Scammers are calling me on the phone now.  People trying to fucking hustle ME!!!!  The idea of people trying to get over on me does not piss me off.  When people try to scam me, I get depressed.  I used to be a real villain.  I never had a problem robbing and injuring and killing people.  Those were the best times of my life.

Fucking fatty boom-baas giving me the cold shoulder.  Asian hookers looking down on me.  It’s like the goddamn Bizarro World.  But if you think that I will let this shit get the better of me, if you think that Silent Pillow is through, think again, Caustic Charles Chinwannabutr.

Yeah I’m pissed.  Shut me up.  Shut me down.  Better yet — Post some fucking content on here, motherfuckers.

And it gets worse.  We were having a casual conversation one afternoon about our busy schedules.  I’m a struggling writer/loser, but I am surprisingly busy and on the go.  I just happened to mention in a completely innocent and oblivious tone that we were so busy — me with my running around in circles and she with all of her . . . work.  What I’m trying to say is that I called her a prostitute.  She Is A Prostitute.  Did that irrefutable fact stop her from flipping out when I brought up her work?  Uh-Uh.  No Sirrrrreeeee.  So I can’t even mention her profession in conversation.  I know it will not come up all that often, but it sure is tough to never mention your partner’s job.

So in this failing relationship, I am the Proud Mary because I need money and I refuse to ask her for help.  And she doesn’t like me drinking and using salty language.  This is going nowhere.  A lot like this post!  I promised to write more.  Even if it is total crap.

Sorry.

I am down in the dumps.  Again.  Remember the parable of the prodigal son?  That stupid motherfucker spent all of his wealth on women and drink.  Well, I’m worse than that son of a bitch!  I spent all of my money on women and drinks AND at the table!  Here we are. . . on the verge of a Silent Pillow Renaissance and I am flat broke.  D.D. and C.J.C. and CausticJ36 are looking at me for some contributions to the new Silent Pillow.  What can I do?  I’m like that little fucking Monopoly man with my pockets turned inside-out.  Wawh-Wawhhhh.  So if you’re looking for charitable donations from me at this moment, or last week, or in the next couple of weeks — Sorry!  And I’m trying to get back on my feet, believe me.  I have attempted to defraud the government, rob the homeless (I have done it in the past. . . it’s not a big deal), borrow against myself, borrow against the Village Elders, sell my blood, semen, record collection, normal videos, porno videos, extreme porno videos, cosmic porno videos and some jewelry.  No Luck.

I know what you are thinking!  “Hey, Jake!  If you’re doing all that shit, you should have some money.”  Correct!  Do you know what I do with that little bit of money?  I go back to whoring and gambling and drinking.  I really don’t give a fuck.  It’s actually kind of funny being broke because people give me shit for it and I just laugh at them and go about my (lack of ) business.  It’s hard to masturbate when I’m broke though.  That’s the toughest part.  Most of the day is depressing and it’s really fucking hard to masturbate while depressed.

At least I still have a job.  But work is only tolerable when I can escape from all the bullshit by whoring and gambling.  Yes, I have a nice paycheck coming soon.  That does not help the present situation.  And I quit paying bills.  So I’m triple fucked.  Or quadruple fucked.

But none of that matters.  I can make one phone call and all of that shit will disappear.  I refuse to make that call.  Check back on me in three or four days.

Here are the real problems:

1.) I started dating a prostitute — not on a professional level, but on the level level.  The Level.  And oh ho ho. . . Hoe.  Ho?  It’s not the kind of jealousy you would expect.  I don’t care that she is fucking a thousand dudes.  Most of my ex-girlfriends are cock hungry sluts anyway.  No, that’s not the matter.  The problem is . . . I’ll write about it later.

2.) I am in love with a dream girl from Kazakhstan.  Remember the study that measures beauty based on the measurements of one’s facial features?  Well, it’s true!   This woman has the perfect face.  Some may say it’s a bit of a horse face.  Keep in mind that I have a bit of a horse cock.  Here’s the problem: The Russians hate me and will most likely kill me if I set foot on their former or present Motherland.  And she has the face of an assassin.  Mild to moderate horse faces = assassin faces.

