A change will do me good

It’s no secret that I’ve been unhappy with my job/financial situation. I’ve become despondent and bordering on a feeling of absolute hopelessness. For the past couple of weeks, I’ve been out in Los Angeles researching a book I’m writing, visiting new & old pals, and checking out the journo job scene. So far, the writing and visiting have been a success. The job search? Well, it’s too early to tell. I don’t know yet–I need more time.

My hosts are incredible people. Their generosity is world-class and has kept me going, kept me positive. What they have provided me with over the past couple of weeks has given me hope and re-upped my faith that there are folks in this world who will help AND want to really see you succeed.

I’m from Illinois and currently live in Chicago. The city has been my home for the past 8 or so years. I love Chicago. I love the structure of it, how it’s a manageable city. I love the resiliency of the residents–how they celebrate the city and are diehard loyalists. What I don’t like is how fucking tough it’s been for me professionally. How incredibly provincial Chicago is. Ever since I moved back to the area in 2000, it’s been a struggle. I’ve always felt the city didn’t ‘get’ me–I always felt out of place no matter how hard I tried to fit in. I always felt like I was the adopted child who ‘had’ to be loved by her sibling Chicago because she was told to love me. But, as soon as my parents’ backs were turned, the taunting, pushing and teasing continued–each time with more pain and humiliation. When I tattled, I got slapped down and unfortunately, that’s still going on today.

Now, I know I’m not perfect. I have a big mouth. I’m opinionated. I’m constantly saying and doing really stupid things. Who doesn’t do that from time to time? If you don’t fuck up big every once in awhile, you ain’t really living. You aren’t experiencing pain and joy. I will continue to fail, but I will turn those failures into successes somehow. But it doesn’t look like those successes are going to happen for me in Chicago.

However, I’m intelligent, hard-working, a fast learner and perfectly capable of reporting, writing and editing. I’ve the life experience. I have the necessary wit and thick skin to work in any newsroom (thanks to years and years of working in the film business–the best newsroom training ever). I also have the timing of a moron–I got into the business just as journalism was tanking. I got into it just in time to witness the death rattle.

Brilliant timing yet again.

What did this do to my resolve? Well, it made me work harder and take big chances. When those old tricks proved worthless, what did I do? I expanded my job search. Fast-forward a few months and here I am, sitting in a lovely home, tucked in the hills of Glendale, plotting my next move.

With each passing day, it becomes more and more apparent that me finding employment in Chicago is doubtful. Folks send me job leads for jobs I’ve already applied for (that have been subsequently reposted) and I delete them. Why bother?  Emails to colleagues/working journo friends acquiring about a job at their publication go unanswered or better yet “Don’t bother applying here, Julia, you’re un-hireable.”

So, I’ve started to concentrate on finding work in either LA or other cities. Before this trip, looking for work in other cities was a hobby, now it’s a concrete plan, a job. There are too many out of work and much more qualified journalists in Chicago. Their skillsets are stronger and their connections better. My attitude about Chicago has soured tremendously and it’s started to sour my personal relationships as well, and I can’t have that at my age. That’s soul poison, so it’s best that I cut bait and move on.

So, while I am sad about this realization of once again leaving Chicago for the West Coast, I’m also excited. I look forward to hopefully showing my family LA–how big, bright and imperfect it is. But I’ll hopefully show them it’s filled with promise, wonder, really bad traffic and sassy mockingbirds. That’s gotta count for something, correct?

Stay tuned.

More musings on random crap

I’m still in California and for some reason, being out here has cooled my snarkiness and made me more chill n’ shit. I realized this earlier after I spent about 20 minutes contemplating the importance of vanity license plates. For a moment, they didn’t seem all that self-absorbed to me. In fact, they seemed kinda cool.

Oops. That’s when I realized I needed to be rebooted and since I’m not quite sure how one reboots oneself, I dove into the McCrabass version of a panic room by reading the news.

Here are a few nuggets I dug up.

First, these things will haunt my dreams. Now, don’t get me wrong, I love the whole Star Wars series. I think I saw the original Star Wars (or Episode IV or whatever it’s called these days), 7 or 8 times when it was in the theater. And, for the record, I saw the other two just as many times. So yes, I became attached to the characters, and I waffled between wanting to be either Princess Leia or Luke Skywalker (paging Dr. Freud).

