fucking blue crocs

I always walk Ginny to her car for one last kiss. A huge cold front came in last night so I’m wearing wool socks, my camo pajama pants that my mom gave me for christmas and my big black fuzzy robe.

She says she has a yoga mat in her car so I slip on the blue crocs, which no one seems to like and we’re walking to her car. She’s parked a little farther away then usual. So we’re just walking and I start laughing that I’m just strutting down the street in the 50 degree weather and 33 mph wind . The roofers working are looking at me.

The blue crocs tend to kinda be a scourge among my friends and loved ones. My friend Peter once threw one of them into the palm trees by the pool and sat up there for days until I could figure out how to get it down.

Crocs are totally acceptable but in very specific colors and situations. Like if you’re a line cook? Crocs are fine but probably black or a dark color.

Fucking tired

I decided a few weeks back to slowly start getting back into shape, like just for the last time, I’m not going to let myself go anymore. I have a basic level of “in shape” that I want to maintain until I die. It’s going well tho. It’s interesting tho because at this stage of the game, I’m probably drinking “too much” and don’t get me started about the other things. And stuff.

Lately I’ve been taking 1-2 bong hits before my long runs and while that sounds like a terrible practice on paper, it lets me tap into the ancient DNA that made us what we are.

I talk about this on reddit a lot but when I start getting towards that 5-6 mile mark, I start to feel the spear in my hand and see buffalo and wooly mammoth. Being able to run long distances was basically what made us what we are as a species.

Today has been prepping my life for Ginny coming over. I always try to make sure my life is as put together as possible when she comes over so this morning has been taking bong hits, doing pull ups while doing laundry so I can put on clean sheets. All this has to be done before I leave to go watch the saints game.

Whenever I have to laundry in this nightmare condo building, I always make sure to have headphones on so I can ignore people easier. Today’s choice was Amputechture.

Now I’m a firm believer that The Bedlam In Goliath is the best The Mars Volta album but boy…if it’s been a few weeks/months since you last hear The Day Of Baphomets, take a nice bong hit, do as many pulls up as you can and give that a go if it’s been a while.

I’ve been cycling through their entire discography pretty viciously. I was lucky enough to see them in Memphis many years ago and it was insane, the fucking drummer is animal.

It’s ironic because a lot of this whole “fix your fucking life” has came from hooking up with a beautiful young create…I often say I’m basically training for a race. A race? Yeah, a race against every single other fucking asshole exactly like me. New Orleans is terrible about it, dating pool gets awful shallow. Like I can’t afford to not be good looking, it’s hard enough as it is.

I digress but it’s ironic I’ve been spending so much time punishing my body that I’m so physically exhausted and won’t really be able to fuck her properly when she comes over tonight. I’ve been texting her saying how tired I am, trying to manage expectations, oh well.

Clothes will be dry in 7 minutes. I hate doing laundry. I had a moment of clarity recently when my maids said they will come twice a month for $50.00. Basically twice a month, while the maids

“he was nice….when he was sober”

I wrote this and posted it on reddit but it got banned from some bullshit mod rule but wanted to post it here. My reddit writing is a little different from my crackhore stuff but whatever.

I live in this 77 unit condo building on the lakefront in New Orleans. It’s basically trailer park level people but without the privacy of a trailer. My neighbors are all…let’s just say, a friend described it as “the island of misfit toys”. I could go on and on about this building, one neighbor is creeping on another neighbor’s wife, sending her flowers at work, creepy shit. And I’m saying that as being a pretty creepy fucker.

It’s okay to be creepy but you gotta work your core, don’t skip on those squats, etc but you have to EARN creepy. But he’s creepy even for my standards. I’ve never liked him since the time I saw him beat his wife in front of a crowd of people. He’s really into feet too, ugh.

Anyway, my neighbor who always does a big thanksgiving spread comes by to invite me over but she says “Michael died this morning”. So Michael, who lived on the first floor with his partner R. This has been a lot of fun because my name is Michael so any of my other neighbors I text to tell them about this because they think someone is texting them from my phone. I’m not dead. I feel great, did 4 miles on the lakefront, had a beer after my smoothie, shit is great. Anyway.

