I don’t know why I bother to surf, when all the articles are trash (a combination of poorly articulated, superficially analyzed, self-righteous liberal propaganda, and mothers bitching and moaning about the pettiest of offenses), but occasionally I find myself wandering back in search of mild amusement. Most recently, the greatest offenses to be featured on

Exhibit A

Woman bitches about people asking her if she’s had her baby yet, and how she’s feeling, when she’s past her due date:

If another person asks me if I’ve had my baby yet, I’m going to punch them in the face…

Another question I can’t get enough of is, “How are you feeling?” How the hell do you think I’m feeling?!? I’m huge, uncomfortable, haven’t had a decent night’s sleep in God knows how long, constipated, suffering from a raging case of heartburn, and want this baby out of me already. Shall I go on?

Oh, god forbid people are excited about the birth of your child, and are concerned about your welfare. Having babies is extremely commonplace; in the grand scheme of life, it is a mundane, ordinary, and utterly banal occurrence, so any woman should feel blessed to be surrounded by people who care enough to pester her about the baby’s imminent arrival, and her health status. The rest of her post is a tome of familiar complaints of being 40+ weeks pregnant (with which I completely sympathize – it blows balls), but you know, how dare people give a shit and actually ask me how I’m doing. Seriously, fuck the world and all its caring, kind people, right? Don’t they know what an inconvenience it is for you to be receiving these well-meaning texts and e-mails? Oh, the gall. Simply unconscionable. It would be so much better if you had no friends and no one gave a fuck. I want to tell her to please shut the fuck up but of course, it’s my own stupidity for wandering onto this website to begin with.

Exhibit B

Woman bitches about people’s creative and happy Facebook posts. I shit you not. She spends the entire post whining about how she cannot compete with other mothers who cook Martha Stewart level meals and make Pinterest-worthy crafts, and tearing others down for having the audacity to appear happy in their Facebook pictures.

We are so happy and laughing hysterically at this trendy restaurant where our children are behaving perfectly. Look at us!We are so happy and just in love with life at this park. Look at us!We ski. We vacation. We snuggle. We hike. We smile all f*cking day long.

Stop it now. Because no, no you don’t.

She admits a lot of her feelings are borne out of her own security – yeah, no shit. Maybe you should work on putting a check on taking out your deep insecurities on happy people. Horrifically, the people she’s talking about aren’t even women in ads or the media; they are her friends and acquaintances. I don’t come across people who like to shit all over other people’s happiness that often, but oh, hello there, here you are. I get that social media is often not a reflection of reality and can create feelings of insecurity, but jesus, get a hold of yourself.

If I could describe this website with just one phrase, it would be “White whine.”

The Post Office by Charles Bukowski

I recently read The Post Office by Charles Bukowski, and I haven’t decided whether it is an ingenious work of dark comedy or an over-hyped hipster anthem (like Kerouac’s On The Road – don’t kill me).

The Post Office is narrated by Henry Chinaski, a drunk degenerate who works at the United States Postal Service as a carrier. He is constantly hungover at work, gambles too much in his spare time, dates flaky women, and spends the rest of his time drinking. His efforts in his employment as a mail carrier are characterized by his insistence on undertaking the bare minimum work and pushing the patience of his supervisors to the limit without getting fired.

He marries a wealthy woman 13 years younger at one point, but she divorces him because he is not enough of a gentleman, and released her parakeets into the wild because they were making too much noise and disrupted his sleep. He then knocks up an aging hippie, and is largely ambivalent when she leaves him and takes their child away to New Mexico. Chinaski is sometimes an abominable human being; in other instances one senses he is somewhat redeemable.

The books is humorous at times, and a bit dark when it comes to the obvious ennui and monotony of postal work and the people who endure it for decades. I enjoyed it, but did not find it particularly enlightening or compelling. The language is raw and mostly transparent, and I guess there was nothing in particularly that gripped me. I kept wondering where this whole thing was going, and never figured it out.

“Suddenly I had to sit down and shit. It was a good hot one.”

Notably, Bukowski was investigated and harassed by the FBI, possibly in connection with some of the revelations contained in this novel.  According to, “In 1968 various branches of the U.S. government performed an investigation into the background of civil servant Charles Bukowski…Apparently the FBI and the Postal Service took offense to some of his writing…and had their ‘informants’ report Bukowski to higher-ups in the post office.”

Surely, Bukowski did the United States Postal Service no favors, and provided a special insight into the nonsensical bureaucracy and incompetence involved (those are some of the funniest parts). Even so, I don’t think the book remotely did such an injustice to warrant an FBI investigation, so I guess it just goes to show the FBI has always been full of a bunch of paranoid, meddling assholes.

So the guy shows up hungover at work constantly. But so did I, when I was 19 years old, as opposed to 36. At least he had his wrinkled carrier uniform on; I showed up at work hungover in the dress I wore out the night before. Perhaps this book is a glimpse of how my life would be at age 40 had I not abandoned my hedonistic ways.