Funny side note: I was big into horses as a kid and I used to pretend that my horse was some sort of Star Wars-ian animal.

Off to fight the Dark Side

Our mission was to rescue the last of the Jedis with my magical powers and wise wit. All of those fantasies came crashing down when I took a tumble off my horse into a patch of poison ivy. Misery ensued when I was covered in poison ivy from my head to my toes. I had to sit in a cool room with fans blowing on me, and a mixture of Caladryl Lotion and Ivy Dry kept me from scratching my skin to the bone. I wasn’t able to save the Republic, and by the time I was rash/ooze free, my obsession with all things Star Wars had passed and I was into being a pissant kid with my partner-in-crime, Chrissie Lander.

My pre-Star Wars days.

Back to the creepy dolls. However, I’m afraid if I spend anymore mental energy on them, I’m gonna need a lobotomy to get them out of my mental Rolodex. I just closed my eyes for a second, and all I could see was baby Chewie. Someone …. please… call for backup. ….

“You use your mouth purtier than a 20 dollar shape-shifting donkey whore.”

I love it when I can incorporate Blazing Saddles lines into a post–even when it’s half-assed.

However, this is what I’m referring to. From NewZimbabwe.com

“A MAN caught having sex with a donkey stunned a court on Monday by claiming that the animal was in fact a hooker he pulled from a nightclub.”

I really hate it when the hooker I grab at a nightclub turns out to be some farm animal. Chickens are the worst, fyi.

“Sunday Moyo, 28, from Mandava township in Zvishavane, was charged with bestiality on Monday.

Zvishavane magistrate Mildred Matuvi heard how Moyo was found by police officers on routine patrol performing a sex act on the animal inside his yard just after 4AM last Sunday.

The donkey, which had been tied by the neck to a tree, was lying on the ground.”
In my next life, I hope I’m named Sunday. Or Mildred. But I hope I never perform a sex act on an animal. If I do ever do it, hope I’m not caught.
“Although he was not formally asked to enter a plea, Moyo admitted committing the crime but told the magistrate an enthralling tale which had the court in stitches.
“Your worship, I only came to know that I was being intimate with a donkey when I got arrested,” he began.

“I had hired a prostitute and paid US$20 for the service at Down Town night club and I don’t know how she then became a donkey.”

The magistrate remanded Moyo in custody to October 27 and also ordered that he be examined by two government psychiatrists.”
It’s nice to know that the courts in Zimbabwe have a sense of humor considering the country is run by a complete whack-a-doo. And if it makes Mr. Sunday Moyo feel any better, it’s no fun having a hired piece of ass turn into an actual ass. Trust me on this one.

Strippers Earning $2,000 Per Night in Oil

Boomtown of Williston, North Dakota

I’m moving to Williston to get my bend n’ snap stripper style on. The lucite heels I just purchased are guaranteed to minus 20 below zero, and have special traction. Sounds like these roughnecks get drunk enough so they won’t care I’m stumbling toward middle age with one of my asses leading the way.

Piggies, guns & honey

The other evening, I had dinner with an old editing pal, Darrin. We went to this great place in Echo Park called Mohawk Bend–a former movie theater turned eatery–which features a menu of locally grown ingredients, as well as a bar stocked with local brews and other spirits like organic rum. The food was quite good, the crowd was a hipster parade (I counted about 15 men who were wearing porkpie hats and long scarves), and the conversation was top-notch–as it always is with Mr. Navarro. When it was time for dessert, one of the choices featured honey as an ingredient, and we were curious as to why honey isn’t considered vegan. Now, I admit I don’t know much about honey because it’s not something I seek out when cooking, well, anything. Simply, I can live without it. What I’m hoping for is that someone will do the heavy lifting for me because I’m too lazy to look it up myself.

Onward and upward.

For the past few days, I’ve been in Los Angeles researching my book and checking out the job scene. Plus, I’ve been catching up with old pals and writing. It’s been a successful trip so far that is helping me to gain perspective on my life. Some visits have been more emotional than others, but that’s good. The emotions help me to narrow my focus, and think about what it is I truly want out of this life. It will be an interesting ride. Stay tuned.

