14 Days And Counting….
How I’ve spent nearly everyday for the past week. Picture me the guy in the middle…
Memorial Bucket List
I have two bucket lists.
One is filled with checkable items such as “Drink a beer at Fenway with Sully Erna” or “Convert a baseball fan from the Yankees to the Red Sox.” The second is a list of things I feel I need to do for others. Most of my second list is filled with volunteer activities that center around my community and my beloved home of New England. Recently I had the opportunity to add a new item to my list, and that item is this:
Honor Flight New England is a non-profit organization created solely to honor America’s veterans for all of their sacrifices. Through generous donations we transport our heroes to Washington, D.C., to visit and reflect at their memorials AT NO COST TO THE VETERAN. Top priority is given to the senior veterans – World War II survivors, along with those other veterans who may be terminally ill. Donations to Honor Flight New England can be made by credit card from our website. You may also donate by mail. Please send the donation to:
Honor Flight New England
PO Box 16287
Hooksett, NH 03106
My understanding is that they are also in need of volunteers to chaperone the Veterans on their visits to the Memorials. Due to limited resources funds would not be available to cover the cost of transportation for the volunteers, but anyone within the Washington D.C. area could donate their time and efforts for such a worthy cause. Check out their website for more information.
My Secret Admirer – Twenty-One
It’s time for this week’s LOVE LETTERS GONE WRONG secret admirer big reveal! This week we did have a winner, so click the trophy to the right for this week’s winning blogger.
Here’s a recap of Friday’s post as well as my response at the bottom. If you’d like a free copy of my ebook take a guess or send a love letter gone wrong to heellisgoa@gmail.com.
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Maybe it was your name, and how Heellis reminded me of the high heels I fantasized you wearing, or maybe it was the way you smelled as you walked past me, not seeing me hiding behind the flower pot. Whatever it was, I am in love and I want you, even for a minute. I have this ring that it stole from my dead grandmother and I want you to have it, I want you to wear it, forever.
I know you love another, but that can change, anything can change if we want it to. Forget him, I am better, stronger, faster. I am the Bionic man, I am Superman, I am Spider man, I can be your hero if you let me.
As I sit in front of my computer, looking at porn, I think of you and I think of us, and how wonderful it would be if you said yes to a date. Just a date you say, but for me it would be the world. So what if I am 53 and never had a date. I watch movies, I know how to act, even if they don’t believe me. They who work here, and watch me and give me the medications it takes to help me deal with my insanity.
For you I would do anything. For you I would trade this straight jacket for a tuxedo and sweep you off your heels and …I love heels…I am getting sidetracked again, it is like that when the voices in your head talk constantly now where was I? Sweep you off your feet and into my arms.
So what do you say? Do you want to date? Let me know, or better still, let the guards in my cell know that you want to date.
Yours truly,
Sam
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Sam,
How touching it is that you care so much. I can tell you are devoted and loyal, and believe me, you will be rewarded. I think it is quite appropriate and fitting that you watch movies, especially porn, which by now should have exposed you to what you will be in for.
By way of a taste of our time together, let me say that while I find the offer of your grandmother’s ring touching, the only ring I will accept from you is the one I want binding your collar closed. Until we are together, please imagine what I have planned, beginning with me oh-so-gently slipping the ball gag into your devoted mouth, cinching it tight, and then whispering in your ear:
“NOW LICK MY FUCKING STILETTOS CLEAN, YOU NASTY LITTLE MAGGOT BITCH!”
I assume you have no aversions to whips given your situation.
Always,
H.e. ELLis
CLICK THE HEART BELOW FOR THIS WEEK’S SECRET ADMIRER:
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Love Letters Gone Wrong – Twenty-One
It’s time for another round of LOVE LETTERS GONE WRONG! Every Friday I feature a LOVE LETTER GONE WRONG submitted by an anonymous blogger. Sunday morning I reveal the secret admirer’s identity with a link to the blogger’s home page. If you’d like to submit some truly heinous love letters please send them to heellisgoa@gmail.com.
This week’s love letter one wrong was written by a blogger who commented on the TOP TEN SPaM post. Check out this post and then return to the comments here to guess who the secret admirer is. The first correct guess wins a free copy of my ebook.
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Maybe it was your name, and how Heellis reminded me of the high heels I fantasized you wearing, or maybe it was the way you smelled as you walked past me, not seeing me hiding behind the flower pot. Whatever it was, I am in love and I want you, even for a minute. I have this ring that it stole from my dead grandmother and I want you to have it, I want you to wear it, forever.
