Apparently, others don't like JACKIE DANICKI & NANCY ROMMELMANN. Dennis Peters, a political
commentator appeared out of nowhere to present a fresh perspective on these people.
He had inside knowledge of what these two have done to many people over the years. It is suspected that
Dennis Peters might even be part of their own social group. Here are his writings:

Nancy Rommelmann would make anyone barf.

Hey, peeps.
Sorry I haven't written in so long -- but sometimes a guy's gotta do what a guy's gotta do...and that includes
drinking cold ones and scarfing down hot dogs.
Unfortunately, though, I couldn't keep any of that down...not once I read ridiculous Nancy Rommelmann's latest
blowhardy entry on "remembering Cathy Seipp."
It seems Rommelmann just can't let sleeping dead old people lie: she has to try to resurrect them with garbagy,
bullcrap accolades that don't even describe the real person at hand.
Rommelmann's fantasy descriptions of the dead old Cathy Seipp she "knew" made me vomit up my Cheetos. I
met dead old Cathy Seipp quite a few times ,and the deeply flawed, troubled chick, (a walking mental disorder
if I ever saw one) was absolutely nothing like Romelmann's bizarre fiction of her.
If you can stand browsing through Rommelmann's bloated blog, you'll notice a disturbing pattern: she gloms on
to people who are sick and/or dying, so she can trump up her imagined Florence Nightengale-like role in their
Frankly, (and I do speak frankly) it's kinda creepy. Hey Rommelmann, hon -- is your life so empty and flat that
you only get drama by attaching yourself to other weirdos' suffering?
Maybe you and your densely-meaty friend Danicki should get some therapy, because like I said --- you're
kinda creepy...and all the way pathetic.
Yeah, dead old Cathy Seipp died a year ago, and it's fairly common knowledge that Rommelmann hastened
her death by stuffing rancid cookies down her throat.
Gurgle. Ooh. Just thinking about N. Rommelmann's gassy nonsense has churned up my stomach again. I'm
gonna blow big chunks of chewed-up hot dog, Cheetos, liquified beer foam and whatever else is in old Dennis'
Splaaat! Man, it's all over the walls, drippin' down, but at least I feel better. Happy Easter.

The continued hamhockery of Hackie Damn-icky

Hey, peeps.

My psychiatrist friend Marilyn warns to leave this poor, troubled sociopath alone -- and as much as I pity the
pathetic Hackie Damn-icky also known as "Jackie D.), her thunderous, beefy stomps through the Internet merit
at least a few more observations.
Jackie D.'s posts and comments are always grating, but on certain websites that allow avatars, it's particularly
odious to glimpse a cropped, visual cube of her widely meaty face plunked next to one of her sniveling,
worshipful adulations.
Poor Jackie D. has no self-worth, so she fleshily bows and scrapes to the simps and hacks she deems more
important than she (i.e., everyone in her sorry, caloric universe).
"Ooh, you're so beautiful," she gushes to a Plain Jane.
"So-and-so was so brilliant and wise," she oozes about a dolt.
Her fatuous (and I do mean fatuous) praise for the perceived "in" boys and girls is a thinly-stretched, fraying
skin over her turbulent, inner rage and insanity.
Since she puts on a phony front for her so-called "friends," she explodes her authentic bile and venom at
innocent strangers ("I felt as if she were a cat shitting in my yard, running away before she covered her crap,")
writes one dumbfounded blogger from England, who lived to survive a crazy Jackie D. attack.
And, so, out of the kindness of my own Dennis Peters heart (and in the name of the infant, denim-swaddled
Jesus Christ) I've compiled a list of New Year's resolutions for the aggressively stupid Jackie D., or Hackie
Damn-icky, if you prefer:
1. Lose weight.
2. Get smarter.
3. Be less stupid.
4. Stop being such a phony, pathetic creep.
5. Look less cow-like.
6. Clean hooves before blindly and cluelessly stampeding through the internet.
7. Stop stalking and harassing people.
8. Try to rid self of frightening mental illness.
9. Become somewhat tolerable for 2008.
10. Generally just shut up.
Well, that's it for now. 'Tis the season, as they say -- and that's why I'm going to get me a seasoned hot dog at
Jesus Christ was a carnivore...maybe he'll be there, too. Life is good.
Portland's biggest idiot
Hey, peeps.
That delusional dingbat from Portland, Nancy R., is at it again.
This spacey granola chick, whose ideas are about as half-baked as her rancid cookies, harasses poor Maia
Lazar with nitwitted comments on the teenager's blog, "Sky Watching My World."
According to Nancy, my anonymous fan's archive of my work indicates a "deep, deep sickness."
Well, the last I heard, Nancy R. was in no condition to practice psychiatry, let alone get a license. Hell, she
can't even hang on to her driver's license -- they took it away when the deranged narcissist thought that her
car's "rear view mirror" existed solely for the purpose of her getting yet another view of her own skanky rear
On a more serious note, Nancy R. is not qualified to offer advice or counsel to anyone, especially today's
youth: a very reliable source tells me that this crazy chick was high on cocaine when her own poor daughter
was but a tot.
Let's hope she (he? Maybe this manic, ungainly chick is really a drag queen) gets help, but let's also keep her
away from the young. She's bad news.
Anything Nancy R. says or writes is a sign of deep, deep stupidity.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------My interesting day.

