Sociopath Community

More of my therapeutic spew. I know you all must be having a helluva time relating, but it gets better ;^)  Don't be so shy you lot of online pDocs!

“Right now I sell things at trade shows. Mostly back massagers. It’s a really cool job. I get to
sell to chicks all day. It’s all overpriced junk really. We sell ours for $189 a pop and you can get
almost the same thing at Costco for $30. They don’t know the difference. If people ask, it’s just
because ours is better and it is slightly a different model so I give them a big long spiel about
how ours is rated by the medical profession. They buy it. In fact one day a customer came in
wanting the old model that we used to sell. I gave him a whole-hearted speech about how hard it
would be to find but I would do my best only it might cost a little extra though. He ate it up and
all I did was run down to Costco and buy one off the shelf for $29.99; then I came back and sold
it to him for 200. Costco started selling our old model just after we switched to the new one.”
“You’re kind of a shyster then.”

“Ah people are just morons. I just give them want they want. It’s still a good product. It’s also
the only medical vibrator that made the top 10 list for vibrators in Hustler magazine.”
“My subscription must have run out. I don’t remember that,” I joked.
“But really everything there is a complete rip-off.”
“My parents bought a $200.00 blender at a trade fair a few weeks ago,” I said.
“Oh I know that one- it’s the Mixmaster Supreme. It’s probably the one only thing they sell
that’s good value. That thing can do everything. I bought one myself. It’s great for margaritas.”

I wasn’t sure if he was sincere or not, but it wasn’t that important. My parents didn’t indulge
themselves that often, and it was a damn good blender. The only other thing I could remember
my parents splurging on was the complete set of ‘The Beverly Hillbillies’ tapes and those are
good value at any price.
We walked the two blocks back to Vincent’s place that turned out to be just the basement of his
mother’s house. His cast was a walking cast so although he wasn’t breaking any speed records he
was at least able to function. His car was a very hot looking Mazda RX-7.
“So are you pretty strong in the truth?” Vincent asked as we drove away. If you were a witness
talking among other witnesses you either referred to someone as in the truth or in the world. If
you were in the truth you would survive Armageddon and if you were in the world you would be
killed. It was a simple enough strategy really.

“I guess so, I could always be stronger I guess, why do you ask?”
“I was in the world for 5 years,” he said. “I’m just starting to come back.”
I thought he might have something more to say on the matter but that was it. Soon we were
across town in a very run-down section passing endless pawn shops, and a few trailer courts
along the way. We entered through the lobby of an older hotel building that in its heyday had
probably been luxurious but now it was partially bordered up with plywood and held together by
peeling plaster. There were a lot of cars outside. This was strange for me to see on a Tuesday
night. During the first month I had lived in the city I had been out every night until the money
ran out and I had to start looking for a job. Fridays and Saturdays were busy always but on
weekdays, except for the odd old drunkard, most bars were deserted.
“

“You ever been to one of these bars before?” asked Vincent. And then as we walked through the
doors I understood what he was talking about. My eyes skimmed over the puke stained red
carpet to the gyrating body on the stage. “Welcome to two dollar Tuesday,” he yelled above the
noise of the music and the crowd. “All of this and the beer’s only two bucks a bottle.”
“No, first time” I said. I tried not to look too surprised.
“Yeah that’s what I figured. Your tongue is hanging on the floor. Your not going to go tell the
elders or anything are you? I mean this is just a little fun. You have to remember I was in the
world for 5 years.”

“I’m not into squealing, don’t worry”. We found a couple of seats in pervert row right in front of
the stage and I sat there enjoying two of life’s finest pleasures- beer and women.
“Maybe I shouldn’t tell you this but the elders came up to me and asked me to talk to you, you
know get you more involved in the congregation. You always are intent on leaving right after the
closing prayer. That’s not cool man. You have to be more sociable and hang out with people, go
out in the field service more, and you need to be a part of it all. I said sure no problem, I’d be
glad to help out with the new guy.”
“But we’re in a nudie bar, how spiritual is that? Don’t worry I’m ok with it but I admit I’m a
little surprised.”

The undoing of the Jehovah Witness. The temptations of the world, and the biology in agony.  cries 

“Yeah that’s what I figured. Your tongue is hanging on the floor. Your not going to go tell the
elders or anything are you? I mean this is just a little fun. You have to remember I was in the
world for 5 years.”

