Don’t Tell Me I Can’t End My Life!

“I would feel real trapped in this life if I didn't know I could commit suicide at any time.” ― Hunter S. Thompson

Check fraud Jason Quinlan
Just when you think life can't kick you in the teeth any worse, it does.

Quick recap…

1. I was completely screwed over by my piece of shit partners. That was three years ago and the beginning of my descent.

2. 2015 happened.

3. I lost my dream house, and now I'm living homeless after moving back to Atlanta.

4. The day I returned I couldn't feel any sensation in my left fingers; they were weak, and I have lost all motor skills. It winds up I came down with “cubital tunnel syndrome“, most likely caused by having my arm resting on the driver's side door on the three day trip across the country. Despite what all the trolls and the haters are saying in the comments of the blog my three favorite things to do in life is going to the gym, mountain biking and playing guitar. I haven't been able to do any of this stuff in two months, and it's likely I never will again.

5. Today I found out that I have been the victim of check fraud (see above) and what little money I had left is completely gone.

In the meantime, Charlie Sheen, who is easily 1000 times more evil of a person than I ever thought of being is slowly becoming a hero and an AIDS activist and that makes me vomit.

I still have so many more stories to tell of my “glory days,” Some of them are funny, and I probably should stick around long enough to re-account them, but at this point, I don't even feel like I'm living for pretending like there were any “good old days.”

I'm just existing.

I can exist anywhere. Right now I would prefer to be 6 feet below the ground.

If there is anyone out there, please remove the albatross from my neck or just let me die. I am beyond taking it anymore.

As a caveat, I have a bunch of stupid motherfucking trolls that ride my nuts in the comments of this blog. I am sure they will try to blame this on drugs or alcohol. The fact is, I've been basically sober for over a year now (for the most part). I suppose you are going to blame the cubital tunnel syndrome and the check fraud on the drugs?

Before you start doing that, I've made up a nice batch of blue Kool-Aid for you.

Drink it.

If you would like to help me keep writing so I don't have to keep sneaking into Starbucks for WIFI and can actually order of mocha Frapuccino, donations are always appreciated!

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JQ

Fuck Tucker Max! I Hope Plagiarism Sells In Hell!

Somebody told me I should model my career after Tucker Max. It may sound crazy, but it's 100% true. Tucker Max is from Atlanta and so am I. I was writing the homepages for Consumption Junction back in the late 1990s. When that guy's book came out, a lot of the things he did from the storytelling to the unorthodox style of “timeline” writing (because I don't know how to write) were plagiarized from me and the other writers there (especially Paul).

paul and i halloween

I tried to read “I Hope They Serve Beer In Hell” which didn't come out to 2009 and read about two chapters before I almost threw up all over myself. #Truthsoup

I am going to search around my computer or archive.org for those old posts, and you will see what I'm saying.

I know that book made a grip of money. Shouldn't there have been a follow-up by now?

#HACK

If you would like to help me keep writing so I don't have to keep sneaking into Starbucks for WIFI and can actually order of mocha Frapuccino, donations are always appreciated!

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JQ

I Got My DEATH Threat from Dwight Cunningham (aka “Dave From The Luxury Companion”)

A death threat is a threat, often made anonymously, by one person or a group of people to kill another person or groups of people. These threats are often designed to intimidate victims to manipulate their behavior, and thus a death threat can be a form of coercion. – https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Death_threat

dark picture of Jason Quinlan

I'm so excited! I got my first death threat from this blog today, I was going to leave names out of would fuck it – I Got My DEATH Threat from Dwight Cunningham (aka “Dave From The Luxury Companion”)! I don't fabricate stories to try to get attention and unlike Mike South, I don't take down posts and deny they existed. I dish out bowls of 100% #truthsoup! I do have every reason to take this threat seriously, but to be quite honest: If you kill me, it takes the pressure off me to do something I haven't had the courage to do myself. I think about suicide every day anways. If I kill you trying to defend myself, that is a win-win. It has always been a fantasy of mine to take someone else's life.

