I, Anonymous Blog

The views expressed in these submissions are from anonymous, unverified sources and do not necessarily represent those of the Portland Mercury.

Them Bones

Your thrifty ways are fucking gross. At first, I was impressed with your ability to cull free or almost free food and turn it into sellable items at your establishment. Dumpster diving, 1/2 off produce, Craigslist etc. but now that soup season is here, do you really think it’s a good idea to make chicken broth from the bones discarded at certain chicken restaurants? You claim they aren’t in the “danger zone” beyond 2 hours but who knows who was sucking the meat off them and if their fingers were clean???

The Myth of the Lonely Stripper

I am a veteran stripper at an inner SE club. The open shifts at my club are pretty desolate, but you have to work them if you want to work the busier night shifts. Most of us utilize this time to stretch, or work on pole tricks. We are often exhausted from working the night before and are usually grateful for the downtime, especially for the first hour of the shift. But here you come trotting up to the stage with your bad breath, your PBR and single, damp dollar in hand, clever morning shift customer with the highly original line, "You look lonely!" Actually, YOU look lonely. You're the one in here dying to see pussy before noon. I'm just over here trying to do sit-ups, and that's worth at least two dollars.

Stop Apologizing for Living Life

Please stop apologizing when life situations occur. When you get off the elevator and someone is waiting to jump on, giving you a clear path to exit, you don't have to say excuse me... Unless you feel the path is not large enough, which it was and always is.... Even then, just barrel your ass through and be on your way. Stop apologizing for living your life. Really you should only say excuse me if you accidentally bump into someone. Insecure people throw it around to the point I feel uncomfortable being around them. Grow a fucking pair and stop caring about what other people think. Hold your head up high. With confidence, leave the elevator and say "you like this" as you pass the people waiting to board.

So Many Options it's Like Dating

I luv going to the grocery store. Whole Foods and New Seasons. If I don't go somewhere, it's usually for budget or convenience of location. I'll drop into a Whole Foods to buy something to get some cash back. The one in downtown is pretty cool. I like the hot bar. Walmart, Target, and Rite Aid where it's a department and grocery store. I don't go to Walmart. I luv Target clothes. I luv to get candy from Rite Aid. I mostly shop at Fred Meyer or Safeway. I luv seeing my favorite employees. My favorite employee got fired because he accidently refunded a customer a lot of money. I've never really been to Albertsons. I don't know that I've really know where one is. I used to like Winco. Lately, I 've gone to the Alberta Coop which has a charming feel to it.
I got really drunk at the Fred Meyer. That place has a rotating sushi bar, and a bar! I got so plastered watching the game. They kept serving me too. I can spend hours at the grocery store. If I get food and coffee, then sit and lounge around in the "restaurant" part of the store, I never leave for hours. I read a magazine, get out my computer, or people watch. At Safeway, I get chicken and spring rolls from the deli. When they put it all in one bag (different prices for each), I go to self checkout and end up not paying for one item. I really want to meet someone in a grocery store. I know I'm a loser and I spend too much time in a grocery store looking for someone I'll never find. But I do have the time because I don't want to be alone.


To the annoying jerk in my neighborhood, who on social media decided to make a stink about finding peanut shells in her yard: yes, we ALL heard you loud and clear. I’m sorry the little boy who came to visit you, couldn’t play outside your yard because of a peanut allergy. It’s commendable that you are wanting to keep that child safe and how you pride yourself on not having wayward legumes and nutshells on your property...because nowadays walking past a school with a PB&J to many parents is nearly an act of domestic terrorism, and golly gee you’re hellbent on finding the person feeding the squirrels who then brought the offending nut into your yard. “Could have killed the child” you bitched in your post. It’s hilarious you’d be so selective about “life threatening” day to day things like peanuts, when you sure as fuck don’t care about other people’s allergies with your huge annual flower garden which attracts bees and your constant smoky barbecues you have all summer. Never mind the people around you who have bee sting allergies or asthma, those peanuts must be stopped. How selective of you. I know who the culprit is, and I anonymously dropped off a huge bag of feed containing the said nuts. Why? The lives of others don’t seem to matter to you outside of your bubble so why the fuck should I care about your concerns?

