A Good Fork

This you trust this!

I am a man who can appreciate good flatware. I’m not talking about fancy silverware or some gimmicky Ginsu… I’m talking about simple, honest, stainless steel. Something with a bit of heft to it, not like those flimsy, stamped metal ones you can bend like a Uri Geller prop…

“Fire and wind come from the sky, from the gods of the sky. But Crom is your god, Crom and he lives in the earth. Once, giants lived in the Earth, Conan. And in the darkness of chaos, they fooled Crom, and they took from him the enigma of steel. Crom was angered. And the Earth shook. Fire and wind struck down these giants, and they threw their bodies into the waters, but in their rage, the gods forgot the secret of steel and left it on the battlefield.

We who found it are just men. Not gods. Not giants. Just men. The secret of steel has always carried with it a mystery. You must learn its riddle, Conan. You must learn its discipline. For no one – no one in this world can you trust. Not men, not women, not beasts. This (Gestures at the fork) you can trust!” – Conan’s Father Figurine

Part of my home renovation included having all of my cabinets painted, and as a consequence, I had to clear everything out… my plates, bowls, pots, pans, all of that shit… it all went into bags and totes, carted off into the garage… Unable to cook, I had to subsist on takeout, which wasn’t good for my wallet or my waistline, but worst of all, plastic fucken forks!

Although it did give me a brief respite from doing the dishes, it created a backlog of garbage given the influx of cardboard, plastic, and styrofoam containers, all taking up space in my bin…Contemplate THAT on the tree of woe!

Recovery…

Thankfully, that’s all over. Since then, I’ve slowly hauled all my stuff back upstairs, allowing me to sort through it all, reorganize what goes where, and get rid of all the tat former roommates and house-sitters kindly left… It’s all queued up in the garage, awaiting the next Great Purging™, two days hence…

In the meantime, I will continue to enjoy the simple pleasures of a good fork, stabbing firm chunks of spicy meat, and slowly slim back down to a more comfortable size while Ghost Jim nods in approval, suggesting I make some homemade corn tortillas to go with that, and polish it all off with a nice, tall cup of Yerba Maté.

Variation on a Theme: Life is Short

Prologue

“On a long enough timeline, the survival rate for everyone
drops to zero.”
~ Chuck Palahniuk, Fight Club

As I’ve grown older, I’ve become increasingly more protective of my time. I contemplated why that might be, and arrived at the following conclusions:

  1. It’s Valuable – My time is worth more now than it ever has been in my adult life… education, experience, professional certifications… I’m not rich by any stretch of the imagination, but I do well enough that I don’t sweat the big stuff anymore…and get to pick and choose what I wanna spend my time on.
  2. It’s Finite – According to the actuary tables, I’m expected to be here another 11,000 days or so, most of which (60-73%) will be spent working towards retirement. So, if I’m lucky, I might have 3,650-5,475 [relatively] carefree days to enjoy what’s left (~14% of my overall lifespan). Of course…
  3. …I Don’t Know How Much More I Have Left – None of us do! I sure as shit didn’t expect Jim to pass away when he did… I sure hope I live a long and evil life, but I could just as easily fall off a step ladder and break my silly neck changing out a light fixture…

No More Mr. Doormat

In the past, I used to go out of my way to keep people happy – not because I’m a nice guy (although I try to be), or that I really care about what other people think of me, but to avoid the hassle of being on someone’s bad side. Honesty and fairness are important to me, and I try to be conscientious and treat people the way I’d like to be treated. For example, if a neighbor needed my help or expertise, I’d generally offer it if possible, and have many, many times. I don’t ask anything in return, nor do I expect it.

A couple of years back, I developed shingles, which manifested as painful blisters across my ribs. Movement was painful, and heat exacerbated it.  I couldn’t mow for a couple of weeks, and my lawn got out of control. Rather than offer to help, he sent me a passive-aggressive email to complain about it, citing that he found a [black] snake skin in his yard, and assumed my tall grass was the issue. By then, I’d given him hours of my professional time to help him with his website, answered his cybersecurity questions, and dealt with other inconveniences (e.g., interrupting my work to get his kids’ sports balls out of my yard). Initially, he was gracious and affable, but at other times, his requests started to feel like politely worded demands. Ashamed of my yard and embarrassed by his email, I spent $2,500 to clean it up, and $1,500/year ever since to maintain it.

Now, 8 months after paying off my home, I’m finally getting around to some much-needed renovations. Seeing the 14-yard roll-off dumpster in my driveway, my neighbor offered to “give me a couple of bucks to throw a couple of things away” in it. I don’t know why this bothered me so much – perhaps his sense of entitlement had gotten to me. Maybe I was just tired of his shit and had enough…

As Old Man Bob Heinlein, by way of Lazarus Long, once wrote:

Do not confuse ‘duty’ with what other people expect of you; they are utterly different.
Duty is a debt you owe to yourself to fulfill obligations you have assumed voluntarily. Paying that debt can entail anything from years of patient work to instant willingness to die. Difficult it may be, but the reward is self-respect.