“I’m not into squealing, don’t worry”. We found a couple of seats in pervert row right in front of
the stage and I sat there enjoying two of life’s finest pleasures- beer and women.
“Maybe I shouldn’t tell you this but the elders came up to me and asked me to talk to you, you
know get you more involved in the congregation. You always are intent on leaving right after the
closing prayer. That’s not cool man. You have to be more sociable and hang out with people, go
out in the field service more, and you need to be a part of it all. I said sure no problem, I’d be
glad to help out with the new guy.”
“But we’re in a nudie bar, how spiritual is that? Don’t worry I’m ok with it but I admit I’m a
little surprised.”
“It’s all about balance. Work hard, play harder. Look at me. I’ve only been back for 6 months
and already everyone loves me. I play the game and yet I can still do my own thing. I have
everything. If I didn’t believe it was the truth I wouldn’t be here, but to be perfectly honest I miss
the action of the world.” He emphasized ‘perfectly’. “If you think you’re horny now just wait.
Once you’ve had it, it just gets even worse because you just want more. I also was big into the
martial arts-king fu. I used to compete. A couple of years ago I was ranked 18th in Western
Canada for open fighting. It may not seem like much but for a guy my size it’s pretty good.”
I decided not to divulge that I had taken tai-kwon-do in school. That was just once a week after
class and I certainly didn’t go to competitions.
We both seemed to have had our fill of the spiritual conversation and sat back to watch the
action. It was my first time seeing real naked women. It was much better in person than the old
Playboys behind our school. For being exotic dancers they didn’t really dance a lot. It was more of a

slithering around on the stage action with their pelvises pumping to the music. Each girl had
4 songs to her set. Usually 3 lively pieces followed by the money song. During the first song
they would come out in with their flashy costumes glowing in the purple light. It was all about
the attention and being noticed. During the second song it was off with the bra, an action greeted
with immense cheering, whistles and wild applause. At the end of the third song the panties
came off which produced even more whistles and catcalls. The fourth song was the slow,
deliberate cat-like crawling around on her personal blanket whilst the patrons threw dollar coins
at her privates in exchange for personal photographs. A few girls had T-shirts to give away that
were enhanced by transferring body paint from their wonderfully augmented breasts along with
skillfully worded catch phrases such as ‘bite me’ or ‘suck this’.

It didn’t take Vincent long to amass a varied and enviable collection. He didn’t toss that much
money at them but whenever they were about to throw some giveaways at the audience he would
stick up his shiny blue cast in the air to get a little sympathy. His main competition came from a
drunken bearded man on the other side of the stage. He would yell out “hi there hi there how’s
your pie there?” to each one as they would enter. It was hard to have a girl right in front of you
with her legs spread wide apart. Their pubic hairs were all either shaven or meticulously trimmed
leaving a delicious thin strip of hair right in the middle. I was starting to get a little wound up
with desire. I would have sold my soul to Satan himself for just a chance to even touch one of
them. The only thing stopping me was that we didn’t believe in the tradition view of the
immortal soul. I also decided that instead of merely touching one it would be a far better option
to tie one up like a pretzel and have my way with her. The way their bodies contorted around the
pole on the stage sent shivers of delight though my spine.
The bar was different than those I had seen in the movies. I think Steven Segal went to a strip
club in just about every movie he made. Those all appeared to be much fancier than this.

The thing is why go to an expensive place when you can go to a cheap one? The same girls dance in
both types of places. They travel their own little circuit doing their routine from one bar to the
next. I’m told they make about $200 per night as well which I’m sure is all tax-free.
I enjoyed every minute of it. It was nice to let my hair down. The beer was cold and fresh and no
matter how much I drank, I still wanted more. Usually it was hard for me to get drunk on beer. I
could drink only so much and then I would feel too bloated to drink any more, even though I
would still be a long way off from being drunk. The girls danced in fairly rapid succession,
pausing between sets only for a few minutes to be able to take bathroom breaks without missing
any action. There were about 10 of them that danced in the routine. We had just finished
watching the complete cycle when they announced the end of the dancing. I thanked Vincent for
opening my eyes to a whole new world of debauchery.

“It was better in the old days,” he said. “I just caught the tail end of it before they brought in the
liquor laws and the stupid 3 foot barrier. Before, we could go right up on stage with the girls. We
couldn’t touch them but they were allowed to touch us. We’d stick dollar bills in our mouths and
they would come and remove them with different parts of their anatomy. I remember this one
time this girl brought out a Popsicle and shoved it up her snatch. Her routine was amazing. She
handed me the Popsicle after she was done with it. Without flinching I started licking it like the
sweet candy that it was. She wasn’t expecting that. I got the most amazing look from her. I’d

give anything to go back to that.”

Good point. Will break it down....bite sized chunks.

Thanks guys! Sock puppet narcissist? Is that the word for this lame ass bullshit I am pulling for attention? Sure sounds like a reasonable way of looking at it, if it weren't so totally fucked up huh?

