Archive for 12/30/2010

My first OKC letter


This girl mentioned her arachnophobia several times in her profile and on the last portion of her page, under the section titled You Should Message Me If…, she wrote, “You have a vendetta against spiders.”

I wrote her this message:



My name is Mugsy. I am just getting into using this site. Wandering around looking for cool people to talk to.

I don’t have a vendetta against spiders. I am horrified by some of them and consider their passage through my home a gamble they took with their lives.

But I am also grateful. I am grateful that they are silent, life would be so much worse if they clicked or hissed or worse yet, giggled like a baby. Imagine what a nightmare it would be to see a black mass hiding in the shadowed corner of your ceiling, you tilt the lamp to it and a large spider takes off down the wall behind your couch, all the while giggling like a newborn baby. And, like, way louder than you’d think possible. The very idea creeps me the fuck out.

I am glad they don’t smell very badly, because there is pretty much always one around somewhere and they aren’t always easy to find. It would be terrible if they smelled like decay and death or something.

I am extremely grateful that they don’t fly. That would be horrible. It’s bad enough that at any moment one could comfortably zip-line down from the ceiling towards your face.

Sometimes I accidentally walk through a web and it gets all over my face and mouth and beard. At a distance of more than ten feet away it probably looks like I am fighting off an invisible attack. And that’s exactly what it is. Life would be so much worse if they made an unbreakable gossamer that left me helpless. But at least I am large and lumbering enough to pass right through their cleverly laid traps. They are like very, very tiny Vietcong.
Most of all I am glad that even large ones are still relatively small. Nothing I can’t kill with a boot. If I found myself face to face with a 200lb spider (and I didn’t have a shield and an axe) I would be fucked.

As I said, I don’t have a vendetta against spiders. That word is too powerful. It makes me think of Charles Bronson in Death Wish 3. Spiders haven’t raped and killed my family or anything. But I am grossed out by them. I don’t want to deal with anything that has more than seven eyes. But it sounds like you are more frightened of them than I am. So if one of your requirements in a man is that he can comfortably kill spiders then I think I qualify. I’ll kill the shit out of them. I’ll kill spiders so savagely UNICEF will try to intervene and typically they only handle international children’s rights. They’ll send me letters saying, “Hey Mugsy, enough is enough.”

That’s what I’m bringing to the table.

– Mugsy


In hindsight I think sending this message to someone with any kind of genuine arachnophobia would just be an act of cruelty. I introduced so many traumatic images and notions. It didn’t even occur to me at the time of writing it that this was probably the last subject she’d like someone to write about so extensively. Ways that spiders could be more awful. Oh yea, she’ll be ovulating after reading this. I am retarded.

Oh and you guessed it, she never wrote me back. She probably never went online ever again. The only thing I could have done to worsen it would have been to change my OKC profile picture to this:

Now that I’ve completely spoiled any chance of making out with her while listening to the Invisible Touch album by Genesis I should just create a new profile where I pose as an actual wolf spider, fill out my profile accordingly, and just send her mean spirited messages about her hate-speak against spiderkind. Yea, that’s what a normal person would do.


– mugsy

Enter the Mugsy


Why am I here?

One night, I decided to read Sarah letters I had been writing to women on (the online dating site) OkCupid.  She laughed a lot.  Perhaps more than I would have liked.  You see, the problem is there’s no suggested way to compose these messages, no template, no standard, and no examples.  And often when left to my own devices, I do something that I think is creative and wonderful but outside perspective just confirms that it’s abnormal and awkward.

I am going to share the letters I write.  I’m thinking I am just going to post them exactly as I sent them.  Meaning, they’ll include not just the funny, weird bits but probably also the genuine, sweet, vulnerable chunks. I think that’s probably the best way of going about it.

Things to keep in mind when reading them:

  • these are being sent to a total stranger
  • I want this stranger to like me, possibly one day love like me even more
  • I am genuinely trying to meet someone, this isn’t a social experiment or something

I think that’s all the introduction you’ll need.  I’ll explain anything specific to the site (OkCupid) as it comes up. I don’t know if I’ll also write about the people I meet, dates I go on, and other such events in the world of online dating but I’m sure I’ll be tempted to. Also, if I write something you think is amazing feel free to use it yourself.  I don’t care.  But you’ll probably end up dying alone.

