fergie's Diaryland Diary
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i hate white people
I hate white people.
Christ on a cracker. People are so fucking stupid and racist. By "people" I mean every race/color, but I especially mean white people. It�s not fair to say that they�re the worst or that they started it, even though everyone knows it's probably true.
I just ran up the street to sleven (7/11), where some fat-ass middle-aged white guy with a pasty face started giving GeGe a hard time about the floor being wet. GeGe is one of the Indian guys that works at sleven with Ronnie & Peter. He mops.
"I could've broken my ankle!" The fat-ass was blubbering when everyone started turning their attention in his direction. GeGe, holding his bright orange mop, shrugged his shoulders and quietly informed the gentleman that there was a sign. This infuriated the grub, his tone changed and he started talking nonsense about suing sleven, and how they wouldn�t care because they were insured, and some other bullshit I tuned out as I rolled my eyes and shook my head at Ronnie, who laughed and gave me my total. It was the tone of the man�s voice that really set me off, that racist bullshit attitude of being superior and talking down to someone with brown skin.
With the other two employees behind the counter, the black woman being rung up at the second register, and a group of Latino guys giving him the eye, honky was doing his best to show off his red neck. About this time he�d made his way up to the front of the store. Once there, still yapping at GeGe, he made direct, deliberate eye contact with me, the only other person there with white skin.
The back of my neck tingled as his eyes looked into mine. The room turned red. I wanted to kill. How.. dare.. you.. think.. KILLKILLKILL that.. just.. KILLKILLKILL because.. KILLKILLKILL
The look of death was not satisfactory in this situation.
"Hey, buddy." I said, keeping eyes with him as I pocketed my change. "You see the sign by the door?" I pointed to the thigh-high yellow sign that read Caution, Wet Floor. "You see GeGe with that mop?" I pointed to GeGe. "Well put it together, retard. You wouldn�t get a dime & you didn't even fall, so shut the fuck up."
He looked shocked, a little betrayed. It�s my favorite reaction when I tongue-lash whitey. With that, I grabbed my bag, turned on my heel and made my exit.
5:45 p.m. - May. 29, 2004
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blogger quiz
Blogger Quiz
From Elgan, who got it from someone that passed it along from missleigh�s friend vega, who originally saw it somewhere else..
1. Do you try to look hot when you go to the grocery store just in case someone recognizes you from your blog?
I avoid the grocery store for this very reason! That, and I can never find anything.
2. Are the photos you Photoshopped or otherwise altered?
Duh. The best part about being good looking is being able to show off.
3. Do you like it when creeps or dorks email you?
I reward the freaks by posting their notes. Security advises against it.. Papa Fergie says he�s too far away to get the drop on a perv. Even so, everyone knows I�m an ass kicking bitch, so I don�t fear real-life stalkers. I had one in college, it was creepy but kind of fun.
4. Do you lie in your blog?
This is my reality, one I�ve created from real life. It's no different than what anyone else does, except that the awareness of my own reality leads me to play with it a bit more.
5. Are you passive-aggressive in your blog?
No. I may be a little too aggressive towards non-homosexual-white-Christians.
6. Do you ever threaten to quit writing so people will tell you not to stop?
I�ve never pulled such as obvious diva maneuver. Moi?
7. Are you in therapy? If not, should you be?
TV shows like The Swan serve as my therapy. When you see how fucked up the rest of the world is, your own pile of shit doesn�t seem that bad.
8. Do you delete mean comments? Do you fake nice ones?
Bitchy comments are not only left in the guestbook, they're posted in an entry along with my scorching reply. Not much drama in the GB, though, just the usual worship. And no, I don�t send myself flowers.
9. Have you ever rubbed one out while reading a blog? How about after?
I�m rubbing one out right now.
10. If your readers knew you in person, would they like you more or less?
The ones I�ve met seem to like me more.
11. Do you have a job?
Come again? As Papa Fergie says: "Those job things really take such a chunk out of your day"
12. If someone offered you a decent salary to blog full-time without restrictions, would you do it?
I think I�d get really bored. I'm in front of this computer enough as it is.
13. Which blogger do you want to meet in real life?
I�m not that kind of fan.
14. How many bloggers have you made out with?
Far less in number than what might be expected. I don�t discuss romantic relationships in detail, but astute readers know of at least one fellow blogger I�ve made out with. Generally, family and lovers are launching points for a rant or anecdote, not the focus.
15. Do you usually act like you have more money or less money than you really do?
When you pull up in a limo, it doesn�t matter.
16. Does your family read your blog?
Yes, my family already knows I�m crazy. I've never polled them, so I don�t know who reads on any regular basis. Several of them have commented on something I�ve written about, and Grandma Fergie regularly emails her comments about my posts.
