One more day and this year will be over. The earth has been traveling around the sun at 67,000MPH for 365 days and so, he we are back were we started, ready to do it all again, though this time somehow optimistic that something will be different this time around.
I think it would be cliche and boring for me to talk about New Year's resolutions and regrets of times passed. I would like, instead to tell you all about something I that is probably the furthest thing from your mind, but should be closer to the forefront.
You know when you get a new roll of toilet paper, and you are too lazy to put that little spring loaded rod through it and attatch it to the rack? What do you do with it then? You set it somewhere...on the back of the toilet, on the floor next to the toilet...or you set it on top of the rod in the fixture and you get on with your life.
This seems a perfectly acceptable solution, and after all you just had a very pleasent, if not stressful bowel movement, and the achievement has left you euphoric and slightly unaware of...certain physical truths. Namely, that the new roll of ass wiping paper has too large of a circumfrance to actually stay on top of the rod.
You stand up, go to flush your effectuation straight to Hell, when lo! The brand new roll falls right into the tiolet! No fucking way did that just happen. No fucking way!
But it did, and now you have a problem. Your toilet is full of shit an any part of the fecies that was in any way liquid is no quickly absorbing into the massive lump of paper. You can't just flush it away, that would most certainly clog and make a bigger mess. So you have two options, A. You can fish out the shit soaked toilet roll with your bare hands and then try and figure out where to dispose of the dripping stinking mass or B. You can commit suicide.
end transmission.
Saturday, December 30, 2006
Saturday, December 23, 2006
Some Bullshit Escape.
So, today I got in a big fight with some woman that insisted that suicide rates increase during the Christmas season. I know that's not true because I thought it was true at one point, but as I am prone to do, I did the research and found out it just isn't fucking so.
Actually, more people kill themselves in April than any other month. I find that interesting since it was the month I was born in, so if you believe in any sort of reincarnation or that kind of shit, I probably have the soul of a suicide--er. I refuse to call them victims...but it makes sense when you think about it. Winter time is a bleak, shitty period of the year when depression seems almost inevitable. Everything is dead, it's cold, the days are short, a lot of time with no sun, and there's no fucking way your parents are gonna buy you a $185 GI Joe Aircraft Carrier for Christmas, even though it is over 5 feet long (That's barely $37 a foot) and comes with Admiral Flagg AND a special edition ACE. Where would I put such a thing? I'd find somewhere...
I digress, Uh...oh yeah, but in April it's all sunny and the girls are wearing less and the air smells like life and sex and vitality, and there you are, still feeling like shit, but the rest of the world walking around with a boner and you can't go anywhere without seeing it, mocking your pain. And your puppy that you named after your dead grandma got hit by a semi truck that was shipping tampons to the local safeway, and that "rash" you got from the girl you fucked six monthes ago still hasn't gone away, and they canceled Firefly, which was on its way to being the best show ever, and there's that fuck Jared still making money with his stupid glasses, telling you how good subway is for you, but you know it's a lie, they started a new season of the Real World, George Bush got re-elected, your job sucks, somebody got a hold of those pictures you took of yourself with your dick tucked back between your legs and posted them on the web, gas is over 3 fucking dollars a gallon, they stopped making almond joy ice cream, Pennies still cost 2.3 cents to make, and it doesn't seem to make any sense that there are no girl terrorists, and you can't stop watching that stupid super sweet 16 show on Mtv, and you ordered that Rueben with NO thousand island, just like always, and they still put it on, "I said make it Dry bitch! Dry!" and no one else seems the least bit depressed about any of it so BLAM!
This all seems moot in the face of the fact that this poor woman's daughter killed herself 6 years ago, on Christmas. I never said the suicide rate was zero over the holidays, I just said it didn't increase. In all probobility the poor girl was so fucked up she had other things on her mind more important than Jesus's birthday.
So, if you want to kill yourself, for God's sake wait 'till April. We'll all understand, and I won't have to stand in silent, awkward disbelief at my incredible misfortune at choosing when and who to debate on the topic of Yule tide self murder.
Merry Christmas kids.
end transmission.
Actually, more people kill themselves in April than any other month. I find that interesting since it was the month I was born in, so if you believe in any sort of reincarnation or that kind of shit, I probably have the soul of a suicide--er. I refuse to call them victims...but it makes sense when you think about it. Winter time is a bleak, shitty period of the year when depression seems almost inevitable. Everything is dead, it's cold, the days are short, a lot of time with no sun, and there's no fucking way your parents are gonna buy you a $185 GI Joe Aircraft Carrier for Christmas, even though it is over 5 feet long (That's barely $37 a foot) and comes with Admiral Flagg AND a special edition ACE. Where would I put such a thing? I'd find somewhere...
I digress, Uh...oh yeah, but in April it's all sunny and the girls are wearing less and the air smells like life and sex and vitality, and there you are, still feeling like shit, but the rest of the world walking around with a boner and you can't go anywhere without seeing it, mocking your pain. And your puppy that you named after your dead grandma got hit by a semi truck that was shipping tampons to the local safeway, and that "rash" you got from the girl you fucked six monthes ago still hasn't gone away, and they canceled Firefly, which was on its way to being the best show ever, and there's that fuck Jared still making money with his stupid glasses, telling you how good subway is for you, but you know it's a lie, they started a new season of the Real World, George Bush got re-elected, your job sucks, somebody got a hold of those pictures you took of yourself with your dick tucked back between your legs and posted them on the web, gas is over 3 fucking dollars a gallon, they stopped making almond joy ice cream, Pennies still cost 2.3 cents to make, and it doesn't seem to make any sense that there are no girl terrorists, and you can't stop watching that stupid super sweet 16 show on Mtv, and you ordered that Rueben with NO thousand island, just like always, and they still put it on, "I said make it Dry bitch! Dry!" and no one else seems the least bit depressed about any of it so BLAM!
This all seems moot in the face of the fact that this poor woman's daughter killed herself 6 years ago, on Christmas. I never said the suicide rate was zero over the holidays, I just said it didn't increase. In all probobility the poor girl was so fucked up she had other things on her mind more important than Jesus's birthday.
So, if you want to kill yourself, for God's sake wait 'till April. We'll all understand, and I won't have to stand in silent, awkward disbelief at my incredible misfortune at choosing when and who to debate on the topic of Yule tide self murder.
Merry Christmas kids.
end transmission.
Even Grey Suits have their day.
I was thinking, whatever we may do, excess will always keep its place in the heart of man, in the place where solitude is found. We all carry within us our places of exile, our crimes and our ravages. But our task is not to unleash them on the world; it is to fight them in ourselves and others.
Egg nog was originally named after drinks called "grog" meaning anything made with rum. I drank a lot of it and this is the outcome.
end transmission.
Egg nog was originally named after drinks called "grog" meaning anything made with rum. I drank a lot of it and this is the outcome.
end transmission.
Sunday, December 10, 2006
It's sad when someone you know becomes someone you knew.
So a lot of you might be wondering, where was Johnny Knoxville last Thursday night?
I'll tell you where! He was at the Double Down Saloon watching a girl shoot darts out of her twat at a skinny dude with balloons taped to his chest. How do I know this? 'cause I was there too!
It just goes to fucking show that there are things in this world still left to surprise and wow me. Just when I was sitting at home, lamenting that there was nothing this world had to present to me that would ever again fill my body with tingling veneration, behold! Las Vegas surprises me yet again!
This woman could not only fire blowdarts out of a tube inserted into her pussy, she could do so with enough force to lodge the darts in the human target, (better still, she could do it from two different positions!) that's right flesh piercing vagina darts! Add one more terrible weapon the the pussy's already lethal arsenal. The darts were not terribly accurate, though I blame the girls skirt for the interferance. Ian has pictures of this somewhere, I'll give you guys a look when I can get to them.
end transmission.
I'll tell you where! He was at the Double Down Saloon watching a girl shoot darts out of her twat at a skinny dude with balloons taped to his chest. How do I know this? 'cause I was there too!
It just goes to fucking show that there are things in this world still left to surprise and wow me. Just when I was sitting at home, lamenting that there was nothing this world had to present to me that would ever again fill my body with tingling veneration, behold! Las Vegas surprises me yet again!
This woman could not only fire blowdarts out of a tube inserted into her pussy, she could do so with enough force to lodge the darts in the human target, (better still, she could do it from two different positions!) that's right flesh piercing vagina darts! Add one more terrible weapon the the pussy's already lethal arsenal. The darts were not terribly accurate, though I blame the girls skirt for the interferance. Ian has pictures of this somewhere, I'll give you guys a look when I can get to them.
end transmission.
Friday, December 08, 2006
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
Murder in the key of F.
A homeless woman farted on me today. I feel as if maybe she was just farting and I walked by, but that is not the truth. She expelled fecies in a gaseous form straight into my nasal pasasages, the airborne shit sticking to my white t-shirt and blue jeans, both now brown with her insolence. And she did so with predjudice!
Why do I tell you this?
To brighten your day, of course. Hopefully, if you were farted on today the person was lying next to you, naked, or it was in the context of ribald humor, expelled for a laugh. At the very least the person who farted on you had a place indoors to sleep. Even better, you walked through the ass-cloud of a stranger, and it only made your lunch taste faintly of shit.
end transmission.
Why do I tell you this?
To brighten your day, of course. Hopefully, if you were farted on today the person was lying next to you, naked, or it was in the context of ribald humor, expelled for a laugh. At the very least the person who farted on you had a place indoors to sleep. Even better, you walked through the ass-cloud of a stranger, and it only made your lunch taste faintly of shit.
end transmission.
Sunday, November 19, 2006
Cry for mercy and you will die crying!
I did it! After four years of brutal open warfare, with countless, intermitant guerilla skirmishes, I have done the impossible! I have defeated an enemy more terrible than any other foe known to the American people. I stand triumphant over the iniquitous and always unpropitious avatar of perniciousness on our mortal plain!
I, of course, speak of the DMV. Though the fight was arduous and spanned two states, I have finally won! Eat shit Boulder DMV, suck my ass Las Vegas DMV! You must now go on fucking everyone else in holes far too small for your cock of execrable injustice with the painful image of my well won vicotry, buring in your soul! Thus forever ruining your foul ejaculation, decreasing the elation you once felt so clearly knowing that no one could stand up to your rancorous might! Know that every asshole that waits in a 3 hour line in the early morning hours on a fucking Wednesday will be slightly bolstered by my tale and smile slightly through gritted teeth as you dispense your languid writs and permits!
I share this triumph with you all.
Fuck you DMV, I win, you loose, I fooled you you fucks, I won!
end transmission.
I, of course, speak of the DMV. Though the fight was arduous and spanned two states, I have finally won! Eat shit Boulder DMV, suck my ass Las Vegas DMV! You must now go on fucking everyone else in holes far too small for your cock of execrable injustice with the painful image of my well won vicotry, buring in your soul! Thus forever ruining your foul ejaculation, decreasing the elation you once felt so clearly knowing that no one could stand up to your rancorous might! Know that every asshole that waits in a 3 hour line in the early morning hours on a fucking Wednesday will be slightly bolstered by my tale and smile slightly through gritted teeth as you dispense your languid writs and permits!
I share this triumph with you all.
Fuck you DMV, I win, you loose, I fooled you you fucks, I won!
end transmission.
Saturday, November 11, 2006
I'm a single succesfull guy.
The Bouncing Souls show was fucking amazing, as they always are live. I heard some of their new songs live and maybe I'm willing to admit their new album is not all bad. The Acoustic version of "Say Anything" was surprising and very cool to hear. I am jealous of all you fuckers in Denver 'cause they're playing two nights, the second night they're playing Maniacal Laughter the whole way through, that should be sweet. I can't believe it's been 10 years since that album came out, it seems like just yesterday I was a young punk in my freashman year at CU drinking and getting into trouble.
That's the good and bad about a band like the Souls, I have so many memories tied to those songs, even those guys in the band, I've seen them so many times they seem like family, which is something i really miss, that "scene" of kids (most of whom I never really liked anyway, ironically) but it reminds me of a time before punk was cool, and only the losers liked it and if you put on a punk cd at a shitty party people got all mad and had no idea why anyone would like that kind of thrashing guitar and too-fast drum beat, with bad vocals and songs about peeing in ice cube trays.
This show had those kind of kids, even punkers my age with their kids, little 5 year olds and shit (maybe their is hope for the future of america) , the contrast to say, the Alkaline Trio show was astounding and not a little sad. I'm old, what I think is cool, oddly enough has finally caught on, and now, it has been destroyed by mass media and trendy bullshit. They sell ripped tshirts for $30 at hot topic, and it's cool to have a fucking FAUX Hawk! (I swear to God it takes all the restraint in my robust frame to refrain from killing anyone with that haircut, bloodily dismembering them and feeding them their own limbs) You can have a godamned mohawk at work in a fancy restraunt! It's socially acceptable, but only in it's new "fagged"up metrosexual form mode. There is something fundimentally wrong with that, and absolutely nothing punk about it..
Punk rock and the mohawk, the New Punk and the Fauxhawk, it's easy to kinda see what I mean, huh?
But most of the music hasn't changed, it has just been dulled somehow. Punk rock has been Fagged up mtreosexualised just like our hair, We sold them our revenge, and now what do we have left?
There are still a lot of good "punk" (now they have all just been thrown into the alternative rock bin of history, and that lack of distiction makes me sad) bands in the scene, most of the older bands keep making good music and playing it for these eyeliner fags, (I even like some of the eyeliner fag bands, Taking Back Sunday, My Chemical Romance, and some others, they have some balls I even if they do wear women's jeans) and the Bouncing Souls are still strong, they're one of those bands that just make you happy to rock out with, even their sad songs are upbeat and there is just such a rediculous positive energy surrounding them and their music, it's impossible to resist, you can't help but have fun listening to thier shit.
Mostly they make me think of days of yore, of Kap, (who got me into them) and all of our adventures as lads at the sub shop (the First Planet Sub crew, before the Half Fast team.), and Evan and our Bad Religion bonding that ended in a black out and severe injury on my part handing out flyers for a show at a frat party. Mr. Charles Livingston and Medieval Madness, Rats in the Hallway, Hallett Hall and all those fucking assholes. That all seems like a lifetime ago, I miss those days, those kids. At least I still see most of those guys every once in a while, there were a few of those kids who didn't survive (figuritively and literally), and some of those people I'm glad I will never see again.
Worse than all of it, I am the whore I never wanted to be, and it makes me sick, working fulltime at a job that does nothing beneficial other than fill my wallet. Watching Fight Club agian, sorry, that movie always makes me feel like a hypocrite. My things do own me and I am helpless in the face of their seduction.
On a happy note, one of the opening bands was this group of black dudes called Whole Wheat Bread...and I must say they were awesome, I was blown away, i haven't heard/seen a punk band with that much talent, attitude, and heart in a long time. I highly advise any of you in CO to go see them at the Gothic, they will surprise the shit out of you, I promise. They even have T-shirts and bumper stickers that say "I love black people."
I also need a new mouse, my left clicker is gummed up with beer. It makes computing difficult at best.
end transmission.
That's the good and bad about a band like the Souls, I have so many memories tied to those songs, even those guys in the band, I've seen them so many times they seem like family, which is something i really miss, that "scene" of kids (most of whom I never really liked anyway, ironically) but it reminds me of a time before punk was cool, and only the losers liked it and if you put on a punk cd at a shitty party people got all mad and had no idea why anyone would like that kind of thrashing guitar and too-fast drum beat, with bad vocals and songs about peeing in ice cube trays.
This show had those kind of kids, even punkers my age with their kids, little 5 year olds and shit (maybe their is hope for the future of america) , the contrast to say, the Alkaline Trio show was astounding and not a little sad. I'm old, what I think is cool, oddly enough has finally caught on, and now, it has been destroyed by mass media and trendy bullshit. They sell ripped tshirts for $30 at hot topic, and it's cool to have a fucking FAUX Hawk! (I swear to God it takes all the restraint in my robust frame to refrain from killing anyone with that haircut, bloodily dismembering them and feeding them their own limbs) You can have a godamned mohawk at work in a fancy restraunt! It's socially acceptable, but only in it's new "fagged"up metrosexual form mode. There is something fundimentally wrong with that, and absolutely nothing punk about it..
Punk rock and the mohawk, the New Punk and the Fauxhawk, it's easy to kinda see what I mean, huh?
But most of the music hasn't changed, it has just been dulled somehow. Punk rock has been Fagged up mtreosexualised just like our hair, We sold them our revenge, and now what do we have left?
There are still a lot of good "punk" (now they have all just been thrown into the alternative rock bin of history, and that lack of distiction makes me sad) bands in the scene, most of the older bands keep making good music and playing it for these eyeliner fags, (I even like some of the eyeliner fag bands, Taking Back Sunday, My Chemical Romance, and some others, they have some balls I even if they do wear women's jeans) and the Bouncing Souls are still strong, they're one of those bands that just make you happy to rock out with, even their sad songs are upbeat and there is just such a rediculous positive energy surrounding them and their music, it's impossible to resist, you can't help but have fun listening to thier shit.
