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[11 Jan 2029|11:48pm] |
Choose Life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a fucking big television, choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players and electrical tin openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol, and dental insurance. Choose fixed interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose leisurewear and matching luggage. Choose a three-piece suite on hire purchase in a range of fucking fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who the fuck you are on Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing fucking junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pissing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked up brats you spawned to replace yourselves. Choose your future. Choose life... But why would I want to do a thing like ( t h a t ? ) |
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[30 Dec 2018|05:59pm] |
current location : Los Angeles, California.
texts , emails , voicemails , arrest warrants, etc
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[20 May 2011|10:07am] |
Since I've moved to Los Angeles, I've gotten something of a bad reputation among this journal community. There's two ways to look at it. Either I get self-reflective, realize my faults, and change my ways, or.... I can blame others.
I chose the latter.
The problem, of course, is that L.A. is the land of pussies. Hot girls, and fruity guys. I don't know if they're all gay, but even the straight ones seem gay. Luckily, Ben is here to save the day. I'm going to teach you how to be men.
Without further ado, here are my tips -- Hell, call them ( Ten Commandments )
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[08 Jan 2011|11:00pm] |
So some crazy fuck shot some lady or something. This whole world's fucked up. Luckily, I've got an idea to solve all of America's problems.
We hold a big rally like Jon Stewart did. Sarah Palin for President. We get all the Christians there, all the hardcore ones. All the ones who believe that the Constitution is the Bible and that we need to get back to that. We'll get Bill O'Reilly as a speaker.
Then we hold another big rally, one block away. Keith Olberman as the speaker. For all the super liberals who don't want anyone to make more than 1 million dollars.
And then, and here's where it gets good, we bomb the shit out of both of them. Kill them all. Then the rest of us normal people who don't give a fuck can go live in peace and quiet.
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[23 Dec 2010|12:58pm] |
I'm going to stop doing drugs. Jules asked me if I was a drug addict, and I said no. I genuinely don't think I am. I only did drugs when I was partying; to me, I view it the same way that people do alcohol. You drink or use when you go out, and you have more fun.
But yeah, I get it. Drugs are bad. They lead to bad things. I don't want to get into fights and get arrested. I don't want to piss off Jules. I don't want to let Ria down. I don't know when the hell it happened, but I guess I have some weirdos who want to see me around.
I guess I admire Sophia, who I always used to hate. She realized she had a problem, went to rehab, and got it fixed. I don't think I have a drug "problem," but I've got problems because of drugs. So I'll stop. Hope everyone's happy.
[private]
not sure I'm actually sticking to that, but it seems like the right bullshit to say right now.
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[04 Dec 2010|01:40pm] |
policemen are all pieces of shit and I hope they all die in a fire.
edit: so to explain: I was in a movie, minding my own business when I got into trouble. the ticket taker fuckers were causing problems and hassling Jules so I (allegedly) got into a fight with them and got arrested. according to them I was on a "controlled substance." I spent a night in the county jail and had to get bailed out, no joke. fucking bullshit.
dad's lawyer said I'll probably get out of this without any actual prison time. probably some community service or parole or some shit like that they reserve for rich white kids. I mean seriously, I'm not an actual threat to society. I'm just a normal kid getting (allegedly) high and chilling out. use your time catching actual criminals, douchebags.
anyway. I should have avoided the fight, I guess. sorry to Jules too for getting her involved in this shit. don't dump me or else this will be a really shitty weekend.
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[05 Nov 2010|11:12pm] |
In third grade, we always had donuts whenever it was someone's birthday. Sounds like a party, right? Only problem was, our teacher was Mrs. Roddle. Big fat cow. Big fat cunt. We'd always want to pick out which donut we wanted, and she'd always say: "You get what you get." She'd hand out a chocolate one here, a sprinkle one there. Didn't matter if you were allergic, didn't matter if you hated chocolate, you get what you get. No trading either. Somehow, I always got the shitty jelly. Fucking Mrs. Roddle.
To me, being in love's the same thing. We talk a lot of shit about soul mates, about finding the perfect person for you, it's a lot of horseshit. Most dudes don't get married to their wife because she's the only one out of five billion that he was meant to be with, they marry her because she happened to sit next to him at the office. Or happened to be the girl who got drunk and fucked him at the bar. It's all random, really.
But it's like the donuts. You get what you get, and you're stuck with it. No trading. The person gets under your skin and you can't do anything about it. It doesn't matter if there's another girl out there with bigger tits or better skin. She's not yours.