So one of my earliest memories of Michael was everyone was down by the pool grilling, nice normal Sunday. Michael grabs my friend P’s cock. P, who is a police officer, is not having this and grabs Michael by the throat and pushes him against a palm tree, deciding what the best course of action is.

This is a tough statement to write but there is nothing worse then a drunk out of control angry gay man. I mean, I hate drunk people acting crazy but I’ll take a white girl drunk stumbling around over a angry sexually frustrated gay guy, any day.

For the most part, I didn’t see him often. His partner kinda kept him inside because anytime he interacted with the neighbors while drunk it was angry threats. The seething rage that came from him was scary, like I have a “do not interact” rule with a lot of neighbors.

Another fond memory of Michael is he came out to the pool, just stumbling blind drunk. My friend P(the one that was sexually assaulted) and I are on the 3rd floor watching him, too drunk to open the child proof gate. He just lays down on one of the pool chairs with a “this is my life now” attitude. Eventually his lover comes and gets him.

I would see him eye me while I would get in my car to head to work, just angerily smoking and staring at me.

Personality of a Pomeranian. Vivid memories of him threatening random neighbors for no reason, always creative in his insults.

Dropped dead of a aneurysm on thanksgiving morning in a work meeting.

So the neighbors are eating Thanksgiving talking about it and I’m already 1 bottle of champagne into the day. I’m taking a “if you don’t have anything nice to say” mentality. One of the people there, a sweet nice woman, was attempting so hard to say something nice about him because you don’t want to speak bad of the dead.

Everyone just playing this mental gymnastics while a monster just listened and ate some bomb ass cranberry whatever.

She said something that struck me, “he was nice when he was sober”, like fuck, are people going to say that about me?

Oh well. Next time I’m about to act a fool, I’ll think about poor dead Michael and try to make it to where when I’m dead, it’ll be somewhat better like “yeah, he was a pretty high functioning alcoholic, a amazing lover based on all this amateur porn he uploaded, all around a quality yet creepy monster but will be missed”


This thanksgiving I’m grateful that he didn’t die in the condo building. I’ve been getting really into playing with the ouji board while tripping and I’m convinced I’ve talked with one of the people that shot themselves here and never would run into his spirit.

RIP Michael, I’m jealous of the peace you are finally getting.

i would describe you as a angry alcoholic

When Ginny said that, it really hit me that, well, yeah, but I have a lot of reasons to be angry. Honestly, we should all be more angry. Whatever, that’s another post about people wearing masks around their necks. We are all going to die. I have to drink more water and be as healthy as I can while still completely destroying my mind.

Anyway, Monday morning, after a Saints victory of the Falcons, we’re laying in bed, my head on her chest, both of us in a strange bliss. This perfect time is interrupted by mr jack hammer! Now I was just…joking, in a sense but I rolled out of bed naked and grabbed the AR-15 and started walking to the door.

I forget what she said but I started laughing and put it away and came back to bed. I wasn’t going to shoot him. I don’t even have any guns. I love the Atlanta falcons.

A odd side effect of having her in my life is I can use her love against her and get her to help me bottle the 10 gallons of “wine” which I need to write a post about. It’s weird how much ancient DNA I feel like I carry in me.

From the feeling of chasing buffalo while running, brewing/fermenting things when feeling happy must be up there with gardening in a sense, weird instincts to try to extend your life because it doesn’t suck. Exercise too has been on the raise in my life and that just absolutely makes every other part of life better, just have to fucking do it.

Adrian Lamo

Since Ginny has came into my life, I’ve been telling stories that…stand out in my mind of “wow, wtf”.

One of those is Adrian Lamo. I’m only using his name because he was murdered or died in some way and feel like he would appreciate me writing this.

So it goes like this, somehow I got a earlier crackhore follower in Philly which spiraled from Jeff to T to Adrian. He liked my site enough that he had it bookmarked on his laptop.

When he turned himself into the FBI.


