Sin Ojos y Solo|
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Below are the 20 most recent journal entries recorded in
Sheldon Jeffrey Sands' LiveJournal:
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|Saturday, January 6th, 2007|
I think Patrick Bateman summed it up well when he, crying naked and probably covered in blood (I can't remember) on his kitchen floor cried out, "I just want to be loved!" I'm pretty sure I know why that didn't make i t into the movie. It's because it was showing that Mr. Psychotic Badass actually has emotions, and rather unstable ones, at that. It showed how ridiculously human he actualy was. And shit, no one want sto see that...
This is some gay-ass bullshit, to say the fucking least. I mean, if this isn't some faggotry, then I just don't know what is.
I need to get off this medication. It's making me.... FEEL. I guess it's a de-Grinchifying drug. I am not built to be this sentimental piece of shit. I'd rather be the sociopathic, bipolar, manic-depressive bastard I was meant to be than deal with this emotional...hell.
Kids, don't ever fuck your siblings. It tends not to end happily ever after.
|Sunday, November 5th, 2006|
|Wednesday, April 12th, 2006|
|The summer of love has come and gone
It's spring again, all ready. Hot damn. And I do mean hot. It's all ready roasting. I kind of miss Wisconsin weather when it starts to get this warm, around here. Thank God for central air.
I haven't updated in a while because 1, i just didn't really feel like it, 2, i'm reasonably confident that no one really gives a shit about me anymre. and three, a lot has been going on in my life, altely.
Kate and I are no longer together, and I use the term loosely, because we've never -really- been together, technically, but we've never really been apart. So I guess we're apart, possibly for good, this time. This whole John phase is turning out not to be a phase at all, and they're fucking engaged, now.
So she more or less kicked me out and set me up with a place a few miles away and a nice little housekeeper She's fucking ancient, and I'm pretty sure Kate did that on purpose, just so that I wouldn't molest her constantly when she's trying to vaccuum. But whatever, pussy is pussy when you can't see it, and fucking an old broad like her would just be broadening my sexual horizons even further, if you thought thatwas possible. But she takes care of me when I need it. She thinks I'm a nice young man. I usually don't do this, but: LOL! I've got to admit, this has forced me to be a lot more independent, and I kind of like it. I didn't go out too often, at first, but now I do, and it's actually pretty fun. I'm even getting laid, again. Rock on.
But that doesn't mean I'm happy. Content, I suppose, some of the time, between the bouts of depression and teen-like angst. I guess I've never been -truly- happy in my entire life. I'm pretty bipolar, so my manic stages are the closest i can clinically get to some semblance of happiness, but it's been pretty tough without Kate.
She pretty much gave me an ultimadum, saying that if I couldn't commit to her and to being some kind of father figure for her kids, then I'd have to go live somewhere else and she and John were going to become serious (I didn't know she meant -that- serious). Well, I tried, and the whole exclusive thing wasn't that hard, but I knew that I could never been what she needed, or what those two little brats needed. I was all ready having a pretty big influence on them, and I knew she didn't want that to turn into anything dangerous. So I guess I did maybe the first noble thing in my life, and stepped down. Not without a fuss, mind you, but there really wasn't much I could do. her mind was allready made up, anyway.
I try not to think about it. The idea of never being able to fuck her or touch her like that again drives me insane. I know it would freak her out too, if she'd ever let herself think about it. But she doesn't. She's always got her emotions down to a low flame, because otherwise they'd just totally flare up and ruin everything. She'd be a wreck. She's as emotionally unstable as I am, ifnot more owing to her gender, but she just stays bottled up. It makes me wonder how many gray hairs she has, and she's barely over forty.
At first I didn't really respect the separation, despite how much I like John and want Kate to be happy
. She didn't really, either, and we'd mess around almost every time we saw each other. It was just so natural, we've been doing it pretty much our whole lives. And now that she's really letting go and won't even hug me (not that I'd much liked hugs till recently) for more than a few seconds, the pain and reality of the separation has finally hit me, full force. These pills I'm taking have some annoying side effects, and while they suppress my violent side almost completely, my girly emotions, for lack of a better adjective, aren't under the best control. I'm pretty much a wreck, most of the time.
I try not to call her, anymore. I used to call her, a lot, asking her to come over, but then she started refusing, and getting really bitchy at me on the phone, so I just fucking stopped calling. One time I even told her that I loved and missed her (-her-, not fucking her, or her cooking, or anything like that, but actually -her-) and she was just like "....I don't really know what to say to that, Sheldon," so I just fucking hung up. She never really calls me, but whatever. I'm a big boy, I don't need to be checked in on. I'm trying to have a little dignity, now, trying to let her see I dont' really need her, even if it's not the whole truth. She's the only person I've ever felt that I really -needed- in my life. With everyone else, it's just kind of take it or leave it. It only makes sense that I've never really been able to have her all to myself.
Whatfuckingever, I'm getting really emo, now. I sound like a fucking girl. Waaah, my boyfriend dumped me for some other chick. Boo-fucking-hoo.
I just don't think things will ever be the same, again. And as irritable and ungrateful as I seemed, it a lot of ways I'd never been happier.
Oh yeah, and all this emotional ranting bullshit has led me to forget something very important. Apparently one of my amateur porn vids has found its way onto BearShare, somehow (...?) and it's called something like "11 yr old rides cock and loves it". Yeah, I still download porn because I like to listen to it. I could tell right away what it was because of the music playing in the background. I asked my housekeeper to tell me what was going on (she was kind of "OH MY GOD, PORNOGRAPHY!!!!?", as I expected) and she said the girl was on top, very small, and blonde, and that you couldn't see the man's face. Yep.
So, she wasn't eleven. I dont' know how old she -was-, but not that young. But she sure was lovin' it.