I got Jules. For better or worse. She doesn't have big tits, but her skin's good. She's hot. She's smart. She's goofy. She's also pretty fucking weird. I think there's something wrong with her. She's not normal. Pres would cry and yell all the time like a typical crazy bitch, but Jules? She doesn't react to anything I say, even when I'm trying to piss her off. Then all of a sudden, she'll start hitting me and move away to California the next morning.
There's nothing I can do about that though. You get what you get.
Juliet Weir, you are my donut.
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[21 Oct 2010|04:44pm] |
Right now, everyone's trying to come up with Halloween costume ideas. And let's be honest, most people come up with pretty shitty ones. When Borat came out, I probably saw 40 Borats with bad costumes and terrible accents. For girls, Halloween's easy. All you have to do is dress like a slut and it's all good. For us guys, we have to put some thought into it. And not too much thought, 'cause any guy who goes out and spends money on an actual costume is a fucking loser.
That's where Ben comes in to help, with some handy dandy (and cheap) costume ideas:
-- You grab a black shirt, black pants. You cut out a little white piece of paper, put it on the collar and boom, you're a priest. Of course, that alone's not good enough. After that, you're gonna need a kids' doll -- like a Cabbage Patch doll or some shit -- and then glue it on your groin like it's blowing you. Voila, pedophile priest. Instant crowd pleaser.
-- You wear a suit from your closet. A lot of you poor people probably don't have nice ones, but any suit will do. Make sure you have a tie too. Then you grab some fake blood, or ketchup, or whatever the fuck's laying around the house. You splatter some fake blood on the back of your head and, tada, you're JFK getting shot. Fun and informative.
-- If you're a man's man, you probably don't have actual pajamas, but try to find something that looks like that. Grey sweats maybe. You take those grey clothes and toss them in the oven to burn and singe them. Within minutes, you have your Jewish WWII prisoner costume. I'm all about the historical references, you see.
-- This one might be the easiest of the lot. You grab some of that ketchup, fake blood, whatever you have, and dump it all over yourself. Then, you go into your closet and grab a coat hanger. You wrap that hanger around your neck and -- bam -- you're partial birth abortion. This one is great 'cause if a girl gets offended, you know she wasn't down to fuck anyway.
That's enough for now. Go off, dress up, be merry, and go fuck some slutty dressed skank.
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[06 Oct 2010|05:42pm] |
I've never gotten a tattoo before. That might surprise you. You might say, "Why Ben, you're such a bad ass, why haven't you gotten a tattoo yet?" Well, person, that's exactly the point. I don't need a tattoo. Tattoos are for people who need attention. Usually, skinny goth freaks who never got noticed in high school. They're for losers.
Yet, I have a tattoo now. Jules guilt tripped me into a "J." It looks pretty gay, I have to admit. Having it on my chest is probably some gay code. I'm not going to the gym anymore, or else some fruitcake goth is gonna try to cup my balls. But. Whatever. She wanted one, and I got one.
Does that make me a pussy? Probably. But the way I figure it, it's worth it. Ria even said it; I'm a pretty shitty person, generally speaking, but I'm less shitty around her. So, all in all, it's a plus. Not to mention, I can turn this around, if she ends up moving away again. I'll add a "uliet is a dead woman." That tattoo? Instant bad-ass credit.
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[13 Sep 2010|05:16pm] |
For whatever reason, I was bored enough to watch the VMAs last night. Here are my assorted thoughts, kiddies:
-- First of all, Chelsea Handler's a less funny Sarah Silverman rip off. She's kinda sorta bangable for an old broad though, so I'm guessing she blew someone to be the host.
-- Lady Gaga. Jesus Fucking Christ. I'm against the terrorists and 9/11 and all that shit, but if this is what our culture is all about? Maybe they had a point.
-- Same thing with fucking Justin Bieber. I have no idea why I watched this shit. Clearly I have no place in pop culture unless I'm a 12-year-old girl or a fruitcake. That's all MTV caters to.
-- They made fun of the Jersey Shore people for being trashy. Har har. These fucking kids get the joke, so it's not funny anymore. Move on, people.
-- Taylor Swift needs a cock in her ass. She's an uptight little priss. She's sitting there, singing some weepy song about forgiveness and all this shit because of the Kanye West incident. Bitch, you had an award acceptance speech interrupted. It's not like he raped you or killed your mom. Stop being so melodramatic and start getting sluttier.
Oh. In other news. I had a good talk with Jules. She rocks. Sure she's kinda weird, but not quite enough to be Lady Gaga. And she makes up for it by being hot and funny and slutty in a good way.
