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.
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