Despite all his wealth, Musk’s existence is a cautionary tale.

“What shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?”some homeless Palestinian


Elon Musk is, at least on paper, the world’s first trillionaire. He reached that milestone on June 12, after SpaceX debuted as a publicly-traded company on the U.S. stock market at an initial offering of $150 per share. At the time of writing, that price has risen to about $185, taking Musk’s estimated net worth to $1.4 trillion as the company becomes bigger than Amazon. Depending on how you evaluate the historical Malian emperor Mansa Musa, Musk may be the richest person to ever live.

Among pro-capitalist pundits, Musk’s ascension to trillionaire status has been the occasion for a round of sycophantic applause, as they all rush to tell us why it’s good for one individual to control this much of the world’s resources. At Fox News, we’re told that Musk “earned every penny,” and is living proof that “capitalism continues to reward individuals who create extraordinary value.” Similarly, an op-ed in the Los Angeles Timestells us that his SpaceX fortune is “a testament to human ingenuity, immigrant success and American greatness.” The National Review offers “Three Cheers For Elon Musk,” calling criticism of his hyper-wealth “revolting. Repulsive. Grotesque. Un-American.”

Now, there are all kinds of political and economic reasons why these claims are wrong, and we’ve discussed them at some length elsewhere. Two of the most important are that by hoarding wealth, billionaires and now trillionaires are actively keeping other people in poverty, making the whole thing monstrously unethical, and that their vast fortunes allow them to buy political power and make a mockery of the word “democracy.” Both of these things are true of Musk, who has bragged about using his wealth to get Donald Trump elected and likely killed hundreds of thousands of peopleacross Africa with his “DOGE” aid cuts. (If you start to count the lives Musk could save if he put his money to good use, the numbers get even more staggering.)

But another, morbidly fascinating aspect of this whole moment is that, despite possessing wealth that rivals the emperors of the ancient world, Musk’s existence is a bizarre and cursed one in many important ways. His personal relationships with the people closest to him, by all appearances, are dysfunctional and abusive to varying degrees. He desperately wants to be adored by the public, but with every attempt, their approval slips further from his grasp. Instead of enjoying his money and leisure, he spends his waking hours obsessing over racist conspiracy theories and paranoid fantasies about the end of the world. And to add the final insult, he doesn’t even have a trillion dollars in any real sense; he just has to spend a lot of time and energy keeping up an elaborate fiction that he does.

In a way, Musk’s fans are right: he’s a perfect example of capitalism at work, with its relentless drive for growth and acquisition at the expense of everything else. It’s just that those are terrible principles to base a human life on.

You Can’t Buy Human Connection

It’s an old truism that money can’t buy the things that truly matter in life. This is only sort of the case. Money can certainly buy you a lot of the necessities that make it easier to be happy, like stable housing, leisure time, and better health, and research suggests that up until you hit about $100,000 per year in income, money can indeed improve your life satisfaction. But it’s also true that just because you’re wealthy, it doesn’t mean anyone will like you, especially if your money and status corrupt your ability to have healthy relations with other people.

Elon Musk’s first wife, Justine Wilson, has recounted what it was like to be married to him, and it was about as unpleasant as you might expect. Musk was initially charming, but she says that there was a disturbing warning sign when he told her during a dance at their wedding reception that “I am the alpha in this relationship.” Unfortunately, she said, “the will to compete and dominate that made him so successful in business did not magically shut off when he came home,” and in their family “Elon’s judgment overruled mine, and he was constantly remarking on the ways he found me lacking.” When she frequently reminded him that she was his wife, not an employee, he would apparently reply “If you were my employee I would fire you.” Despite their “dream lifestyle, privileged and surreal,” Musk was a terrible husband, and she felt “disposable.” Wilson told him she wanted “equality, partnership, and “to love and be loved.” He was unwilling to provide them, and told her in effect that “our status quo works for me, so it should work for you.” When she made clear that it didn’t, he divorced her the next day.

Within weeks of filing for divorce in 2008, Musk was dating the much-younger British actress Talulah Riley. The two married, then divorced, then married again, then divorced again, and Musk’s second wife, like his first, felt “she had given up her own career, while he frequently abandoned her for his.” Perhaps the trillionaire’s most high-profile relationship has been with the musician Grimes, with whom he shares three children—X Æ A-Xii, Exa Dark Sideræl, and Techno Mechanicus. (To be fair, some of the blame for the naming may belong to Grimes, who now says she’s changed Exa Dark Siderael’s name to simply the letter “y” or a question mark, representing “the eternal question… and such.”) This relationship, too, ended badly, spilling out onto Twitter, with Grimes reporting that she had been going bankrupt in a massive custody battle with Musk.

