I admit.  I have a bitter anger towards the degradation of women, regardless of where it comes from, whether male or female.  When beautifullymindfull (Why I am leaving Xanga...for the time being.) called every (“non-elite”) female on Xanga a “cunt”, particularly WordsandThoughts, it made me tick.  No woman deserves such disrespect, no matter how much you dislike them.  The word is vile.  It’s the same as “nigger” for Black people.

Mind you, this is coming from a hypocrite whose glory is in her shame, and who openly admits to having pursuits of ruining relationships and marriages, while not wanting to be judged, yet thinks she has the right to judge the rest of us.

Here are a couple quotes from her (I'll never be your girlfriend.):

Not to mention, her guide to recovery after being the other woman (Confessions of the other woman.) to get ready for another session of spreading STDs.  Of course, I’m not letting the whoremonger off the hook because cheaters are incapable of love.  They’re good for nothing parasitic shit-eating reprobates.

However, this AIDS dispensing whore is the worst of the worst for purposefully going after already committed men.  She’s the enemy of all women.  Yet she has the audacity to call everyone else “cunts”?

WordsandThoughts might have been nasty towards me, but at least she has a heart.  In her defence, along with each and every female here, I wrote a retaliation post (Cunts With A Capital C), which was fine because even some of my haters supported me.

But then I made this picture, detailing the de-evolution of beautifullymindfull:

Eventually, I deleted it for the sake of one of my friends here.  She was rather offended.  What she didn’t realize though, was that it had nothing to do with obesity, not that the culprit even had a weight problem to begin with.  My goal wasn’t to hurt the whore because garbage like her have no conscience and are past feeling.  I wanted to show exactly how ugly this beast is, both inside and out.

Recently (Women’s Liberation Makes Me Sick), a handful of Xangans started blasting me for being a chauvinist pig.  However, what they failed to realize was that the entire blog was written for satirical purposes.  It’s unfortunate that I have to ruin everything by revealing the truth, but if they actually finished the six short paragraphs, they would have read the last sentence:

One of the reasons I dread going for routine check-ups at the healthcare centre is because of a loud and obnoxious nasally voice that reeks of Norm McDonald.  Besides bringing food and taking temperatures, I don’t know what the hell he does except traumatize my ears.

Trust me, having someone barge in your room to complain about his ex-wife losing his remote control is insane.

As he went on about how she moved away with her girlfriend, I understood why she was a lesbian.  I was already losing patience as he continued running his mouth like a parrot high on caffeine.  He went on to inform me that someone from the loony bin called him a “goofy little faggot”.

Norm stressed the offensive nature of calling a man “goofy”, that it was the equivalent to “slut” for women.

beautifullymindfull (Why I am leaving Xanga...for the time being.) wrote:

Now, you all know me.  I never start drama.  In fact, I’m the nicest guy on Xanga.  You agree, right?  I’ll take that as a “yes”.

However, when it comes to degrading women, it’s something I never tolerate, especially from hypocrites like Extreme Makeover: Homewreck Edition (Confessions of the other woman.).  It goes on to kiss the asses of several men here, and according to it, this place is shit because our blogging world doesn’t revolve around it.  Hilarious.  What needs to get a life?

If this is the case, why is it only leaving for the time being?  Does it like bathing itself in excrement?  And if it’s all shit, why does it need to justify itself here?

I can’t say I’m much of a fan of WordsandThoughts (though I forgive all the nasty things she said about my physical disability), but calling her a cunt is out of line, let alone every female on Xanga.  Don’t forget, this is coming from something that’s glory is in its shame, and that openly admits to having pursuits of ruining relationships and marriages, while not wanting to be judged, yet it thinks it has the right to judge the rest of us?

I’d call you a cunt, but you’re not good enough to be one.

The art of falling in love is much akin to that of sleep.  Surrendering to the nocturnal romances of moonlight, a portal eventually opens.  It leads to a place where every wish might soon come true.  I always speak of closing my eyes to a tearful kiss, but have you ever had one of those crazy ass dreams?

I dreamt of eating a miniature Garfield plush toy, only to end up with diarrhoea.  I evacuated a smaller plastic exoskeleton and realized how much of a rip-off it was.  I’m not even sure if I can call that a nightmare.

Take for instance my tea party with a family of monkeys that had glasses and a British accent.  How about the alien streaking through my backyard in the middle of the night?  Or when I ate decade old salmon poo that tasted like tasteless chocolate?  Sometimes when I look to the moon and stars, I can’t help but wonder if there’s a deeper meaning to excrement.

