Daddy said… (9)



“You know what the problem is? I’m too darn hungry to think. That’s why there’s never enough!”

So I bought him a mirror, and let him look.

When my daddy was young, he was strikingly handsome; something that probably has some relationship to the cause for my existence, but that’s a whole other story. Now he’s large, going on obese. And the reason is simple: there isn’t a kitchen in the world which he doesn’t like.

Together, we’ve been around the world. No matter where we went, he always found something nice in the food.

When certain curries looked predigested, he took to them like there was no tomorrow. Turns out there was, but that was the day to try deep fried cockroaches, or were they grasshoppers? Elsewhere we were fed boiled sheep trotters. The mere thought of where they’d been made me gag. So did he, I thought, but it was on the lump of fat that got stuck in his throat. The most ironic meal we ever had together, was stuffed stomach.

On all those journeys, on all those days where the single purpose was to find a decent place to dine, I never heard him complain about hunger. Only now that he doesn’t travel any longer, because he’s too stingy to buy two plane tickets, he says he is.

So was my daddy right?

I don’t think so. You can’t blame a wolf for his consumption manners! You can’t blame a lizard for eating little! It’s not hunger that drives us to obesity. My daddy got big, for the same reason a dog licks his balls. Or perhaps as a misplaced tribute to the goddess Adephagia.

Now that it’s probably to late for me to come to the rescue, I’ve discovered a very simple way for us outsiders, to keep our dear friends and family from over indulging. While you can make a dog stop licking his balls through castration, the approach with humans needs a little more subtlety.

All it takes is a big box of stink bombs, always at the ready. When desert becomes overdue, and the seventh or so course still has our dinner partner gobbling down more, simply break one or two vials, and throw them on the next dish. This is best done while the waiter carries it in, and you are on your way to the toilet. Not only will the stink prevent any further eating, the subsequent glass in the dish will most likely provide you with a free meal!

Daddy said… (8)



“You know what the problem is? When wife becomes mother she sags. That’s why daddy sticks it in anyone else.”

So I went out and had a look.

Living in Thailand didn’t make it hard to find places of fornication, and I found many men with a wedding ring frequenting these places. Inside the more upmarket places, the girls were amazing. Slim, young, beautiful and as service oriented as #Six once was; just how any man wants his pleasure served. The men frequenting these places, were always rich, and when asked after their spouses, most of them produced pictures of truly stunning women, albeit slightly older than the slags in front of them.

In the more budget zones, where sin doesn’t only happen during the proper hours of the night, many of the girls available were young and willing too, but some were ass sagging as my father suggested. Also here many a married man showed up. These men were more reluctant to show pictures of their wives; most didn’t carry any, excusing themselves with ‘you wouldn’t want to see her anyway’. Surprisingly enough, most of them could afford the upmarket places.

So was my daddy right?

I don’t think so. You can’t blame a dog for nailing every bitch he can sniff up to! You can’t blame penguins for marrying! Men don’t sleep around because their wives aren’t willing or no longer pretty. Nor do they appear particularly proud of some of their out of home activities. They do it for an eternal desire for something different; something mysterious.

To stop men from hunting out the door for the satisfaction of their carnal cravings, we don’t have to resort to extravagant role plays, as it may very well disappoint. No, it’s much easier to keep a man from sleeping away from home.

In the beginning, it isn’t so hard, as the wife still has unknown nooks, and there’s enough mystery to be had there. But soon enough, other mysteries have to show up at home, otherwise the reason to come home becomes weaker and weaker. Wives in Thailand know some drastic measures, but less painful is just hiring a new maid every once in a while. Especially a young and pretty maid will do wonders. Now, instead of sleeping out the door, the husband has a great reason to come home: a maid with her own bedroom and queen sized bed…

Previously posted on My.Opera, when they still had a blogging service. I’m rerunning the Daddy Said series here; when I feel like, I’ll write a new episode. This one I wrote in 2009; the second of the deadly sins.

Daddy said… (7)



“You know what the problem is? Too many women have slept their way to the high reaches of success. That’s why we judge all books by their covers!”