Red Card

St Helens
There was really not much I could do. He saw that I got what the jail called, "a care package". Soap, shampoo, and a couple pairs of socks. He decided that he wanted me to pay rent. If I didn't give him what he wanted, he thought I had received coffee and candy. I said no, which meant the next chance he got, we were fighting.
Tried to send a postcard to a friend detailing the event.
I was brushing my teeth, waiting for him to come in my cell. At least then, they'll know who the aggressor is.
He caught me with a couple of his first punches, but I couldn't feel them till later. Chipped tooth. Black eye. I sent a right hand back. Too soft. Left arm block, below the tricep, right hand groin strike. I'm still pissed that I pulled it. Snuck around for a head and arm. He shifted. He wasn't expecting competence. I felt like I was swimming. Brief rush, quick adaptation. Tucked my head on his shoulder to minimize damage. I picked him up for a moment, thought "I'm not that strong?", and put him back down.
Two guards rushed in and took him away. I didn't know he had locked us in. I was happy I didn't end up doing any serious damage. Barely got hurt myself. I might have had less posturing issues had I cracked his head against the sink, but I've never had to do anything like that. I don't want to.
Cleaned his cell a week or so later when he went up to the feds. "Fuck your couch" written on his wall. We might have almost gotten along. I kept a copy of his mugshot. And of course his name.


This drama we create. What we do doesn't matter. Same thing, different decade. Real protests happened long ago. Check out every new Apt. building and tell me homelessness matters. The most passionate is the one who does the least, and complains the most. How about the "famous" and "powerful" voice that you never see knocking on a door, or walking in the middle of a march of thousands? "voices" behind closed doors and on social media? The same people that say they care so much for the environment are the very ones destroying it. All the people that continue to need and want more when they already have enough. Ask the general public how "green" they are, they will affirm it with their hippie heart, or fake it with their innovative brain. The truth lies with a mountain of passionless certitude for anything unmistakably genuine.
The real picture is simple and close to home. People want money because of debt. We're all either complacent, indifferent, or self preserving.
Love is a downfall. We fall in it, then fall out of it, only to reach ruins.
Living here is a show. You're on TV, you know it's for show. This new city is a theater of actors that bought into what they saw on TV.
This city is about being seen. It's a social spectacle with a basis for "the look," waiting in lines, and walking up and down some "cool" street going to pointless shops that sell meaningless objects to adorn our homes with something unique. Then checking out restaurants with $13 cocktails, or going to "bars" where everybody is, not because of the quality of food, drink, service, or ambience.
We're supposed to look to future generations.
It's absurd.


I got a text this week from a number I didn't recognize. Those always make my heart thump, thinking it's you.

I had a dream that you came over last night. It was after a party and you were waiting for your new partner to take you home. The third partner since I've loved you.

Our kids ran around the house like crazy, and when it was time, I hugged you goodbye. It was closure in a way you could never offer in real life, where there has long been an imbalance between us. I've blocked you (again) because it hurts to wait. I hope that you are happy. I love you always.

Excuse You.....

This is a premiere statement from an entitled, American, human citizen. The words "excuse me" do not exist in their vocabulary. The idea of being liable for their own actions are not a concern. They have just enough right to move and do their part yet must blame someone else, in this case me. They are too lazy to know what "a walk around the park" means because they've never done it.

So what's the dealio? I'm headed out the grocery store with slow poke, old lady and her shopping cart on the right. I'm zooming past her on the left and you are headed my way. Once I passed slow poke, old lady, I move to get out your way, but it wasn't enough because you kept coming. There was no touching, bumping, or grazing of our shoulders. Our body parts were all in the clear. Then I hear you profess in your masculine Type A voice, "Excuse you." There I was thinking everything was cool. I guess not. I would imagine this situation similar to a car wanting to get in passing lane because of a slow car in front, but when they do, the driving is too slow for the speed racer coming up behind that causes them to go ballistic.

The fact that this incident is in your mind, and makes you say "excuse you," tells me that you must go through this a lot because this plot never crossed my mind.
And why not, just why not, blame the slow poke, old lady? Why don't you yell at her? She was just as much in the way as anyone of us.
Oh, but she is a slow poke, old lady.
There you have it.
Thanks for making things easy and basic social graces impossible.

Ice Queen of Fred Meyer

It's a Sunday afternoon at Fred Meyer on Lombard. Aka. F***ing crazy. It's a fine dance of making eye contact, smiling awkwardly as you move by tweleve other people in one aisle. I usually can keep my shit together. I'm thoughtful and aware of my surroundings. Your man and your kid walked close next to me, looking at applesauce or some shit. He had a basket with a few things in it. They were blocking me a little, but your bf/husband/whoever noticed and tried to move. Then you showed up, parked your basket next to your man's (why a family of three need two huge baskets I'll never know) and proceeded to look at something directly in front of me. I tried to move, but your kid was nearly standing on my feet. Your arm stretched out to the shelf, almost hitting my face. Your man kept asking you to move since he too saw how inconsiderate your were being. And in pure "I'm on planet ME" form, when he finally got your attention, you said "well, people can say EXCUSE ME if they need to get by." You ignored my existence as you walked on with your two fucking baskets and your one fucking kid. Like a lamb to the slaughter, your boyfriend looked painfully in my eyes as if he were apologizing. So Queen oblivious, I hope to God that your man can put up with your terrible attitude long enough to teach your kid some human decency, because we are aware you would be incapabale. And in the meantime, you can take that passive aggressive rude shit to a New Seasons, you dumb jerk.