These are not Musk’s only children. The prolific breeder has at least 14 by various mothers. (Plus those to whom he gives his sperm away, whose numbers are unknown.) Musk has made it clear that he values quantity of procreative output over the quality of his relationships with his kids. Ever the student of history, he decided to populate the world with as many of his genetic offspring as possible, reportedly “after reading that Genghis Khan had done something similar.” (Good role model, Genghis Khan.) He is terrified of population decline, and “really wants smart people to have kids.” Musk appears to hold the pure genetic determinist view that what matters is not whether you’re involved with a child’s life but whether you have Good Smart Person Genes, which he believes he does. He also reportedly believes that “your wealth is directly linked to your IQ,” and so encouraged “all the rich men he knew” to reproduce.

Unsurprisingly, Musk goes about this project in the creepiest way imaginable, sliding into women’s DMs on the social media platform he owns, Twitter/X. The Wall Street Journal reports that he replies to lesser-known users and “sometimes interacts through direct messages, some of whom he eventually solicits to have his babies.” Social media influencer Tiffany Fong, for instance, noticed that Musk “started liking and replying to her posts,” driving engagement and revenue to her account, and then “sent her a direct message asking if she was interested in having his child,” even though they had never met in person. Fong declined, and when Musk found out that she had told others about his offer, he chastised her and unfollowed her, leading her new earnings to evaporate.

Musk has even preyed on women who have worked for him, with a former employee saying he “asked her on multiple occasions to have his babies.” Shivon Zilis, a Neuralink executive and former project director at Tesla, testified in a court proceeding that Musk “was encouraging everyone around him at that time to have kids and he’d noticed I did not,” so he “offered to make a donation.” Zilis went on to have four of Musk’s children, and attained “special status” among the mothers of his “legion” (his name for his progeny) because he actually spends some time with her. Zilis has said that “I can’t possibly think of genes I would prefer for my children.” But note that she did notsay “I can’t possibly think of a man I would prefer to raise my children with.” According to the Wall Street Journal, Zilis moved to “a compound in Austin where Musk imagined the women and his growing number of babies would all live among multiple residences,” although Grimes reportedly refused to move to the property.

In 2022, Business Insider reported that Musk exposed himself to a flight attendant on his jet, rubbed her leg, and offered to buy her a horse if she would give him a hand job. (Note that many men do not have to offer to exchange horses for hand jobs, because there are women in the world willing to have sex with them for free, due to their winning personalities. Musk, lacking such an asset, must resort to equine bribery.) Tesla ended up paying the woman $250,000 to keep quiet about the incident. After the story broke, SpaceX employees posted “an internal letter protesting what they viewed as the company’s failure to take harassment allegations seriously,” after which eight of them were fired, leading them to file a complaint with the NLRB.

It has to be said, this set of psychosexual preoccupations bears a striking resemblance to those of Musk’s fellow oligarch, the late Jeffrey Epstein. Musk seems to have a higher age preference, as all of the women he’s been publicly involved with have been over 18 (for instance, Riley was 22 and Musk was 37 when they began dating.) But like Musk, Epstein reportedly hoped to “seed the human race with his DNA by impregnating women” on a large scale, and had a compound of his own at Zorro Ranch in New Mexico for that purpose. Like Musk, much of his harassment took place on a private plane, where the women in question were a captive audience. There are even emails between the two, sent on Christmas Day in 2013, where Musk rather pathetically begged to visit Epstein’s properties. The common denominator between the two men is treating women as things to acquire and collect, rather than people. It’s a form of perversity that’s really only available to the super-rich.

