Encounters Of A Dreamer

I will always welcome stories from anyone who is willing to take the time to sit and write a story. I say that very collectively, y’all have seen what gets posted here on this blog and y’all know what I don’t personally post. Yet, the field of opportunities for what gets posted is as vast as the Great Plains of The United States of America, which coincidentally, is where this story comes from, all the way from the outskirts of a little town called Gettysburg, a little place located in the central region of South Dakota. Why is the location of this particular submitter important you ask? It’s simple, for me at least, as I would think people would be less inclined to do allot on the internet in a very rural town of just over eleven hundred people. When she graduated GHS in 2014, she was one of 20 some odd graduates. Seems small to me, I graduated in a class of 667 seniors. I’m just saying. Into the now, now, she is a student here in Texas attending Texas A&M in hopes of attaining her Biomedical Sciences degree. So, in my humble opinion, she has one hell of a brain to be in Texas A&M to begin with, and as y’all will soon see, what her mind sees and how it sees is amazing as well. How did she come across me? Oddly enough she was doing some surfing looking for the big city papers in South Dakota to read some local news, and multiple entries lead her here. Again, I will stress the importance of tagging blog entries. Now, at first she didn’t really want to start reading my blog, but said she was drawn in by many of my stories, she reluctantly admitted “binge reading” all night not too long ago and found herself inspired to “share” a dream she had recently with me and hopefully with the 3 people who read my blog pretty regularly. She expressed that I have a new fan and a new member of the mysterious Scorpion Army. Also, I just want to mention that she also let me know she has a few nice tattoos that I might like and she wouldn’t “mind” seeing them in the tattoo section or as a post here. Interesting, very interesting indeed. And, per her request, I will keep her identity my little secret, so for the express purpose of this post she will carry the alias of LabRat. The picture is credited to her friend who took it for her and has given The Sting Of The Scorpion Blog permission to use it at will. Without further introduction I give y’all the story she has sent me, she explained to me it was a very vivid dream she had and has yet to begin to understand.

Mr. Scorpion Sting ~

First of all I just want to tell you that, eventhough I found your blog by accident, I don’t regret a single moment I have spent there reading and looking at everything it has to offer readers. I never thought I would be writing my dream down for anybody else to read. But I am now, because I think it will help me better be able to explain it’s meaning afterwards. I’m open to the opinions of you and your readers if you care to share. By the way, I hope you don’t mind, I’m now a follower of your blog as well as have requesting to be a part of The Scorpion Army. My dream felt and seemed real, as if the memory I have is of something I actually did. I had to look into dreams and what they actually are, the simple answer is that dreams are a series of sensations, images, and deep thoughts that happen in a person’s mind during sleep. The question I fail, repeatedly, in answering is why I had the dream I did in the first place.

The first thing I remember is sitting at the edge of my bed, stretching, feeling the coolness of the air in the room as it touches my body. As I wander around a house I don’t know I see myself moving quietly in the nude, as if I’m trying not to wake someone. I began to run a hot bath, the steam was billowing out like that of an old steam engine train, I could feel the heat and moisture of the steam but when I stepped into the water I could feel nothing. I continued to stand there under the water, letting it pour across my body like it was rinsing off what I did the night before. I bent down to turn off the water, letting the remaining water drip from my hair, as it ran down my back I could feel a coolness on my skin. After drying myself off I wrapped my hair up with the towel and walked back down the really long hallway back to the room with the bed. The curtains on the windows were pulled back now, lighting the room up with vibrant colors from outside. As I listened to the birds courting in the trees I sat in front of my mirror and put on my make-up, I dried and styled my hair, painted my toenails and fingernails a blazing red, misted myself with a sweet perfume, and when I was done I pushed in the chair and left the room. I watched myself walk, from a corner in the hallway, stalking myself, watching the way I moved, and could feel everything I touched, every step of my bare feet, every breath inhaled and exhaled, and even the smells of fresh squeezed orange juice as they passed along my path.

Soon enough I was walking out the door, still nude, still bare, but as if that didn’t matter, as if it was meant to be, and as if this was the way it was supposed to be. As I passed through the front yard I looked back to see the house I just left fade into the distance, as if the yard was a great distance, but then I am at the streets edge, there are other people walking by, or jogging, and even walking their dogs, none of which paid me any attention. I even kneeled down to pet this man’s small dog, I spoke to him but he didn’t answer, and then he continues to walk away from me. I felt his shirt in my hand being pulled away as I tried to stop him, I screamed “look at me asshole” as loud as I possibly could, yet he pulled away. I chased him, I ran as fast as I could, while he walked he soon disappeared into the distance ahead of me. I found my self at the intersection of a very busy street, waiting with others at a bus stop, I listened as they spoke around me, but never to me. Out of bravery or out of ignorance, I reached out to this woman standing there, busy looking at something on her phone, and I knocked her phone out of her hand with a violent slap. Nothing, she merely has a look of disgust on her face as she picks up her now shattered phone. The other people around her began asking what happened and her only reply was that she must have just lost her grip and dropped it. Ahh, too bad I said to her. She looks right through me to smile at the man behind me who had passed on his condolences for her now dead phone. Wait, what in the fuck is going on! Why cant people see me? Why cant people feel me? Why cant people hear me?