Hope you enjoy my shortcomings.


life is ruining my life…


Life sucks; sometimes, under weird delusions, I sometimes think that I’m caught in some strange minority of life-suckage, where I notice all the things that other people have that I, probably for health reasons, which lead to being broke and not being able to work reasons, which lead to being an unwanted outcast of society, can not attain; and get angry at how easy it is for them to take these things for granted (just to set the record straight, just because I am writing this, doesn’t mean I will stop doing it). Even when these retarded (oooh wah, she said retarded, we should complain about that, oh wait, maybe we should look up the god damned word, oh silly us) view points take over my worm-laden brain for three seconds at a time, I still feel some sick amount of loathing that makes me never have that “god I wish I could be so and so for a day” feeling, ever, not ever. No matter who you are, how rich, healthy, and stupidly ignorant you are to how great you have it compared to most of society, I never, ever, not ever, wanted to be you instead of me. Why? Well, not because of some holier than thou reasons (I don’t believe in luck, so why would I believe in “holy”), but because no matter who you are, how bad or good you have it, you’re still a miserable fuck. And if I was you, I’d most likely be weeping about people like me, by throwing pennies in a donation tray, skipping out of church on sunday, and fucking my secretary before buying roses at the gas station to bring to my wife on the way home from work. Then complaining to her about how bad my boss treats me and how the guy at the car dealership totally fucked me over on the package with the leather heated seats and wah wah sniffle. The point is, it doesn’t matter who you are, your life both equally sucks and doesn’t, just depending on who you’re standing next to.

There’s a lot of people that can stand next to me and feel pretty god damned good about themselves; say things like “WELP, I was having one shitty fucking day, but fuck, at least I can walk straight, look at this stupid fucking gimp next to me, she has worms eating her heart, she’ll be dead before she hits thirty-five if my self esteem has anything to say about it”. And, for the most part, they’ll likely be right, and good for them, they win a coupon for twenty percent off their next purchase of stemware at Macy’s. I, on the other hand, can either look back at the dick standing next to me, and pick apart each layer of his carefully laid out life, piece by piece, talk about how lucky he should feel, but never will, for more than the time it takes to drop a quarter in the coffee can with the picture of the kid with cancer on it sitting on the counter at his local liquor store, where he went to pick up a “nice red wine to go with dinner”, or drop a tear in the bucket and cry because in some form or another, that kid is essentially me, minus the cancer, but plus the parasites, do the best I can, and just say motherfuckit.

At this point you are one of two kinds of people; one is the person that says “she is feeling sorry for herself”, or the other, “things are the way they are, that’s life, and that’s what she’s saying”, one of these is correct, but only some of you assholes realize this, so there’s no point in telling you which one is right. Anyway, the point is, life sucks, no matter who you are, it’s the human condition to think life sucks, it’s almost ingrained in our dna to think everyone everywhere has it better, and it takes a keen eye to realize that is total bullshit, as it is really only by comparison that we feel any sense of what is better or worse than anything else; which means if you’re the guy with the perfect car, wife, teeth, house, and mistress, you’re most likely upset about that raise you didn’t get, but then, after a pregnancy scare, you feel like the luckiest son of a bitch on the planet when secretary calls to tell you that the kid couldn’t possibly be yours, you guys didn’t fuck two months ago and she is six weeks pregnant, score one for you, score who the fuck knows for life (of course in the end, life can totally turn around and rape you in the face when you find out secretary left her syphilis on your doorstep, banged on the door, and ran like a bitch in heat).