I was living with Ian at the time on Haynes St. My mom calls and says she got a phonecall from someone claiming to be from the FBI. She thought it was one of my friends fucking around but took the number down anyway and wanted me to call.

I hangup with mom and walk to the kitchen and pour myself a everclear and koolaid. It was blue.

A fun internet fact, I registered crackhore.com in 1998 and since I was using my parent’s credit card, it had their address/phone on the whois data and it never got changed, how they “found me”.

I called the agent and said if I feel uncomfortable I’ll call back with a lawyer but I’ll talk to him. He asked about what I did and crackhore.com. They thought it was crack like hacking…it was more like crack like crack, I dunno, it’s just a funny name. After a while he says “okay after reading this it doesn’t seem like we should look into you further”.

The reason I’m writing this out is I wanna close the chapter on this post. I submitted a FBI FOIA request 15 minutes ago. I want so badly to read/post the notes from that conversation.

Not expecting a fast turn around time because the world is broken but at least it’s in the works, will be a happy surprise one day in the mail.

A little more Ginny stories

She didn’t immediately break up with after reading the last post so we’re looking good. She did mention that I forgot how intelligent she is and I’m used to dating “dumb fucking bitches” because…I’m just not really proud of my past but every pushup and every mile gets me closer to not hating my existence.

The reason she brought it up is I’ve lost track of how many times she’s said something and it makes me take a step back and go “wow, hm”.

For example, Ginny said she hates guys that wear hats. I’m like yeah but I honestly don’t think I could go for a run without a hat. She said that’s different. I think I was wearing a hat at the time of this conversation. She said in that situation, I think we were walking in the park(different time from ghost dog cucking), she said that’s perfectly okay, it’s sunny, wear a hat.

What got to her and now what gets to me, is guy’s wearing a hat at 8pm inside a house or bar. I got me thinking that I always take my hat off when I go inside of a place. A lot of it is because if it’s the fuck the falcons hat then I like to be able to look at it. Also I think it goes back to my days of rocking the panama hat with the suit and tie. It looked okay but the hat was more of a utility type item. When you’re waiting for a streetcar in August wearing a suit and tie, you need a hat or you will be miserable. I looked good in it. Anyway.

I thought of another moment I’ve had with Ginny that absolutely solidified the love I have for her. We went out to a very nice restaurant for one of our dates and when we walked in the hostess used a thermometer gun on both of us. When she “shot” me I exclaim “ouch!”. The hostess is confused like “wait did that hurt?”

Before I could answer, Ginny immediately stares at the poor girl shakes her head no and says “ignore him” and we are seated. 5 minutes later I’m still laughing while we enjoy a nice glass of wine before dinner.

It takes a certain personality to put up with what is basically real life trolling for no reason but for some weird dopamine release I get from it?

I’ve got some real long term “projects”, fucking with huge groups of people.

So I wanna type this one out because this is probably one of the greatest things I’ve set in motion. I’ll keep it short. I stole a employee tshirt from a local restaurant a while back and wore it there recently.

The waitress was really confused at how I had one because they don’t sell them. I told her I slept with someone who works there and she left it. About 15 minutes later another waitress comes over and demands to know and I just shake my head and say I can’t say.

I wish I had thought of this early. I told Ginny that she is kind of a muse for my antics. My awfulness on reddit has moved into a near god level, the power of being happy I suppose.

Oh another thing, I promised early on that when I was with her I wouldn’t steal anything while with her. And no cutting. The cutting thing is easy to put down and the stealing thing is tricky. Like I’m almost terrified I’ve jinxed myself and we’ll be out at dinner Friday and come across some exotic car with the keys in.

Made some pretty good content this weekend

I started seeing someone. She’ll read this and anyone who knows her and knows she’s seeing me, well, whatever. I’m not going to apologize for living my best life.

It’s important to note that whatever this is, sometimes she’s my girlfriend, sometimes I’m afraid she hates me(which isn’t her fault), sometimes I can actual feel legit love emanate from her. I’ve tried to adapt a stoic “enjoy this until one of us doesn’t” kind of attitude which often works.