On the bus I sat next to a man doing a crossword puzzle in the paper, when he didn’t know the word he would cheat by looking it up on his phone. I never liked cheaters. I took his bottle of water out of the seat, opened it, and began pouring it all over his paper and his lap, but what people saw was him pouring the water everywhere, very casually, and without thinking twice about it. What is going on? Who are these people around me but so far removed from me. I recognize some of the faces, this is my route, this isn’t my first time on this bus taking this trip. I will see where it leads, I will see where to get off when I know where to get off. But how will I know? I don’t even know where I’m going or why I’m going there. When the bus stops it is in front of a very large and tall building, it blocks the bright sunshine seen around me, everyone exits the bus, most of them heading inside the big building, passing through the doors, until I was all alone on what seemed like a deserted street corner. I feel very alone, scared, emotionless, and decide to go into the ominous building myself. When I get to the doors there is a man standing there in a guard’s uniform, I watched as he opened the doors for each of the people that had come before me but he was standing there like a statue before me, motionless, expressionless, seems very unhappy. I walked up to him, inches away from him, until I was pressed up against him, until I pushed myself closer, I began kissing him on his neck, caressing his chest with my hands, I let my hands slip to his zipper which I undid, holding his very limp member in my hand. I squeezed him, I dug my nails into his flesh, and he had not a single reaction. Then I feel myself being pushed forward by him, he is leaning in to pull the door open for yet another person, one which I snuck inside right behind. The marble floor was extremely cold on the bottoms of my feet, I needed to be someplace else.

I stood in the line where the people waited to walk through metal detectors, have their bagged searched, and a wand passed across them, as if to give the appearance that they really do care. My turn at the gate, nothing to put in the basket, no bag to be dug through, nothing to declare, and no magic badge to identify myself to the guards. As I passed through the metal detector it went off, there was a man 10 feet in front of me and a woman about the same distance behind me, but this thing’s sirens and lights are going nuts. The people around, to include the guards are bewildered, they are talking that the equipment has malfunctioned. No dumbasses, it didn’t malfunction, I don’t think at least, come get me, I’m right here, I feel you touching me as you come closer, but you don’t feel me, see me, smell me, or hear me, your fucking loss, I’m going in. Going in? Going in where? Follow the herd, they are all going somewhere inside this building, just follow the herd. I get on an elevator, packed so tight it was like being in a grinder at a meat market, the smells of 20 people all melting together to make one very bad smelling elevator. So much heavy breathing, it was like listening to an orgy in progress, bodies grinding, rubbing, moving, and the “ding” sounds the start of the mass separation, I’m forced out with a large number of the herd, so I just go with the flow. The moved like ants, all following the scent trail to their destination, one by one they dropped off into offices and cubicles leaving me out, I was standing there looking at people work, looking at people surfing porn on their phones, and even one woman I had followed to the bathroom because she looked suspicious, who sat in a stall, alone with her tiny little vibrator that she put to quick work. She had to bite into the flesh of her arm to contain her moans from her coworkers, faster and faster she went until she almost collapses. She wipes down the still dripping vibrator, slips into her purse, wipes herself down too, then it is over, as fast as it started, without washing her hands she touches up her make-up, tusses her hair a bit, and away she goes.

Bored with this floor I catch a ride on the executive elevator, we’re going all the way to the top floor. These men and women quickly load into a boardroom, get their coffee, muffins, and waters as they all try to find the best seat. When the big cheese enters they all stand, as if to show respect, but only thinking about their chair pushing away as they sit and making an ass out of themselves in front of the boss. Why else would they cling to their chairs? Fear? Speed? When they sit and he begins to speak I find myself on the long table, walking back and forth, looking at the view of the city out of the window. I found it fun to fuck with people’s hair, a little messing up of the different heads here and there never hurt. Then one man, as he brushed his hair back into place touched my hand, he looked right at me as if I had just been caught, stared into my eyes for a moment and then it was over. Did he know I was there? Did he know I was squatted down on the table in front of him, so close I could feel his breath on my stomach? Could he really feel me touch him? Did he really just touch my hand and feel it? Answer me motherfucker! Out of frustration I licked the side of his face, starting at the chin and ending at his forehead, he tasted like a woman. I wonder if that was the taste of his wife. Or was it his mistress? Or is he a sick pedophile fuck? Who are these people anyways? Why am I here? Needing a break I excused myself from the meeting and found myself in the office of one of the kings of this corporation. He’s living large, his office is huge, decorated with some very fine things from around the world. Probably all tax loopholes of some sort. His giant antique leather chair was very chilling to my flesh when I first sat in it, soon after I began to feel the wetness of my legs and ass on the leather, I was perspiring as I sat here, it was very warm, it was making me very sleepy. I cleared a space on this big desk to lay on it, I curled up and fell asleep right there. When I woke, it was dark in the office, dark outside, dark everywhere. I needed to get out. I find he has an elevator which goes straight to the parking garage, how convenient, so I took another ride.

