I am currently reading “Becoming a Slave” by Jack Rinella. And my first reaction is that I really want to punch Jack Rinella's fucking face in. And his smarmy little “slave Patrick” too. Which might not be the best place to be coming from in order to be receptive to this book.
Jack calls any slave who doesn’t have a Master a “wannabe”. Thanks a whole fucking lot, Jack. That’s a great thing to start out with. I’m a poseur, and wannabe, and I’m evidently a sucker for shelling out $21.95 for your fucking book since the book didn’t arrive from Amazon with a Master already attached to it. Maybe shipping on that was extra.
So, the book lists step one: find a Master. What the fuck do you think I’ve been doing for the last six months, Jack? I emailed Mr. R yesterday, a friendly little email to say hi, I was back from the rodeo, I’d love to get together in person and talk about the idea of me becoming Mr. R’s slave, creating a relationship or friendship or to see how we could connect. I said in the email that I was free any evening, or all weekend (except for a hockey game Saturday night).
The reply? Mr. R said he was busy. Great. For the next 168 hours, he has other things to do than meet with me for coffee. Fuck. In the last two months, we’ve exchanged emails over a dozen times. Some titillating, some interesting. But I can’t quite seem to close the deal: a face-to-face meeting. At least Mr. R is better than Mr. S, who pretty much ignores any email I send him.
So, I’m angry and bitter and pissed-off. Which is a bad start to any journey. Anyboyd out there need an angry bitter pissed-off slave? I’ll work for food, if not just some attention.