But there is no reward at all for doing what other people expect of you, and to do so is not merely difficult, but impossible. It is easier to deal with a footpad than it is with the leech who wants, “just a few minutes of your time, please, this won’t take long.”

Time is your total capital, and the minutes of your life are painfully few. If you allow yourself to fall into the vice of agreeing to such requests, they quickly snowball to the point where these parasites will use up 100 percent of your time, and squawk for more!

So learn to say No—and to be rude about it when necessary. Otherwise, you will not have time to carry out your duty, or to do your own work, and certainly no time for love and happiness. The termites will nibble away your life and leave none of it for you.

This rule does not mean that you must not do a favor for a friend, or even a stranger. But let the choice be yours. Don’t do it because it is “expected” of you.

~ Robert Heinlein, Time Enough for Love
He’s right, you know! I’ve finally reached a point in my life where I need to take care of myself, my home, and my family. I don’t have the bandwidth for anything else, and as Jim reminded me just 5 months ago, life is short!

Let the Choice Be Mine, and on My Terms…

I’d replied to his initial email to let him know I received the request, but wasn’t sure how much room would be left over after I was done (true, but misleading), and that I would let him know by the middle of the week.

I feel sure he had no intention of giving me any money to throw his garbage in my dumpster rental, and I might have let him do it had he been more forthright about what exactly he wanted to get rid of… In fact, he didn’t specify until I’d called him and asked, and even sounded a little indignant when I didn’t immediately agree to let him do this, claiming that he could pay $12 and have someone haul it off for him!

I’ve had lots of junk hauled away over the last few years, and NOT ONCE did it cost me less than $200, so I don’t know who the fuck he thought he was kidding… I don’t want or need his money, but I resent the entitlement and disrespect.

I sat on it all week. Friday was the 4th of July, and in my town, fireworks are permitted the day before, the day of, and the day after from 10 am until hours after I’d normally turn in for the night. The dogs fucken hate it, the loud noises and lights scare them shitless (literally – their little assholes pucker up tighter than a snare drum, and they can’t squeeze a nugget until it’s all over)…So this time, rather than going out to the in-laws with the wife, I stayed at home and looked after our little fuzzy retards. All that to say I was already in a bad mood, and feeling petulant…
So bright and early, Sunday morning, after cleaning up bits and pieces of burnt paper and streamers that blew into my front yard from my asshole neighbors who couldn’t be bothered to clean up after themselves, I wrote the most polite email I could muster (names redacted to protect the guilty):

Hi [Insert Entitled Neighbor’s First Name Here],

Sorry for the late reply! It’s been a busy week and a stressful weekend, especially for the doggos… They’re terrified of fireworks, and being at the bottom of the hill, I spent the morning cleaning up fireworks debris that blew in from the rest of the neighborhood :|…

Now that things have settled down, I’ve finished my part of the cleanup, and there’s about a third of the bin left. I’d like to take you up on your offer to contribute toward using the remaining space for your own use.

The rental was $[not cheap] for the week. I can offer you the remaining portion for $100. If you’re interested, I would need your confirmation that nothing you dispose of will be on their prohibited items list [link redacted]. As the rental is in my name, I’m responsible for the contents.

Let me know either way!

Thanks again,

To my relief, he didn’t reply. By the time I’d thought to check the house for any last-minute things I wanted to dispose of, the bin company had already come and gone…

Whether the request put him off or he simply didn’t see the email in time doesn’t matter… It’s over. Of course, I’m such an asshole, I was actually upset (briefly) that I didn’t get a chance to check the bin to be sure nothing else was placed in it… I doubt it, but I’ll never know, and I’m fine with that.

Epilogue

Over the years, I’ve replaced all of the major appliances (AC Unit, Water Heater, Fridge, Stove, Dishwasher, Clothes Washer, and Dryer), so functionally, it’s in good shape. Cosmetically, it’s a disaster area…

Now that the house is paid off, I’ve been saving up for much-needed renovations.
I started working with a buddy of mine, but progress was slow because he has a full-time job as a maintenance guy for an apartment complex and is on-call every other weekend. Progress was slow, and while I was prepared to work around that, he had a sciatica flare-up, which put the kibosh on our efforts.

The projects languished for about a month, and after reaching out to a couple of general contractor referrals, I finally got one to come out and make a bid. It was a little more than what I wanted to spend, but within my means, and so I went for it!

We’re about 4 weeks into a 2-week engagement… the peeling drywall tape has been repaired, the walls and cabinets have been painted, and the new flooring is put in, the quarter round (most of it) is laid. All that’s left is one more day to paint the quarter round and do some touch-ups.

