The Dating Timeline

My name is Muden. I am looking for a nice woman to start a beautiful long term relationship with. To prove to you that I am ready for such an endeavor and not new to the game I have included a timeline of how our trip into bliss will most likely pan out.

First: We meet someplace trendy for a first date. Maybe an upscale sushi joint or a hole in the wall piano bar. We will discuss our likes and dislikes, careful not to admit to anything of either category that could in anyway be meaningful or revealing. For example, I confess to my hatred of "bad people" and leave my burning hatred of Saturn drivers at home. I don't go on my rant questioning how someone actually makes a decision to buy a Saturn. I do not express how dent proof doors are infact nice... or you could just not throw shit at your doors. You will ask if I like outdoorsy events like camping, hiking, boating, etc. and I will say I do even though the closest thing I have ever done to camping is when I ate of bunch of acid and then buried myself in the bushes in my backyard so I could "sort things out."

Second: Luckily, we find eachother attractive enough to exchange phone numbers. From there you will go home to study or to work and I will say that I am off to do something noble like donating blood. This is to impress you. Ofcourse, by "blood" I mean "pee" and by "donating" I mean "giving it to them wether they want it or not" and by "them" I mean "my boss's dog."

Third: We will go on a few more dates and you will meet my friends and I will meet your friends. One of your friends will say I look familiar and I will insist she is mistaken even though I know for a fact that we met a few months ago as I was running down the street after stealing a haircut from Sport Clips.

Fourth: We begin having sex on a regular basis. It will be remarkable due in large to the fact that we are both passionate, sexy people. But then I will try to incorporate some sort of strange foreplay involving either your ass or beads... or both. When you call me out on it, I will insist that I was joking even though I was not and truth be told I am thinking about putting stuff in your ass for the better part of my day.

Fifth: Our comfort level is now to the point where we each have a key to the others apartment. You will come home early one day and be shocked to find me on your couch masturbating to "The Golden Girls." I will apologize and tell you that I had been masturbating to the show before this and by the time the new show started I was already "in the zone." later you will look at the TV Guide and realize the show that is on before "The Golden Girls" is "Unsolved Mysteries."

Sixth: You will eventually grow tired of how emotionally distant I have become and I will grow tired of how you never do the things you said you love to do. Sure, we never went hiking together, but you swore you liked to cook and were a very clean person. If I, the couch yank cranker, have cleaner habits than you... we have a problem. You will begin to attack me with petty insulting comments under your breath and tell me that my pillows are disgusting. "They look like you let a homeless man pee on them." To which I will be thinking, "Only your pillow sweetie... only yours." Despite knowing that no matter how much you get under my skin you always sleep in bum pee, I will be more wrapped in wondering how you knew it was bum pee.

Seventh: We will finally break up after a loud shouting match that will eventually end in a scenario where I am standing inside of my apartment, minus the couches, staring down at you through the window, clad in your bathrobe and sipping coffee with a strange sense of calm as you destroy my hooptie with a 9-Iron.


If this sounds like the kind of real relationship you are interested in, please shoot me an email! Just let me know what time I should pick you up. Also, the hooptie is a rental while my Mercedes is in the shop so don't be alarmed.

- Muden

Striper Skank and Kathleen

For my 22nd birthday a couple of friends thought it would be fun to take me Downtown (back then the party was on Main Street) and surround me with strippers before presenting me with a blow up doll and a cake in the shape of boobies. For those in the club not in our group I can only assume it looked like a bachelor party and in all honesty, if I have a bachelor party, I hope to god it does not involve skanky strippers (as opposed to decent ones?), boobie cakes and blow up dolls.

Now I was faced with a prediciment. What do I do with said blow up doll (I named her Kathleen) and how do you escape the skank of stripper grinding? While I have yet to resolve the ever elusive issue of washing off stripper skank, I did eventually rid myself of the blow up doll.

Kathleen rode in my trunk for a good year and half. This was not for ease of mobility, I assure you. Rather, it was becuase where the hell do you dispose of a blow up doll? Certainly not at home. Trashmen can be very judgmental. At work? "Yeah I saw the pet shop guy dumping a body in the dumpster last night." That would be a no. My only sensible option was to leave her in the trunk until I found a suitable place to bury her.

I would like to interject that this may or may not have been the result of the Sicilian in me bubbling to the surface when it heard the words "get rid of the body."

And so Kathleen became my body in the trunk after a night of strippers and vodka.

A year down the road I am picking up a date from her apartment for dinner and a play. We are dressed up for the theatre and of course as we arrive she wants to leave her purse in the car but downtown is not the best place to do so, so she asks me to pop the trunk.

Awesome.

I pop the trunk, having forgotten all about Kathleen, and BLAMMO she starts yelling "OH MY GOD OH MY GOD!" At this point I still dont know what the hell is going but I am rushing to the back of the car like she is getting mugged and low and behold, Kathleen is half covered under the clutter of recent trip to galveston to collect marine specimens and bioturf.

For those of you not educated in marine biology, it was basically a shovel, sand and tarps.

Tell me what you think she was thinking.

Yeah, I know. Fuck.

I proceed to explain everything, she laughs nervously, and we go on with the night. I never heard from her again.

The next day I decide it is time to finally be rid of Kathleen the cock blocker. I have no idea where to take her but I do know that it has to be done. This comes to me as I am standing in an Autozone parking lot staring into my trunk thinking, "Should I stab her to deflate her?"

And so I tried to stab her with the only thing I had. My keys. I failed. I did however manage to grab the attention of everyone in the parking lot. After trying to stab the goddam doll I said fuck it and looked around for the nearest trashcan. I figured if I moved fast enough I would minimize the number of people who saw me.