Musk is an objectively terrible father to his “legion.” Many of his children he appears to have little interest in communicating with at all. When he was asked what was so great about having children, he said that kids were “delightful” but “struggled to come up with any other reasons that had anything to do with building a relationship with the children themselves.” Musk has ignored Grimes, who had pleaded to keep their son X out of the limelight and protect his privacy, instead dragging his toddler in front of TV cameras repeatedly. The worst example of Musk’s parenting, though, is his disavowal of his 22-year-old trans daughter, Vivian Jenna Wilson, whom he has publicly condemned, saying “she was ‘not a girl’ and was figuratively ‘dead,’” alleging that “he had been ‘tricked’ into authorizing trans-related medical treatment for her.” Musk’s transphobia is so extreme that he says he got into right-wing politics specifically because of Wilson, and his public attacks on her are even more galling given that when he comments negatively about someone online they tend to receive threats. For her part, Wilson says that her father “would harass her for exhibiting feminine traits,” on one trip “constantly yelling at me viciously because my voice was too high.” He was neglectful and absent, but also “cruel” and “cold” when present, “uncaring and narcissistic,” as well as “quick to anger.” (This is consistent with accounts of how Musk treats his employees as well.) Wilson notes that she doesn’t actually know exactly how many half-siblings she has, along with the extraordinary fact that “if I had a nickel for every time I found out I had half siblings through Reddit, I’d have two nickels… which isn’t a lot but it’s weird that it happened twice, right?”

The influencer Ashley St. Clair, who had one of Musk’s children in 2024, said that while Musk seemed “very normal” before she got pregnant, “it just got so f—king weird.” When the child was born, Musk requested to keep his name off the birth certificate, while one of his deputies pressured her “to sign documents keeping the father of the baby and details regarding her relationship with Musk secret in return for[…] a one-time fee of $15 million for a home and living expenses, plus an additional $100,000 a month until the baby turned 21.” But after St. Clair expressed support for Musk’s trans daughter, Musk said he was “filing for full custody today” because her “support for trans ideology meant that she was ‘implying she might transition a one-year-old boy.’” He also “sought a gag order in New York to force Ms. St. Clair to stop speaking publicly.” In other words, in addition to his cruel treatment of his trans daughter, he threatened to keep one of his other children from seeing their mom because St. Clair disavowed transphobia. Again, the theme of treating people as possessions returns, because Musk is interested in his children only if they turn out the way he prefers; otherwise, he’ll cast them aside as he might a defective rocket engine.

Building a healthy, loving family, then, and building normal human relationships, are something Musk has no interest in, and likely couldn’t achieve even if he did. His vast wealth allows him to treat people like dirt and suffer few consequences. When the mother of one of his children displeases him, he can threaten to ruin her with a costly custody battle. When he is accused of sexual harassment, he can cut a check. But the end result of all of this is multiple failed marriages and an ever-growing brood of biological children who will lack any kind of meaningful parent-child relationship with their dad.

You Can’t Buy Cool

If his relationships to the people close to him are a train wreck, Musk’s relationship with the public isn’t much better. As the years go on, it’s become clear that he badly wants to be seen as cool, funny, and popular, and yet the harder he tries to win everyone’s admiration, the less cool he becomes. Lately, his public antics just exude a desperate, sweaty energy that makes him painful to watch. There was the godawful “let that sink in” joke that he used to announce his arrival to Twitter’s headquarters, carrying a physical porcelain sink; the stupid X-shaped jumping jack he kept doing for a while, apparently to resemble the logo of “X the Everything App”; the cowboy hat incident; the photo he posted of his bedside table with a huge gun and four cans of Diet Coke on it; the poem (Maybe religion’s not so bad / To keep you from being sad). In his comprehensive, largely flattering biography, Walter Isaacson writes that Musk’s “jokes tended to be filled with smirking references to 69, other sex acts, body fluids, pooping, farts, dope smoking, and topics that would crack up a dorm room of stoned freshmen.” (More like a classroom of sixth-graders.)

At one point, Musk admitted that he pays other people to play video games for him, so he’ll quickly get the highest scores and levels and Twitch streamers will see him as a “living god of video games.” For him, the point is not to enjoy the games, but to acquire whatever token or icon marks you as having won them, and thus earn the admiration of nerds who watch livestreams all day. And he couldn’t even get that, because when Musk attempted to stream himself playing Path of Exile 2 last year, the audience trolled him relentlessly, posting “YOU HAVE NO REAL FRIENDS AND WILL DIE ALONE” over and over in the chat box. But just caring about this kind of thing in the first place is the pathetic part, and apparently no amount of money can fix that.

