Botendaddy fired from Quoscars hosting after homophobic, transphobic, islamophibic, anti-Semitic, Polar-Bear drowning hate Qweet from 1927 discovered on old wooden computer.

“It’s cold today. But I need 3.57 miles to be within 15 miles of my annual mileage goal.”

I Shroake as we walked through the frozen parklet.

”I met you here as you remember, Yon aged Botendaddy. Can we talk for a minute? It is too late for me. No-one will ever love 💕 me again. My soul is dying. Listen to me. I want you, in this 24 degree weather, to take me back into the huge abandoned maintenance shed and f@&k me like you’re trying to break my pelvis. I want your red-hot, 🔥  gooey, yucky 🤢 old Man spermatozoons pouring into my uterus, through my Fallopian tubes and literally soaking my sad 😞 remaining 39 year old eggs. Then I want to get hugely pregnant 🤰 and wear t-shirts that say: ‘Botendaddy impregnated me.’ I need your sperm to vindicate my existence as a woman. F@&k me, impregnate me, marry me, you goddamned misshapen, hideous shitlermodostein (Shit 💩+ Hitler + Quasimodo + Frankenstein) freak!”

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The frozen trail

So my dear readers, yes the Librarian was in a fragile mental state. She needed love ❤️ reassurance, tenderness, the human touch. So I f@&$ed her wildly in the ice cold maintenance shed. Her shroakes of ‘f@&k me, you ancient freak!’ echoed off the corrugated metal building and down the creek bed. When I was done ✅ she was literally filled with hot gooey, creepy, slimy old man spermatozoon. She was utterly defiled, like some ancient maiden of Roman Lore, laying spread eagle 🦅 in a stupor, drooling 🤤  with ecstasy.

Them we ran. Blah blah blah. First mile slow. Second mile slower. Third mile worse. Then I was attacked by a giant poodle 🐩. The Librarian, I noticed, had a funky cute little ponytail and a hot 🥵 lithe body outlined in her black spandex.

“You already took it, dominated it, controlled it, owned it, claimed it, why stare at it, you hideous monstrosity. I feel so dirty, so used, so slimy, ashamed beyond imagination that I could stoop so low as to let a big nasty 😷 sweaty, hairy, aged, muscular, red hot ape 🦍 like you fill me with spermatozoons. God, I love it 🥰. This fat slob just f@&$ked me! Look at him!”

She Screamed.

”Very Nice honey 🍯. You looked like you needed it… bad. It’s pathetic, really. You’ve hit rock bottom. A nice lonely girl like you and this horrific, creepy, sexy, muscular, yummy young ape 🦍-man with his titanic pelvis-stretching Easter Island Godhead of a phallus-snake-anaconda.”

Said an old lady who looked like Helen Hayes.

”Fifteen miles to my goal!”

I Shroake.

”Let’s f@&k again. My soul is dying without your slobberish, crushing man-weight on top of me.”

Shroake the Librarian

Iced lemon 🍋 tea 🍵 with honey 🍯?

Peace be the Botendaddy

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Central Park Mandarin Duck – a 4.06 Mile Morning Run

Finally… I was alone. 360 miles from the idiots of the Writer’s Workshop. No one to bother me on my slow painful run.

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Heraldic Central Park, I’m running there in 1888

I walked up Fifth Avenue Block after Block through the shittacious flotsam and jetsam of working people, bums, hobos, street vendors, real joggers and turistairoos.

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The weird byways of Central Park

I made it to the statue of Bolivar! Sexy revolutionisto Bolivar! (Pronounced Bolîvär!)

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Botendaddy voted greatest photographic artist 👩‍🎨 of the 21st Century. Greatest… Are you jealous? You sad-faced, shitty stand-ins!

“You are a disgusting, bloated, sad, sexy, muscular 70’s Elvis 🕺 (Pronounced Elviiiii) version of your former self. You will never make your mileage goal for the year.”

It was the Punker Model Writer 📚 Chick 🐣!

Right… Running 🏃‍♀️. The first mile was lame and slow along the wet, cold jogging paths.

The second mile terminated as I ran around the pond at 79th Street. I was chased by savage 👿 Teufel-Hunger-Hünden.

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Weird Central Park Mandarin Duck 🦆

The third mile, I passed the muscular statue of the sexual Bolivar! and the  rows of horse 🐎 carriages, not yet annihilated by the shitty, fun-hating DeBlasio.

”Let’s run down 5th Avenue.”

She Shroake.

We achieved (Pronounced c’est nous qui l’avions achevé past present future evocative uvular fricative genitive case) four miles aught six.

