I Killed the Feng Shui Lady

I didn’t mean to, but I think I killed the feng shui lady. All I wanted was for her to leave; not die. She had been living with Myron and me for several weeks, after Myron hired her to feng shui our house. And then, as mentioned in my most recent blog entry, the feng shui lady started having an affair with one of the sumo wrestlers who live with us. Then, little by little, she became that girlfriend of the roommate who stayed at the house so often that she practically moved in. By the way, Daisaku is devastated over this. If he knew I was responsible for Truko’s death, he’d…oh, I don’t want to think about it. Oh dear.

It all began after I read the book she wrote, Feng Shui for Stupid Motherfuckers. I learned what makes bad feng shui and I used it, without her knowledge, in efforts to get her out of the house. It didn’t work. She’s going to be cremated and Daisaku is going to keep the urn of ashes in the Mentors Sector of the house….right next to my Stevie Nicks poster. Dear.

Anywaze… I read that small electrical appliances in the bedroom make bad feng shui. So I hid several blenders, toasters, electric can openers, under Truko’s bed. But when I found out that broken mirrors make bad feng shui, I put them in them under her bed, too. Now she was getting sick after I placed the appliances under her bed, but I think the broken mirrors are what killed her. True, the coroner’s report said the cause of death was heart failure. I mean, have you ever seen a death certificate that said the cause of death was bad feng shui? I haven’t.

But shit, I didn’t want her to die. I just wanted her to break her hip or something. If she had to die, why couldn’t she have gone out the way Mrs. Baker died? Heart failure is just too damn boring.

But at least I get to sing at her memorial service. Maybe it will earn me another Gooseberry Music Award. 


RIP feng shui lady.

Our Feng Shui Consultant Has Created Nothing But Chaos

Myron

Life with Myron has never been easy…and it hasn't gotten easier with the move into the new house. He hired a fung shui consultant to help us with the interior design and now she's living with us. How did that happen? I'll get to that later.

But the feng shui lady is a horrible bitch! She's always coming up behind me…yelling out things like "Don't put that there!" or "You picked out the wrong color!" Now all women complain because men don't put the toilet seat down, but the feng shui lady insists that we put the lid down as well. Unfortunately, the bathroom is in the "career" sector of the house and she told me that's why my music career is in the toilet. See? I told you she was a bitch. Actually, my music career is thriving. You should have seen the reception I got this past Friday night when I played at The Eleventh Frame, the bar attached to Howie's Bowling Lanes.

Oh, and the feng shui lady has this thing about mirrors. She had us put mirrors up everywhere! Everywhere, that is, except our bedrooms. For some reason, it's supposed to be bad luck to have sex in front of a mirror. When I was a porn star, we always worked with mirrors on the set. And now it's supposed to be bad luck? She also insisted that I remove my video camera from my bedroom. She said it's bad luck to have electrical appliances in the bedroom.

Of course, Myron made sure that his bedroom was in the "wealth" sector of the house so that all his robberies would go successfully. I made sure my bedroom was in the "creativity" sector. But now that I want to reopen Sumo Daycare, the feng shui lady is telling me that the "children" sector and the "creativity" sector are one and the same, so I’ll need to convert my room into a playroom for the kids and I'll have to sleep elsewhere.

Now here is where things get complicated. Those of you who used to read my blog on the prestigious MySpace social network probably remember when I opened Sumo Daycare the first time. It all started because I wanted to show Myron how to make an honest dollar as an entrepreneur. I took some money Myron made from a crime spree and hired about a dozen sumo wresters. I flew them in from Japan and let them stay in our basement. I was determined to make Gooseberry the sumo wrestling capital of the United States and rake in the profits. As it turned out, the folks in Gooseberry weren't that interested in sumo wrestling as a spectator sport and I lost all of Myron's money on the investment.

With no money to fly the sumo wrestlers back to Japan, I had to find work for them. That's why I opened up Sumo Daycare. And you probably remember what a disaster that was.

That was more than three years ago and five of the wrestlers are still living with us. But all these feng shui mirrors make it look like we have 100 of them living with us. Still, I'm willing to give Sumo Daycare another chance.

But here's where things get even more complicated. The feng shui lady seduced one of the sumo wrestlers. Yeah, Myron caught them going at it on the floor of the "knowledge" sector of all places…and she didn't even take the time to remove the mirrors from the room either. Now, they say they're in love.

Remember your roommate's boyfriend or girlfriend who was there so often (s)he practically lived there but didn't pay rent? That's the feng shui lady. I hate the feng shui lady! I'm really going to mess her life up bad...somehow. Oh, I know what I can do. I can hide small kitchen appliances under her bed. That should totally destroy her!

I Screwed the Landlord

Myron and I have looked all over Gooseberry and we still can't find affordable rental property that has everything we want. We did all our homework and we have been very careful with our preparations. Myron was very selective when it came to choosing whose identity to steal. Of course, almost everyone has fewer criminal charges than Myron, but I told him that he must obtain the identity of someone who has perfect credit. But for some reason, property managers seem a little surprised when Myron introduces himself as Noah W. Shapiro.

He looks like a Noah W. Shapiro to me

We've been looking for a home with a fenced-in back yard for our dog and a large basement to house the eight sumo wrestlers who live with us. I've got to find work for those guys. I brought them here from Japan because I thought sumo wrestling would go over well in Gooseberry. That was one business venture I regret. After that failed, I opened up Sumo Daycare and you may remember what a disaster that was.

Maybe I should reopen Sumo Daycare. Okay, so they didn't do a perfect job last time, but they deserve a second chance.


I hate people because they're stupid. I have a method I use to avoid the phone tag cycle, but people are too stupid to do something this simple. This is especially true when it comes to landlords. Here's an example.