3.) Other people want to fucking kill me because they fucking hate me.  These so-called “other people” are what traditionally known as “friends.”  Yes, I have made a lot of drunken promises to a lot of drunks and now the cock is crowing.  Cocka-doodle-fucking-cock.  I’m in trouble.

This was like a Bible Study with all of my references.  Let’s stop.

More tomorrow.  Or the next day.

I don’t know.

Big changes coming to Silent Pillow soon.

Believe it.

I will address the downside to these three establishments right away:

• The casino can be smoky and seedy — full of drunkards and boasters.
• The strip club typically reeks of desperation and deep-seated misogynistic violence.

• And the gay bar, a place celebrated for its freedom from social mores, invites all sorts of aggressive and unbecoming behavior.

Now compare that with any church, sports stadium or television broadcast.  Consider every social gathering.  What are the  principal themes?  Whether  it is a casino or a church, we need to prove our worth through contributions or dedication.  Whether it be a strip club or a stadium, we attract the most attention with our displays of enthusiasm and fanaticism.  The same sensational stories and characters that drive a gossip show on television also drive the conversations at the gay bar.  This humble contributor senses and celebrates all of the hyper-sexuality and self-aggrandizing gratification in all venues and media.

So what makes a casino so special?  First of all, an individual or a team of like-minded persons can challenge “The House” to several games of chance and skill.  Seemingly average folks aspire to great personal wealth and status by challenging a powerful force that watches from above.  Every move, every action is judged by an invisible entity.  Obedience is the rule on the casino floor.  Play be the rules or face dire consequences.  Personally, I opt for the worst kinds of games with the lowest probability of actually winning.  I am a faithful worshiper, a vulnerable believer in great things.  The Powers Above view me as a blissful idiot — blindly placing my faith in the most improbable outcomes.  I am not a threat to the”Order of Things.”  I am praying for a miracle.

Now the strip club presents a real duality: a loud, decadent fantasy party with the strictest of rules that may result in a severe beating and an indefinite expulsion if said rules are transgressed.  The strip club is a place where women rub their naked bodies on paying customers — warts and all — with the greatest of intimacy.  Strippers are the perfect girlfriends in a pinch.  Strippers listen to men without voicing any opposition.  Strippers aim to please and make it their professional standard to be the best at pleasing men.  The strip club is a competitive market!  The despised CEOs heading up reviled corporations should take notes on how to woo and satisfy clientele from strippers.  Any veteran stripper will admit that the cons outweigh the pros in their line of work, but walking away with the month’s rent after one night of work will erase all of the bad moments and regrets for the time being.  The key?  Listening, hustling, and capitalizing.  The perfect business model.  A successful stripper can identify the best customer, offer the solution to his/(her)* needs, and work every money-making angle in order to gain the most capital out of the encounter.  The bouncers, doormen, and management are the best regulatory body in the business.  Business transactions are monitored and recorded with the greatest care.  Cheating is met with the harshest of penalties.  Cheaters and rascals face severe punishment.  The message of the strip club is simple: “Enjoy yourself and behave yourself.”

A gay bar may be on the best examples of a recession-proof business.  The drinks are cheap, the music is fresh, and the patrons are comfortable in their own skin.  On a personal note, I can safely tell my dirtiest jokes and act in the most incorrigible fashion at a gay bar.  Where else can I declare “Professional Tag Team Wrestling” as the gayest phrase I have ever seen or read?  I do not mean to offend fans of professional wrestling.  Professional wrestling is a successful, popular form of entertainment.  Having said that, tag team wrestling is really gay.  Oily men pretending to fight may or may not be viewed as gay.  I have no opinion.  Male partners pretending to fight another couple of men. . . now it’s gone too far.  Take a look at the current tag teams in professional wrestling.  I haven’t, but I’m sure if you and I were to visit their web sites, we would say, “Oh yeah.  They are the perfect couple.”

Jacob is an animal rights activist, a shameless name-dropper/con artist, and a biblical scholar.