In fact, the money itself may be the problem. Once you reach a certain level of wealth, if you’re not careful, you become surrounded by “yes men” who tell you everything you come up with is brilliant, no matter how non-brilliant it actually is. It’s a familiar pattern with American celebrities and financial elites. Howard Hughes had his mansion full of urine jars. Michael Jackson had his oxygen chamber and monkey, and his staff largely overlooked his questionable relations with children. Ye has his song where he rhymed “they don’t understand the things I say on Twitter” with “Heil Hitler.” (Notably, Musk and the artist formerly named Kanye West were friends for over a decade.) This is the kind of behavior where, if any non-rich person tried it, they’d be socially ostracized, sent for mental treatment, or at the very least told to shut up. But where an ordinary person might be considered “weird,” “creepy,” or “banned from the mall,” the rich are merely “eccentric,” and get to carry on making a spectacle of themselves indefinitely.

The closest Musk ever came to being cool was in the early years, when he was still something of an underdog compared to the CEOs of the big aerospace and auto companies. Today, that’s gone, and his personal concept of “cool” is clearly just stuff he sees in video games, comic books, and YouTube and Reddit posts. To him, the height of “cool” is to pretend to be Iron Man, or post “epic memes” all day. It’s left him with a small, fanatical fanbase of similarly maladjusted internet guys, and he seems genuinely confused why everyone else in the world doesn’t love him, too.

One person who is cool is Musk’s daughter, Vivian Wilson, who is a proud leftist and opponent of billionaires who has posed for Vogue and is fronting major fashion campaigns. Ashley St. Clair has even speculated that part of the reason Musk has attacked Wilson is “jealousy,” that he is “just mad that Vivian is a million times cooler than he will ever be.” Even a trillion dollars cannot make a bitter, reactionary, terminally-online middle-aged deadbeat dad cooler than his fashion icon trans daughter.

You Can’t Buy Peace of Mind

Really, Musk doesn’t even seem to be enjoying his massive wealth that much. Many people, if they got hold of even a few million dollars—let alone a trillion—would be napping on a beach somewhere people have never heard of Twitter. Instead, Musk seems to spend a huge chunk of his free time on the app, responding to the most racist posts he can find. In that way, his life is not very different from that of the stereotypical, unemployed loser who lives in a basement and does the same, surrounded by empty Cheeto packets and Monster Energy cans. When you scroll through his feed, the sheer amount of racial fearmongering is overwhelming.

Take just a few examples from this June. Here’s Musk saying that “there are large numbers of anti-White hate crimes every day in America,” in a reply to a far-right account called “End Wokeness.” Here he is complaining that “the system is severely biased against Whites,” in response to the news that a white 19-year-old had been sentenced to 19 years in a British prison for “attempting to behead a Kurdish barber with an axe.” On another occasion, he retweeted someone called “Rothmus” who said that “the welfare state has been more destructive to the black family than slavery.” (This is a particularly offensive bit of nonsense, as enslaved people routinely had their young children taken from them by force and sold at auction, while the welfare state does not do that.) More often, Musk simply responds with “concerning” or “!!” to any post that highlights a crime committed by a Black person or an immigrant, bringing it to the attention of his 240 million followers—and by extension the entire app, since he has reportedly instructed the software engineers to boost his posts, whether anyone wants to see them or not.

JUST ONE OF MANY EXAMPLES

The irony is that Musk is, by definition, one of the most powerful people in the world, and he’s visibly terrified of the least powerful. According to the Washington Post, Musk posted about “race and his concerns about perceived threats to Whiteness” 850 times between October 2025 and April 2026, for an average of four racist tweets per day. He has turned a major social media network into a sewer, and appears to spend hours every day posting this bile from his own phone. That’s approaching what Victorian physicians would have called a monomania, or an idée fixe—a singular, unhealthy obsession that consumes one’s life.

But it’s not quite fair to say Musk is single-mindedly obsessed with racial panic. He’s also obsessed with the end of the world, and seems to believe that he’s destined to play a messianic role in preserving humanity from otherwise certain doom. Musk told St. Clair that he was trying to produce his legion of children in anticipation of a coming cataclysm. “To reach legion-level before the apocalypse, we will need to use surrogates.” (Will the children die in the apocalypse? Will they be hidden in a bunker? It is not clear what Musk intends.) A key part of the sales pitch for SpaceX is that it will allow H. Sapiens to become a “multiplanetary species,” giving us a backup world (probably Mars, but possibly the Moon too) in case the Earth becomes uninhabitable. The exact cause of the impending crisis is a little vague. Sometimes Musk says superintelligent AI could “kill us all”; sometimes it’s a nuclear war with Russia; sometimes it’s “low birth rates,” which he claims will “end civilization.” The details don’t seem to matter as much as the apocalyptic frame of mind itself.