Lorenzo (leaving voice mail):  Hi, this is Lorenzo Dunning and I'm calling about the house for rent at 1601 Sean Young Drive, across from the Zoroastrian Community Center. Please call me at 555-1601. If you get my voice mail, please leave a message with information on the rent, the deposit, and if you accept pets.

Possible Future Landlord (leaving voice mail):  Hi. You called about the house for rent at 1601 Sean Young Drive. Call me back at 555-7851. (Click.)

Lorenzo (leaving another voice mail): We seem to be playing phone tag, so once again, if you call back and get my voice mail, please leave a message with answers to the following questions: How much is rent? How much is the deposit? Do you allow pets?

Possible Future Landlord (leaving another voice mail):  Yeah, we do seem to be playing phone tag. I'm at home now, so now would be a good time to call me. (Click.)

Lorenzo (leaving yet another voice mail):  WHAT IS YOUR FUCKING PROBLEM? TWICE I HAVE ASKED YOU TO LEAVE INFORMATION ABOUT RENT, DEPOSIT, AND YOUR PET POLICY. IS THAT SO FUCKING HARD TO UNDERSTAND? PLEASE LEAVE THAT INFORMATION ON MY CONFIDENTIAL VOICE MAIL. I NEED TO KNOW SOMETHING BY NOON TOMORROW.

Impossible Future Landlord (leaving yet another voice mail):  We keep missing each other. I'll be at home for the next five minutes if you want to call. If you miss me, I'll try to reach you tomorrow night at 6:00. (Click)

So finally, tonight, I got to see the property. I thought the landlord looked familiar, but I couldn't place him until he told me his name. Sheldon. I said to myself, "The only Sheldon I knew was...uh-oh." I remembered who he was and I think he remembered who I was. I fucked this guy many years ago. I was young, dumb, and full of cum when I first met Sheldon. A bartender came to me and told me that someone had bought me a drink. I drank it. Then, the bartender came to me and said the same guy bought me another drink. I finally met the guy who had been buying me the drinks and it wasn't the man with the child in his eyes. It was Sheldon, Mr. Nasty. But I at least wanted to be nice to him...as long as he was still buying the drinks. Oh, but there was more than alcohol involved. He had an amazing variety of pills as well as powders to snort. That was all my addictive personality needed. It's still embarrassing to admit this, but I went home with Mr. Nasty.


Fast-forward several years. Mr. Nasty is showing me a house. He asked, "Have you lived in Gooseberry all your life?" Translated, that means, "I think I fucked you years ago. I'm 90 percent sure it was you. If you were living in Gooseberry at the time, that would make me 99 percent sure it was you. So, have you lived in Gooseberry all your life?"


I said, "No. I'm originally from Gentryville. I've only lived in Gooseberry for two years. Yeah, that's it. Two years. Maybe only one year. I swear." Translated that means, "You remember me. I wouldn't have fucked you if I wasn't stoned. You're the reason I stopped using drugs in the first place. I didn't want to wake up one morning with another Mr. Nasty. But I want you to pretend that we don't recognize each other. This is very uncomfortable, but at least this has given me something to blog about."


Now what should I do? I could get a really good deal on this. Maybe he'll go down on the price if I go down on him. Would it be worth enduring his nasty crotch odor? What would you do?

How to Leave the Heterosexual Lifestyle and Become Gay

With all the difficulties heterosexuals face in our society, I don't know why anyone would choose to be straight. Compared to gay people, heterosexuals have less disposable income, are half as likely to graduate from college, and are less likely to hold professional or managerial positions in the workforce. In short, straight people don't do their fair share when it comes to contributing to the economy and art museums. Many heterosexuals suffer from oppression because they are confined by the restrictions of traditional moral values. Even worse, 100% of the unplanned pregnancies in 2010 were caused by heterosexual activity, consensual or otherwise.

Most openly straight people will tell you that they were born that way. This contradicts modern science. There is no gene that causes heterosexuality. It is a lifestyle choice.

There are a few clinics and support groups aimed at turning gay people straight, but they're part of the problem. Straights have a tendency to seduce otherwise gay people into the heterosexual lifestyle.

We at Dunning and Associates Counseling Services acknowledge the need for our society to reverse this trend. Heterosexuals, instead, need to leave their lifestyle and repair their sexual orientation to one that prefers people of the same gender. Dunning and Associates has a program that offers support and encouragement to those who want to free themselves from the bondage of unwanted heterosexual tendencies.

We at Dunning and Associates hate heterosexuality, but love the heterosexual. Our program is based on doing the exact opposite of what ex-gay therapy encourages. The treatment plan at Dunning and Associates suggests the following:

Don't read the Bible.
Even anti-gay Christians admit that reading the Bible leads to heterosexual tendencies. Reading the Bible will only strengthen your faith in God. You must stray from your faith in order for God to release you of the bondage of opposite-sex attraction.

Don't pray.
Many Christians confess that praying will decrease your attraction to people of the same gender. So don't pray!

Don't go to a "mainstream" therapist.
Most therapists have an agenda. They will tell you that you were born heterosexual and that you can't change your sexual orientation, in spite of the fact that there are many ex-heterosexuals who have left their former lifestyles. They will tell you that the focus of therapy should be on accepting yourself the way you are. They will even tell you that many heterosexuals live happy and productive lives, even though research proves the exact opposite.

Notice the beauty of people who are of your gender.
Even if looking at people of the same sex doesn't turn you on sexually, at least acknowledge the beauty. If you are a man, develop a deep respect and appreciation for the male anatomy. If you are a woman, do the same with the female anatomy. This will condition your mind to the openness of making the changes you desire.