Do you think I enjoy writing bullshit all on my own?  I should just dance in front of the fucking mirror.  Maybe I should write all of my thoughts down and read them to my cat.  Fucking HELP.  Please.

I don’t know, boss.  I think you should blow up the entire fucking site.  I’m sorry if you lost any money on this adventure.  It’s over, brotha.  We had something a few years ago.  We could have been great.  Oh sure, people love the thought of Silent Pillow, but no one wants to pitch in.  I should have bought this site from you a couple years ago, but I am too much like Mike Tyson.  Controlling my money is a lost art and by that I mean I usually lose my money buying art or by pretending to be an artist and living beyond my means.

I don’t know.  Maybe we can re-brand?  Tried any fucking craigslist ads lately?  I know they are bunch of cunts at craigslist, but we can still try?

I’ll keep going.  400th post is coming up.  Maybe we will have something to celebrate by then.

Save us, someone.  We are the world.  Join your hands across America.  Ummmm. . . 9/11?

Well, fuck that shit, now that I come to think of it.  This week has been totally fucked.  My cat scratched my hand.  The expensive bottle of wine I purchased during my Valentine’s Day dinner gave me heartburn.  My classroom vermin/kids are being assholes.  My asshole students’ parents/guardians are giving me shit.  I went broke on a number of bad bets and expensive whores.  All in the game, right?  The game has tolerated my bending of the rules for years and years.  And now it’s time to pay the price.

The tiger is going to devour me whole.  I’m not sure if I have ever been in this situation.  I relish the thought of fighting the odds and the social conventions.  I just feel. . . defeated.  This is coming from a guy who was abducted by gangsters in China AND Mexico.  This is coming from a guy who traveled through time.  This is coming from a guy who murdered and stole and broke every single rule known to humankind.  And this is my reality — broke as a joke, without a friend in the world.

I’m just playing.  But seriously!  I thought The Year of the Tiger would immediately bring great fortune.  The great fortune would bring beautiful women for fornication.  The fornication would lead to excessive gambling.  The excessive gambling would lead to material wealth.  Oh, you think this is fantasy?  Go back and re-read the story of my life, bitches!  I just didn’t “Play the Game,” I fucked “The Game” until it came.  I fucked her so hard and with such guile and recklessness, I never even considered the end.

This is The End.  No, not the end of The Bukkake Files.  Shit, we are about to embark on one of the greatest chapters in the history of Silent Pillow.  First of all, I found Number Six.  She is a raspy voiced Filipina.  She sounds like she is 48 years old, but she is actually 20.  She is a blond-haired Asian with that dark brown patch of pubic hair.  She is like an angel in my time of great stress.  In fact, she is the only reason why I am writing in this blog.  Go ahead and thank “Mary” for my renewed interest in this fucking blog.

Okay.  This post was part of the old me.  New shit coming soon.

I promise.

Promise.

Promise.

Promise.

Yeah, for real this time.

Promise.

Next post?

Next post.

Why did everyone at the blackjack table think I was a professional blackjack player?  The mind is too blurred.

How many shots of Grey Goose did I order that night at the Penthouse Club?  6?  8?  10??  And what was the name of that one dancer?  No idea right now.  I shall launch an investigation.

And how about those jokes at the gay bar?  Gay Bar II, for those of you who are keeping score at home.

Ahhh, Gay Bar II –  Come for the cheap drinks and the hot bartender; stay (too long) for the major regret of your holiday.  My Lady GaGa jokes killed!  I flirted with everyone.  I stole the show.  Why am I here in the soggy, bleak desert when I can be in soggy, bleak New Orleans?  Anyone have a good answer?  Because of my job?!?!  I have quit better jobs and ran off to crazier destinations in the past!  Oh, nuts!  No more quitting and running for Jake.  It’s time to hunker down and make something of this dismal situation.  I dusted off my Suetonius last week and I am totally feeling a supernatural connection to Tiberius.  Here I am, in my own personal self-imposed exile, but who is Augustus in this scenario?  I feel like Augustus as well.  Augustus and I both enjoy games of chance and we both have bad skin.  Enough said.