So I went out and reflected.

At first I looked back, and I didn’t need to go far back, to find one that perfectly fit my daddy’s complaint. A woman who worked her way to great heights on the social ladder through the lust and desire of powerful men. A woman of whom it’s debatable if she deserves the sympathy she gets, and a woman who has inspired many around the globe, to pay more attention to the way they look. The lady in question, of course is Mata Hari.

But I didn’t end my search here; I looked a bit further back, and realised that already since Adam and Eve we have been conscious about our appearances. They started covering themselves! Be it out of shame, they still tried it gracefully!

So was my daddy right?

No, I don’t think so. You can’t blame a rabbit for doing it often! You can’t blame a peacock for its feathers! It’s not the successfully promiscuous’ fault that we’re judged by the way we appear – and thus pay more attention to how we ourselves appear in the mirror. They’ve only abused the system to reach powerful positions; but I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, power is the real magnet. For power, we’ll do anything! Including dressing up and slimming down.

As real beauty is still rare (if it wasn’t, it would instantly become normal), what is there to do for us ugly lot? The answer is in the question: we are with many, thus we have the power. Don’t accept it any longer that we’re expected to look our best, to get the best positions. Don’t accept it from the good-looking lot that they can tell us what to do, no questions asked. I suggest a revolt against the tyranny of beauty. All this requires is uniform ugliness, and the best way to do this is to adhere to a strict dress code. Use orange socks as earrings, wear a bright red clown’s nose when in public, and for those in colder climates, top that with a bright pink hat; all the same for men, women, boys and girls.

It will take a while, but sooner or later, this message will have spread to the whole world, and the power will no longer lie in the hands of those sinners addicted to the mirror!

Previously posted on My.Opera, when they still had a blogging service. I’m rerunning the Daddy Said series here; when I feel like, I’ll write a new episode. This one I wrote in 2009; the first of the deadly sins.

Daddy said… (6)



“You know what the problem is? Now that men and women are equal, they don’t have time for each other any more, so men take out their sexual frustration on those who do have time…”

So I went out and had a look.

I did indeed find many a couple who lived in the same house, but spent barely any time together because of demanding jobs. Most of them would, when asked in passing, spend more time with the other if they could. And the more demanding the job, the lower the cheating rate. With hindsight, I found that rather easy to understand: it takes free time to consider one’s co-workers.

My search was going nowhere, as I was only encountering people with a lack of time, but no one displaying any sexual frustration; the worst frustration I found was regarding the inefficiency of certain companies. And only then a very sinister thought hit me. There is a certain time in life when we have all the time in the world. And that is not a time during which you can enter every part of the video-store.

I barely dared research this, for fear of ending up traumatised, so all I did was scratch the surface. And what came up was shocking enough. I am aware that some people get off on the weirdest things, but how can it be enjoyable if you walk away from the act with nothing but a humongous sense of guilt?

So was my daddy right?

It appears not so. You can’t blame a dog for mating whoever when the time is right! You can’t blame a grey-crowned babbler for doing his sister! But animals lack the sense of right and wrong, like we do. And even animals wait till the potential partner’s age is right.

Now that being busy is ruled out to prevent children from being scarred for life, what can we do to prevent this horror? Pointing out that it is unnatural, is also useless, as man does so much that isn’t natural…

It doesn’t take money, or pledges. It doesn’t take an ingenious police force, nor candles lit in commemoration. Candles, by the by, are far too romantic for such an horrendous act. All we need to do is educate all people properly on the passage of time, and that children, too, have the right to liberty – liberty to choose freely. Even though everything is relative, we can’t all enjoy the same experiences at the same time. A child needs to circle the sun a couple of times before it can withstand our desires; it first needs to be educated to know what the freedom to choose entails. We are three dimensional beings, locked in the fourth. Do things at the appropriate time only. It’s not that hard to understand…

For those readers young enough no to know what a video-store is, or was… It was a place where you had to go to get a thingy, take that thingy home, in order to watch a part of Netflix.

