(81B) Masturbating Decreases Your Energy

From:
Near the Kalamazoo River

I cranked one off as soon as the timer went off. I’m either supposed to wait until Sunday or actually fuck a woman, bro. Should I feel guilty?

So it goes, I just finished reading “The Dark Side” edition of The Gary Halbert Letter (in addition to all his Boron Letters… in addition to Ogilvy on Advertising… in addition to Scientific Advertising… in addition to The Robert Collier Letter Book). Here’s a quote from his letter:

“Picture this: It’s about two o’clock on a Monday afternoon. The door to the bank opens and in walks what appears to be a young guy in his 30’s who has been working on a road gang. He’s wearing faded and torn blue jeans, a sloppy sweatshirt and he’s carrying a canvas bag over his shoulder. He waits patiently in line and, when he gets to the teller, he tells her he wants to make a deposit. And then in full view of all the customers in the bank and its employees, this rather shabby-looking young man starts pulling out wads of checks and cash and stack them side-by-side a foot or so high in front of the open-mouthed teller.

Sort of asking for it, wasn’t I?

Well, I got it and it went down like this: One day in the first week of July, 1973, just after dark, I went to get the groceries out of the trunk of the car. The car was outside the garage and, as I was coming from inside the house, I had to push the button that would open the garage door automatically. As soon as the door went up, I saw two figures standing outside the garage wearing ski masks. At first I thought they were kids and I started to bitch. But the complaint died in my throat as I discovered they were indeed adults and were both armed with .45 caliber handguns. Have you ever seen a .45? I carried one for three years when I was an MP and they are scary. Especially when you are looking into the business end of one of those monsters.

One of the guys marched me over to the air conditioner unit on the west side of the house just outside the garage and had me take off my glasses and give them to him. Then, he did something strange; he said to me very politely, ‘I’m putting your glasses here on top of the air conditioner so they’ll be easy to find when this is over.’

Then he marched me back into my house where his buddy had already subdued my wife, Nancy. Then they tied me up, blindfolded me, gagged me and put me inside a canvas sack.

They also did all this to Nancy except they didn’t put her into a sack.

Then, they ransacked the house. They took our “emergency” silver coins, they took a cherished heirloom ring that Nancy had been given by one of her favorite relatives and they took sacks of mail all containing checks from our recent full-page ad in “Parade” magazine.

At this point, Nancy said, ‘Gary, do something! They’re even taking the mail!’

But what was I to do while all tied up inside a canvas bag?

Anyway, they wanted more and they began to threaten us. However, after a while, they were convinced there was nothing else to get and they left, taking my car (a Cadillac naturally) and all the loot they had gathered up including thousands of checks written to “Good News Inc.” which were worthless to them. By the way, before they left one of them said, “This is what happens to people who make a lot of money and who live in a big house like this.”

I should know by now not to be too sure with using this much of the text for a blog post–but I’m attempting to link as much to the original page as possible here to avoid any shit from GH’s crew.

Let them have mercy on me for sharing Gary’s tragic tale.

In the interim,  I’d like to be well rested between now and when I’m fucked by copyright laws in the case that I’m not allowed to quote such a large amount of text, so sleep I shall go to.

Good night, brother.
Aaron

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