The parking lot was empty, I walked around looking for a way out, then I see a car, a very nice car, with the lights on, as I approached the car I could hear it was running. When I peaked inside I see nobody, the door was open, and I got in. I put it in drive and just stepped as hard as I could on the gas pedal, I was going very fast in a short amount of time. I found the exit of the garage and headed towards it, the gate opens slowly and the guard looks at me in the car but cannot see me because the windows are tinted very dark. Then I just started driving, I drove all around the city, a place which is very different after dark, there are different people out, people who see the world in a different way. I started thinking, wondering about my day, this bizarre day which has also been fantastic. I drove that car fast, the speedometer stopped at 220mph but I kept going faster, every light on the street was green, I just kept going like there was no end, before long the blur of the city lights were far behind me, but I just keep driving. Everything comes to a dead stop, the car is halted by something, I am thrown forward through the windshield of the car, thrown so far I cant even see the car. It’s very dark, I’m very cold as I lay motionless, laid in a shallow puddle of water, face down, only hearing the sounds of the wind and rain. I wasn’t able to move or didn’t want to mover a very long time. I could feel the heat of the sun that came up in the morning, the sting of the sun as it blazed down on my back mid-day, and how I could feel relief as the sun would set again. I the final night I felt this for the last time.

The first thing I remember is sitting at the edge of my bed, stretching, feeling the coolness of the air in the room as it touches my body. As I wander around a house I don’t know I see myself moving quietly in the nude, as if I’m trying not to wake someone. I began to run a hot bath, the steam was billowing out like that of an old steam engine train, I could feel the heat and moisture of the steam but when I stepped into the water I could feel nothing. I continued to stand there under the water, letting it pour across my body like it was rinsing off what I did the night before. I bent down to turn off the water, letting the remaining water drip from my hair, as it ran down my back. I began walking, passing the room I didn’t know, walking wet, walking somewhere, walking anywhere. I went outside, sitting on the stairs of the porch, looking at the car that had been crushed into the giant tree in the front yard. I began walking towards this mangled car, remembering a car similar to this one from somewhere in time, there was blood everywhere, the interior was bathed in blood, the windshield laid a distance away from the front of the car, blood pooled on the hood and ground. I walked forward, seeing something in the distance, something glistening in the light rain, there was a nude girl’s body laid face down in a shallow puddle of blood and water. She looks peaceful, she looks as if she is part of the land, I kneel down, whipping the hair from her bloody face when she opens her eyes, looking into mine. She smiles at me, she whispers to me to that I am feeling no pain, I’m suffering no longer, she takes my hand into hers, pulls me closer until we lay together, together in peace, together forever.

When I woke up in the morning following this dream I remembered as if it happened. The girl was me, I watched myself during the entire dream. I, too, sat at the edge of my small bed, dripping in sweat, wondering what in the hell just happened. My friend and room-mate explained to me that she was woke up by me during the night when apparently I had the bath running at about 3 in the morning. As she watched me walk around the house naked she says she stopped me at the front door because I was trying to go out side for some reason. She took my hand and led me back to bed, where I was tucked in and watched for the remainder of the night. When I saw her when I first woke up she had a very scared look on her face, it reminded me of my mother’s face when she told me my grandmother I was vey closed to had passed away. I told my room-mate about my dream, it freaked her out a little, but she was there for me, held me, and brought me hot tea while I took a very hot bath to soak my aching body. She remained at my side, helping me scrub my back, then drying my hair for me, and eventually we just went down stairs, curled up on the couch and watched movies the rest of the day, old movies from the fifties, seemed like that was all that is on at that time of day. After we talked about my dream that first morning it has never been discussed again. I want to talk to her about it again, I want her to read this thing after it is written on your blog. I appreciate your willingness to share my dream with your audience. Maybe, just maybe someone out there has an explanation. Thanks again, yours truly LabRat.

Being Politically Incorrect: Now Fuck Off

Where in the fuck do the politically correct morality police get off being my mother? Why in the fuck have they chose to subject me to hundreds of e-mails a week and hundreds of spam comments a week? Who the fuck do these people think they are? What in the fuck do they think they can change about my blog? When in the fuck did I become a fucking interest to the fucking politically correct morality police? F.Y.I., y’all will fucking find the morality police is only one of the many names used to describe the fucked up groups of people whose self-appointed job is to enforce standards of moral behavior and religious adherence among the general public, these bleeding pussies are here to protect us from the real world. Have these fucking freaks of nature been having a spell of moral panic? Is their moral panic over an issue deemed to be a fucking threat to, or shocking to, the sensibilities of “proper” society? How about y’all just have a very tall glass of shut the fuck up for a minute.

If you haven’t fingered it out yet, this is my politically incorrect declaration about the morality police fuctards who feel it is their god given right to bombard the Sting Of The Scorpion Blog with all of the bullshit that they disagree with that I say or I post here. So, let me start off with a big GO FUCK YOURSELF to get this kicked off. What does what I write about have to do with anything in the fucking lonely lives of the morality police? I know what I fucking post and I sleep fucking great at night. In some way I have touched these little bitches  in a special way, like how a girl gets finger fucked for the very first time. I guess because they like the way I touch them that they need to bitch at me like my ex-wife who is, to date, at the very top of my “cunt list”, but these fuctards are a very close second. So I say the word, and many variations, FUCK, does that make me a bad person? I post pictures of women with tattoos and women packing heat because those are things I really fucking like. I regularly talk about how fucked up the VA is because I’m a disabled vet who is a part of that fucking broke system.  Does the fact that I was a bartender at a full nude strip bar (and liked it) a problem because I write about it or because it is an industry that exemplifies gratuitous nudity in exchange for money? It is a historical fact for those followers of the bible that “Jesus Loves Strippers” but that is something that the morality police like to forget.