Hey, peeps.

I just found out that someone decided to archive my writings in a website called "cathyseipp.com."
Hey, man -- I'm flattered, but I don't quite get why that's the name of the website. Wouldn't "dennispeters.com"
make more sense?
Whatever. As long as you get the Dennis word out there, I'm down with it! And, man, whoever you are, you are
one smart dude ... not everyone knows I sometimes moonlight as an accountant in Afghanistan!
So, to my anonymous fan, thanks for the nod. Maybe we'll have a beer sometime...or a hot dog.
Yeah. Life is good.
Give it a rest, Hackie...
Hey, Peeps!

My man Luke Ford recently let us know that the deeply disturbed Jackie D. is at it again -- this time she's
reminiscing about how she barged into dead old Cathy Seipp's house when dead old Cathy Seipp was still
alive (but near death), and essentially hastened her death with "annoying and painful behavior."
On Jackie D.'s annoying and painful blog, she writes that "being annoying and painful" are two of her greatest
fears, but I can assure this troubled chick that those fears are already stark realities, so why doesn't she waste
her time worrying about something she hasn't achieved yet?
Many people think that dead old Cathy Seipp would still be alive if tiresome Jackie D. hadn't forced fed her,
then hoovered up all the precious oxygen in the room with her vacuous, mind-rotting blather.
Come to think of it, since tedious Jackie D.'s "annoying and painful" declaration is pretty close to a murder
confession, perhaps her biggest fear should be the cops!
Hmmm. Think I'll go eat a jelly doughnut. Yeah, that's it. Life is good.

Bradley "Jello" Fikes (some musings on)...
Hey, peeps.
I went to the Matt Welch book-signing on Saturday night (Welch is an all-around o.k guy,) but the thing that
really struck me besides the fact that that Moxie chick chugs way too much beer and smokes too many
cigarettes (it's no beauty treatment, to quote one of David Ehrenstein's favorite movies) -- is that Bradley J.
Fikes is weird.
Hey, Bradley, man -- embrace your inner loneliness. It rattles around so loudly inside the empty chambers of
your bones, that it provides a disturbing back-beat to whatever bad music is blaring over the sound system.
I read your (no offense, man) kind of pathetic blog a few weeks ago about how you burned up your car tire
rubber on all sorts of freeways just to make sure a "meet-up" in Hof's Hut took place.
Bradley, man -- what is your creepy obsession with the Seipp family? Yeah, maybe that dead old Cathy Seipp
once went to Hof's Hut with some relatives, but why does that mean you have to start stalking their suburb?
And, get with the program, man: Anne Coulter is anti-Semitic. Anyone who's ever turned on the Donnie
Deutsch show (or who's heard about it) knows that.
Dead old Cathy Seipp was Jewish. Maybe, in her typically misguided way, she tried desperately to be the poor-
man's Anne Coulter, but I’m pretty sure she would've dropped that charade had she lived to learn about this
latest development.
If you want to be slavishly, geekily worshipful of drag-queen-like-desperate-for-negative-attention blonde
women, I think you're going to have to choose when one turns out to be a Nazi and the other is Jewish.
And, hey, man: don't get me wrong about your loneliness -- I recognize it from my own arm-pit-stained days as
an overweight security guard.
Man, you could smell the spores in my polyester zip-up as sharply as any gone-wrong cheese.
But, I think I've grown a little since then. I'm not saying I never get lonely anymore. Hey, it's still in my marrow --
so thickly sometimes, I could spread it on toast, but you know what soothed me and helped me get over my
own unhealthy obsessions?
Love. Yeah, that's right. Love.