Previously posted on My.Opera, when they still had a blogging service. I’m rerunning the Daddy Said series here; when I feel like, I’ll write a new episode. This one I wrote in 2009. I decided to repost it now, as I read in the news that for years there was a pedophile network running with the foster care system in Berlin.

Daddy said… (5)



“You know what the problem is? This whole world is up-side-down: we go on working-holidays, and we have a holiday on ‘labour day’. That’s why there’s paid leave, but still unpaid labour!”

So I went up above, and down under, and had a look.

The Australian embassy advertises working-holiday visas. People actually go on holiday to that place, to work. But that’s not so bad, in a way. These wourists (working tourists), actually get paid for their efforts. Not everyone is so lucky.

Here’s a scenario. You’re a city kid, love your parties, and your friends. Your biggest possession is a large piece of land, ready to grow rice, somewhere in the sticks. You hate the sun, you hate labour, and worse, you need your money for your parties. As rice doesn’t grow by itself, you get some people to grow it for you; and if it doesn’t grow well enough, you whip them. That sounds like a decent solution, doesn’t it?

This is how it still goes, in many places around the world. There are all kinds of slaves. There are house-slaves, field-slaves, factory-slaves, mine-slaves, wage-slaves, sex-slaves and indentured servants. Most of these imply work without pay. Some work with pay, but not nearly enough. And despite the good initiative by the Roman Empire in 388 AD, there still are many work-slaves the world over.

So was my daddy right?

I don’t think so. Yes, many things in this world are upside down, but you can’t blame a bat for roosting that way! You can’t blame an ant for its working habits! Slavery isn’t caused by us working down-under, or by the Chinese having a week off around May first!

But therein does lie the answer. Man wasn’t made to lie around and do nothing. It’s not healthy, not for spirit, nor for body. Man was made to be active, and thus we should spend our holidays, and thus not be dependent on goods produced by slaves – or pay a fair price, so a fair price can be paid for labour. To stay healthy of mind and body, we could first clean our own house, then grow our own food, pay every employee a fair share of the bonus that would otherwise have gone to the CEO, masturbate more and do at home whatever indentured servants do. The only slaves we still have are the factory and mine-slaves; but I’m guessing that, with the bonus money, we can afford a fair price – and insist Apple stops using slaves.

If everyone who can choose whether to serve or be served on May first, does something like this, soon enough everyone in the world will have this choice, and slavery will truly be a thing of the past.

Previously posted on My.Opera, when they still had a blogging service. I’ve updated the technology, here and there, and added some links to news stories. I’m rerunning the Daddy Said series here; when I feel like, I’ll write a new episode. This one I wrote in 2009.

Daddy said… (4)


, ,

“You know what the problem is, insomniacs are just too lazy to work hard enough to get tired during the day, so they can’t sleep at night!”

So I went to bed and tried it. I took a pile of books with me, and a Nintendo Switch to stay awake. This was the laziest way I could think of. I read – slowly, easy reads books, you know the ones that are TV in your hands. I played, games for six year-olds (I am no longer six). And I stayed awake. I had room service bring me food three times that day, and something to drink. And I stayed awake. But guess what, when I reached 24 hours with my eyes open, I was tired. I could’ve slept there and then, but I didn’t give up.

I started reading Catch 22, and when I was close to 36 hours awake, I came across a guy who dreams that he can’t sleep, and wakes up so tired that he falls right back to sleep. I forgot his name, but he must be the ultimate insomniac; someone with a messed up mind.

So was my daddy right?

It doesn’t seem so! You can’t blame a Koala for needing sleep to digest its food! You can’t blame an owl for hunting at night! I did nothing, stayed awake, and I still got tired!

No, insomnia must have another cause, one that can not be faked. A song stuck in your head, can be the obvious cause, but it’s just a symptom of an underlying bit of stress. Stress makes you unable to relax, and if you can’t relax – sleepless nights automatically follow.

But insomnia can be solved, and for the solution we should turn to the infinite wisdom in the tales of the life of Mohammad, the prophet.