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[19 Aug 2010|04:05pm] |
If you're reading my journal, chances are, you're a fucking loser with nothing better to do. As a result, I've decided to give you a thrill and let you live vicariously through me with:
A Week With Ben
Friday
We had a house party. I invited the sister over, partly 'cause she brought her slutty friend Becca. Becca's pretty hot for a high school chick, so I got her wasted and gave her a good fuck. Of course, when she passed out, I wrote "fat whore" on her ass. Because, underneath this asshole exterior, I'm really just a nice guy who's trying to teach life lessons to kids in America.
Saturday
My dad wanted some quality time (or an excuse to get out of the house), so I went with him to his country club for a round of golf. I hate golf, but I'm a rich white kid, so it's my obligation to know how to play. Of course, probably not best to try when hungover. I threw up about three times, but I don't think he noticed. I could keel over and die in a sandtrap and the first thing he'd tell Ria was about his birdie on the 9th hole.
Sunday
I usually hate planning my life around TV, but my friends all get together to watch Entourage. Sounds pretty faggy when I say it like that, but we have drink, do some coke, and then go out and try to fuck some girls. Unfortunately, Sunday nights are usually shitty for going out, so we went to a bar with a bunch of fugly bitches. Ended up at a strip club, where I got a stripper's number (can't miss pick-up line for strippers? "I've got coke.")
Monday
I got a call from one of my favorite people in the world, Rachel Templeton. She's this hot girl I went to high school with before she dropped out to deal with bulimia or some shit. She went out to LA to become an actress. Obviously that shit didn't pan out, so she's back in town, even skinnier and with less self esteem than before. Double bonus. Like a good friend, I gave her some free coke, and didn't even make her pay. Or swallow. After all, that shit has calories.
Tuesday
I was so pissed off at another skinny bitch (Jules) that I sat around and considered ways to fuck her over. Obvious choice: her dad. I think they fuck or something, because they're pretty tight. So I spent a few hours on google trying to figure out how to put sugar in the gas tank, but that seemed a little juvenile, so then I asked around to my friends to see if any of them would take a bat to the old guy's knees, Tonya Harding style. In the end, I decided against it. Whatever. I'm over her. As long as she doesn't talk shit, I'll let her do her thing, and let her dad walk without a limp. I'm getting soft.
Wednesday
I was talking to my friend Mikey Z about craigs list. Mikey Z's a fat ass, but he claims he gets laid all the time on that site. From whores, of course, but he claims they're hot. I bet him the cost of the hooker that they weren't. We invited a few girls over but only one came through. She was Persian or Arabian or whatever, so she wasn't my style. But that's the great thing about whores. You don't have to have sex to be entertained. We gave her 200 bucks to do a bunch of embarrassing shit, like see how many toothbrushes she could shove in her ass (answer: 4, but that's all I had.)
Thursday
Today is Thursday I've got to get a new toothbrush, but other than that, it's an open book. Let's see how we can top off the week.
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[09 Aug 2010|01:34am] |
I hope she's dead. Juliet, I mean. I haven't heard from her since we got into a fight. If she died, it'd be the best news I heard in my life. After all, it'd mean God finally listened to my prayers.
[private: Alexandria only]
I get it. Why people drink and do drugs. I used to think I got high because it was a fun way to party, and let's be honest, it is. I'd rather fuck a girl when I'm drunk 'cause it'll last longer, and I'd rather fuck a girl on drugs because it feels better.
But it's more than that. Getting wasted is a great way to forget about shit. Temporarily. As long as you're wasted, you're not sitting around worrying about your shitty life. And most people do have shitty lives. Either they're poor, or ugly as fuck, or they've got a girl who won't return one fucking call.
I've been high pretty much since she left. It's better that way. When I'm left alone with my thoughts, it never ends up well. I end up writing god damn faggy journal entries like this one. Or thinking about something worse.
I don't know why she doesn't give a shit about me. Presley and I fought all the damn time -- worse than this. And we always got back together. I guess that's 'cause Presley loved me. With this bitch, we have one bad day, and she vanishes. Fucking bitch. She probably thinks she's better than me 'cause she has a job and shit. She writes. Big fucking deal. There are a million books out every year, and no one reads any of them.
I wanted to take a shit on her car. Or cover it with slurpees. Hell, I know that's not that creative, but I'm not a fucking writer, so sue me. I got to get her back somehow. So at least she gives a shit.
The best way would be to kill myself. I thought about it. I could jump out the window. Trouble is, I live on the 5th floor. I don't know if that'd do the trick. With my luck, I'd just be fucking paralyzed. Some god damn retard in a wheelchair who can't even use his dick.