I'm not going to say who was the one who made the death threat but I should've kept them on speaker phone longer instead of hanging up so I could capture some of his sadistic rant. I will entrust someone with the name of that person, so if I'm killed, they are likely to spend the rest of their miserable life getting ass-raped in prison.

Oh yeah, when you want to start making a death threats, it's probably a good idea to block your caller ID. I'm sure was done from a burner phone but the number is (213) 379-0075. Check on Spokeo if you want:

<br/ ><br/ ><br/ ><br/ >So if you want to have do some fun, bring it. I'm not hiding where I am or my phone number.

If you want to try to guess who it is, just leave their name in the comments.

I haven't lied to you yet, and I won't start now.

If you would like to help me keep writing so I don't have to keep sneaking into Starbucks for WIFI and can actually order of mocha Frapuccino, donations are always appreciated!

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JQ

Tuberculosis and Me

What do Nelson Mandela, George Orwell, Tom Jones, Cat Stevens, Desmond Tutu, Florence Nightingale, Edgar Allan Poe and Jason Quinlan all have in common? – We Are All Tuberculosis Survivors!

jason quinlan in the hospital
 

In March 2008, I had my official “Off Probation” party! I was free — finally free from rednecks cops in South Georgia.

Or was I?

During that time I was in an on-again-off-again relationship with a girl named Yvette. If there is one regret in this book/blog, I should've stayed with Yvette. At the time I was making money hand over fist, I had a mansion in the Hollywood Hills, a condo on the Vegas strip, a Mercedes, was relatively young, in porn, and had bitches on my dick like they had scurvy and I could cum orange juice.

picture of yvette garcia and jason quinlan

It was a lot of temptation: Being young, rich and having lots of shiny objects. I wanted to live that lifestyle for a minute, or that's what I thought. Now, in this late hour, I can tell you none of it means a goddamn thing.

I admit, I went a bit crazy drinking and partying when the whole probation debacle had ended. I would selfishly break up with my girlfriend, so I could go out and go nuts, and then we would always wind up back together.

But just a month later, in April 2009 I started to wake up late at night drenched in mysterious pools of sweat. At first, I thought it was just my nerves or maybe just partying. As the weeks went on, my condition worsened.

I started to Google “night sweats” on Web MD and saw there were three conditions commonly associated with night sweats:

1. Menopause – I could rule that one out!

2. Tuberculosis – Nobody gets that disease anymore!!

3. AIDS – I knew it, I had the monster: The High Five. All those women. All that unprotected sex. I went down to the AIM clinic (the old porn clinic) to get checked for HIV. You'd get your results in 24 hours. That endless night, I mentally Rolodexed every shady piece of pussy I've banged. I narrowed down to 2 or 3 girls that gave me the bug. Fortunately, of the tests came back negative. For a short time, the symptoms abated. I chalked it all up to being psychosomatic.

It wasn't long before the symptoms came back except a worse. I would start sweating the bed so profusely that I would have to change my clothes and sheets two or three times almost every night, during the day I began to feel weak, but oddly enough I never coughed up blood or did anything like your typical tuberculosis patient.

By the end of May, I couldn't ignore the sickness anymore. I was starting to feel run down and losing weight, but still wasn't convinced that it was anything serious, so I went to see a doctor and told him, “I think I have the flu.” He checked my breathing. My left lung obstructed. The doctor said I should go directly to the emergency room and get a chest x-ray. It didn't seem like my left lung, was inflating.

I was so sick that one of my lungs had already collapsed. The funny thing was, the doctors said my lung had been collapsed for about two weeks. Even stranger, I was still able to workout and go on 20-mile-bike rides. I had no clue I was doing it on one lung!

