Thursday, December 01, 2005

Pete's Stalker Ex Goes Cuckoo for Coco-Christ!

Wow, get a load of this diatribe. Apparently Pete's stalker ex-girlfriend, a.k.a. PEG, is a few Twinkies short of a Ladmo Bag.

The tall, top-hatted Ladmo knew something PEG doesn't: that brevity is the soul of wit. Maybe PEG misinterpreted this lesson as "banality is the soul of shit," because her post reads less as satire than as blatant Christian allegory. With pee-pee jokes.

Even Boffo the Clown avoided pee-pee jokes.

Tuesday, November 29, 2005

Pete Hides Behind Jesus

Often when politicians are desperate for votes or attention, they call on God. You can practically hear them screaming, "Vote for me, I'm with the Lord!" This Alabama cornhole is a recent example. (It's a tactic second only to politicians trying to prohibit flag burning when they're in the hot seat for corruption.) But who would have thought Peter would stoop so low?

That's what has happened in Pete's latest post. Pete says he found Jesus. Which is stupid, this whole business about "finding Jesus." Like Jesus is a pair of car keys that fell behind the couch cushion. Or an Alzheimer's patient who goes on a walk and never comes home.

All of this underscores the fact that Pete's born-again story is hooey. I think Peter is running scared. He knows that I'm on to him and his false claims to being a "blogger artist" via posts about Jewish restaurants and homeless Gentiles.

Peter makes liberal use of the Bible Gateway website to bolster the authenticity of his Christian status. But he immediately blows it when he claims Jesus would choose generic coffee over Starbucks coffee. Any true Christian knows it is better to spend your money on overpriced Frappucino. You know the crowned, long-haired woman in the Starbucks logo? That's no woman, that's the King of Kings.

Peter is no more a Christian than Daniel Radcliffe is Frodo. Pete says he took "Jesus into his heart," what he really means is that he took Jesus Juice into his kidneys. Peter says he "walks with Jesus." I say Peter walks with rabid bears.

Sunday, November 20, 2005

Another Pete Hater Weighs In!

Today, my Pete-Hating blog got its first response from the World of Pete. It comes from an anonymous writer who left the following comment at the end of "Who Is This Shrew Who Is Stalking Pete's Posts?"

Thanks for the publicicty - even bad publicity with all it's untruths is publicity-hell it worked for Marilyn Manson... keep 'em rolling baby..


sincerely,
not-PEG


p.s. you got it all wrong and that makes both of us look bad-not to mention it is very bad journalism- kind of like the ENQUIRER..so..maybe you need to earn yourself a first-person interview before you really embarrass yourself..further...


Wow, the first thing I have to wonder is, how did "not-PEG" discover this blog so quickly? It has been online less than a day. I did email a link to Pete himself, because I hear he enjoys mild abuse, but this person does not come across as Pete-ish. Could it be Bizarro Pete?

I am also told that I "got it all wrong," but there is no hint of what "it" might be. My first guess is that my assumptions about PEG (Pete's Ex-Girlfriend) are amiss, but I was only going on what Pete posted in his blog -- something about "a woman who dumped me and then hooked up with an ex-con" (paraphrased).

Very enigmatic. Even more enigmatic is the implication that I might be able to earn myself a first-person interview. That would be too exciting. I might just Glick out.

As for bad, Enquirer-like journalism, I am sorry. But remember, this is a blog, where everything goes, and factual verification is for sissies. My entire blog is based on what is written in Pete's blog and PEG's blog. If there are other documents out there that will tell the full story, I hereby file a FIAPPL (Freedom of Information About Pete's Personal Life) form, which I expect Pete and PEG to respond to in a timely manner.

Pete's curiously pointless post of Thursday, Oct. 27

Pete wrote a post titled "Please don't touch the writer," and it really doesn't add up.

Here's the short version: Pete gives some sort of coffeehouse reading. Afterwards, people come talk to him, and some of them touch his shoulder. Then Pete details various times that people have randomly come up to talk to him based on recognizing him from his readings or artwork. In summary, Pete says that being approached unnerves him because he is "very very shy."

What, perchance, is Pete's point? I mean, how does this even qualify as a blog entry? All it amounts to is, "Dear diary, when people talk to me I feel icky."

What insight are we supposed to glean from this? This post hints at what might be an interesting phobia, or the conflict between an artist's isolated, creative self and his public, interactive persona. But when Pete finally asks the important question, he cops out with the easiest explanation possible for his seclusion -- shyness. But being shy isn't interesting, and it isn't an answer. Why are you shy, Pete?