This post sucks.  I thought it was going to be fun because I am riding a mellow buzz thanks to Talisker.  I now understand the meaning of life.  I have witnessed the beauty of the Almighty.  I have bathed in the Fountain of Life.  I have suckled at the teet of the Goddess.  Hey!  I should write about booze more often.

Talisker: Worth More Than Your Life.

Hey!  I got your pickle hanging!

Keep a few things in mind as you read this re-post:

1.) I am re-posting a retrospective and a re-post in my re-post.  It’s the blogger equivalent of the “Triple Lindy.”

2.) I faked retirement just like Brett Favre.  Brett and I are such divas.  You love us.  You hate us.  We don’t know the meaning of the word “quit” and we also don’t know the meaning of the word “lorgnette.”

3.) 4giveness is a fucking brilliant post.

4.) I should have made my praise of 4giveness as my fourth point.

5.) I used to be funny.  Now I’m just pathetic and angry.

6.) I had no idea I even wrote Channel Zero until ten minutes ago.  Love it.

Ready?  Let’s Go!!!!!!!!

Channel Zero

Originally Posted: May 14, 2009?

On August 29, 2007, a man’s fantasy became reality.  The Bukkake Files blog was born on silentpillow.  The posts were full of sour grapes, drunken remorse and profound ignorance.

silentpillow is the most progressive adult blog community in the entire world.  The stats back me up.  silentpillow attracts an equal proportion when it comes to gender, race, and age.  silentpillow is a working-class oriented blog.  Fuck the brandy swilling, cigar smoking elites.  The contributors and readers on this site are intelligent hard workers.  A heavy majority of the readers of silentpillow are college educated folks.  In fact, the overall Majority of silentpillow readers have a college degree And a post-graduate degree.  It’s true that silentpillow does not attract a large audience.  So what?  This site is the best.

Alright, class!  Raise your hands if you really think that I’m leaving silentpillow for good!

Wow.  I thought so!  But seriously, people … I’m leaving.  This is my last post on silentpillow.

This last post is dedicated to the most important person in my life — Me.  Allow me to present an homage to me.

Caustic J: A Retrospective

The first legit post in my blog was Smooth as Silk.  A lighthearted account of my days in Bangkok when I was 18 years old.  I danced and puked at the nightclubs.  I threw my hotel key down an elevator shaft.  I fell down several flights of stairs.  And I banged some really hot Thai women.  Some were average college girls … others were … women of ill-repute.  It doesn’t matter.  I played Connect Four with a Thai hooker and got my ass handed to me.  In the end, after the board game beatdown, I owned her ass … for hours and hours and hours.

I really loved coming up with the titles of my blog posts.  Here are some of my favorites …

*Kaustic Jolbermanne. 

- Huge fan of Keith Olbermann, so I thought I would drag him down into the filth at least one time in my blog.

* Romancing the Demilitarized Zone.

- A very popular post with a title I still cherish to this day.

* The BBC: Bukkake Broadcast Corporation

- I still want to nut in Antoinette Antonio’s eye.

* Smegmanomics

- I was right about the economy before the fall.  That particular post got me some unexpected dap from the economic and academic community.  I was really fucking drunk that night.

* Doomsday

- I was saddened to see marcypoo leave.  autonomyboy was threatening to leave, too.  A very sad day in the life of the J.

* Horse Cock J

- This is a title that my friends mention on a semi-regular basis.  I had a lot of fun writing that post.

* Gonzo Garbanzo and the Fidel Castro After Effect

I had another subject in mind when I wrote the title, but I was so fucking wasted … *sigh* what a pity.

* Auspicious Alliterative Antipathy

- I started writing alliterations on here and the next thing I know … hot Mexican women and Japanese-Italian-Irish women are knocking at my door and fucking my brains out.  Some of the best times of my life!