I got to the emergency room and admitted immediately; I still didn't think I was that sick. The medics start running all kinds of tests, X-rays, TB, HIV, bloodwork, immune response, and everything checked out normal, but I keep getting sicker and sicker. That is the thing with TB, once the virus goes “active” it doesn't show up anymore on those pinprick tests like you used to get school. What they are doing is injecting a small amount of tuberculosis to see if your body will resist it. Of course, when your body is loaded with TB the test turned out negative.


Once I have a negative TB and HIV test they began treating me for rare diseases such as Valley Fever. They put me on antibiotics so hard-core it wasn't used in humans anymore. That just made me sicker.

X-rays show that I have a massive effusion in my pleural cavity. They drain the liquid out of me by sticking some spikes in my back. I was awake for this, and it was terrifying, but the infection it still keeps coming. The doctors think it might be TB and order a second round of test that proves inconclusive.

Halfway through my stay, I have to get a major operation (a thoracostomy) to remove the infection from my lungs. The operation is a success, but the infection still keeps coming. If the source of the infection still couldn't identify, so if this didn't stop I was going to go through all of this again

After being in the hospital for 18 days, they think that I way have had and am released. The day after I get home, a blood test used to screen for TB came back positive. To find out if I had TB, I would have to wait six weeks for the results of my biopsy. To be safe, I was placed on a regimen of anti-TB meds.

The odd thing is withing 3-4 days of taking them I felt as if nothing had happened.

In July, the results of my biopsy came back: I had tuberculosis. Worse yet, I've left the hospital with an active case of it. To this very day they quarantine TB patients.

I probably had contracted TB somewhere overseas in my travels or (even more ironically) in prison. TB an airborne disease that anyone can get, one-out-of-3 persons in the world ARE exposed to it; it just requires something to wear you body down (in my case it was alcohol) enough to become active. I also had atypical pleural TB, which isn't in your lungs, so I could't cough and spread it. If you hung out with me in that period you are fine “I wasn't contagious”.

I spent the whole summer of 2009 sober. I wasn't even smoking weed. Honestly, once the TB meds had taken effect, I felt pretty much normal, aside from the pain from the surgery.

If you have been reading this far, you probably realize: I like to drink. I can't help it. I suffer from a form of social anxiety. I am a silent and shy person naturally; it takes some alcohol to bring be out of my shell. When I am sober, even the most mundane of social scenarios make me nervous and fidgety. If you know me, that may seem ridiculous, but it's true.

One of the cruel tricks TB meds play on you is they completely cure the disease (if taken correctly) but destroy your liver at the same time. The state also assigns the health department on you. It's a total pain in the balls, and ironically it was just like probation!

The last 6 months of 2009, I have been getting complete blood workups done once a month and as of December 17, 2009, I was completely cured, and my liver survived. I would always ask the doctor “Are you sure you have the right chart?” when he said everything as OK.

So, I am free to live my life again, right?

Not Really!

JQ

If you would like to help me keep writing so I don't have to keep sneaking into Starbucks for WIFI and can actually order of mocha Frapuccino, donations are always appreciated!

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A Frightened City Of Atlanta Sleeps Safe Tonight!

This one goes back to the tail end of my first stint in Atlanta. The only time Dick Delicious “broke up” was Shortly after our appearance on the Howard Stern show. My new band was called “Operation Asparagus” (operation embarrassment) where I tried to play every single instrument at once surrounded by an army of kung fu hamsters and Singing Fish. I was leaving “practice” on my bike and peddling up North Avenue around 12 AM. I could see that a quarter mile up the hill the cops had a DUI checkpoint. I didn’t have any drugs on me, and I was sober, so I figured rather than getting cased-up scurrying off on one of the side streets where the police always hid for people trying to avoid the roadblocks, it would be better to go through it. They probably won’t even mess with me – I’M SOBER ON A BIKE — RIGHT?

bike in venice
“Let me see your ID and get off the bike.” One of the officers working the roadblock asks me.

So I put the bike down and sit on the curb while he runs my ID.

Once he's finished, in an extremely thick southern drawl, states, “Did you know that you need to have a light when you ride a bike at night?”

