Author: Rob Says

A man who loves and likes women.

Let ‘Em Burn Part 2

Rob SaysLeave a comment

fire warm radio flame

The Latest Dumpster Fire Brought To You By BullRush.

Hang on with me here for a minute while I give you some definitions. I promise, there’s a point to it.

The definition of sadism: A delight in cruelty. Yes, there’s a sexual component in the main definition as well, but for the purposes of this article, I’m not using the sexual part, just the delight in cruelty.

The definition of masochism: pleasure in being abused or dominated : a taste for suffering.

Normally, I’m not one to go back and read my blog posts once I’ve done the initial proof-reading and submitted it for posting. I’m definitely a “one and done guy” when it comes to what I write. Otherwise I would be constantly going back, changing shit up, adding something here, deleting something there, and the work would probably never see the light of day. My perfectionism in what I do is one way that I definitely set myself on fire.

I had to go back today though and read my first post about letting them burn. I wanted to make sure that what I’m going to bring up today isn’t just an entire repeat and rehash of that prior work.

Side note:

I’m really proud of that post. I’m also really proud of myself that I didn’t go back and start nitpicking it and rearranging it like I thought I would. I guess while I doused myself in gasoline with the thought of going back and revisiting it, I didn’t actually strike a match and set myself on fire.

The post still stands. I should hope it does, since it’s sort of my mantra.  Most of the stuff I write about is more, “notes to myself” than anything.

Here’s a funny thing I’ve realized:

I have a little sadistic streak. I get a little giddy when I watch someone burn. I find myself giggling when it happens. I’m not going to lie, it’s fun to watch them burn. I want to pull out the marshmallows and start cooking them over the fire, and then ask them, “How’s that working out for ya, bud?” But I know they won’t hear me over the sound of the flames.

I’m beginning to think in terms of sadism and masochism lately. The only thing I can think of when someone sets themselves on fire is that they want to burn, that they want to suffer. You and have both seen someone set themselves on fire again and again, over the same issue or issues. I’m thinking that if you do that, you’re probably a masochist. You enjoy the suffering. With the power of the internet at your fingertips, a group of Men in the ‘Sphere who are willing and able to help you out, and you ignore that help, or even better, you refuse it? You are a masochist in my eyes. You definitely get to burn. Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure you are a decent person, but burn you will. And I will enjoy watching it happen. I’ll warm my hands over your fire.

Every now and then, I’ll stumble across someone burning and get this impulse to want to help them, to save them from themselves. I have to take a step back, take a deep breath, and tell myself, “Let ‘Em Burn.” And then I can smile and nod, tell them what they want to hear if necessary, and get on with my life. I don’t get nearly as pissed off as I used to.

I have empathy, believe me I do. Whatever dumb shit someone is doing at that moment, I’ve probably done it before. So I most likely know where they are coming from. I just don’t do pity. I’m not going to feel sorry for myself when I set myself on fire, and I’m not going to feel sorry for you or anyone else when they set themselves on fire. You just get to burn.

I’m finding myself wanting to add fuel to that fire these days. It’s that sadist in me. Instead of just sitting back and roasting marshmallows, I’m wanting to “agree and amplify” the inferno in front of me. I’m thinking and hoping that what will happen is that you will burn hotter, faster, and brighter than before, and therefore you’ll burn out or put your own fire out faster so that we can get on with the business of getting on. Maybe that will work out. Maybe not. We’ll see. Time will tell.

Guys, if you are going to take “Let ‘Em Burn” to heart and actually use it, you’re going to have to get merciless and ruthless, especially with yourselves. Don’t do pity on yourselves. Don’t feel sorry for yourselves. Don’t kill yourselves when you set yourselves on fire, but don’t have a pity party either. It’s okay when you burn, that’s hopefully when and where you will learn about yourselves. Maybe you won’t be so eager to light another match on the next go around. Then again, maybe you’re a masochist and you enjoy your suffering. I understand that too. And if you want, I’m more than happy and willing to help you in that endeavor as well. I like to watch people twist in the wind. I enjoy the bonfires. The marshmallows are especially tasty when I’m toasting them over you. I enjoy it when I roast those babies over myself. Guess I’m kind of a masochist too.