New Mexico

I love the wrong turn movies. 1. Because they're awful horror movie cliches. 2. Because hillbillies and rednecks are terrifying and definitely real.
I like to think of a wrong turn movie that lands the cast into a weird half cartoon world nexus. Obviously its in Albuquerque.
We get to have the same old morality lessons as any other horror film. Kill this one for greed. Cut off the dick of the patriarchy with extra animated gore. Maybe we put a few of the Hollywood guys in make them watch a gross frog clown masturbate until they "saw" themselves out of a torture chamber into a death trap.
One of the cast starts to see some of the cartoon stuff before anyone else. They start pulling items from behind their back with "infinite pocket technique", maybe a one lump or two gag, black hole technique. They probably die or get sucked into Toon World before it's over. Can't have them running around Base Earth with all their new powers and knowledge.
Space Jam for horror movies.
That guy I saw with the wimpy/hamburglar shirt. That's my hero.

Faux-woke Millennial BS

Your Craisgslist ad says something like "We are 4 radical, queer, multi-cultural housemates, creating woke space, looking for a 5th; be open-minded, into diversity and creating welcoming space for ALL! Must be 35 or younger." How can you not see the glaring irony?! Who do you think paved the way for your Millennial ass to safely write that? This is the thanks you give us? I can't afford to live alone because I've been a political activist my whole life. You're welcome! You have a fuckload to learn from your elders about what it means to be “woke”. Hint: it's not a fashion statement, it's about how you treat EVERYONE (i.e. respectfully, despite color, creed, etc.) and making yourself uncomfortable. It’s not about identifying as gender fluid or that you're dating a POC. Why don’t you put “must be working class/poor” in your politically correct regurgitated criteria and see what you get. Do you even know what a political analysis is?! I get it – you don’t think class and age are “sexy” topics. Grow the fuck up or at least stop calling yourself woke. A 62 year old needs a place to live? Let’s see who’s open-minded now. Where's an older person supposed to live in this town?

My Path

So, I'm the bad guy. One of them.
It doesn't do anything to apologise today, years in the future, but I hope you know I've been working on getting better for a long time now.
My road is difficult and often lonely. This is part of the price I pay for my previous harmful deeds.
I ask myself what I'm living for. What is it that I become at the end of all this?
Are the any good deeds that I can accomplish?
I don't think I'm trying to wash away my old mistakes. I'm not sure I'll even balance them out.
But I have time left in my life and I'm doing my best to create value somewhere.
I've hurt people. I've hurt myself. I've contributed to a culture of harm and domination.
I work to improve. Isolated. Damaged.
By the time you saw me, I was in the middle of my path. I had taken a few big steps. Made my promise to myself and the universe.
I don't know how to make any sense of it either, but I must live it.
When you do something unforgivable, what's left?
Is there an "up"?

The Hangover

3 things I notice the day after a night of drinky drink.
#1. I'm horny. So I got to rub one out. Sometimes two times.
#2. I am down so low. Sometimes, and depends on circumstances, I am out for the count. All day long. Laid out all day. Incapacitated and braindead.
#3. Everything and everyone irritates the hell out of me.

Overall, I'm a happy drunk. But I'm a mean asshole sober.

Less of Moore

It was only a matter of time. In the fall out over reports that Republican Senate candidate Roy Moore engaged in sexual misconduct with a 14 yr old, the great people of Alabama quickly shifted into damage control by invoking the Bible to justify pedophilia. According to their state auditor, Jim Zeigler, "Mary was a teenager and Joseph was an adult carpenter. They became parents of Jesus.” Seriously, Jimbo? But then this ‘Bama, folks, the land of George Wallace, Jim Crow and the original capital of the Confederacy. Any biblical scholar worth his or her weight in frankincense and myrrh can also tell you the good book is chock full of more salacious anecdotes than a dossier about Donald Trump. To writ, take the tawdry tale of Lot and his daughters and how a father justified prostituting his children in hopes he'd be rewarded with an anointment by the Messiah. Hallelujah! Sadly, there are plenty more sordid stories that somehow just don't get the equal airtime by evangelical hucksters more concerned with waving snakes and ripping off the poor. While it's easy to bash the low hanging rotten fruit from our Southern cousins, Oregon has it's own Hell to pay. Lest not forget disgraced PDX politico, Bob Packwood (a great porn name — but not so much for a self-righteous U.S. Senator), who managed to get kicked off The Hill after innumerable ethical accusations, prompting the typically spineless (and always chinless) Mitch McConnell to finally say "enough is enough." In the end, I'll stick with an uneasy truth than a comfy delusion — and take solace that our NW slice of heaven features abundant hops and sticky buds to help escape from the wicked, wicked world.

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