Mostly they make me think of days of yore, of Kap, (who got me into them) and all of our adventures as lads at the sub shop (the First Planet Sub crew, before the Half Fast team.), and Evan and our Bad Religion bonding that ended in a black out and severe injury on my part handing out flyers for a show at a frat party. Mr. Charles Livingston and Medieval Madness, Rats in the Hallway, Hallett Hall and all those fucking assholes. That all seems like a lifetime ago, I miss those days, those kids. At least I still see most of those guys every once in a while, there were a few of those kids who didn't survive (figuritively and literally), and some of those people I'm glad I will never see again.
Worse than all of it, I am the whore I never wanted to be, and it makes me sick, working fulltime at a job that does nothing beneficial other than fill my wallet. Watching Fight Club agian, sorry, that movie always makes me feel like a hypocrite. My things do own me and I am helpless in the face of their seduction.
On a happy note, one of the opening bands was this group of black dudes called Whole Wheat Bread...and I must say they were awesome, I was blown away, i haven't heard/seen a punk band with that much talent, attitude, and heart in a long time. I highly advise any of you in CO to go see them at the Gothic, they will surprise the shit out of you, I promise. They even have T-shirts and bumper stickers that say "I love black people."
I also need a new mouse, my left clicker is gummed up with beer. It makes computing difficult at best.
end transmission.
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
To Laugh is like swallowing a Secret that Santa Clause Farted.
I was at work at about 5Am this morning, aimlessly walking around in circles, having an internal debate on whether it would be better to have a society where everyone was stupid, or one where everyone was smart. Both have interesting possibilities, on the one hand, if everyone was dumb...you guys don't really care about that so...
A really hot woman came up to me and this is what happened:
"Hey, do you have a light?" She asked.
"Nope, sorry," I said.
"Bullshit, come on you don't have any matches?"
"No bullshit, the bar prolly has some."
"I don't want to go to the bar, why don't you have any matches? Are you one of those non smokers?"
"Yeah. I Find it to be an offensive practice."
"What?"
"No, I don't smoke."
It is at this point the girl pulls a matchbook out of her purse and lights a smoke.
"Did you just try and use matches as an excuse to come over and talk to me?" I asked.
"Yeah, it kinda backfired, I guess. But I guess it was a waste 'cause I smoke and you don't, it would never work."
"We should probably go our seperate ways now, before one of us gets hurt."
I, of course, meant this in a relationship, broken heart kinda hurt, she on the other hand...
"Why, are you gonna hit me? I could take you. No, you'd probably beat my ass stupid, but I'd scream real loud."
?
"Ok, don't worry, I don't want to fight you, anyways," I said.
"What are you some kinda pussy?"
"Something like that."
"My name is ******"
"I'm Daub."
We shook hands.
"You have really soft hands, Daub, " she laughs.
"Thanks, I guess." (people tell me that all the fucking time...maybe I do have girlishly soft hands, so what?)
"Well, just make sure you don't call me ****** if you see me down here with some dude."
Yes, ******* was a hooker. A really hot/high hooker, who then continued to talk my ear off for the next hour and a half. It was a slow night, after all, and it's good to make new friends.
I learned the following things,
1. If i ever need qulity blow, I now have a contact.
2. ****** usually charges $500 for a BJ, $700 for vaginal, $900 for anal. (though she told me she'd suck my dick for $200, 'cause she thought I was cute). She told me about some of the famous dudes she fucked, i told her about the time Peed on a girl in the shower on accident. She told me that would cost $300.
3. Not all hookers have pimps, but most do.
4. It's hard to maintain a romantic relationship AND hook ant the same time. 5. Flirting with prostitutes is free.
6. Hookers are not very smart, though they are pretty good at bullshitting.
7. Not all hookers were molested as children, though this one was, and due to my X-factor (even at work, with A Vegas Prostitute, shit!) I found out all about it. It seems that her dad's brother used to video tape her in her underwear dancing on her bed, and then he'd...well you get the picture.
end transmssion
A really hot woman came up to me and this is what happened:
"Hey, do you have a light?" She asked.
"Nope, sorry," I said.
"Bullshit, come on you don't have any matches?"
"No bullshit, the bar prolly has some."
"I don't want to go to the bar, why don't you have any matches? Are you one of those non smokers?"
"Yeah. I Find it to be an offensive practice."
"What?"
"No, I don't smoke."
It is at this point the girl pulls a matchbook out of her purse and lights a smoke.
"Did you just try and use matches as an excuse to come over and talk to me?" I asked.
"Yeah, it kinda backfired, I guess. But I guess it was a waste 'cause I smoke and you don't, it would never work."
"We should probably go our seperate ways now, before one of us gets hurt."
I, of course, meant this in a relationship, broken heart kinda hurt, she on the other hand...
"Why, are you gonna hit me? I could take you. No, you'd probably beat my ass stupid, but I'd scream real loud."
?
"Ok, don't worry, I don't want to fight you, anyways," I said.
"What are you some kinda pussy?"
"Something like that."
"My name is ******"
"I'm Daub."
We shook hands.
"You have really soft hands, Daub, " she laughs.
"Thanks, I guess." (people tell me that all the fucking time...maybe I do have girlishly soft hands, so what?)
"Well, just make sure you don't call me ****** if you see me down here with some dude."
Yes, ******* was a hooker. A really hot/high hooker, who then continued to talk my ear off for the next hour and a half. It was a slow night, after all, and it's good to make new friends.
I learned the following things,
1. If i ever need qulity blow, I now have a contact.
2. ****** usually charges $500 for a BJ, $700 for vaginal, $900 for anal. (though she told me she'd suck my dick for $200, 'cause she thought I was cute). She told me about some of the famous dudes she fucked, i told her about the time Peed on a girl in the shower on accident. She told me that would cost $300.
3. Not all hookers have pimps, but most do.
4. It's hard to maintain a romantic relationship AND hook ant the same time. 5. Flirting with prostitutes is free.
6. Hookers are not very smart, though they are pretty good at bullshitting.
7. Not all hookers were molested as children, though this one was, and due to my X-factor (even at work, with A Vegas Prostitute, shit!) I found out all about it. It seems that her dad's brother used to video tape her in her underwear dancing on her bed, and then he'd...well you get the picture.
end transmssion
Sunday, November 05, 2006
All Downhill from Here.
Not much to say today.
A few things that I'm afraid to think about, much less say out loud, lest they be jinxed....even though I don't technically believe in such nonsense. Just cross your fingers for me. Eventhough I don't think that will have any causal effect on the outcome, just do it just in case, Thanks
Enough vagueries...The Bouncing Souls are coming this Thursday night, and even though their new album kinda sucks, I know they will be awesome live, they always are and I actually get to go to the show due to its atypical play date. (Who ever heard of a Thursday Night show?)
What else...Oh I went to the Doctor a few days ago for some intense pain in my ear. The bad news was that I had a mild ear infection, probably from listening to too many dirty jokes. The good (and slightly surprising) news is:
I AM APARANTLY THE HEALTHIEST MAN ON EARTH.
The doctor was literally taken aback by my level of good health. I thought he was fucking with me at first, he seemed so surprised, I thought it was some sort of sarcastic method of making me feel better about an ass polup or penis warts. But alas, my Height/Weight/Body Fat ratio was textbook, my blood pressure and heart rate were par for an 18 year old, and my asshole is cancer free. I also have no STD's, and aside from the ear problem, I'm in tip top audio/visual shape. He didn't do any sperm tests, but I did a home count and I had to stop at 1,000 million, with still a shot glass full of fluid left to go!
He told me to keep doing what I was doing and I'd live to be 200.
So in an effort to help you all sprint down the righteous path of longevity, I thought I'd tell you "what I was doing."
1. Lots of vitamins, it doesn't really matter which kind, just take them all, the key just to take most of them everyday.
2. Drink, heavily and often. Everyday if you can.
3. Say "yes" to drugs, but not "please."
4. Eat shittons of meat, avoid bread and sugar.
5. Try to have as little sex as possible (this step I kinda stumbled onto by accident, and completely involuntarily)
6. Rage against the small shit (like people who still use fucking checks at the supermarket...and wait till all their shit is wrung up before they start writing "WHat's the date today...what was the total? You got all my coupons, right?...still that seems high....oops I wrote the check for Safeway, this isn't Safeway, where am I? I better start again. ARGHH!) and let the big shit (George Bush) slide.
7. Take stuff from work.
8. Say "fuck" to little mexican kids as much as oppurtunity allows.
9. Call people while you are pooping, though politeness would dictate that you forgo flushing untill after you hang up.
10. Don't forget to flush after you hang up.
11. Drink with Diet Soda mixers, it has actually been proven alcohol enters your system faster with diet cola than with sugar! No shit. Look it up.
12. Listen only to Punk music from the early and mid 90's, (fall out boy and their modern ilk will not only give you cancer but it will make you gay as well) occaisional Blues and never, ever to rap. Except for that Jay-Z song about 99 problems, that song is ok for some reason.
13. Pee on a church at least once a week.
According to my doctor these are the things that lead to amazing, happy, healthy living. Enjoy!
end transmission.
A few things that I'm afraid to think about, much less say out loud, lest they be jinxed....even though I don't technically believe in such nonsense. Just cross your fingers for me. Eventhough I don't think that will have any causal effect on the outcome, just do it just in case, Thanks
Enough vagueries...The Bouncing Souls are coming this Thursday night, and even though their new album kinda sucks, I know they will be awesome live, they always are and I actually get to go to the show due to its atypical play date. (Who ever heard of a Thursday Night show?)
What else...Oh I went to the Doctor a few days ago for some intense pain in my ear. The bad news was that I had a mild ear infection, probably from listening to too many dirty jokes. The good (and slightly surprising) news is:
I AM APARANTLY THE HEALTHIEST MAN ON EARTH.
The doctor was literally taken aback by my level of good health. I thought he was fucking with me at first, he seemed so surprised, I thought it was some sort of sarcastic method of making me feel better about an ass polup or penis warts. But alas, my Height/Weight/Body Fat ratio was textbook, my blood pressure and heart rate were par for an 18 year old, and my asshole is cancer free. I also have no STD's, and aside from the ear problem, I'm in tip top audio/visual shape. He didn't do any sperm tests, but I did a home count and I had to stop at 1,000 million, with still a shot glass full of fluid left to go!
He told me to keep doing what I was doing and I'd live to be 200.
So in an effort to help you all sprint down the righteous path of longevity, I thought I'd tell you "what I was doing."
1. Lots of vitamins, it doesn't really matter which kind, just take them all, the key just to take most of them everyday.
2. Drink, heavily and often. Everyday if you can.
3. Say "yes" to drugs, but not "please."
4. Eat shittons of meat, avoid bread and sugar.
5. Try to have as little sex as possible (this step I kinda stumbled onto by accident, and completely involuntarily)
6. Rage against the small shit (like people who still use fucking checks at the supermarket...and wait till all their shit is wrung up before they start writing "WHat's the date today...what was the total? You got all my coupons, right?...still that seems high....oops I wrote the check for Safeway, this isn't Safeway, where am I? I better start again. ARGHH!) and let the big shit (George Bush) slide.
7. Take stuff from work.
8. Say "fuck" to little mexican kids as much as oppurtunity allows.
9. Call people while you are pooping, though politeness would dictate that you forgo flushing untill after you hang up.
10. Don't forget to flush after you hang up.
11. Drink with Diet Soda mixers, it has actually been proven alcohol enters your system faster with diet cola than with sugar! No shit. Look it up.
12. Listen only to Punk music from the early and mid 90's, (fall out boy and their modern ilk will not only give you cancer but it will make you gay as well) occaisional Blues and never, ever to rap. Except for that Jay-Z song about 99 problems, that song is ok for some reason.
13. Pee on a church at least once a week.
According to my doctor these are the things that lead to amazing, happy, healthy living. Enjoy!
end transmission.
Thursday, October 26, 2006
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
Same Cars, Same Clothes, Same Desires, Same Woes.
So I have only to words with which two open today's Bullshit Session:
Hooker Fight.
I came to Las Vegas with a small list of things to accomplish. I have accomplished numbers 2 (fucked a stripper), 4 (got a job in a casino), 5 (took pictures of Ian asleep with my nuts on his forehead), 8 (turned down a blowjob from a female crackhead), 9 (turned down a blowjob from a male crackhead), and finally last night I checked off number 3 (watch two black hookers beat the shit out of each other, while on the clock).
I was "checking the meters" which in slot jargon means walking around with a clipboard looking official and intimidating drunk gambling foreigners. So there I was counting the minutes till lunch, when I heard a high pitch shriek, fallowed by a loud, "What now bitch!"
I immidiately knew it was an african american woman, because she just kept repeating "What now, Bitch!" over and over. I blame Hip-Hop, it encourages verbal expression through repitition. Kinda like marketing breakfast cereal, "whoop there it is!" or "my mind on my money, my money on my mind." might as well be "they're Grrrreat!"
Where was I...Oh, so I walk around a slot bank toward the bathroom, and there they are. The first thing I see...well first I'll tell you what they looked like.
The first girl had on what could only be described as a slightly wider than average rubberband around her thighs and the top half of her ass. It was hot pink, while her bra, which was about 3 cup sizes too small, was black. She had a blonde wig, and the highest stilletto heels I have ever seen. She looked (and moved) like she was walking on stilts. She also had a gut. Yes, dude, there were stretch marks.
The other gitl was real skinney, and black. I mean like the darkest black person I've ever seen, and she had on a pink wig, camo short skirt and one of those tight midrif shirts that unzipps down the cleavage.
Well Potbelly had Skinegro by the back of the neck and was punching, (womp, "What now, Bitch!") closed fist, (womp, "What now, Bitch!") not slapping, full on (womp, "What now, Bitch!") dude style punching this girl in (womp, "What now, Bitch!") the face. Skinegro's purse went flying, money went everywhere.
Skinegro then pulled away and promptly ("What now, Bitch!") fell on her ass, she was crying, her face bloody (Chopper, black people have red blood just like us, you lied to me), but she was ("What now, Bitch!") still ballsy enough to spit a "Fuck you! Bitch! This ain't yo shit!" Potbelly literally dove at the hooker on the ground, shrieking.
That's when I got on the radio, "Um...what's the 10 code for hooker fight?" (everything on the radio has a stupid 10 code, 10-5 bathroom break, 10-8 lunch, etc.) My clever quip was met with silence, and ("What now, Bitch!") that's about when security showed up and pulled these two hookers apart and cuffed them ("What now, Bitch!"). They would not stop yelling, and now that the skinny one had the big one cuffed and buffeted by security started getting real loud, "you ain't shit bitch, fuck you, etc." This made potbelly angrier, and consequently, louder. "you wanna come into MY house and shake your skank and then disrespect me, fuck you bitch. Fuck you bitch. Fuck you bitch. Fuck you bitch (you get the idea).
A third hooker came out of the bathroom and tried to put in her 2 cents but she was told she could leave now, or get cuffed too, so she quickly abandoned her whore buddies.
end transmission.
Hooker Fight.
I came to Las Vegas with a small list of things to accomplish. I have accomplished numbers 2 (fucked a stripper), 4 (got a job in a casino), 5 (took pictures of Ian asleep with my nuts on his forehead), 8 (turned down a blowjob from a female crackhead), 9 (turned down a blowjob from a male crackhead), and finally last night I checked off number 3 (watch two black hookers beat the shit out of each other, while on the clock).
I was "checking the meters" which in slot jargon means walking around with a clipboard looking official and intimidating drunk gambling foreigners. So there I was counting the minutes till lunch, when I heard a high pitch shriek, fallowed by a loud, "What now bitch!"
I immidiately knew it was an african american woman, because she just kept repeating "What now, Bitch!" over and over. I blame Hip-Hop, it encourages verbal expression through repitition. Kinda like marketing breakfast cereal, "whoop there it is!" or "my mind on my money, my money on my mind." might as well be "they're Grrrreat!"
Where was I...Oh, so I walk around a slot bank toward the bathroom, and there they are. The first thing I see...well first I'll tell you what they looked like.
The first girl had on what could only be described as a slightly wider than average rubberband around her thighs and the top half of her ass. It was hot pink, while her bra, which was about 3 cup sizes too small, was black. She had a blonde wig, and the highest stilletto heels I have ever seen. She looked (and moved) like she was walking on stilts. She also had a gut. Yes, dude, there were stretch marks.
The other gitl was real skinney, and black. I mean like the darkest black person I've ever seen, and she had on a pink wig, camo short skirt and one of those tight midrif shirts that unzipps down the cleavage.