“No, I didn’t know that, sir.”

He gets back in his car and starts writing me a ticket.

“Are you actually writing me a ticket ?” I ask.

“Yes, I am. You’re lucky – I could haul you in for this. You’re lucky bud; you’re going home tonight.”

In the meantime, I would estimate 50 drunk drivers passed through the intersection.

The next night, I decided to ride my bike to grab a slice of pizza. Being the rebel I am, I still hadn’t got my light. I peddle into the parking lot of the pizza place, and there's a cop car sitting there.

From out of it, I hear, “Hey boy; you know that you need to have a light when you ride at night, right?”

I was half way through saying “No officer; I didn’t know that was a law…” when I realized that it was the same cop from the previous night.


You would think in a town with more than its share of murders, rapes, robberies, burglaries, aggravated assaults, arsons, carjacking, and aggravated-aggravation by repeat aggravators that the cops would have more to do.

This shit was retarded.

I fancy myself as a bit of an armchair lawyer, so I knew if I took this to court, I could either get it reduced or thrown out entirely. Both tickets from my crime spree were so close together that my court date for both was the same day.

Someday I will write “Jay’s Big Book of Lies” and I've already got my top contenders.

1. The check is in the mail.
2. Let's go out for “a drink”. (notice the singular expression)
3. I won't cum in your mouth.
4. I always use condoms with other girls.

I was coerced into going out for “a drink” by a friend who would only be in town for the night. One drink turned into another drink, then beer turned into liquor, and 100 bucks changed into a bag of low-quality bar cocaine. The next thing I know I am sitting yapping and drinking beer over a pile of weasel dust at my coffee table. My court is at 8:30 AM, so around 7:45, I decided that I’d take a quick nap. I set my alarm, put one foot in bed, and am about to put the other leg in bed when the alarm goes off. I walk to the bathroom to brush my teeth – just as soon as the toothpaste hits my mouth, I find myself doing the technicolor yawn into the sink.

Then, it dawned on me: I WAS TOO DRUNK TO DRIVE TO COURT!

Instinctively, perhaps, I grabbed my bike light off the handlebars.

So, I called a cab; it got me to court just in time because my case was the first one called. Now, keep in mind that I am still as blasted as Robert Downey Jr. on New Year's Eve with puke on my shirt, coke buggers dangling from my nose, and slurring my words as I approach the bench.

The judge asks, “Mr. Quinlan, looks like we have two riding a bicycle at night without a headlight violations.”

I held up my light for the bike and turned it on the middle of the courtroom as I slur, “Your honor, I bought a light. The neighborhood is safe now.”

Despite my buffoonery, he dismissed both tickets.

Either way, the neighborhood could sleep safely that night.

Peace,
JQ


If you would like to help me keep writing so I don't have to keep sneaking into Starbucks for WIFI and can actually order of mocha Frapuccino, donations are always appreciated!

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JQ

At Least I’m Not Mike South

If you prick us do we not bleed? If you tickle us do we not laugh? If you poison us do we not die? And if you wrong us shall we not seek revenge? – William Shakespeare

lemmy xxxjay
In my last post, I initially made the mistake of linking to a blog written by Mike South.

Who is Mike South you might ask?

Don't worry about It; he's a nobody.

When I have the sporadic thought of suicide, I just remind myself that I could have been born Mike South, and I go on to live another day.

The post was regarding “Dave” from the Luxury Companion. Guess who I got a call from last night?

Dave from TLC.


Dave was very cordial, and we cleared the air about past misunderstandings. There was no discussion of his “legal troubles” (which have been widely misreported by Mr. South) and we mostly bonding discussion over our mutual hatred of Sandra McCarthy and the rest of The Gay Mafia currently controlling the mortally wounded porn business.

As usual, Mike South's post was written on uncorroborated information. I would link you over to his blog, but I don't want your IQ to drop. Last night, I buried the hatchet with Dave, and we both realized we would've made better friends than “enemies”, had the cards played out differently.

