dark period of my life (which were for the first 16 years) I pondered frequently about this very question mostly while in public religion school doing the biblical crossword puzzles, circling groups of letters that spelled a mild profanity or as close as I could get.

Anyways ...

During these very meditative exercises I stumbled upon the answer to this great dilemma, and told everyone that would lend their ear to me for about 20 minutes. I remember one crisp November morning I brought it up to the Archbishop of the Dioceses (William B. Friend) in Shreveport, Louisiana.

I explained it to him in great detail and the entire time he sat very quietly, hardly moving a muscle even when that pesky fruit fly kept flying around his left eye landing on his forehead occasionally. After I had finished telling him my incredible epiphany he stood very quickly, with sweat on his brow.

He asked me to not speak of it again until he had a chance to hold a meeting with "some people".

His tone was one of seriousness and astonishment, so I was confident that I had gotten through to him and before long I would be the most popular 12 year old in the Catholic Church all over the world. I'd even get to meet the Pope and we'd have deep philosophical conversations.

Later on that evening when I returned home from school my parents asked me to be seated in the living room area.

When I entered there was the Bishop, and also the Monsignor "Monsignor Lacasse" was his name to be exact, sitting there with the violet trim on his cassock and biretta, signifying his honorary status with a smug look on his face.

The Monsignor and myself never got along ever since the incident when he was baptizing me when I was an infant, I puked breast milk all over him, and a peed a little too. And from that day forward the man has been out to get me I tell you!

So, there we were...me, my parents, the Archbishop and Monsignor Lacasse.

I looked around and said "What's going on here?"

My father told me that the Archbishop had told him and my mother some very disturbing news, about something that I had said to him in his office. I said "Disturbing? Why would it be disturbing? I thought it was one of the fundamental questions in all of Catholicism, and now that I have discovered the answer in a moment of pure and total clarity, a clarity that was bestowed upon me by the lord our mighty God himself, you (pointing at the Archbishop) have come to the conclusion that what I've said is disturbing? ... BLASPHEMY! I tell you, sheer blasphemy! And you call yourselves servants of God? Distinguished men of the cloth?! Blasphemy!!!"

My father shoots up from the sofa, and places his hands tightly over my mouth while apologizing profusely to the Archbishop and the Monsignor who are by this time wide-eyed and slack jawed by my sudden outburst.

As if coming out of a trance they blink and rise to their feet looking rather flustered, and walk out of the house without saying a single word.

I was sent to my room for the remainder of the evening, a few hours later I dosed off while reading "Absalom, Absalom!".

I woke the next morning to the sound of the telephone, I could hear my mother say "Hello?" a long pause and then a shrill of terror echoed through the house. I jumped out of bed and down the hall way to find my mother collapsed on the kitchen floor sobbing uncontrollably. I asked "Mom, mom...what's the matter???" and the only broken words she could get out was "You.... (sob...sobsob) ex ... (sob...sobsob...sob) comm ...un (sob...sobsob)...i ...ca (sob...sobsob)...TION! (sobbing...sob)" and I said "Excommunion??? You mean I don't have to take communion anymore?! Yeeeeah! Those wafers tasted horrible! Thank you God! And Jesus too! I guess the Archbishop and the Monsignor finally came to their senses and they aren't mad at me after all, wow!"

About that time my father walked through the door, and ran over to my mother who was still doubled over and she said "EXCOMMUNICATION!!!" while pointing at me.

I looked at my dad and said "No more wafers! I'll talk with the Archbishop to see if he can get you and mom out of it too!"

He looked at me and said "No! Not Excommunion! EXCOMMUNICATION!!!" Spiritual condemnation! banishment, shunning, and SHAME!!!"

So, I ran away from home and they've never seen or heard from me again ... and that's been 18 years ago.

The End.

The point being:

The resurrection of Jesus was made up, just like this story.

-S

I sent in a request to the Government for a $9 million dollar grant to open my own store back in 2002.

I haven't heard back from them at all.

-------------------------

Hello my name is Steve, I enjoy recreating works of art with shredded beef jerky and cellophane. It helps calm my phobia of Astronauts with degrees in agriculture.

I am requesting this grant of $9 million dollars so that I may start my own Necrophilia supply store.

Items to be sold are, but not limited to:

• Shovels
• Flashlights
• Step Ladder
• Come-a-longs
• Lubricant
• Air fresheners
• Towelettes
• Cylindrical hand warmers
• Vice grips
• Fabric softener
• Crow bars
• 30lbs counter weights
• Detergent
• Adjustable 2ft rods
• Grip tape
• Nair
• C-claps
• Ballistics gel
• X-acto knifes
• Specialized Cemetery Camouflaged Ninja Suit

and much much more.