Since I’ve been galavanting around LA, I haven’t been paying that close attention to the news. Fortunately, due to a head cold and cruddy weather, today was a catch-up day. Looks like I’ve missed some good stuff–well, lots of good stuff.

Like this lil’ nugget. From TPM/CBS News.

Birther Oathkeeper Convicted In Attempted

Courthouse Takeover

Again with this birther crap? This is SO last year, not to mention SO boring, SO proven that Obama is ‘murican, and SO racist. Before any of you birthers out there start in with the “I’m not racist” party line, here’s your pre-emptive “SHUTTIE!” Yes, you CAN be a racist minus the white hoods and burning crosses. Words and actions are just as hate-filled as those silly white costumes.

Continue please…

“Georgia birther and Oathkeeper Darren Huff was convicted Tuesday of attempting to take over a Tennessee courthouse and conduct citizen’s arrests on officials.” 

This happened in the South? Quelle surprise! I am shocked, SHOCKED to learn this type of behavior happens south of the Mason-Dixon.

As always, there’s more.

“After a week-long trial, a jury convicted Huff of knowingly carrying a firearm in interstate commerce with the intent to use it in a civil disorder, but acquitted him of using a firearm in relation to another felony, CBS News reports.

The decision came after the jury announced last night that it was hung.

Huff will be sentenced in February. He faces up to five years in prison.”

They should add another five years for being a complete dickhead, with really bad chin pubes.

Darren Huff

 “The case dates back to April 2010 when Huff, carrying a Colt .45 and an AK-47, went to Tennessee to conduct citizens’ arrests on officials. Huff, a member of the Oath Keepers, said he going to support Walter Francis Fitzpatrick, a leader of the birther and Patriot group American Grand Jury, who was arrested for trying to perform a citizen’s arrest on a Grand Jury foreman. Fitzpatrick was angry that court officials didn’t let him pursue a Grand Jury trial against “illegal alien, infiltrator and impostor” President Obama, and other “domestic enemies.”

I’m gonna let that graph speak for itself. I can’t top this man’s ridiculous behavior with any type of additional commentary.

As for the following, I will comment–with pleasure.

“In his trial last week, Huff teared up on the stand when he said: “my government has called me a potential domestic terrorist.”

“It’s hard to get employment when you’re under federal indictment,” Huff also said. ‘I refuse to be intimidated. All I can do is still have a voice.’ “

Ok, you half-wit hayseed, when you bring a couple of loaded weapons into a court house and threaten civic officials, including the POTUS, you are a domestic terrorist AND on the same level as Timothy McVeigh. Yes, that guy. The difference is, you’re even more of a moron that McVeigh was and the Feds are paying better attention to idiot folks with guns who want to kill the President and fellow citizens.

As for the unable to get employment because of that pesky federal indictment quip … is it not obvious enough or should I comment on it?

Time to move on and not a moment too soon because the above story was starting to depress the crap out of me.

I’m hoping the popularity of reality tee vee shows is coming to an end because the latest crop of shows just proves that Hollywood is in dire need of something new that doesn’t star anything Kardashian, or involve has-been celebs doing anything whilst exposing flesh. I happened across these two shows recently, and had to force myself to watch an episode of each one just to prove that I wasn’t in some sort of drug-induced state. Someone actually thought these shows were a good idea, and what’s even scarier is someone is getting paid a lot of money to think up such shows. I’m still not clear as to why someone thought it was a good idea to base a show around killing wild boars. Or a show about catching fish with your hands and feet. Sure, boars can be dangerous, but like any other wild animal, if you keep your distance and not fuck with them, they’ll leave you alone.

Making a show about a family of boar hunters is definitely scraping the bottom of the reality show barrel. Now, a show about a family of boor hunters, well, I’d watch that.


Hello it’s me …

… I’ve been away from you for a long, long time.

Today, I returned to Los Angeles for a visit. Yes, I said returned. See, I lived here for well over a decade when I worked in the movie business. I’ve been away from LA for well over a decade too. So coming back is a sort-of homecoming.

A few things I’ve noticed since landing:

The freeways extend into the sky now. Yes, they do. Oh and everyone drives a billion miles per hour.