17. How old is your blog?
Three years this past February 14th.
18. Do you get more than 1000 pageviews per day? Do you care?
Honestly, it's impossible to filter through all the search hits for �nude pics of fergie� to conclude what my pageviews mean. But yes, I get thousands of hits on a regular basis. I have a vague idea as to what my regular readership is, but it's hard to say for sure. I�ve been surprised to find myself linked on blogs from across the globe, and I�ve made contact with really cool people from all walks of life. I think that�s far more important than the number of visitors at this point.
19. Do you have another secret blog in which you write about being depressed, slutty, or a liar?
I�m supposed to do that in another weblog? Devil!
20. Have you ever given another blogger money for his/her writing?
No, but I do send them half-naked pictures sometimes.
21. Do you report the money you earn from blogging on your taxes?
Yes, and I�ll offer a word of advice. Don�t go through the bother of registering as a �home business,� report the income as �freelance.�
22. Is blogging narcissistic?
We wouldn�t all post quizzes about ourselves if it wasn�t. That's the inspiration behing this rather obvious caricature of myself. Everyone with a personal site wants an audience, so why not admit to it?
23. Do you feel guilty when you don�t post for a long time?
No, I always update about my time off.
24. Do you like John Mayer?
He could be cuter.
25. Do you have enemies?
I�ve had my share of fights, but I don�t know that anyone holds a grudge. If they�ve still got something burning for me, bring it. In my mind, it's a thing of the past.
26. Are you lonely?
I�ve always felt like I was alone, even when I was a small child. I don�t know if that�s the same thing, though. The people I love are close to my heart, but I�ve made my own way in life, many have come and gone.
27. Why bother?
First as a writing exercise, then, because I wanted to make a joke out of it. When I get tired of poking fun at online culture, I�ll probably retire the diaryland section of the site.
8:04 a.m. - May. 28, 2004
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DDC food shopping
Less choices, better things.
I hate going to the grocery store, they never put stuff where I think it should be displayed. Aside from dog food & cat food always splitting a shelf, I can�t make any sense out of the order in which the other zillion products are stocked. It�s a mystery layout in every location; even big chain stores use different floor plans. It makes no sense!
Why hasn�t anyone applied the Dewey Decimal System to food items? Most of them have a barcode already. A few alterations to the scanning system could give way to a super-mart revolution.
DDC food shopping would be quick and quiet, that�s for damn sure. And you�d better believe people would return their carts for fear of those late fees. Imagine making a grocery list, walking into the store and being able to look up each item in a card catalogue (obviously digital), and then you could pick-up everything you needed in one sweeping motion through only the necessary isles. Now that�s what I call well-organized living.
12:03 a.m. - May. 26, 2004
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metroboys like wax
The newest trend in male pampering is called the Crack-Sack-&-Back Wax.
No one wants to know about some label obsessed metro-man's hairy crack, let alone what kind of sadist he must be to wax his sack. The most annoying thing about this new breed of Pretty Boy is their sheer resolve to bring even the most sissified gay grooming practices to a salon near you. Say what you will about the homos, but none can deny that we have enough class to shave our asses at home.
1:53 a.m. - May. 25, 2004
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the baby penguin bit
The punch line.
Sometimes the laughs are just for me. I have a rather hyperactive freezer, which has crated it's own Winter Wonderland type atmosphere.. snow and all. One day when I went to retrieve a bottle of vodka from it's icy depths, precipitation was particularly high and as I swung the door open a gust of mighty wind blew a full-scale hailstorm in my direction.
Christ on a cracker, I thought as I cleaned ice off of the kitchen floor, I could raise a family of penguins in there!
And thus, the little baby penguin bit was firmly planted in my cracked little brain. I elaborated on the idea here without explanation, since no one pays attention or takes me seriously anyway. Either that or they'd really think I was raising a baby penguin in my home.
I guess what I�m saying is that it really doesn't matter if I'm the only one that got it, because I thought it was funny.
8:38 p.m. - May. 20, 2004
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sick
Sick.
Today, for the first time ever, I experienced what is known as Montezuma�s Revenge. It was, unfortunately, without the pleasure of traveling anywhere outside the US. All I had to do was order some take-out Thai food, and they brought it right to my doorstep.
I won�t go into graphic details, but I will say that there is a moment of horrific panic when you�re on the toilet and suddenly have to barf. That's when you realize you�re the sickest you�ve ever been in your life. It�s far too late to do anything about it then.
The only thing you're capable of doing in this situation is lying on the couch watching movies all day. It's actually kind of fun, and you have an excuse to be really grumpy as you order your staff around while eating lots of ice cream. You know, it dawned on me during my DVD fest this afternoon that Romy and Michelle�s High School Reunion is, like, the best movie ever.