It’s funny writing about this on crackhore because she really makes me wonder about “why” people like me. Back when this site was a regular part of people’s day, it spread and has lead to all kinds of crazy things with crazy people. 

So I never use names, we’ll call her Ginny, “because of the gin”.

So, I’m extremely active on /r/neworleans, like a regular cast member. One of my favorite activities in the world is pushing the limits on the moderation team there with more and more…i dunno, “content”.

I mean, we’re in the middle of a pandemic, going out and drinking isn’t a option so I’m getting my shit out in my own way.

One day, probably while drinking, probably, I decided to create a thread of new orleans themed erotica. It’s beautiful, if you have time read it.

I’m thinking about writing New Orleans themed erotica and need help brain storming from NewOrleans

Anyway, so Ginny messages me and we exchanged numbers. We both realize we had met before in real life many years ago. Ginny…shares a very similar attitude to sex and we discovered pretty much instantly that we are extremely compatibles in that part of life.

We also learn soon we both like to party, that is basically drugs, alcohol, 90’s music and sex. Ginny is a good bit younger, only 29, which for someone of my age is, well, a accomplishment. I also haven’t been with anyone who shares my level of depravity. I’m not really going to go into much as far as details. Well, okay maybe a few just because this is a fucked up story.

So Friday night has typically been our date night, we’ll either get food to go our go out to a fancy restaurant(that i have trade credit with). I told her tonight our Friday nights are such a relief that we did all of the bullshit that we have to do to continue to just exist and then finally get to see each other. It sounds cheesy typing it out but it’s really such a reward for all the fucking bullshit we both have to deal with in this new reality. I digress.

So on Saturdays we like to do “brunch” at home, just cooking the absolute perfect breakfast with drugs, sex, alcohol, etc. So I’m laying in bed Saturday morning thinking “i have the champagne, the bacon, eggs, everything i need except I forgot orange juice”.

Going to the store sounds like torture after, well, Friday. I remember, I have some Tampico I bought randomly on a instacart order. We cook and drink this remarkably good mixer with champagne. 3 bottles of champagne later with the sun going down, we decide to go for a walk in the park since westend park is really beautiful and peaceful at night.

We walk to a very special place in the park called, well, I call it, the Gus Grove. I’m going to post a pic if but it’s basically these 4 trees and a concrete statue of a dog and a nameplate in those New Orleans street font that says Gus.

Obviously, a dog is buried there. Now, it’s a previous story that I should have wrote but a few months back, I ate way too many mushrooms and walked to Gus. So the elevator speech on that mushroom trip was don’t eat mushrooms on top of a dog’s grave while listening to Tool. At one point I could feel Gus raising up from the ground and choking me to death with his paws. I don’t even know why I do drugs anymore, like life is already stressful enough without conjuring ghosts of dead pets.

Anyway, Gus has a bench under his trees and it’s one of my favorite places to go drink. I take pics of the statue a lot and lots of people here in New Orleans know about Gus. Very few have talked to Gus like I have, I mean, besides the people who knew him when he was alive.

So Ginny says she wants to go see Gus. I can’t not agree, I’m always down for Gus.

I’m kinda afraid to post this but somehow…well, Gus has now talked to me while in the depths of a hallucinogenic nightmare and has now seen me have sex. I mean, as a experienced person in awful things, I never have been like “yeah…my weekend? Oh, Friday had some great sandwiches, Saturday, had sex in front of a ghost dog in a park, yeah then then saints beat the falcons!! What about you?”

It definitely was a checkbox on the sex bingo game we all play that I didn’t know existed.

She left this morning to go work and I won’t see her until after Thanksgiving. It’s for the best, she has shit to do, I do too. So fun to have someone to have these adventures with tho. Just the beginning hopefully.

This will obviously be followed up with “heart broken, drinking myself to death with a zombie dog post” but I felt like I owed it to myself to put pen to paper to one day remind me of this.

I’m going to try to make efforts to post here again. Not for any reason but to keep a document of it. She made a point that I might start writing more because of how happy I am…it feels good to just yell into the void, especially knowing no one is listening, well, probably her.