So, Bradley, man, maybe you'd spend a lot less hollow time on alienating freeways and a lot more time in
caring, warm-blooded arms if you'd declare your love for David Ehrenstein (if you're gay) -- or your passion for
Donna Barstow (if you're not.)
Maybe you swing both ways? That's cool.
Life is good. I'm gonna go eat some sweetened popcorn.

An interesting observation
Hey, peeps.
I just got back from a nose-chilling night at Pink's hot dogs, where I scarfed down three hot dogs and a chug of
When I got home, I did a weird test: if you google the name "Jackie Danicki" with the words "sick soul" or
"mentally ill," hundreds of items come up. THe strangest part of all is that those are her two most frequently
used catch phrases.

Why, you ask? Well, as my shrink friend Marilyn tells me, it's called "projection" folks! That's the prism through
which poor Jackie D. views herself and the world.
Let's hope this troubled girl gets some help.

I'm baaaack!
Hey, peeps. It's good to be back.

I was out of the country for a while on a science-fiction-writing assignment, and it gave me a new perspective
on the world: mostly that I don't care at all about most of what I cared about just a few short months ago.
Life is funny that way
However, I did take a glance at Maia Lazar's blog "Sky Watching My World," and read how she's now being
dissed by "99% of her mother's friends."
Frankly, (and I do speak frankly) good riddance, I say. From what I know about dead old Cathy Seipp, a lot of
her friends were weird, self-centered, shallow and phony.
Some of them were nice, I'm sure -- that's true in any crowd.
But, the ones who brayed the loudest about how wonderful they were are the are the ones Miss Lazar should
thank her lucky stars she's well rid of.
The commenters who insisted "Maia, it's o.k. that we don't see you anymore, as long as we think about you,"
made me laugh. I mean, come on, people, seriously.
What Miss Lazar is being exposed to here, at her tender age, is what's commonly known as "bull-sheeet."
Frankly, (and you know, I am frank), Miss Lazar is lucky this is happening to her. It doesn't seem terribly
healthy for a teen girl to be swarming around with a bunch of middle-aged creeps, anyway.
If she were my daughter, I'd want her to forge her own life, her own identity. Start fresh -- meet some nice
people your own age, girl.
God knows, I wouldn't want my little boy to waste his life shaping it around my 32-years-older drinking buddies.
Just because I like them (most of the time), doesn't mean I think they're right for him.
Another worry: that disturbed, frightening Jackie D. weighed in with a comment. I hope, for Miss Lazar's sake,
that that's all she'll do -- and doesn't start stalking the poor girl.
Jackie D. is one scary chick. If anyone knows members of the Seipp-Lazar family, they may want to warn them
that Jackie D. is focusing on them again. Hopefully, she'll go away.
That's it for now. Gonna crack open a cold one. My throat is parched.
Life is good.


Sorry I haven't been around lately.
I was down at the Comic Con in San Diego. I have a science fiction idea I wanted to tout.
I met Nic Cage and his teenaged son. I have to say, his son sort of looks like a scary girl.
Now that I'm back, I glanced at a couple of buddies' blogs -- Luke Ford's and David N. Scott's.
David N. Scott includes me in his list of people who don't get why he's all worked up about a dead person he
hardly knew. You're right, man -- I don't get it.
You say you feel "protective" of dead old Cathy Seipp, but...she's dead. What can you possibly protect her
from? You can't hurt a dead person, or any dead thing for that matter. I guess that's where the term "flogging a
dead horse" came from.
Once somebody or something's dead, it's pointless to defend them or get embroiled in the petty spats they
created while alive.
You apologized to that teacher guy, and that shows class. It puts you legions above all those bizarre people
who've made one of dead old Cathy Seipp's childish tantrums into their personal vendetta, too.
Something's wrong with those people. Seriously.
Luke Ford wrote that he was upset at how he came across in his profile in "The Jewish Journal," so I scored a
copy when I went out to get my nightly frozen burrito with barbeque sauce.
Luke, man, you should be upset. Forget about the article -- I'm talking about those photos of you. You're a
handsome dude, but the cover photo made you look as if you have breasts, and the inside shot somehow
made your head look as if it were an enormous, swollen pumpkin.
I couldn't tell if the photograher chick just stank, or "the Jewish Journal" really was out to get you. Maybe it was
O.k. That's it. Life is good.
Going to mop up the rest of that barbeque sauce with an old hot dog bun.