I know you love another, but that can change, anything can change if we want it to. Forget him, I am better, stronger, faster. I am the Bionic man, I am Superman, I am Spider man, I can be your hero if you let me.
As I sit in front of my computer, looking at porn, I think of you and I think of us, and how wonderful it would be if you said yes to a date. Just a date you say, but for me it would be the world. So what if I am 53 and never had a date. I watch movies, I know how to act, even if they don’t believe me. They who work here, and watch me and give me the medications it takes to help me deal with my insanity.
For you I would do anything. For you I would trade this straight jacket for a tuxedo and sweep you off your heels and …I love heels…I am getting sidetracked again, it is like that when the voices in your head talk constantly now where was I? Sweep you off your feet and into my arms.
So what do you say? Do you want to date? Let me know, or better still, let the guards in my cell know that you want to date.
Yours truly,
Sam
Things You Can’t Unsee – Eight
Due to my working nearly non-stop over the past month I have decided to take this weekend off completely, so Love Letters Gone Wrong and SPaM will resume next week. Instead of blogging I’m just going to kick back, relax, and dance like a maniac in a hotel lobby with Chris Walken.
My Secret Admirer – Twenty
It’s time for this week’s LOVE LETTERS GONE WRONG secret admirer big reveal! This week we did not have a winner, so click the trophy to the right for a timely post from Edward Hotspur.
Here’s a recap of Friday’s post as well as my response at the bottom. If you’d like a free copy of my ebook take a guess or send a love letter gone wrong to heellisgoa@gmail.com.
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Dear Heloise Ecclesiastes Ellis,
I remember the first time I laid eyes on you. I was in kindergarten. You wore a blue dress and smelled of huckleberry (I distinctly remember it as huckleberry because even back then I was looking stuff up on Wikipedia). I moved in closer to admire you as you finger-painted fiery orange and red and black with a yellow stripe running down the middle of the artpaper. I touched the gauzy film of your petticoat and you punched me in the face, shattering my nose in thirty-two places. It was only later that I realized what a gift that was, as my new proboscis bears an uncanny resemblance to Edward Hotspur’s penis.
As we grew older in the small town of Valentine (I’ve always wanted to give you one—a small town, not a Valentine), I realized that even though I could sing and dance, I wasn’t gay enough to keep from wanting you, even after I figured out that you are a woman—a small woman with big breasts and all the energy of a Red Bull factory wired by Nikola Tesla while Benjamin Franklin flies a kite on top of the building with a key attached to the string with a 12 gauge copper wire attached to the key so that when the whole thing electrifies from lightening, it is conducted back to the factory, which is you I think, though I got kind of lost when I started talking about wiring, as I’m not an electrician.
As the years flew by and you became more stacked and stacked tire after tire after tire in that random field by the pond (I worked at the Goodyear Plant and would dump them there just to give you something to do), I began to realize that you would never love me, not like you love Prince Charming and Junior. And I knew that the shit I say would never be as meaningful as the shit your kids say, but I would yell “Shit, shit, shit?” as I hauled tires back and forth, and you would post pictures of snowy trees on your blog and I knew you saw me in every frozen leaf, especially the ones where I actually glued my picture to the leaf, with Edward’s Penis above my lips, those lips screaming out from every gluey leaf, screaming, “Love me, Love me, Love me!”
I know you think needy men are pussies, but it isn’t so much need as the desire of several teenage boys wrapped together like a duct-taped suitcase filled with the masculine love of an older, unneedy salt and pepper gentleman with a moustache (moustache rides are free by the way).
And then, one day, I was up on the roof with a couple of tires I’d hauled up there (I thought that would be a new challenge since you’re getting tired of the Thunderdome) and you said in that husky voice of yours:
“Hey, Asshole. I’ve got a gun and I’m going to blow you a new one!”
And when that bullet went through me I knew in my heart (the bullet was actually in my heart with all the other feelings) that you really did care. You really did. No one shoots someone unless they really care about them, or they just wish they had a penis like Edward Hotspur’s and they’re frustrated.
You’re the former, not the latter. So I climbed down the ladder, my former self wondering why I was bleeding so profusely, and you met me at the window, the same one you like to lick so much, and before I passed out, I swear we had something real between us.
It was a tire.
Love XXXXXXXXXXXXXX
****************
Dear XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX,
I cannot begin to tell you how surprised I was to receive your letter! In fact, I came as soon as I heard the postman ring my doorbell. Sorry this took so long to respond, but the postman came to my backdoor instead.