Once that’s all done, I’ve got a maid service coming to deep clean, and then it’s on to the bathroom remodels…Life’s too short to live in a nasty house, and by the time we’re done, it’ll be in better shape than the day we took ownership of it. I can’t wait!

If the passage of time has taught me anything, it’s that things that seemed to matter so much in the moment soon become a forgotten memory. What was it that Tyler Durden once said about this?

“Sticking feathers up your butt does not make you a chicken!”

No, that’s not it…

“No fear! No distractions! The ability to let that which does not matter truly slide.”

Yeah, that’s more like it!

10 Year Anniversary of PorkCircus.com!

PCY10.BAT

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ECHO. Happy 10-Year Anniversary!!! www.porkcircus.com
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Happy 10 Year Anniversary, Jim!

I wish you could have been here to see it. I’d get us a McWhopper, slathered in extra Hot Mustard (which has mysteriously returned after being unceremoniously pulled from shelves about 10 years ago), but feel that simply talking about it as opposed to actually doing it would be more in line with Jim’s style :).

I didn’t realize until writing it that there’s a kind of magic that’s lost when you bring something from your imagination into reality. Maybe deep down, Jim knew something I didn’t. Or maybe I’ve come to learn that things that sound good are often disappointing when you finally get your hands on them.

Door-to-Door Sales is Harassment with Extra Steps #ChangeMyMind

Background

I came across a particularly egregious video on YouTube with a click-baity title, claiming to advise would-be assholes on how to skirt the law (read: ignore and hope you don’t get caught) when it comes to knocking on doors with a ‘no solicitation’ sign.

PR Punchline

After I posted a comment, enumerating the reasons as to why this was a bad idea, he (or possibly one of his flunkies) replied, contradicting just about everything he said in the video:

“Thanks for sharing your perspective so candidly.

You’re absolutely right your home is your sanctuary, and your wishes about who’s welcome there should be respected. The last thing anyone should feel is disrespected or unsafe at their own front door.

That’s never the intention behind the techniques I discuss. The video is aimed at helping sales professionals understand how to engage respectfully where appropriate and, most importantly, when to walk away.

There’s no mention of ‘walking away’ in the video…

Ignoring clear signs like yours is not something I advocate on the contrary, I believe respecting “No Soliciting” signs is fundamental.

That’s funny, given the title of the video is ,“Turn ‘No Soliciting’ Signs into Sales – Proven Door Knocking Tips”

Appreciate the time you took to explain your experience. Comments like this help remind people in this space that we’re not just knocking on doors, we’re stepping into someone’s personal world. And that comes with responsibility. Wishing you peace and privacy.

The response read like an AI-Generated (or at least, assisted) PR Ploy to deny and walk-back just about everything he said in the video, trying to gas light me, and it chapped my ass something fierce (although it does make for good blog fodder… ) so, I fired back:

  • @0:28 “TURN NO SOLICITING SIGNS IN SALES” [sic] (i.e., the title of the fucken video)
  • @0:34 “Often times, people put a no soliciting sign up because they buy everything under the sun…”
  • @0:58 “They really don’t care if you knock on their door”
  • @1:42 “You have to be careful how you approach the situation…”
  • @2:43, you advise salespeople to acknowledge the sign and then immediately launch into a pitch
  • @3:34, you mock those signs with flippant remarks about not being able to read
  • @5:25, you recommend obtaining a permit only after facing repeated legal pressure

Round Two: D2D Karen Has Joined the Battle

Two months go by, and I’d forgotten about the whole thing, and then out of the blue, this person decides to tag herself in:

Dude someone obviously hurt you.

Sales is just another job like literally everything else. Just cause it isn’t something you would do doesn’t make them the a-hole, they are making a living the same way you are

You may not like it, but plenty of people don’t have any clue what they actually need to take care of, CAUSE GUESS WHAT, they don’t teach that sh** in school. Not to mention, you may be able to do research, but you obviously can’t tell the difference between AI and PR responses so the rest of your “research” is surely going to be just as half-cocked.

Where do I even begin?

No, D2D Sales is Not A “Real” Job Like Everything Else…

Obviously, D2D Sales isn’t like every other job…any more than Amway or Avon is a ‘real’ job. So what’s the difference?

Most D2D Sales positions aren’t actually employees of the organization they work for; they’re 1099 contractors who receive no benefits, no hourly wages, no salary, no transportation reimbursement, and operate purely on commission. Their attrition rates are horrendous, and most people wash out within their first month. If this describes what you do, then you don’t have a job, you have a hustle.

Tell Me How You REALLY Feel…

So next, she offers a bit of self-snitch, letting us know how she really feels about her [unsolicited and unwitting] clientèle:

plenty of people don’t have any clue what they actually need to take care of, CAUSE GUESS WHAT, they don’t teach that sh** in school.