Somewhere, somehow, the morality police opened their doors to the anti-meat-anti-hunting-geniuses because they keep trying to tell me hunting to provide meat for my table is wrong. Wrong? It’s wrong? I do not, I have not, and I will not ever condemn a meat free lifestyle if that is the choice you have made. I may not understand your decision and I might joke about your choices, but your choices are yours to make. I would like to think if you want to be left the fuck alone about not eating meat that you should close your fucking piehole about my choice to stalk the meat, kill the meat, smoke the meat, and then eat the meat with my family. Y’all really need to back off this one because it isn’t ever going to fucking change, ever. Never once, however, do these fucktards ever get real specific about what rubbed their pussies the wrong way. Perhaps that is the problem, perhaps it is because of their own experiences that they must warn me that I am on the highway to hell with what I write about. Well, you stupid fucks, I write about what is in my life, around me, or the fucking things I like or dislike. Some of those things are fucked up, some of those things are the fucktards who get so pissed off at me for talking about their beliefs and how they live their life.

I think if I was a bleeding cunt that maybe I would hold that against the rest of the world as well. Is it because you suffer that you want to make others suffer? I was told once by my dad when I was younger to never trust something that can bleed for a week and live. He also warned me of the hypnotic spell the women will put men under, he called this the power of the pussy. He tried to warn me that she with the pussy is who is in charge. It’s true, for the most part, that because you have a pussy you think that all must bow to you, begging your little twat for forgiveness because we were born with a dick. All of the haters I have all have referenced that they are female, not one male has ever emailed me or spammed my blog in anger because of my topics or language. Why do you little bitches think that is? Need a bandaid? Perhaps you are angry with me because I write about your fucked up ways and your fucked up thinking, perhaps when you whip out your grammar Nazi handbook you should show me the part where it says that The sting Of The Scorpion Blog is supposed to give a fuck about spelling or proper sentence fragmentation. Fuck you, I’m not 6. Speaking of which, no, no I don’t think I will ever write with the maturity my age states I should have. I think it is just plain time for you politically correct bleeding pussies to just turn the internet off, turn your computer off, unplug the smart car, and go for a walk. Get outside into the real world with real people. Do keep your hole closed because if you act out in public as you do on the internet you might just not like the reaction you get.

Where do we go from here? It’s true, I don’t give a fuck about your feelings about what you may find at The Sting Of The Scorpion Blog. Why should I fucking give a shit and really fucking care? Come here if you want, don’t come if you don’t want, either way it doesn’t make a fuck to me because this blog doesn’t pay my fucking bills. In fact, it’s totally free. It’s free hosted, I don’t charge admission, I don’t ask for donations, and I don’t try to sell you stupid shit you don’t want. I do this shit for fun, I do what I do here for my personal entertainment, I write about the things I see or hear because it is fucking fun to do so. What’s even better that somewhere along the way I get to rub some of y’all  pussiy fucktards the wrong way on a very regular basis. Except, nowadays I think we are past the heavy petting, we are past trying to shove three of my fingers thru your granny panties, we are past you not wanting to be touched “there”, no, I think we are to the point where I expose what has really been going on here, because not everyone gets to see you as I do. I know I told you that I wouldn’t tell everyone what a fucking little whore slut you really are. I know you wanted me to be discrete about your little secret of only letting all the guys ass fuck you so you can tell your future husband you truly are a vaginal virgin. Yes, your fucked up little secret is out now, boothefuckhoo. It is also pretty fucking obvious that you suck the cum out right out of that dick after they all pull it out of your ass because all you do is talk shit. So, shove a plug in your gaping asshole because you are dripping anal ooze all over my fucking blog.

Now, get the fuck out. Let the door hit you square in the ass. Don’t stop, don’t look back. All you will see is me bending over blowing you a big fat fucking kiss. I know y’all aren’t capable of listening, that fucking point gets proven time and time again. I get it, you fucking despise and hate me. I know y’all are too fucking stupid to listen. I know y’all will be back, y’all always fucking come back for some reason. Well, just remember I may not appreciate the fact that you suck in all of my fucking oxygen but since you always arrive with your panties pulled so deep into your bleeding cunts, I give y’all a break, because I like freaks, I even like you. So, polish up your badge bitches so you can continue to spread the your fucking legs and let out all of the things that are so wonderful about the fucking morality police. Until the next time we meet please feel free to fucking piss off.

 

Will You Have A Weekend Adventure?

Attention! Attention! Attention!

The Weekend Is Coming!