It doesn't matter to me if he was or wasn't pimping out girls behind my back that isn't his problem.

According to Mike South, that's his vocation.

My problem is unknowingly being the head of a Rico-sized prostitution empire run by Sandra McCarthy.


They say don't do the crime if you can't do the time. It's also said crime pays, but if you are not receiving any of that delicious tax-free human trafficking money, this slogan isn't true either.

When I write, people pay attention. I don't need to spam GFY with links to set traps for the trolls. That's all I was using GFY for anyways, until they banned me. That is going to hurt thier Alexa rank for sure, which is already pretty bad. Unlike, Mike South, I don't put a robots.TXT file to block my posts from being indexed in archive.org to deny I posted something.

I speak my mind and I own what I say. I don't take posts down.

A picture of xxxjay and lemmy from GFY
Mike South has the unmitigated audacity to call himself a “blogger,” plagiarize my posts and then go on to criticize me public forums as he did with Lemmy post. I never said Lemmy was my best friend. I merely shared stories from the last two decades I've known Lem.

Here is a screenshot of Mike's post, do you notice any similarities to mine:

Screen Shot 2016-07-15 at 3.35.31 PM
In my 2-hour conversation with Dave was rather entertaining. Apparently, Sandra McCarthy was supposedly trying to make use of Dave's “political connections” with judges to obtain a search warrent for the police to raid my house because I was “dealing cocaine”. With certainty, if she had been telling Dave to drop dime on me, there is no doubt in my mind she was doing it herself and/or having others do it.

That is how much of a CUNT Sandra McCarthy is. Since we are on the topic, let's get a few facts straight.

1. The mass exodus of porn girls from 101 talent was main reason Sandra wanted to squeeze me out.  She saw the opportunity to double roster. Why split twice the money 3 people instead of 2?

2. Sandra falsely alleged that I was a Coke dealer. Was I a big cocaine dealer? No. Would the cops have found cocaine at my house, had they decided to raid it? Maybe. There might have been some baggies in the “drug pockets” of jeans I washed or half empty bag sitting in a drawer somewhere I'd forgotten about. That was three years ago. In a community with a median age of 60 and a very active neighborhood watch, they would have definitely nailed me by now. The cops never came to call. Do you know why? Simple, because I wasn't selling cocaine. But here's the caper, let's say the police had found a minuscule amount of devils dandruff I'd forgotten about? That would be enough to force me out of the partnership, rather than buy me out. If I was the big cocaine dealer that she claimed, wouldn't I still be living up in that beautiful house in the Hollywood hills, instead of homeless in Atlanta? Which brings me to my next Point of contention.

3. Sandra McCarthy told everyone in the porn business I was bought out for $250,000. That is an out-and-out lie. I will swallow my pride and tell you the exact amount I was “bought out” of OC Modeling for $32,000. Yes, you read that right, that wasn't a typo: $32,000. You can get on food stamps and make more. Let's remember, the agency didn't earn money for the first three years. While Sandra bungled her way through the first original partnerships and just clung on like a dingleberry in the part of your asshole that you can't wipe, and trashed talked people out of their jobs who actually grew the business like Phil Mac; Sanda usurped the throne by attrition. If you did the math, technically I lost money. And that doesn't include checks that were never mailed to me for falsely endorsed and deposited in other bank accounts via Katie's creative accounting process.

4. Sandra McCarthy claims to have come into the porn business through her experience as a “mainstream talent agent.” That is another lie. When she left her job working in a custom closet company and continued to fail miserably at running a porn agency until Phil Mack got things into full swing, I covered her rent, expenses and supported her family while patiently waiting for the business to turn a profit. Her name was not on the bond, nor was John Baumgardner. That was me.

5. Anything you email to Sandra@OCmodeling.com or is sent from that email address is BCC'ed to John Baumgartner. Yes, that's right. Sandra McCarthy isn't even the real owner of OC Modeling. She is nothing more than a patsy for JC, who is the real president.