So, no matter how bad you have it, and I assure you, no matter who you are, when you’re going to die, or how, you probably have it pretty fucking terrible, and simultaneously possibly decently okay, just stop taking shit so seriously all the time. For the most part shit is boring or chaotic only based on our reaction to it, so just say ‘FUCK IT’, to everything and life will become one long, straight line on a heart monitor. No need to cry, worry, or moan because you stubbed your toe, or the waiter never came back to ask if you’d like dessert, he just brought you a check and now you feel fat for even considering insisting on seeing the dessert menu, and the only people that you think care are the ones reading your facebook status so better keep them updated because you know they will tell you how totally hot you are and oh my god, have you noticed the weather, it’s so exactly the type of weather it should be for where you live and what month it is, you should complain about how you wish it was some other weather in some other month and don’t cry yet you didn’t even get to the part about how your car got stuck in traffic on a work day, during rush hour on a busy road where traffic fucking happens all the time, what a totally normal life you lead, holy shit, you just noticed you live an average life, does that mean you’re not a special snowflake, well fuck, mid-life crisis time, better stop talking to the few friends that actually treat you well, buy a journal made of recycled paper from the book store and start writing down all your interesting thoughts you don’t want anyone to read.

Do something interesting for once in your god damned life; go double up on the condoms and fuck a hooker; or invite all your friends and their prescriptions over and go bobbing for capsules. Maybe that isn’t interesting to you, maybe that’s just a terrible sin and a huge waste of time; once again, it’s all about perspective. Maybe being stuck in traffic is interesting to me because I only leave my house to have my veins tapped or be bitched at by nurses. I don’t know, just shut the fuck up about the same shit that everyone else is saying all the time, it’s like there’s some giant rubber stamp fucking stamping people out en masse, and the only decision you made was what little speech bubble sticker to adhere next to your gaping face hole.

And yeah, yeah, don’t worry, tomorrow I’ll be fantasizing about shooting my brains out under my bed and listening to depressing music just like you want me to be, just to keep shit in order, and everyone stays secure in the roles they have constructed in their heads and gotten all snuggily and comfortable in.

Also, maybe you could try not being dicks who are constantly shitty to each other; might help (she is SUCH a hypocrite). Cheers!

A pretty awesome girl I knew died a couple weeks ago, and even though I can’t say I knew her very well, I think she would have found the humor in this. For the small amount of time and conversations I did have with her, I have to say, she was a pretty strong girl (not something I say about many people) who never failed to leave an impression. So here’s to you, Rhapsody, I didn’t know you very well, but you were one hell of an awesome chick.

Happy Life Day, Everyone!!!


And once again I post the merriest of Spookymeat traditions, which is to post the greatest made for tv movie of all time, so sit back and enjoy the Star Wars Holiday Special; and celebrate Life Day with Chewy and his family.  Awe, don’t you love being a Pagan?  I sure as fuck do. And yes, I know I’ve always posted the full movie before, and not cut into parts, but apparently this year wordpress is too good to give us what we want on our favorite wookiee holiday. Well fuck you, we’re watching it in parts, wordpress, go fuck yourself.

And to every one else out there, please remember to keep the CHRIST in Christmas (Jews, I’m lookin’ at you)!

Spookymeat wants to know…


If a clone of yourself, identical in every way, including personality, suddenly appeared sitting right next to you, would you have sex with yourself?

(after you stopped being all fucked up from the fact that it couldn’t be possible for that to occur, just deal with it, alright!!!)

If yes, explain why, please.

If no, explain why not.

Do your homework, kids.  DO IT!


send your pictures of the octopus (seen below) with sunglasses to this address, jerks!

(also, please respond in the comments here, and not on facebook)

Did you know the plural of vagina is vaginae? Pretty fucking amazing, I suggest you use it as soon as possible!

I can’t wait for one of you mother fuckers to shut me up.


I hate when people tell you something is “their motto in life”, or that something is “their middle name”, or want to know if you are kidding them, because they were “born to [fill in the blank]”. I don’t know where these terrible things start, but I think it was probably some obscure movie from the 80’s that everyone forgot existed, but now haunts our already tarnished ability to speak words rightly.

It’s always said in such a way as to signify that the person vomiting these stupid words from their slimy face holes has the situation completely under control, and if there is just one thing in this entire stinking cesspool of a planet they know a PhD’s load of crap about, it’s the exact situation you are talking about/do not require assistance with/are currently involved in at that precise moment. I fucking LOVE these people.