I’ve heard When In Rome’s “The Promise” at least 5 times so far. Also, the RHCP’s “Give It Away Now” at least four times. KROQ is still on the air, and they manage to play waaay too much Smashing Pumpkins.

Mockingbirds are the sassy brats of the bird world, and they’re everywhere out here. One was screaming at this me this morning as I strolled through my old South Pasadena neighborhood.

And, while we’re on the subject of South Pasadena, it didn’t miss the wave of progress that has swept through LA. Since I left in 2000, LA has added a metro rail commuter system, which is nice because a metropolitan area this size should have a decent public transportation system. There’s a metro rail stop in So. Pasadena, at Mission, about a 1/2 mile or so from my old apartment on Mission. What I noticed about the train as it rolled into the stop,  is it isn’t as noisy as the trains I’m used to, and the disruption is minimal. Perhaps it’s worse during rush hour and to be fair, I only spent about an hour in the area so I didn’t get the full impact. I’m sure that there are those who loathe it, but I’m hoping that Los Angelenos will come to recognize how important public transportation really is to the life of any city/metropolis.

This is where I used to live.

South Pasadena still has that small-town feel even though it’s right on the edge of a booming metropolis, which is why I love it so much. I grew up in a very small town, so the smallness of So. Pasadena resonates with me. It’s comfortable. The local hangouts like Buster’s and the small used bookstore I checked out were bustling with people. Locals tend to support the locally owned and operated businesses, which I believe improves the morale of any small town.

Oh, and as I was wandering down Mission, I came across this little slice of heaven–


As my good friend Melissa said, all you need are potatoes then it would be absolute carb heaven. However, I’m curious if any patrons are big into putting cereal ON their grilled cheese sammiches, OR if they cut up the sammiches and put them in the bowl with the cereal. Hey, it’s Southern California so I wouldn’t be surprised if that happened a few times.

Finally, as I was wandering toward my former Trader Joe’s, I found this gem about a block and a half from my old homestead.

A sign perhaps?



I was just about to call it a night when this little gem showed up in my RSS feed. If you know McCrabass at all, then you know it would be sacrilege if I didn’t throw a few comments about sex toy injuries onto a page.

Take a gander at it and you’ll understand why I’m interrupting valuable winky-bye time to comment on it.

“A woman in northern California is suing a sex toy company after she suffered a horrifying injury while using one of its dildos.

(Photo: Brett Wilkins)

According to SF WeeklyApril Bonjour of Yreka and her boyfriend were playing with a dildo manufactured by Pipedream Productions, whose motto is “We don’t make the orgasm, we make the orgasm BETTER”, when their foreplay went horribly wrong. Bonjour says something started to feel “not quite right.”

“During the usage, I felt an intense sharp pain inside my vagina,” Bonjour’s claim says.  “My boyfriend quickly removed the toy, it was covered in blood. I thought, very briefly, that I had started my period but as the bleeding continued, getting heavier and heavier I knew it was not my period.” Bonjour ran through all her sanitary pads trying to stem the bleeding and passed some scary bloot clots before growing faint. Her boyfriend dialed 911.”

First, this is the apex of disgusting sex-toy injuries–no question about it. However, something has to be said about the victim’s name: April Bonjour. Something about her name screams porn actress or GOP mistress. Think about it.

Read on:

‘ “By the time they got there, I was in and out of consciousness,” she told SF Weekly. “My son … was terrified at the sight of me — he thought I was dying (quite frankly, so did I).”

Bonjour required several pints of blood when she arrived at the hospital. She has since physically recovered, but she claims she and her boyfriend have suffered emotional damage. Bonjour asked Pipedream Productions for compensation, the company refused, and so she’s now suing for personal injury, negligence, and breach of warranty.”


As far as killer sex-toy stories go, this is quite frightening. She needed several pints of blood? She was in and out of consciousness? Bloot [sic] clots? Really? Her son thought she was dying? Yuck. Horrible. (All the heavy bleeding aside, aren’t you dying to know how she explained this one to her son??)

Something doesn’t seem right about this bloody snatch tale. I can’t quite put my finger on it (shut UP).

Did Bonjour and her beau examine the dildo before, you know, using it? Or did they just unwrap and dive right in? Call me crazy BUT if I’m gonna place something in my hoo-ha, I’m gonna take a good, hard (shuttie) look at it and make sure it ain’t gonna put me in the ER, hooked up to a trough-sized blood transfusion doohickey.