Well Potbelly had Skinegro by the back of the neck and was punching, (womp, "What now, Bitch!") closed fist, (womp, "What now, Bitch!") not slapping, full on (womp, "What now, Bitch!") dude style punching this girl in (womp, "What now, Bitch!") the face. Skinegro's purse went flying, money went everywhere.
Skinegro then pulled away and promptly ("What now, Bitch!") fell on her ass, she was crying, her face bloody (Chopper, black people have red blood just like us, you lied to me), but she was ("What now, Bitch!") still ballsy enough to spit a "Fuck you! Bitch! This ain't yo shit!" Potbelly literally dove at the hooker on the ground, shrieking.
That's when I got on the radio, "Um...what's the 10 code for hooker fight?" (everything on the radio has a stupid 10 code, 10-5 bathroom break, 10-8 lunch, etc.) My clever quip was met with silence, and ("What now, Bitch!") that's about when security showed up and pulled these two hookers apart and cuffed them ("What now, Bitch!"). They would not stop yelling, and now that the skinny one had the big one cuffed and buffeted by security started getting real loud, "you ain't shit bitch, fuck you, etc." This made potbelly angrier, and consequently, louder. "you wanna come into MY house and shake your skank and then disrespect me, fuck you bitch. Fuck you bitch. Fuck you bitch. Fuck you bitch (you get the idea).
A third hooker came out of the bathroom and tried to put in her 2 cents but she was told she could leave now, or get cuffed too, so she quickly abandoned her whore buddies.
end transmission.
Thursday, October 19, 2006
Back, and to the Left.
Holy Cow! I just found out something that is so fucking crazy, I just don't know what to do! I met this wonderful girl, who is borderline perfect. She's smart and beautiful, funny, the whole shubang! It's been a while since I felt a connection like this with a girl. My mom is a little upset that she's not Jewish, but other than that, things look good.
I recently found out, however that this perfect woman is seeing a psychiatrist! That wouldn't be so bad, except the therapist is my fucking Mom! Oh Man! What a crazy perdicament! Derrrr...
end transmission.
I recently found out, however that this perfect woman is seeing a psychiatrist! That wouldn't be so bad, except the therapist is my fucking Mom! Oh Man! What a crazy perdicament! Derrrr...
end transmission.
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
Those aren't boobs, they're lies!
So it's finally happened, I've seen so many fake boobs of such enormous, dissproportionate, and almost comical admeasurement that I have somehow reversed the Y chromosome directive to be attracted to big tits. Don't get me wrong, I can't help but stare at them, they just don't really do it for me anymore. Or maybe they do and I'm just too sober to notice. Something's changed, certainly. I guess it's like anything awesome, too much of it in your face or on either side of your cock, and you begin to grow uninterested and bored. IT's not that I don't like boobs anymore, it's just that it's the little ones that draw my attention now, instead of, "DUDE, look at the ginormous rack on her!," it's now more like, "Dude, that girls hasn't got a boob job yet, hot!"
Thanks a shit-ton Las Vegas, what will you destroy next? My love of cheap vodka and fart jokes? Will I soon find myself giving money to charity and helping the mentally retarded in my spare time? My reality has been twisted beyond recognition, I have no compass, no indication of what direction is up, I never really realized what an anchor big boobs were for my continued sanity. I am most certainly lost!
Anyway, i met this Irish guy last night, he was drunk and looking to score with and was angry that all the chicks were just looking for money and totally disregarded his, "fookin greeat har and pairfectly tooned stoomak mooscles." He did indeed have an impressive six pack, though I was unsure as to why he showed it to me (his "har" seemed nothing special to me, but I'm hardly an expert on such matters). So we got to talking, It turned out he was from Fairfax, VA, a place I onced lived (sorta) and we also liked drinking to excess. Irish was inordinately excited about 24 hour bars, but was equally fiery about the lack of "slooty Veegaus tail," on a Monday night at 4 AM.
It was at this point he begin to tell me his exploits in Ireland, fighting and drinking, chasing women, mostly other dudes' wives, thus the fighting. Getting jumped and having his "heed womped on sumthin tarribel." HE said american girls loved his accent, but I could barely understand it...but anyway, I got a call and had to leave.
I ran in to him an hour later, and he told me he had gotten a "fookin bloojaub" in the "Lu" from some hooker and it had cost him 300 bucks. I asked him how it was, and he said that his wife gave better head, but that was before she died in a car accident a year previous while pregnant with his unborn son.
end transmision.
Thanks a shit-ton Las Vegas, what will you destroy next? My love of cheap vodka and fart jokes? Will I soon find myself giving money to charity and helping the mentally retarded in my spare time? My reality has been twisted beyond recognition, I have no compass, no indication of what direction is up, I never really realized what an anchor big boobs were for my continued sanity. I am most certainly lost!
Anyway, i met this Irish guy last night, he was drunk and looking to score with and was angry that all the chicks were just looking for money and totally disregarded his, "fookin greeat har and pairfectly tooned stoomak mooscles." He did indeed have an impressive six pack, though I was unsure as to why he showed it to me (his "har" seemed nothing special to me, but I'm hardly an expert on such matters). So we got to talking, It turned out he was from Fairfax, VA, a place I onced lived (sorta) and we also liked drinking to excess. Irish was inordinately excited about 24 hour bars, but was equally fiery about the lack of "slooty Veegaus tail," on a Monday night at 4 AM.
It was at this point he begin to tell me his exploits in Ireland, fighting and drinking, chasing women, mostly other dudes' wives, thus the fighting. Getting jumped and having his "heed womped on sumthin tarribel." HE said american girls loved his accent, but I could barely understand it...but anyway, I got a call and had to leave.
I ran in to him an hour later, and he told me he had gotten a "fookin bloojaub" in the "Lu" from some hooker and it had cost him 300 bucks. I asked him how it was, and he said that his wife gave better head, but that was before she died in a car accident a year previous while pregnant with his unborn son.
end transmision.
Saturday, October 07, 2006
Sometimes the Struggle leaves you fragile.
I saw a puppy get hit by a truck today, and I cried, a little bit.
Not really, I just thought that would be an interesting way to start today's mess. I met a girl today at my orientation for my new job as corporate whore #345443. The first thing I learned about her was that her last job was at hooters, and she had a cup size of 36 D. This girl was (is, unless she died in the last 5 hours) 5'4.2", short people always seem to round to the nearest tenth of an inch, much like I do when I talk about my penis. Anyway, at lunch she started talking to me about herself, (my x-factor working to it's fullest potential) and she told me she desperately wanted a boob job.
Now this girl maybe weighed 100lbs, and was, as far as I could tell, pretty fucking hot. The boobs were just the beginning, she had already laid out all the other myriad procedures she wanted done, lipo here and there, chin lift, etc.
She was (is) only 23.
This got me thinking about boobs, a topic I rarely waste much cognitive faculties deliberating. Not just boobs, but how much pressure there is for girls to be perfect. I would have fucked this girl sober, without even thinking of someone else, and she was convinced she was ugly, in need of surgical augmentation to be attractive.
I'm not an idiot, I have been aware of this issue for a while, i just forget sometimes how unaware people can be of themselves. We are so preoccupied with the paragonof perfection thrust upon us by the airbrushed media, that we can't see the beauty right in front of us, most often the beauty we posses inside ourselves. It is tragic and terrible.
On the other hand, maybe this girl's 36 D boobs hung to her knees outside a bra, or looked like cantlopes in a pair of gym socks, Who knows? I guess my point is, women spend as much money and endure as much pain as you can to make yourself look perfect. Because, in the end that's what I want. I want every girl I meet to have the exact same tits, ass and face. I want to make sure that every woman I fuck looks exactly the same, and that they are all so focused on their appearance that they have never read a book or done anything more interesting than bleach their assholes. Don't even consider going to the gym as an alternative to liposuction, an please, please, keep in mind that the natural, unique feel of a real breast is bullshit compared the the amazingly unnatural and disproportionate expeience of plastic boobery.
end transmission.
Not really, I just thought that would be an interesting way to start today's mess. I met a girl today at my orientation for my new job as corporate whore #345443. The first thing I learned about her was that her last job was at hooters, and she had a cup size of 36 D. This girl was (is, unless she died in the last 5 hours) 5'4.2", short people always seem to round to the nearest tenth of an inch, much like I do when I talk about my penis. Anyway, at lunch she started talking to me about herself, (my x-factor working to it's fullest potential) and she told me she desperately wanted a boob job.
Now this girl maybe weighed 100lbs, and was, as far as I could tell, pretty fucking hot. The boobs were just the beginning, she had already laid out all the other myriad procedures she wanted done, lipo here and there, chin lift, etc.
She was (is) only 23.
This got me thinking about boobs, a topic I rarely waste much cognitive faculties deliberating. Not just boobs, but how much pressure there is for girls to be perfect. I would have fucked this girl sober, without even thinking of someone else, and she was convinced she was ugly, in need of surgical augmentation to be attractive.
I'm not an idiot, I have been aware of this issue for a while, i just forget sometimes how unaware people can be of themselves. We are so preoccupied with the paragonof perfection thrust upon us by the airbrushed media, that we can't see the beauty right in front of us, most often the beauty we posses inside ourselves. It is tragic and terrible.
On the other hand, maybe this girl's 36 D boobs hung to her knees outside a bra, or looked like cantlopes in a pair of gym socks, Who knows? I guess my point is, women spend as much money and endure as much pain as you can to make yourself look perfect. Because, in the end that's what I want. I want every girl I meet to have the exact same tits, ass and face. I want to make sure that every woman I fuck looks exactly the same, and that they are all so focused on their appearance that they have never read a book or done anything more interesting than bleach their assholes. Don't even consider going to the gym as an alternative to liposuction, an please, please, keep in mind that the natural, unique feel of a real breast is bullshit compared the the amazingly unnatural and disproportionate expeience of plastic boobery.
end transmission.
Thursday, September 28, 2006
Dinner and a Movie.
A few nights ago, I got really, really, really drunk. Even for me. I spent most of Tuesday vomiting, and I do mean the whole day.
The first volley throws out that burger, the second the hot wings. Then comes the water. Then the mystery liquid mixed with stomach acid.
After that there is a reprieve, a sort of drunken sweat coma that is violently inturupted 3 hours or so later by the beginning of the end. This is, of course, signaled by the final emptying of your stomach, anything left, stomach acid, bile, your stomach lining, that piece of gum you swallowed in 5th grade to avoid getting in trouble.
Your throat, raw and sore, the taste of pure evil in your mouth, that is when your stomach defies all science. Muscles you didn't even know you had begin to convulse, tightening and squeezing trying desperately to expunge every molecule of irritant from your soul. You desperately try to drink something, anything so that you can actually puke, something. But all you end up doing is choking on the liquid because you can't stop heaving long enough to swallow properly.
Soon this routine slows to a walk. You get a ten to fifteen minute probation from your sentance, just long enough to reflect on your sins and the inevitable penance that will ensue shortly. You think, maybe that was the last one, maybe it's done, but no...you are not done, not by a long shot.
This physical abolition is not all negative, though it is most certainly all bad. You start to ask, "What in the Hell did I do to bring my life to this, sweating over a toilet wishing I was dead, was it those squirrels I shot with a BB gun when I was 12, or maybe, it was all the times I was an asshole to total stragers or maybe I'm being punished for all the times I never cared about anyone but myself.?."
But the asnswer is glaringly simple, the only real cause is...Drinking to excess, duh? That is the superficial answer that your stomach is pounding into your brain with the subtle momentum of a ICBM. It is at this point that you start to need to shit too, all the contortioning has been working both ends, so now you have to hope that you have a convinient bathroom set up that will allow you to shit and puke at the same time, with minimal mess, but I digress.
Drinking is the obvious cause, but why did I drink so much? I drink a lot, and usually this does not happen, why this time? What does this event have in common with the few other times this has happened. And the answers come pouring in, without the filter of ego, or the ability to repress, your body has been strained to the limits of endurance, and just maintaining your life is taking all you have, so with all of your defenses down...a salience enters your pain addled conciousness...and there it is.
Suddenly and petrifying, the honest truth about your self, all your mistakes, all your regrets, all the thing that you need to remit, the behaviors you must abate, the fears that keep you abashed, the darkest most esoteric parts of you are laid bare...
...and then you vomit again, your stomach has managed to make about a teaspoon of stomach acid, that burns your throat, but that's a bout it, all your relvelations are erased by the lesson your body wants you to learn, a lesson you earnestly and genuinely embrace...No MOre Alcohol, never agian! And when you finally believe it, when your blood carries with it this truth, then your body lets you chug a gallon of water, and vomit it up, and then finally lets you sleep.
end transmission.
The first volley throws out that burger, the second the hot wings. Then comes the water. Then the mystery liquid mixed with stomach acid.
After that there is a reprieve, a sort of drunken sweat coma that is violently inturupted 3 hours or so later by the beginning of the end. This is, of course, signaled by the final emptying of your stomach, anything left, stomach acid, bile, your stomach lining, that piece of gum you swallowed in 5th grade to avoid getting in trouble.
Your throat, raw and sore, the taste of pure evil in your mouth, that is when your stomach defies all science. Muscles you didn't even know you had begin to convulse, tightening and squeezing trying desperately to expunge every molecule of irritant from your soul. You desperately try to drink something, anything so that you can actually puke, something. But all you end up doing is choking on the liquid because you can't stop heaving long enough to swallow properly.
Soon this routine slows to a walk. You get a ten to fifteen minute probation from your sentance, just long enough to reflect on your sins and the inevitable penance that will ensue shortly. You think, maybe that was the last one, maybe it's done, but no...you are not done, not by a long shot.
This physical abolition is not all negative, though it is most certainly all bad. You start to ask, "What in the Hell did I do to bring my life to this, sweating over a toilet wishing I was dead, was it those squirrels I shot with a BB gun when I was 12, or maybe, it was all the times I was an asshole to total stragers or maybe I'm being punished for all the times I never cared about anyone but myself.?."
But the asnswer is glaringly simple, the only real cause is...Drinking to excess, duh? That is the superficial answer that your stomach is pounding into your brain with the subtle momentum of a ICBM. It is at this point that you start to need to shit too, all the contortioning has been working both ends, so now you have to hope that you have a convinient bathroom set up that will allow you to shit and puke at the same time, with minimal mess, but I digress.
Drinking is the obvious cause, but why did I drink so much? I drink a lot, and usually this does not happen, why this time? What does this event have in common with the few other times this has happened. And the answers come pouring in, without the filter of ego, or the ability to repress, your body has been strained to the limits of endurance, and just maintaining your life is taking all you have, so with all of your defenses down...a salience enters your pain addled conciousness...and there it is.
Suddenly and petrifying, the honest truth about your self, all your mistakes, all your regrets, all the thing that you need to remit, the behaviors you must abate, the fears that keep you abashed, the darkest most esoteric parts of you are laid bare...
...and then you vomit again, your stomach has managed to make about a teaspoon of stomach acid, that burns your throat, but that's a bout it, all your relvelations are erased by the lesson your body wants you to learn, a lesson you earnestly and genuinely embrace...No MOre Alcohol, never agian! And when you finally believe it, when your blood carries with it this truth, then your body lets you chug a gallon of water, and vomit it up, and then finally lets you sleep.
end transmission.
Thursday, September 14, 2006
Beneath the Ashes and Lies.
| Ian and I got drunk on car bombs and vodka. I'm not lying to you guys, it really happened. Ok well maybe drunk is the wrong word, oblitertated may be more accurate. A celebration of my acqusition of a new job and the fact that life is so super. We left the bar at some point and a black dude came out of the parking lot and said, "Yo, can you guys do a nigga a favor?" Ian politely said, "No, man, sorry." The black dude responded, "It'll just take a second," at this point we have walked about 100 ft away from the guy, we continue to walk away and Ian says, "Sorry, no." "Well then fuck you fuckers, " the black dude yells. I stop and turn around, "What the fuck did you just say?" I said. "I said, fuck you," he said. "That's what I thought you said," I replied and we walked away and went and had mexican food somewhere. So to the topic of the week... So goat fisting or "handballing" as I have come to call it is a apparantly growing in popularity among the kids. Apparantly, young teenagers, curious about sex with goats, are more likely to anally (brachioprocticly) molest a goat, then they are to vaginally (brachiovaginally), and also tend toward fisting over other forms of sex, such as goat sucking or goat fucking. But what are the dangers of this behavior, you ask? Dr. Adam Germins, the world's foremost expert in animal fisting, had this to say, "Fisting is generally considered low risk for the spread of STD's provided a few basic precautions are followed; but, as with any sexual activity, there are potential health risks that must be taken into careful consideration before engaging in the fisting. When fisting is done with proper care, the risk of injury is quite low; however, fisting, when done improperly, can result in serious injuries, including ruptured bowels, internal tears, rectal/colonic infections, urinary tract infections, pelvic immflamatory disease, bruising of the cervix, mucosal laceration, muscle tearing, and temporary fecal incontinence, sterility, in the extreme case, even death. It also has been known to make the animals cry a little." Be safe, kids. end transmission. |
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
Sure Thing Failing.