It is said that when someone complained to him that this someone couldn’t sleep, he advised to take many animals into the sleeping quarters. Among which were cows, pigs, geese and chickens. This only caused the said insomniac to be unable to sleep due to the fidgeting of the zoo. When he returned to the prophet, He ordered the animals removed, and due to the sudden silence, the person slept soundly.

The wisdom here is invaluable to any insomniac. Just live through several nights with as many distractions in the bedroom or sleeping quarters as possible. A zoo is a seven hundred years old solution. Other methods can be attempted these days; a female dog with an Abyssinian cat springs to mind. This will pretty much automatically relieve you of a lot of stress, and the added exercise will most certainly create the right conditions for a good night sleep.

Of course for the female insomniacs, I would suggest large roosters, and to stay away from spiders; but the effect is the same.

Previously posted on My.Opera, when they still had a blogging service. I’ve updated the technology, here and there. I’m rerunning the Daddy Said series here; when I feel like, I’ll write a new episode. This one I wrote in 2008, with some added details to fit 2020. This particular post appears now, as the topic reminded me of WildHeart’s poem.

Daddy said… (3)



“You know, the problem with the world is, there are too many the foreigners. They’re all taking our jobs, and on top of that, they’re too lazy to work!”

So I went out and had a look.

I stepped outside my door, and to my great surprise, I found foreigners absolutely all over the place. The fact that I don’t live in the country I was born in, may or may not have contributed to the fact that most of the people I found were alien to me; about 4 to 5 foot tall, with black hair and squinty eyes.

None of them had my job though, and they were all quite busy – if it was work they were doing, I couldn’t tell. There were obviously more foreigners here than in my own country; in the hour or so I walked around my house, I saw only one other like myself…

Then I zoomed out, and found places where people of different colour lived together, yet neither was considered a foreigner. And there too, most people appeared busier than bees. Especially those paid very little for their efforts worked really hard. It seemed to me that the more money they had, the less they did! And also, apparently, the darker the skin, the more often they got shot. If that were my family, I would riot too…

So was my daddy right?

I don’t think so. You can’t blame the pig for walking forward when you pull its tail! You can’t blame Garfield for liking lasagne! Everyone is a foreigner somewhere, and you can’t blame the foreigners for being too lazy to work. The only thing that made Garfield move, was a guilt trip about a dog he secretly loved. The only thing that’ll make us move, is something we all love. It comes in many colours and shapes, sizes and actions. And it truly is the only thing man will do anything for! They’d do it with each other, they’d even do it with a spider; they’d even do it if it killed them.

It’s interesting to see that it is a dog-in-a-manger kind of jealousy taking hold of my daddy. This happens when someone whom he considers an outsider is trying to get a fair share for himself, instead of baking in a cardboard box somewhere on a footbridge in Thailand, or getting suffocated somewhere in Minneapolis. It’s interesting to see that even though my daddy pays more tax in a month, than the average Thai makes in a year, he’s so scared of some Thais sharing his wealth. It seems it’s not the foreigners that need fixing, it’s my daddy.

While they say it’s hard to teach an old dog new tricks, it is easier than that to get those people who hate people to be more loving. Everyone who’s open minded enough to see we’re all foreigners somewhere, should love a foreigner. Nicely, tenderly. Gently. Or not so tenderly, if you’re both into that, but most certainly out in the open, show you’re together. Spread the love, and the action. Show the world how enjoyable a foreigner you can be! And before you know it, this confuses the narrow minded the world over into oblivion.

And on top of that, it’s very pleasant indeed! Also for the onlookers.

Adapted from a previous post on My.Opera, when they still had a blogging service. I’m rerunning the Daddy Said series here; when I feel like, I’ll write a new episode. This one I wrote in 2009, with some added details to fit 2020. Disclaimer: the casual racism is on (literary) purpose, and does not reflect my true beliefs about humans the world over.

Daddy said… (2)


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“You know what the problem is, the first step to getting sick, is thinking you are. And people are soo feeble minded! If we all were as stubborn as a mule, covid-19 wouldn’t stand a chance!”

So I went out and had a look.

