Rantings of a Disturbed Mind

By jesse david

Normal day-to-day activities which are typically part of the American fabric, completely annoy some folks: going to the doctor, shopping at Costco, listening to commercials. In a perfect world people wouldn't smack their lips or talk during movies. But this isn't a perfect place. Earth is filled with those with disturbed minds - like mine.

• Language: English
• Publisher: jesse david
• Release date: Aug 16, 2011
• ISBN: 9781466137059

jesse david

Jesse was born in Brooklyn, grew up in Queens, and in all probability will croak in Long Island. He's married with a couple of kids, all of whom want to be distanced from this book. Who could blame them?

Book preview

A truly entertaining book. I read it again and again with all my many virgins.

Osama bin Ladin

"Jesse is my new favorite author. I no longer hope he dies."

Kim Jung-Il

"Jesse should be waterboarded for all this trash"

Dick Cheney

"Thank you, Jesse, for leaving me out of your least-talented list – even though I’m one of the worst of the bunch."

Bryan Adams

"Thank God Jesse never pursued a career in psychology."

The American Psychiatric Association

"Jesse is the second sexiest man in the U.S. Everyone else is tied for first."

The ladies of North Shore Urology Group

Rantings of a Disturbed Mind by Jesse David

Published by Jesse David at Smashwords

Copyright 2011 Jesse David

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This book is fiction. Any resemblance or reference to real people, alive or dead, is merely a coincidence and is unintentional. So forget about law suits!

Rantings of a

Disturbed Mind

By

Jesse David

(not my real name..changed at the insistence of my family)

Rantings of a Disturbed Mind

Jesse David

Dedication

This book is dedicated to my wife who has heard these stories a million times and still pretends to be amused by them in front of company – and then vomits once she gets home. Her patience, understanding, and devotion to a guy who, quite frankly, deserves a whole lot less than her, is a curiosity. But why question the good fortune with which I have been blessed? Thanks, sweetie. This book’s for you.

Introduction

The rule of thumb (why a thumb?) is to write what you know. I know about being fat. I know about being bald. I know about being short. I know about having a small pecker. I also know what it’s like to be lonesome, to be ostracized, and being a 12-year-old addict to amphetamines and barbiturates. I know a lot of things about a lot of things, but what I know best is me. So this is mostly about me. No, I’m not an egomaniac, just a short, fat, bald, Jewish guy, with an undersized schmuck. On these topics I’m an expert.

"You know, Dad, if this thing gets published I’m going to have to change my name. How about writing this using a pen name?"

"I don’t see the big deal here. Most of it is true (not all, mind you, otherwise my life would be absolutely pathetic….hmmm…maybe it is!). And the truth shall set ye free."

"No, a bail bondsman shall set me free because if you publish this, I’m gonna kill you."

I think my son’s main worry is that if he should ever run for public office, this literary epic might come up and bite him on the ass. So let me see:…..Congressman Wiener sends pictures of himself on Twitter wearing Speedo’s while his pecker is in a happy state; Arnold, the Inseminator, sires a child with a maid who looks more like a man than he does (rather than a cute little Frenchie with a short black skirt and fishnet stockings – all the while cheating on a Kennedy); Bush starts a war and has thousands of kids killed just because he’s a putz; Clinton needed D-cell batteries for his cigars (let’s not forget the Cubans with the ribbed tips); too many Senators are banging their interns; too many Congressman are picking up gays in airport bathrooms; Governors are screwing hookers; and Supreme Court Justices are loving their porn while licking their secretaries. And my son is worried that talk of genitalia size and salty language would thwart his political ambitions. Interesting. However, I wouldn’t want anything to stop the aspirations of my kid. Unless, of course, some idiot actually wanted to pay me and publish this. In that case…hey…who’s that kid? I never saw him before.

I’m not sure what the hell this book is all about. It could be about almost anything or it could be just the ramblings of a disgruntled psychopath. I’m not sure. I do know that this is not just a conventional story because every story I ever read had the same formula: boy meets girl, boy dates girl, boy loses girl, boy apologizes for being an asshole (mostly on the Lifetime Network), boy gets back together with girl, boy and girl live happily ever after. But, hey, that’s not real life. That doesn’t happen in the real world. In real life the formula is more like: boy meets girl, boy sleeps with girl, boy knocks up girl, girl goes on the Maury Show to prove that the schmuck is the biological father through DNA evaluation or a lie detector test, boy gets depressed, boy drives to a farm, boy sodomizes a sheep, boy learns he has a new true love, sheep kills girl in a jealous rage, boy gets 20 years in the hoosegow, boy blows cellmate, boy and cellmate develop HIV, boy hangs himself, cellmate dies of AIDS. Now that’s real life and a story that would interest me. I guess that says a lot.

As you wade through the waters of each chapter (not too bad a metaphor, huh?) keep an open mind. Although each chapter might seem disjointed, unrelated to the previous one, or just plain sick, there just might be an underlying theme throughout. The rantings tell a story – of a disturbed (?) yet opinionated mind – hence, the name of this book.