I know what you're all thinking...9/11 passed without any comment. One might ask; Don't you have something horribly inappropriate or insensitive to say about terrorists and/or people jumping out of 50 story windows to avoid immolation by flaming jet fuel? There has to be some complicated theory about how this attack was actually executed in concert with the American Government, or some sort of rant about dead muslims and the idiocity of religion. Surely, you have some rage about people profiting from this bullshit, and people with WTC tattoos, and the culture of fear America has incubated to the point of blatant insanity, and the Government's deft weilding of this trepidation to fuck us in the ass while we sit with a stupid grin on our faces asking for more, and thinking all the while that it is what we need.
That would be a valid inquery, and I would have to answer, that I just didn't feel like it, okay?
So in order to give me more shit to write about I have decided to have a weekly topic, inturupted sporadically by interesting "real life" events as they occur. Got anything you want me to talk about...I love hearing myself type.
This week's topic: Fisting Goats.
My first inclination was to be against the fisting of goats, both anally and vaginally. Then, I thought vaginal Goat fisting would be ok, if the goat was of legal age, and the animal was a willing participant. But then what about the goats of the male gender, are they to be left out of the five knuckle bliss? We can't just allow anal Goat fisting for male goats, and not allow it in the females, so all fisting or none.
More to follow.
end transmsiion.
That would be a valid inquery, and I would have to answer, that I just didn't feel like it, okay?
So in order to give me more shit to write about I have decided to have a weekly topic, inturupted sporadically by interesting "real life" events as they occur. Got anything you want me to talk about...I love hearing myself type.
This week's topic: Fisting Goats.
My first inclination was to be against the fisting of goats, both anally and vaginally. Then, I thought vaginal Goat fisting would be ok, if the goat was of legal age, and the animal was a willing participant. But then what about the goats of the male gender, are they to be left out of the five knuckle bliss? We can't just allow anal Goat fisting for male goats, and not allow it in the females, so all fisting or none.
More to follow.
end transmsiion.
Saturday, September 09, 2006
Go to Work Drunk.
I woke up today and my toe hurt. The second toe, second from the big one, and I investigated the pain. It turned out I had the beginnings of an ingrown toenail, I got my pocket knife and dug it out, instantly alieviating the discomfort and I was relieved. That got me thinking about the time I broke up a girl who I really liked.
Anyway, much like clawing out the ingrown nail, I sought to eliminate the pain. Luckily, I chose booze, coke and one night stands as my expurgation and not a knife. Though unlike the toenail, my methods ended in less than total triumph.
So in this painful delirium of inebriation and woe, I fucked a girl, I will call her Hot Coke Slut 16 or HCSXVI. She had the most amazing tits I've ever seen in real life, and she either looked really similar to my old girlfriend, or I just hallucinated the similarities.
It was some of the best sex I've ever had, so full of rancor and acrimony, just so fucking...vengeful, I guess. HCSXVI told me it was incredible as well, but I really could have given two shits what she thought. Hot coke sex with strangers always seemes really good at the time anyway, no matter the reality, so who knows. She was probably the third girl I had fucked since the breakup, and I was starting to feel like my approach to dealing with the situation might have some tatical errors. For one it wasn't really working for longer than a few hours, and for another, I was starting to actually feel worse.
Her cell phone rang about 20 minutes after we had finished, and I found myself laying in bed next to HCSXVI while she talked on her phone to someone. I just sat there thinking, my thoughts moving so quickly I could barely tell them apart, what was She doing tonight, did I have to work today?, where was my car? I'm kinda hungry, well not really, but I should be hungry, did HCSXVI really let me do that to her just now, it smells like sex in here, when did I stop wanting to be an astronaut, oh yeah when they said I was too tall to fit in the damn shuttle, fuck I forgot to feed my dog, i need some whiskey, I've got to fuck this girl one more time before I never talk to her again, when did I become such an asshole? but they soon melded into one terrible cohesive ideation.
I had never even thought to wear a condom. I came on her tits, though so pregnancy was not a fear, but I could practically feel the warts growing on my dick, balls and asshole, anywhere this fucking dirty slut's infected juices had come into contact with me. Or worse, I could have AIDS or Chlamydia, or gonorrhea, hepatitis B, or even C, Herpes, Molluscum, Syphilis...maybe even fucking Bacterial Vaginosis! Well, nothing to do about it now. I was either infected or not. Could I even get Bacterial Vaginosis?
HCSXVI asked if I had any more drugs, I lied and told her no. I got up out of bed and went into the bathroom to pee.
In other news....
I had a blast last night hanging out with some new people, My Myspace Non-homosexual internet Boyfriend introduced me to (real names withheld to protect the guilty, though to be honest I am so bad with names it will probably take me years to remember their real monikers) White Thunder, Slappy the Jew, Too-tall Asian Sushi Cook, The Russian, Yellow the Drunk, and a few others who I couldn't come up with interesting alias's for. It's good to find people that like to drink as much as I do, or are good at faking it.
Oh yeah, this all started because my Marketing director said my Blog did not have enough sex in it and I was losing readers in the 8-14 year old girl demographic.
end transmisson.
Anyway, much like clawing out the ingrown nail, I sought to eliminate the pain. Luckily, I chose booze, coke and one night stands as my expurgation and not a knife. Though unlike the toenail, my methods ended in less than total triumph.
So in this painful delirium of inebriation and woe, I fucked a girl, I will call her Hot Coke Slut 16 or HCSXVI. She had the most amazing tits I've ever seen in real life, and she either looked really similar to my old girlfriend, or I just hallucinated the similarities.
It was some of the best sex I've ever had, so full of rancor and acrimony, just so fucking...vengeful, I guess. HCSXVI told me it was incredible as well, but I really could have given two shits what she thought. Hot coke sex with strangers always seemes really good at the time anyway, no matter the reality, so who knows. She was probably the third girl I had fucked since the breakup, and I was starting to feel like my approach to dealing with the situation might have some tatical errors. For one it wasn't really working for longer than a few hours, and for another, I was starting to actually feel worse.
Her cell phone rang about 20 minutes after we had finished, and I found myself laying in bed next to HCSXVI while she talked on her phone to someone. I just sat there thinking, my thoughts moving so quickly I could barely tell them apart, what was She doing tonight, did I have to work today?, where was my car? I'm kinda hungry, well not really, but I should be hungry, did HCSXVI really let me do that to her just now, it smells like sex in here, when did I stop wanting to be an astronaut, oh yeah when they said I was too tall to fit in the damn shuttle, fuck I forgot to feed my dog, i need some whiskey, I've got to fuck this girl one more time before I never talk to her again, when did I become such an asshole? but they soon melded into one terrible cohesive ideation.
I had never even thought to wear a condom. I came on her tits, though so pregnancy was not a fear, but I could practically feel the warts growing on my dick, balls and asshole, anywhere this fucking dirty slut's infected juices had come into contact with me. Or worse, I could have AIDS or Chlamydia, or gonorrhea, hepatitis B, or even C, Herpes, Molluscum, Syphilis...maybe even fucking Bacterial Vaginosis! Well, nothing to do about it now. I was either infected or not. Could I even get Bacterial Vaginosis?
HCSXVI asked if I had any more drugs, I lied and told her no. I got up out of bed and went into the bathroom to pee.
In other news....
I had a blast last night hanging out with some new people, My Myspace Non-homosexual internet Boyfriend introduced me to (real names withheld to protect the guilty, though to be honest I am so bad with names it will probably take me years to remember their real monikers) White Thunder, Slappy the Jew, Too-tall Asian Sushi Cook, The Russian, Yellow the Drunk, and a few others who I couldn't come up with interesting alias's for. It's good to find people that like to drink as much as I do, or are good at faking it.
Oh yeah, this all started because my Marketing director said my Blog did not have enough sex in it and I was losing readers in the 8-14 year old girl demographic.
end transmisson.
Saturday, September 02, 2006
Public Witness Program.
Hmmm...what to say here. I just bought a new keyboard, and it is a little odd, so fuck the typos...
I just met a bi-polar asian girl who loves horror movies, kung fu movies, and girls who act like girls.
Suffice it to say I am in love with her. She is hot to boot, and works at an insane asylum....and well, crazy, asian, hates girls, loves gore, fascinated be weird shit...it fits the bill, but she's even crazier than I think even I can handle...why does tha tmake it so much sexier.....I mean she has had some random "black outs" she calls them....psychotic episodes my limited psych education calls them....uh...well....
on a more stable note, I had a good interview with Mandalay bay today....lots of $$, hopefully enough that I can start fucking prostitutes and stop trying to find women I actually like.
end transmission.
I just met a bi-polar asian girl who loves horror movies, kung fu movies, and girls who act like girls.
Suffice it to say I am in love with her. She is hot to boot, and works at an insane asylum....and well, crazy, asian, hates girls, loves gore, fascinated be weird shit...it fits the bill, but she's even crazier than I think even I can handle...why does tha tmake it so much sexier.....I mean she has had some random "black outs" she calls them....psychotic episodes my limited psych education calls them....uh...well....
on a more stable note, I had a good interview with Mandalay bay today....lots of $$, hopefully enough that I can start fucking prostitutes and stop trying to find women I actually like.
end transmission.
Thursday, August 24, 2006
That's 64 dicks, before you ever put your hands on mine.
I'm back. I've been away from this blog long enough, I think, I've been writing on mypace a lot, but I'm back to this one because it leaves me a signifigantly increased amout of leaway. Not because of any real constraints, I just feel that this page is more true to my hate.
That being said, what do I have to say?
Nothing sadly, I'm in love with a stripper that hates me, I didn't know she was stripper until recently, but I've known she hated me since the first fight she started, why is that such a turn on? Anwho, I'm trying to get a new job, though all things conspire against and for me in equal portions. It's very frustrating.
I'm done talking for now.
end transmission.
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
Notes on pulling the sky down.
In celebration of my achievement today I ate an entire chicken. I sat down and feasted, there was so much grease and chicken juices that my fingers got all pruny like when you stay in the bath tub too long. I feel awesome. The circle of life and all that shit. What achievment would warrent such a glutonous celebration, you ask?
What achievment, indeed.
I'm leaving the internet behind for I while, I have some focusing to do, but fret not! I shall return and I will be much more interesting for the holiday.
end transmission.
What achievment, indeed.
I'm leaving the internet behind for I while, I have some focusing to do, but fret not! I shall return and I will be much more interesting for the holiday.
end transmission.
Thursday, July 13, 2006
Come back to me, please, or I'll kill myself.
Jerry Hatcher worked part time in a grocery store. While none of us could get jobs he could always get one. He had his little movie star face and his mother had a great body. With his face and her body he didn't have any trouble finding employment.
"Why don't you come up to the apartment after dinner tonight?" he asked me one day.
"What for?"
"I steal all the beer I want. I take it out back. We can drink the beer."
"Where you got it?"
"In the refrigerator."
"Show me."
We were about a block away from his place. We walked over. In the hallway Jimmy said,
"Wait a minute, I've got to check the mail." He took out his key and opened the lock box. It was empty. He locked it again.
"My key opens this woman's box. Watch."
Jimmy opened the box and pulled out a letter and opened it. He read the letter to me. "Dear Betty: I know that this check is late and that you've been waiting for it. I lost my job. I have found another one, but it put me behind. Here's the check, finally. I hope that everything is all right with you. Love, Dan." Jimmy took the check and looked at it. He tore up and he tore the letter up and he put the pieces in his coat pocket. Then he locked the mailbox.
"Come on."
He went into his apartment and into the kitchen and he opened the refrigerator. It was
packed with cans of beer.
"does your mother know?"
"Sure. She drinks it."
He closed the refrigerator.
"Jim, did your father really blow his brains out because of your mother?"
"Yeah. He was on the phone. He told her he had a gun. He said, "If you don't come back
to me I'm going to kill myself. Will you come back to me?" And my mother said, "No." There was
a shot, and that was that."
"What did your mother do?"
"She hung up."
"Alright, I'll see you tonight."
end transmission.
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
Another Dead end story.
Well, I guess I've been running myself too thin, four different blogs are too many to keep original. This one has definitely been suffering the worst and it isn't fair since it was my original soap box to bitch loudly into the quiet abyss of the interweb. My original idea was that I didn't want to have any of the blogs be the same....but In the end I only live 4 or 5 different lives, which, sadly, only amount to enough interesting blog material for .356 blogs.
I don't know if I'm gonna break that streak today...uh...
Let's see, some of the stuff not covered here....uh, I fucked my 2nd drunk Vegas stripper....I went three days without booze, um....I don't know..uh Ian went to jail....he's still there at press time...uh a mexican bathroom custodian busted in on me while I shat at the gym....I saw pirates of the carribean 2, which was awesome.
I broke a condom a few weeks ago, but did not recieve an STD or a baby.
end transmission.
I don't know if I'm gonna break that streak today...uh...
Let's see, some of the stuff not covered here....uh, I fucked my 2nd drunk Vegas stripper....I went three days without booze, um....I don't know..uh Ian went to jail....he's still there at press time...uh a mexican bathroom custodian busted in on me while I shat at the gym....I saw pirates of the carribean 2, which was awesome.
I broke a condom a few weeks ago, but did not recieve an STD or a baby.
end transmission.
Monday, July 10, 2006
Vanilla Sex.
I can't sleeep, what else is new, right? I tried all the normal remedies, I jerked off twice, read some of my own writing, went to CNN.com, all tried and true methods foe unconsciousness! But to no avail!
That, of course, led me to start drinking, which led to listening to Fugazi, which led me to think about dogs, which led to weiner dogs, which moved me to think of love and then a steady course straight to death, then I came right back up to guitar, which brought me to Slash and Guns 'n Roses, and then I restrung my acoustic guitar, and then I played it, then I realized I suck and made another drink, which led me here.
Albert CAmus said, "Yes, man is his own end. And he is his only end. If he aims to be something, it is in this life."
What, then, are my aims? Let's ponder this at the moment. There are, of course, both, short, medium, and long term goals (Did you catch that, I said both but I listed three antecedants(sp)). Short term....vodka, carne asada, vitamins, sex, money.
Medium Term...better job, vodka, carne asada, sex, money.
Long Term...Kids and family, death.
Alright, so maybe I have no idea what I want in the long term, but I sure know what I don't want.
Herepes.
end transmission.
That, of course, led me to start drinking, which led to listening to Fugazi, which led me to think about dogs, which led to weiner dogs, which moved me to think of love and then a steady course straight to death, then I came right back up to guitar, which brought me to Slash and Guns 'n Roses, and then I restrung my acoustic guitar, and then I played it, then I realized I suck and made another drink, which led me here.
Albert CAmus said, "Yes, man is his own end. And he is his only end. If he aims to be something, it is in this life."
What, then, are my aims? Let's ponder this at the moment. There are, of course, both, short, medium, and long term goals (Did you catch that, I said both but I listed three antecedants(sp)). Short term....vodka, carne asada, vitamins, sex, money.
Medium Term...better job, vodka, carne asada, sex, money.
Long Term...Kids and family, death.
Alright, so maybe I have no idea what I want in the long term, but I sure know what I don't want.
Herepes.
end transmission.
Sunday, July 09, 2006
Made up dreams.
Today I decided not to run for mayor of Las Vegas, though I did enjoy the limited kickbacks just for being nominated.
Yesterday a mexican lady got arrested for shoplifting at Albertsonson's.
end transmission.
Yesterday a mexican lady got arrested for shoplifting at Albertsonson's.
end transmission.
Wednesday, July 05, 2006
No man's friend.
Jean-Paul Satre said, "hell is other people"
The french existentialists are really spot on, usually. This idea was cemented for me in Clerks with the line, "I hate peole, but I love gatherings."
I've been thinking about this a lot, and I feel it, but don't really understand it. that is always a dangerous place to be, always. It leads to all sorts of problems, not the least of which being genocide or mass immolation.
Why I am I so misanthropic, but at the same time so drawn to large social gatherings?
The answer? i am facinated by what it is like to be like you. I have never been one of you, I have always seen this world from an outsider's perspective, and that belies a certain ego, I know, but it's true.
You are not me. We have a lot in common, but the way you are is a foreign to me as Russian script. I am, and have always bee, different. SOme of you know what I mean, and that is why we have become friends...otherwise, I just don't get you fuckers. The way you think is a mystery to me and I hate you for it.
end transmssion.
The french existentialists are really spot on, usually. This idea was cemented for me in Clerks with the line, "I hate peole, but I love gatherings."
I've been thinking about this a lot, and I feel it, but don't really understand it. that is always a dangerous place to be, always. It leads to all sorts of problems, not the least of which being genocide or mass immolation.