Y’all will be seeing the routine of me promoting one of my favorite features here @ The Sting Of The Scorpion, we like to call it “The Magic Weekend”. If you are asking what The Magic Weekend is all about then just keep reading. Silently every Monday morning since I can remember I have played a game in my head while listening to all the stories the people are talking about around me. Typically all the stories fall into one or more of the following five categories of “Sex, Jail, Money, Blood, or Fame”. On a good Monday morning a story hits all five categories. I personally think it’s all bullshit unless you have pictures to back it up. A picture is worth a thousand words……..right? Which leads me to ask what kind of weekend everyone had? Sex, Jail, Money, Blood, or Fame? I will be updating The Sting Of The Scorpion as often as I can. Feel left-out? Want to share your stories about your weekend? E-Mail Me with your tantalizing stories and I will feature it all here. Be sure to include all your pictures because without pictures it’s probably all just bullshit.

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“Because Everything Else Just Bites!”

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Where Ya Been Mr. Bartender?

“Hey @#$%&+,

How come every time I have been into work at the club I get told you aren’t working on that night? Its beginning to become very annoying because I would like to try and get my free drinks from the bartender. Do you remember me? We never talked much but you were always a fucking riot with the games you would play, it was fun and most of us really miss you. I noticed your sign was up again at your bar that states there are free drinks for whoever impresses the bartender with the best flash, trick, or treat. Have you been dishing out as much free booze for tits and ass as you used to? Since I never see you to give you a good show I hope you will accept these pictures as my attempt to get some free drinks. I was going to submit them to your site but noticed you no longer have a section for it. Why not? What happened? Anyway, enjoy the pictures and use which ones you see fit. I will see you around the club I hope, be sure to remember me.

Cheyanne”

I replied separately to Cheyanne earlier but I just wanted to share that sometimes I get good Gan mail. I also wanted to do a shotgun blast sort of explanation in case others were wondering some of the same things. To begin with, yes, I removed the “Show Me” section from this blog. I don’t care to get into why at this point but let’s just say I got a few bitches and complaints which heeded the removal a needed process. However, the versions of pictures I had in the section beforehand were NOT censored in any way, what was sent is what went up. I am gibing the idea more thought now and the section just might show up again. Be it this time pictures will be censored or obscured when deemed fit.

This actually goes for all future posts here. Since I ask for your pictures to accompany you e-mail story submissions I think it is only fair to use what was sent. So, from this point forward, to include e-mails I have waiting right now, I will be using original pictures. If you have no idea what I am talking about just read up on The Magic Weekend and Scorpion Sting’s Bartender Stories. We’ll see what kind of response I get to the idea of adding back the Show Me section and I will go from there. So far, to date, everyone who has sent in pictures has done a fantastic job. I look forward to more from the shy people in the near future. Y’all now you want to show off and I know it too.

In the event y’all cannot find the information you seek somewhere on this blog please feel free to contact me at anytime and I will promptly get back to you. Again, as always, thanks for making the choice to visit The Sting Of The Scorpion.

Where Not To Find Relationship Advice

No, I am not a relationship expert. No, I am not going to give y’all relationship advice. No, I am not trying to confuse you. I personally hate hearing relationship advice and I don’t give it because I don’t know what is rattling around in another fucker’s skull. With that being said, I got a rather lengthy e-mail from my #1 hater (fan/stalker) explaining how I can have a better relationship with my wife since I’m such an asshole. I won’t glorify her ignorance of my marriage by sitting examples but it made me sit down and think of the top five (5) people nobody should take serious relationship advice from. Finding people to give you advice on relationships is like finding people who want a free lunch; everyone has something to say about relationships just like everyone likes a great free lunch. Some of this advice is good and should be filed away in your subconscious for safekeeping, but most relationship advice isn’t so fucking good and should be taken the same way you’d take an article written for international woman’s magazines, with an enormous grain of salt. I don’t think it’s not that people intend to give shitty advice on relationships, rather, the advice is poor because the people who are giving it are either not qualified or they have ulterior motives. With that being said, there are five people (or types of people) you should stay away from when the advice on relationships starts flying.

1. Any and all television personalities. It’s important to remember that they are, above all, entertainerss with that being their number one goal, to enyertain. Entertainers care about their ratings, not about your relationship. If you’re looking at these shows as a model of relationship behavior, you’re barking up the wrong tree so much that you’re not even in the right forest. So while these shows and these people may occasionally offer a pearl of wisdom, remember that it’s Hollywood.

2. Your never-married aunt is another person whose advice on relationships is best to avoid at all costs. People who have never married often can’t help but harbor a certain essence of bitterness or misplaced desires. This isn’t to say that every single person in the world is bitter, but many who have dated for years and never gotten the ultimate reward are like professional athletes who have never won a championship: they are bitter about their lack of a ring.

3. Your seven-times married aunt is one more person you should avoid getting relationship advice from. On the opposite side of those who’ve never married are those who change spouses like most people change cars; when their husband gets too many miles, they trade him in for a younger model. These people can also be bitter because even though they have married, they haven’t done it successfully. But the biggest reason not to seek out their advice for relationships has to do with them not really knowing how to make a relationship actually work.