So the trashcan was full and I spent another 5 minutes trying to stuff this now burned, stabbed and disfigured blow up doll into the 6 inch opening of a trashcan. Inconspicuous I was not.

The end product was me getting it half way in and saying "fuck it good enough" only to walk away from two legs sticking out of a trashcan out side of Autozone. I had to move through a gathered crowd of employees and customers, my audience, to get back to my car.

Akward.

Per Madre

As a writer I have long been convinced of the inadquacies of the written language in regards to the description of feeling and emotions. However, there are times when you simply must say something when the creation of art is neither convenient nor practical. So, it is with a heavy heart that I am forced to express the feelings that I bury inside becuase I know that these feelings are poorly served by the simple words I am forced to employ. It is not enough for me to say I love her. I have used this same word to describe my relationship with milk, hot wings and past girlfriends, who in the end, I know I never truly loved. So to use the word "love" to describe the immense feelings and emotions that she elicits in me seems somehow... wrong. However, becuase I am a writer I am aware of the power simplicity can convey so long as the audience understands the context. Generally this is achieved through the use of flowing adjectives and writing "between the lines" to bring you, the audience, to the conclusion I want you to arrive at. Here, however, I will be direct so as not to allow the perception of anything other than what I want you to walk away understanding. The word love is but a whisper of the shadow of the feelings I have for this woman. No matter how beautiful or poetic it may be, it is still only a shadow. The feeling itself, that which casts the shadow, is ever more brilliant and colorful than I could ever hope to express on paper. With that said I suppose I should continue in the language you wrote all of my birthday cards in.

I love you ma.

Per sempre. Sempre. Eterna.

Non abbiamo parlato troppo a lungo, ma non ho mai smesso di essere tuo figlio. I miss you caro e desidero più di ogni altra cosa che potrebbe tornare indietro il tempo di passare la mia gioventù con voi ancora una volta. Non riuscivo mai a dimenticare quello che è successo tra di noi, ma vi prometto che ti ho perdonato. Forse vedremo presto, e forse sarà un'altra vita tempo prima che io sento il calore della madre di nuovo. In entrambi i casi, sarà accolto a braccia aperte.

La tua risata è caro perdere ,
- Mohammed Kaleemuden Siddiqui

F**K Roaches

Let's talk about a serious problem plaguing Houston. It is a vile disease that leaves our streets unsafe and our children in the constant line of fire.

It's not Gora's in rice burners who own all the Fast and Furious movies.

It's roaches.

Evil sadistic carnivorous bastards.

First let's clear the air of a few myths. 1) Roaches do not eat people. This is false. Roaches have huge fucking teeth and once they take flight in that nasty goddam way nasty creepy fuckers... they fly AT you. THEY ARE GOING TO EAT YOUR FACE. 2) Roaches help the ecosystem by eating carrion and other trash that would otherwise decompose into nastiness. This is also false. Roaches are born from everything evil. They are little carwling spawns of death and when 30 of them combine their powers they form Satan. 3) Roaches are easily killed with Raid roach spray. Could not be anymore false. Anyone who believes this has clearly not encountered Houston's lovely 10" long tree roaches of death. Those little bastards take half a can and then they still wanna run at you to exact revenge. I once sprayed one non stop for 10 seconds and the little fucker still made it up my shoe before I kicked him off and screamed like a gir... man. I screamed like a manly man. It was a lumberjack scream. More of a yell really.

Now that you know the real agenda of roaches we can discuss how they go about fulfilling their little missions from Hell. When it rains, roaches come out to play. When its hot, roaches come out to play. When there is fucking oxygen in the air, roaches come out to spread their evil. If you live in Houston you have encountered death and no doubt you bare the scars to prove it. I once knew a guy who lived in a houston so infested with roaches I once woke up with one crawling on my leg.

HE WAS GOING TO EAT ME.

FUCK.

THAT.

I no longer speak with this individual. I was violated that night and I do not think I can ever be his friend again.

The constant presence of roaches in undeniable and something of a "part of life" here in Houston. So what then, Kaleem, inspired you to let the world know just how evil these little bastards are? I'll tell you what happened.

I will share with you this thorn from my lap of memories and with the blood it draws from my thumb I hope to illustrate the importance of KILLING THEM ALL.

I went on a mini vacation to Paris not long ago. Obviously, I flew there. On a side note, air planes are one of the few bastions we have left in the battle against roaches. Another place being my home. You can bet your ass I am roach proof to the extreme. I exterminate once every two months without fail. So help me god if I ever had a roach encounter in my own home I would break down and die.

Back to the point, I parked my car in a buddies garage, windows down, and had him drive me to the airport.

Almost, what, 4 months later? I am at work today and we decide, "Arbys!" (until the 16th you buy a drink and get a free sammich!) and so I pull my car around and in hop 3 co workers. I do not look at my back seats. Ever. Much less lift up the floor mats back there. One guy gets in and knocks the mat out of place and BLAMMO! there is a dead spawn of satan staring at me.

HOLY SHIT FUCK ME DO YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT WOULD HAVE HAPPENED HAD THAT LITTLE BASTARD TOUCHED ME WHILE I WAS DRIVING?

His mission was to kill me. I am positive. He left behind a little note with my description on it. He knew his mark!

I did not eat lunch today. I am still tramuatized by my brush with death. Seriously holy shit what if that thing started crawling around when I was driving. Ohhhhhhhhhhh my god I would have taken out a few cars in my frantic attempt to pull over in the middle of 59 going 80.

I called my "buddy" on the way back to work and told him we couldn't be friends anymore and that he should move.