Don't support marriage.
Sadly, even some well-meaning people in the gay community are now supporting what they call "marriage equality." This is their desperate attempt to conform to societal pressures. Even though their intentions are good, it is wrong of them to elevate the institution of marriage by bringing it into the gay community. Monogamy is unnatural.

In addition to adapting contemporary gay-to-straight conversion techniques to achieve the results former heterosexuals have desired, we at Dunning and Associates have also taken the supposedly "outdated" techniques of ex-gay therapy and altered them to fit our ex-straight therapeutic model.

Think only of people of the same sex when you masturbate.
This will train your mind to find gratification of a same-sex attraction. If you find it difficult to climax when thinking of gay sexual activity, fantasize about heterosexual sex until you reach the brink of orgasm, then switch your thoughts to an attractive person of the same sex while you climax.

Induce vomiting while you look at pictures of attractive people of the opposite sex.
Inducing vomiting is bad for your physical health. It can lead to heart failure and it can also damage other internal organs. But it's a small price to pay. Your sexual organs and what you do with them are more important. This technique will train your mind to associate heterosexual sex with something unpleasant. The only way you will then be able to gratify yourself sexually is with a same-sex partner.

Find additional ways to harm yourself physically when you have lustful thought of the opposite sex.
We at Dunning and Associates recommend that you do something that will cause a mild electrical shock to your body, but any form of physical self-punishment will do. Like the vomiting technique, your mind will begin to associate opposite-sex attraction to unpleasant experiences and you will soon find yourself gayer than the male cast members of a Broadway play.

To make an appointment, call Dunning and Associates at 800-555-BGAY. Operators are standing by to "serve" you.

My New Book: Thank God for the Westboro Baptist Church

The enemy of my enemy is not always my friend, but most of us have experienced times when we've united with people--even people we dislike--simply because we share the same enemy. That's why I wrote the book Thank God for the Westboro Baptist Church. Those inbred scumbags can even make me like Sean Hannity...for a couple of minutes. I don't know where the patriotic conservatives were when members of this so-called church were "only" protesting outside the funerals of gay people, but once they started bringing their hatred to the funerals of fallen soldiers, the patriotic right finally took notice and I'm glad they did.

And now, the WBC (Westboro Baptist Church; not the World Boxing Council ) finds excuses to go after nearly all public figures...after they die. Yeah, if you're too cowardly to say terrible things about people directly to them, wait until they die. It puzzles me when they announce plans to pay their final disrespects to people like Elizabeth Edwards, Elizabeth Taylor, and more recently, Betty Ford. I can understand why they would want to picket outside of Elizabeth Taylor's funeral. After all, she had many gay friends and she had the audacity to care about people living with AIDS. (Compassion is evil.) Of course, Elizabeth Edwards was a blasphemer. But why Betty Ford? Was it because she once said that then president Jimmy Carter had no business telling cohabiting young adults to stop living in sin? (Note to self: It's called "cohabiting." Stop calling it "cohabitating.")

But look how much WBC has united us. Rugged, patriotic motorcyclists can stand side by side with gay activists. The thought of that kind of turns me on. I wonder how many of these motorcyclists are gay. And since everyone you know hates WBC, you can use it develop rapport with others, mend relationships, and just plain get away with shit.

Again, that's why I wrote Thank God for Westboro Baptist Church. It's filled with strategies on how you can use a simple technique to help yourself in all conversations.

Example One

Super-Progressive Adult Grandson:
Obama is acting like a conservative now! This is like watching Bush's third term!

Super-Conservative Wealthy Grandfather:
ARE YOU NUTS? OBAMA IS A COMMUNIST! YOU'RE AN FUCKING IDIOT!

Grandson:
HOW CAN YOU BE SUCH A MORON, GRANDPA?

Grandfather:
At least Bush wanted to do away with the inheritance tax. That would have left you with more money after I go...if I decide to leave you any.

Grandson:
Uh.... That reminds me of something I read about the Westboro Baptist Church. I hate those pricks!

Grandfather:
I hate those pricks, too! Let's go get ice cream!

Example Two

Teen Daughter:
I'm sorry I wrecked the car, Mom. It wasn't my fault.

Mother:
Oh, I suppose that utility pole came out of nowhere. I will take away your driving privileges for a month. You shouldn't have been texting behind the wheel in the first place.

Daughter:
I was just responding to something Crystal said in a text about the Westboro Baptist Church.

Mother:
Those people are downright evil.

Daughter:
That's the exact same thing I was saying in my text to Crystal when the accident happened. Can I borrow dad's car tonight?

Mother:
The keys are on the bedroom dresser.

Example Three

Young Man in a Bar:
You are the prettiest thing I've seen in here all night.

Young Woman:
I'm not a thing. And I've been watching you come on to girls since you got here. You may not remember me because we met only once. I work with a girl you briefly dated. I know what an asshole you are. Get away from me you lousy piece of shit!

Young Man:
Okay then. I'll ignore you the same as I ignore those subhumans from the Westboro Baptist Church. They're the ones who are lousy pieces of shit!

Young Woman:
My roommate is out of town this weekend. You wanna go to my place?

Example Four

Executive Conducting a Job Interview:
Thank you for your interest in working for our company. Why should I hire you?


Job Seeker:
Well, I got fired from my last job because I tested positive for meth. Well, I really didn't get fired. They told me if I wanted to keep my job, I'd have to go through treatment. I told them there's no way in hell I'm gonna give up meth or go through treatment, so I quit. But I did get fired from the job before that one because I threatened to kill a coworker. And the job before that, I got fired for literally pissing on my boss' desk. I still use meth. I smoked some before I came in for this interview. Right now, my brain feels fucking fried. Did I tell you how much I hate the Westboro Baptist Church?

Executive:
You can start Monday. 