I travelled far and wide, and opened my eyes especially in places with many sick people; there happen to be quite a few of those at the moment! I went to Bumrungrad hospital, for example. I couldn’t make up my mind though, if the people there were stubborn or not. Rich, they were, but stubborn?

So I visited the Home for the Dying in Calcutta, and was struck by the stubbornness there. Both personnel and patients were stubborn; one refused to quit caring, the other refused to die. The latter were sick though, but many clung to life as if it were their only hope.

Lastly I visited Washington D.C., where I found out a very stubborn man lived in a rather large white building. He was so stubborn, he wanted to inject himself with disinfectant. I don’t know if he did, in the end – but I didn’t notice him getting sick.

So was my daddy right?

Obviously not. You can’t blame the mad cow for going bonkers! You can’t blame a street dog for picking up fleas and fungus! It is not the state of mind that causes the diseases, it’s a discovery done by the Russians back in 1892: a tiny thing called a virus.

Unfortunately, time travel is impossible, so killing those damn Russians who discovered the virus is impossible. So what can we do, to get the whole world healthy? The answer is simple enough: we should all become good at break-dancing, and instead of steadily walk down the street, dance! Dance! DANCE! A virus after all, is just a thing, like any other. Bound by laws of physics and such. So instead of trying to kill it – killing a fly is hard enough (unless you’re a spider), a virus is much smaller – we should aim to avoid it by making many sudden movements. A virus will be heading for us, and because of our sudden movement, it will not be able to reach its goal. Frustrated, the virus will search for a new target, and if that new target turns out unreachable, the virus might just as well give up already. If not at that point, it surely will soon!

It will take some time before we drive all viruses crazy with frustration, especially a virus as stubborn as the covid-19 virus. Avoiding it is hard, as it’s too small to be seen, so it’s hard to gauge its trajectory. But with enough break dancing practice world wide, I’m sure we can beat each and every virus within a year. I herewith call on anyone, no longer to walk down the road, but to dance, Dance, DANCE!

Previously posted on My.Opera, with slight tweaks to fit 2020. I’m rerunning the Daddy Said series here; when I feel like, I’ll write a new episode. This one I wrote in 2009.

Daddy said… (1)


, ,

You know what the problem is? There are too many people. That’s why we have all those wars.

So I went out and had a look.

I stepped outside myself, and heaved myself over the earth. And what I saw was a bowl, if one can compare the outside of a ball with a bowl, rapidly filling up with people. Even as remote as Hua Hin (Thailand), Ophemert (The Netherlands) or Point Roberts (Washington State, USA), more and more people are appearing. And each person needs space. The less he gets, the harder he fights for it, such are the laws of nature.

All over the world, I saw bloody contests for the control of space, and interestingly enough, the denser the population, the bloodier the fight. Take Australia for example. Not a soul for miles around. Not a drop of blood spilt – well, other than your odd lost kangaroo.

Take Africa’s horn as another example. Not a mile without a soul, and hundreds of people killed each week. Examples such as these abound, and it is a pity, really, that we feel the need to kill each other over space.

So was my daddy right?

Despite appearances, I don’t think so. You can’t blame the porridge for filling the bowl! You can’t blame tigers for being territorial! The only thing to blame is the size of the bowl. It’s not the number of people that is the cause of the problem, it’s the lack of space!

Have a quick look at Gliese 581c, the earth-like planet. There they won’t run out of space as soon as we do. It’s roughly five times the size of our humble earth.

When trying to create a peaceful world, we could of course all travel to Gliese 581c. This is somewhat impractical though as the trip will take us at least 20 years and 6 months. And it would make one hell of a commute if you work in New York City!

No, perhaps the most feasible solution to give each human more space, and thus end all wars, is right here on earth.

This feat is not as hard as you may think. Everyone can help in his own backyard, with only a few cheap tools from your nearest DIY store. You need a 50 foot metal pipe, about 4 inches in diameter would do, I assume. You also need a bicycle pump, and something strong to close the top of the pipe. If you ask me, one or two extra sturdy condoms would do just fine. Ram the pipe into the ground, stick the hose of the bicycle pump in, and pull the condoms over the top. Then start pumping. And keep pumping. And keep pumping. And keep on pumping, until the earth swells up like a balloon, giving each of us more space – and thus peace on earth.