”Can we end this post? It Sucks rancid Hairy old man ball sack. Let’s just shower and f@&$.”

Shroake the Punker Model Writer Chick.

So, I thusly fyckked her. Her shroakes of Joy echoed across the hotel 🏨.

”Ice maple 🍁 latté?”

Peace be the Botendaddy

 

Botendaddy Celebrates The 100th Anniversary of WWI at Arlington

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Marine Corps Monument

OK, this has to be serious. I’m really here to honor my great uncle Louis, who served in the American Expeditionary Force in the Great War.

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Arlington Gates

We assembled at the adjacent army base, and we got on the shuttle bus with all the aged, wizened, haggard, gritty veterans.

I was the only 1st Cav 🐴 Veteran there, even after the Amphitheater filled up.

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The Amphitheater

The Memorial service was held at the Amphitheater for the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier.

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Black Jack Pershing

This fellow did an awesome Black Jack Pershing.

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Changing of the guard

Its pretty intense in person.

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The brochure

Peace be the Botendaddy

 

Botendaddy and the Librarian Run the Potomac Trail in Arlington – Visit the USS Maine Memorial

“Botendaddy, you stink like rancid B.M. Your Running 🏃 is lazy and uninspired.”

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Remember the Maine, you shittacious Gallianists!

We ran through the Streets of Amazzzon 2A (Pronounced Crystal City 🌃 Virginia) then we made the terrifying highway 🛣 crossing: 200 lanes!! 200 lanes! Or maybe like 10.

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Ye Olde Towpath

We got down to the running 🏃 path by the Potomac (Pronounced Patowmack).

”Botendaddy, are you really looking at these bitches running down here? What about me? Goddamnit, my body is perfect 👌! Look at my goddamned body, you ancient, misshapen freak!”

Shraike the screeching hard-bodied Librarian

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Ford’s Theatre 🎭

She stopped suddenly and pulled down her pants revealing her taut ass. A shocked fisherman almost tumbled into the Patowmack.

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I saw many signs: Nixon 2020!

”I will not apologize for loving American 1898 expansionism! Long live President McKinley! Long live Teddy Roosevelt!”

She Shroake.

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Remember the Maine! you shittacious 1901 Czolgosz Anarchists!

“Put that ass away! There are kids out here!”

I shroaqued back.

”Your website is officially visited only by ‘Bandos’ Your site is like an abandoned Soviet arctic early warning station 🚉. Or some weird sand-filled house in Windhoek, Namibia 🇳🇦. Or better yet, a Wild West cowboy 🤠 ghost 👻 town.”

She Shraiked.

Our three mile time was OK, our 5k time was passable.

We went back to my hotel 🏨 to change and shower 🚿.

“May I be Blount (Pronounced Philadelphia Liberty Bell 🗽 🔔 hollowed-out Blunt) with you? F@&k me. I’m not kidding. Why should I have to be neglected 😩 so? Give me your spermatozoon! I should be filled with it!”

So, my dear readers, as I looked at her glistening hard body I so {CLASSIFIED TOP SECRET CAVEAT IX TSSCI NOFORN} her.

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John Foster Dulles – extreme patriot

“This is not an after-school special.” She Shroake.

”White Chocolate 🍫 Mocha?”

Peace be the Botendaddy

 

 

Revista: El Corredor (Espana, 2014)

El corredor fue uno de las peliculas cortas las más inteligentes que he visto en mucho tiempo.

Conseguí más de él en 12 minutos si el tiempo de ejecución que la mayoría de las películas de lengua inglesa me dan en dos horas de horrendo estúpido CGI acción.

Miguel Ángel Jenner, Lluís Altés y Roger Batalla Eran simultáneamente subestimados pero magníficos en sus papeles.

Correr es obviamente metáfora, para iniciar una nueva etapa de vida que llevará tiempo mejorar y alcanzar metas, como reconstruir una carrera después de un largo despido.

El final del truco fue irónico y divertido. Al final el ex empleado despertó a su jefe de un estupor y le dio nueva motivación, por lo que la broma cruel realmente tuvo un buen resultado.

La paz sea el Botendaddy

 

 

‘Hack’ and ‘Rep’ are Stupid, Misused Terms

“Sorry, hack has only one meaning in the sense of finding a unique way to solve a problem. It is only applicable in Software Engineering and nowhere else. Ooh try this ‘Life Hack’ try this ‘health hack’ STFU! Stop it! WRONG!

‘TED Talks’ suck miles of monster c@ck. I hate them. I don’t want to be forced to listen to them. When I listen to a TED Talk I feel like my life is wasting away and my soul is dying. Just stop it already. I hate everything about them.