My understanding is that 18 states have laws against Necrophilia, yet none against Necrophilia Supply stores, which currently their aren't any unless you include Home Depot and the like.

If need be I could disguise the name in a Anagram so that only true Necrophiliacs would understand the meaning.

Instead of "Necrophilia Supply Store" I could use:

"Cornelia Hip Step Soul Pry"

To me, that just SCREAMS "Necrophilia Supply Store", to the average person it sounds like a store that potentially sales Necrophilia supply's, but probably not.

Thank you for your consideration.

-Steve

--------------------------

Grant my ass.

-S

VoicePost 251K 1:18

“OK, I see...SpinVox has apparently decided to stop transcribing. See, if you've already listened to my recording then you'll probably figure out why they did. I'm a little disappointed, I was hoping for their transcription. It always had the potential to be comical. LOL - Steve” Transcribed by: infidelamerican

Yarmulkes are amazing, there is so much you can do with them. If a Jewish woman needs a bra and her husband has a couple he can spare...tada! OR, if her husband lost all his Yarmulkes and she has a bra he can cut it in half...tada! OR if she's misplaced all her pot holders...tada! No bowls? No plates? No problem! Use Yarmulkes!

Yarmulkes, truly a invention of divinity.

I was once invited into a synagogue by 3 rabbi's at the local Kosher Deli & Restaurant, about 6 years ago. I asked if there was any special etiquette that I needed to be aware of while in attendance.

Rabbi Niaboc Truk said: "No, no...just come as you are, as you were, as you'd want me to be."

Rabbi Adnileb Elsilrac: " Of course not, you presence is more than enough...don't you know what that's worth? Hey, let's make heaven a place on earth."

Rabbi Nosnam Nyliram: "You, are one of the beautiful people, the beautiful people...you know what it is? It's just a matter of the size of your steeple. That's all. Nothing more."

So I accepted...naturally.

So I hitch-hiked to the synagogue with a fellow named Dog Meat who was freshly out of prison for killing 39 hitch-hikers in 6 weeks back in 99' with a waffle iron and cream corn.

He swore he changed his way's after watching a episode of Sesame Street while being sodomized by 10 guys named Chuck.

Can you believe that? 10 guys...named Chuck! Of all the chances...who would'a thunk it?

That synagogue was absolutely gorgeous with it's simplicity of design.

I wasn't too keen on the idea of that mechitzah separating the men from the woman, this was before I met my wife and I was hoping to mingle with some of those Jewish chicks. No dice, didn't happen.

First we started off with Torah study, half way through I got really hungry and brought out my pulled pork sandwich I placed under my honorary Yarmulke one of the rabbi's gave me, by this time everyone has their faces buried in their Torahs so I was just going to make my way to the back of the congregation and eat my pulled pork sandwich in peace.

I stand up and start heading for the back, as we all know pulled pork sandwiches are just goddamned greasy. I'm walking, I'm walking...almost there, the Rabbi says something and so I turned around and incidentally dripped pork grease on somebody.

That person jumped up screaming, startling the hell out of me causing my extra greasy pulled pork sandwich to fly into the air and straight into the ceiling fan that just so happened to be set on high (it was like 92 degrees that day) and sent a spray of pork, pork grease and soaked in pork grease bread over everyone that was in attendance.

It wasn't until I was all alone in the synagogue after the EMT's had left that I remembered reading that if so much as a speck of pork touches the skin of a Jewish person they are condemned to Hell...a unforgivable sin.

So in about 40 years there will be roughly 50 to 65 Jews that will be really unhappy with me.

:::sigh::: Such is life.

-Steve

Hello my name is Steve,

I enjoy reading the bedtime story "Why Allah Hates You" by: White Devils & The Infidels to terminally ill Middle Eastern children as B52's carpet bomb their parents huts, particularly on their birthdays.

I also like performing open heart surgery on myself using a Zippo, Candle Wax and a borrowed thong while getting step by step instructions from Teddy Ruxpin...the Swahili version.

A long time ago I masturbated to a DayGlo poster of Winona Ryder during a storm. The lights went out and made it look like Bobcat Goldthwait in a Christian Slater costume.

So I haven't had an erection in 9 hours, 16 minutes and 23 seconds.

Recently I discovered that my sister was suppose to be an only child, however, 3 years after she was born my parents were having sex, Dad meant to pull out but the telephone rang and startled him.

They decided on having a abortion but my mother is afraid of heights and all they had were plastic coat hangers.

So here I am.

-Steve