I’m Sorry, I Thought This Was America!

My blog has had the distinguished honor of getting flagged as mature by WordPress. I guess when you write about dolphin fucking and whores with stinky vaginas, it’s to be expected. Basically, what this means is that none of my posts are going to be on the WordPress main page and I’m never going to be eligible to be Freshly Pressed. Which I hear is really good at driving traffic to your blog. I’m not going to have other wayward bloggers find my site by accident, not through WordPress Reader anyways.

Now there are two ways a person can handle this: One is to bitch and moan about how unfair it is. Blame it on stupid fellow bloggers who reported you and call WordPress a bunch of commie faggots who are censoring free speech like some shit out of 1984.

RandyMarshAmerica

Another, slightly more dignified approach, is to take responsibility for the things one says. You have the right to say what you wish, but there are repercussions for it. My writing style is still evolving, but right now, I like to deem it as eloquently vulgar. I mix a lot of offensive language with a couple of hundred dollar words and then trim it down. That means that I turn off a lot of potential readers that would have liked me otherwise, had I toned it down a notch. I believe in my current state, if I tone it down a notch, my writing would lose some of the edge that makes it distinguished and truly mine.

This is a little bit of a set back, but fuck it, it’s just another challenge to over come and get my stupid little Mexican brain thinking of how to promote myself through other avenues. It will force me to seek more writing opportunities on other sites so I can drive traffic here and gain ground with new people reading my material. As of right now, I have 52 followers, a platoon sized element of people willing to read what I have to say. They subscribed because they read something they liked and wanted more. I’m grateful for the opportunity to be able to give it to them.

The only way one can become a good writer is by staying true to themselves and what they are and to what they represent. If you try to please everybody, you please no one. I’m not writing to please everyone, but rather, to please the small niche of people who will think my writing is worth something. So, WordPress, you can keep that little adorable Freshly Pressed trophy, I’ll earn my followers through hard work and tenacity.

~Raul Felix

Read: What It Is To Write

My Business Card

I’ve been wanting to get a business card to hand out to the people I meet randomly to encourage them to visit my blog. But I thought I needed some sort of logo and design, so I put it off. The other day while riding around on my motorcycle, a business card idea struck me. A couple of hours later I went on my computer and ordered the following bad boys. What do you think?

Business Card

~Raul Felix

Where Are My Whores?

I feel like my generation has been gypped. I’m not speaking about the typical Generation-Y woes with the failing economy and our youthful optimism and ambitions being crushed by the real world. This feeling of unfairness is only felt by a select group of Americans; the men who served and fought in Iraq and Afghanistan. There is much talk in the news about how both the Bush and Obama administration mishandled those wars, but I’m not here to get into those politics. While these modern wars gave us luxuries unheard of in past generations, there is one thing that past generations of veterans had access to that we were completely fucked out of: liberated groupies and prostitutes.

After the long, intense, brutal fighting of the D Day invasion against the Nazis and slowly reclaiming Europe, the Allied forces were met and seen as liberators of France. With panties drenched in lust for their liberators, French women would fuck soldiers left and right to show their gratitude. Joe was a hero and his reward, if he chose to act upon it, was that wonderful European pussy. In war, no man knows which day will be his last, so it would be logical for him to act upon it. These women knew what their valiant saviors desired and wanted, and provided it with the utmost eagerness.

Such a simpler time.

Such a simpler time.

What happened in Iraq and Afghanistan? Whether we liberated them from the Taliban or Saddam, they may have been grateful, but the women of these nations were not throwing themselves at American troops. They weren’t happily repaying us for their new found freedom from tyranny by eagerly showing us their beautiful Middle Eastern bodies. We didn’t have free rein to fuck Haji bitches and get them addicted to our American dick. No Haji foxy lady ever gave us the “I want to fuck you eyes”. Most of them were quite the opposite, covered up head to toe in veils. Denying the horny and sex deprived American fighting male the eye candy he sorely needs in an effort to keep his sanity. A pure selfish act on their part.

Not sure if she wants to fuck me, or she is about to detonate her suicide vest.

Not sure if she wants to fuck me, or she is about to detonate her suicide vest.

Well, if we couldn’t win the hearts, minds, and pussies of the local women, we should have been able to use the free market and purchase it at a mutually agreed upon price dictated by the laws of supply and demand, correct? That’s what our fighting men were able to do in the Korean and Vietnam War. After killing hoards of gooks, our brave and battle hardened men were able to go back to base and take a few days of R&R. Around the bases, there would be bars and massage parlors where a GI in need of company could easily acquire it. There would be an overabundance of young, feminine, and attractive asian women with adorable accents to chose from and eager to love him long time. He’d then ravage her delicate little body to his heart’s content and consequently, she would then get paid a handsome price, it was truly a win-win situation.

The free market at work.

The free market at work.

In an effort to not piss off the delicate Muslim psyche, the US Military has made it almost impossible for a man to get a prostitute while he is in the war zone. There is no interaction with the local populace outside of missions for most troops. There are no flings with Afghan or Iraqi women or meeting a prostitute with a heart of gold. There are no love affairs that are complicated by the horrors of war and cultural differences as drama slowly unfolds, when both parties learn that love can truly conquer anything. There are no bastard children of American men left behind. The closest we came to finding love overseas is through porn and nude pictures of our and other troops whorish, cheating ex-girlfriends we uploaded to “The Drive” and shared with the rest of the base.

Sex was happening in Afghanistan and Iraq, but that occurred in support units where there were mixed genders and among government contractors. As for the combat arms units compromised of solely men(the ones that actually did the fighting), were left in a state of sexual purgatory, without any hope of female companionship. No Afghan damsel worrying whether the American man she loves will make it back. No Iraqi prostitutes eagerly awaiting for her core American cliental to come by. Nothing but masturbation for us while our girlfriends from back home cheated on us or stopped answering our phone calls. Men at war and whores go hand and hand, too bad our times did away with that beautiful tradition.

~Raul Felix

“Me so horny for more blog baby. Give me blog, me love you long time!” Alright: The Military’s Parasite Problem