I also notice something similar on peoples’ personal profiles. Like “music is my life”, I fucking HATE when I see this written, mostly on teenagers’ profiles. Music is not your life, maybe listening to music takes up a good portion of your life, but fuck, we’re not talking about time you were sacrificing away from an otherwise productive and world-changing existence. We’re talking about time you’d have spent lying on your shower floor in your bathrobe crying to Smashing Pumpkins as your mascara runs down the drain. What the fuck was the first point I was even making?

Oh yeah, the whole pretending you are an expert at shit, when you’re clearly marginal, at best. Listen, just because you SAY you can take care of something, because, fuck, your middle name is “the guy that can glue your finger back on”, doesn’t mean you shouldn’t promptly go to the hospital after you’ve lost a bet regarding a bic lighter and a huge ass knife (I’m looking at you, Four Rooms, OH YEAH). I don’t give a shit if your middle name was Jesus and your face was glowing, it doesn’t mean your crabs will give people the power to walk across the ocean because you nailed them (to a cross) GET IT!?!?! HO yeahhhhhh…. too soon? Sorry, guys, I should be more sensitive what with little god jr.’s birthday coming and all. Either way, saying something like “trust me, I was BORN to cure genital tumors”, doesn’t make you sound credible, it makes you sound like you’re into junk with tumors on them.

Same thing with people that say, “WELP, it’s like I always say…” and then they something they never fucking say, ever, and you’ve known this mother fucker for like, at least three quarters of your life; so you know they are clearly making false claims out of their giant talking vaginas. You get in a car accident, everything is ruined, you have no money; your “friend” comes, and tries to calm you by throwing in one of those “WELP, it’s like I always say, the most fucked up shit ever, happens to the people we love the most, and every time a priest has an orgasm, an angel gets its chastity belt key, and …” Yeah, dude, I stopped listening to you before you even got here, fucking shut up. All of you, everything, just shut up shut up shut up. You aren’t helping, none of you are. You’re talking, there’s a big, fat, fucking orca whale of a difference between talking and helping. Go eat some fuck.

draw sunglasses on my octopus, please and thank you.
I shall post all beautiful and wonderful works of art.

my brain is swollen, this is the result, I hope it made you feel all slippery and
ready to explode with sticky apple sauce-like goodness that warms your heart
and kills your favorite librarian.

and even more ps’s … new writer coming soon, you will all embrace him with your amazing skills of friendship and archery.

that’s all I got.

and a chair made of cheese… and a table made of cheese… and a chair made of cheese… and a table made of cheese…

…and and and

Holla, Dolly!


Just a smeat update, not really a post, so for the most part everything now on here is about all that can be salvaged, sorry people. I know some of the updates were written by contributers or were collaborations with myself and have gone missing, sorry to the authors of those updates, if any of you have them saved, I would be happy to repost them all.

new smeat stuff: We have a new writer for the website, Mugsy Dixon, I think he shall fit in quite comfortably with the troubled youth who read this crap page, he is going to write about his ridiculous adventures in the world of …… meh, he will be posted in the bio, more on him later. But yay for new contributer. Be nice to him. (or not, he can take your stinking rambles of hatred)

old writers:

john is writing away on his new thismayhurt site, which I have linked over to the right, and I am sure (ok, not that sure) we will write something together again,

Aaron O. the genius behind most of the smeat horoscopes, not sure when another full one will come, but I do have some amazing ones saved on my phone from him, and without his permission will most likely post them on here at some point I KNOW YOU ARE READING THIS!!

krankiepoo- He is still alive, he is forever. And he will most likely come and go around here as he pleases, just as he always has.

Gay Adam has gone MIA, I don’t think there will be anymore videos coming with him, but what do I know, I’m always in the dark when it comes to people going MIA. So, whatever you find that has been salvaged regarding him, is most likely all you’re getting, unless you bookmarked the youtube page it came from, then you can watch them all over and over and over and over and over.

I know there’s more. shut up.