Example Five

Profile on a Dating Site:
Gay male who hates the Westboro Baptist Church seeks same.

So there you have it. Wouldn't the world be a nicer place if people talked about the Westboro Baptist Church more often. Buy my book!

Darn! I Was Going to Sing at Hugh Hefner's Wedding!

Right now, I am the most disappointed person in the history of disappointment. I really wish something would go my way for a change. (I'm sitting on my pity pot as I write this.) As if things weren't going bad enough for me, imagine how upset I felt when the wedding of Hugh Hefner and Crystal Harris was cancelled, considering I was going to sing solo at the ceremony and with my band, Lorenzo Dunning and the Wife Swappers, at the reception. I'll get to that in a minute.


You probably know the reason I haven't been blogging lately. With controversy swirling like a Dervish around me, I've been so occupied with damage control.


You know about the sexting and the photos of me that have surfaced. I sent photos of my feet to members of an online foot fetish community. When a reporter from LSZ broke the story, I first denied that those were my feet in the photos. Then I held a press conference to admit that the allegations were true and I TOOK FULL RESPONSIBILITY for my actions. Oh yeah, and I cried at the press conference. Republicans on the Gooseberry City Counsel called for my resignation, but I insisted that I did nothing illegal. Now, other photos of my feet, taken in Gooseberry City Hall's fitness room, have surfaced. Now members of my own party are calling for my resignation.


Even before all this started, I was already under fire for going on an anti-hypoglycemic rant during a performance at the bar of the Skinner Motel. I said that hypoglycemia was a choice. I said that kids with hypoglycemia should stop whining and shut the ef up. I told the audience if I had a teenage son who had hypoglycemia, I would make him do extra chores as a punishment. A week later (when everyone else in Gooseberry found out), I apologized. But the Hypoglycemic Alliance Against Defamation (HAAD) won't accept my apology. They said there is no excuse for hyopglycemophobia and they condemned my use of the h-word. And now, people with hypoglycemia are sending me death threats. People who choose to be hypoglycemic are soulless. Oops, I didn't mean that.


With all this bad luck following me around, I can't help but think that I jinxed the Hefner-Harris wedding. Hugh Hefner is a good friend of mine and we go way back. I never worked directly with Hef, but he opened doors for me and helped me break into the adult film business. When a friend of his was casting a porn movie way back when, Hef told him about me, a then 18-year-old Lorenzo Dunning, who Hef described as "an up-and-cumming talent." So, if it weren't for Hugh Hefner, there would be no Lorenzo Does Luxembourg, soon to be re-released on Blu-ray.


I don't know how well the Blu-ray edition of Lorenzo Does Luxembourg will sell, now that some people with hypoglycemia and their allies are calling for a boycott. Maybe I should do some damage control by announcing that I'm going into rehab so that I can be a better person.

Treatment for Post-MySpace Maladjustment Disorder

"The first drama blog I wrote after leaving MySpace fell flat. No one responded. Where were my supporters? Where were my haters? None of them followed me to WordPress. I fell into a deep depression. Fortunately, I reached out for help."

--Tatiana

Tatiana is not alone. Many former stars of MySpace are suffering in silence from a debilitating syndrome called post-MySpace maladjustment disorder.

 "I remember waiting until 2:01 a.m. to post my blog on MySpace just to score high in the rankings. It would thrill me when my blog entries would land in the top 10. Those were the moments I lived for. The downfall of MySpace took all that away from me. I thought my life was over. I had nowhere else to turn."

--Mary Alice

Post-MySpace maladjustment disorder (or PMSMD) affects thousands of people worldwide. Many people who suffer from PMSMD have tried, but failed, to solve the problem on their own. 

"At first, I said to myself, 'So what if MySpace is old news? I'll just make the transition to Facebook.' And then I did a Google search for 'Facebook glitter graphics' and found nothing. I felt a deep emptiness. I thought my situation was hopeless."
--Brian B.

 Symptoms of post-MySpace maladjustment disorder include:

• Persistent failed attempts to recapture the popularity one had on MySpace through other social networks.
• Recurring obnoxious attention-seeking behaviors that were effective on MySpace, but ineffective in other areas of the Internet or in real-world situations. 
• Repeated failed attempts to regain the number of MySpace blog subscribers one had when starting a blog on another server.
• Experiencing frustration when posting comments on other blogs where blogdicking is not possible.
• Feelings of sadness due to a decline of listenership of one's Blog Talk Radio program.

"I knew I had a problem when I was visiting my Aunt Mildred at the nursing home and I called her a 'fucktard'."

--George P. (a.k.a. Pegasus Whisperer)

But the Dunning Recovery Center of Gooseberry, Kentucky is there for you. It is a luxurious 32-bed facility with a low patient-to-staff ratio. Our professional team will provide you with an individualized, holistic treatment plan tailored to meet your recovery needs. 

 "I was a MySpace slut who did not successfully transition to Facebook. But the Dunning Recovery Center helped me get my life back on track. The staff were so friendly, especially the male staff. Get it? MALE STAFF. LOL

--Holly H.

My story:

I was a has-been former porn star, down on my luck, and then suddenly, I discovered MySpace blogging. Before I knew it, I had a new career as a satirist and political pundit with hundreds of blog subscribers. I earned the prestigious Spalding Award for Brilliance in Blogging. I was called "the best blogger in the history of blogging." And I was given the nickname "The King of Nice." I thought MySpace would last forever. But I discovered, once again, that fame was fleeting...and so was MySpace. With MySpace and my blogging career on life support, I tried to recapture my glory days. But with professional help, the support of loved ones, and the help of a higher power, I realized there is life after MySpace. With a new lease on life, I started the Dunning Recovery Center and decided to name it after myself. I'm proud to say that the Dunning Recovery Center has changed many lives.