What’s the lesson here kids? Inspect all dildos to make sure you’re not really putting a butcher knife in your hoo-ha.

As for the lawsuit, I get it. Hopefully, both parties will settle before going to trial, and Bonjour et al will be compensated fairly and commence once again with the enhanced diddling.

However, if it DOES go to trial, I can only imagine what kind of sex toy questions could be asked of potential jurors during the voir dire….

“I’m tired of being humane” & other complaints

First, let’s talk about the GOP roundtable yap-yap fest that happened last night. I was *thisclose* to throwing all of the furniture in my apartment out the window because these candidates are so completely out of touch and mean-spirited. I have very little hope for the political process in this country, AND for those who believe that hate is the answer.

In short, they’re awful human beings. Turns out, what they were all so absolutely certain about, was wrong for the most part.  Sadly, they haven’t moved past the whole ‘Obama should fire Bernanke’ mantra (even though Obama can’t do that); the death panel myth (time to start paying attention Newt-that myth was dispelled during the healthcare debate) and Bachmann still has a hard-on for placing all the blame on Fannie/Freddie & the Reinvestment Act–a conservative talking point that has been proven wrong over and over and over again. I know..I know..I feel your pain. But, WAIT! There’s more! Bachmann must have forgotten all of the money she got from Fannie/Freddie. Guess relying on God didn’t really help pay for the pile of bricks she calls the homestead. Basically, Bachmann is going back to her old material–even the debunked stuff. I bet Ed Rollins is thanking god everyday for leaving her campaign in the crazy dust.

Before I launch into Romney, something must be said about the whole Mormon running the country fiasco. I agree with Chris Christie (yes, you read that correctly) when he said (paraphrasing here) that a person’s religion doesn’t matter when it comes to running the country. Bravo, Mr. Christie–you’re nuts but you’re absolutely correct. But Romney? Really? The company he founded, Bain Capital, is responsible for thousands of lay-offs. Also, Romney raised taxes to pay for Romneycare–something he’s harping on Obama about. Also, he wants to raise taxes on the poor and fuck over women and the poor even more when it comes to healthcare.

The lab that created Herman Cain should be burned to the ground, and everything within a 15-mile radius of the site should be condemned. Kind of like what the Soviets should have done with Chernobyl. His nonsensical ramblings about a tax plan that has been picked apart by economists, and  labelled dangerous and stupid by anyone who isn’t associated with the Koch Bros., proves that he’s not worthy of any type of elected office. I’m sure he’ll be back to selling crappy pizza by Christmas.

And, Rick Perry? Oy. More on him later. I can’t decide if there aren’t enough words to describe him, or too many. Ron Paul needs to corral those eyebrows. Perhaps put a cloaking device on them because they’re destined to escape–soon. Nothing can be said about Santorum. He’s just sad.

It’s gonna be a bumpy election season.

What else? Oh yes. Has anyone noticed that this country is bathing in shit? No? Well, maybe you should start paying attention. This piece of news out of Kansas is so distressing. Kansas is a bad place for women. Period. End of story. Remind me to never live there OR travel through it. Any place that fucked in head doesn’t deserve McCrabass dollars.

It warms the dark crevices of my heart to see that Florida is not a disappointment in the batshit category. Rep. Brad Drake is my new fave GOP nutley. The press release is worth reading, but this part just makes my knees go limp. Sigh.

Rep. Brad Drake

“So, I say let’s end the debate,” he said in the release. “We still have Old Sparky. And if that doesn’t suit the criminal, then we will provide them a .45 caliber lead cocktail instead.

He’s a keeper, ain’t he? He’s probably the type of guy who would charge the condemned’s family for the bullet used to execute him/her. You know, like they used to do in China.

I love blogs. I do. Most are crap (ahem), some are funny, and then there are those that are so … so… oh fuck. I don’t know. Here’s an example of what I think I am trying to say.



My opinion? It’s a porn fail if the viewer is giving any attention at all to the production design. Just sayin’ ….

I puked when I saw this picture. Happy Halloween, sickos!

And finally, who is Adrianne Curry and why is trying to upstage my Coco?