Hey, peeps.
The strangest thing happened.
As I mentioned before, my ex-girlfriend Tammy's been trying to get back into my life.
But, the thing is, as much as I'm tempted to go back to my fat, old ways, Tammy's a Methodist and I'm a
Lutheran. How in the world would that ever work?
Besides, I'm a father now. I can't stay up all night watching t.v. wrestling matches, which is what Tammy would
enable me towards.
Oh, sweet ass of Jesus. Now, Roxanne's bugging me, too. She says she wants to get married. Thinks it would
be better for our little boy.
I'm not using to having this much attention from women. I think this blog started it all. Ever since I wrote about
my stint at the LA Press Club awards, people have wanted a piece of me.
It's too much, man. All I want to do right now is sink my teeth into a juicy double cheeseburger, skinny fries on
the side. I want to lose myself in a numbing cloud of greasy fat.
Is that too much to ask?

Smackdown on tiresome people
I've been reading some blogs by some very tiresome people.
First, there's some Oregon chick, I think her name is Nancy Rommelmann, who likes to blather on about her
breasts and her body and her baking (very alliterative), but the cumilative effect, after reading her blowsy work,
is that she must have very dirty toe-nails.
I don't know why. That's just the image I get.
Then there are some comments by some pests, but the thing is -- it seems as if anyone has a criticism about
anyone's blog, some tedious defender writes a bloated comment that makes my eyes glaze over.
I mean, I've long ago accepted that most people aren't very attractive, but the fact that they're also exceedling
dull (and think they're sparkling), is what's rankling me of late.

I met that dead Cathy Seipp person several times, and she was a real witch.
And, yet I keep reading posts (Luke Ford had one, as I recall), about a bunch of hacks paying her a tribute on
some filthy carpet, everyone getting up to mumble a few inane or self-serving words, and then sitting back
down in some dog hair and lint.
I wish these peeps would just get on with their hideous lives. Because the thing is, see, when a mean hack dies
you're supposed to be glad. That' what death is all about: it kills you. Get it, people?
Don't go on about what you did for her or what she said to you.....nobody cares.
Find some other middle-aged, "mean mommy" figure if you have to work out some obsession issues.
O.k., that's it for now. Going to drink some lemonade, make a phone call or two. Yeah. Life is good.
Witches swarm on Nancy Rommelmann's blog!
Wow! The witches are brooming in in swarms at Nancy Rommelmann's fatuous blog.
Some perfectly-cool seeming dude name "Lawrence" confronts Rommelmann about her bloated, self-
aggrandizing post on "Failure."
Well, before you can say "boil, boil, bubble and toil," Amy Alkon and that chubby, little food witch, Jackie,
invoke the name of their dead queen witch, Cathy Seipp.
Amy's comment is some blather about how nobody should ever denigrate the Rommelmann witch, because
subwitch (not to be confused with sandwich) Rommelmann once swept in on her broom to feed head witch
Cathy Seipp some gruel.
Apparently, this kind of witchy co-dependence earns them all saintly "broomie" points.
Then, the fat, little food witch, Jackie, chimes in that Lawrence is that dead witch Cathy Seipp's brother.
Is he? Does that mean he's a warlock?
Food witch attempts to decimate Lawrence with the schoolyard nyah-nyah: "You have a sick mind. I hope you
get help."
Well, from what I've heard, Cathy Seipp really needed help when Jackie-the-fat-little-food-witch aero planed in
on her own floor-sweep vehicle.
The chubby-subby cooked up mountains of food, wrote tedious blogs about it -- then gorged on it by herself,
while the Cathy Seipp witch slowly starved.
These witches are messed up! Maybe some houses will fall on them soon ... what's the price of real estate
these days?

The witch swarm gets deleted on Rommelmann's blog!
Hey, peeps. Unfortunately, that subwitch Nancy Rommelmann deleted the entertaining witch swarm of
comments from the crappy post I mentioned, so now her blog has gone back to being its usual boring self:
gaseous bleats about her puerile Portland adventures.
We get to read about how she shoves her rancid cookies down people's throats, and about how she and
members of her witch coven pluck at their own follicles as if they were parakeets kept in captivity.
That chubby-little-food-witch, Jackie Danicki, gets her face up out of a cake long enough to add her own inane
comments about follicle-plucking and pore-examining.
Apparantly, subwitch Nancy Rommelmann also works in her husband's restaurant, some sort of greasy spoon
where Portland's aging hippies gather, fester, and shed their grey-flecked hair into Nancy's putrid cookie
You might want to lift your grimy, Birkenstocked feet off the floor, folks -- that fluttery vibration you feel on your
tootsies isn't a 1970s-styled massage...its the restaurant's thick population of well-fed roaches, out for their
morning run.
Meanwhile, over on Luke Ford's blog, a humid wind blows.
It's the draft that erupts when David N. Scott wags a pasty, pudgy finger at me, scolding me for castigating his
dead witch queen, Cathy Seipp.
The sad thing about that is, I once overheard that dead old witch Cathy Seipp refer to David N. Scott and his
wife as "that boring couple."
Knowing this, you'd think David N. Scott and his wife would get their clammy fingers away from their filthy
keyboards, and put them to better use: signing up for a "Improve your Pathetic Little Lives" seminar.
That's it for now, peeps. I'm gonna go out for a cold one and a hot dog.
Yeah, like I always say: life is good.

