Friends are for fucking, buddies go to bed, yet ye "can't love an evil hearted woman" (W. Jennings).

Top of the morning gents,

"How many friends do I really got?" That's how Pete
Townsend penned this upsetting question.

What I love the most is Roger Daultrey's worn-leather
and tobacco voice (in chorus) asking, "That love me,
that hold me. That'll take me as I am" (The Who 1971).

Ain't that sweet or twat?

How many fucking times do I have to explain to the
world and you angels of Death with tarnished halos
that I'm not very good at keeping friends?

Geographic handicaps are a bitch, as with my
subconscious northward drifting that leaves me far
from both friends and family: save a bunch of
justifiably violent mother fuckers I fondly refer to
as my blessed graying gunslingers.

Every hunnert years I'll pop in for a visit and catch
up on events such as births, deaths and heartbreaking
tales of spousal strength and endurance. My hat is off
to one our own this morning; both Columbo and the Sgt
updated me, yet they both are oblivious of my tears.

No shit, some of ye have plowed through a million
fucking wives, some of ye kept the same angel ye
married way back when I was wearing diapers and a
training bra on my dick. Like that?

Speedo swimsuits are the preferred uniform if yer a
swimmer, jock straps and protective cups are
recommended if yer out on the football field and
cross-country and track runners wear pretty much
anything or nothing at all.

Skinny dikes in Auschwitz don't give me a boner, but
bodacious swimmers sure as hell do. Cold water, Speedo
suit and public admirations: don't matter.

Don't even try to hide yer woody, it's the common
reaction that makes the attraction. Besides, only 20%
of the breast meat is devoted to milk production, the
remaining 80% is ornamentation.

Thank God for ornamentation. Unless yer a girley man
and light in yer loafers, but I seen all the girls you
lads have bagged and tagged: ain't one of 'em had an
Adam's apple and as far as I could tell, ain't none of
'em was tucking.

If I wasn't one of yer best fucking friends on the
planet Earth, you'd all've kilt my dumb ass with my
own neck-tie, a fork or a Mag-lite flashlight (Ask
Beuler).

Ya see, I can read yer mind better than Alan Parson's
Project cuz I watch yer lips squacking. The lips that
wrap around yer pie hole and require daily shaving,
unless yer a Finn, than a bearded puss is kewl, so is
a bearded clam.

Also, since my travels prevent me from maintaining
long-term friendships, face to face and in person, I
got a gang of amoral psychopathic killers: you lot.
Remember, amongst friends ye never got to apologize,
apologies are implicit and forgiveness is explicit.

Here's the point I'm staggering towards.

A few weeks ago, I took my medication and fell asleep
rather early in the evening, 'round 8pm I think. While
I was slumbering, my blessed Siberian Mrs. had some
friends over for drinks and cigarettes: code talking
for coffee and bong hits.

Well, I'd left the computer on and some guests opened
up the WordWerks and SHit folder and began reading
archived tales I'd composed in a previously chemically
agreeable singularity.

No worries mates, the names and email addresses are
always omitted, but the content and language is mount
and groan, the richest kind. You know, the language we
all exercise when we're drinking and smoking late at
night around the bonfire in the horse's pasture where
the goats happily inhale the froth off yer brew.

My racy and sexy, albeit racist and sexist language
was entertaining and enjoyable for men, but a bit
pissy when yer wives read my shit: hence the sign
posted here in the smoking section of this cat box: No
Cunts Allowed.

Some gals rather enjoy my abrasive wit, but only those
that understand their own gender, love men and truly
know the difference. For some ungodly reason, women
tire of each other altogether too quickly yearning for
the company of men at home and the office and
thankfully in the bed.

Now don't get me wrong, I like watching muddy women
wrestle around perchance-even bite one another too.
It'e the glaring lack of my masculinity in this
picture that bothers me.

Despite my acrid humor and hard-hitting vocabulary, I
seem to have collected a few gems for friends: friends
that know me, understand me and best of all expect me
to be me. Now that is way cool, cuz I married one of
them.

In my inept way, I find balance by minimizing office
visits and squad room adhoc bullshit sessions by
writing down my recollections of seriously funny
experiences, then sharing them with you lot.

When my memory lapses and I can't discern detailed
recollections, I'll pop in or phone you gnarly dudes
for clarification and tidbits that trigger fictional
memories that never occurred, yet we can all share and
enjoy: fictional memories such as abusing Wernecke,
Gilbert Schaeffer, John Evans Jr. or Tubby Goodwin.

It's not for the sake we're mean spirited men, it's
the mere fact these random victims are just begging
for a stroke with the Sgt's magic wand, collapsed rib
cages from combat blows from Columbo or lethal magnum
rounds to the face from 6Killer. Hell even Al Robbie
Ahnungatoguk figures prominently in my phony tales of
violence as does Patrick Stone, Tilmer Black, Tykee
Lloyd Hall, Jim Ginley and a clan of Williams butt
fuckers that repeatedly swung their faces upon my
clenched fists and boots.

Nonesuch violence aside, my collection of friends is
mix-matched and diverse, seeing me as more of a
diamond in the rough instead of an irritant that never
becomes a pearl. Reflection and relation with this
crew of armed hombres is fair and accurate, including
the scarred knuckles and nuts. Anything else would
feel and appear incredulous and inauthentic.