4. Your ex, never trust your ex to give sound relationship advice. Logic tells us that an ex might have insightful advice that you can truly use. They know you, they know what went wrong, and they know what you could have done to make your relationship work. Logic tells us this, but human behavior tells us the opposite. If you and your ex are truly friends (and don’t just pretend to be in front of the children), no longer harboring any feelings for one another, then an ex might actually be your relationship guru. But if your ex has feelings for you at all, be it love, anger, or hatred, they may purposely sabotage you instead of helping you. Sometimes, it’s just too big of a risk to take. Plus, isn’t that person you ex for one or more reasons?

5. And for the love of whatever diety you pray to, do not take relationship advuce from any comment sections of the internet or from unsolicited e-mails. I was once told that the internet can be a wonderful place for advice on relationships, but it has to be the right area of the internet. What is the “right” area of the internet? Should we just Google it?  The comment section of web articles is not a good place to get advice on relationships or anything else. These sections are filled with baiters whose main goal is to get a rise out of people. They do this through racist, sexist, homophobic, religious,  and other offensive comments. They cause people to do two things, lose faith in the happily ever after, and lose faith in humanity in general.

Which is why y’all are here, right? Expecting me to drop a pearl of wisdom by accident? Well, don’t feel fucking stupid or misled, I mentioned at the beginning this was to help shed light (both serious & funny) on some of the people we might have in our lives. Want my advice? Do whatever works for you and piss on everything else. The end, that’s all the advice I have. As well, that is the only advice I will ever need. My relationship may not look perfect to you but it works perfectly for us.

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Due to popular request I’m putting all the places on the internet that one can connect with Scorpion Sting and The Sting Of The Scorpion. I will keep this information updated as well as the “Scorpion Sting Around The Web” links section on the right side of the blog. If y’all find the links do not work please let me know so I can get that corrected. In the list below just click on the name and y’all shall be transported magically to the designated site. Feel free to follow Scorpion Sting and The Sting Of The Scorpion at any one of these social network sites or at all of these social network sites. Thanks in advance for taking the time to check out what I have to offer.

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Reviewing The Lack Of Common Sense

Before we begin with today’s collection of complaints, suggestion, and requests for me to fall off the face of the planet, I would like to remind readers that if you are “sensitive” to the world around you then The Sting Of The Scorpion is not the blog for you to be reading. One should review the “Disclaimer & General Information” for The Sting Of The Scorpion and when y’all do the first paragraph reads as follows. “The Sting Of The Scorpion and my other pages are personally operated and maintained by me, Scorpion Sting, based on my opinions, beliefs, and observations. While you are at any of The Sting Of The Scorpion blogs I am not in any way responsible for your feelings or if you get offended in any way, since it is your choice to be here. I will discuss a wide variety and scope of many things, both popular and unpopular. Content using adult language, situations, and subjects, implied or outright, can and will be seen here“. Yet, many people believe I need to cater to them specifically. Some examples will be discussed in the paragraphs below.

So, let us begin, let us explore what I find as a complete lack of common sense and a complete lack, by some readers, to be able to adapt and overcome themselves. First of all, I mention this all of the time here, I’m not here to please you. If you get pleased while you are here then that is  bonus for all of us. I write, post, re-post, share, and commentate on a variety of subjects and that is just the way it is around here. Unless you pay the bills or sleep in the bed next to me at night your negative opinions of me and The Sting Of The Scorpion really carry very little weight. But, as always, complaints concern me a bit and “deserve” to be addressed. In the past, I would lay people’s e-mails, home address, phone numbers, names, blogs, websites, and so forth out so others might be able to share something with y’all. But, this isn’t the hall of fame for fucktard pussies. Y’all know who you are, I know who you are, and you should know I really enjoy fucking with y’all. More on that a little later.

Let’s begin with the language I use here. First, what is considered the bad words I use regularly. My absolute favorite word is fuck, it has so many colorful uses. In fact, I felt inclined to write a post on different ways to use the word fuck so people could study up at “How To Use The Word “Fuck” Properly“. Why? Because Fuck – The Only Word That Can Be Used As A Noun, Verb, And Adjective! In the fucking end,  the fucking thing I really fucking like about the English language is that you can fucking put the fucking words “fuck, fucked, and fucking” every fucking place you fucking want. Fuck is a word I use allot because I want to. Deal with it because it probably only gets worse as I get older. For all of y’all newbies I just want to tell y’all to buckle up and hold on, that is the one piece of free advice I offer. Yes, I know I don’t have a Rated G mouth or vocabulary. Yes I know that I’m not Christian ears friendly either. But, the offended fucktards keep coming back which really bewilders me in the end. Why return? Why subject yourselves to the “abuse” that y’all think I spew? Anyways.

Yes, I speak about adoption, my family, my journey, and the history of “ME” in a candid way here. Why? Because it is who I am. I don’t represent anyone in particular, just me and how it has been happening for me. Yes, I know not everyone has a “success story” and many will never know their roots. What do you want me to do, apologize because I was lucky? That’s never going to fucking happen because I have nothing to apologize for. Speaking of which, speaking of apologies, I think the fact that I can speak about my son being a bipolar autistic child openly would be appreciated, but no, this is supposed to be some kind of a dirty little fucking family secret. Well, it’s not, he is our son.