Essentially, she’s saying people are too dumb to take care of themselves, inferring that they need someone like her to come straighten them out… Given her atrocious spelling and grammar, I can imagine there’s quite a bit she didn’t learn in school… such as how to recognize AI-generated content…

A Luddite and a Liar…

Generative AI and AI-assisted writing tools have a very distinctive and sanitized tone, but you can also run them through detection tools (e.g., ZeroGPT, Quillbot, Scribbr, etc.), which I did…

While tools like these don’t offer definitive proof or nonrepudiation, in the unlikely event that the entire post was written by a human (unassisted), they did a great job of mimicking the generic, overly polished, and diplomatic tone of an AI writing tool.

Conclusion

Exposing myself to uneducated people making bad-faith arguments on the internet is probably not a good use of my time or energy… but it does make for good post fodder.

Door Knockers

Disclaimer: This post is for informational and entertainment purposes only. It contains my personal opinions and interpretations of local ordinances and related issues. I am not a lawyer; nothing here should be considered legal advice. I am not responsible for how you use, misuse, or misinterpret anything written here.

My Fortress of Solitude

My home is my fortress of solitude. It’s not much, but I own it. It’s MINE. It doesn’t belong to the bank, and I don’t pay rent to a Landlord.

It took just under two decades, but I managed to pay off a 30-year subprime loan I couldn’t afford and should never have been qualified for, and I did it twelve years early. The Id crew waded across rivers, heh… well, I fucken crossed a goddamn ocean!

I did because hard work and determination mean something to me. I did it because I believe in the American Dream. I believe in “Fuck You”.

“…You get a house with a 25-year roof, an indestructible Jap economy shitbox, you put the rest into the system at three to five percent to pay your taxes, and that’s your base, get me? That’s your fortress of fucking solitude. That puts you, for the rest of your life, at a level of fuck you. Somebody wants you to do something? Fuck you. Boss pisses you off? Fuck you! Own your house. Have a couple bucks in the bank. Don’t drink.”
– John Goodman, The Gambler

I own my house, so that’s one down… the ‘couple of bucks in the bank’ will have to be my pension, social security, and any investments I can squirrel away once I finish my home improvement projects. I’m proud of what I’ve achieved so far, and imagine Big Jim is up there somewhere, looking down at me with that knowing smile, bong in one hand and his yerba mate in the other, nodding in approval, and pointing out that what I really need is a helper primate to feed me tacos… or maybe a live-in Thai ladyboy maid/masseuse with that patented Kung Fu grip!

I like spending time at home, whether working, playing games, making games, or just hanging out with my menagerie. As I sit at my desk, happily working to the clickity-clack of my mechanical das keyböard, daydreaming about being fed little tidbits of chicken satay by my live-in Thai ladyboy, some door-to-door douchebag inevitably decides to interrupt my tranquility, and that pisses me the fuck off!

Door-to-Door Douchebaggery

I made a custom sign and posted it on my front door (more on that below). It’s visible from the road and even features a knocking stick figure encapsulated by an anti-symbol for the benefit of those who can’t read.

Nevertheless, some of these determined dipshits remain undeterred and knock anyway. Given how little respect you’d have to have for me and my home, I shouldn’t be surprised by their undue familiarity, treating my private property like a public space, leaning on my railing or walls, their hanging their ads on my door, etc. all in an effort to try to sell me something I neither need nor want. I’m not a person to them, I’m a meal ticket, a mark. Sun Tzu knew that in order to thwart your enemy, you have to understand him…

“If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles. If you know yourself but not the enemy, for every victory gained you will also suffer a defeat. If you know neither the enemy nor yourself, you will succumb in every battle.”
– Sun Tzu, The Art of War

Why D2D is Still a Thing

To understand why, in 2025, with the advent of social media, hyper-targeted advertising, and robots listening in on your phone and virtual assistant devices, would we need (or even want) a meat-based solution? The answer is simple: money!

Many of these people are 1099 contractors working solely on commission, so there’s almost no risk or overhead to the employer. They don’t have to pay for insurance, an hourly wage, taxes, transportation, or anything else. They often even make these poor bastards pay for their own literature! People who take these jobs fall into two broad categories:

  1. Self-assured, antisocial, high-pressure salespeople (you know the type, the sorta guy who beats off to that Alec Baldwin Scene in Glengarry Glen Ross)
  2. Desperate dregs led on by vague promises of unlimited earning potential

The high-stakes nature of this business model is pretty good at weeding out most reasonable people, leaving only the most, shall we say, “morally flexible.” These jokers have no problem bragging about their alleged exploits, even going so far as to make self-incriminating claims!