And that reminds me…opinions…. Many folks believe that the old expression: opinions are like assholes – everyone has one and they all stink is probably true. I’m here to say it’s false! Most opinions don’t stink at all. Especially if they’re mine. What stinks are the morons who actually believe what they are claiming in their own opinions. Always remember, if you’re not that smart, you are not entitled to an opinion. You should just get on your scooter, drive to Walmart, and shop amongst people like yourself – those who need velcro to tie their shoes and those who look up to see all the dead birds. And while you’re there, please convince your brethren who are shopping with you not to vote in any public election. I hate to think that these folks hold my future in their grubby little hands by electing politicians they’d like to have a drink with (see presidential election of 2000 and 2004).

So sit back, enjoy the read, have a cocktail, and then go pleasure yourself – a perfect evening! And by the way, never use the word cocktail again – that word went away in the 1930’s. Now it’s a fucking drink. So get over yourselves, you pretentious bunch of clucks. And while you’re reading, contemplate life’s little ponderables: do dogs know how lucky they are to be able to lick their parts?; are mules really stubborn or are they just stupid?; is Sarah Palin a Stepford Wife or is she really that vapid? (see previous statement about mules); will Donald Trump ever take off that ridiculous hat?; are you all really insane to actually buy this narrative rather than take it out from the library for free? Hmmmmmm……..

But for now, ladies and gents, it’s time to indulge in Jesse’s Rantings of a Disturbed Mind. Enjoy. If you know anyone who would like to write a forward, tell him to forget it. It might stand in the way of him being elected to a public post.

If you have any questions or comments, go to my blog and post your comments. The address is www.kissmyass.com

Chapter 1

I took my first Viagra today. I got them from my team of crack Long Island urologists during my last visit to check my prostate. They give these pills out like candy.

"How’s your erection? Need a little Viagra? They’ll do miracles for you, believe me. After one or two of these you’ll be able to use your dick as a nun-chuck"

"I’m here to have my prostate checked"

"No problem. After I stick my finger up your ass I’ll throw you some samples of the blue pills. If you get a headache, let me know."

"Believe me, my dick isn’t big enough to impact the blood flow to my head. But I’ll let you know".

This wasn’t my first conversation with these guys that included the hawking of ED pills. Urologists! They absolutely amaze me.

What kind of guy goes to school to become a doctor and then decides to specialize in urology?

"You know, Mom, I was thinking. I did a stint in brain surgery and another in the ER. But I have to admit, I think I’d rather specialize in a field where I can check out old men’s incontinence problems, fondle a wrinkled scrotum, and stick tubes up wayward penises looking for stones in a faraway bladder. I just love the look and feel of 80-year-old testes. Whattaya think?"

It’s like the intern who decides to specialize in proctology.

"You know, Seymore, I think I want to devote my professional years to checking out assholes. Not the patients…just their assholes."

"Hey Nurse Sara, could you come here a minute? Got a patient here with hemmers the size of grapes and I need help holding him down while I shove them back up his ass."

Nice, huh? Sometimes I really don’t get what these guys and gals are thinking when they decide on their career choice. Four years of college, three years of medical school, internship, residency….my god. And all that for the glorious day when he can get up in the morning, have a nice breakfast, take a leisurely drive to work, check in with the new hot receptionist, and then pull down someone’s pants and get nose-close to a sick anus. Sorry, folks, I don’t get it.

Some folks give a little more thought to this process and instead opt for gynecology. This may not be the lifelong dream of a youngster in the first grade who is asked by his teacher what he wants to be when he grows up. But it might seem rather cool to the adult male embarking on a long and arduous medical career.

"You know, Fred, I can appreciate that you want to devote your life to curing ebola and the hinter virus. But, me? I’m going into gynecology so I can examine women’s canaries".

But surprise surprise. The canaries are rarely from young nubile vixens who need birth control in order to safely indulge in wanton sex. Noooooooo. It’s usually scrappy old broads whose vaginas have lips that look like a sneering Steve Tyler. Oh yeah. Selling shoes for a career might seem a bit better about now, huh?

But I digress. I took my first Viagra today. Man, that sounds like something I would put on facebook. Now there’s something I don’t understand. Maybe because I’m old. But what the hell is this facebook thing all about?

"Hi all, I’m at the Yankee game and Jeter just hit a baseball."

"I’m sitting home alone while my wife is shopping and there’s nothing good on the porno channel".

"I have finals tomorrow and, heck and land o’goshen, I sure am nervous".

That’s some of the posts I actually saw with my own two eyeballs. Compelling stuff, huh? But that’s what the young folks do. They chronicle their lives minute by minute for the world to witness and yawn to. For older folks like myself, we should join the fray and post some stuff of our own.

"Hi all, I just took a crap that damn near clogged the bowl even before I used paper. Check my photos for a look at this masterpiece."

"Hi guys, I just noticed how fat I was. Fuck you, all you skinny bastards!"

"Hi all, my life is a failure and I’m about to hang myself. And don’t anyone make a hung joke because that’s what put me over the top in the first place."

"Hi all. Just a note to say Cablevision sucks." (Oh wait, that’s what everybody says, not just the old folks.)

"Hi all. I’m standing here at the urinal dribbling out some pee and timing it with a calendar instead of a watch. It’s been a half hour and I haven’t spent this much time in the bathroom since I discovered that the Sears catalog had bra ads when I was just a teenager. Thought you might like to know