"The Dunning Recovery Center helped me realize I don't have to hate anyone. I love life and I'm even learning to love myself...one day at a time."

Larry W. (formerly i-hate-fags)

"I used to spend my days and nights writing and responding to MySpace drama blogs, but now I have a life, thanks to the Dunning Recovery Center!"
--Gertrude

If you need help with PMSMD, call 1-555-RECOVER.

The Oh-You-Didn't-Tell-Me-to-Keep-It-a-Secret Crazy Maker

Lorenzo, King of Nice, is on assignment...traveling the world...providing indigenous tribes with safe drinking water and feather dusters. Filling in for Nice Lorenzo is I've-About-Fucking-Had-It-with-Your-Shit Lorenzo.


Sometimes, you confide in someone, and the very nature of the content indicates that you don't want the entire world to know. Well guess what. By noon, the entire world knows. You say to yourself, "I should have asked Robin not to tell anyone. I could just kick myself." Don't do that! Kick Robin instead. You confront Robin only for Robin to act all innocent. "Oh, did you want me to keep that a secret? You should have told me." And you reply, "The mere fact that I whispered it to you...the mere fact that it has something to do with my genitalia...couldn't you just assume that I didn't want everyone to know?"


Now, oh-you-didn't-tell-me-to-keep-it-a-secret crazy makers may play all naive and innocent, but they know exactly what they are doing. They know they're stirring up more bullshit than a tornado ripping through a rodeo. Call it drama by proxy. They create drama between other people while they sit back and watch the show. And...if they tell only one person what you said, they will tell it to the person with whom it will cause you the most problems...and at a time in which it will cause the most problems.


The oh-you-didn't-tell-me-to-keep-it-a-secret crazy maker doesn't necessarily have to be someone in which you intentionally confide. You could tell him or her something in passing...and then it gets passed around alright. These people aren't your garden-variety crazy makers; they're crazy makers on steroids. Oh-you-didn't-tell-me-to-keep-it-a-secret crazy makers are everywhere...at your workplace, in your neighborhood, in professional organizations, in civic organizations, in places of worship, and in your school. But usually, they're in your face trying to get information from you.


The oh-you-didn't-tell-me-to-keep-it-a-secret crazy maker in the workplace

The workplace is where these folks can create the most chaos. And they can be so crafty at it. Here are some examples of what they can do:

Example #1:

Hypothetical Coworker:Lorenzo, don't you wish our supervisor, Mr. Edwards, were more available to us?

Lorenzo:Yes, I do. He's too busy. They give him more work than any one person can reasonably do.

(Minutes later)

Hypothetical Coworker:Hello, Mr. Edwards. Lorenzo and I wish you would do a better job communicating with us.

Example #2:

Lorenzo:I'm so frustrated! On days like this, I wish I could just quit.

(Minutes later)

Hypothetical Coworker:Mr. Edwards, Lorenzo told me he wants to quit. By the way, have you decided on who is going to get that promotion?

The oh-you-didn't-tell-me-to-keep-it-a-secret crazy maker who has infiltrated your circle of friends


Boy do they love to create friction between friends. They themselves have no friends because of their oh-you-didn't-tell-me-to-keep-it-a-secret crazy making, so they they are JEALOUS of any friendship between two or more people. You know how you may not like certain people when you first meet them...and then come to like them once you've actually given them a chance? The oh-you-didn't-tell-me-to-keep-it-a-secret crazy maker will wait until you've established a close friendship and then say something like this to your new bud:

"I'm surprised you and Lorenzo are such good friends now. He used to call you Manorexic Mike behind your back. He and Emily once had a bet on how much you weigh. If you tell me how much you weigh, I'll tell you which one of them was closer. They'd probably want to know, too, because the loser was supposed to pay the winner one dollar for every pound you weigh. Lorenzo joked, 'If I win the bet, I'll take the money and buy Manorexic Mike a sandwich and I'll put the rest in my piggy bank.'"

And here's another way they can try to ruin new friendships:

Lorenzo:Oh, so you wrestled in high school?

Zach:Yeah, all five years.

Crazy Maker:Lorenzo, tell Zach what you told me about wrestlers.

The oh-you-didn't-tell-me-to-keep-it-a-secret crazy maker around your family


You must keep oh-you-didn't-tell-me-to-keep-it-a-secret crazy makers away from your family...especially your parents. If your parents are prohibitionists, these types of crazy makers will tell them about your drunken escapades...including the time you threw up on one of the Icecapades. They will tell your evangelical parents how many times you've gotten laid or used God's name in vain. Or, they just might say something like, "Mrs. Dunning, you're not as much of a chatterbox as Lorenzo said you were. Did you know he already has plans for his inheritance money?"


So, do your best to protect yourself from the oh-you-didn't-tell-me-to-keep-it-a-secret crazy maker. Don't even nod in agreement with anything they say. Remember, you might as well be holding a press conference while they're around. I just wish they had to identify themselves as such every time they ask you a question...the same way reporters do at real press conferences. "I'm Robin, an oh-you-didn't-tell-me-to-keep-it-a-secret crazy maker from the Gooseberry Chapter of Oh-You-Didn't-Tell-Me-to-Keep-It-a-Secret Crazy Makers. Have you noticed that Sam calls in sick a lot on Mondays? And if so, why do you think that is?"

New Blog Series: Crazy Makers Suck Your Emotional Energies Among Other Things

Lorenzo, King of Nice, is on assignment, traveling North America, saving endangered species, reading Aesop's Fables to at-risk children, and building Habitat homes. Filling in for Nice Lorenzo is I've-About-Fucking-Had-It-with-Your-Shit Lorenzo.