Also, this month's reason for wanting eyes: so I can see 'V for Vendetta'. I liked the comic, back in the day, because it was all "grrrr fuck you, government", and I've heard awesome things about it. Fucking lack of eyes.
|Tuesday, November 29th, 2005|
|What are you like in the morning?
Well...since I sleep constantly and I can't see to tell if it's light outside, the time immediately after I wake up is basically morning to me. I tend to be pretty cranky, irritable, insensitive...but then I'm like that pretty much all the time. I'm really not the person to ask. Kate could rant about this subject probably better than I could.
I've never been a morning person, to put it simply. I'm very glad that I don't have to conform to time constraints and deadlines and all that happy horseshit like I used to. I don't have much of a schedule at all, anymore. I eat semi-regularly, I sleep, I read (braille isn't so bad), I go online...sometimes I'll be
forced to participate in some kind of outing. I'm what anyone would consider a loser, if I weren't technically disabled. I mean, it's pretty hard to do anything...
Blah blah, you've heard the rant before. Maybe someday I'll get up off my ass and do something about it, when I get sick of laying around, getting cooked for, relatively easy (free) sex, and no obligations except to follow the few simple (but still stupid) rules. But yeah, that's not likely to happen any time real soon.
|Stolen from the mun...Attila the mun.
a) What age did you start? How old are you, now?
I started...God. I don't even know. Since I figured out that it felt good. To orgasm, as soon as I could manage it. I'm now thirty six.b) What do you think about, frequently? (if you don't mind, I know some people are really self conscious about that), and has it changed much since you first began?
Fucking. Usually pretty hard. That once sex scene from that Angelina Jolie movie comes to mind quite frequently. Sometimes oral sex, with anyone female and hot. The question of who, specifically has changed over the years. c) Have you ever fantasized about a family member whilst fapping XD. You don't have to specify which one, just if you have. And do you think it's wrong? (i.e. did it make your penis feel icky?)
Not so much any more, but my sister has always been a dish.d) How often do you do it?
A lot more, lately, since the sex is a little harder to come by, no pun intended, and since I really have nothing better to do.e) Where's the weirdest place you've ever done it?
Into one of my friend's dad's ceramic fish...you know, the kind with the mouths gaping open? It was on a table in the living room. But other than that, driving, cemetary, back row of church on Christmas Eve when the lights were down for 'Silent Night'...yeah, that white stuff all over the seat wasn't candle wax. I could go on...2) Virginity:
a) When did you lose it (if you have...most of my friends have)?
Pretty young, but I don't like to talk about that, not to sould melodramatic and cliche...but I count it as being obliterated at the age of fourteen.b) How long had you known/been with the person to whom you lost it?
My whole life, though I'd never really "been with" her.c) How did you feel? Did it bother you? Did you regret it, afterwards (or during)?
It felt really damn good. I only wish it could have lasted longer, and that she would have been a little more responsive, and that I hadn't kept lusting for more, afterwards. So I both do regret it and don't...or I did. I don't really give a fuck, anymore. 3) Homosexuality:
a) Have you ever engaged in any kind of sexual activity with a member of the same sex?
Yes. Ask me to elaborate if you must. b) Have you wanted to, but for what ever reason not been able to?
I've never really wanted to, so no. I <===3 chicks, 100 and ten %.c) How do you think your parents/friends would deal with it if they found out?
Um, my dad's dead, my mom is possibly crazier than Kate and I, combined, so I don't really think they'd have a lot to say, should that be the case. Kate would either be shocked as hell or claim that she knew it all along.4) Sexual Activity:
a) How often do you have sex?
As often as possible, which, these days...is about once a week, maybe more, maybe less. I'm wearing her down, so I'm hoping that will increase as time passes.b) How many different sexual partners have you had (that just includes intercourse)?
Oh, fuck. Um...I'm thinking really hard, here. No. I just can't do it. I have no fucking clue. Probably under a hungred. But then...I really have no idea. Now, how much of that has actually meant
something, that's a far smaller number. But that wasn't the question.
If you want, you can reply to the questions in comments, or just comment on what a fucking man-slut I am. Whatever.
|Tuesday, November 1st, 2005|
|Some catching up to do.
So, tomorrow I will have been eyeless for one whole year. Go me, right! Man, it was a hard habit to break, seeing and all that jazz, but with the help of some fucking psychotic Mexicans, here I am! Sin ojos and proud of it! Except for that last bit.
Anyway, that's not really anything to do with the subject of my entry. I wanted to tell everyone about my most recent incarceration experience. Why, do you ask, would such an upstanding and law-abiding citizen as myself be committed to a mental institution? Well...first of all, it wasn't an institution, just the psychiatric ward of the local hospital, and secondly...nevermind. You know what a twisted fuck I tend to be, I don't need to explain. Except, for once, it was actually not my fault, at all. Lifes a bitch, isn't it? Still, it could have been worse. She could have pressed charges...
It all started with a trip to the dentist due to a serious tooth ache. This was back when Kate was still dating that loser, Gary (as opposed to that loser, John, that she's dating now). Not that this really has any relevance to my story, I'm just telling you to give you an idea of how long ago it was, I guess. Several months, to say the least.
Anyway, I guess I had a cavity, and I didn't really think "Hm, cavity=drill, and drill=what they used to take your eyes out." For some reason, the connection just didn't happen. So, when they drugged me up and fired up the drill, I started to flip out. Word on the grapevine is that I just went crazy and started screaming and I guess I strangled one of the assistants or something. I don't remember because they tranqued me, and carted me off to the hospital. So I woke up, called for Kate, getting nothing but the sound of my own voice reverberating off of walls too bare-sounding to be anywhere at home. It smelled like a hospital, I had a bracelet around my wrist, and the bed definitely wasn't familiar. I kept shouting for her, but there was no answer, just the humming of what was probably those nauseating fluorescent lights, overhead. Again, I freaked out, tearing up the bed, throwing the pillows, banging on the walls and just having a big ol' fit. I hate hospitals. Not the best memories in there, really. And they just weird me out, in general. Hospitals are for sick, old, and dying people, or a combination of all three, and I am none of those. ...Shut up.