At first I thought it was my weekly delivery of tube steak or my monthly bottle of trouser snake repellent or the latest issue of Beaver Buster catalog. You can imagine my surprise to find my postman, John Thomas, standing at attention on my doorstep holding your letter in one hand and my package in the other (my dog Bukkaki got a bone or two in the mail that day).
I want you to know that I read your letter over and over while I watched West Point’s Black Knights play the Midshipmen- after I adjusted my antenna, of course. There’s nothing better in the world to me than the feeling of beating Navy. Well, maybe Magic Johnson with ball in his hand. Not to blow my own horn, but I was a bit of ball-handler myself back in the day.
I’d love to stay and chat, but I promised Rosy Palm and her five sisters that I’d help them polish the family jewels.
Signed,
Edward Hotspur’s Penis
CLICK THE HEART BELOW FOR THIS WEEK’S SECRET ADMIRER:
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Love Letters Gone Wrong – Twenty
It’s time for another round of LOVE LETTERS GONE WRONG! Every Friday I feature a LOVE LETTER GONE WRONG submitted by an anonymous blogger. Sunday morning I reveal the secret admirer’s identity with a link to the blogger’s home page. If you’d like to submit some truly heinous love letters please send them to heellisgoa@gmail.com.
This week’s love letter one wrong was written by a one of my Blogs With Books authors. Check out this page and then return to the comments here to guess who the secret admirer is. The first correct guess wins a free copy of my ebook.
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Dear Heloise Ecclesiastes Ellis,
I remember the first time I laid eyes on you. I was in kindergarten. You wore a blue dress and smelled of huckleberry (I distinctly remember it as huckleberry because even back then I was looking stuff up on Wikipedia). I moved in closer to admire you as you finger-painted fiery orange and red and black with a yellow stripe running down the middle of the artpaper. I touched the gauzy film of your petticoat and you punched me in the face, shattering my nose in thirty-two places. It was only later that I realized what a gift that was, as my new proboscis bears an uncanny resemblance to Edward Hotspur’s penis.
As we grew older in the small town of Valentine (I’ve always wanted to give you one—a small town, not a Valentine), I realized that even though I could sing and dance, I wasn’t gay enough to keep from wanting you, even after I figured out that you are a woman—a small woman with big breasts and all the energy of a Red Bull factory wired by Nikola Tesla while Benjamin Franklin flies a kite on top of the building with a key attached to the string with a 12 gauge copper wire attached to the key so that when the whole thing electrifies from lightening, it is conducted back to the factory, which is you I think, though I got kind of lost when I started talking about wiring, as I’m not an electrician.
As the years flew by and you became more stacked and stacked tire after tire after tire in that random field by the pond (I worked at the Goodyear Plant and would dump them there just to give you something to do), I began to realize that you would never love me, not like you love Prince Charming and Junior. And I knew that the shit I say would never be as meaningful as the shit your kids say, but I would yell “Shit, shit, shit?” as I hauled tires back and forth, and you would post pictures of snowy trees on your blog and I knew you saw me in every frozen leaf, especially the ones where I actually glued my picture to the leaf, with Edward’s Penis above my lips, those lips screaming out from every gluey leaf, screaming, “Love me, Love me, Love me!”
I know you think needy men are pussies, but it isn’t so much need as the desire of several teenage boys wrapped together like a duct-taped suitcase filled with the masculine love of an older, unneedy salt and pepper gentleman with a moustache (moustache rides are free by the way).
And then, one day, I was up on the roof with a couple of tires I’d hauled up there (I thought that would be a new challenge since you’re getting tired of the Thunderdome) and you said in that husky voice of yours:
“Hey, Asshole. I’ve got a gun and I’m going to blow you a new one!”
And when that bullet went through me I knew in my heart (the bullet was actually in my heart with all the other feelings) that you really did care. You really did. No one shoots someone unless they really care about them, or they just wish they had a penis like Edward Hotspur’s and they’re frustrated.
You’re the former, not the latter. So I climbed down the ladder, my former self wondering why I was bleeding so profusely, and you met me at the window, the same one you like to lick so much, and before I passed out, I swear we had something real between us.
It was a tire.
Love XXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Sidecar SPaM
*** I AM STILL BEING HELD CAPTIVE BY NINJAS- SO THIS WEEK’S SPAM IS A REBLOG OF OUR GOOD FRIEND AND PLAYER RONNIE FROM THE LIBRA CHRONICLES ***
Take one part modern-day bachelor, two parts savvy player, add a splash of Cointreau and you get THE LIBRA CHRONICLES; an unapologetic blog that asks the question, “Can a blog really make it when the writer does not try to make a blog that targets special key words, certain audiences, weight loss or fitness or celebrities or some certain NICHE?”