It all breaks down to the characters. Romy is the every-girl. She knows she�s not the coolest, the cutest, or the smartest. Still, she has big dreams of changing her life and showing the world that she�s worth something. Michelle, for all her blondness, is a Zen Master in this farcical tale. She already knows she�s worth something, because of her friendship with Romy. To hell with everybody else, they never really did anything for her anyway. She just has fun being herself, and it�s Michelle�s job to show Romy that she�s being having fun, too, even though she�s been too busy worried about what everyone else is thinking about her to realize it.
It�s like the Wizard of Oz, only blonder, and, like, not all of it is a dream, and they smoke and say �shit� a lot. Y�know?
9:36 p.m. - May. 19, 2004
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olive oil
While watching the Simpsons season 2 on DVD, the whore�s disembodied voice called out from his room..
"Do we have any olive oil?"
I sprang from the couch. Of course I had body oil. By instinct, I headed towards my personal skin-care boutique, otherwise known as the bathroom vanity. Then something resonated.
Olive oil.
What kind of crazy moisturizes with olive oil? Hello zit party and potential fire hazard. Comprehension began to slowly sink in.
Only a nanosecond passed as I fully grasped the question and quickly spun on my heel. As I faced her whoreness, the tramp peeked out of the doorway with a towel barely covering non-FCC approved parts. What�s the FCC�s position on pubic hair? This might not have been a prime-time scene.
We walk around comfortably naked all the time, but this was somewhat unexpected. There�s usually some form of clothing, the towel is cinched, it�s stuffed in a sock, something. Not surprisingly, I�m usually the most nakedest. Anyway, considering the state of undress involved, my train of thought was derailed.
"Wait..is this, like, a cooking thing, or do you need lube?"
Whoreonica snapped back with a single word. "Lube?"
When you know someone, tone becomes more significant than content. In this situation, it meant: Are you fucking kidding me? Not only do you know that I know better, but you�ve provided me with far superior lubricant than anything found on isle 5 @ the corner grocery. Clearly, he�d be cooking tonight. This is the very last thing I�d think about doing with oil.
I laughed my evil laugh. If Mother Hubbard thinks her cupboards are bare, it�s because she�s never been to Casa Fandango. In our non-traditional gay abode, taking care of dinner means bringing something home in a bag. Sometimes laughter can say so much. In this case, it said: Do you live here, or are you new? We don�t even have a stove. Just because I maintain bragging rights for making a fancy salad on my birthday, it doesn�t mean I�ve been in the kitchen since.
I�ve been stockpiling pepsi bottles in the little baby penguins room since I had it expanded, so I haven�t needed to actually pass through the kitchen in weeks. Did you know empty pepsi bottles make excellent igloos for little baby penguins to live in? It�s true.
With my main item of sustenance being stored in another location, the kitchen has become a mystery to me. As you may have guessed, there was no olive oil to be found. In fact, we realized how pointless the entire exchange had been and didn�t even bother to look.
1:33 a.m. - May. 17, 2004
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kitty wrangling
Kitty Wrangling.
As any pet owner knows, your kitty (dog, chinchilla, whatever) pays no attention to what you�re doing to them as long as it doesn�t hinder their participation in bad behavior.
Kitty would let you stick your finger into the farthest reaches of her inner ear if she was tearing into a neat stack of papers. As you massaged her brain she�d purr all the while, chaotically tossing hours of work about the room like an eight-pound hurricane. You can sit on kitty while she�s eating food off your plate and she won�t even attempt to reposition herself. Just try sharing the couch with her any other time and she�ll bitch until you get out of her spot. You�d be allowed in her space if she were scratching at the armrest. She wouldn�t vocalize the slightest of sounds then, even if you poked her in the eye repeatedly.
I suppose it only makes sense that my furry little friend naturally resists any attention made in effort to benefit her.
She can cough up a pill with the skill of a lifelong bulimic, somehow retaining the treat wrapped around the damn thing, which was only offered to trick her into taking medication in the first place (I�ve learned to insist on caps at the vet, which I pull apart and mix in with her normal food). Every single time I try to brush her she makes a mad dash upon seeing the paddle in my hand. I have to chase her around the penthouse and hold her down for the first few strokes, until she remembers she actually likes being groomed. I can pet kitty for twenty minutes and she�ll leap out of my lap the moment I reach for a flea collar. This new collar is usually a replacement for the last one she managed to paw off and hide somewhere only kitty knows about.
Tonight, kitty got the smack down. Girlfriend has been out of control lately and it was time for her nails to be cut back. I don�t believe in de-clawing, but no harm is done with a nice manicure. She never saw it coming. I�d wrapped a towel around my waist to cover my shorts. She�s used to me walking around half naked, so when I entered the room there was no reaction. As I got closer to her, she remained oblivious to my plan.