Shyness could stem from any number of things, including fear, awkwardness and insecurity. But it could also mean that somebody is self-absorbed to the point where he is genuinely disinterested in other people. Or that somebody is uncomfortable with feelings of admiration and respect, perhaps not having ever been the object of such things, or perhaps not trusting that they are sincere (or, if they are sincere, not respecting the people who express them, as in the infamous Groucho Marx syndrome: "I'd never want to join a club that would have me as a member").

In short, shyness as an excuse just doesn't cut it. Insert Kajagoogoo reference here.

There are a few telling details in Pete's post. In one incident, Pete feels he must wash up after shaking hands with somebody at a restaurant. Seems a bit extreme, and I assume Pete knows how to use utensils so he doesn't have to shovel food into his mouth with his potentially hepatitis-tainted fingers, but that's obsessive-compulsive disorder for you.

What is even more telling is that Peter actually finds it noteworthy that people tend to touch his shoulder while congratulating him. It makes you wonder, was Pete in fact raised by wolves? Or perhaps locked in the closet with Nell? (What is it with Jodie Foster and enclosed spaces: "Nell," "Panic Room," "Flightplan"? That crazy broad!)

Here's a little advice for Pete: When people want to talk to you about your work, be gracious and use it as the opportunity to practice your small-talk skills. Maybe you can even ask them their opinion on some subject for a future writing. As the goodbook says, people are there for you to use, so waste not, want not.

Instead, here's what Pete claims he tells people: "I don't actually read my work, I simply write it..."? Oh, Pete. Are you trying for a Pretench (the annual award for pretentiousness)? Because I think you've got it in the bag!

And all of Pete's failures to analyze his feelings aside, there is another question that he leaves unanswered: Do Pete's writings ever get him laid?

If so, I assume he wears a full-body condom. Because touching is icky in the world according to Pete.

Who is this shrew who stalks Peter's posts?

Take a look at this blog, which is entirely devoted to criticizing Pete's blogs. You might be saying to yourself, "But wait a minute -- isn't that what YOU do, you hypocritical cankersore?" To which I must respond, "Yes, but I am doing this for a valid reason -- pure hate -- whereas the freak who writes that blog is impure in her ambivalence."

You see, the blog is run by Pete's ex-girlfriend. Apparently there is some bad blood between them.

But instead of putting Pete behind her, as any healthy human would do after a painful breakup, she taunts him via a series of regular postings. What this means is that (1) she is constantly monitoring Pete's blog to see what he's written; and (2) she evidently still has feelings for Pete bottled up in the kind of way that tends to leave people covered in sticky foam.

So let's take a look at the inanity that "Peter's Ex Girlfriend" (whom we'll call PEG for short) posted on Sunday, Nov. 13.

She begins by commenting on the obvious flaw of Pete's post: What is the big deal about being approached by a stranger? (The blog details how Pete got hit on by a gay man, which Pete saw fit to write about as if it were an earth-shattering occurrence.) Okay, score one point for PEG.

But PEG overplays her hand. She says, for example, both that she was "immediately confused" and "momentarily stumped." Redundancy city. Someone get this chick an editor, she repeats herself throughout the post.

Then PEG lays in on Pete for apparently having "manic epiosdes" fueled by coffee and nicotine. I reread Pete's post and I didn't see the words "manic" or "coffee" anywhere. Nor does he say he was in the "inner city" during the "wee hours"; in fact, he says "next morning" which implies daytime. PEG must be drawing from some past experience with Pete, maybe back when she used to wax his carrot behind convenience marts by moonlight.

PEG tests us with this little paradox: "Peter attracts weirdos, that remains an unspoken notion or at least it should be." Ummm....I think Schrodinger's cat just died. This sentence is false. This notion that I am speaking is unspoken!

PEG's post gets really bizarre in a long passage about dogs that can smell meat in dumpsters and the scent of pre-menstrual females. What the hell? PEG is telling us more about herself than about Pete here, and I think what it all comes down to is that she likes to cruise for stray-dog sex in dumpsters. We all have our fetishes.

PEG sums it all up by saying, "I read the post and immediately had to go take a long shower." But something tells me, with the way PEG obsesses over Peter, that what she really needed was a cold shower. Or perhaps a long bubble-bath session with an adjustable shower head and a dirty magazine.

Pete's stupid-ass post of Nov. 14, 2005

Okay, so Pete writes a whole post about how he went to a Middle Eastern restaurant. Wow, Pete, you skipped Whataburger for a day? Pat yourself on the scoliosis back!

Pete went to Sabuddy's, an Israeli restaurant, which Pete refers to jokingly as an "A-rab restaurant." Hint to Pete: Israel is Jewish, not A-rab. It's not a member of the Arab League, its primary language is not Arabic, and they're quite a ways from Mecca. (Pete is not a geography student.)