Why I am I so misanthropic, but at the same time so drawn to large social gatherings?
The answer? i am facinated by what it is like to be like you. I have never been one of you, I have always seen this world from an outsider's perspective, and that belies a certain ego, I know, but it's true.
You are not me. We have a lot in common, but the way you are is a foreign to me as Russian script. I am, and have always bee, different. SOme of you know what I mean, and that is why we have become friends...otherwise, I just don't get you fuckers. The way you think is a mystery to me and I hate you for it.
end transmssion.
Monday, July 03, 2006
Pictures of You.
No one ever looks at some dried up, loser ad says, that will probably be me someday. But those people never thought that either, and now they are...well, dried up losers.
Someone spiked my drink.
end transmission.
Friday, June 30, 2006
...the sound of failure isn't here...yet.
My life is boring and moving forward quickly. So, in other words, nothing is happening, very rapidly.
end transmission.
end transmission.
Monday, June 26, 2006
Ghost in the Lighthouse.
I have discovered something. You cannot kill a puppy and expect it to stop loving you.
end transmission.
end transmission.
Sunday, June 25, 2006
She said she was in love with me, and now she don't need me....
I feel like this blog is now an assignement from a teacher who doesn't actually read what I turn in. Listen to Against ME! and the Fairlanes. Throw in some LAgwagon, and JAwbreaker. In fact, Listen to "Dear You" over and over again until you wan to to kill yourself. God it's amazing, how did I live so long without it...."I love you so much it's killing us both," shit.
Anyway. All the black girls I work with have white boyfriends. They all have kids with these dudes. None of them are married. What the fuck? Have I been missing out somehow? I've fucked almost every flavor of girl, but never Negro. Korean, Mexican, Japanese, German, White, Canadian, Slutanese, Cambodia, desperate and drunk, i've had a pretty diverse sexual portfollio, but the blacks, They intimidate me a little bit, and I hate people who pronounce "th" as "F". Birf Day makes me want immolate the whole world! Eat writer pretension!
Is pretenesion a word? maybe I should axe a dictionary.
end transmission.
Anyway. All the black girls I work with have white boyfriends. They all have kids with these dudes. None of them are married. What the fuck? Have I been missing out somehow? I've fucked almost every flavor of girl, but never Negro. Korean, Mexican, Japanese, German, White, Canadian, Slutanese, Cambodia, desperate and drunk, i've had a pretty diverse sexual portfollio, but the blacks, They intimidate me a little bit, and I hate people who pronounce "th" as "F". Birf Day makes me want immolate the whole world! Eat writer pretension!
Is pretenesion a word? maybe I should axe a dictionary.
end transmission.
Friday, June 23, 2006
Not a dull moment.
I work at a casino, I wander around at all hours of the night not really doing anything of any real value to the further the human race. Last night a drunk stripper sat down at the bar next to some dude. She was in her early thirties, maybe just turned thirty, but she had an amazing body and, oddly enough, big fake boobies.
As most of you know, I find the most sensual part of the woman to be the boobies.
Anyway, she is absolutely throwing herself at this guy, who is having nothing to do with her inebrieated overtures. Is the guy gay, married, who knows, it doesn't really matter, this girl is determined to go home with this guy no matter what.
She is so intent on this goal that she sits there for two hours trying to seduce him, meanwhile drinking like my grandma at christmas time. Desire vs. Bladder....the winner?
This grown woman pissed her pants in public! She ran to the bathroom, well stumbled really, but was too late. She came back out summoning the dignity necessary to cover her crotch and ass with her hands.
So now, one would expect that all was lost! No! She just tied a coat around her waist and picked up were she left off! Awesome!
end transmission.
As most of you know, I find the most sensual part of the woman to be the boobies.
Anyway, she is absolutely throwing herself at this guy, who is having nothing to do with her inebrieated overtures. Is the guy gay, married, who knows, it doesn't really matter, this girl is determined to go home with this guy no matter what.
She is so intent on this goal that she sits there for two hours trying to seduce him, meanwhile drinking like my grandma at christmas time. Desire vs. Bladder....the winner?
This grown woman pissed her pants in public! She ran to the bathroom, well stumbled really, but was too late. She came back out summoning the dignity necessary to cover her crotch and ass with her hands.
So now, one would expect that all was lost! No! She just tied a coat around her waist and picked up were she left off! Awesome!
end transmission.
Sunday, June 18, 2006
...like the shower rod, can it take my weight?
Contrary to popular opinion and the article in USA Today, I am still breathing. Though my breath smells like vodka and peanuts, I am still thriving. It's just that nothing interesting has happened in a while and I don't feel like making anything up.
I did talk to a $300/hour prostitute at work a few days ago. She was by far the most expensive call girl I've ever met. I asked her how much 30 seconds would cost, and she laughed. She was very attactive and surprisingly smart. We talked about stuff.
end transmission.
I did talk to a $300/hour prostitute at work a few days ago. She was by far the most expensive call girl I've ever met. I asked her how much 30 seconds would cost, and she laughed. She was very attactive and surprisingly smart. We talked about stuff.
end transmission.
Saturday, June 03, 2006
Until morale improves, the beatings will continue!
Williams, Chopper check out my new blog for the first chapter of that story...I'll post more every few days...I just hate the fucking ending and am almost done making it worse. Enjoy. All content is copywritten 2006 by DaubvonDaub any use of these stories without my express written conscent is prohibited. All stories are in almost doen, still tweaking form, so I reserve the right to change anything I want. So there.
http://bleedingfromtheanus.blogspot.com/
Also I clogged the toilet at work. Agian.
end transmission.
http://bleedingfromtheanus.blogspot.com/
Also I clogged the toilet at work. Agian.
end transmission.
Friday, June 02, 2006
Accident Prone.
So I guess some former CA Cop kidnapped some 14 year old boy and made the lad suck his dick at gunpoint. Now, if you haven't sucked dick at gun point, let me tell you it can be a very uncomfortable, and somewhat terrifying experience. Doubly so for a small boy of 14, I'd imagine. Mouth raping a little kid, that I something I do not condone, I mean make the kid lick your balls while you jerk off, or toungue your asshole a little, sure, but don't make him chug your hog, not cool.
end transmission.
end transmission.
Thursday, June 01, 2006
Here we go.
I have two mains topics of discussion here tonight. The first is single hot women. You cannot trust that any girl over the age of....23, that's kinda arbitrary (who I've never actually had to spell that word, "are bit trar iy"), but it's kinda like definging a pile of sand. One grain is not a pile, neither is two grains, but what about 5,000, if 5,000 is a pile is 4,999 a pile or not,...you get the point anyway..
They either have a kid, and were dumped soon after the father got the news, a situation, that by the way is really your safest best, 'cause the reason she's single is obvious and may not be any sort of psycological miswiring, OR
there's something so wrong with this girl that even though she is so fucking hot, that is not enough to keep some guy, any guy, which is gotta be a doozey. There are a shit ton of desperate dudes, lots of them rich, just by the law of probability eventually you should find the right person given almost infinite choices.
"Well, maybe she dumped him, did you ever think of that, jerk?." Maybe, but I have no data to support that hypothesis, my test group is by no way omni-inclusive of every woman on earth, but theses conclusions are based on exhaustive field study. women stay with men that beat them, for christ's sake. If someone beat me up on regular basis, I would not hang around with them, unless they were really hot, which emphasises my earlier point. What the fuck could be so wrong with girls like this? I don't know but I bet if I talk to her for longer than ten minutes, she will tell me. I could range anywhere from being molested as a child, to, and I quote, "I feel like , if I love a guy, he better fucking love me back or it drives me insane," No shit.
So what do we d? Fuck ugly girls. Sadly no, they have a different set of issues, and more than normal because they haven't even got the consolation of being hot. And they are too expensive to feed. Fuck no one, that won't work. Turn Gay? No. Well...no.
We need to get our shit together and get those robot prostitutes into the streets! You know the Japs have had sex-bots forever, that's why they have so much economic power, they all fuck angelina Jolie every night, (well why not have 2 or 3, really), with not STD's or bullshit, and they can focus on fucking us all over. They have a master plan, robot whores are only the beginning.
Fuck curing cancer, I don't wanna live past 60 anyway, we wouldn't have to cure aids 'cause, robots are very hygenic. Screw all that shit because I would rather have a Gwen Stefani-bot blowing me right now, and every day till the batteries run out, than I would living another 100 years. Hurry up nerds! It will help you (us) the most...only we can free man from a burden he has carried since time immortal!
That probably didn't make a lick of sense.
end transmissions.
They either have a kid, and were dumped soon after the father got the news, a situation, that by the way is really your safest best, 'cause the reason she's single is obvious and may not be any sort of psycological miswiring, OR
there's something so wrong with this girl that even though she is so fucking hot, that is not enough to keep some guy, any guy, which is gotta be a doozey. There are a shit ton of desperate dudes, lots of them rich, just by the law of probability eventually you should find the right person given almost infinite choices.
"Well, maybe she dumped him, did you ever think of that, jerk?." Maybe, but I have no data to support that hypothesis, my test group is by no way omni-inclusive of every woman on earth, but theses conclusions are based on exhaustive field study. women stay with men that beat them, for christ's sake. If someone beat me up on regular basis, I would not hang around with them, unless they were really hot, which emphasises my earlier point. What the fuck could be so wrong with girls like this? I don't know but I bet if I talk to her for longer than ten minutes, she will tell me. I could range anywhere from being molested as a child, to, and I quote, "I feel like , if I love a guy, he better fucking love me back or it drives me insane," No shit.
So what do we d? Fuck ugly girls. Sadly no, they have a different set of issues, and more than normal because they haven't even got the consolation of being hot. And they are too expensive to feed. Fuck no one, that won't work. Turn Gay? No. Well...no.
We need to get our shit together and get those robot prostitutes into the streets! You know the Japs have had sex-bots forever, that's why they have so much economic power, they all fuck angelina Jolie every night, (well why not have 2 or 3, really), with not STD's or bullshit, and they can focus on fucking us all over. They have a master plan, robot whores are only the beginning.
Fuck curing cancer, I don't wanna live past 60 anyway, we wouldn't have to cure aids 'cause, robots are very hygenic. Screw all that shit because I would rather have a Gwen Stefani-bot blowing me right now, and every day till the batteries run out, than I would living another 100 years. Hurry up nerds! It will help you (us) the most...only we can free man from a burden he has carried since time immortal!
That probably didn't make a lick of sense.
end transmissions.
Tuesday, May 30, 2006
If I could be serious for a moment.
Why are old people so fucking stupid?
I often forget that everyone is stupid, though, I think that young people are stupid in groups, and old people are stupid as individuals. Alright, I get that if you were still alive when horses where used as transportation, an airplane or a fucking computer might be a little hard to understand. That makes sense.
I mean since the beginning of the human race, we have helped those who cannot cope with change. Some would say that was God's plan all along. Evolution only reached these heights we have attained by promoting teamwork and brotherhood. Basically the family paradigm, I need you to help me with the work of society, so I will bully you into learning all the shit you need to to keep ME alive, and then you can do the same, until we get to the moon. Dads needed sons to help farm the wilderness, and daughters to marry other people's sons and unite giant families and have tons of kids, to increase the familial workforce. That's basically what Wal-Mart has become to all those fucks who can barely read, or the elderly. Their 15th century father.
Where was I? Oh yeah, old people not being able to use computers...I'm bored already. Boredom is a disease worse than cancer. The cure is not this blog.
Chopper, Williams, I'll send you that story soon, you win the top two spots in the list of the two people who read this thing. I needed to change the ending, too much death and blood.
end transmission.
I often forget that everyone is stupid, though, I think that young people are stupid in groups, and old people are stupid as individuals. Alright, I get that if you were still alive when horses where used as transportation, an airplane or a fucking computer might be a little hard to understand. That makes sense.
I mean since the beginning of the human race, we have helped those who cannot cope with change. Some would say that was God's plan all along. Evolution only reached these heights we have attained by promoting teamwork and brotherhood. Basically the family paradigm, I need you to help me with the work of society, so I will bully you into learning all the shit you need to to keep ME alive, and then you can do the same, until we get to the moon. Dads needed sons to help farm the wilderness, and daughters to marry other people's sons and unite giant families and have tons of kids, to increase the familial workforce. That's basically what Wal-Mart has become to all those fucks who can barely read, or the elderly. Their 15th century father.
Where was I? Oh yeah, old people not being able to use computers...I'm bored already. Boredom is a disease worse than cancer. The cure is not this blog.
Chopper, Williams, I'll send you that story soon, you win the top two spots in the list of the two people who read this thing. I needed to change the ending, too much death and blood.
end transmission.
Sunday, May 28, 2006
If I would have known, just how things would have ended up, I would have just let myself die.
I have been neglecting, this my first blog, for another, two actually, but here I am, back to bore you all with nothing.
Let's see, X-men 3 sucked. I lost a shit ton of money gambling last weekend. I met a girl from Australia who said I was "the maddest bloke," she had ever met. She had big tits, and freckles. Her name mas Madlyne, I don't know how to spell it, but she was a little hot in a crazy, drunk sorta way.
Not much else, really, Bokowski said that the life of a writer was to go collect shit, pile it on, until you had to relieve yourself of it, I don't have enough piled up, it seems, not yet....
Fuck american Idol.
end transmission.
Let's see, X-men 3 sucked. I lost a shit ton of money gambling last weekend. I met a girl from Australia who said I was "the maddest bloke," she had ever met. She had big tits, and freckles. Her name mas Madlyne, I don't know how to spell it, but she was a little hot in a crazy, drunk sorta way.
Not much else, really, Bokowski said that the life of a writer was to go collect shit, pile it on, until you had to relieve yourself of it, I don't have enough piled up, it seems, not yet....
Fuck american Idol.
end transmission.
Sunday, May 21, 2006
As you were...
Life continues, one hangover at a time. Saw some good bands last night, skipped out on work, won some money at poker. Hangover lingers...anus still functional.
end transmission.
end transmission.
Friday, May 19, 2006
I can be as stupid as anyone...
Well, due to some computer bullshit (I still don't know why), my internet Bookmarks list was resest to it's 1998 listings. After wondering why I was suddenly so interested in magic cards again, and why I was relearning about the Shakespearean sonnet, or why I thought Kathy Ireland was so hot, I realized what had happened. Man, internet porn has come a long way, and not all for the better! Before anyone was paying attention one could watch small russian children sodomize their moms with corn cobs, but now...god fucking luck finding that link!
Anyway, I lost the address to this blog and only through divine intervention was I able to return! I only wish I had something good to report. Ian and I have been getting drunk and fucking bitches, though it is Ian doing most of the fucking, though to be fair he does still manage to pull his weight drinking and does more than his share of the gambling.
We have a coke dealer, now, finally, though after a particularly bad bender, each of us have decided to stay away from it until we forget how bad it is and decide to do it again. The guy, is well, I can't really tell you about him, secrecy being important in his line of work...so, dead end.
Uhhh...what else...I met a really cool chick and talked to her on the phone for a really long time, so long, in fact, that I got horribly drunk and do not remember how the phone call ended. Did I promise to call her back, did I say something stupid? Probably. So Carrie if by some weird chance you're reading this, sorry, unless I didn't fuck anything up, and if that's the case don't read on...and all I can say in my defense is that If your a dick the first time you meet someone, it only gives them the chance to say something like, "At first I thought he was an asshole, but now that I've gotten to know him, I realize he's a massive asshole." If you're nice right off the bat, well then people just walk all over you.
Thank you Big Chris for keeping this blog at number one on blog city. If I prayed I would pray for you, but I don't so I will just think of you you when I see footage on CNN of little dead sand niggers.
end transmission.
Anyway, I lost the address to this blog and only through divine intervention was I able to return! I only wish I had something good to report. Ian and I have been getting drunk and fucking bitches, though it is Ian doing most of the fucking, though to be fair he does still manage to pull his weight drinking and does more than his share of the gambling.
We have a coke dealer, now, finally, though after a particularly bad bender, each of us have decided to stay away from it until we forget how bad it is and decide to do it again. The guy, is well, I can't really tell you about him, secrecy being important in his line of work...so, dead end.
Uhhh...what else...I met a really cool chick and talked to her on the phone for a really long time, so long, in fact, that I got horribly drunk and do not remember how the phone call ended. Did I promise to call her back, did I say something stupid? Probably. So Carrie if by some weird chance you're reading this, sorry, unless I didn't fuck anything up, and if that's the case don't read on...and all I can say in my defense is that If your a dick the first time you meet someone, it only gives them the chance to say something like, "At first I thought he was an asshole, but now that I've gotten to know him, I realize he's a massive asshole." If you're nice right off the bat, well then people just walk all over you.
Thank you Big Chris for keeping this blog at number one on blog city. If I prayed I would pray for you, but I don't so I will just think of you you when I see footage on CNN of little dead sand niggers.
end transmission.