Finally, Kate rushed into the room, trying to calm me. Eventually it worked and she just wrapped me in a great big hug that I couldn't really break out of if I wanted to, not that I really did. It was actually comforting, and I was glad she was there. I started spewing accusations and drilling her (haha) straight away. "Why the fuck am I here? What happened?" etc. She told me to lie back down as she explained everything. I probably would have argued had I not been so fucking dizzy and out of it. I guess the drugs weren't supposed to have worn off for another few minutes, until the doctor could see me. They hadn't been expecting me to wake up, just then, or they would have made sure I wouldn't have freaked out like that. Kate must have told them that I would. I guess they just didn't care.
Anyway, Kate leaves, doc comes in and she's attractive-sounding, and obviously trying very hard not to fall for my charm. But that's all right. When the RN comes in...well...let's just say we had a little fun. Not right away, though. First off, Miss Doctor pulls out her PDA and starts taking those annoying notes on every little thing, like psychologists tend to do. I know she was just doing her job, but I just wanted to take that thing and shove it. She informed me that I'd get out of there in no less than a week, which didn't make me happy, at all. I tried to explain to her that unfamiliar surroundings made me very uncomfortable due to my handicap, and all that but she was having none of it. I was actually behaving myself, for a change, so that I could get the hell out of there. If she ever gave me opportunities to redeem myself, I failed each and every one. But then, she might have just been playing with me. Fucking MDs.
Anyway, the food wasn't bad, and I did what I normally do, which is basically sit around doing dick-all. But the RN came in as often as she could (sometimes without me pressing her button, even) and we messed around. It started with her giving me an innocent enough back massage and reading me Dr. Seuss. Such a deep author, really. I was only sad that I couldn't look at the pictures. Then, to prove that we weren't under surveilance as I had been in my first room, the one I freakd out in, she kissed me. Things basically progressed from there. Nice girl. They were thinking of moving me out and having her be my own personal assistant, just for a change in environment, but Kate vetoed that, and I eventually agreed that her house was the best place for me, right now. I dont' know how much I was bullshitting, but nobody cooks like Kate, and screwing a hot young nurse is nice, but of course incest is best. So I stayed, and here I am. Still. Wasting away. But having a little more fun doing it than I had been. Kate let me hand out Halloween candy for a little while, even. I thought that was nice of her. I mean, it's the one holiday where I probably won't get arrested for scaring the shit out of neighborhood children.
If you think about it, I get around pretty well for a guy who doesn't really go anywhere, at all. I mean, there was that whole Vegas thing, where I got accidentally married to an eighteen year old who left me standing outside the hotel in naught but my skivvies. That was fun. And then there was Mary Anne or whatever her name was, who used to work downstairs...not bad for an eyeless guy, I'd say. I still miss the adventure part of "action and adventure". I mean the fast driving, adrenaline rushes, guns and money and all that good stuff that came with the territory. But the territory's changed, and I guess I'll just have to adapt. I'm getting there. Good thing my second occupation has always been couch potato. Well...maybe not second. But one of 'em.
|Sunday, October 30th, 2005|
|Thursday, September 22nd, 2005|
|If you could find out one single fact about every person you met, what fact would you want to know
Well, being the self-absorbed bastard that I apparenly am, I'm gonna have to go with something along the lines of, "What do you think of me, anyway?" Like, I could ask that of someone I've just met, someone I haven't even talked to, someone I've known for years, and I'd expect a fucking honest answer. But I'm assuming that this is a ficticious scenario, and therefore we'd get the truth, no matter what. So yes. The fact I would most like to know about other people, is what they
think of </i>me</i>.
One could argue that by this show in self-interest I have low self-esteem and must rely on others to get my emotional high. That's not really true. I'll admit to needing people, just liek everyone does, but it's probably for different, less compasionate reasons. This was definitely true a year or two ago, before I was reduced to this pile of black-clad sexual frustration on the couch. But I mean, come on. If you had the chance to just worm into people's minds and pick out what they were thinking about you, wouldn't you? Not if you're fat and ugly, I suppose, then no. But, hello, I'm not, so I'd want to know. Yes, to feed my ego, I'll admit to that, at least.
Other than that, I suppose I'd want to know the strangest way/place/person with whom they've ever had sex. Maybe just to feed my own perversion, or maybe just to be confident in the knowledge that I've had some pretty fucked up sex, and if anyone I meet has had weirder, I can congratulate them.
Adolescent, self-centered, immature, yes. Okay. But dude, come on.
Fine, what would you
like to know?
|Monday, August 29th, 2005|
| If you could take back one thing you said in anger, what would it be and why?
Most people, I'd imagine, would answer this question by saying something totally predictable. "Once when I was eight, I was having an argument with my mom and I told her I hated her, and I wish I hadn't." The old bat probably deserved it from threatening to take away your only form of (healthy) entertainment. Or maybe, "One time, when I broke up with my girlfriend, some really hurtful things were said on both sides. I really regret that." Peole realy shouldn't bottle thing up. I mean, c'mon. If youv'e got something to say to your bitch, just say it. Get it off of your chest. Men are always on about how men aren't straight-forward enough, so there ya go! (Fucking...I wish I had eyes, because I -know- I'm making typos, and I can't fucking correct them because I'd jsut get lost. Argh, I say. Frustrating. REason number 138475739 to never EVER trust latinas who accuse your nine incher of being "too small". For fuck's sake).