Yes, it’s true, I do talk about religion, God, Christianity, heaven, hell, and sheeple. Are these not all things that surround everyone every single moment of every day? Whether you have these things in your life or not they are still there, everyfuckingday. Yes, I find the fact that there are those who cling to ideas and fairytales that make no sense to me personally a point which I feel I need to write about it. I really don’t give a fuck what your beliefs are or why you have them. However, I do find it humorous when readers tell me I’m going to hell for blasphemous comments I make. Hell? Really? Again we can ask what this “hell” that is spoken of, but no matter what there will never be an answer to what hell is now will there? Who knows, maybe I’m already there if there is a there that is called hell.

Yes, it is correct, I do not have a political orientation. I do, however, know what I do NOT like. Y’all are correct, I don’t like our president, in my opinion he is the pure definition of fraud. Yes, I post different things here reflecting different political opinions. Does this make me a white supremest and a racist? apparently it does because that is the two most popular words I get called. How convenient the president is a black man and now those who disagree with his “politics” are labeled racist. I’m happy he gets your rocks off but that doesn’t mean I need to like watching it happen. I also write and post quite a bit about the government and it’s continuing quest to spent everyone’s money in a fashion which only seems to suit themselves. Yes, I know, it has been going on since the beginning of government, but I’ve only been around for what it has become now. Our government is full of fraud and frauds and I’m not okay with that. For those of y’all convinced that I only see our president as a failure because of his color then you just might need to pull y’all’s head out of the oven before it’s too damn late.

Yes, lately I have been writing about the cunt who is my ex. And? Have some compassion for her and her mistakes? Fuck her, she made her bed and got caught fucking someone else in it. I don’t ask you to walk in my shoes, I just ask that you pull your head out of your ass so you can see that some people are just cunts. Now, don’t get me wrong, I find the soap opera she calls a life very entertaining to say the least. She proves everyday that her status of cunt is well deserved. I have no compassion for her or how her life has turned out, zero.

Over the last couple of months I have welcomed many new followers. Why do they come? No matter, they have decided to follow, I won’t judge them for their lack of taste. Maybe everyone here is just looking for a little “strange” on the side. Speaking of which, I have found that when I re-tell the stories from when I bartended at a full nude strip bar that some people think that some of it is “too much information”. I can’t help it, life is graphic, life is colorful, life has nudity in it, life has sex in it, and life has people in it. I can’t sugar coat life for anybody that’s just the fucking facts. No, I’m not very politically correct, it’s not in my DNA. One more piece of fucking advice, just be who you are, just live your life, get over yourself if needed, pull your head out of your ass if needed, get outside to live life, and remember that somewhere somebody loves you. Other than that, y’all’s e-mails and comments are always welcome here. They may not ever get posted, but they are always welcome nonetheless.

When You Choose To Be Offended

When someone enters The Sting Of The Scorpion they are doing this at their own free will. Y’all don’t come here because I’m selling products or services. Y’all come here to see what I’m posting and to see why I’m posting it. Regular visitors know by now that I don’t care if the material, subject matter, or stories actually are going to offend you. If you are easily offended by things in our world then you are definitely in the wrong place. I decided that I was going to stop giving the offended a voice here at The Sting Of The Scorpion because those pussies don’t appreciate it anyway. I have been holding my tongue because I wasn’t clear if I wanted to open this can of bullshit or not. But, after a fantastic spam comment this morning I realized that maybe I need to explore why so many people have an uncontrolled bleeding snatch about a camouflage cow picture being posted here asking visitors to provide the caption. That original post entry, “Provide The Caption #5“, has drawn allot of controversy because the fucking cow is not something that should be used in something as degrading as a stupid contest. Really, you don’t say. Tell me more how this offends people Scorp.

Oh damn, where do I begin. Let’s start with the religious aspect which has been shared with me. Not all religions of course, but specifically The Sting Of The Scorpion was bombarded with the fact that the way the cow is depicted in the picture I provided is sacrilegious in Hinduism. I was informed that Hindus (in general I would suppose) see the cow as holy and not to be harmed. Whereas the picture I provided shows this bull in imminent danger because the helicopter gunships are on the prowl. I think it would do no good to remind people this picture was done in humor and no animals were harmed. Why bother? Why bother trying to reason with people who will not be reasoned with. I live in the Texas where the cow has a different purpose, for me specifically, I like to eat them.

We can get into that aspect as well. According to some people who follow the cult of PETA, that we shouldn’t be eating cows or treating them in a fashion which will make them sad or bring them harm. What in the fuck is a matter with PETA? I see trying to make your own choices for your own reasons but I really don’t care what or why you think the way you do. Have any of y’all ever read the mandate or mission of PETA? Every time I read it I want to get my damn crayons out so I can help them draw rainbows coming out of everyone’s ass. Here at The Sting Of The Scorpion we talk about eating meat all the time, we talk about hunting this meat all the time, and of course we talk about smoking/grilling/cooking this meat all the time. Do I need to remind you dumb fucks that this picture was provided in humor? Do y’all (PETA) have a sense of humor? Since 09 January 2014, the day I posted this picture to get participation for a caption, I received 59 emails and 46 spam comments about how what I’m doing is wrong and offensive in so many ways.