As Jo Dee Messina says, my give-a-damn's busted. Oh, but that ain't the worst of it. I've already sold the last supply of give-a-rat's-ass and I'm not expecting another shipment of give-a-flying-fuck until August. The Nice Lorenzo would call it "compassion fatigue." I, the I've-About-Fucking-Had-It-with-Your-Shit Lorenzo call it "Save it for Somebody Who Gives a Shit Syndrome." Yep, all the products that we carry in the empathy section of Lorenzo's Emotional Superstore are gone, but you might want to check out the specials we have in the jaded section. We're running a two-for-one special on you-dug-your-own-hole. And there's a huge clearance sale on you-should-have-listened-to-me-in-the-first-place-dickhead.


Why am I like this? Because, I'm sickandtired (and yes, I've turned "sick and tired" into a compound word) of people dumping their shit in my lap expecting me to save them from the consequences of their own actions. 


Let me take a wild guess. You have "friends" and relatives like that, too. 


The term "crazy maker," sometimes used as a compound word ("crazymaker") is a pop psychology term that's been around at least since the 1980s. It's definition is self-explanatory. And if you live on planet earth, then you know a few. Hell, you probably know many. You may call them energy vampires, drama queens (or kings), troublemakers, histrionics, pains in the ass, and a few words that I can't mention on this family-friendly blog. But they suck the life out of you and they suck green donkey dicks. Al Franken's character, Stewart Smalley, would say that many of these people live their lives going from crisis to crisis.


Before I go any further, I'll ask Nice Lorenzo to weigh in on this:

This is Nice Lorenzo reporting from the Appellation Mountains of Kentucky where I have arranged for 1,000 young people to receive free dental care. While it's true that crazy makers tend (or pretend) to have more problems than the average person, not everyone with a lot of problems is a crazy maker. If you take responsibility for your own life...if you take responsibility for your own mistakes...if you need help and support from others, but realize you still need to help yourself...then you are not a crazy maker. Crazy makers thrive on chaos, and for them, chaos loves company. And now, back you you, I've-About-Fucking-Had-It-with-Your-Shit Lorenzo.

Thank you, Nice Lorenzo. Now there are all kinds of crazy makers and way they make "crazy." (I don't want some better-than-though asshat telling me I should have used "craziness" instead of "crazy." I did it on purpose for the effect, shitwad.) In the next few days, I will discuss the different types of crazy makers, what they do, how they do it, and what you can do to make them go spread their chaos somewhere else. Here are some of the types of crazy making we'll discuss.

• The pseudo-suicidal crazy maker.
  Maybe you know one. She (and yes, it is usually a she) will think, I'm going to call Andy and threaten to kill myself. But first, I'm going to buy a new pair of shoes and then see if Travelosity has any good deals on airfares. I hear that Quebec is beautiful this time of year. Then, I'll leave him a voice mail, telling him I'm going to kill myself. Then, I'll order a pizza and watch TV Land until he calls me back. (Nice Lorenzo would object to the obvious sexism I just used, but this is I've-About-Fucking-Had-It-with-Your-Shit Lorenzo.)
  
• The it's-my-crisis-but-it's-your-problem-to-solve crazy maker.
  She (and yes, it is usually a she) will come to you with an "overwhelming" crisis and she just won't know what to do. You will offer many, many solutions, but she will insist she's tried them all and they don't work. You will finally run out of ideas, and when you do, she'll accuse you of not caring. (Nice Lorenzo would object to the obvious sexism I just used, but this is I've-About-Fucking-Had-It-with-Your-Shit Lorenzo.)
  
• The I'm-too-angry-at-you-to-tell-you-why-I'm-angry-at-you crazy maker.
  She (AYIIUAS) will compel you to guess why she's angry at you. You will try to pry it out of her. Good luck! Six months later, she will explode in a tirade, in front of your family or friends, and tell you why she was angry at you. And guess what. All those months you thought things were fine...she was holding onto that grudge. (NLWOTTOSIJUBTIIAFHIWYSL)
  
• The will-you-help-me-move crazy maker.Okay, this time, it's usually a guy. One of the reasons I've never owned a truck is to avoid the will-you-help-me-move crazy maker. Usually, you go over to his apartment early Saturday morning, as agreed. The dickwad is still in bed. You have to wake him up. And guess what. He hasn't boxed a damn thing. And where are all the other guys he said would be there to help him move? So, what you thought would take only a few hours takes the entire damn day. Oh, but you have to stay until it's all moved out because he has to be out of his apartment that very day.

Now there are many other types of crazy makers, including the when-are-you-gonna-hurry-up-and-do-me-this-favor crazy maker. We will explore them all. In the meantime, for more information on crazy makers, check this out. Maybe in the comment section, you can share your experience with crazy makers.

The "Tragic" Death of Mrs. Baker

It's been several months since Mrs. Baker died. As you know, I haven't written much about it. But considering that I witnessed her death...and how I feel partly responsible for it...you can imagine that it's not something I want to dwell on. But my therapist keeps telling me I need to "get it out." She suggested that I write out my feelings about Mrs. Baker's death in my private journal. But I'd rather write them out in a monetized blog.


First, let me tell about Mrs. Baker. She was born June Baker in 1939. At the age of 20, she married Arthur Diebold, who died 30 years later under mysterious circumstances. Three years later, she married Chauncey Baker III. She hated it when people would make fun of her and call her Mrs. Baker-Diebold-Baker, so I kept calling her Mrs. Baker-Diebold-Baker. About 10 years later, Chauncy died under the same mysterious circumstances as Mr. Diebold. I'm just stating the facts.