My preambles and closings distinguishing you lads as
fictional make believe and fantastic serves as codicil
to the uninitiated alleviating us of responsibility
for crimes yet committed and funny fucking shit that I
made up completely out of thin air. I pray my sins of
omission and ethnic IQ unfairness are safe with you
killers.

Again, just like you lads, I never laid hands on
another human, never touched a firearm, nor served
with uniformed felons. I also never consumed nor
distributed any illegal drugs, nor managed a crack
house and mortuary.

I'm think I’m gonna fucking puke. How many times can I
write such an ingenuous disclaimer and not smell bile
in your email replies?

I write because I absolutely love to. Had not been for
you killers as my audience, I don't know what I'd
scribble nonsensically about every morning and late at
night. Probably academic and inane crap that your
retarded in-laws and village buddies might find
palatable yet you lads would deem entirely devoid of
interest.

Karl.

I found a couple articles detailing how the rest of
the world suffers much the same as we do: lots of
acquaintances, few comrades.

Remember: friends will help you move. REAL friends
will help you move dead bodies.

---

The Times June 23, 2006


Turn to a close friend (if you have any)
By Sam Lister

Research suggests that the average circle of
confidants has fallen since the 1980s by almost a
third


THE average circle of close friends or confidants has
shrunk over 20 years and many people now turn only to
family members to discuss their most intimate
concerns, research suggests.

An American study of behavioural trends has identified
a marked decline in relationships outside the family
that are stong enough to allow a person to divulge
their deepest worries. It also found that the number
of people who say they have no one with whom they can
discuss important matters has more than doubled.

Researchers said that the trend towards greater social
isolation may be a result of people working longer
hours, living in less neighbourly communities, joining
fewer clubs and seeking advice from sources such as
the internet, sociologists believe.

The study, published in the American Sociological
Review, was carried out by sociologists at Duke
University and the University of Arizona. It compared
data from 1985 and 2004 and found that the mean number
of people with whom Americans can discuss matters
important to them dropped by nearly a third, from 2.94
people in 1985 to 2.08 in 2004.

Researchers also found that the number of people who
said that they had no one with whom to discuss such
matters more than doubled, to nearly 25 per cent. The
survey found that both family and non-family
confidants dropped, with the loss greatest in
nonfamily connections.

Lynn Smith-Lovin, professor of sociology at Duke, said
that the evidence clearly showed a damaging shift.
“This change indicates something that is not good for
our society,” she said. “Ties with a close network of
people create a safety net. These ties also lead to
civic engagement and local political action.”

The study paints a picture of Americans’ social
contacts as a “densely connected, close, homogeneous
set of ties slowly closing in on itself, becoming
smaller, more tightly interconnected, more focused on
the very strong bonds of the nuclear family”.

The survey asked 1,467 people over the age of 18 to
give the first names of people with whom they had
discussed matters that were important to them in the
past six months. Researchers followed up with
questions about the gender, race, education and age of
their confidants, as well as family ties, the length
of their relationship and frequency of contact.

The data come from the General Social Survey conducted
by the National Opinion Research Centre at the
University of Chicago and one of the longest-running
US surveys of social, cultural and political issues.
Professor Miller McPherson, a co-author at Duke, said
that the team had been surprised at the size of the
change over two decades and plans more research on
social isolation. Professor McPherson said that the
findings needed to be treated with caution because of
the dramatic shift, but the quality of the analysis
indicated that it was accurate.

“We were surprised to see such a large change, but
even if [it] is exaggerated for some reason, given our
analyses of the highest quality, nationally
representative data available, we are confident there
is a trend towards smaller, closer social networks
more centred on spouses and partners.”

The research showed a decline in the number of groups
that people belong to and in the time they spend with
them. Family members spend more time at work and have
less time to spend on activities outside the home that
might lead to close relationships. New technology,
though good for long-distance communication, might
diminish the need for face-to-face visits with
friends, family or neighbours, the study said.

---

Study: Americans' social contacts slipping - Yahoo!
News
Posted: Friday June 23,2006 - 11:15:12 am

By STEVE HARTSOE, Associated Press Writer 1 hour, 1
minute ago

RALEIGH, N.C. - Nearly one in every four Americans has
no close confidant, according to a study that found
that the average person's circle of close friends has
shrunk considerably in the last two decades.
The study, published Friday in the American
Sociological Review, found that Americans' social
contacts are focusing less on neighbors and more "on
the very strong bonds of the nuclear family."

"The evidence shows that Americans have fewer
confidants and those ties are also more family-based
than they used to be," said Lynn Smith-Lovin, a
sociology professor at Duke University and one of the
study's authors.

Possible causes of the shrinking circle of close
contacts include an increase in work hours and the
influence of Internet communication, the authors said.

The study is based on face-to-face interviews of 1,467
people conducted in 2004, compared with a similar
number of interviews conducted in 1985.

Those interviewed in 1985 had an average of almost
three confidants they felt they could share important
matters with. By 2004 the average was barely two.

The number of people who say they have no one with
whom to discuss important matters more than doubled to
nearly 25 percent in 2004, up from 10 percent of those
surveyed in 1985.

The authors, who include researchers from the
University of Arizona, said a broader network of
friends creates a "safety net," more civic engagement
and local political action.

Asheville residents Nick and Kendra Sherrod felt like
they lost their social safety net when he left the
Navy. After a couple of months of civilian life, "I
still felt like I didn't have any friends here," said
Kendra, 36.

Now, with her husband out of the military a little
more than a year, she's starting a welcome club to
help locals meet.