When you’re either done burning and have put yourself out, or it burned out on it’s own, I’ll be there for you if you would like. I can either hand you a damp towel so that you can wipe the soot off of your face, or I can hand you another container of gasoline and another match.

Either way, I’m good.

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Merry Christmas 2019

Rob Says1 Comment

red and green mistletoe decoration

As 2019 draws to a close and Christmas is here, I tend to get a bit introspective. Don’t worry, I’m going to save my “Things from 2019” post for New Year’s. Today I want to talk about some other things.

On this last Wednesday, Vince, TJ, and I did a Christmas Special on Masculine Geek. TJ won the vote from the guys in the chat and so he gets the prize, whatever that may be. I didn’t participate in the decorating of my home and compete with these guys, however, I ended up with 3 votes anyways. (One of them being my own.) Apparently having nothing but a green screen counts as Christmas in at least two other guys’ votes.

I don’t really care much for Christmas. I don’t even own any Christmas decorations. If you were to come to my home right now, you would find zero Christmas stuff going on. I’ve lived in the same home for almost 15 years now and never had any Christmas decorations of my own. My ex-wife had some when I moved her in, and I think my ex-girlfriend had one or two things as well. But me? Nothing.

When I was a young kid, I did the whole Christmas thing with my family. You know, bringing in the tree, hanging the lights and tinsel, wrapping the presents, and keeping the cats out of the tree. It was probably what the average person goes through with Christmas for the most part. Maybe that’s why I don’t have any memories that really stand out for me, they are all pretty par for the course.

The memories that do stand out for me are from darker times. My first memory was when I was 20 and it was right before Christmas, and I had actually picked up my shotgun, looked down the barrel, and entertained putting it in my mouth and pulling the trigger with my toe. I wrote about that time period and that particular relationship in another blog post that you can read about here if you so choose. I’ve already covered that one about as much as I want to talk about it.

The next strong memory I have of Christmas would have been 2014. In early November is when I told my now ex-wife that I wanted a divorce. Christmas was a joy that year, let me tell you. Again, my old friend, suicidal thoughts, had been showing up for a while. My only real options was to either put a bullet in my head, or get divorced. So I told her I wanted a divorce, and here we are.

Now let’s talk about Christmas of 2018. If any of you have been following me for a while, you’ll know or remember that in September of 2018 my Mother died and my ex-girlfriend decided to end our relationship. Christmas last year was easily the hardest Christmas I’ve had to date. The main saving grace for me on that one was reaching out on Twitter to literally anyone who would listen. Luckily for me, Vincent was the Man that reached out with a lifeline and helped talk me off the mental ledge that I was standing on.

Vincent doesn’t know it, well maybe he does now, but to me, I have a debt to him that I’ll probably never be able to repay. Not that he thinks I owe him anything, because I know that is not the case. Either way though, Vince, I can never repay you for what you did for me. You are a true Brother. I’m honored to be able to call you my Friend. You ever need anything, I’ll do whatever I can to make it happen. You know that. All you need to do is call and say the word.

I was reading a post written by Tim Beckett the other day, it’s called The Chasm. It’s a great read. You should check it out if you haven’t. In it, he talks about a college friend of his who committed suicide four years ago.

One of the things that Tim mentioned that really stood out for me was this:

His ex, after the initial shock, quietly called the police, had them clean up the mess, fake mourned with the kids, and resumed her life. Everything this horribly symbolic gesture he thought was supposed to get out of her, regret, sadness, misery, being lost, pining for him to come back, didn’t transpire. She cashed the life insurance check, went to the funeral, and then went on with her life.

There’s some brutal truth for you.

I remember when I was 20 and was considering eating a shotgun round. Why a shotgun? To make sure I did the job right the first time. I didn’t want to end up a vegetable or with brain damage or something of that nature. If I was going to do it, I was going to do it, and do it right.

The harsh truth: His ex didn’t give a flying fuck about his death.

I understand this completely. That girl that I pined over when I was 20, the one that was my “One,” she didn’t give a flying fuck either. How do I know this? Because I ran into her in 2015 not too long after I got divorced. 23 years later, life hadn’t been too kind to her. I remember seeing her and thinking to myself, “I seriously considered killing myself over you? Wow…” The best part of it all though was she barely remembered me. I guess I didn’t leave as much of an impression on her as she did on me. I’m positive it would have been the same for her had I followed through. She might have been shocked and traumatized for a short period of time, but eventually she would have moved on with her life. I would have still been dead.