Anywaze...Mrs. Baker was what I would call an unpleasant do-gooder. She would volunteer for every charitable event in Gooseberry...as long as it would get her noticed. You've got to understand, she started doing this before the Internet gave attention whores the option of getting all the attention they want without leaving their homes. So yeah, she was an attention whore from the old school.


And she would be so obnoxious, acting like no event could turn out successfully without her taking everything over. But Arthur and Chauncey left her with a considerable amount of wealth, so charities needed her for her financial support. Once, little Nathan Carnes, who once won the Gooseberry Science Fair, had the opportunity to take his science project to a national championship and I had to beg Mrs. Baker to financially support his trip, but she almost didn't do it because he beat out her grandson's creationism exhibit. Maybe the judges were afraid not to vote for Nathan because they didn't want to piss off an 11-year-old boy who had live killer bees as part of his science project, but that's another story.


So, here is where the tragedy begins. I was on a committee of volunteers to raise money for the Gooseberry Learning Center and we were about to have a carnival-slash-groundbreaking ceremony. The whole thing was my idea and it was because of me that Mrs. Baker got involved. I called her up just to see if she wanted to donate some money, but when she found out the local news media was going to be there, she said, "Well, somebody's got to be involved in that who knows what they're doing!" Bytch! But her choice to participate in the event sealed her fate.


With the exception of Mrs. Baker going around trying to be the boss of everybody, it looked like the carnival was going to be great. We had clowns, a fire eater, a sword swallower, a tightrope walker, a strongman, a fun house, a haunted house, carnival games, and lots of rides. We even had a "unicorn" and an elephant. I'm telling all this for a reason.


Myron chose to be the guy in the dunking machine.

Myron

Myron enjoys doing anything that will give him the opportunity to take off his shirt and show off all his tattoos. Mrs. Baker thought that Myron tattooed torso was too "unsightly" for a children's carnival. Myron just rolled his is and said, "Chupa mis juevos, Señora Baker-Diebold-Baker," as he climbed into the dunking machine. The kids adored Myron.

And then, Mrs. Baker started bytching to me because I wasn't tying the horn on the white horse's head well enough to please her. "You have to make it look like a real unicorn, Lorenzo!" she snapped. "Here, let me do it!" She jerked the horn and the fasteners from my hand so quickly and started to do it herself. This was about the time the PETA protesters showed up. I tried telling her she was tying it around the horse's neck too tight, but of course, she didn't listen to me or PETA.

Then, the moment came for the groundbreaking ceremony. I had just finished tying a big red bow on the handle of the shovel when Mrs. Baker grabbed it. "But little Nathan Carnes is going to be the one breaks ground."

"Not with the news media here," Mrs Baker yelled. "You need someone who's recognizable in the community to do it...like me."

Mrs. Baker waited impatiently as the mayor spoke and then dug the shovel right into the ground. This scared a gopher right out of his hole. The gopher scared the elephant standing nearby and the elephant's reaction scared both the "unicorn" and Mrs. Baker. You can probably guess what happened next. Mrs. Baker lunged backward, not knowing that the "unicorn" behind her was about to charge forward. I'm going to stop putting quotation marks around "unicorn" now because you know that I'm not talking about a real unicorn, and knowing that makes the quotes unnecessary. Besides, I'm getting tired going through the extra step of using quotes every time I write the word unicorn.

So, as Mrs. Baker fell back, the unicorn charged forward and pierced through her. She kicked and screamed as the now-red horn of the unicorn lifted her off her feet and ran wild. I didn't know that horses had such strong necks. Had she not insisted on tying the horn on the unicorn so tightly, the weight of Mrs. Baker's body would have caused the horn to slide off the horse's head. You know that the unicorn is really a horse made up to look like a unicorn, so I am now using the words "horse" and "unicorn" interchangeably. (There I go again with the quotation marks.)

While the unicorn was running around with Mrs. Baker's still-alive body on its horn, the elephant went crazy and charged all over the place. He even knocked down some of the walls in the fun house. The unicorn ran right by the fire eater and one of his torches sat Mrs. Baker's hair on fire. I saw a smirk on Little Nathan Carnes' face as he nudged me with his elbow as if to say, "Too bad we have to pretend this isn't funny." His mom gave him a little squeeze and said, "See, son? That could have been you."

The unicorn continued to run wild, right in the direction of the dunking machine, where Myron sat watching the whole thing. The unicorn ran past the right side of the dunking machine, forcing Mrs. Baker's forehead to hit the target. I felt bad for Myron because he fell into the water and didn't get to see what was going to happen next. Let me tell you, he missed the best part.

The unicorn ran past (what was left of) the fun house. It's not every day you see a variety of distorted fun-mirror reflections of a dying bloody woman with flaming hair as she goes by, impaled on a fake horn tied to a horse's head. I just looked down at Mrs. Baker's grandson and said, "You have to admit...it is funny."

The sword swallower tried to save Mrs. Baker. He pulled the sword out of his stomach as quickly as he could, but by that time, the unicorn had taken Mrs. Baker into the haunted house. The sword swallower ran into the haunted house and intended to stab the horse in hopes of saving Mrs. Baker, even though the PETA protesters were urging him not to. Well, to be honest, most of the crowd was urging him not to. What happened next...I'm sure it was an accident...or at least the sword swallower said it was an accident. It's so dark in haunted houses and he ended up stabbing Mrs. Baker instead! The teenagers in the haunted house thought it was all an act. They were yelling things out like, "That blood is so fake!"

The unicorn eventually found his way out of the haunted house and continued to run wild. Now if you think a loud elephant is enough to scare a horse, imagine what a haunted house would do to a horse. On top of that, Mrs. Baker now had a sword lodged in her side. I heard one little girl say, "Mommy, I thought unicorns were nice."