It must have started at the age of five when I dreamt of a scary face that spoke from within the television static.  He probably mentioned something about cursing me to have crazy ass dreams, such as:

• Having a fistfight with a life-size Megatron in a seedy motel bathroom.  I drowned him in a sink full of green acid.
• Going up a medieval tower to save the princess.  A gangster dragon smoking weed tried to push drugs on me along the way.
• Freaking out to a rainbow of demonic fruit candy, floating in the air.
• Finding my way to a sign that wrote, “The Smelliest Bathroom in the World”.  I came out with even more of a stomach-ache, as well as nausea.
• Being kidnapped by a uni-brow baby who turned into the creepy green dude from Nicorette commercials.  He hooked me up to a brain wave machine that decreased intelligence.  As I became dumb and dumber, I crashed into a retirement home full of horny old people with a red Ferrari.

So perhaps my dreams are beyond crazy, while my off-the-wall imagination is rather inconvenient, but I’m still confused as to what the hell they actually mean.  I’ve had paralysis nightmares before, with monsters coming closer every time I opened my eyes for another peek.  Did I mention I’m a huge fan of curiosity?

Nightmares only seem to happen when I’m facing the door on my left.  I wonder if it’s the entrance to hell, or that my saltwater aquarium is inherently evil.  Could it be a vehicle that leads to a place of fire and brimstone, with miniature guillotines for hopeless romantic pervs like me?

Apparently, the combination of a fish tank with its lights off and a space calendar can be quite deadly…

February 19, 2005

There was a yellow cluster of deep space nebula.  I was in the dark without glasses, and it looked like a head with shoulders.  As it turned out, I was in direct contact with Mr. Potato Head who had a face resembling fugly from MAD Magazine.  In his seduction, I soon realized it was none other than my number one fan, Michael Jackson.

“Ricky, come here!”

I shudder at the thought of French fries… well, not really!

Then again, I might not be as cursed as one would assume, considering my beautiful dream of moonlight reflecting upon ocean waters, rushing to the shores of white sand.  Her skin glistened after a long swim, lips painted with an intoxicating glow of crimson.  I looked into her eyes.  She looked into mine.  I was making love…

WITH A DOLPHIN?!

What do you mean “shrink”?  I’m sorry, but I don’t think it’s possible to avoid getting institutionalized after telling a psychiatrist I had sex with a dolphin, that had lipstick.  I couldn’t afford a therapist for him, or to replace the broken windows after their suicides.

Do the hopes of having better dreams lie in the silent thoughts of my dear sweet Natalie Portman?  I finally smiled when she wrote her number down for me on a pink piece of perfumed paper that had flower patterns all over it.  That was until the following night when I had another dream.  We were in a porno…

AND SHE HAD A GIANT DONG!!!

Oh dream maker, you’re such a heartbreaker.

You know why people have a problem with DearRicky?  Because they don’t know how to read properly.

In my last entry (Women’s Liberation Makes Me Sick), a handful of Xangans immediately started blasting me for being a chauvinist pig.  However, what they failed to realize was that the entire blog was written for satirical purposes.  It’s unfortunate that I have to ruin everything by revealing the truth, but if they actually finished, they would have read the last sentence:

It’s called toilet humour.  I already compressed it down to only six short paragraphs, which is hard to do considering the vagueness, yet the attention span of most readers is even sadder than I had originally thought.  And it’s the same reason TheTheologiansCafe continues to reign supreme in Top Blogs.  His entries contain nothing more than a formula of three controversial elements: a title, news story, and question.

I admit.  I don’t have much patience when it comes to reading, but whenever I comment, I make sure I read from start to finish.  If I’m to dissect someone, I’m doing it properly because I don’t want to get mad at excrement!

And the same thing happened during the pubic hair fiasco (Dear Mr. President, You Socialist Swine!).  “Private sectors”, “bush” (lowercase), the termination of the “roots of life”, etc.  I mean that was clever!  But yet even after explaining, one particular dumb-dumb said I did a horrible job at satire because I wasn’t obvious enough.  I’m sorry, but aren’t surprise endings a part of comedy?

This is another part of the reason it’s become “cool” to make fun of DearRicky, even his physical disability, and it results from the mob mentality: “Don’t think for yourself.  Let others think for you.”

People expect to be spoon-fed in everything.  I alone am facing the rest of Xanga because one person from 2009 was illiterate and started calling me names, while the stupid ate it up and grew to hundreds.  Is it fair?  No, but who said the world was?

Ghostgirl15 (Xanga Family Descriptions & What Not) said it best: “This is based on what I have heard not my own personal opinions or experiences”.

When I was a kid, I never thought that girls pooed too.  I still have a difficult time believing this to be true about these beautiful creatures.  I feel like committing suicide whenever I think of a woman passing gas.

My name is Ricky, and I’m ridiculous.  See the logo at the very top?

So before you HULK UP to turn on some CAPSLOCKS and kill Captain Cripple, remember patience, or at least squint your angry red eyes to read the catchphrase!  What happened to the generation of ‘The Sting’?