Not that Musk seems to find humanity itself particularly worth saving. He is not Zohran Mamdani, who seems most at home in huge crowds and among street food vendors and taxi drivers. In fact, Musk seems to abhor being around everyday people. Part of his gripe against public transit is that it involves being around “a bunch of random strangers, one of who might be a serial killer.” He wondered why someone would “want to get on something with a lot of other people,” which is part of why he posits ridiculous unworkable schemes to crisscross cities with auto tunnels—the concept of a train or bus is abhorrently collectivist. The feeling of disdain is mutual: polling shows Musk is the least-liked public figure in America among the general public.

[source]

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Will It Blend? (Apologies To Those Old Infomercials)

Of course it will blend. If I’ve learned anything at all over the past nine months, anything will blend if you have the proper ratio of water to solid.

As mentioned before, the Taco Bell Enchirito was one of my favorites back in the day, and the Mexi-pizza was also right up there. Both are now lacking olives, (and where did that purple cabbage come from?) but I was still happy to see them back on the menu.

Unfortunately since I haven’t eaten anything since September last year, we didn’t have any black olives on hand (and I wasn’t going to run back out to buy any) or I would’ve added them myself.

But still, the smell—and the actual small amount of taste I can sense—was worth it all.

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This Is What A Real President Looks Like


hey, remember when the President of the United States wasn’t a malignant toad who gleefully shits all over the values we hold dear? this guy does.

“it’s why the exhibits here focus not just on policies, but on the shared values that make democracy possible. a belief in the intrinsic dignity and worth of all people, and that no one is above the law — or beneath its protection. a belief in checks and balances in our government, and an accountability that comes with it. an independent judiciary, and a robust free press. a belief that our military and law enforcement owe allegiance not to any president or political party, but to the people and our Constitution. a belief in the peaceful transfer of power after the people have spoken in fair and free elections. recognizing that in a large, complicated society like ours, no group or faction gets its way 100% of the time. and a belief that qualities of character — honesty, integrity, kindness, compassion, a sense of duty and honor — those things matter in our public dealings, just as they do in our private lives.”

that, of course, was Barack HUSSEIN Obama, speaking at yesterday’s opening of the Obama Presidential Center in Chicago. in the span of one minute and twenty-five seconds, Obama lays out all the things we’ve lost — and must regain — in the years since Little Donny Fuckface inflicted himself on us.

checks and balances. the peaceful transfer of power. kindness and compassion. remember that shit? the firehose of fuckery has been spraying nonstop into our faces for so long that it’s easy to forget that none of what we’re going through right now is normal. blatant corruption isn’t normal. incoherent foreign policy isn’t normal. masked government thugs on the streets of our cities isn’t normal.

thank you, Barack Obama, for reminding us of this.


no wonder the malignant toad in the Oval Bordello hates Obama.

Obama is everything Donny isn’t — and never will be. he’s smart, he’s articulate, he’s physically fit. he has class, he has style, he has dignity. he has the respect of his peers. he can speak in complete sentences, and finish a coherent thought. he has tangible accomplishments — and he has a wife who actually loves him, and isn’t some pedo-bestie hand-me-down.

oh yeah, and there’s also that whole Peace Prize thing.

Michelle Obama: “you were doing the people’s work. rescuing our economy. expanding healthcare. ending a war. ordering the bin Laden raid. saving the auto industry. winning a Peace Prize.”

that’s right, the real Peace Prize — the Nobel one, not that ginned-up trinket that FIFA fished out of some Cracker-Jack box and bestowed upon Dear Leader.

hey, did you catch the Email Lady’s joyous cackle at the 21-second mark in that clip? I think in that moment, Hillary laughs for all of us.

we definitely need to gif that shit.

here’s a pro tip for Donny: live your life in such a way that the whole world doesn’t piss itself with glee while recounting all your failings. oh wait, too late for you, pal.

Stephen Colbert was at the Obama Center — in a tan suit.

masterful troll, sir.

every living former president and first lady was in attendance.

you know who was conspicuous in his absence? that ginormous piss-baby back in the Oval Bordello, that’s who. he couldn’t make it to Chicago, because he was too busy being, well, a ginormous piss-baby.

at the same time Obama was being feted in Chicago, Donny was ostensibly participating in a Medal of Honor ceremony — but of course, the whiny fuck couldn’t go five entire seconds without making it all about himself.