Pete then goes on: "Its simple decor and casual atmosphere belies an elegant class that even some of the fancier eateries can't quite capture." What, pray tell, does this mean? If it is "simple" and "casual," then why would you expect "fancy" places to have the same quality? Unless you were just throwing words at the screen to sound like a restaurant reviewer.

Pete explains that he felt "underdressed" at a place that is "casual," so one can only assume he was wearing a stained jock strap and a big, Huck Finn-style straw hat. He uses this reference to clothing as the lead-in for a joke about suicide bombers. Huh, huh, huh. Good one. Suicide bombers are funny ... people's limbs on the floor ... blood on the walls ... a wedding blown up at the Radisson in Jordan .... huh, huh, huh .... that's funny shiat, yo!

Pete's three housemates (rats, like in "Willard"?) all shunned his joke, properly. Pete's next item of wit is to poke fun at the waiter recommending the "most popular dish." Hopefully Pete's housemates explained to him that this is what waiters do when they're trying to communicate options to their patrons. But if you don't get out much, it might seem like a novelty.

Pete offers up this gem: "What's the 'least popular dish'?" Pete says the waiter appeared "stunned," but in all likelihood the waiter was thinking, "That's real clever, douchebag, but I'm just doing my job." Fortunately for Pete, the waiter gave an answer, not realizing that he was providing Pete with the "main course" (pun intended) for his day's blogging meal (which, if it were a meal, would be a tire-tread-chewy chicken-fried steak slathered in smarmy sauce).

Pete further congratulates himself by thinking that his comments left the waiter "dazed," as if Pete's jokes were the humor equivalent of roofies. It's a wonder Pete didn't date-rape the waiter instead of leaving a tip.

Pete then drops this verbal turd: "Sometimes it's better to just let sleeping meatballs lie." That's what's known as a turned phrase, except in this case it hardly adds up; where is the cleverness in substituting "meatballs" for "dogs"? It's not as though Pete went to eat at a Korean restaurant.

Pete wraps up his wacky "slice of life" diary entry with the poignant tale of how his friend ordered the Jerusalem meatballs, unaware it had been the subject of a joke during his absence, and how everyone else was "ever so tickled by his choice." Awww, isn't that cute. Somebody give Pete a gift certificate for the Precious Moments catalog.

A few specific things to hate about Pete's blog

Even a cursory glance reveals numerous things to hate about Pete and Pete's blog. For example:

(1) The title is a blatant rip-off of "The World According to Garp," a novel by John Irving. In the novel, characters are repeatedly castrated, both figuratively and metaphorically. What does this say about Pete? Noooooo balllllssss....

(2) In the upper right there is a cartoon of two cats with a curved trail of paw prints between them. Obviously the cats are drunk, so Pete is advocating feeding your cats whiskey. Plus the cats are pink and you can see one of the cats' bellybuttons. Shaved cats? What the hell kind of fetishy crap is that? Pete is sick.

(3) Pete's blog says "Copyright 2002-2004." Hello! What year is it? Maybe somebody should get Pete a watch that tells the year. Or an alarm clock that buzzes every January 1. (You can hit the snooze button and it will buzz again in April.) Pete is probably confused because he can't bear to take down his 2004 "Chippendale's Biggest Hunks" calendar. Faggot.

(4) Pete ends all his blog entries with two brackets like this: [ ]. What the hell is that supposed to be? It looks like two discarded staples left on Pete's bathroom floor after he tried to staple his ass cheeks together.

Man, that's just the tip of the Pete-hating heart-of-iceberg.

About hating Pete and about hating people who hate Pete

All of the above -- hating Pete and hating people who hate Pete -- are acceptable. There is no contradiction. You know the saying, "The enemy of my enemy is my friend"? Not in this case. Anybody associated with Pete, whether a hater or a non-hater, is suspect, except for me. I am exempt because my hate is the truest and my hate is the hatingest of hateness that hating can hate. Plus, I hate Pete. For that very reason, Pete-hating is my forte and hating-of-people-who-claim-to-be-Pete-haters-but-are-really-Pete-hater-posers is among my Pete-hating specialties. The depths of my hate for Pete know no bounds, unless "hating Pete" is itself a boundary, but outside of that boundary would just be more Hating of Pete, so I guess it is more a periphery than a boundary. But that doesn't mean that I don't think outside of the box in my hating of Pete, because I do. I think outside of the box in multiple dimensions in order to maximize the levels of Pete hating that I may attain through the meditation upon the loathing of Pete and the mental states of Pete-hating that may be achieved after years of studying how to hate Pete. And I do hate Pete, yessirree Bob....er, Pete. I hate him. I just hate him.