Me, on the other hand...I have very few regrets in my life, at least regarding what I said or did to another person. Most of my regrets have to do with me being stupid enough to let someone else do something to me. I dont' really think I need to offer an example, here. Anger isn't something that I can afford to regret. I have way too much of it to feel bad about something I may have blurted out when someone did something to really piss me off. I thought they deserved it at the time, and even if they didn't -really-, that's good enough for me.
If I had said something that I regretted to anyone, it would probably be Kate. My feelings for her when we were younger were of a rather...tender nature, believe it or not. I know, I know. But seriously. I'm sure I've hurt the woman's feelings more times than I even -have- feelings. I just tend not to care, anymore.
I'm not as angry as I used to be, though. I'm not on a -lot- of medication, just enough to keep everyone from going absolutely insane. Kate objects, I dont' like the therapy, but I understand that it's necesarry (oh look, uncle Sheldon's being mature for once!) and I deal with it.
This was really lame. Whatever.
|Thursday, August 11th, 2005|
|Thursday, July 28th, 2005|
|Tuesday, February 15th, 2005|
|Moving very slowly.
Everything in Mexico is fast. The language, the guitar playing, the dancing, the women, the amount of time it takes from the food to travel straight through you. Fast. Nowadays, the only thing that's fast is my hand pumping my cock about five times a day trying to entertain myself despite the complete lack of anything to do. My internet connection is also formidable.
My life has gone down the shithole, which I suppose is understandable and I guess expected, considering...I'm sure that in time I'll begin to recover more than I all ready have, become more of my "old self" so to speak (unfortunately enough for Kate, I'm al ready kind of regressing back into my old habits. Stupid bitch won't let me smoke in the house.) It's like the frustration you feel when you get off the freeway, going at least seventy, maybe eighty miles an hour and then having to slow down to thirty-fucking-five in a residential area. Pisses me right off. What pisses me off even more is that now i can't even fucking drive. Maybe I can get Kate to let me drive a golf cart or something, as long as she's with me. ANYTHING. Dear God.
Yeah, this is just another bitching session. Don't do much else, these days. Someday I'll get it together. Someday Kate and I will take off, dump the kids with the loser boyfriend and terrorize the country. Wouldn't that be something?
|Monday, December 20th, 2004|
|"Women love these fierce invalids home from hot climates...?"
So I still haven't quite gotten the hang of thos whole "laptop w/ voice capabilities" thing, but I'm fairly confident that I won't fuck up my spelling -too- terribly much, and that it'll still be at least coherent...ish. Hell, gimme a break, I can't fucking see.
So Kate told me she posted about my litle accident down in el mexico, so I don't really feel the need to elaborate. I haven't even told her the whole story, or anyone. I probably never will. Maybe I'll write a book about it or something...call it "Once Upone a Time in Mexico". Heh. ...I'm trying to move on, but there's really nowhere to go. that's the problem. I"m stuck here in Cali (nice weather, here) with my big fat sister and her two snotty little kiddies with nothing to do but slep, jack-off, and now go on the computer whose screen, keyboard or mouse I can't even fucking see...but I guess it's better than nothing. It's amazing how many things you miss that you totally took for granted before you're seveerly impaired. I can still function...but I can't watch tv, play Tetris (or any video game for that matter. God, i'm going to miss that!!) read (though I'm learning braille) or just fucking LOOK at people. No amoutn of talent can make me do those things again, and that's what kills me. I can shoot a gun well enough, but Kate's hidden it from me, or possibly just gotten rid of it all together. Knowing her, that's probably the first thing she did when I got here. Bitch. She's really not that bad, i guess...and she provides a certain level of entertainment i was never very good about being without...heh heh heh...
umm, fuck. I was saying something, but I cn't go back and read what I wrote. That's really bad for someone as tangenital as I am, but eh. I could always have it read back to me, (in a male or female voice!) but it sounds too fucking weird, and they can't pronounce shit right. Really, it's amusing. But it doesn't really help me out all that much. I wonder if I could get an update, a program that actually has words like "penis" "biotch" and "fo shizzle" in it. Not that I really use those on a regular basis, I'd just like to have the latest version of this piece of shit. At the agency I was spoiled with all kinds of neat gadgets, James Bond-type stuff, but here...primitive as fuck. I think Kate has Windows 95 on her PC. I don't know how she does it.
So yeah, having no eyes sucks. Listen to me, kids. I know what I'm talking about. Don't do it! I've got to make jokes about it or I'll go completely insane. Until just a week or two ago I still couldn't really mention it at all without totally freaking out...but it's been, uh...almost two months, I guess...I'm getting better, but I'm still crabby as fuck. I'll admit to it, but I have a fuckig excuse if anyone does. I'm used to being a really active person, and while this laying-around-and-not-really-being-expec
ted-to-do-a-damn-thing...thing is really nice, I miss the excitement. I miss driving! I miss the sight of tits. I miss everything. Sometimes I wonder if I wouldn't be better off dead...especially now, since in a couple days I'll have to join my sister and her entourage to snowy Wisconsin to visit my mother et al. Yeah. Shoot me now, please. Then I'll be able to not go, on account of a slight case of death. But for some reason mom wants to see me...I think I'll not wear my sunglasses, just to freak everyone out. If there's one good thing about this eyeless thing, it's that--BIG shock value. All I have to do is flick my shades down to the bridge of my nose just for a second, and I don't have to see the reactions to know what they look like. It's awesome. Oh, and sleeping during the day? No problem; it's always pitch black.
what the fuck am I doing? I think i'd better stop before I sound like some kinda optimist. Opti. that has to do with sight. I guess it generally means "seeing the light in things". Well fuck that, it's impossible. I'm a goddamned pessimist, to the max... Fo shizzle.
|Monday, November 15th, 2004|
|This isn't Sheldon, keep your pants on.