“only a few have received our highest— military distinction, the Congressional— Medal of Honor. I wanted to give it to myself, but I was informed I couldn’t do it.”

shut the fuck up, Cadet Bone Spurs. I don’t think they give out medals for having a note from your doctor.

the nerve of this five-time draft dodger, imagining that he’s somehow deserving of our nation’s highest military honor.

for what, pray tell? for clownfucking our entire country into a humiliating surrender in Iran? I’m pretty sure they don’t give out medals for incompetence, either. maybe Donny’s friends at Four Seasons Total Foreign Policy Disasters can gin one up for him.

can you imagine Obama ever whining about how unfair it is to be denied an honor he hadn’t earned? of course you can’t. Obama has dignity, and isn’t a narcissistic valor-stealing shit-goblin.


now it’s time to pour one out for MAGA. they’re going through some things right now.

stuff a sock in it, racist. exactly how did Barack and Michelle Obama ‘divide America’? by presidenting and first-ladying while black?

seriously, I defy any one of these bigoted shit-kazoos to come up with an explanation of Obama’s supposed divisiveness that doesn’t boil down to ‘I got mad because a black man was president.’

grow the fuck up.

oh look, professional campaign-loser Joey Mannarino wants to contribute to the discourse.

boo fucking hoo, crybabies. munch on binkie


now check out this slice of prime dumbfuckery. the situation keeps getting worse over at Donny’s brand-new Epstein Reflecting Pool.

remember all that hydrogen peroxide they dumped into the pool a couple days ago, to deal with the algae problem? you’ll never guess what all that peroxide did: it dissolved all that brand-new blue paint and sent it to the surface in huge sheets.

look at this shit.

but wait, the clownfuckery gets even more clownfuckier. the incompetents that Donny hired to fix the algae problem were cronies of Donny’s, and they got a $1.7 million no-bid contract, because of course they did. that’s on top of the $14 million no-bid contract that some other crony of Donny’s got for doing that shitty blue paint job in the first place. and not one of these dumbfucks ever stopped to ask ‘why are we dumping paint-stripper into a freshly painted pool?’

shitty timelines don’t get shitty all by themselves. they need a corrupt and incompetent Dear Leader to give them a little nudge in the right direction.

it’s just one more thing for the next president’s Secretary of Unfucking All That Shit to deal with.


his is going to be my closing message for the foreseeable future:

practice self-care. do what you need to do to keep sane. if that means you need to disengage with my daily posts for a while, I get it. this community of ours will still be here when you return.

to all the people who have signed on in the days since the election, welcome aboard. settle in as we all try to deal with the shitfuckery that’s ahead of us.

we are all in this together, and we are all here for each other.

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From Tumblr…

Honestly, I was immersed in my porn, earbuds in, spit-slicked dick in hand. So I didn’t hear the guy enter the stall to my left. But the sound of fapping my cock must have been louder than I thought — not that I give a shit about being caught. Apparently my curious neighbor was getting turned on because I saw his knees and not-so-subtle hard dick coming in hot under the wall. Struck me as coincidental that he’d positioned his boner just under a random, dried up cum splatter — maybe his from a prior stop? I dunno…

In response to this unexpected offer, I sat my phone down and dropped to my knees to get a closer look. What can I say, I’m a hands-on kinda guy. I wiped my fingers over the head of my dripping cock and gently tickled the frenulum of his penis with my own precum. I felt him shudder, and that instant and unmistakable reaction told me that I’d discovered his kryptonite. He was mine now, and I had very specific ideas about the direction of our play.

After toying with him a few minutes, I relocated my fingertips to his balls and put my mouth on his dickhead. I heard him catch his breath as I devoured his shaft and caressed him with my tongue. But my prize was still unattended, so I shifted my hand against his fuzzy taint and began maneuvering toward his hole where a surprise awaited me. As I circled his pucker it felt wet and swollen. Hmm…maybe I’m not the first to arrive at this party destination. As I probed it became clear that he wouldn’t require as much encouragement to receive me as I had first thought. At the realization that I’d soon be fucking into another guy’s load, I almost ejaculated then and there. But I have some self control — even in my extremely horned up state.

No need to rush these things. Not sure about my new buddy, but I had all afternoon. So I played with his sloppy ass — one finger, two, three fingers — as I chewed on his hard cock.