I mean, I wouldn't need to jump to do it. I have pills, drugs, etc. I could take them all and be dead by the morning. Of course, I'd have to write a letter and blame her for it. "Dear skinny bitch, it's your fault I'm dead" Maybe then she'd give a shit.
Only trouble with that is, I don't think she'd even get the fucking letter.
I hope she's dead. At least it'd be a good excuse.
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[30 Jul 2010|06:07pm] |
Jay-Z had it right. You build your empire then you get your girl. 'Cause if you do it the other way around, the girl you get originally is probably going to be the type who is there for the right reasons. the type who doesn't care about money. the type who actually likes you for your personality. and we all know what that means... the type of girl who = FUG.
Luckily I've wised up and parted ways with Jules the crazy bitch. she didn't like me for my money or personality or anything; she was just there to collect stories, I guess. One of these days, when I lose my gentlemanly aura, I might give her something to write about.
for now, I'm focusing on business. turns out, you can't just snap your fingers and open a club. I'm thinking we're going to have to buy an old place and re-brand it rather than completely building on a vacant lot. To get some extra money in the project, I enlisted Aaron. Let's be honest, the guy's half a fag, but if he knows how to balance the check books, then that's fine with me.
as for me, I'll make sure it's the hottest fucking club in Seattle. I know what it takes. It's about the little things sometimes. Nothing ruins a club experience more than going to a place where it's 90% dudes. or a place where the bathroom that's covered in piss. or a place where the bartenders and hostesses are hot, but have bitchy attitudes. our workers are going to be having a blast just like the customers. of course, I'll interview each of them personally to make sure of it. I want the place to be a non-stop party; a haven from the outside world. for only hot chicks and rich dudes, of course. the fatties and uglies can stand in the rain and drown in the harsh reality of their lives.
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[24 Jul 2010|12:00am] |
i hope my sister chokes on a cock.
and I hope Jules crashes her fucking gay ass mouse car into a tree and blows up.
that is all. goodnight world.
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[11 Jul 2010|05:32pm] |
I've decided what I want to do with my life. And by "my life," I mean until the age of 30. After that, who gives a fuck. You get married, have a bunch of kids, and pack your balls away, never to be seen again.
So I need to find a way to make the most of the time until then. And make the most money until then. I've considered a few options. Rock star. Movie star. (Non-gay) porn star. Turns out, all tough gigs to get. So I'm turning back to something I know better.
In college, I promoted for a lot of clubs, and always knew how to draw a crowd. I saw what worked, what didn't. It's not complicated. The formula for success = rich guys + hot chicks. Any time you see a fat chick in a bar, you know you've come to the wrong place. No offense to the fatties out there, but you shouldn't go out. Stay home and feed.
So yeah. I've decided to use some of the parent's money, get some investors, and start a club. It'll be the shit. Exclusive. Password protected. People will pay top dollar if a place feels worth it. And for the hot chicks, we'll make it worth their while too. No creepy 40-year-old guys leering at them. No sketchballs grabbing their ass (besides me). Just good times, good music. Let the good times roll.
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[24 Jun 2010|11:48pm] |
I'm spoiled.
I never believe this when my stupid parents told me 1000 times, but it turns out, it's true.
This is how I know: I don't want a job. I grew up with money, so I never really saw it as something that was hard to acquire. Turns out, kinda is. To be successful and (more importantly) rich, I'm supposed to work my ass off, work my way up from the bottom, yadda yadda yadda. What fun is that?
I'm looking at all the jobs I could potentially get as a new graduate, and they all suck ass. I'd be someone else's bitch, taking orders. That's not how the world's supposed to work. I'm the guy who never did his own laundry. I'm the guy who had a housekeeper make my bed. Clearly, I need a team of workers around me to function. I need to be the one to give orders. I need to sit back in my awesome desk and throw hot coffee at my secretary's face when she brings it without sugar. But apparently -- there aren't any of those jobs listed. Fucking recession.
So I need ideas. What kind of job should I get? Now, keep in mind the criteria:
-- something that will make me rich.
-- something that will let me to sleep until noon.
-- something that will allow me to have a team of minions there to service my every whim. and take the fall for me should I commit some as-of-yet-undetermined felony.
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[02 Jun 2010|09:57pm] |
When I was wasted, I told Juliet that I loved her. I don't think she believed me. I think, if I hired a skywriter and bought eight bottles of champagne, she still wouldn't believe me.
Now, the question is: do I believe it?