I suppose this was in an attempt to get me to take the picture down. Perhaps it was even an attempt to get me to apologize to cows, religions, and fascist groups. I was going to let this one go, continue on, business as usual, but y’all have rubbed my fur the wrong way this time. I owe nobody nothing. I wish I could give people with their heads up in their asses a sense of humor because they take things way too serious. And here we are, here we have once again, people who think just because they are offended that this makes them right. It doesn’t make you right, it just makes you offended. I would have never expected that a camouflage cow would make so many people angry with me personally. There is still time though, do not despair, I will not be closing this contest until tomorrow morning and this is when the winner of the caption contest will be announced.

As a footnote. My intentions here at The Sting Of The Scorpion are not to intentionally offend anyone. However, there are those of y’all who believe differently than I do and live differently than I do as well. That’s okay, I understand that y’all will sometimes have a differing opinion or be offended by what you see here, and that is okay as well. Just remember, you clicked the link to get to The Sting Of The Scorpion, nobody can click it for you, nobody is forcing you to be here, and I truly find that when someone comes here they are doing it as a freewill choice. Just remember that I’m not your mother so I don’t have to like you and vice versa.

To All The “Merry Christmas” Bashers

Yes, you read the title correctly, this particular post is specifically for the jackholes that decided they need to e-mail me and span comment me on some Christmas posts from yesterday. They believed they need to school me how politically incorrect and how insensitive saying Merry Christmas is to a growing population of people. Well, guess what fucktards, I obviously don’t write on my blog to please anyone except myself. If you like it, great. If you don’t like it, that is great as well since I really don’t care for people who are fence riders. Y’all need to give the politically correct bullshit a rest because each time one of y’all get upset with me it just makes me want to drill it in just a little deeper. I say Merry Christmas, if that offends your delicate little ego then I wish you well on your troubled travels far and away from here. I don’t say Merry Christmas to abuse you, I say Merry Christmas because it is Christmas. Y’all understand that, right, that it’s called Christmas and not anything else, just Christmas. You won’t hear me say or see me write happy holidays ever or anywhere. Why? Because it’s Christmas. Are y’all so full of the shit that falls out of your mouth to understand that we do NOT care if you don’t want to hear the word Christmas, we don’t care if you don’t celebrate Christmas, and we surely could give a rat’s ass if it offends y’all when we say or write Merry Christmas.

The question I have for y’all is why you don’t take into consideration that when you open your pieholes to say your offended by Merry Christmas that you are actually offending people like me who don’t really give a flying fuck if it offends you or not. Now y’all have actually pissed me off because of your pettiness I have to write this post just to tell you to go fuck yourselves. Am I too insensitive to your needs and feelings? Who gives a shit about what your feelings or needs are. Y’all have issues, y’all should seek counseling, and perhaps even apologize to everyone for being a raging fucktard idiot. But that’s not going to happen because y’all don’t have the goddamned common courtesy to pull your heads out of your asses long enough to realize y’all are not being harmed in any fucking way. Don’t celebrate Christmas? That’s nice that you made that decision, but I fucking celebrate Christmas. My version is probably a bit different than the Christians, but I celebrate it nevertheless. Don’t like that I am spreading a little Christmas cheer or sharing a little Christmas humor? Boomotherfuckinghoo you tender minded little fucks, gets over it, hell, go ahead and get over yourselves because I don’t really give a shit. I don’t care.

Now, you “Christians” who think you are holier than thou art, I will take a chunk of your narrow minded ass as well. No, there is no “Christ” in my Christmas. In my world it is the commercial holiday where friends and family gather to exchange gifts, be jolly, and have a great fucking time. Again, as with the anti-Christmas idiots, I understand you celebrate Christmas a different way than I do and I don’t hold that against y’all because I don’t give a fuck what or how you do it. I’m at a loss for words for y’all, y’all need to go buy a clue because there has been so much y’all choose to overlook, like not everyone is Christian and therefore we do things a little different. Why? Because we fucking can! Not everyone celebrates Christmas, not everyone gets offended, not everyone wants a religious reference, not everyone gives a shit what y’all think, and most importantly you have no idea what the fuck I have going on and you have no right to judge me. So, Merry Christmas. Enjoy your Christmas your way and just shut the hell up about everyone else.

The day is specifically called Christmas day, it’s not called Holiday. We say Merry Christmas because this entire season is specifically for Christmas. How the fuck does Seasons Greetings, Happy Holidays, or any other non-descript greeting even remotely come close to giving a Christmas specific greeting? Because you fucking prefer it? Because you prefer not to hear Merry Christmas? Y’all can go piss in the wind, y’all have taken the fun out of Christmas because y’all are afraid to express yourselves in any manner  other than what specifically suites y’all. Fuck that, y’all won’t get the pussy footin walking on eggshells from me, it’s not going to ever happen. I celebrate Christmas, you can embrace and love that great idea or you can hate that people are insensitive to your big fat bleeding pussy and how you feel. Well, here’s how I feel, fuck you and have a very Merry Christmas. I hope y’all get so much Christmas cheer shoved in your tight little asses that when you burp it has an evergreen aftertaste.