“Come over,” he said, as he unlocked the door. Though reticent to come off his cock, I nonetheless shuffled over to his place, pants around my ankles, only to discover looking up at me the cute new guy who’d just moved a few doors down on my dorm hall. “I’ve sorta been following you, but didn’t expect this…”, he trailed off. I could see lust written all over his face as I shoved my dick toward him.

This guy could give a masterclass in cocksucking. Starting with the droplet leaking from my swollen head, he worked his tongue around and down my shaft as his tugged at my heavy nuts. I watched as he took inch by inch of my rigidity down his throat, tightening and relaxing as I began to pump.

“F-u-c-k,” is all I could manage to utter while he focused all his skills on my throbbing cock. That could have been sufficient for any dude in my shoes. But I was in charge here, I heard my innervoice suggest. Goals and all that…So I started to pull out of his warm mouth as I set my sights on another target.

“Turn around,” and he obeyed and pulled apart his asscheeks to showcase that sweet hole that I’d been finger-fucking.

Damn, he was sloppy. And like a starving man who licks his plate clean, I mashed my face into his backside and proceeded to lap at it. The musky man smell from his sweaty balls was intoxicating. At this point, I had no need to stroke my cock, now bobbing between my legs. Once his bath was complete, I returned to my feet and began to circle his fuck hole with my fuck pole.

“Push it in. I want to feel you inside,” he said as if I needed the encouragement. I passed thru that portal and kept driving until my entire 8 inches disappeared into his depths. And it became apparent to me that I was now enjoying my fuckbuddy’s FINEST skills. I watched mesmerized as he rhythmically pushed back on me, and pulled off until just my head was hidden from view.

“Damn,” I uttered repeatedly as he used me for his own pleasure. It wasn’t long before I felt a surge through my core and knew I was nearing climax.

I wasn’t the only who noticed. Although he slowed his pace, we both knew it was futile. The flood erupted as I drained a 5-day load into his guts. I nearly lost my balance as I blew and had to grab both walls to stay upright. As the euphoria abated, he pulled away from me and turned to begin licking me clean while I stood there immobile.

Once he was done, he looked into my eyes and told me that he’d be available for all the fucks I wanted. I smiled involuntarily, nodded in mute agreement, and realized that this was going to be an amazing semester.

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I Gave It A Second Chance

It’s been three weeks since I saw Backrooms, leaving the theater disappointed and to be honest, somewhat angry.

Since I first saw it, I’ve seen several reviews of the film, and I think I may have been too hasty in my summary judgment and dismissal. I approached it expecting to see all the internet lore faithfully rendered on the big screen, instead of just viewing it as a standalone film.

That being said, today was my one day this week when I didn’t have to attend to anything medical (such is my life these days) and I had a $5 off coupon from Fandango from my last ticket purchase, so I thought what the hell…give it another shot from this new perspective.

And you know what? I enjoyed it quite a bit this time. And I actually missed many of easter egg nods to fans of the online lore on my first viewing. As a standalone story, it really isn’t bad at all, and why the monster is what it is in this film and not the “bacteria” from the video series makes sense.  And I wouldn’t mind finding out what happens to Mary (Renate Reinsve)—or her still life, for that matter—ASYNC, and Phil (Mark Duplass) in a future sequel.

 

 

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Evening Listening And My Initial Thoughts On The Sennheiser HD600s

I Who Have Nothing and Take Me To Heaven: the first two songs I put through the new Sennheisers at angelic volume. Keeping in mind that these need a week or so to “break in” and it may change, as of right now I’m very happy with the purchase. They sound great right out of the box, and if anything, they’ve unabashedly revealed the differences between my CD players. Surprisingly, the oldest players I own, the D-10 and the D-15 (1988 and 89 respectively) sound significantly better than my newest, the D-EJ915 (1999/2000) and D-EJ100 (2004) but honestly, that may just be my imagination playing tricks.

They’re also high impedance and therefore power-hungry. On the older players I barely had to turn the volume control above it’s lowest setting to get decently loud with my other ‘phones; now I have to turn it about 1/4 of the way up. On the newer players with digital volume controls, I have to crank it to 3/4 of the way to max to get the same sound level.

On my main system, they’re

Comfort-wise, so far so good. The pads are big enough that they fit completely over my ears and the pressure on my glasses is minimal. We’ll see how that plays out as time goes by.