“Motorcycle accident,” he said. “Some guy merged into my lane while I was still in it. My leg
got trapped underneath the bike while it skidded to a stop. My leg came out a lot better than the
bike believe me. Those things are death traps. From now on I’m sticking to my car. I’m trying to
get a lawsuit out of it for pain, suffering, and mental anguish. I have a family doctor who’s
willing to testify I’m at death’s door almost and this will give me irreparable physiological
damage. Hey do you feel like going for a beer?”
“Ok sure,” I responded. I tried not to be too eager because I wasn’t overly interested but beer was
the magic word. I had been in the city for over 3 months and the only person I had been out with
was my neighbour, which was great. With my neighbour things were always low key and
unimposing. In fact we had gone out shooting 3 or 4 times. Since the first ass-kicking day of
marksmanship I realized his skill was certainly not a fluke. He was an amazing shot and could shoot skeet with a rifle. Literally he never missed. He knew some secluded spots in the
mountains near the city. It was nice to get away. Nothing relieves stress quite like firing off a
few rounds.
“I only live 1 block down from your house,” he said. “Your car’s kind of a give-away. I’ve seen
it parked in front of your apartment. I live in a duplex down the street.”
“Okay then, just come on by when you’re ready. I’m the back door top bell.” It was a promising
start. It’s nice to go straight for the money word- beer. None of this how’s the weather bullshit.
“Beer? Yes. Good, let’s go.” That’s enough; small talk can come in after. It’s hard for guys to
make friends in general. Unless it’s someone you know from school or work there are really no
other ways. If someone just off the street came up to me and just started talking I would have no
other choice than to consider him gay and keep on walking -beer or no beer.

“Hey you live in a crap hole,” Vincent said when he showed up. “I thought it just was shity on
the outside but inside it’s even worse. I like the way you’ve matched the orange with the orange.
I never would have thought of that myself. Your car, floor and sofa are all orange. I would say
it’s time to buy a little paint.”
“Well it’s cheap- 350 per month including utilities. For the money I can’t complain. The futon
was a gift as was the chair. The colour doesn’t make it any less comfortable for my sweet ass.” I
handed him a beer.
“Thanks man,” he said after first taking a healthy swig. “You should at least throw a blanket over
or do something to cover it up. Maybe put an Arabian style carpet on the floor. Your car is cool though. That I wouldn’t change. Hey what’s your story anyway? What brings you to this neck of
the woods?”
“I don’t really have a story. Where I come from, everyone moves away. I’m just here to live and nothing
really. I’ll know more about what I’ll do after I save up some money I guess. Maybe I’ll
go to school after a while, I hadn’t really thought about it.”
“What’s it like working rigs?” he asked with fiend curiosity, more as a conversation starter than
true interest.
“How’d you know I worked rigs?”
“Ah word gets around. In this hall there’s a lot of gossip. I never worked rigs but I used to do
pipeline work. All we did was to put insulation on them. Easy work, but I hated it. I can’t stand
the cold. You like what you do?”

“Well every day I curse and ask myself what I’m doing there, but I can’t complain about the
money plus after 12 years of school I actually kind of enjoy the mindlessness of just pushing
pipe around. I’m on a single too so we really work. We are punching out gopher holes in
Saskatchewan. We average 30 hours a well so there’s lots of moving.”
I realized I was giving out too much information so soon. I liked to keep my answers shorter and
have a bit of distance until I got to know someone better. No one really wants to work if they
don’t have to but my savings had quickly run out. Working rigs hadn’t been my first job. After a
month I took a cushy job in the stock exchange building as a porter. All the couriers would
deliver their packages to our office in the basement and then we in turn would deliver them to the

different offices in the building. They didn’t want the grubby bicycle couriers wandering through
the high-class building. The trading floor was just a small part of the day. The building was full
of many other offices filled with attractive secretaries. The pay was pretty uninspiring but seeing
the eye candy was worth having to wear the tie and stupid little nametag. I could only resist this
for so long. After 2 weeks of delivering packages to a buxom blonde on the 9th floor I got up
enough nerve to ask her out. I had to ask her out. She was impossible to resist wearing her very
revealing little blouses. She wore the kind of bras that squished her breasts together and pushed
them up unnaturally. I was drawn to them by an irresistible force. She complained to my boss
who pointed out to me in my contract that fraternizing was not allowed. I wasn’t too upset about
getting fired. Sedco Drilling had an office in the building, which provided my lead for my job
working rigs. And I took comfort for probably being the only person in history to be banned
from the 9th floor of the Alberta Stock Exchange building. Vincent took my brief pause as an
opportunity to further his story.

moar!

Ah, the theme of suppressed lust?

Demons of inconvenient truths? Those are rare beasts!

Vincent had started to drift into his own little world. His eyes took on a glassy glow like he had
overdosed on love hormones.