And if that wouldn’t work, while trying we won’t have time to kill each other anyway. So keep trying!

Previously posted on My.Opera, when they still had a blogging service. I’m rerunning the Daddy Said series here; when I feel like, I’ll write a new episode. This one I wrote in 2009.




Tussen twee ijzeren tangen,
tussen zon en maan.
Mijn schaapjes zijn te klein om alleen te gaan.

Tussen hamer en aambeeld,
tussen twee boekensteunen.
Durf ik op niets en niemand meer te steunen

Omgeven door idioten,
sprekend giftig als slangen,
gedreven door malloten,
zonder kans dat het heelt.

Maar dat kán zo niet langer!
Dus ik breek deze keten,
die mijzelf heeft gevangen.
En ‘k vergeet mijn geweten.

Dit is het afsluitende gedicht in het boek Bekentenissen van mijn leven als spin – bestel het hier.

#Fourteen – epilogue


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Kung magkakaisa lahat ng sapot ng gagamba tiyak leon ay mapapatumba.

Filipino proverb (Tagalog)

<Skipped the beginning>

As the climax dissipated and she relaxed, my dick was still hard. I gently climbed on top of her, and slowly penetrated her warm and wet cavity. Her eyes widened as I quickly realised she was actually really tight. This pussy had not been penetrated often, if at all. She just laid there, moaning in the right way, but leaving all the movement to me. She was so small, she disappeared under me but for her spindly limbs. To the ceiling I must have looked like a large spider – four arms, four legs and one body. How apt.

Als je het hele hoofdstuk wil lezen, in het Nederlands, bestel het boek Bekentenissen van mijn leven als spin hier.

If you want to read the entire chapter, order the book Confessions of my life as a spider here – it’s shipping world wide.

I am here, I am everywhere

Fiddler’s Green



, , , , ,

I want you bad

The Offspring

I still am a spider, though I don’t feel so dangerous right now. I scaled the north-east pillar of the highway bridge built next to the train bridge described by Nijhoff in 1934. I’m hiding here, sharing my story with you, before, if worst comes to worst, I bleed out. Once I thought the flies on my shoulder would be a memory of the flies I killed; a memory that would last forever. But it turns out, tattoos go when the wearer passes. Not straight away, but they will turn to unrecognisable dust. And the flies I swatted deserve more than that. So I decided, a little while ago, to write these confessions. Just in case my wounds can’t be healed.

Als je het hele hoofdstuk wil lezen, in het Nederlands, bestel het boek Bekentenissen van mijn leven als spin hier.

If you want to read the entire chapter, order the book Confessions of my life as a spider here – it’s shipping world wide.

Now I’m not one to talk, ’cause I know I have my faults,
But even I know you can’t evolve by building up your walls.

Sum 41



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Spinnerin am Morgen
bringt Kummer und Sorgen.
Spinnerin am Abend
bringt Glück und Gaben.

German poem

<Skipped the beginning>

By morning, reality caught up with me, and this spinster turned into a sour partner. She picked up her phone, scrolled through her Instagram account. When she showed me the screen, I knew I had fucked up. I was looking at myself, back in Bosnia. And it was the last picture her friend had posted.

I got up from the bed, went into the bathroom to take a leak, and I silently underwent the questions she fired at me. I pulled the hair dryer from the wall and went back into the bedroom. That is when she asked me if I was the perp from the news from Szczecin.

As I pulled the electric wire tight around her neck, I told her the truth. I told her that she would be turned into a fly tattoo on my arm. Because I am a spider, and I kill flies. Especially the ones that are a nuisance; those buzzing around my head with annoying questions.

Als je het hele hoofdstuk wil lezen, in het Nederlands, bestel het boek Bekentenissen van mijn leven als spin hier.

If you want to read the entire chapter, order the book Confessions of my life as a spider here – it’s shipping world wide.