In one particularly egregious video titled “How to legally go door to door in no soliciting areas,” the presenter explains that he’s aware that a solicitor’s permit is required in his area, but didn’t bother getting one because he believes a good attitude and sunny disposition can overcome local ordinances. He goes on to suggest that ‘no soliciting’ signage actually means…

  • It’s old and was put up by a previous occupant, inferring that the current one was too lazy to take it down
  • The occupant is incapable of saying “no” and put it up because they buy everything they’re offered
  • It doesn’t apply to him because he’s the exception
  • It’s only a problem if you get the police called on you, but most people are unwilling to go that far

I harbor a special kind of hatred for people who hide behind a guise of helpfulness – like he’s somehow doing you a favor… that he feels sorry for you when you tell him to fuck right off – you are the rude one, you are the problem. You are a pitiable, dumb sack of shit who doesn’t deserve his help! That’s what he believes!

If he were an honest scumbag, he’d admit that he’s really no different than a Nigerian prince scammer… they utilize a shotgun approach to ply their racket, and the only fish they catch are the unsophisticated ones. These sorts are happy to be cussed out on your stoop; it’s a badge of honor! You were never going to buy anyway, so why not pull out all the stops and piss you off as much as possible while they’re at it? Every big dick salesman (and especially big dick saleswomen, let’s not be sexist!) knows that you should never take ‘no’ for an answer, and the sale isn’t over until he decides it is! Or the cops show up and trespass him off the property…

Here’s What I Did About It…

Door-to-door people hate this one weird trick, but there’s nothing they can do to stop you! Also, there’s more than one trick… but also, it’s not that weird…well, maybe a little weird…but let’s run with it anyway!

Got a “Fuck Off” Sign

For about $30, including shipping, I had a custom 12″x16″ ‘no solicitation’ sign made, and I affixed it on my front door, big enough to be visible from the road:
My custom FUCK OFF signThis design amalgamates other signs I liked with a few added personal touches. In particular, the 80-point font, which reads:

DO NOT DISTURB,
DO NOT KNOCK,
DO NOT RING BELL,
LEAVE IMMEDIATELY!

This tells them in no uncertain terms that I don’t want to be bothered. The rest of the language is deliberately chosen to align with my local ordinances.

Where I live, it is illegal to solicit or peddle without a permit from the local police department. The applicant must undergo a background check and pay a non-refundable fee. If issued, it must be visible at all times while conducting their activities. The ordinance further stipulates that they cannot enter or remain on property they have reason to believe they’re unwelcome and specifically mentions ‘no solicitation’ signage. Note that my sign clearly states in big, bold, angry capital letters, “YOU ARE NOT WELCOME.”

While Canvassers, such as your religious and political types, are exempt from the requirement to obtain a permit, the prohibition from “entering or remaining on property they have reason to believe they’re unwelcome” still applies.

Got a Doorbell Camera

This saves me the trouble of getting up, putting on pants, or even having a meaningful conversation! It’s double-plus good at queering their pitch and chapping their asses. More importantly, it captures evidence of any rat fuckery they attempt to perpetrate.

I Keep Large Doggos

I have three large doggos that lose their fucken minds anytime the doorbell rings or someone knocks on my door. Their trio of barks and howls only adds to the confusing, chaotic cacophony the door knocker has unwittingly unleashed on themselves.

I Control the Conversation

By this point, they’ve seen my sign, heard my dogs going apeshit, and are straining to communicate with me through my intercom system. Rather than allow them to make their pitch, I start collecting information from them…

  • What’s your name?
  • What company do you represent?
  • Where’s your solicitor’s permit?
  • Oh, you left it in your truck, did you?
  • Are you aware that local ordinances require you to have them available upon request?

If they don’t answer a question directly at any point, I interrupt them and ask again. Repeated failures to answer a given question will result in them being fast-tracked to “You are trespassing on private property, and you need to leave immediately.”

I’d Call Law Enforcement (but Only as a Last Resort)

I’ve never had someone refuse to leave my property when asked – at worst, they might linger in my driveway a bit, so I might have to ask them to leave a second, or even a third time, but eventually, they all go away… but if they don’t…

<real_talk>

There are documented cases of unhinged people having unhinged moments,  surprise visitors just walking into homes, or just hanging around after being asked to leave. It’s not common, but it does happen…

While it can be fun to fantasize, and I’m sure there are a lot of internet tough guys out there who talk about what they’d do in a given situation, it’s a lot less fun to be arrested (ask me how I know?). If a door knocker refuses to leave, don’t open the door, don’t threaten them, don’t brandish a weapon, don’t answer the door naked, and for fuck’s sake, don’t get into an altercation! Just [calmly] call the police and ask them to trespass said diptshit off the property.