This is Kate, the boring and stupid older sister. Sheldon specifically requested that I, and I quote, "update livejournal and tell my fans why I'm not updating, so they won't worry about me."
Well...it's really rather a long story, and I still don't know many details, myself. I can, however, assure you that Sheldon will not be updating for some time, due to his current state. That current state being blind. Well, not blind, per se, but rather, completely lacking the tools necessary for seeing. In short, he has no eyes. As he so kindly reminds me every hour or so, or every time I ask him to
lift his arm off the floor so I can vacuum come to dinner take a shower
do absolutely anything at all.
He would also like me to state that he will post pictures as soon as possible (?) and that everyone should leave him lots of comments.
I do plan on buying him a laptop with voice capabilities, so he won't be away too much longer. If you really can't stand another moment without an update on what's happening to your favourite Gothic nightmare, you can check on my journal.
And...that's all I have to say. Enjoy your Thanksgivings.
|Monday, November 1st, 2004|
Okay, the good news is, I got a call from Jorge a couple hours ago saying that he's "on it," basically. Still don't know what the fuck Barillo is up to, but something smells fishy. Thankfully, I still know that he's somewhere in the city, probably hiding out because he knows what's going on. And why would he know that?
I could be wrong, but I've a sneaking suspicion Cucuy ratted me out to him, or at least told him everything we know in exchange for reward money, probably. Dammit, that no good, yellow-bellied...argh. Anyway, my reason for believing this, is not only the fact that I hadn't been contacted by him concerning El's progress (or anything, for that matter) for some time, but when I called the phone I'd given him, it rang for awhile before someone who definiteyl wasn't Cucuy answered. When I asked for him, they said "Sure, he's right here," in Spanish, after which there was a period of about ten seconds of silence, followed by a deafening boom, and then the line went dead.
Looks like whatever Cucuy tried didn't work very well. I'm hoping that maybe he didn't get the chance to sell out to Barillo before whatever caused that gigantic bang on the other line happened. Sigh. I knew I couldn't trust that bastard...
No word from El, either. He hasn't called me, he's not answering his phone...I guess I'm just gonna have to do this shit by myself. That's right, all by my lonesome, because -obviously- I'm some sort of super-human being who can handle any situtation, completely alone. Goddammit, anyway.
I'm not gonna freak out about this. Whatever little hiccups occur, I just have to iron them out, keep my cool, and be patient. El's fine. He's been hunted by just about everybody for years. He knows how to handle himself, I'm sure. Probably just busy at the moment. He's supposed to be, after all.
Whoa. Okay. Chill out, Sheldon. You've still got Ajedrez. You called her this morning to make sure the plans were still on for tomorrow. She's got the information necesarry to find and arrest Barillo. She's working with a team of professionals who know the city better than their own genitalia. She confirmed the plan and promised to meet you when it was all over. Chill the fuck out, kid.
Whoo, okay. I'm good. I'm fine. I'm great. Nicolas says that everything's in readiness for tomorrow afternoon. El and his boys (wherever the fuck they are, now) will be able to get inside, just fine. Jorge's still with us, I'm sure he's tracking Barillo, which is, if done properly, pretty dangerous stuff. No wonder didn't answer my last call... He's probably got his phone turned off or on silent or something. Hell, if I were in his situation, I probably would. Can't have a little ding-a-ling giving the game away...I hope he checks his messages...and I hope -he- didn't try to sell out, too. I don't think he would. He's got no incentive, really...unless of course they're threatening to tear his left nut out.
Jesus. I need a cigarette.
Oh yeah. Happy Day of the Dead. Apparently there are two. I think I knew that, but forgot. Meh.
|Wednesday, October 27th, 2004|
|Monday, October 25th, 2004|
Another boring update from your friendly neighbourhood agent.
Jorge celled me earlier today to inform me that he's joined us and will fight the good fight. Kudos to him. I knew he wouldn't let me down. Too much incentive against it. So he's doing his thing and tracking Barillo, which isn't all -that- important because, little does Agent Ramirez know, I pretty much know most of what's happening. It's just the grimey little details that I can't quite get my hands on that I need him to weed out for me. Good man.
And then there's Eva, who's little agency also has their eye on the Barillo operation, and is trying to prevent the assassination from happening (my job, basically). That's not their sole focus, though. They are a police force, and therefore have a lot of little shit to deal with. Eva and I basically have a symbiotic relationship, in that, aside from great sex, we share tidbits of information to help one anothers' cause. I usually work alone, but this is alot for one guy to handle, and she's more than willing to help me out. Sort of a you scratch mine and I'll scratch yours situation. It's good. I'm holding out on her, and only using her to get what I want, true. But you can never be too careful.
She's a little miffed at me, right now. I guess I got jism in her hair, or something, but she's snippy whenever I call, and has apparently changed the lock so that the key she gave me no longer works. Crazy bitch. But I like her, and she is helping out a -lot-. She's the one that will detain Barillo for me, with the information I got from Bellini...oh yeah, Bellini...
I shot the bastard. He was playing games with me, and I don't like being toyed with. He just didn't take me seriously enough, and he thought I was joking when I threatened to skull-fuck him to death if he didn't give me what I'd paid for. He had no respect for me, what-so-ever, and I couldn't dig it. So, I put him in my trunk (fucking heavy bastard! Jesus Christ!) dumped -him- in a lake, after I'd found what I was looking for. I was just about to check up his ass, when a lightbulb went on over my head, and I was suddenly compelled to look under his eyepatch. Sure enough, there it was. A little plastic baggie with all the info I needed to make sure Barillo stays out of the way. Hell, that's where I'd hide shit if I had an empty eye socket. I checked up his ass, anyway, just to see if he was holding out on me...but that's beside the point.