Self-congratulations at the L.A. Press Awards yawn-fest.
Hey, peeps.
I was up for an award at last night's Los Angeles Press Club event, so I went -- but it was such a yawn-fest,
next time they invite me, I'll tell them I'd rather bite a sidewalk.
There were so many brooms parked outside, it looked like a janitors' convention -- but, no...those were just the
rides for all the witches and warlocks who swarmed inside.
People had red welts the size of handprints on their shoulder-blades, from all the self-congratulatory back-
slapping that went on.
That Empress of arch schtick, Sandra Tsing Loh, looking mannish, got up to present a low-tech slide tribute to
dead queen witch, Cathy Seipp.
Between sips of my Budweiser, I saw slides of dead witch Cathy Seipp posing in front of her favorite broom,
slopping on some gruel, and modeling 1995's version of fashionable witch caps and capes.
Amy Alkon won two "broomie" awards: one for sanctimoniously pointing out in person how much she and other
coven members did for their dead witch queen Cathy Seipp, and, two, for sanctimoniously pointing out in print
the same tedium.
A Russian person blathered on about how important it is to be Russian, and a dead person won an award for
being dead.
I thought I heard Moxie ("Obnoxiousy") braying about something, her metallic, blonde hair hanging stiffly
around her shoulders.
Emmanuelle Richard said: "Zut Alors! I'm French!"
Subwitch Nancy Rommelmann really wanted to attend, but she threw out her aging back when she slipped on
her most recent batch of roach-infested cookie dough. As far as I know, she's still lying on the floor of her
husband's restaurant, surrounded by cloudy cutlery and crust-laden dishes.
That fat-little-food-witch, Jackie Danicki, also really wanted to go, but her last broom cracked under the groan
of her weight.
Until UPS delivers a thicker, sturdier broom, Jackie's homebound -- consoling herself the way she knows best:
with food.
The last I heard, she's still vigorously working her jaws around a gigantic hamburger the size of three dead
cows. You go, girl.
Word up to my homies at "Festeringswamp." I know you wish you all could've hurled yourself inside the coffin
when dead Cathy Seipp witch's cadaver finally got shoved in the ground.
But your "memorial blog tribute" to her is about as interesting as the last time I scratched my left arm pit.
Don't bother wagging your fleshy, little digits at me. I don't care. Make your blog more readable, or eat the
sweet ass of Jesus.
O.k. That's it for now. Guess I'll tear open a bag of Cheetos.
Life is good.
Big props to my man Luke Ford!
Hey, peeps. I want to give a big shout-out to Luke Ford for linking me on his blog. Thanks, man!
Yes, I do "speak frankly," and for some of you, that's a little too harsh. For others, though, my frank speaking is
just the frankfurter they've been looking for.
I'd like to clarify a few things comments here and on other blogs have mentioned.
First, some of you were upset that I called Sandra Tsing Loh "mannish."
What you don't get, is that "mannish" is a hot.
I'm currently banging a tall, angular chick who has linebacker shoulders, and she's hot.
She's hotter than a globally-warmed Los Angeles summer, that's how hot she is. "Mannish" is a compliment, so
get off my back about that one.
I was misunderstood.
LYT of "Lyt Rules" (and, if you haven't read his blog, he really does rule. This guy has talent) points out that
Moxie wasn't even at the L.A. Press Awards, so how can I comment on her?
Excellent catch, man. Like I said, the person-in-question was across the room, and I was drunk, but the bigger
point is -- I've banged so many blonde chicks, they all look alike to me.
Like Mr. Ben Franklin once said: "all blonde chicks look alike in the dark.
When he wasn't out flying kites and sporting a pre-Lennon look, Mr. Franklin was quite the prolific banger, so I
think he knew what he was talking about.
A lot of you were upset that I dissed Amy Alkon.
Look, Amy Alkon is hot.
Yeah, she won a couple of "broomies" for sanctimoniously prattling on about the virtuousness of dead old
Cathy Seipp's coven, but that redhead is hot.
When she tries to aurally suffocate you with sanctifying clap-trap about dead old Cathy Seipp and her minions,
just plug your ears. And imagine her naked.
David N. Scott takes me to task for over-using the joke of "wagging fingers."
That's a good point, but when I wrote "don't wag your fleshy digits at me," I wasn't imagining your fingers just
I was visualizing your big toe.
I'd like to explain what I meant about "festering swamp."
Sure, most of the time that "memorial blog" is about as interesting as a set of chapped lips, but sometimes it's o.
Its one chick writer, Mary something, is really good -- but she doesn't post that often.
I liked the post by the guy (Mike? Brad?) who's so boring, he can't get laid. Been there. I used to be boring.
That baby possum stuff is great. Those pictures are so cute, I even downloaded them onto my cell phone.
Yeah, old Dennis has a soft spot for the little critters.
David N. Scott, I think you're taking what I write too personally. My blog is like verbal mud-wrestling...we all get
a little dirty, but it's a great workout.
Besides, dead old Cathy Seipp may have referred to you as "boring," but I think you and "Patterico" rock.
I just don't get why you waste your time memorializing a dead old chick, when you have a beautiful, live one in
your bed every night.
Where are your priorities, man?
Let's have a beer sometime. We'll talk about it.
For those good Christians who were offended by my "sweet ass of Jesus" line, what's the big deal? I said his
ass is "sweet," not "sour." It's a compliment.
I was misunderstood.
Well, that's it for now. Think I'll smash my bicuspids into some good, salty pretzels, then wash it all down with a
cold one.
Life is good.