I didn’t know the answer to that question when I first stumbled onto Ronnie Libra’s blog, but all it took was one look at his tag cloud filled with words like SEDUCTION, KEY WEST and POLYSOMNOGRAPHY to know that I wouldn’t be bored finding out.
*** So Ronnie, you describe your blog in your WHAT IS ALL THIS INSOLENCE page as an “experiment” in finding your target audience without the use of buzz words. Has your experiment revealed the results of who your target audience is?
I bet, like my mind, my target will be “Kid in a Candy Shop.” Or more appropriately, “Ronnie in a Bar.” So many flavors, why just settle for the same one all the time?
*** In your page THE SEDUCTION CHRONICLES you include stories that you describe as including the “rawness and reality” of seduction. What motivated you to include these stories?
Hundreds of posts on private seduction forums. People who’ve read them always tell me they are very inspirational, so I figured, what the fuck…. I may as well share them with more people. If I can reach out to that one person who get’s inspired then kick ass! I have done my duty.
*** In addition to dating advice you have posts that focus on philosophy and inspiration. What has inspired you recently that you’d like readers to take away from your blog?
Momentum… Keep doing what you love… Make it happen. Fuck failure and fuck the outcome. Go for it anyway. Even if you are failing, keep going because the more steps you take towards your goals the better your momentum will be to take those steps. Be cool with failing, dammit. 
Penicillin was a mistake. OOOOHhhhh and some kick ass music, Music is my life. I recharge off of it. I have a giant history in my mind of music I love and I feel that, most of my life, every day can have a theme song.
*** Many of your posts include sometimes graphic descriptions of many of your sexual escapades. Do you find it difficult to share these experiences with your readers? And what do you hope you can pass on in the way of knowledge?
Not difficult at all. If you read the book, “My Secret Garden” by Nancy Friday, which is a book on REAL women’s fantasies, my reports become rated PG. ;) I’m trying to convey the process of Seduction with my writing. Later, I may delve more into the actual sexuality and passion as well, I’m sure I will.
Here’s what I want. I want people to be cool with seduction. It’s not some taboo shit. It’s everyday reality. It’s happening all around us. The girl that I just looked at, while thinking, that made eye contact and looked away. It’s natural.
I want that guy or that girl who sees that sexy motherfucker they want to meet to go do it. Go meet that person!
*** What would you like men to take away from your blog?
I haven’t really thought about this. Maybe inspiration. Maybe to get a little mad or inspired inside and say, “If this asshole can do this so can I!”
*** What would you like women to take away from your blog?
Women readers seem to be the main readers so far in my blog. I would almost want to ask them, “What do you hope to find here? or Why are you coming back? or even, “Let’s say my blog was your dirty little secret that no one would ever find out about. What would you want it to be like?”
*** What can we expect from THE LIBRA CHRONICLES in the future?
Utter Sexy Randomness. Chocolate, Vanilla, Strawberry and sometimes Chicken Fried Rice. Ya, it doesn’t have to make sense. And music. Lots and lots of music.
Follow Ronnie at THE LIBRA CHRONICLES
Have a blog, book or music to promote? Contact me for your own feature on SPaM at heellisgoa@gmail.com
My Secret Admirer – Nineteen
It’s time for this week’s LOVE LETTERS GONE WRONG secret admirer big reveal! This week we did have a winner, so click the trophy to the right for this week’s winning blogger.
Here’s a recap of Friday’s post as well as my response at the bottom. If you’d like a free copy of my ebook take a guess or send a love letter gone wrong to heellisgoa@gmail.com.
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Oh, Heidi, Heidi. Christ almighty,
how I do love thee?
Thy witty prose, thy way with words,
pure amazes me.
I would write for you a poem
if I only could.
But when I think about you
I part turn into wood.
It gets so hard and painful
I can scarce endure.
And in case you’re doubtful,
that’s not bull manure.
It’s not the type of wood with which
I heat my home at night.
It is instead so warm and smooth,
and could give you great delight.
But the miles that lie between us,
so many in their count,
make it so unlikely
that you I’ll ever mount.
My wife would be heartbroken
if she knew to you I write.
But I’ll be thinking of you
when I’m doing her tonight.
************************
Thank you, kind sir
for your letter to me
that I read many times
while I sat in the tree
outside of the window
that looks onto your bed
and watched you make love
to a woman in red
who called out a name
that I didn’t quite hear
and then something about
something else in her rear
that I assumed meant you’d used
a bit too much force
which makes total sense since
you’re hung like a horse
but when she complained
how it started to burn
all I could think of was,
“When’s it MY turn?”