Okay Sandra, since you like to have fun getting the attention of the police: Two can play that game. This blog has a lot of loyal readers, and they are growing every day.

Let's have a little bit of fun.

If anyone would like to report an illegal prostitution ring run in Chatsworth California this is the address of the offices:

OC Modeling Los Angeles Main Office:
22024 Lassen Street
Suite 114
Chatsworth, Ca. 91311
(818) 626-9550

Here are some links to law enforcement would take interest in Sandra McCarthy's prostitution empire:

Chatsworth Police Department
810 G I Maddox Pkwy,
Chatsworth, GA 30705
Phone:(706) 695-9667

Los Angeles County resources:

Human Trafficking Section
http://www.lapdonline.org/detective_bureau/content_basic_view/51926

Gaming, Bookmaking, Pornography, Prostitution
251 E. 6th St, Rm 332
Los Angeles, CA. 90014
213-972-2500

Officer-in-Charge

Kelly Mulldorfer
Detective Support and Vice Division
213-972-2500
Email: kelly.mulldorfer@lapd.lacity.org

Vice Division (VD) is responsible for collecting, recording, maintaining, and disseminating intelligence data a major organized criminal enterprise within and affecting the City of Los Angeles. The Vice section concentrates on the enforcement of vice activities such as gaming, bookmaking, pornography, and prostitution. – http://www.lapdonline.org/detective_bureau/content_basic_view/1987

I've thought about it, but I have never reported any of Sandra McCarthy's illegal activities to the police. I don't believe in getting law-enforcement involved with anything. My new daily goal is to make her spend her life inside the confines of a State penitentiary.

In the event, the police are paid off, which I have often believed that they are. With companies like LADirect and Oc Modeling flagrantly operating out in the open for so many years you'd think they would've eventually gotten the attention of law enforcement? You never know, we might get lucky, this is an election year. The office is located within close proximity to public schools and other areas that wouldn't want this kind of activity.

If the are police paid off, I would happily pass the baton over to the criminals.

Prostitution is a cash money business. Though it has been some years since I was in that office, Sandra would always stash the cash in the file cabinets on the left side of the main room. Of course, that was three years ago. Surely, she can't be stupid enough to still be stashing the cash in a rental office with minimal or no security, but this is Sandra McCarthy we are talking about. If no money can be found there, Your next best bet would be to jack one of the model houses or catch one of their employees in the parking lot when they usually leave the office between 8PM and 11PM. She perjured herself in court, saying, “Jason Quinlan has a gun and is dangerous.” Which couldn't be further from the truth, as I've stated in previous blogs I am an advocate of gun control. So I'm assuming she isn't packing, but I can't confirm that.

I am not going to cross the line and post personal information, but if the police don't want to handle it anyone's can personal information including the addresses of the model houses by using Spokeo.com: Search anybody by name, e-mail address, phone number, online username or even friends in your address book and instantly return lots of info.

In case you haven't noticed, this blog was originally supposed to be a re-accounting of my glory days. I haven't even gotten to the good stuff like why I have Jeff Hanneman's guitar, the incident with Oliver Stone, and how I tried to shut the ocean off.

I have only been able to post a few of those stories from the 200-page manuscript I already have written, and have opted to use this blog as a platform to dish out massive bowls of truth-soup against my enemies.

I am homeless, have a pinched nerve which makes it likely I can't play guitar ever again without surgery I cannot afford.

I have chosen to go out with guns blazing. No justice, no peace, no quarter from my enemies.

In case you haven't noticed: I don't give a fuck about anything.

I'm not drinking to excess or on drugs.

That makes me more of a threat and hopefully a better writer.

Thank you for your time.

If you would like to help me keep writing so I don't have to keep sneaking into Starbucks for WIFI and can actually order of mocha Frapuccino, donations are always appreciated!

jason quinlan paypal

JQ