Who is Dennis Peters?
Hey, peeps.
A lot of you have been asking who I am. Well, it's not that complicated: I'm a bi-racial, 36-year-old man who's
the proud father of an out-of-wedlock, two-year-old boy.
My girlfriend "Roxeanne" and I decided not to get married when we realized that we ultimately weren't that
compatible. (I drink beer, she doesn't. I eat Cheetos, she doesn't).
I served in the military when I was younger, and now patch together a decent living as a freelance journalist
and radio commentator. I also do carpentry on the side.
I love my nine-month-old St. Bernard, "Winston", and my 1994, blue Toyota pickup.(No name given....yet.
As I wrote before to David N. Scott, a lot of what I write is verbal mudwrestling, and shouldn't be taken that
personally -- but I received a private message from "Marilyn" who's asked me to lay off someone:
"Dear Dennis:
Please lay off Jackie Danicki. She's a deeply troubled young woman who suffers from food and other
substance abuse issues. She forms attachments with abusive parent figures to recreate traumas from her
past. She needs help, and is hopefully getting it. In the meantime, please be kind to her."
You know what, Marilyn? I respect that. (Maybe "Marilyn" is her shrink?)
Before I had a thing for mannish chicks, I was really crazy about fat chicks. Calling each other "fat" (yeah, I
used to be, too. Guilty), was how we flirted with each other, but this Jackie obviously can't take it -- so I'm going
to lay off.
My sister "Beth" works as a pediatric nurse in Houston. She knows what happens when abused, troubled
children grow into damaged adults, such as poor Jackie.
On Beth's recommendation, I'd like to suggest a book for Jackie: "No Place to Hide (facing shame so we can
find self-respect)" by Michael P. Nichols, Phd.
Beth and I really think it'll help Jackie work through some of her issues. A lot of people who struggle with
weight, also struggle with deep, unconscious shame.
I apologize for going too far, and big props to "Marilyn" for pointing this out to me.
Jackie, if it'll make you feel any better, I used to be a 305 lb. security guard manning the ground floor of a
depressing apartment building in Hollywood.

I still keep my old zip-up uniform in my closet. It's huge. I like to look at it now and then, breathing in the fetid
smell of old, desperate perspiration, just to remind myself of how far I've come.
Man, those armpits are still dark and stained from the time I yelled "stop!" when decrepit Mr. Wilkinson tried to
run out the smeared, glass front doors without paying his rent.
I didn't like yelling "stop." Mr. Wilkinson had a club foot and a wrinkly neck and was pretty damn pathetic, but I
had to do it -- it was my job. Life is like that, Jackie.
That's it for now. I'm gonna crack open a cold one (a "lite" cold one....don't wanna fit back into that security
guard uniform).
Life is good.