I gave the info to Eva, the deal being that she would take it to the AFN who would then arrest Barillo. My part was to share the spoils. She didn't seem very enthusiastic, but I think she's just PMSing or something. She's quite a card. Who the fuck wouldn't be exicted about 20 million pesos? Shit! Gives me a boner just thinking about it. This woman is not sane...and that's why I like her. And she's a good fuck, what can I say? Rrowr.
Things are working fine with Senor Nicolas down at the Presidential Estate. El and his happy little band of amigos are supposed to check things out, tomorrow. Cucuy is keeping an eye, and more importantly, a gun on those boys. Never trust a big burly Mexican...unless he's dumb, in Cucuy's case. Then it's always easy enough to bribe him with money.
Things seem to be running smoothly. I expect that I should hear back from Jorge sometime tomorrow, if not tonight. He seems to be pretty into his job, which is always a good sign. Me, I'm just biding my time, rolling with the punches. I've been in this country for too long. Several months...it doesn't sound like very long, but believe you me, it is. The heat isn't the only thing that's getting to me. Don't get me wrong, it's plesant enough for a vacation, but this is hardly that. I want to go home.
It'll happen soon enough. And when it does, I'll be rolling in dough. I'll be happy, El will be happy (that is if he's still alive) and by happy I mean satisfied. The guy never really seems very cheerful, not that I blame him. It just depresses me. I get such negative vibes from that guy. Frankly, I can't stand him. I'm sure he's decent enough...I just don't like him. But that's the great thing about this business. You dont' -have- to like or even get along with the people you work with/for. You just...work.
Speaking of work, I have some reports to look over, so I'll see you kids later.
|Saturday, October 16th, 2004|
|Situation update, punctuated with ramblings of a more personal nature.
Finding a good fuck in this country is one thing. Finding even a mediocre back rub...seems to be uncharted territory, down here.
We all know my obsession with balance. Does it make sense to you? Do you need me to explain it? I don't mind if you do, not everyone gets it, at least not right off the bat. Balance is simply what makes the world work, and the lack thereof upsets it, and me, very much. Call it anal retentive, call it O.C.D, call it whatever you want. But y'all better recognize, if you catch my drift.
Okay, you know when you're sitting in the bathtub, immersed in too-hot water, but just the right amount of freezing cold water is dribbling onto your feet out of the faucet, and somehow the heat doesn't get to you, anymore? Or when you're listening to music in the car, and there is just the right amount of sound coming from your front speakers as your back? That's good balance. It makes things that would otherwise be chaotic, uncomfortable, un-appetizing, etc. perfect. It makes them work. Now, to give an example of how the lack of balance can be a very unpleasant thing, indeed...when there is not enough sauce, too much cheese and your pizza is too fuckin' dry. When the taste of the Coke doesn't quite match the taste of the Jack. (Or, if you don't have limes to go with your tequila. Euch.) H2 and 0. Republicans and Democrats (those that vote, mind you). Treble and bass. Very generally, good and bad. There has to be enough of both, or it just doesn't fucking work. Those are some every day commonplace examples of why we need balance to be content, to go about our daily lives with a little more ease than if there was none.
A more personal example would be what happened when I first got here. I never even bothered to write it down, because I guess I just didn't think it mattered. But now that it helps to strengthen my argument...
I was tired, I was sweaty, and I was horny. I'd just barely gotten all my crap into my motel room, and the heat was really getting to me. Something about airplanes makes me want to have sex. Maybe because to do so -on- an airplane would be friggin' hot, simply because it's such a public, yet private place. But anyway, I wanted to get my freak on so to speak, and I was still far from the heart of the city as I was just feeling things out, at that point. Not the best neighbourhood, but hey, you know what that means. So I cruised for awhile, after I'd called some people and dumped my luggage in the room. I very literally cruised around looking to score. I had my windows rolled down and was blasting mariachi music with rock and roll influences from my speakers, the bass cranked up annoyingly high (which really pisses people off, but when you're in the car with the bass pulsing through it, it's like sex, man. The vibrations are so good, the sound is so rich, and you just want to shoot your load all over the steering wheel) and I'm none too choosy about who I'll pick up on this smouldering evening south of the border.
I get a girl after driving around ridiculously slowly and leering out the driver's window for about fifteen minutes. I didn't want to drive her all the way back to the motel, so we found somewhere far away-ish to park and I told her, quite literally, to suck my cock.
And she did.
And it was fucking -amazing-. Hands down, no fooling, swear on my father's grave, it was the best fucking blowjob I'd ever had. And that is saying something, ladies and...ladies (guys totally don't read this journal, I just realised).
I would have given her what she'd asked for. She was worth the dough, and I had it to give. Hell, I would have sat there in the car for ten minutes and recovered so that she could give me another one. But I couldn't.
She was the best cocksucker I'd ever met, in all my 20 or so years of, well...getting my dick sucked. I couldn't let her live. It was simple as that. It was nothing personal. Had she been crap at it, I would have done the same thing. I couldn't let her go running around giving head that great to just anyone, like she'd undoubtedly been doing for the better half of her life. I've had plenty of so-so blowjobs in my life, a few really horrible ones...but not so horrible that I couldn't do the job, I guess. You know what they say about sex and pizza...it applies to fellatio, as well.
I shot her, put her in my trunk, dumped her in a lake, and that was it. The giant scale that is the country of Mexico was lightened on one side and it began to level out, again. And I don't care about disclosing this information on my highly illegal activities to you kids, because numero uno, I'm not giving you enough details for it to matter, and nombre deux, you guys wouldn't get me into trouble even if you could, right? ;)
Same thing with the pork incident. Too fucking good, shot the cook.