‘Rep’ applies only in one meaning: performing a repetition of a weightlifting exercise AND NOTHING ELSE! Ooh the quarterback got in reps at practice. No he did not. Only if he was bench pressing. End of story.”

Example: our new Quarterback did this new United Airlines hack and he had the shit beaten out of him, because United sucks goat anus, then he listened to a TED Talk about how great the United Ticket Transfer Fee was and he was so shocked that he defecated on hisself. Then he got in a few reps of having more shit beaten out of him as he was dragged off the plane.”

The professor stood up slowly in front of the entire Writers Workshop clapping slowly. Soon the entire Writers Workshop joined in.

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Drink the Tranja! … Captain!

“You are a true sexual genius, Botendaddy”, said the CEO. “United truly does suck goat anus and they must ‘change their policies'”

“Yes we need more reps of your literary critiques because they suck like United.” Said Ramon.

“I have a good hack for you, Yon Botendaddy, don’t f@&king fly United.” Said Devon.

“Mocha Java?”

Peace be the Botendaddy

Remembering Jaco

I swore to do no more public literary reviews or reviews of the arts. I even was at Krause Gallery again in Manhattan this summer with Herr Rochibauld Sachse-Heutelier and Doctor Otsego, but I wrote no review.

One of my favorite memories of Bosnia is driving alone through the cool air, headed towards Sarajevo past Velez mountain playing my Weather Report™ CD.

Velez View
Velez Mountain, Mostar, Bosnia Photo by Botendaddy

My favorite tune was ‘Birdland’, but I’m now partial to Jaco’s rendering of Pee Wee Ellis’ ‘The Chicken’.

What a classic funky jazz piece.

It’s right up there with Herbie Hancock’s amazing ‘Chameleon’.

view from a Blackhawk over the Neretva River near Konjic, Bosnia
View from a Blackhawk over the Neretva River near Konjic, Bosnia

At any rate, driving alone windows down, feeling the cool air, packing my useless 9mm Beretta it was a good feeling.

Imagine spending 22 years waiting to do something and never getting to do it?

What if you ran for 22 years but were never allowed to enter a race?

What if you went to Law School or Med School or Engineering School and you never tried a case, treated a patient or built a bridge?

You get the picture.

So there I was, after hanging out in Luxembourg, Germany, France, Belgium, England, Ft. Riley, Ft. Sill, Ft. Drum, Ft. Benning, etc., but never did a damn thing in the operational environment.

Sure, I ended up in Iraq well after Bosnia, but what a feeling! To be there! To be doing it! Missions! Minefields! Confrontations! Idiots shooting at each other, but not at me. Dubrovnik! The old walled city! The Adriatic.

You got da Booosh!
You got da Booosh!

So there I was listening to the funky base of Jaco. And I remember.

I did pass my APFT and my two mile run on the trail recently cleared of landmines on Mostar Base, but that’s another story.

Peace be the Botendaddy

Tesseracts and the Fourth Dimension

I was sitting on a bench overlooking Montreal from on top of Mont Royal. The Adirondacks loomed in the distance.

“You know, Librarian, you can’t explain an abnormal situation to people who are used to normalcy.”

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View from Mont Royal 

It was cold but dry. I liked the cold, she did not.

“What in the hell are you talking about?”

“Let’s say you work somewhere that your boss is literally insane, a psycho, they torment you every day. If you try to explain the situation to someone who works in a normal environment with sane, professional people, your friend will give you advice that only works in a normal place.”

The Librarian looked through one of the 25 cents pay-magnifiers.

“OK, example…”

“OK, in the Army we had this commander who ran the unit like a cult, never gave anyone any free time, micro-managed everything down to the lowest level, demanded inane time-wasting reports and asked mindless questions about idiotic minutiae. Not an evil person, but either OCD or quite insane. So if you explained it to someone from another unit, they cocked their head like a dog who doesn’t understand human speech.”

I put my jacket around the Librarian because she looked cold.

“Maybe I get it, I don’t know.”

“Like in Bosnia, I could be walking side by side with the Canadian and I would get threatening look or even verbal threats. The Canadian had no awareness at all because it wasn’t directed at him. Or the psycho boss I had at work who timed how long I spent in the bathroom and every time I asked for direction she would say I shouldn’t have to tell you your job, and we would have to guess the agenda.”

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Ducks have no idea what you are saying to them

“And?”