I was phat
Hey, peeps.
Since I last posted, confessing about my own fat past, many of you messaged me asking for more details.
"Your dark, armpit-stained days as an oveweight security guard sound particularly miserable," writes Raymond.
"Do elaborate."
"I'm glad you can finally see that your 'fat little food witch" jokes about Jackie Danickie were inspired by your
own inner fat person's self-loathing," writes "Anonymous" from the New Brunswick Obesity Clinic. "The next
time I pat the benign tumor on my thigh, I'll think of you."
I couldn't tell if "Anonymous'" comment was meant to be stinging or loving, so I numbed my confusion by
downing a couple of cold ones.
As you might have figured out by now, beer is almost as much of a problem for me as food once was. I refuse
to go back to AA, though: the coffee's terrible and the people talk about themselves too much.
I much prefer AAA. The discounts are better.
But, I digress.
Yes, I'm now at my fighting weight of 178 lbs., but as "Anonymous" astutely hinted, there will always be a 305
lb. man inside of me, gnawing ferociously at my entrails.
Sure, I was a chubby who found love with other chubbies. I'll never forget the tiny single apartment I shared
with"Tammy," a 258 lb. school teacher.
The front of our stove was congealed with a thick tongue of grease from all the rich, fatty meals we cooked
together. In the morning, wearing just our underwear, we chased each other around our yellow, formica
breakfast table, trying to slap each other with slabs of raw bacon.
It must have been quite a sight, seeing us thunder around, our lardy flesh jiggling.
In a weird way, though, it was quite a turn-on. You know what I mean, man.
Well, it's hotter in here than an armpit spore. Time to crack open a cold one.
Life is good.

How do I even know anybody?
Hey, peeps.
Many of you have messaged me asking how I even know some of the people I've written about. In a way, it's a
strange question, because how does anybody know anybody?
Still, I'll scrape together whatever memories I can for the sake of entertainment and edification.
I first met that flaming redhead, Amy Alkon, about seven years ago at the Rose Cafe in Venice. She seemed
fun, we chatted it up, and before I knew it, she had invited me to an LA Press Club party at some art gallery in
Santa Monica.
That's where I first met dead old Cathy Seipp.
After a few more of these parties (various locations) I asked dead old Cathy Seipp if she and Amy would
consider throwing a party for my upcoming, self-published book: Life in the Military: longing, loathing and
getting laid.
She didn't really respond, but a few days later, she sent me this scathing e-mail: "You are a horrible masher.
Stop trying to hit on Amy and me. You don't ask us to throw a party for you, we suggest it to you, if we're
interested. "
I decided then that I would continue to go to the LA Press Club parties, not because I liked anybody there, but
because I like to drink in crowds.
That's it for now. My dog is licking the mud off his toenails.
Life is good.

More on me and myself
Hey, peeps.
When I last checked in here, I reminisced about how I first met Amy Alkon and how dead old Cathy Seipp sent
me a scathing e-mail, accusing me of trying to hit on her and Amy and of being a "masher."
The first time I read that, I thought of mashed potatoes, because that's one of my favorite foods. I used to
spend some serious hours face down in it, when I was a hardcore fat person, bent on some kind of blubbery
But, no. She meant I was some sort of creep, some sort of lothario-type, leering and God-knows-what.
Did I try to hit on her? That's doubtful, since I never found her attractive, but I was so drunk at most of those L.
A. Press Club Parties, anything's possible.
I remember waking up once on the floor of the W Hotel, lying in a pool of my own alcohol-stenched vomit,
people's indifferent shoes scuffling by.
Tammy had to pick me up 1:00 a.m. I fell asleep in the folds of her large, fetid flesh -- old bacteria and potato
chip crumbs getting caught in my nostrils.
Sometimes I wonder why I even got into journalism, man. Certainly, carpentry's ultimately more satisfying.
There's nothing like smashing a hammer into a 14-inch nail, or watching two pieces of wood turn into
Man, I don't know. Maybe it has something to do with being and nothingness. Or maybe that's some other
dude's philosophy.
That's it for now. Gonna watch Chevy Chase in "Fletch." He totally rocks.
Life is good.

My absence explained
Hey, peeps.
Sorry I haven't written in here in a while.
One of my ex-girlfriends, Tammy, read what I wrote about her and got really angry. She said it was
I tried to explain that I, in my grand, egalitarian way, am generally unflattering to everybody. Then, in a weird
twist, she wanted to get back together.
I thought about it, but I've got way too much on my plate right now, including a couple of hot dogs, if you know
what I mean.
Speaking of hot dogs, my Fourth of July was no picnic, either.
I joined a "stuff your face" contest in Griffith Park, downed 14 hot dogs and two hamburgers and felt sick. It was
just like the bad, old days when I was a morbidly obese security guard, as some of you may have read.
To make matters worse, a thick necked bruiser accused me of hitting on his girlfriend. I'm no wuss, but that guy
was scary. His beer breath was nastier than mine.
I passed out on the arrid lawn, ants crawling over my fingernails.
Despite all that, it's good to be back.
Life is good.