But our drinking was not quite over. As luck would have it, on the other side of the hotel was
another bar. This one was a country bar. Although I’m not a fan of country music this bar still
had a live band that was playing a Steve Earl tune as we walked in. Music is always better live
and Steve Earle was more than half way to rock-n-roll anyway. The place was packed and then I
knew why the cars outside didn’t seem to match the patrons in the nudie bar. At first I was really
impressed that there was this happening bar on a Tuesday night. A nudie bar is great but you go
there to look at girls not to meet them. As I looked closer though, all the women were -to say the
least- a little on the repugnant side. Maybe it was just because we went from seeing the best
strippers around to normal people, but nothing there perked my interest. There was one
especially huge girl standing in front of us blocking our view of the band. She had long black
coarse hair that was either very stiff from hairspray or else it hadn’t been washed in several
weeks. She kept twirling her head around and every time she did so her hair seemed to cut right
into my face. At first I thought it was accidental but when she left to either buy another beer or
perhaps to go eat a small child, she deliberately pressed her gigantic, flowing breasts into me.
Her breasts should have impressed me as they were much bigger than my head, but instead I
snapped at her and told her that she was invading my personal space.

However even in the most vile regions of the planet where grace and style seem non-existent,
there is always hope. Cheap beer always brings out the less than sophisticated members of
society, but our waitress was a notable exception. It didn’t take me long to fall in love with her.
She had pale white skin highlighted by a splattering of freckles which matched her soft blond
hair. She came to our table with our pints of draft beer. I was almost too drunk to care, but
because she was so beautiful, I decided to point out to her that my fly had a beer in it. It was a
slight mix up of the words but she knew what I was really trying to say. It was a poor innocent
fruit fly drunk out of its mind trying helplessly to avoid eminent alcohol poisoning.

“There’s a fly in my beer.” I told her correctly this time.
Without a moment’s hesitation she dipped her delicate finger into my glass and slowly and
carefully removed it. The effect it had on me was instantaneous love and devotion. I would have
walked through Satan’s fiery hell for this woman.
“I love you,” I said. But my words had to compete with Vincent and several other patrons who
asked almost in unison if they could have flies in their beer as well.
She ignored me. Perhaps she thought I planted the friendly visitor as part of some diabolical plot
to start a conversation. Sadly my efforts were rejected. To her I was just another drunken slob,
part of the nudie bar overflow, and she wanted nothing to do with me.
After a few more beers (sadly no more with flies in them) and a coin toss to see who was in the
best shape to drive, we decided to head out. Vincent won the toss. I’m not sure if he was sober
but I had unquestionably taken a turn for the worse right after the tequila shots he had decided to
buy to toast my first nudie bar visit. I was just at that point that when you turn your head it takes
a little while for the scenery to catch up with you. I felt fine though; as long as I didn’t drink
anymore I was going to be ok. We stopped at the bar for a 6-pack in off sales and went on our
way.

FFS!  Jose, where you going with this? Can see the lines, but this doesn't look good, or it looks riotous, depends the perspective you want to take. You are either a very vicious little shit, or simply demonic with a few inconvenient truths.

Ask and ye shall receive!!!

Thank you all so much for your support and understanding. It's just so fantastic to be able to tell my story of being a bible thumping , moral Jehovah Witness , to the faggotry of sucking  random  dick and prostituting my ass  for attention and , well, I'll just continue:

There was an A and W drive-through nearby. After annoying the girl there by asking repeatedly
for Big Macs in what was the worst imitation of a Pakistani I have ever heard in my life, we
resumed our journey home. All I could think about was sleep.

I woke up to the sound of ‘Hey what happened to your friend?’ I was still in the car only there
was a scantily clad girl leaning through Vincent’s window.
“He’s drunk,” said Vincent. “So how bout it? You a cop?”
“I already told you no, now can you run a 100 yard dash?” I guessed that the 100 yard dash
would either be a reference to money or maybe some allusion to staying power.
“Come on babe I just need some proof.”
“Alright, alright, here.” She opened up her shirt and Vincent stuck his hand inside grabbing a
handful of nipple. At the same time she reached inside his pants for a quick feel. “There,” she
said. “I’m not a cop. Now do you boys want to talk some business?”
I was fully awake again. One of her breasts was still hanging out of her shirt and my eyes were
firmly fixed on it.
“Baby you are just the hottest thing on two wheels. I’m going to drive around a little more and
think about it. I need to hit a bank machine first too. I’ll see you later.” And with that comment
Vincent cracked open a beer to give to me and squealed his tires in the get-a-way. “Alright
naptime is over. We have some more partying to do.”
“What the hell was that?” I asked.
“A hooker man, now pay attention. Prostitution, for one thing is not illegal, it’s the solicitation
that’s illegal.”