</real_talk>

Denouement

Ironically, only one day after I posted this, some little shit decided to step up to my stoop and ring the doorbell despite the posted signage. Naturally, he didn’t have a solicitor’s permit, and when I demanded to see it, he played with his phone while my dogs went apeshit.

Eventually, he held up his phone to display what looked like a QR code and claimed this was his “license.” It did not occur to me at the time that he was lying (the permit is a physical card; there is no digital version), so I pivoted and said,
“Then you’re aware of the local ordinance prohibiting you from entering or remaining on private property where you have reason to believe you’re not welcome.”

I directed him to my sign before telling him to get the fuck off my property. He decided to talk back, telling me to have a blessed day, which only pissed me off further. It took a couple more demands for him to leave, but he eventually did…

The fact is, I let him get my goat, and I shouldn’t have let that happen…

###

My current fuck off sign is a vinyl window cling affixed to the inside of my storm door. It sits at eye height and is 12×16″ in size. Unfortunately, my storm door has a bug screen, making the sign a little harder to see…

I’ve been renovating my home (now that it’s paid off), and one of the improvements I’m making is replacing my existing door with a new, improved, deluxe speakeasy door with a badass iron grill and clavos (those big ass knobby rivet-looking fuckers):

I’m purchasing a new security storm door while I’m at it, so I decided to go ahead and splurge ($100) on a classy laminated 18×24″ aluminum sign:

Some of the improvements over the original include:

  • The addition of “NO TRESPASSING” and “CANVASSERS” in the header and footer
  • a QR Code that links to the local ordinances (gives them something to read while they leave my property)
  • Expanded language about the junk they like leaving on my front door (flyers, menus, cards, or ads).

Of course, dumbass that I am, I didn’t measure beforehand, and there’s not enough room between my doorbell camera and porch light, so I have to put it on the other side of the door, where it might be harder to see…

All my neighbors have these cutesy little planks that say “WELCOME” on them, so I decided I would get one of my own:

I went with a custom order, replacing the text with:

NO SOLICITORS!
NO CANVASSERS!
YOU WILL HAVE A
HARD TIME
TALKING TO ME
THROUGH MY
DOORBELL CAMERA
WHILST MY ANGRY
DOGGOS HOWL AND
BARK AT YOU.
IF YOU AREN’T A
FRIEND, FAMILY,
OR DELIVERY,
LEAVE NOW!
DON’T MAKE THIS
WIERD…THINK
OF THE DOGGOS

Lastly, I’m putting up a third fuck-off sign in front of my retaining wall next to the driveway (also visible from the street):

At this point, I have zero patience left for these assholes and will have placed three progressively more aggressive warnings, which, if disregarded, will unleash a torrent of profanity from both me and my brood. Of course, I realize I’m not dealing with reasonable people, and they are trained to ignore these, but I suppose a visit from the cops (if it became necessary) will change their tune…

Epilogue

It’s been a couple of months since my last surprise visit, and, thankfully, I haven’t had any issues since, but I have had my big ass Fuck You door installed, along with my outer security door.

Between that, and all of the renovations I’ve had going on, I feel like I’m in a much better place (figuratively and literally), and am less inclined to bite the head off of the next douchebag who steps up on my property uninvited…

Maybe I’m just keen to try out my new peep hatch?

Previously-Unpublished Posts

This post was written by Big Jim on August 17, 2015, entitled “The Beginning of Good Things to Come.”

It was the first time Jim had shared the phrase “Pork Circus“ with me, which he later explained over an email exchange:

“…And the Pork Circus comes from an old joke an ex-friend with mental issues use to kid me about. He had 2 or 3 culinary art degrees and always said I should open up a restaurant, the name being “Big Jim’s Pork Circus, Home of the Flying Beef Trapezes”

I can’t recall why this never made it to the site. I suppose it didn’t fit the absurdist humor theme we’d settled on, but now that he’s gone, all I have to remember him by are the words he left behind. So here they are, warts and all…

Pork Circus: The beginning of good things to come.

I am a slacker of the highest order. I was a NEET before there was even a term for people like myself.

I wake up every day in anger and depression and still manage to see the beauty in the world; and more importantly, in humanity. My self-hate is tempered by the people I am lucky enough to meet. Without them, I would truly be a lost soul.

I am starting this blog because people all my life have told me to write. Persons who had no vested interest in whether I lived or died. People who could have walked away from me without a second thought.

I am going to rant, rave, and vent. I am going to hate and work myself into a fit. But I am also going to love what is human about all of us. All of our collective shortcomings.  Culture and history are baggage.  A giant rucksack of fuck we put on everyday when we leave the door. A burden so great, we don’t even know we bear it.

Thank you, Joe-Jim, for getting me started.

In Memoriam

You will be missed.
I received the sad news that Jim passed away this morning, February 17th, 2025, just four days after his 50th birthday. His [sudden] death was a great shock to me, but then again, Jim always had a knack for the unexpected. I’m going to miss him terribly, and so I thought I might revisit how I came to know him and recall some of the good (and bad) times we had.