A re-branded Thai sex memory post was titled, Massage Parlor Masquerade.  I would go to the cinema in Bangkok at 2 or 3 in the afternoon and then visit a massage parlor after the show.  A movie and a hand-job.  That’s the secret to life, my friends.  The Labor Unions should fight for the right for a picture show and a HJ for all working people at least twice a week.  Economic Crisis: Solved.

* Children of a Lesser Blog

- Smoking and drinking cheap wine on the patio.  Laughing at people who were not there.  Singing to the Watermelon Mountains as they turned from purple to pink to black … Those days will come again.

* The Audacity of Cantaloupe

- My lawn char snapped and I somersaulted backward on my head.  This title was the result of my mild head trauma.

* The Harder They Come/The Harder They Cum

- I published these two posts during the darkest time of my life.  I was looking at serious jail time and public humiliation, but I kept posting.  It is an inspirational story of an inebriated maniac taking on the law.  And the inebriated maniac won.

* Caustic J’s Comment Contest

- A legendary contest and My Favorite Contest.  There is a True Hollywood Story waiting to be told on the E! Network about the winners of that historic contest.  All of the winners who actually received prizes met horrific deaths and/or unspeakable tragedy.  Bet you’re glad you lost in that contest now …

* Diablo 2

-Caustic J vs. The Super-Collider.  Final Result: J - 1.  Atom Smasher - 0.

* Paunch-ous Pilate

-  My favorite gay sex story.  I really miss that guy.  He was too hot for me.  Damn … How did I pull it off?  It was a fucking miracle!

* Forgetting Soyoung Marshall

- Soyoung, Soyoung, Soyoung.  My mustard-stained, mustard-skinned Korean ultra-hottie.  You dumped me!  That is a fucking rare event!  I took you to the zoo, Soyoung!  I should have left you in the monkey jungle.

* High School Musical 4: The Quickening

- That title still makes me laugh out loud when I think about it.  Holy Ghosts of Awesome!

* A Better Tomorrow/FLUP

- Caustic J vs. Swine Flu.  End Result: Caustic - 1.  Swine Flu - 0.

* Planes Mistaken for Stars/Women Mistaken for Men

- The last posts to generate real comments from real people.  A fitting end.

Worst Posts of All Time:  A Kink to the Past.  Penty’s Playground.  Almonds.  

Best Contest: The Comment Contest

Worst Contest: Aunty Bumpy’s

Fraud Contest: Caustic Jinn

All Time Greatest Post in the History of The Bukkake Files: 4giveness

Originally Posted: November 20, 2008

4giveness

I can take credit for two comic strips so far.  You will never read these comic strips because they were destroyed.  The first comic was titled “D-Head.”  I created this comic strip when I was ten years old.  The protagonist, “D-Head”, was based on my friend Chad.  Chad was a poser hell-bent on middle school popularity.  He was … a dickhead. “D-Head” had a dick for a head.  The only true Chad signature was the pair of eyeglasses set on the dickhead.  His best friend, “Semen”, was based on some other kid named Andrew.  Andrew was an innocent lad who admitted to drinking semen when asked by a group of malevolent girls.  He had no idea what semen was, and endured three years of relentless mockery and bullying.  I believe children are the future.  How about you?  Oh, those two silly comic strip heroes had many adventures fighting the Ku Klux Klan and morbidly obese English teachers.  The vulgarity knew no bounds.  Sadly, the comic strip was canceled by my mother.  “D-Head” predates South Park.  I was ahead of my time.

The second comic strip was titled “Chertoff the Ape” and was co-written by my very best good friend.  “Chertoff the Ape” was much more subtle compared to “D-Head”.  It originated from an AP Biology class and a casual note titled “LARGE ZOO NOTES”  There were many characters — most characters were nameless.  There was a girl with a ponytail, a shrunken elderly woman, a shoeless weirdo, a smug long-necked hipster and a really cool Jesus-like fella.  Chertoff was not an ape, but more of an ape-like man.  His arms swung at his sides as he grunted and perspired in front of an audience.  The common misconception was that Chertoff was portrayed as a bad guy or a fool in these comics.  Quite the contrary!  He was a beautiful man!  He snorted.  He cavorted.  He was such a gentle creature.  He would sing Jimi Hendrix songs and swing his limbs while keeping his head straight and upright.  God.  What a ghastly sight!  On second thought … this comic strip might be in the mix.  I never kept records.