Then I whipped off the towel and wrapped kitty up like a big burrito. I pinned her to the floor, holding the edges of the towel with my knees. I could see the shock on her furry face and I swear I heard the little wheels in her head spinning around for a minute, trying to think of a way to break free. It was so futile I had to laugh. Realizing defeat, she went limp and let me clip away without complaint. Take that, kitty.
11:47 p.m. - May. 14, 2004
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another lie
I woke up this morning with a lit cigarette in my mouth.
I neglected to inform Driver of my new routine, and he woke me in the usual fashion. I�d sucked about half way to the filter before it even occurred to me that I was awake. I killed the camel and stuffed the butt into my polished ashtray. Then I remembered I�d cleaned the ashtray because I quit smoking. Damn!
5:55 p.m. - May. 12, 2004
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sometimes.. I'm wrong on purpose
I lied.
When I said I was going to quit smoking a month ago, I meant it. For about five minutes, basically the time it took me to walk to the store & buy a new pack.
Tomorrow is smoke free day. An entire 24 hours without a single puff. Promise. Right after this one last cigarette.
After a slow, leisurely drag from my Camel Light, the problem becomes obvious. I have absolutely no willpower. A simple fact anyone will tell you is that I�ve always done whatever the hell I wanted, even if I knew it was wrong.
1:12 a.m. - May. 12, 2004
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happy mo'day
No matter how many special women there are in my life, there's only one Mama Fergie.
A couple weeks ago, she hurt her leg and has been getting around on crutches lately. When I called her today, she'd just come in from weeding the garden. First of all, I didn�t even know she�d broken her leg, and when pressed for information she informed me that she�d fractured the bone underneath her kneecap.
She told me the hip-to-ankle brace the doctor gave her wasn�t being used, and sitting around the house had become boring. Not wanting to be a burden to anyone, Mama Fergie decided to �get off her butt� and use an old towel to slide herself around the yard so she could tend her flowerbed with a fractured knee. On mother�s day.
The woman is incorrigible.
7:12 p.m. - May. 09, 2004
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sobriety
Ever get so drunk, you're sober? Everything becomes very clear. Every movement, every motion, every sound, even the next second. Like life on pause. In that one moment, you know. I'd fill you in on the amazing revelation, but I have to pass out now.
2:21 a.m. - May. 08, 2004
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BP
8:39 p.m. - May. 07, 2004
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smut month
May is officially smut month.
I'm not a dirty boy; people just search that way. Today's search was "naked pics of Fergie." Typical, but I don�t actually get many hits from these searches. People can tell from the text field that this is a weblog, not a porn site.
This result may confuse a few people:
Naked pics on the internet of Fergie shamelessly flashing his dick for beads
It�s not what you think. Last year I went to Mardi Gras, and believe me, dropping your pants is required to participate in the festivities. If everyone does it, it can�t be wrong. Since there was no way around the inevitability, I felt readers should be aware that there may be some graphic evidence floating around out there somewhere as a result of the trip.
I don�t condemn being a deviant, in fact I rather encourage it. However, I firmly believe you can have a little class about the whole thing. You won�t see me out of control and acting like a big old mess. That doesn�t mean I won�t be either of those things, you just won�t see it.
12:02 a.m. - May. 05, 2004
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sickkkhhuh
Sickkkhhuh!
There is no reason for me to continue to exhaust any mental energy on this blog. People only stop by looking for smut, or they don't even bother reading and whack off to my pics. Nice. Actually that's kind of hot.
But, even I have my limits. Someone googled me looking for "grandfather masturbating." That is just fucking sick. So sick you have to say it like the "K" sticks in your throat, sickkkhhuh!
This is the text google brought up:
Do you know how to masturbate correctly? ... My grandfather had a barn complete with a pony and everything
Two different entries on the same page, nothing about my grandfather and a pony and I can't even say what else because it's so sickkkhhuh..
Look pervs, I love ya. All you had to do was read this entry, click on the "pics" link in the first paragraph, and you get a fun surprise you can use for a little jerk fest. You won't get Fergie nude, but other than a little too much eyeshadow, what else do you think I'm wearing?
1:09 a.m. - May. 04, 2004
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May 04
Mail Bag.
Time once again to check my inbox and pull a random message from the WFDC Fan-e-Mail Generator. This weeks letter comes from Kody.
--sub: hay--
your hot,
hey id like to see your cock
send pics to [email protected] please
Thanks for writing Kody. It�s always such a thrill to hear from my readers.
10:23 p.m. - May. 02, 2004
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