Tuesday, May 16, 2006
I little girl gave me a flower today.
You ever have a shit so nasty that only a shower would get you completely clean?
I just did. The sheer velocity of the initial, unrepentant blast, startled me. It displaced all of the water in the bowl, shooting it at untested speed towards my virgin rectum.
Then Silence. Calm relief.
Followed by another horrible diffusion of mostly liquid fecal matter, that splattered the bowl's contents all over my ass cheeks. I could feel it dripping from my ass. I could hear it, actually.
Drip..ploop...drip.
I never did get around to that shower.
end transmission.
I just did. The sheer velocity of the initial, unrepentant blast, startled me. It displaced all of the water in the bowl, shooting it at untested speed towards my virgin rectum.
Then Silence. Calm relief.
Followed by another horrible diffusion of mostly liquid fecal matter, that splattered the bowl's contents all over my ass cheeks. I could feel it dripping from my ass. I could hear it, actually.
Drip..ploop...drip.
I never did get around to that shower.
end transmission.
I have been inside a lot.
These past fwe days have found me alone, in my room reading and writing like crazy, so as far as anything interesting to anyone else...
I Finished "hot Water Music" for the 2nd time, and I'm about half way through "Ham on Rye." Charles Bukowski has been one of my faveorites for a while, but I never read his poetry, as poetry usually bores the hell out of me, his...isn't like real poetry...it's entertaining..."but Daub...poetry is for the gays, and I hate paying for something so short and stupid," well check it out for free, you cheap bastards;
http://www.poemhunter.com/charles-bukowski/poems/
Anyway. I also read a lot of X-Men comics and the new 100 bullets. Some Superman and Batman as well.
Take that! culture.
As for writing, I finally finished this short story I wrote about a guy who lights cab drivers on fire (based on true events!) Email me if you want to read it...otherwise, fuck off.
end transmission.
I Finished "hot Water Music" for the 2nd time, and I'm about half way through "Ham on Rye." Charles Bukowski has been one of my faveorites for a while, but I never read his poetry, as poetry usually bores the hell out of me, his...isn't like real poetry...it's entertaining..."but Daub...poetry is for the gays, and I hate paying for something so short and stupid," well check it out for free, you cheap bastards;
http://www.poemhunter.com/charles-bukowski/poems/
Anyway. I also read a lot of X-Men comics and the new 100 bullets. Some Superman and Batman as well.
Take that! culture.
As for writing, I finally finished this short story I wrote about a guy who lights cab drivers on fire (based on true events!) Email me if you want to read it...otherwise, fuck off.
end transmission.
Saturday, May 13, 2006
Don't you know we're all whores?
It has been a few days, huh? Well, I don't know. There have been some complications....
First of all, I have once again realized that coming off a coke bender is a lot like what I imagine being girl on the rag is like. You're emotions are all over the place, mood swings, a logical understanding of what you should feel about subject X, constantly at odds with what you actually feel about Subject X. Worse than that your current emotions don't make any sense, I hate the color green! WHat the fuck is that? Anyway that's over and now I must claw my way from the depths of what Cash so poetically termed, "the cocaine blues." I know far too much about what is chemically happening in my brain, and so I listen to Social Distortion Cd's and drink.
The details of the last couple of days are sketchy. I do remember killing a bum and fucking a 12 year old girl. These things may or may not have happened.
end transmission.
First of all, I have once again realized that coming off a coke bender is a lot like what I imagine being girl on the rag is like. You're emotions are all over the place, mood swings, a logical understanding of what you should feel about subject X, constantly at odds with what you actually feel about Subject X. Worse than that your current emotions don't make any sense, I hate the color green! WHat the fuck is that? Anyway that's over and now I must claw my way from the depths of what Cash so poetically termed, "the cocaine blues." I know far too much about what is chemically happening in my brain, and so I listen to Social Distortion Cd's and drink.
The details of the last couple of days are sketchy. I do remember killing a bum and fucking a 12 year old girl. These things may or may not have happened.
end transmission.
Monday, May 08, 2006
Those stress cracks in the wood, how nicely they soak up the stains...
Has anyone seen my dignity, I swear I left it around here somewhere......
Sunday, May 07, 2006
Burned Beyond Recognition.
Don' t kill a hampster with a BB gun. You will not feel good about yourself, or any of humanity.
Saturday, May 06, 2006
Plenty of perspiration, not much inspiration.
I was watching fox news at 5 in the morning, on my lunch break, when what did appear? Cu Boulder made the news for that 420 bullshit on Ferrand Field. Apparantly some kids are being charged with trespassing, and there is some website full of photos of kids smoking pot, where you can narc on them for fifty bucks. Man they found the dumbest hippy dirtbag to stand up for the cause...
His claim was that he was smoking oregano. HE didn't hink to say it was just a hand rolled cigarette, he was smoking oregano, as many people do on a daily basis. Man, they made this moron look even dumber than he probably was...sometimes I miss Boulder, just a little.
On a lighter note, I have determined that not being actively homophobic in LAs Vegas means you're gay, or curious, at the very least. I have not one, but four gay guys calling me more than is comfortable, and now I know what it was like for all those girls who suffered my sexual advances, when they only wanted to be friends.
Sorry ladies.
So to clear the air, I now hate faggots. Damn pillow biters, no ADam and Steve...damn ass pirates should go back to fag town where fucking and sucking other dudes is ok. now I look like I'm trying too hard to hate them. Does that make me seem gayer? SHit. I can't win. They say that the same things that attract women to me, work equally well on the fags. Well, fuck! At least I'm appealing to the catchers.
This, however, has given me some great insights into the pig-headed and utterly pathetic behavior we as men call our quest for sexual gratification. No matter how pointless the persuit, or how utterly out of reach the target, men will fool themselves into thinking they have a chance, going to great lengths, usually to no avail. We, as a sex, can be very depressing. No menstration, though, we got that going for us.
The free drinks are nice, though I'll never be that drunk.
The upside, is that one of these gays is my boss, I've never experienced the power and freedom having a boss that wants to fuck you can afford. I'm sure there have been female bosses in the past that wanted my hog, but women never really have enough power to do anything useful for you anyway.
end transmission.
His claim was that he was smoking oregano. HE didn't hink to say it was just a hand rolled cigarette, he was smoking oregano, as many people do on a daily basis. Man, they made this moron look even dumber than he probably was...sometimes I miss Boulder, just a little.
On a lighter note, I have determined that not being actively homophobic in LAs Vegas means you're gay, or curious, at the very least. I have not one, but four gay guys calling me more than is comfortable, and now I know what it was like for all those girls who suffered my sexual advances, when they only wanted to be friends.
Sorry ladies.
So to clear the air, I now hate faggots. Damn pillow biters, no ADam and Steve...damn ass pirates should go back to fag town where fucking and sucking other dudes is ok. now I look like I'm trying too hard to hate them. Does that make me seem gayer? SHit. I can't win. They say that the same things that attract women to me, work equally well on the fags. Well, fuck! At least I'm appealing to the catchers.
This, however, has given me some great insights into the pig-headed and utterly pathetic behavior we as men call our quest for sexual gratification. No matter how pointless the persuit, or how utterly out of reach the target, men will fool themselves into thinking they have a chance, going to great lengths, usually to no avail. We, as a sex, can be very depressing. No menstration, though, we got that going for us.
The free drinks are nice, though I'll never be that drunk.
The upside, is that one of these gays is my boss, I've never experienced the power and freedom having a boss that wants to fuck you can afford. I'm sure there have been female bosses in the past that wanted my hog, but women never really have enough power to do anything useful for you anyway.
end transmission.
Tuesday, May 02, 2006
Apocalyptic Love Song
I wrote two posts that turned out to be drunken bullshit, this is what I am left with:
Don't piss with the light off, especially in your own bathroom.
Always eat as much as you can when it's free.
Don't tell a girl you love her unless you mean it.
Make sure your boss does not have a myspace account.
end transmission.
Don't piss with the light off, especially in your own bathroom.
Always eat as much as you can when it's free.
Don't tell a girl you love her unless you mean it.
Make sure your boss does not have a myspace account.
end transmission.
Sunday, April 30, 2006
Only Good for a...
Well, I'm sure you all remember the transvestite at the gym. It turns out I talked to him/her and he/she is really cool. We met for drinks and one thing led to another. Well...
I fucked him/her last night.
Man, that would be a good story if it was true. I have violated the blogger-bloggee pact by lying and I apologize. I just thought if someone believed I'd actually knowingly fuck a super hot chick that used to be a dude, I would, I don't know, seem to have grown as a person, or at least, added some sort of intersting personal flaw that would ingratiate me closer to you, the bloggee.
The truth is, I'd probably fuck a hole in a tree if it bought me a drink, at this point, though it would have to be a female tree, to be sure. You know, a tree without nuts.
end transmission.
I fucked him/her last night.
Man, that would be a good story if it was true. I have violated the blogger-bloggee pact by lying and I apologize. I just thought if someone believed I'd actually knowingly fuck a super hot chick that used to be a dude, I would, I don't know, seem to have grown as a person, or at least, added some sort of intersting personal flaw that would ingratiate me closer to you, the bloggee.
The truth is, I'd probably fuck a hole in a tree if it bought me a drink, at this point, though it would have to be a female tree, to be sure. You know, a tree without nuts.
end transmission.
Saturday, April 29, 2006
I am the world's first fully functional homocidal artist. I make art until someone dies.
It wasn't long ago when I was just a mere mortal man. Like many men, I had a dream. But, unlike many more, mundane individuals, I followed that dream to fruition.
Countless were the people who told me things like, "You'll never be able to get a free internet blog and write about nothing. Give up man! Your ego offends men and gods alike!"
And now, behold what I have wraught! I recieve numerous emails daily with such resplendent praise as, "You're blog is better than 'the Stories I write for my cats'" and "I read your blog more often than I read 'How Much weight did my wife gain today.'" Other lofty praise such as "Nice Blog, Fag!" and "You've gotta be single." have also graced my virtual desktop.
So what now? When one stands at the pinnancle of success, what challanges remain? What topics can possibly be important enough to speak on? How many questions can one ask oneself rhetorically before he must answer one, or risk suicide?
The truth is that I will not let this unbridled succces dampen my commitment to drinking, whoring, and verbose prose about anything I can think of at any time.
Also, F Kelly Epen, the sole reader of this blog.
end transmission.
Countless were the people who told me things like, "You'll never be able to get a free internet blog and write about nothing. Give up man! Your ego offends men and gods alike!"
And now, behold what I have wraught! I recieve numerous emails daily with such resplendent praise as, "You're blog is better than 'the Stories I write for my cats'" and "I read your blog more often than I read 'How Much weight did my wife gain today.'" Other lofty praise such as "Nice Blog, Fag!" and "You've gotta be single." have also graced my virtual desktop.
So what now? When one stands at the pinnancle of success, what challanges remain? What topics can possibly be important enough to speak on? How many questions can one ask oneself rhetorically before he must answer one, or risk suicide?
The truth is that I will not let this unbridled succces dampen my commitment to drinking, whoring, and verbose prose about anything I can think of at any time.
Also, F Kelly Epen, the sole reader of this blog.
end transmission.
You'll always be number two in my book.
Whoa...got kinda serious there a while, sorry got stuck on a bukowski kick and a dark mood ensued. Anyway. THis blog is a milestone in my limited blogging adventures.
It is the first blog completely composed, sent and delivered from the toilet. More specifically, my mold encrusted toilet. (This strange black mold that cannot be prevented by any means I know of, other than constant cleaning, a solution I dare not institute) It's just me, the laptop, the toilet and a turd. Well maybe two or three turds, I won't know for sure until I stand up and look. It felt like one big one, but I've been fooled before.
So now that I have a new venue, what new bloggings will I be inspired to espouse? None really. Life continues at a medium pace and now I must wipe my ass.
end transmission.
It is the first blog completely composed, sent and delivered from the toilet. More specifically, my mold encrusted toilet. (This strange black mold that cannot be prevented by any means I know of, other than constant cleaning, a solution I dare not institute) It's just me, the laptop, the toilet and a turd. Well maybe two or three turds, I won't know for sure until I stand up and look. It felt like one big one, but I've been fooled before.
So now that I have a new venue, what new bloggings will I be inspired to espouse? None really. Life continues at a medium pace and now I must wipe my ass.
end transmission.
Thursday, April 27, 2006
I have nothing funny left to say.
If a puppy gets runover by a mexican in a minivan with "the Diablo" written in old english letters across the back window while the puppy's owner, a six year old girl, watches, Is it funnier or sadder that the little girl was sexually molested by her father.
end transmission.
end transmission.
Tuesday, April 25, 2006
Love is a fog that burns with the first daylight of reality.
I have figured out 2 things in the past 48 hours.
end transmission.
end transmission.
Monday, April 24, 2006
I'll fuck everyone in this room to prove I'm not gay.
Today was slow and uninteresting. I did read an awesome poem:
Alone with Everybody
the flesh covers the bone
and they put a mind
in there and
sometimes a soul,
and the women break
vases against the walls
and the men drink too
much
and nobody finds the
one
but keep
looking
crawling in and out
of beds.
flesh covers
the bone and the
flesh searches
for more than
flesh.
there's no chance
at all:
we are all trapped
by a singular
fate.
nobody ever finds
the one.
the city dumps fill
the junkyards fill
the madhouses fill
the hospitals fill
the graveyards fill
nothing else
fills.
End Transmission.
Alone with Everybody
the flesh covers the bone
and they put a mind
in there and
sometimes a soul,
and the women break
vases against the walls
and the men drink too
much
and nobody finds the
one
but keep
looking
crawling in and out
of beds.
flesh covers
the bone and the
flesh searches
for more than
flesh.
there's no chance
at all:
we are all trapped
by a singular
fate.
nobody ever finds
the one.
the city dumps fill
the junkyards fill
the madhouses fill
the hospitals fill
the graveyards fill
nothing else
fills.
End Transmission.
Sunday, April 23, 2006
I can now bench pres 280 pounds...
I was at the gym today, working out at my normal time, along with all the other people who share my schedule. We have all kind of become friends that never talk, but share an hour or so of our days together, almost every day. Familiar faces that pretend not to notice the familiarity.
Anyone, one of these people is this guy, Rick. Rick is a body builder, and on his "easy" days he lifts the same weight I do on my...regular days, so we spot each other and bullshit. Another regular to my schedule is a beautiful woman (name unknown) who has the most amazing tits (they prolly look gross unleashed, but in a sports bra these babies are nothing short of magnificent, she also likes to jump rope) and has the rest of her body pretty much perfected. I always see her from across the gym, sometimes our routines cross, but seldomly do I see her up close. Her face is so/so but it's good enough.
Rick saw me looking at her and told me a little about "Michelle." Apparantly, there are a lot of fags in the pro body building circuit (I say it's because they spend so much time looking in the mirror, falling in love with their muscles, they no longer find chicks hot enough, except for chicks that look like dudes, but I digress). Rick has a gay friend, his name escapes me, who was apparantly fucking Michelle, when she was still a dude.
Hmm.
My incredulous face was quickly replaced by the dull admittal that she/he was still hot. Rick found my reaction funny, he was used to guys freaking out, but I was the first to say I'd still fuck her/him. We're not really super best friends, s I don't know if he knew I was kidding.
Then that got me thinking, was I kidding? I spent the rest of my workout contemplating those perfect Double D's and running some comparison's in my head. First of all, I'm sure I'm the only guy in the world to base my attraction to a woman based soley on her looks. I can be shallow, I admit it. So if it looks like a hot chick....
But she used to be a dude, man! But I knew girls that used to be fat, and then got hot....maybe not the same thing, but here's what I came up with. Real girls have fake tits, fake girls have fake tits. Real girls have plastic surgury to alter their appearance, fake girls have plastic surgury to do the same. Both have hair removed, either by shaving, or lasers, or whatever other methods that have been produced during my inattention. Fake/Real tans, skin care, gym time. Check affirmative on both. So I guess it begs the question: How much of a girl has to be fake before I'm gay for wanting to fuck her? 'Cause on paper, they seem pretty much the same Frankenstein's monster. I can't "see" DNA, anyway.
I know, I know, he used to have a dick. That's a hard one to get over, but now he has a broken vagina instead, which with my fear/hatred of pregnancy might be an advantage. NO period, or crazy birth control rage.
Anyway, it wouldn't be the first time my dick talked me into fucking someone my brain abhorred. It is a visual animal. The sad thing is that he is way out of my league now anyway.
End Transmission.
Anyone, one of these people is this guy, Rick. Rick is a body builder, and on his "easy" days he lifts the same weight I do on my...regular days, so we spot each other and bullshit. Another regular to my schedule is a beautiful woman (name unknown) who has the most amazing tits (they prolly look gross unleashed, but in a sports bra these babies are nothing short of magnificent, she also likes to jump rope) and has the rest of her body pretty much perfected. I always see her from across the gym, sometimes our routines cross, but seldomly do I see her up close. Her face is so/so but it's good enough.