El Presidente is a good man. Possible the best man there is in Mexican politics, which, though their government has the same system as ours, is different simply due to the difference in, well, countries, I guess. His goal is to eliminate the evils of his beloved country, respectively. Wipe out the cartels, particularly the most dangerous ones, such as the Barillo cartel. I've read up on this guy and his men, and I have to say, I like the way he operates. He's smart, he's rich, and he's got what it takes to get the job done. But the president has a mind to be rid of him. Just bang, you're gone.
Unfortunately, it's not that easy. Barillo's heard of this plan, and is planning a counter-attack against the president. Can't say that I blame him. If I knew that someone was plotting against my ass, I'd sure as hell be compelled to do something about it, and since Barillo's got the hook-up, he can and will do just that.
He's hired General Marquez to throw a coup d'etat, on Novembre second, the Day of the Dead. And when I say "hired" I don't mean that a buch of guys filled out applications and Marquez was the most qualified for the job. I mean that Barillo is going to pay him 20 million pesos for this.
Now, when I heard about this, my eyes practically bugged out of my head. When I heard that it was just floating around in the presidental fortress, without the man even knowing about it, I nearly shit my pants.
And so, my motivation was switched over from the simple satisfaction of a job well done, to the enormous satisfaction of a job half-done and a shit-load of dough.
My job, girls, is to track Barillo, find out what he's up to, while simultaneously making sure that Marquez kills the president (because, as I explained to our little guitar-playing friend, here, he's that piece of good pork that needs to be balanced out) but -not- take power as planned. In order for that to happen, I've gotta kill the bastard. Once that's done, and Barillo has been detained, I can pocket the 20 mil. pesos and get the fuck out of this country. My assignment will only be half completed, but if I say that I've done everything in my power to assure that the president wasn't assassinated, and that the situation was completely out of my control and far too dangerous for me to handle all on my own, they'll believe me. Because the fact of the matter is, I -am- all on my own, down here. All I've got is my cell phone, my laptop, and whomever I pick to work for me. And I've got to get people to work for me, because I can't do this shit all by myself.
Which brings us to 'the.' I picked him, very simply, because I knew he had what it took to get the job done, and that is motivation. Very strong motivation: revenge. Vengance is not something I'm personally very familiar with, but I've seen what it can do, and I knew that was exactly what I wanted.
Okay, so I've got a guy to kill Marquez. No problemo. He'll be paid from the 20 million pesos after the job is done, if he's still alive. Things tend to get really dodgy on the inside, so there are no guarantees. I don't think he really gives two shits about the bread, anyway.
Cucuy and his henchmen found El, and brought him to me. I do the paperwork and the research, he rounds up my team and delivers them to me. And he's El's babysitter. He's big, he's dumb, and he'll do anything I ask, because -his- motivation is money. That's just about the only thing we have in common, greasy bastard.
Now, I've been digging up files on one Agent Jorge Ramirez, formerly of the FBI, California branch. A few years back, Barillo and his doctor friend, Guevara, tortured and killed his partner, Agent Archuleta. I need someone to track Barillo and this Guevara character to see what they're plotting, and to make sure it doesn't interfere with my plans. Agent Ramirez would be excellent for this job, because his motive is also revenge. I'm meeting him later today at an outdoor restaraunt at which, conveniently enough, Dr. Guevara and Barillo will also be dining.
In addition to Jorge, I'm also supposed to meet Nicolas, the President's Advisor. We're working out a deal over the phone that consists of me paying him to assure that El and his team make it into the main edificio, and that Marquez has access to this place, as well. I think I'll give him my Marilyn Manson lunchbox. I collect them, you see. Kind of a hobby I started a few years ago. They come in quite handy as small briefcases. I'll be meeing him tomorrow at a bull fight, which I fully intend to rig. I hate bullfights. They're so unfair...so un-balanced. You call it cheating, I call it creative sportsmanship.
There are so many shapes floating around in this puzzle. It's up to me to put them in their correct place. It's fucking confusing, but that's my job, baby. Never said it was easy.
Oh yeah, and something I forgot about. The other day when I was on my phone just walking down the street, some kid on a bike came up to me, literally stopped me in my tracks and asked me if I wanted some gum. I'm like, uh, no...why would I? And he went on to explain why, giving me the pitch like someone trying to sell me a vaccum cleaner or something. I didn't have time for him, so I gave him a ten and told him I never wanted to see him again. It bought me, like, an endless supply of mint Chicle. It's not the highest quality gum in the world, let me tell you. Gets hard after only two seconds in your mouth (now now, ladies. Not everything I say is a seuxual innuendo...) and it loses it's flavour in record time. But oh well. The kid was dirty, his bike was rusty and looked like it was from the seventies, at least. So, he took the ten, thanked me and rode off down the street. It's kind of sad how happy he seemed, even as I was telling him to fuck off. Again, balance. There are so many rich fuckers in the world, and then there are kids like that, who are pleased as pie when you give them such a small amount of money. Sad, but balanced. That's just the way it's gotta be.
Anyway, gotta run. Lots of shit to do, not very much time in which to do it. Ciao.
|Tuesday, October 5th, 2004|
|The constant need for assurance...