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My Favorite Headphones, Even Though I Still Can’t Wear Them For Extended Periods

WARNING: AUDIO GEEK STUFF AHEAD

I’ve been somewhat of a headphone nerd since forever. I remember getting my first pair (Pioneer SE-30s) as a Christmas gift from my folks when I was a sophomore in high school and so it began. I only remember this exact timing because that was the year I first got into stereo equipment. They were heavy, bulky, and crushed my head, but oh, wasn’t it a glorious thing to be able to listen to my music without disturbing the rest of the family!

The next set I purchased myself from LaBelle’s several years later. This was the Stax SR-44 electret system. It’s a system because it consisted of the headphones (or earspeakers as Stax is fond of calling them) themselves, which connected to an auxiliary box which then connected to the speaker jacks on the back of your receiver or amplifier. The difference in sound was like night and day between the Stax and the Pioneers and I was smitten immediately. Unfortunately, the earspeakers had very poor strain relief on the cords, and the wiring at that junction would peridically break and I’d be forced with some very fiddly soldering required repairs.  After ten years or this nonsense, I finally gave up and tossed them in my car’s trunk to take to donation and completely forgot about them. Wouldn’t you know the car was broken into (street parking in San Francisco) and they disappeared along with everything else in the trunk.

I went without for a few years after that, finally replacing them with a pair of Sony “DJ” headphones that I kept until the faux leather on the earpads started disintegrating. I had no idea at the time these could be replaced, so they got tossed shortly before we moved to Denver in 2011.

I replaced the Stax SR-44 with a used system maybe five years ago and was surprisingly far less enthused than I was when I bought my initial pair back in 1978. Plus the cord that plugged into the auxiliary box was on the short side meaning I had to sit close to the amplifier (not practical) and yada, yada, yada. You get the idea. I still have them, but they haven’t been connected to anything in years.

I’d heard good things about Grado, so the SR60s were my next experiment in private listening. Everyopne said that the Grado sound was distinct and not to everyone’s liking, so I picked them up from Amazon, figuring I could easily return them if I didn’t like them. It turns out that I loved the sound, but after a nearly a year of daily use, the foam pads became so irritating that I couldn’t stand to have them on my ears for more than a few minutes.

I tried all of the online suggestions to alleviate the irritation problem (apparently I’m not alone) as well as buying the each variation of the earpads themselves that Grado sold. None of them were satisfactory. It was unfortunate because of all the headphones I’ve owned, I really liked the sound of the Grados the most. The cable, however, is another matter entirely, but I’m not going to get into that.

I finally gave up and got a pair of the Sony MDR-7506s a year ago, because I’d had a very good experience with Sony headphones in the past—earpad disintegration notwithstanding. In case you’re wondering, I also have a pair of wireless Airpods Pro that I use with my laptop and phone and they sound fantastic, but vintage CD/MD players don’t have Bluetooth connectivity so I need a wired solution.

Anyhow, the Sonys were like a breath of fresh air. They fit on my head well and didn’t irritate my ears at all—at least for the next year or so.  The only downside is that—unlike the reviewer above—when I wear glasses they get pressed uncomfortably against my temples. But eventually, they too reached the point I couldn’t stand to have them on for more than a few minutes at a time, with or without glasses. I put both the Sonys and the Grados away, and after trying several different brands from Amazon, I finally settled on some relatively inexpensive Vibes 202 IEMs that surprised me by how good they sounded. They don’t sit on my ears at all, which alleviates the entire problem of the irritation.

Out of curiosity I pulled both the Sonys and the Grados out of storage a couple weeks ago, hoping that the time away would allow my ears to tolerate one or the other again when I slipped them on. Sadly, even after buying a differentset of replacement ear pads (this time soft leather) for the Grados, I could wear them for extended periods. but the pads themselves affected the sound and all of a sudden everything was muddy.

Ugh.

So I tried the Sonys again. They were now beginning to suffer the infamous breakdown of the faux leather earpads so I ordered a replacement set. Let me say, between the Sonys and the Grados, I can tolerate the Sonys far longer. It’s still not ideal, but I can usually make it through a couple CDs now before having to rip them off my head.

I bit the bullet ordered the famous Sennheiser HD600s. and I’m awaiting their arrival. Hopefully they will sound as good as the universal praise lavished on them  justifies, will fit my head comfortably, and most importantly—not irritate my ears so I can go back to extended periods “plugged in.”

But if not…I can always send them back. I’ll let you know how it goes.

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