Rick saw me looking at her and told me a little about "Michelle." Apparantly, there are a lot of fags in the pro body building circuit (I say it's because they spend so much time looking in the mirror, falling in love with their muscles, they no longer find chicks hot enough, except for chicks that look like dudes, but I digress). Rick has a gay friend, his name escapes me, who was apparantly fucking Michelle, when she was still a dude.
Hmm.
My incredulous face was quickly replaced by the dull admittal that she/he was still hot. Rick found my reaction funny, he was used to guys freaking out, but I was the first to say I'd still fuck her/him. We're not really super best friends, s I don't know if he knew I was kidding.
Then that got me thinking, was I kidding? I spent the rest of my workout contemplating those perfect Double D's and running some comparison's in my head. First of all, I'm sure I'm the only guy in the world to base my attraction to a woman based soley on her looks. I can be shallow, I admit it. So if it looks like a hot chick....
But she used to be a dude, man! But I knew girls that used to be fat, and then got hot....maybe not the same thing, but here's what I came up with. Real girls have fake tits, fake girls have fake tits. Real girls have plastic surgury to alter their appearance, fake girls have plastic surgury to do the same. Both have hair removed, either by shaving, or lasers, or whatever other methods that have been produced during my inattention. Fake/Real tans, skin care, gym time. Check affirmative on both. So I guess it begs the question: How much of a girl has to be fake before I'm gay for wanting to fuck her? 'Cause on paper, they seem pretty much the same Frankenstein's monster. I can't "see" DNA, anyway.
I know, I know, he used to have a dick. That's a hard one to get over, but now he has a broken vagina instead, which with my fear/hatred of pregnancy might be an advantage. NO period, or crazy birth control rage.
Anyway, it wouldn't be the first time my dick talked me into fucking someone my brain abhorred. It is a visual animal. The sad thing is that he is way out of my league now anyway.
End Transmission.
Friday, April 21, 2006
I need Mr. White at Cage 1.
Recently they took all the guns away from the security guards at most casinos, including mine. Most of the guads are so fat and useless, I don't see what good they'd be in any situation. When I mentioned this to my 60 year old german co-worker, Sonja, she had this to say:
"Ya, I mean vat ze Hell vill one of those fat bastards do vhen someone pulls a gun on zem, stand zhere and cry?"
I laughed.
End Transmission.
"Ya, I mean vat ze Hell vill one of those fat bastards do vhen someone pulls a gun on zem, stand zhere and cry?"
I laughed.
End Transmission.
Wednesday, April 19, 2006
Ian is a fag.
Ian forgot his camera and we knew something cool was going to happen. Too hungover. Royal flush 15 hundred something, slot machine 18 hundred something. Him not me. Lucky Bastard.
End Transmission.
End Transmission.
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
We're only gonna die anyway.
I think I'm finally old enough that I need to mature. I'm done not caring about life and not taking anything seriously. I'm done drinking and partying, done with casual sex and drug use. I need to get a hold of my life and start a career, maybe even a family. Time to turn the page on this chapter of my life. Start a new chapter and begin to take life seriously and make something of myself in the eyes of society.
Got through that with a straight face.
Well, I'm 28 and my penis still works, it's not all that bad. I worked this morning/last night and everyone at work got me a card and put money in it (something my boss got mad at because no one put any money in anyone else's bday card...almost $50) and the casino bought us pizza and a bunch of my surrogate asian moms made me cupcakes and cookies, and it made me very uncomfortable.
How do I always end up doing this? Making total strangers love me? I mean, I know I'm awesome, but even people in other departments got me shit. People I don't really know/give two shits about gave me money and bought me beers. There have been a lot of birthdays while I've been there and they're never this big a deal...Maybe it was 'cause the two women that hate me more than anything were on vacation ("Lazy Eye" Terry and Carol the "ugliest woman I've ever seen," she really is) Maybe they just wanted some of my pizza.
Well, off to bed, and then out for drinks tonight...
Got through that with a straight face.
Well, I'm 28 and my penis still works, it's not all that bad. I worked this morning/last night and everyone at work got me a card and put money in it (something my boss got mad at because no one put any money in anyone else's bday card...almost $50) and the casino bought us pizza and a bunch of my surrogate asian moms made me cupcakes and cookies, and it made me very uncomfortable.
How do I always end up doing this? Making total strangers love me? I mean, I know I'm awesome, but even people in other departments got me shit. People I don't really know/give two shits about gave me money and bought me beers. There have been a lot of birthdays while I've been there and they're never this big a deal...Maybe it was 'cause the two women that hate me more than anything were on vacation ("Lazy Eye" Terry and Carol the "ugliest woman I've ever seen," she really is) Maybe they just wanted some of my pizza.
Well, off to bed, and then out for drinks tonight...
Monday, April 17, 2006
One hour, 5 minutes to go....
How many people take this picture for real every day? 3, 4 thousand? I even put down my two beers, classy, huh? I will soon be a decade older than all theose "barely legal" chicks I see on the internet.End Transmission.
I still love you Julie.
Well, other than the insidious Myspace virus, all things have been going status quo. Wait! i turn 28 tomarrow(sp)! Awesome. I should have been president by now.....well c'est la vie. Hmmm...maybe as I get drunker something interesting will surface.
Sunday, April 16, 2006
Art is Hard.
Two more days.
It reminds me of a story.
A man wakes up, twenty minutes before his alarm clock goes off. He rolls out of bed, his dick only half hard where five years ago he'd be playing bass drum on his belly button. He cracks his back, stretches his arms and shoulders, smacks his chops, feeeling thirsty. What was that taste? Pig asshole? Stripper vagina? Gross whatever it was.
The man walks into the bathroom. He gets in the shower, forgetting to let it warm up. The cold water dissolves what little hard-on he had. He jumps from foot to foot, and then the water is hot, revitalizing and powerful.
Then he pees, he pees for so long that it is hard to tell his piss form the shower's stream. He is in a hurry so he only concentrates on the essential, face, balls, hair. He washes them all at once, a flurry of suds and hands. Fuck, he forgot armpits. Too late now. the water is cold and it is time to get out. He shuts off the water and gets out of the shower.
He wraps the towel around his waist and wipes the fog off the mirror with his fist. What a sexy bitch is revealed! The man then walks out of the bath room into his room. He goes to the dresser, looking for underwear. The drawer is empty, he has no clean underwear. He skeptically looks at the hamper....
Then the alarm clock goes off, so suddenly the man has a heart attack.
He dies.
End Transmission.
It reminds me of a story.
A man wakes up, twenty minutes before his alarm clock goes off. He rolls out of bed, his dick only half hard where five years ago he'd be playing bass drum on his belly button. He cracks his back, stretches his arms and shoulders, smacks his chops, feeeling thirsty. What was that taste? Pig asshole? Stripper vagina? Gross whatever it was.
The man walks into the bathroom. He gets in the shower, forgetting to let it warm up. The cold water dissolves what little hard-on he had. He jumps from foot to foot, and then the water is hot, revitalizing and powerful.
Then he pees, he pees for so long that it is hard to tell his piss form the shower's stream. He is in a hurry so he only concentrates on the essential, face, balls, hair. He washes them all at once, a flurry of suds and hands. Fuck, he forgot armpits. Too late now. the water is cold and it is time to get out. He shuts off the water and gets out of the shower.
He wraps the towel around his waist and wipes the fog off the mirror with his fist. What a sexy bitch is revealed! The man then walks out of the bath room into his room. He goes to the dresser, looking for underwear. The drawer is empty, he has no clean underwear. He skeptically looks at the hamper....
Then the alarm clock goes off, so suddenly the man has a heart attack.
He dies.
End Transmission.
Saturday, April 15, 2006
More Pictures From the Front.
Ian.
The Real Flag, thought is was green.
What A drunk!
Don't vandalize property! Dude!
End Transmission.
The Real Flag, thought is was green.
What A drunk!
Don't vandalize property! Dude!
End Transmission.
No Kelly's were hurt in the filming of this show.
Well at press time I have not gotten any pictures, so for now you will have only my skill at prose to illustrate what happened last weekend (my weekend, not yours daywalkers). Chopper and I are the same age this week, a very special time for us.
Ian wrecked a shopping cart, stole a humungous flag, tried to climb a palm tree, and severly wounded his leg. He now walks like a Hip Hop Gagsta. Ian won the "most destructive drunk" award. (the only pics I have are from Ian's camera, so no Ian pictures, do the math)Kelly. Kelly had black feet. The grime of LAs Vegas turned her feet black. She's also the only puker on our party team, Kudos! She's like a little Drunken Angel.
Chopper distinguished himself by winning a 109 to 1 shot on the electronic horse racing, winning him the coveted "lucky bastard" award. He also did not shower the whole time he was here, narrowly defeating Kelly in the "Smelliest Balls" competition.
I met my future wife Vanesssa. She was very impressed by me, as you can see. I played with a shark and scared some very little children. I also touched plaster breasts with a random fat chick tourist. I also punched a shark and pissed off a whole table of Electronic Horse racing gamblers.End Transmission.
Thursday, April 13, 2006
Happy Birthday to Chopper!
Chopper and Kelly have finally left, leaving only the faint stench of alcohol and really, bad farts/BO. We had some interesting adventures, I'm too tired to recount them now, but soon...and with pictures.
I must go find a place to die now.
End Transmission.
Sunday, April 09, 2006
Between Rapture and Rupture.
T minus 9 days until erectile dysfunction.
First of all, Thanks to Chris "God is my co-pilot" Nichols for my profile this run. I would have just let everyone assume it was me that thought of it, but the guilt of blaming the Nazis for what I did at Dachau is all the guilt I can stomach for this lifetime.
Well, today a little Asian lady, Philipino, to be specific, said to me, "Daub we have decided you too skeeney." "We" being the group of crazy Asian ladies I work with, who are some of the sweetest old ladies I've ever met. They've taken it upon themselves to not only find me a wife, but to mother the shit out of me. All their kids are grown and now they have decided I can't take care of myself and need help. They catch me checking out girls and say shit like, "She just take your money, she is (insert Philipeno word for whore)," or "To skeeney for you, besrides boobs are fake. Fake boobs no good, give babies cancer."
Anywho, Lou (is the lady's name, she does not resemble any Lou I've ever seen, she's not a plumber and she is from Asia, not Jersey) made me 100 fucking pork egg rolls, because she didn't think I was eating enough. She even got me a bottle of some spicy sauce to go along with them. She made them all by hand, 100 fucking egg rolls! Man are they good, too. I said thank you, and she was so excited I didn't know what to do. Awkward, but delicious.
I swear I've entered the "Tri-right Zone" or something. No if I can only shift my charisma to a slightly younger, less crazy age group.
End Transmission.
First of all, Thanks to Chris "God is my co-pilot" Nichols for my profile this run. I would have just let everyone assume it was me that thought of it, but the guilt of blaming the Nazis for what I did at Dachau is all the guilt I can stomach for this lifetime.
Well, today a little Asian lady, Philipino, to be specific, said to me, "Daub we have decided you too skeeney." "We" being the group of crazy Asian ladies I work with, who are some of the sweetest old ladies I've ever met. They've taken it upon themselves to not only find me a wife, but to mother the shit out of me. All their kids are grown and now they have decided I can't take care of myself and need help. They catch me checking out girls and say shit like, "She just take your money, she is (insert Philipeno word for whore)," or "To skeeney for you, besrides boobs are fake. Fake boobs no good, give babies cancer."
Anywho, Lou (is the lady's name, she does not resemble any Lou I've ever seen, she's not a plumber and she is from Asia, not Jersey) made me 100 fucking pork egg rolls, because she didn't think I was eating enough. She even got me a bottle of some spicy sauce to go along with them. She made them all by hand, 100 fucking egg rolls! Man are they good, too. I said thank you, and she was so excited I didn't know what to do. Awkward, but delicious.
I swear I've entered the "Tri-right Zone" or something. No if I can only shift my charisma to a slightly younger, less crazy age group.
End Transmission.
Saturday, April 08, 2006
Officer I swear she's 19(0).
It's almost my bed time, or well past, either way, brevity is today's secret word. I know, I know, hold the applause, just enjoy the respite from my longwinded recountings of nothing.
An old lady told me that is she was fifty years younger she'd teach me a few things...in bed. I told her I hope it wasn't how to knit a blanket. She was quite drunk/taken with me, I was...disturbed, and not a little flattered. This woman was over twice my age, and almost 3x my age, but still she wanted to fuck me. How adorable.
I imagine her vagina would resemble a dried peach, though a little dryer. She did tip me $50.
End Transmission.
An old lady told me that is she was fifty years younger she'd teach me a few things...in bed. I told her I hope it wasn't how to knit a blanket. She was quite drunk/taken with me, I was...disturbed, and not a little flattered. This woman was over twice my age, and almost 3x my age, but still she wanted to fuck me. How adorable.
I imagine her vagina would resemble a dried peach, though a little dryer. She did tip me $50.
End Transmission.
Friday, April 07, 2006
The future's not what it used to be.
I have neglected this for a few days due to my complete imersion in Oblivion. Subsequently nothing noteworthy has occured. T- minus 11 days remaining of my 27th year on this planet. As is my custom during this time, I have begun thinking far too much, drunk on retrospection and vodka (though mostly the latter), and I have decided that with my biological clock ticking, I need a son/daughter more than ever. God, I want children, hundreds of them. Little versions of me and some slut too stupid to take a pill once a day (or to lazy to put one of those rings in her vagina, that seem all the rage with the kids thesedays). Why have I waiting so long to start a family? Will I ever get around to it now that I'm approaching 30? I t seems everyone my age has at least one kid, and one divorce under their belt, and they seem so happy. Soccer games, dance recitals, boogers, tiny sticky germ-ridden hands, touching everything. Will years of drugs and alcohol abuse make my seed unviable?
God I hope so. Sarcasm-o-meter reading- 9.7.
I am also one year closer to my first prostate exam. One step closer to a strange, highly educated man's index finger 2 knuckles deep up my asshole. Hope I don't get an erection. Or is it rude to stay limp during something like that?
End Transmission.
God I hope so. Sarcasm-o-meter reading- 9.7.
I am also one year closer to my first prostate exam. One step closer to a strange, highly educated man's index finger 2 knuckles deep up my asshole. Hope I don't get an erection. Or is it rude to stay limp during something like that?
End Transmission.
Wednesday, April 05, 2006
This must be the place, I can tell by your glare...
According to Buddhism there are theree noble truthes...three is a number that is hard to escape. It's a prime number, there can be no tie when three people vote, bad things happen in 3's, threre's the holy trinity, 3 is the shit, metaphysically speaking.
Life is suffering. Suffering is caused by desire. Eliminate desire, you eliminate suffering. Simple, really. Damn Chinamen and their five thousand year old culture.
Penis+2balls=3, Genitals are suffering...What the fuck was my point...oh yeah, There can be only one! LEt it be Duncon McCloede, the highlander! Leave me here to my devices, the call could come at any time.....they're playing love songs on the radio tonight, I can't relate to that right now. Note to self, no one cares, your voice is average, in worried piles, I types for miles, you just stood there, I will begin, I will put right this morning terror, I have been kissed between the ears with human error, leave me here with my devices, I need a word to change my life, I tied my ankles to the table legs with wire, I can't write as much as type. Leave me here to my devices....I can't think with all this noise. They're playing love song on your radio tonight, I don't get those songs on mine.. You keep fucking up my life...You keep Fucking up my life x3.
I wish those were my words, an in some way they are, though someone else put them on paper first...
Did someone put booze in my 7up? Maybe. If your leaving, walk slow.
End Transmission.
Life is suffering. Suffering is caused by desire. Eliminate desire, you eliminate suffering. Simple, really. Damn Chinamen and their five thousand year old culture.
Penis+2balls=3, Genitals are suffering...What the fuck was my point...oh yeah, There can be only one! LEt it be Duncon McCloede, the highlander! Leave me here to my devices, the call could come at any time.....they're playing love songs on the radio tonight, I can't relate to that right now. Note to self, no one cares, your voice is average, in worried piles, I types for miles, you just stood there, I will begin, I will put right this morning terror, I have been kissed between the ears with human error, leave me here with my devices, I need a word to change my life, I tied my ankles to the table legs with wire, I can't write as much as type. Leave me here to my devices....I can't think with all this noise. They're playing love song on your radio tonight, I don't get those songs on mine.. You keep fucking up my life...You keep Fucking up my life x3.
I wish those were my words, an in some way they are, though someone else put them on paper first...
Did someone put booze in my 7up? Maybe. If your leaving, walk slow.
End Transmission.
Monday, April 03, 2006
There's a point to this, a point I often miss...