I figured, what the fuck? I don't actually care if you guys dig me (I know you do, anyway). I just thought it'd be kinda fun. And we all know my penchant for pointless livejournal quizzes and the like. I figure this falls under that category. Comment with your answers or DIE. ;)
1. Who are you?
2. Are we friends?
3. When and how did we meet (if we ever have or how we met on lj)?
4. Do you have a crush on me?
5. Would you kiss me?
6. Give me a nickname and explain why you picked it.
7. Describe me in one word.
8. What was your first impression?
9. Do you still think that way about me now?
10. What reminds you of me, if anything?
11. If you could give me anything what would it be ?
12. How well do you know me?
13. When's the last time you saw me? [if youve ever seen me...duh]
14. Ever wanted to tell me something but couldn't?
15. Are you going to put this on your lj and see what I say about you?
|Monday, September 27th, 2004|
|tetris, crack, and the olsen twins
I'm going to try and make this as chronological as possible...but we all know my tendancy to go off on tangent after tangent...so, no promises, amigo.
It all started when I was playing tetris on my cell phone at an outdoor, uh, "cafe" i guess you could call it, in the heart of a not-so-reputable-but-still-not-quite-the-g
hetto area of Mexico, about ten miles away from the hotel I'm currently
staying at. I'm waiting for an "important call" from one of my guys, and I was "scoping out the area" in the mean time. It took me about ten minutes to appraise the place, so I sat down on at a shabby round wooden table outside this cafe-like establishment, pulled out my cell and started throwing shapes. Not ten minutes and fifty six lines later (I'm getting good at this,) I get the feeling that someone is watching me. I casually pause the game and look discreetly up at my surroundings through my shades so that whoever is watching me doesn't notice me looking for them. Fortunately, there was no cause for alarm. I spotted my target about five yards away, red lips pouting at me from down the street. She was wearing a short red dress and had very, -very- nice legs.
I smiled crookedly at her, and that seemed to be the only cue she needed. She began to bounce over to me, all hips and breasts, and it's clear what she wants. Or at least I thought it was.
"Hey, white boy," she says to me, in English. I guess it is pretty obvious that I'm not Mexican, though I try to hide it. (My Spanish isn't -that- bad...) "You wanna buy some crack, sweetheart?"
My cock was just about to say hello before my mouth could even open up, but I silenced it and bit my lip. "Uhh..." I pause to think for a moment, trying to decide whether or not she said what I thought she had--it was just a little difficult to tell through her thick accent. "Sure," I said finally, selecting "exit immediately" on my phone and shrugging. "What the hell?"
She asked if there was somewhere private we could go to make do business, as we were in a rather public place, and in broad daylight. So I led her to my car. Normally, this would have been a bad idea. You never trust hookers, especially if they're trying to sell you some shit, and -especially- not down here. But I wasn't worried. I had three guns, one in the shoulder holster under my jacket, one in the crotch of my jeans and one in the glove compartment. If she even thought of starting shit with me, I'd pull one on her and blow her fucking brains all over my dashboard. I didn't think it would come to that, but it was nice to have the proper equipment should anything arise (and I don't mean my dick...but I'm getting to that).
It turns out she actually -did- have crack, so I bought a small amount off her and asked her if she wanted to "make a little extra." I wasn't wrong in the assumption that she was a whore. Who the hell else goes walking around less than good neighbourhoods in Mexico at three in the afternoon wearing nothing but a bright red tube dress and a pair of ratty fishnets? (Shut up, I was -very- inebriated...)
She was just getting her hand in my pants (past the little gun, mind you, to the bigger one that's attached to me) when my fucking phone rang. I wasn't going to answer, but I had a feeling that I ought to, and guess what? It was The Call.
Exhaling sharply, I snapped down the lid on my phone and put it back in my pocket. "Sorry, baby," I said, shooing her hand away from my groin. "Gotta go work. I guess it just wasn't meant to be, huh?" I gave her a fiver as a bonus and she got out, her red lips pouting even more. She probably wasn't too disappointed that she didn't get a chance to slap those things on my big boy, only that she didn't get the money she'd expected. Oh well. She wasn't the only one that was disappointed about something. I ended up jerking myself off going sixty down the highway. I'd done it (and worse) before, but not during the daytime, and I was a little jumpy, but it was all good. No cops pulled me off to the side of the road and questioned me about the sticky white substance all over the steering wheel...
Anyway, after I took care of business (both down south and my "mission of the day,") I went back to my hotel, crashed down onto the bed and went straight to fucking sleep. Man, was I tired. Been up since five, but that's not all that unusual. Up since five and having consumed less than three cups of joe, now that's a little peculiar.
I had the most fantastic dream. I was in Hollywood at this huge premiere. Dunno what it was for, don't really care. All I care about was the fact that the Olsen twins were there. Those girls are getting too fucking hot for their own good. I remember when they played that one role of that litlle kid on that one show...I never really watched it, but anyway, what are they, eighteen now? Shit, they're -legal-. That makes it slightly less fun...but meh.
I was dressed in a black pinstripe suit and sunglasses. My hair was slicked back and my shoes were polished. I was hot shit and everybody knew it, but I didn't care about them. I just wanted the twins.
I cornered them once inside the joint, asking them if they wanted to "go with me somewhere." They obliged and I led them away from the throng of elegantly dressed celebrities to the little girls room, where I promptly ripped their little sequined dresses off with my teeth, slammed them both up against the wall and fucked their identical pussies, first one, then the other...and the other, again, and so on and so forth. (I know it's graphic imagery...but I couldn't really think of a proper synonym. Uh, sorry.) It was fucking fantastic.
I'm not a pedophile, per se...those girls look at -least- twenty. I'm only thirty five. I won't go any younger than...sixteen, unless they come onto me first (and I can honestly say that it -has- happened.)
Anyway, enough about that. So...what about your sexual fantasies, eh? Kinky dreams about underaged celebrities and whatnot? Spill it, baby. I don't care. I showed you mine, now it's your turn ;)
Oh yeah, more on the coup later. I'm, er, busy.
-over and out (...and in...and out)
S. J. Sands