“Like in Twilight Zone when the little girl went into the Fourth Dimension or when the officers of the Caine went to visit Admiral Halsey. You can’t explain the inexplicable to people who only have normal as a reference. You can’t go over your crazy boss’ head if his boss or HR thinks your boss is wonderful.”

“Maybe…”

“OK, a tesseract is a cube in the fourth dimension. You can’t describe it to a person in the third dimension. It would be like explaining a cube to Flat Stanley, there is no frame of reference.”

“Conclusion?”

“It’s about advice. The person who lives in normalcy always tries to give advice to the person who lives in crazy world. The advice giver doesn’t understand that the rules are totally different. If you’ve never worked for an irrational boss how can you give advice to the person who works for a crazy boss who is supported by even crazier management? If you’ve always been thin, how do you give weight loss advice to someone who has always been fat? If you run a five minute mile how do you give advice to someone who just started running, has bad knees and runs a thirteen-minute Mile?”

“I get it, crazy world has a totally different set of rules. Roberts Rules of Order don’t apply to street gangs, terrorists don’t follow the Geneva Convention and there is no Marquis of Queensberry Rules in a bar fight. You can’t give advice if you don’t know what the fuck you are talking about.”

“Correctamundo, hence the tesseract.”

“Shut up and f@&k me, you useless f&$cking idiot.”

Latte?

Peace be the Botendaddy

On the Lonely Trail Run, the Murderous Clown Trio Attack!

OMFG!

Holy Khufu!

Murdering, slaughtering bloodthirsty, shitty, psychotic nightmare hell-clowns!

Massacre on Marshall Road
“Massacre on Marshall Road” (U.S. Army photo by Sgt. Robert Golden, 16th Mobile Public Affairs Detachment)

I was running. Minding my own business.

I thought I was running as fast as I could, but it was 70 degrees, (too hot more me, people).

3:58 at the half-mile mark, but 9:07 for the mile?

What happened?

It was the clowns.

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Evil New Orleans Killa’ Clown courtesy of Infrogmation

But, Botendaddy! Kids love clowns…right?

NO THEY DON’T! BECAUSE KILLA’ KLOWNZ KILL EVERYONE THEY MEET!

I saw them lurking in the bushes, they were athletic evil running klowns! The worst kind. They were pacing behind me.

When I slown’ down they slown’ down.

When I sped up, they sped up.

One of them had a chain saw, one of them had a huge wooden mallet and the other a machete. Pronounced Mah-Tchett-eee.

One of them let out a shriekish laugh!

“Boten-daddy…” One of them cried out in a sing song falling falsetto voice.

“Only a 9:07 first mi-le, fading fading we are, fatty.”

After running silently all the way to the lonely old train tunnel another one of them called out: “Boten-daddy 19:50 two mile run, not too tas-ty!”

My third mile was equally atrocious. I tried to run faster, but my legs had turned to jello and I was cramping up.

“32:56, very sad! Very wim-py, too hot for ya’ today?”

Only fear kept me going. The clowns were all around me. Then they began to do an Indian run around me. One would wave the blood-soaked mallet, the next one would wave the Mach-et-ee and the third the chain saw. The four mile mark was equally horrible, over an 11 minute per mile pace. I tried to speed up, then I heard the chain saw!

I ran as fast as my legs could carry me!

I could hear them coming closer.

“Die now Botendaddy!”

“Oh, yes, come to the Killa Klownz Possee or Running Doom!”

I barely made it to my car on time.

I looked in my rear view mirror only to see in my back seat!

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Evil Killa Klown, Courtesy of ThePuddinManCan

“Latte?”

Peace be the Botendaddy

Disclaimer

Although I talk about diet and exercise, I am only relating my experiences. Any sort of advice contained herein should be validated with your doctor and dietitian before undertaking or modifying any diet or exercise program. I am a mere layman.

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The meadow

The stories depicted herein, and the mythical characters represented are not intended to represent any actual persons living or dead, if it appears so, it is entirely unintentional. Only the run times, run events and the weight loss/diet are true.

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The machine

All stories and photos herein are copyright the Botendaddy, unless otherwise attributed. Some of the photos are owned by others and are credited herein. If anything is not properly credited, please advise and I will change it. Other items are in the public domain or otherwise released for public use. Some of the works are exclusively of the Botendaddy, so feel free to use them, just ask, I’ll never say no, unless it’s for something truly evil or grossly illegal.

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A random caption

You must be over 18 years old to visit this site. If you are not, please leave immediately. This site deals with five very adult topics: dieting, running, incontinence, online h8t3r5 and human sexual relations; all of which require consultation of a physician. By continuing, you certify that you are over 18.

Peace be the Botendaddy