Who cares?  Those comic strips are dead.  I’ve been entertaining the thought of another comic named “Little Witch.”  There is a foundation for such a comic.  I have all the characters, but the theme is … muddled.  Who is “Little Witch”?  She is the ringleader of the secret organization known as S.N.U.B.  She is the most important person in my life.  She is the most unforgettable and beautiful person I’ve ever known.  Fate will not allow me to forget her.  Unrelated admissions and scandals pull me back into her world — A world of deception, insecurity, tragedy, lust and ferocity.  Those themes hardly translate in a comic strip.  A smart man could pull it off.  Too bad I’m a sorry idiot.

I will never ask for forgiveness from Little Witch on silentpillow.  Never.  I will, however, ask for forgiveness from four other parties.  Let’s begin!

1.) Pinky the Thief:  Yes, you stole from me.  That’s fair.  You stole our photos and you stole my heart.  You let me stick my tongue up your ass at night and you would always iron my shirts the next morning.  Why aren’t we married?  You saw me piss on the side of a Beijing freeway for gosh sakes!!  So what am I sorry for?  I’m sorry I didn’t stay true to you.  I fuckin’ hate ironing my clothes.

2.) CaddyCat:  I’m sorry for not cumming inside of you.  Honestly, I’m sorry for the lack of cum in our relationship altogether.  That’s the thing!  I could make you cum in an instant, but you … you never really did it for me.  I’m not here to assess blame.  I’m just here to apologize.  Will you forgive me for not being all that attracted to you?  Remember what Pig Man would call you??  hahaha!  Cow!  Ohhhhhhhh…. and remember what everyone in China called me?  Horse.  Horse Cock J.  Wait … I’m asking for forgiveness, right?  Sorry, CaddyCat.  Sorry for not wanting to marry you in Shanghai.  I pass on partying to the break of dawn.  I pass on being surrounded by horny women from all over the globe.  I pass on your bisexual tendencies and all of your threesome invitations.  Wait a minute!!!!  I’m asking for your forgiveness?  Yeah, yeah.  Forgive me for being such a fucktard and a fuckwad.  Invite me one more time?  Please?  Pretty please??  With a cherry on top?????

3a-3b-3c.) Tookta, Bar, Mai:  My three wives.  We were married by a taxicab driver.  Our honeymoon was at the Hollywood club.  Tookta was my earth.  Bar was my goddess.  Mai … meh … you were a little dull.  I never fantasized about the three of you pleasing me sexually.  The real fantasy was seeing Tookta taking care of the cooking, Bar taking care of all the cleaning, and  Mai taking care of all the washing and pressing of my clothes.  It wouldn’t hurt if the three of you would do all the yard work, too.  I don’t want a wife.  I want a team of women to run the Caustic J factory.  So what am I sorry for?  I’m sorry for having such bad timing.  I was a boy!  You were women!  We can’t forget the stampede (at the Loy Krathong Festival).  We can’t forget the vengeful Dutchmen who frothed at the mouth when they saw me snag three incredibly hot wives at a pool hall.  We can’t forget the bartender who doubled as a magician.  We can’t forget the mayhem at the mall.  It was too good.  I was too young.  Forgive me for having such potential at 20 years of age.

4.) The Woman Formally Known as Stupid Idiot:  American Woman.  Stay away from me.  No, seriously.  Stay away.  You’re married now!  I salute you!  I once referred to you as Stupid Idiot because I thought you dumped me for some pandering pansy.  Nope.  You married a stand-up guy after all.  I think you did forgive me in the real world.  I just wanted to refer to you as The Woman Formally Known as Stupid Idiot, or, TWFKSI.  I like it.  I like happy endings.

Now, if you’ll excuse me …. it’s time to fuck shit up.  Watch out Japanese ladies.  I’m coming atcha!

Amen.

The Bukkake Files.