Guys, the holidays are hard. I would say that the Christmas season is probably the hardest of them all, for all sorts of reasons. Whatever you are going through, you can get through it. Suicide isn’t the answer. It’s a permanent solution to a temporary problem. If you are hurting, it’s okay to reach out and talk to someone. It’s what I did, both times I seriously thought about eating a bullet, and I’m still here because I did. Do the same. Reach out. Talk to someone. You can always reach out to me if you want. My DM’s on Twitter are always open, or you can reach out to me via e-mail.

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The Numbers Were Down

Rob SaysLeave a comment

white graphing paper

Dwayne sat hunched over his computer monitor, looking at the screen. He had been sitting and staring at it for more than ten minutes. In that time, and no matter how hard he wanted it to be different, the numbers hadn’t changed.

They were down.

His course sales had fallen off dramatically. His online accountability club was losing memberships faster than he could gain them. Even his old friend, Tennessee said that things were looking grim. “It’s been a tough year Pard.”

“It sure has, Tennessee. What do you think can be done about it?”

“I don’t know for sure Pard, but maybe we ought to come clean and own our shit and admit we fucked up. Maybe we backed the wrong guys.”

Dwayne sat and thought about it long and hard.

“No Tennessee, I don’t think that’s the answer. I can’t do that. I’m just going to keep looking the other way and pretend that what happened didn’t happen.”

“I get it Pard, it’s hard to eat shit and then some. So what do we do?”

Dwayne felt an icy chill run down his back, he was thinking about how he had quit his job to focus on his online club and to making courses. His wife couldn’t work at the moment, she was in the final trimester of her pregnancy. She was eight months along and could go into labor at any moment. She had complications during the last pregnancy and their son had been born a month premature.

Dwayne pulled up a spreadsheet. It showed the amount of money they had in the bank versus the amount of money that they owed. The amount owed was much higher than what they had available.

Tennessee was staring at Dwayne intently, watching his every move. Normally the older man was a rock, steadfast. The lines of worry that crossed his face unsettled Dwayne, he was used to the older man being an anchor. It was scary seeing the older man in the shape he was; like a trapped animal.

“I don’t know just yet Tennessee, but I’ve got to figure something out, the mortgage is coming up, the truck payment is overdue, and then there’s Maggie…” He trailed off.

Tennessee nodded his head, sat back and sighed. Then he snapped his fingers and said, “I’ve got it!”

Dwayne looked at the older man eagerly.

“Hand me your laptop there Pard.”

Dwayne handed the laptop over to Tennessee. Tennessee then logged onto his social media account and typed, “All the guys who have met me and have talked to me have gotten their bang for their buck. Pure value, hands down.” Then he hit send.

Tennessee handed back the laptop to Dwayne with a smile. “There we go Pard, I think we’ll weather this storm.”

Dwayne put the laptop back on the kitchen table, and opened up his own social media account. “I hope you’re right Tennessee. I don’t know what I’m going to do if the course sales and the accountablity club keep dropping off. I would hate to have to go and ask for my job back.”

“I hear ya Pard.” Tennesse told Dwayne, patting him on the back.

Dwayne looked at his social media account. “Goddammit, why can’t these guys just fucking forget about the shit that happened before? Why can’t they just let it go?”

Already there were what seemed like thousands of mentions of Dwayne’s name and guys asking him why he was turning a blind eye to the antics of his online friends.

Tennesee looked and winced. “It’s getting pretty bad Pard, what are you going to say or do?”

Dwayne rubbed his hand across his face, feeling the stubble rasp under his palm.

“I know what to say,” he said. Then he began to type.

“Fatherhood is about taking care of business and handling your shit,” The keys on the keyboard clicked. “Here’s my son crushing it at the hockey game on Saturday.” Dwayne uploaded a photo of his oldest son in his jersey, with a hockey stick in hand. “I couldn’t be more proud of him.” Dwayne pressed send.

“We just keep ignoring it, Tennesse. We have to.” Dwayne said as he looked at his friend.

An alert on the computer grabbed Dwayne’s attention. He clicked over to his online club account to see what the notification was.

Another two members had unsubscribed.

Both wanted refunds.

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