I guess that depends on what love is. A lot of people think in romantic terms. Like, "Do you want to marry this person?" "Would you spend the rest of your life with this person?" Fuck that. I want a definition that extends past romantic love. Something that can describe a girlfriend, a mother, a grandfather, whoever.
So for me, this is my new definition of love --
If this person showed up at my door, with blood covered clothes, telling me that they just murdered someone (in cold blood), would I help cover it up? Would I risk my safety, my freedom, just to cover for this person's mistake?
I like that question, 'cause it really puts you in a concrete hypothetical. And I can answer it. If Ria shows up, covered in blood, I fucking help her out. If my Dad shows up? I don't even fucking answer the door.
If Jules' shows up? I think I cover for her. Help her out. Even if it means potentially being an accomplice and spending the rest of my life in jail.
The other reason I like this definition is 'cause I don't think she'd actually do it. At least, she'd be less likely than I would. So Jules... if you're reading this, don't keep your door closed. I might come calling, bloody clothes and all.
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[24 May 2010|09:44pm] |
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I've got a gun. I've got a girl. Just call me Clyde.
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[08 May 2010|11:44am] |
I'm studying for Finals right now, and one thought scared the shit out of me.
What if I pass?
What the fuck do I do then?
Do I actually need a real job?
Fuck. Maybe on my English final, I'll just draw a picture of my cock and hand it in. Secure another year of fun/no responsibilities.
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[12 Apr 2010|08:47pm] |
Everyone's always thought of me as an asshole. I've gotten used to it. Frankly, I didn't care. 'Cause the way I see it, there's only two ways to look at the world. Every you're one of these fucking pie in the sky hippies who think we can make it a better place, or you're a realist. Either you think people are inherently good, or they're inherently bad. Anyone who's ever lived more than a day should know the answer to that. We're all pieces of shit. So why shouldn't I take advantage and be the bigger piece of shit than the rest?
Lately, I tried to calm down a little. Mature. Not necessarily be some do-gooder, but at least work on not doing bad shit. I hadn't sold anything for a month or two. I think I'm finally going to graduate. Squint hard enough, and you'd think I'm a decent guy.
But at the end of the day... who the fuck cares. Everyone's expecting me to be an asshole, so I'm not going to disappoint them. And if there was any confusion, I proudly give you BEN'S TOP FIVE BIGGEST ASSHOLE MOMENTS. I would do a top ten, but I'm also lazy in addition to being a dick.
5) Cheating on Presley. I probably did this too many times to count, so we're just going to lump this into one group. We both fucked around, but I did it more often. Heinously too. I tried to fuck her friend Sophia. Got bitched out for that. But there were other times she didn't know about. Once, on her birthday, I took her to lunch, took her to dinner, had a big night out at a club for her. Of course, between lunch and dinner, I went home to "nap," which really meant to fuck this skanky girl Sandy. I should have at least waited until the next day.
4) I also got a little angry and violent with her. I'd say really fucked up shit. I'd throw lamps -- not at her, but close enough to scare her. One time, I threw her up against a club wall and I think she hurt her shoulder. They should cast me in some fucking Lifetime bad boyfriend movie.
3) I've gotten more than a little angry and violent with other people. Worse. One time, my friend Armand and I were at a club and thought this kid had stolen some coke from us. We found him, took him outside, and kicked the shit out of him. I remember taking an old beer bottle and smashing it over his fucking head. Turns out it was his friend who did it. So the guy's not a complete innocent, but probably didn't deserve 18 stitches.
2) I've sold drugs. Obviously. By the way, any police are reading this, this is all "fiction" like Jules' journal. Usually I'd just deal to my friends (and skanky girls who would fuck me for it), but once and a while I'd deal to random rich kids and losers. My sophomore year, there's this skinny, pale ass kid named Harvey. Kind of a loser, so of course he liked to get high and forget about that. I sold him pills and his first try at coke. Turns out, he got addicted or whatever, and ultimately ended up trying to kill himself. Thank God he didn't succeed (or I'd be in a shitload lot of trouble). He did drop out of school, went to rehab a few times. I haven't talked to him in years, but I heard he died recently. Got to think it was drug related, but who knows. Maybe the motherfucker got hit by a bus. We can only hope.
1) I gave my kid sister pills to sell. I don't know why she wants them. We have enough money, so maybe it's about being cool. That's probably why I started doing it back in the day. It never turns out well. She's hopefully too smart to end up in jail or in rehab or some shit, but who knows. She might end up like me. If that came true, it'd be the worst thing I've ever done.
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