Other People's Blogs
Hey, peeps.
I was getting a little bored with the mayor's having an affair info over on Luke Ford's blog, so I dug around in
his archives to see if there was any past interesting stuff I might have missed.
In the dead old Cathy Seipp catacombs, I came across some sort of weird tribute that one of her chick friends
wrote when dead old Cathy Seipp was still alive, but was on her deathbed and on her way out.
I can't remember the chick writer's name, so if the following sounds familiar to anyone, please let me know.
I think it's pretty weird, is all I can say. And with friends like this, that dead old Cathy Seipp sure didn't need any
"Now that a core of us have stupidly (I rate us all an F+) completed the Valley of Death phase, the stroking of
the egos, the horrible memories emotionally recited, the sudden anguished stabbing declarations of 'I hate
you, Cathy,' the insane Terms of Endearment-like running around the hallway ('She's a pain, dammit, a pain!
WILL ANYONE IN THIS CRAZY WORLD LISTEN?'), anyway, can any of you help with the part where we
mention that Cathy was awful and ugly, how she was obnoxious as hell, she was stupid, she drove us crazy,
Even in the ICU, Cathy has been a real idiot. (So much so that, even after giving her up for dead, they actually
THREW THEIR HANDS AROUND HER NECK and tried to kill her again!")
I guess the chick, whoever she is, occasionally writes in all-caps for dramatic effect. Can't really say, man.
Over on my buddy David N. Scott's righteous blog, his smokin' hot wife likes that I called her beautiful, but
protests that I'm juvenile.
Guilty as charged! It's immaturity that keeps me young, lady!
Rock on. Life is good.
Hey, peeps.
The strangest thing happened.
As I mentioned before, my ex-girlfriend Tammy's been trying to get back into my life.
But, the thing is, as much as I'm tempted to go back to my fat, old ways, Tammy's a Methodist and I'm a
Lutheran. How in the world would that ever work?
Besides, I'm a father now. I can't stay up all night watching t.v. wrestling matches, which is what Tammy would
enable me towards.
Oh, sweet ass of Jesus. Now, Roxanne's bugging me, too. She says she wants to get married. Thinks it would
be better for our little boy.
I'm not using to having this much attention from women. I think this blog started it all. Ever since I wrote about
my stint at the LA Press Club awards, people have wanted a piece of me.
It's too much, man. All I want to do right now is sink my teeth into a juicy double cheeseburger, skinny fries on
the side. I want to lose myself in a numbing cloud of greasy fat.
Is that too much to ask?

Fox News Announces

Fox News/Cathy Seipp Memorial Cyberbullying Award.

Jackie Danicki To Be Honored

With Very First Award.

Fox News has announced the creation of the Fox News/Cathy Seipp Memorial Cyberbullying Award

in honor of the woman who spent the last 5 years of her life libeling, slandering and defaming

innocent people on the Internet. (www.cathyseipp.com)

The first ever honor will go to cyberbully and cyberstalker

Jackie Danicki.

Seipp's daughter, Maia Lazar, who used to team up with her mom to attack

everybody they came in contact with, had this to say:

“My mom would be proud that Fox News has created this special award to honor what she did best. We spent much time

considering who would be the first recipient of this special honor. We had to find

somebody who could meet the special requirements. The person had to be

a liar; somebody that twists and distorts reality and somebody who

uses the Internet to libel, slander and defame innocent people.

Jackie Danicki clearly met all the standards for this special honor.”

Fox News/News Corp. will also present Jackie Danicki with a set of unique phones

that will allow her to start hacking into her victims' voice mail and will provide her

with $100,000. to bribe law enforcement officials for confidential information

on the people she regularly attacks.

Maia Lazar added, “When mom and I used to libel and slander everybody on

the Internet, it was 'journalism.' When anybody wrote about us, it

was despicable. When mom and I used to mock and ridicule everybody

on the Internet, it was 'clever' and 'witty.' When anybody would make fun

of us, it was 'reprehensible.'”

Commenting on Jackie Danicki--the winner of the new award, Fox News/News Corp.

Criminal-In-Chief Rupert Murdoch said, “Do you really want this woman around your

clients? Do you really want this woman around your children? Around your pets?

Around your bedbugs?”