“Remember me, but forget my fate.”
– Dido’s Lament, Henry Purcell 1688

I first met Jim in late 2014 under equally tragic circumstances. He’d contacted our [MMORPG] Guild to let us know that his brother, Gerald (a guild member), had died in a car accident. We befriended him, took him in, and spent many nights grouping with him. He struggled with alcohol abuse and often said things he’d come to regret later. Eventually, he quit the game, but we maintained contact via email.

When James told me about his troubles, I tried to help him develop a plan and stick with it, anything to get him out of the hell of a nonstop procession of dead-end jobs, and in an effort to encourage his writing skills, I created this website for him.

###

Unfortunately, James was a man with many interests, and those interests changed oftener than most people change their underwear. He’d get really into something for a short time, but after a couple of weeks, he would lose interest and move on. So it was with this website, pursuing his Teaching English and a Foreign Language (TEFL) certification, his degree in Anthropology, and an uncountable number of other things.

His drinking, depression, and the crushing hopelessness of his situation eventually led to him getting into trouble with the law, resulting in him sustaining several gunshot wounds that would cause him constant pain and discomfort for the rest of his life. Nevertheless, this was the wake-up call he needed, and after being released from jail, he eventually retreated to Oaxaca, Mexico.

There, he met his wife, Diana, and had finally found some semblance of peace. He loved the food, enjoyed the [mostly] warm weather, and had easy access to LSD and marijuana, which he used to self-medicate. He’d quit drinking and had gotten himself into the best shape I’d ever seen him in, a svelt 165ish lbs (pictured above), down from the 280 I’d last seen him at (and bearing an uncanny resemblance to Taipan Pete), or the 220ish he was when we first met.

His disability checks went far enough to cover his modest southern Mexican living expenses, and while he didn’t have many luxuries, it ensured that he’d never have to work another dead-end job again. He occasionally threatened to start a small business selling street food, probably biscuits and gravy or some other exotic American fare. I’d always chalk it up to his many passing daydreams, harmless and perhaps even helpful, if only to pass the time.

###

Gaming was one of Jim’s only pleasures, and for a while, he’d been limping along on an old GTX 2060 laptop. I had a good year and decided to do something nice for my old friend. Perhaps this was my way of “paying it forward” for all the help I’d gotten when I was down on my luck. So in early January, about a month before Jim’s birthday, I ordered a GTX 4060 desktop from Amazon, but to my dismay, it had an estimated delivery date of early March! The seller blamed Amazon, Amazon blamed the seller, and I told them both to go to Hell, and I canceled the order.

On a whim, I’d decided to check a boutique shop my wife and I had worked with when we last replaced our aging gaming rigs. They happened to have a ready-to-ship PC that was exactly what I was looking for:

Jim's Last PC

 

 

 

 

 

 

CPU – Intel Core i5-13400F
CPU Cooler – DeepCool AK400 Digital White
Motherboard – PRIME B760M-A AX6 WiFi
RAM – 32GB Kingston Fury Beast RGB DDR5 6000 – White
Storage – 2TB Kingston NV2
GPU – Intel Arc A750 White
Chassis – DeepCool CH370 White
Added Case Fans – (4×) 120mm Pwm ARGB Fans -White
Power Supply – 650-Watt 80+ Gold Rated

I called to inquire if it was still available, and it was! The next challenge was whether or not they were willing to ship to Mexico. They don’t usually ship internationally, but as I was a repeat customer, they agreed to help. On January 16th, I placed the order.

Shipping to Mexico has a number of challenges:

  • There’s the 20% import tax,
  • Customs fees, and
  • The [very real] possibility that a cartel might help themselves to the shipment…

The shipping cost was about a third of what we expected, so I wasn’t very surprised when I saw a banner on the tracking notice with a link to pay the last-minute import taxes and other fees. The last thing I wanted was to saddle Jim with a COD he couldn’t afford, so I hurriedly paid the geld, took a screenshot, and sent it to James as a precaution.

On the 28th, James sent me a picture via WhatsApp to let me know it had arrived safely, and we were both overjoyed! Over the next 20 days, we often gamed, BS’d on Discord, and exchanged memes as we always did. We’d gotten disillusioned with the Early Access MMO we’d been playing and decided to move on to something else. After evaluating our options, we settled on Warhammer Online: Return of Reckoning. Initially, we’d intended to play the Destruction side, but Jim stated that none of the races/classes appealed to him and instead made Dwarf Engineer.