Well, strangely enough I just watched a Family Guy where Stewie becomes addicted to breast milk. I suffer no such affectations, though my pro-boob stance remains unscaythed. Anyway, after the Alkaline Trio Show...
Ian and I adventured out into LAs Vegas, enjoying an uncharacteristic Friday night off. Amazing asian girl with fat old dude....FFW......ah yes, we arrive at our new haunt the Emergency Room (a bar) and we get drunker. Four girls arrive (my scienticians are trying to Wilson-Philips-ize a four girl dynamic, though to little success. Two hotties, maybe two fatties, the science is just not advanced enoough to postulate on this new development), they start gambling and drinking, and we talk to them. Ian gets it in his head that he is going to fuck the fat girl (though not morbidly so) and I leave it to him.
After Striking out with two women who thought they were a lot hotter than they were (as per normal tactical deployment, one must leave the hottest girl, designation PRIMARY, until last in order to...refer to manual for further elaboration), I moved in on the 4th and hottest girl, deftly using my lack of success with her friends as an opening things went well. SHe didn't really like them either, she confided. They worked together. What did I do? I work at slots of fun, and am a semi-professional sperm doner.
Well it turns out that the Bartender I work with, his wife works with these girls, and somehow this new knowledge ellicits a more favorable demeanor from all girls involved...they buy us drinks and are instantly more friendly. I was nice to the bitches before they liked me, so I was free to hit on the hot one.
Now, anyone who has any experience or knowledge of my luck would instantly be set aback by this turn of good luck! and with good cause.
Indeed it was her birthday. No man in sight, pretty good chance that she does not want to be alone....we talk, she's a cool girl, things are progressing nicely. But wait! An attractive late 20's chick in LAs Vegas.....no man.....lesbian...transvestite? I continue forward, oblivious, enjoying her company.
That's when she asks me if she looks good for a woman who gave birth a scant month ago.
Indeed she did, though...do I even have to say it. Where is your kid now, I asked. With her Dad, she replies, implying that they are not together in anything but creating a future stripper. I, of course, ask if she lactates when she hears a baby cry. The arduous persuit of knowledge being very important to me.
That's when she pulls out the "breast pads" (some sort of toilet paper held agaist her nipples in her bra) that have been absorbing leakage all night, apparantly there was no need for a baby's wails.
I was horrified. It obviously showed on my drunken visage.
Gross.
End Transmission.
Addendum to Previous Transmission....
Ian wasted all night hitting on the fat girl, only to find out she had a boyfriend. Neither of us got any that night.
Ian and I adventured out into LAs Vegas, enjoying an uncharacteristic Friday night off. Amazing asian girl with fat old dude....FFW......ah yes, we arrive at our new haunt the Emergency Room (a bar) and we get drunker. Four girls arrive (my scienticians are trying to Wilson-Philips-ize a four girl dynamic, though to little success. Two hotties, maybe two fatties, the science is just not advanced enoough to postulate on this new development), they start gambling and drinking, and we talk to them. Ian gets it in his head that he is going to fuck the fat girl (though not morbidly so) and I leave it to him.
After Striking out with two women who thought they were a lot hotter than they were (as per normal tactical deployment, one must leave the hottest girl, designation PRIMARY, until last in order to...refer to manual for further elaboration), I moved in on the 4th and hottest girl, deftly using my lack of success with her friends as an opening things went well. SHe didn't really like them either, she confided. They worked together. What did I do? I work at slots of fun, and am a semi-professional sperm doner.
Well it turns out that the Bartender I work with, his wife works with these girls, and somehow this new knowledge ellicits a more favorable demeanor from all girls involved...they buy us drinks and are instantly more friendly. I was nice to the bitches before they liked me, so I was free to hit on the hot one.
Now, anyone who has any experience or knowledge of my luck would instantly be set aback by this turn of good luck! and with good cause.
Indeed it was her birthday. No man in sight, pretty good chance that she does not want to be alone....we talk, she's a cool girl, things are progressing nicely. But wait! An attractive late 20's chick in LAs Vegas.....no man.....lesbian...transvestite? I continue forward, oblivious, enjoying her company.
That's when she asks me if she looks good for a woman who gave birth a scant month ago.
Indeed she did, though...do I even have to say it. Where is your kid now, I asked. With her Dad, she replies, implying that they are not together in anything but creating a future stripper. I, of course, ask if she lactates when she hears a baby cry. The arduous persuit of knowledge being very important to me.
That's when she pulls out the "breast pads" (some sort of toilet paper held agaist her nipples in her bra) that have been absorbing leakage all night, apparantly there was no need for a baby's wails.
I was horrified. It obviously showed on my drunken visage.
Gross.
End Transmission.
Addendum to Previous Transmission....
Ian wasted all night hitting on the fat girl, only to find out she had a boyfriend. Neither of us got any that night.
Saturday, April 01, 2006
Itty Bitty Bread Bowls
Well, Last night I called in sick to work in order to attend the Alkaline Trio show. It was fucking awesome, I've seen them a bunch of times, but I was blown away last night, they have only gotten better with time. They played the enitire Goddammit album in order, including an electric version of that gay "I hope he bought you roses" song, though there is almost no trace of the lisp that always made me laugh. Against ME ws also very impressive live, they never talked once, which is a rarity nowadays. Really fucking awesome, they really put their all into their shit.
Fuck, I'm late for work, stay tuned for the details on the after show drukeness, including, of all things, breast milk.
Fuck, I'm late for work, stay tuned for the details on the after show drukeness, including, of all things, breast milk.
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
If you could hear the dreams I've had my dear....
They would give you nightmares for a week.
Writing this stupid thing everyday is all but impossible, but I must try, if this Blog drops below 60 words per day, the bomb goes off and we all die. I am an F--B--I agent, dude!
For now I can only say go out and buy Jawbreaker, "Dear You." I don't know why it has come back to the top of my list recently, but I forgot how good it really was/is. Indeed.
So, I forgot where I left off last, but let's see...I met a girl today that works at EL Rancho in Evergreen. She thought I was lying when I told her I knew where/what that was, and she freaked out when she found out I wasn't full of shit. She kissed me on the neck, told me I was cute, and then puked on the bar. I called security, got her phone number, and she was escorted out of the Casino.
Speaking of puke, I also saw a transvestite's balls as he mounted a bar stool in a less than lady like fashion in a skirt that was very short. His hair was in pigtails. I saw his balls because he had no panties on.
End Transmission.
Writing this stupid thing everyday is all but impossible, but I must try, if this Blog drops below 60 words per day, the bomb goes off and we all die. I am an F--B--I agent, dude!
For now I can only say go out and buy Jawbreaker, "Dear You." I don't know why it has come back to the top of my list recently, but I forgot how good it really was/is. Indeed.
So, I forgot where I left off last, but let's see...I met a girl today that works at EL Rancho in Evergreen. She thought I was lying when I told her I knew where/what that was, and she freaked out when she found out I wasn't full of shit. She kissed me on the neck, told me I was cute, and then puked on the bar. I called security, got her phone number, and she was escorted out of the Casino.
Speaking of puke, I also saw a transvestite's balls as he mounted a bar stool in a less than lady like fashion in a skirt that was very short. His hair was in pigtails. I saw his balls because he had no panties on.
End Transmission.
Thursday, March 23, 2006
The scene was less gay when it was all dudes.
When did everyone get so fucking gay? Ian and I went to a show last night, and saw some things that disturbed me greatly. I knew the kids were moving towards this, but I didn't know it had become so bad. Dudes with a shit ton of eyes make-up, skin tight (girls') jeans, and yes the triumphant return of the fingerless gloves. And the fucking hair cuts...it looks like they cut their hair in the dark, drunk, with a dull pocket knife. Then, they dye it black, or leopard spots, or whatever. Though on the bright side it looks like hard core no longer espouses the pussy straight edge shit, now they just dress like girls and don't wear any underwear. One guy even had on a (wo)man fur! It's like the Cure and Pantera had a baby, then aborted it in a drunken lip piercing accident. Then the fetus was eaten by an eighty pund coke slut and vomited into a plate of drunk reality unconcerned with anything other than looking as cool as possible.
The mohawk punks still hate these guys at least, and its funny to see them make fun of them. They mock them to their faces, and it's really quite humorous. Imitating their dancing and such.
The girls, on the other hand...wow. It's amazing how hot girls flock to this shit now, and not just the punk ones that look like their male counterparts (it's almost impossible to tell the dudes from the chicks when viewed from behind, same hair, same bodies...it's an androgonous nightmare) but super hot sorostitute types as well, it's mind boggling. Though to be fair many of them are lesbians trying hard to look tough. But if you've ever seen an 90 pound girl try to mosh with a group of bury 200lb guys, you should go somewhere and watch it. It's like a human pinball game. Two of these girls came and talked to me an Ian. One was a blonde girl, who could not have had a single fat cell on her entire 5'2" frame, I've had turds that weighed more than this chick, her jeans were almost torn off her body, and her shirt was barely more than a wash cloth. Her friend, though I can't remember much about her because her friend was such a captivating conversationalist, was a little more healthy looking, though sulky. Here's a quick snipit of what we talked about..
Girl: Hi.
US: What's going on.
Girl: Not much, I was jkjio jjkfhnfi feeshshkj . But this whorekl;jkll kfpirm. I just wanna hump the shit out of her (begins to leg hump friend) but shekl;l'k';kkjn gh.
US: Really.
Girl: I jkstkujhkkjjhjkhlkhldfsgjhdkghuhruehoiegokldgld.
US(Ian): Can I bum a cigarette?
Girl: Sure, but you hav ekjjoijngg;gjerjgpl;lk.
Ian: Ok.
Girl: I thinkdfshjlkjldsfj. You know?kffhkghdgio.
You get the picture, both these girls were so high on who knows what that it was facinating to me that they were even able to walk. The less talkative girl had spent the concert getting to second base with herself and fucking with her phone while sitting on the stage.
The band was ok, Screamo generic shit, but descent music. The lead singer made a girl cry because he pointed to her (I don't know what she did) and said, "You. you are that girl. The drunk chick that everyone makes fun of later, you're her, there's always one, and you are her. Now shut up." I laughed hartily.
I have officially become a curmudgeonly old bastard. Damn Kids and their music.
What else, oh yeah, got my invite to my 10 year high school reunion. I'm torn between a horribly morbid curiousity and a complete lack of interest.
End Transmission.
The mohawk punks still hate these guys at least, and its funny to see them make fun of them. They mock them to their faces, and it's really quite humorous. Imitating their dancing and such.
The girls, on the other hand...wow. It's amazing how hot girls flock to this shit now, and not just the punk ones that look like their male counterparts (it's almost impossible to tell the dudes from the chicks when viewed from behind, same hair, same bodies...it's an androgonous nightmare) but super hot sorostitute types as well, it's mind boggling. Though to be fair many of them are lesbians trying hard to look tough. But if you've ever seen an 90 pound girl try to mosh with a group of bury 200lb guys, you should go somewhere and watch it. It's like a human pinball game. Two of these girls came and talked to me an Ian. One was a blonde girl, who could not have had a single fat cell on her entire 5'2" frame, I've had turds that weighed more than this chick, her jeans were almost torn off her body, and her shirt was barely more than a wash cloth. Her friend, though I can't remember much about her because her friend was such a captivating conversationalist, was a little more healthy looking, though sulky. Here's a quick snipit of what we talked about..
Girl: Hi.
US: What's going on.
Girl: Not much, I was jkjio jjkfhnfi feeshshkj . But this whorekl;jkll kfpirm. I just wanna hump the shit out of her (begins to leg hump friend) but shekl;l'k';kkjn gh.
US: Really.
Girl: I jkstkujhkkjjhjkhlkhldfsgjhdkghuhruehoiegokldgld.
US(Ian): Can I bum a cigarette?
Girl: Sure, but you hav ekjjoijngg;gjerjgpl;lk.
Ian: Ok.
Girl: I thinkdfshjlkjldsfj. You know?kffhkghdgio.
You get the picture, both these girls were so high on who knows what that it was facinating to me that they were even able to walk. The less talkative girl had spent the concert getting to second base with herself and fucking with her phone while sitting on the stage.
The band was ok, Screamo generic shit, but descent music. The lead singer made a girl cry because he pointed to her (I don't know what she did) and said, "You. you are that girl. The drunk chick that everyone makes fun of later, you're her, there's always one, and you are her. Now shut up." I laughed hartily.
I have officially become a curmudgeonly old bastard. Damn Kids and their music.
What else, oh yeah, got my invite to my 10 year high school reunion. I'm torn between a horribly morbid curiousity and a complete lack of interest.
End Transmission.
Saturday, March 18, 2006
I might have jumped, but you jumped first.
Well, things have cleared up and life has regained the dingy focus that I have come to expect.
I met a Vietnam vet last night that told me all about why we are losing the war in Iraq. It went something like this;
"We can't win in Iraq 'cause we got all this slacker faggots joining the marines. DEATH BEFORE DISHONOR, DEATH BEFORE DISHONOR! you know what I mean. These giys now don't have the balls to shoot who needs to be shot, hey and what's with women nowadays, they're all stuck up bitches, you know, DEATH BEFORE DISHONOR. You're cool though, Dib? Is that how you say your name, Derb? I killed an old lady 'cause she had a grenade in her bra. You're cool though..."
That's about when security came and took him away. He was very and truly drunk. Which made me think about the bullshit I talk about when I'm drunk. I never get to say cool shit like, "I killed an ald lady (insert why)" and if I did it wouldn't be as believable/discountable due to insanity.
Maybe I can capitalize on people's lack of historical knowledge and allege that I am a veteran of the Crimean War (you know, The Charge of the Light Brigade). Technically the war that started in the 1850's (52? I can't remember) when Russia sent troops to defend Christians in the Ottoman Empire. This pissed off Britain, France and Austria, understandably not wanting Russia to get any bigger. It was in this war that I slaughtered many old women, their bra's contents notwithstanding.
Eh? Eh?
Fuck it, I'll just stick to conversations about poop.
End Transmission.
I met a Vietnam vet last night that told me all about why we are losing the war in Iraq. It went something like this;
"We can't win in Iraq 'cause we got all this slacker faggots joining the marines. DEATH BEFORE DISHONOR, DEATH BEFORE DISHONOR! you know what I mean. These giys now don't have the balls to shoot who needs to be shot, hey and what's with women nowadays, they're all stuck up bitches, you know, DEATH BEFORE DISHONOR. You're cool though, Dib? Is that how you say your name, Derb? I killed an old lady 'cause she had a grenade in her bra. You're cool though..."
That's about when security came and took him away. He was very and truly drunk. Which made me think about the bullshit I talk about when I'm drunk. I never get to say cool shit like, "I killed an ald lady (insert why)" and if I did it wouldn't be as believable/discountable due to insanity.
Maybe I can capitalize on people's lack of historical knowledge and allege that I am a veteran of the Crimean War (you know, The Charge of the Light Brigade). Technically the war that started in the 1850's (52? I can't remember) when Russia sent troops to defend Christians in the Ottoman Empire. This pissed off Britain, France and Austria, understandably not wanting Russia to get any bigger. It was in this war that I slaughtered many old women, their bra's contents notwithstanding.
Eh? Eh?
Fuck it, I'll just stick to conversations about poop.
End Transmission.
Friday, March 17, 2006
Bowling Race Care Driver.
So a lot of cool shit has happened since last I scribed here. Unfortunately I can't write about any of it because it has become impossible for me to focus on anything other than the enormous zit in the middle of my back.
There it sits, even now, taunting me in it's unreachable location, itching and hurting, growing larger, yet refusing to pop and leave me in peace! I have cracked every joint in my wrists and elbows, shoulders and back, all in a vain attempt to rid myself of this teribble scourge.
Christ! Even now I can barely resist trying to contort my body into the final yaga position that will allow victory. Even worse is the terrible pain that will ensue when it does finally decide its inhumane torture of my body and soul has reached its zenith. It's like a fucking golf ball just to the left of my spine, well maybe a jellybean, but larger by far is it's evil.
I fear it may even be a coalition of multiple pimples, united to give me unending despondency and in such vexation ruin my life and all that I am and ever will be.
End Transmission.
There it sits, even now, taunting me in it's unreachable location, itching and hurting, growing larger, yet refusing to pop and leave me in peace! I have cracked every joint in my wrists and elbows, shoulders and back, all in a vain attempt to rid myself of this teribble scourge.
Christ! Even now I can barely resist trying to contort my body into the final yaga position that will allow victory. Even worse is the terrible pain that will ensue when it does finally decide its inhumane torture of my body and soul has reached its zenith. It's like a fucking golf ball just to the left of my spine, well maybe a jellybean, but larger by far is it's evil.
I fear it may even be a coalition of multiple pimples, united to give me unending despondency and in such vexation ruin my life and all that I am and ever will be.
End Transmission.
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