CLICK THE HEART BELOW FOR THIS WEEK’S SECRET ADMIRER:
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School Bus Soapbox
I don’t normally use my blog to voice personal opinions, but today I need to address an issue that has been brought my attention. For those of you who may not know, real world Hellis drives a school bus. Lately I’ve been asked the question “Why don’t school buses have seat belts?” multiple, multiple, MULTIPLE times.
What some of you may not know is that statistically, school buses are the safest mode of transportation available, outweighing even airline travel. (for statistics click HERE). There is also information out there suggesting that school bus seat belts are the way to go (for those statistics click HERE). My post today isn’t meant to dispute either set of statistics, but to apply my real world experience to empirical information. I agree that in a perfect world every bus would have a seat belt and every student would be further protected from potential harm. Sadly, I drive a bus in the real world and this just isn’t how things work. I’ll begin by asking a few questions of my own:
1. Have you ever seen a seat belt?
If you haven’t let me describe it. It’s a long, thick vinyl strap with a heavy metal buckle at the end. Now imagine 84 of them. Now imagine 84 eight year-old boys. Now imagine a weapon that swings like a lasso and feels like a mace. Now imagine 84 black eyes and missing teeth. Now imagine being the only adult in charge of controlling that behavior. Behavior that is going on behind your back. While you are driving. And stopping. And driving. And stopping…
2. Who enforces this rule?
If a seat belt is to function properly it needs to be utilized. When was the last time you got a teenager to do anything you considered safe? Again, imagine 84 of them. How do you enforce that rule? Do you stop the bus every time a kid unbuckles themselves? As a driver is it your responsibility to buckle the seat belt around the student if he/she doesn’t comply?
Now imagine you’re a forty-something male bus driver faced with the challenge of buckling in a high school girl. I smell a lawsuit. What then? Do you exempt her from wearing it because you don’t want to appear inappropriate? You can bet that if she doesn’t comply, the other 83 surely won’t.
And what if the students don’t comply and there is an accident. Is the driver responsible for student injury because he/she failed in his/her duties to see that all 84 students not only buckled in but stayed buckled in for the duration of the trip? I am not speaking for the bus driving industry as a whole when I say the moment that scenario became policy, the bus driving industry would have one less bus driver.
3. Who pays for it?
People, the funds just aren’t there. Here’s the math:
My school district has 50 buses. Each school bus requires 84 mated seat belts. That’s 4200 seat belt units required for purchase should a policy be enforced. Each seat belt union cost $18.00 per unit.
Total increase to tax payers – $75,600.
This may not seem like much when you consider a school district budget as a whole, but if you take into consideration the 50 buses at a national average of $75,000 per bus, you are talking about adding $75,600 to an already required payout of $3,750,000.
Keep in mind also that because seat belts function as a safety measure, there is no policy or standard for repair. Every malfunctioning seat belt requires replacement. Who sets the standard for their daily functionality? Do we, as drivers, perform daily buckle inspections? Again, who pays for the time needed to inspect these buckles daily? You better believe my effort spent on buckle inspection will appear on my time card.
I realize that my opinions, and they are “opinions,” may not mesh well with the opinions of others. And I certainly mean no disrespect to anyone out there who has been harmed or had a loved one harmed on a school bus. All I can do is answer the question that has been posed to me many times over the last ten years the best way I know how.
Stay tuned tomorrow for our regularly scheduled blog nonsense.
Love Letter Gone Wrong – Nineteen
It’s time for another round of LOVE LETTERS GONE WRONG! Every Friday I feature a LOVE LETTER GONE WRONG submitted by an anonymous blogger. Sunday morning I reveal the secret admirer’s identity with a link to the blogger’s home page. If you’d like to submit some truly heinous love letters please send them to heellisgoa@gmail.com.
This week’s love letter was written by a blogger who took the time to comment on my OPEN LETTER post. Check out this post and then return to the comments here to guess who the secret admirer is. The first correct guess wins a free copy of my ebook.
Oh, Heidi, Heidi. Christ almighty,
how I do love thee?
Thy witty prose, thy way with words,
pure amazes me.
I would write for you a poem
if I only could.
But when I think about you
I part turn into wood.
It gets so hard and painful
I can scarce endure.
And in case you’re doubtful,
that’s not bull manure.
It’s not the type of wood with which
I heat my home at night.
It is instead so warm and smooth,
and could give you great delight.
But the miles that lie between us,
so many in their count,
make it so unlikely
that you I’ll ever mount.
My wife would be heartbroken
if she knew to you I write.
But I’ll be thinking of you
when I’m doing her tonight.