Danish Chris and I were reluctant to abandon the characters we were already playing, given Jim’s fickle nature, but after he assured us that he would stick with it, we agreed to make it a trio and join him in Dwarven fun. To Jim’s credit (and my surprise), he really enjoyed his character and played whether we were on or not, and for once, we were the ones struggling to keep pace instead of the other way around! We were all about three-quarters of the way through progression, and within another week or two, we would have reached the maximum PVE level, but fate had other plans.

~~~

On Sunday, February 16th, we played together, spoke on Discord, and exchanged memes. While waiting for Jim to get on Monday morning, our friend Danish Chris received a message from “DecidingChicken,” another RL buddy of Jim’s, stating that something had happened to him. My mind began racing through the possibilities – perhaps he got sick or hurt himself? As we anxiously waited, I messaged Jim on WhatsApp and asked him if he was okay. A few minutes later, DecidingChicken joined us on Discord to announce, “James was gone. He died.”

He went on to explain that it was heart-related and that he must have passed this morning in his sleep.

###

Shock gave way to guilt. I wondered if I could have been a better friend to him. I poured over the emails, Discord chats, WhatsApp, and text messages we’d exchanged over the years and concluded that I did all I could for him.

James was a free spirit, and he once joked that he wanted to be reincarnated as a dog that belonged to a cute hippy chick. I saw him as a stray dog who roamed from place to place, friendly but not housebroken.  He was intelligent but stubborn. He’d been hurt too many times and had trouble trusting people. Thankfully, in the end, he did find his “forever home” and could focus on healing the physical and psychological wounds he suffered over his life.

“The supreme irony of life is that hardly anyone gets out of it alive.”
– Robert A. Heinlein

It goes to show that Ferris Beuller was right; life does move pretty fast, and if you don’t look around once in a while, you could miss it! What that spoiled little shit from Northbrook neglected to tell me was that Death moves pretty fast, too. As Heinlein once observed, “The supreme irony of life is that hardly anyone gets out of it alive.”

I don’t know where he is now, but I hope he’s finally found the peace that eluded him in life. When I close my eyes, I can see his wry, knowing smile and imagine some offbeat nonsequitur remark. When I think about you, I will remind myself that life is short and that it’s best not to take it too seriously.

Epilogue

I originally started this post on Monday, February 17th, as a means to cope with the news of James’ passing. Over the coming days and weeks, I made several additions, deletions, and revisions. I’m reasonably happy with it (for now) and feel it accurately reflects my 10-year-long friendship with him.

I can’t say what the future holds for Pork Circus, but I will continue to maintain the site as long as I’m able as a means to honor James’ memory.

TikTok-O-War

Here We Go Again…

All I ever knew about TikTok was that it was the app of choice for Adderall-popping zoomers to post their lipsyncing videos, videos reacting to lipsyncing videos, or videos of themselves “dancing” while lipsyncing to reaction videos.

These activities don’t interest me, and I’m especially not interested in sharing my mobile device’s photos and videos, browsing history, IMEI, Public IP, or any other information with the CCP.

So you can imagine my surprise when I received an email notification letting me know that my username had changed to [Redacted]x69. Of course, it would end in “x69”! What could be cooler and edgier than that?

Seeing how someone so thoughtfully decided to create an account for me using MY email address…again… I decided to log on. I didn’t remember the password, so I just used that handy little “Forgot Password” link and got myself logged back into my account.

It Just Keeps Getting Worse…

Unfortunately, it wouldn’t let me delete my account as I couldn’t provide the One-Time Password (OTP), which went to a mobile number I didn’t have access to. So, I decided to see what I could do on my account in the meantime!

To my surprise (and annoyance), someone had taken the time to upload many selfie lipsync videos. As I mentioned earlier, this isn’t my bag, so it all had to go. I could change some settings, such as changing the account from private to public, setting screen time limits for myself, and changing my profile pic and description. Here’s what I chose as my TikTok avatar, my “TikTokitar,” if you will:


This picture comes from a video of a talented barber with a penchant for setting his customers’ (victims?) hair on fire… I chose this because his facial expressions captured the gestalt and indescribable angst I feel when someone uses my email address to sign up for services because they can’t be bothered to spend 2-3 minutes creating their own.

I then uploaded things I was interested in, such as stock videos of grocery store meat, seafood, and fish markets.

Push Me, Shove You! Oh Yeah, Says Who?

Unfortunately, the fun didn’t last, and my anonymous benefactor decided to remove these videos and set my account back to ‘private.’ Although I could not unlink their mobile number from my account, I could (and did) change the associated email address.

For whatever reason, email address change OTPs go to the registered email address instead of the account’s linked phone number. Problem solved!

Epilogue

A few days later, I tried logging on but found my account locked! It was probably the result of an impersonation report I filed a few days earlier. Just as well, I was getting tired of this TikTok Tug-O-War… Tik-Tug-O-War?

The good news is that my email address is no longer associated with that (or any) TikTok account anymore, so that’s a win in my book!