Dear darling daughter: F*ck your husband often!

Dr. Michael Brown, Father of the Century.

I’ve been following the assault trial of serial wife beater, Dr. Michael Brown, for a while now. This guy is such a loon with mommy issues, I couldn’t help but pay attention. If I lived in Texas, I would have been at the trial everyday.

I’m not a fan of wife beaters. No one deserves to get beat to a pulp–ever–even if you are the bread winner and you deem a wife as “property” so you see giving her a beating as your “right.” That’s fucking pathetic cowardly crap. Learn how to deal with life like a man.

If my husband ever laid a paw on me in a violent manner, he’d have to come at me hard because I’d fucking kill him. If you’re stoooopid enough to raise a hand to me, then you don’t deserve to draw another breath. Yes, I’m that strong, and that well-trained in martial arts so it wouldn’t be pretty at all. Sadly, domestic violence still exists in this country, and sadder still is women feel the need to not only defend their husbands, but stay with them too. I don’t get it, but then again, I’m not a good victim–it’s not in my genetic make-up, thank dog.

Off mah soapbox now, and onto the loony letters (“Letters to Sophie”) of advice Dr. Michael Brown wrote to his daughter, Sophie. No, the subject of these letters is not about how to be nice, how to succeed in school, or how to be the bestest tennis player EVER. No, they’re about how she should fuck her husband, what it takes to have a happy marriage, and finally, how her mother is a bitch.

Let’s dig in… it’s just too damn good.

First letter is from June 2000, when Sophie was about a year old. From the Houston Press. I was looking for areas to edit, but I couldn’t. It’s just too chock-full of sad, comedic material to cut.

“Want to have a happy marriage? Empower your husband with a great big ego and he won’t let you down. Shower him with praise — tell him he’s the greatest and that’s what he’ll be. Nag, complain, criticize, and he ultimately will get enough and find someone else who makes him feel good, even if logically it will degenerate to the same level. So divorce is not even the answer.

Crush a man’s spirit by implying he is letting you down in some way, and he’s utterly useless. The man wants you to view him as the world’s greatest lover, such that you feel honored when he asks for sex — say no and you crush a little bit of him. Yes, both man and wife should and will enjoy mutually fulfilling sex — together (it is never fulfilling if you cheat — temporary pleasure and immeasurable guilt forever). Yet, the man physically requires more sex to prevent hypertestosteronism and the…resultant idiocy of the male. Sex doesn’t always have to make you see stars. Typically, it’s the man doing most of the work. You are wise, not weak, to simply give him his 10 minutes of pleasure. Act like your enjoying it and he’ll only take 5 minutes [sic]. Then, don’t forget to tell him how wonderful he was.”

There’s probably some truth the physical results of no sex, but who cares? Since when does ‘the man do most of the work’? Also, who cares about YOUR happiness, Sophie? Preserving his ego is oh so much more important than everything else. Learn it, know it, live it.

Obviously divorce WAS the answer for Dr. Brown, since he was just acquitted of abusing his fourth wife. Whattaguy.

Aaannnd there’s more… “Sorry, she had a nice ass and I was hard.” Good to know, DAD.

It was nice of Dr. Brown to title this particular letter: “Why Sophie Must Cry.”

Oh no. This is gonna leave a mark. I just know it.

Again, this didn’t deserve to be edited.

“I am writing this book for my sweet darling daughter Sophie and my dear sweet unborn daughter who I hope withh be called Roxanne Rianna Brown — “Roxy.” I love you so damn much babies….You two sweet smart babies whom I adore are the purpose and love of my life. You two are genetically programmed with such___intelligence as to make most cower in disbelief. How, fucking ever you too unfortunately have your mothers genetic constitution to be unbelievably cold hearted bitches…I am sorry for fucking your mother instead of someone else.

QUE intellect [arrow] fucking TOUCHEDYou baby girls are my pride and joy. Unbelievably and unabashedly I will tell you I, yes I am the fucking alpha male and live to suit my dick until you two sweet children of GOD came along and now I live and breath for your happiness and God’s fulfillment…..Well my sweet baby girls I am your only SANE protector and I must PROTECT you two from your loving mother’s idiocy and lunacy. I love you both and know you are part of GOD’S Plan. Sweet baby girls love your mother but PITY her for she is not even slightly worthy and contributory to your genetic constitution. The smart is from me the bitchy her. Sorry, she had a nice ass and I was hard.”