Finally, the horse raised up on his hind legs and managed to throw Mrs. Baker off of him. Mrs. Baker fell at the strong man's feet, forcing him to drop a 200-pound ball right on her head. She died, but at least her hair wasn't on fire anymore.

Well the ambulance came and took the late Mrs. Baker away and of course everyone was upset that the fun house and the haunted house had both been destroyed. But the day wasn't a total loss. We raised a lot of money for the Gooseberry Learning Center and I got the strong man's phone number.

Christina Aguilera and the Black Eyed Peas Ask for My Help

Last night, after the Super Bowl, I received two desperate emails; one from Christina Aguilera, the other from the Black Eyed Peas. As it turns out, they are great admirers of mine and they are reaching out to me in their moments of crises. Here is the email I received form Aguilera. It's all true, word for word. I verified that the email truly came from her and I swear I'm not making this up:

Dearest Lorenzo,
I recently saw you in concert at All-American Storage Units in Indianapolis during your recently completed White Powdery Substance Tour. I have to say that you are the best live performer in the history of live performing and I can learn a lot from you. If you watched and listened to me sing the National Anthem before the Super Bowl, you know that my performance was less than perfect. You even called me Christina Gagulara. I know that you are a three-time Tri-State Music Awards winner in the category of Best Pregame Performance of the National Anthem with Marching Band Accompaniment. You even beat out Florence Henderson. That's why I'm asking for your help.

I know you are busy. You just completed filming a pilot for a television series called Everybody's Jealous of Lorenzo, but as one of your biggest fans, I'm asking you to do me a huge favor.  I'll come to Gooseberry and stay for two weeks if you spend that time coaching me to become a better live performer. Name your price. If you agree to help me, please make sure that Myron is not around, for his sexual magnetism would surely be a distraction for me.

Sincerely,
Christina Aguilera

Now, for those of you who aren't familiar with Myron, he tried to murder me once during my tenure as a prestigious MySpace blogger after I took him off My Top 8 Friends list.

 Myron

Myron expressed remorse for trying to kill me. I could see it in his eyes. I decided to give him a second chance and now we are roommates. Several sumo wrestlers live in our basement, but that's another blog entry for another time. Anywaze...you can see how Myron's "sexual magnetism" would distract Christina Aguilera. Knowing that he was watching her perform was probably the main reason she botched the lyrics.

But now, let's get to the Black Eyed Peas. For the longest time, I thought the name of the band was the Black I.T.s. Here is the email I received form them. It's all true, word for word. I verified that the email truly came from them and I swear I'm not making this up: 

Dearest Lorenzo,
We recently saw you in concert at Big Charlie's Buy-Here-Pay-Here Used Cars in Reed, Kentucky during your recently completed White Powdery Substance Tour. We have to say that you are the best live performer in the history of live performing and we can learn a lot from you. If you watched and listened to our halftime performance at the Super Bowl, you know that our performance was less than perfect. Some people said it was the worst halftime Super Bowl performance ever. You even said we sucked green donkey dicks. I know that you are a four-time Tri-State Music Awards winner. You even beat out Florence Henderson and Mrs. Baker's nephew. That's why we're asking for your help.

We know you are busy. You just completed filming a pilot for a television series called Everybody's Jealous of Lorenzo, but as four of your biggest fans, we are asking you to do us a huge favor. We'll come to Gooseberry and stay for two weeks if you spend that time coaching us to become a better live performers. Name your price. If you agree to help us, please make sure that Myron is not around, for his sexual magnetism would surely be a distraction for Fergie.

Sincerely,
The Black Eyed Peas

 I agreed to mentor Christina and the Black Eyed Peas, but how am I going to tell Myron that he needs to stay in a hotel for the next two weeks. I'm sure that Christina and the Peas will pay for his hotel, but nobody wants see Myron angry. You won't like Myron when he's angry. Here's what he did after he lost a chess game.

What am I going to do?

I Am Morally Bankrupt

Earlier today, someone told me that I was "morally bankrupt."  I knew I was struggling morally, like most people, but I didn't know my situation was so bad that I qualified to file for moral bankruptcy...until I met with an attorney from the law firm of Rothman, Bernstein, Shapiro, Rosenberg, Levy, and Ali.  And I thought it was going to be difficult to find an attorney who specialized in moral bankruptcy.  As it turns out, most of them do.  I know it was bad joke.  Lawyer bashing is so 1990s.


Speaking of the 1990s (WARNING: SHAMELESS SELF-PROMOTION AHEAD), have you discovered my other blog, 20 Years Ago Today?  I take what was happening 20 years ago today and blog about it like it's going on now.  Many people have told me that it's the best blog they've ever read.  Just don't ask me who these people are.  They want to remain anonymous.  They're afraid they'll receive death threats from other bloggers in retaliation for not declaring their blogs the best.  There are so many bloggers out there who are jealous of my success.


Someone asked me how I came up with 20 Years Ago Today as the title for such a blog.  I don't know.  It just came to me.  Now that's the kind of creative genius that makes the other bloggers jealous.


Anywaze...back to my legal issues.  My attorney told me that I could file Chapter VII moral bankruptcy or Chapter XIII moral bankruptcy.  Chapter XI is for business moral bankruptcy...and I hear that attorneys who specialize in that field keep very busy.  My attorney explained that if I file Chapter VII moral bankruptcy, I won't have to repay anyone for the moral wrongs I have committed.  If I file Chapter XIII moral bankruptcy, they will put me on a plan and I will have up to seven years to rectify all my wrongs.  That sounds too much like a 12-step program.  I told my attorney, Mohammad Shapiro, that I want to file Chapter VII.  That way, I can start over fresh.  The only problem is...I'll have to go at least seven years before I can file for moral bankruptcy again.  I'll keep you posted.