I sincerely hope that both Roxy and Sophie have enough cash in the kitty to support either their heroin habits or the years and years of psychotherapy they’re going to need if they ever get wind of these sonnets, OR if they’re allowed to be raised by their doting, secure father, who really wishes they had never been born. I fear the worst for these girls. Anyone who has this much contempt for women, should be moved to Asshole Island because that’s the only place that’ll keep them safe. Sounds like Dr. Brown wasn’t allowed to shit all over his wives, they called him on it and they paid dearly for it with beatings with bedposts, trips down the staircase whilst being pulled by their locks and general abuse. Again, I don’t care what they did–no one deserves to get beat on.

Is anyone else bothered by a sentence that has “alpha male,” “fucking”, “dick,” “God” and “two sweet children” in it? Shit howdy, I’m not even sure if is a sentence.

Finally, part three. I can’t think of anything witty to say right now. Just read. FYI: The spelling errors are allll the good doctor’s.

“There are two aspects of sex….it’s psycology and the technical aspect. Both are important. I am writing and describing to you the psycologic basis and atmosphere you are responsible in creating to promote sex which is essential to marital bliss. I am writing another book about the technical aspects of sex which I will give you when you get married. 

The “technical book” will enlighten you. Your husband must have one too — I’ll write it if not for a brother of yours yet to be born than for him for you too deserve the…totality of sexual ecstasies — God’s gifts to be enjoyed, understood, and revered. Once you get the sex thing on track don’t ever get complacent and forget…every 2 or 3 days at least & you initiate sex every few weeks. Use a calendar if you have to. Understand your husbands need for you two want sex (sex=love=sex) from him. If you show him you don’t want sex you are in fact telling the male brain, evolved over millions of years, that you don’t want his love, that you reject the…most valuable thing he can offer you, that you reject him. This is fact. Don’t even think about taking issue with this one even though I want you to think for yourself….

So sacred is sex that you must never hurt another with it by witholding it or telling (or acting like) you didn’t enjoy it. Sure you can tactfully let your husband know how to best please you but always he should feel that as far as you are concerned, in your eyes, he’s the greatest lover who ever lived….If after sex say 20 minutes later the conversation begins with your husband saying “That was great!” rest assured he’s not giving you a compliment (though he might want to) but rather he’s trying to illicit a compliment from you. If you answer “yes” he’s gonna continue fishing and may say “Did you enjoy it?” if you say “I said yes, quit asking” then you are diminishing the value of the just finished love-making….During lovemaking, your partner’s enjoyment should be your prime concern….not your own. If you do this then you will be a technically and emotionally great lover….This kind of lovemaking yields an orgasm multiplied many times by the emotional satisfaction of knowing your partner appreciates you….Without the emotion and letting the other know they are giving you pleasure sex is merely “mechanical” with no advantage over masturbation.”

First, a few bon mots about my dad. He never wrote a sex manual for any of us. Never. Ever. And I thank him for that.

It was tough to get through this part with all the creative spelling, the overdone ellipses–wait–who am I kidding? The horrible spelling and misused punctuation makes my crazy radar go crazy. He’s a physician remember.

This is great fodder for some sort of ‘psycological’ study at one of the country’s finer higher learnin’ institutions. For starters, the fact that he finds withholding sex to be hurtful, and not beating up his spouses, just goes to prove how fucked in the head he truly is.

These letters are both disturbing and very interesting. At one point, he’s praising how brilliant his daughter will be, and how she’s blessed with all of these genetic gifts–from his gene pool of course. Yet, he wishes he had banged someone else instead of her mother. Then, he wants her to forget all that and just be really good at getting her husband off and not herself because that’s selfish and bitchy. Oh and make sure you fake the emotions to keep his wee ego intact. For sexual release, you can masturbate, you know.

I need a Silkwood shower now.

And, I bet Dr. Brown is a shitty lay. And how could I possibly say such a bold statement? The answer is written in his meticulously kept chin pubes. Anyone who goes out of their way on a daily basis to keep their beard at that short of a length, doesn’t quite get it.