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| Monday, October 12th, 2009 | | 5:20 pm |
| | Monday, September 14th, 2009 | | 4:39 pm |
| | Saturday, August 1st, 2009 | | 2:56 pm |
| | Thursday, July 30th, 2009 | | 7:42 pm |
My XBLA Uno Adventure: Children beware
So last night I was hanging out and drinking with a few buddies when I decided to bring the gathering inside to relax in some air conditioning. The night was winding down so I boot up the old Xbox to stream some South Park episodes through Netflix. Before I found the Netflix tab I noticed a green ring glowing under my television. It was my trusty Xbox camera that I thought would have a decent future when I purchased it. After noticing it I decided to load Uno real fast hoping that it would be more entertaining than sitting around watching cartoons. It was. I bring up the list of rooms to join and click on the first name I see. It was something like XxxKazenonexxX or whatever. The first thing that comes to mind when you see a name with X's and shit is that the dude is some kind of nerdy hardcore gamer... Right? Entering the room I expected to see a smaller guy with glasses, not this giant cock on my screen. It was just chilling there. Flaccid and everything. The guy actually seemed relaxed just chilling there with his dick hanging out. I think he was on the phone with someone too. I look to the right of the screen and this other dude is beating off. Before I could say anything I was booted from the room. After getting an eye full of dick I was hoping to at least see some titties, so the next room I joined was hosted by WhoreXChick or something similar. As soon as I connect I see tits (cool) followed by more dudes jacking off. They were telling her what to do (like a live cam show you'd see on a porn site) while they were beating off. They booted me after about 30 seconds. Probably because my camera didn't have a dick on it. The next room I joined had this dude laying on his bed in short red shorts, a younger girl, and a creepy dude with a mustache and hair passed his shoulders. Seemed pretty normal until the dude lying on the bed start jacking off. Rather than exposing his penis he just put his hands down his pants and went to town. The strange thing is that the other two people in the room seemed to ignore the fact that some dude was lying down and beating off. Since nobody was doing anything about it and I wasn't getting kicked from this room I decided to plug in the mic. I don't remember what I said exactly, but I do remember that we carried on a rather normal conversation. He mentioned that he was masturbating over the chick that was in the room even though she wasn't paying attention to anyone in it. It was kind of like a David Lynch film. The final room I joined was completely normal. Everyone was having a good time playing Uno. Then after about 2 minutes this dude asked me if I was going to pull my dick out. After saying no I was booted from the room. You would think that Uno would be monitored more closely. tl;dr: Play Uno on Friday after 1am EST if you want to see people masturbate on camera. I did join other rooms with people stripping but I was booted instantly. I'm also pretty sure that if I had my penis out I wouldn't have been booted from most of the rooms and people would be amazed by it's size. | | Monday, February 23rd, 2009 | | 6:48 pm |
| | Saturday, January 31st, 2009 | | 9:20 pm |
| | Sunday, April 6th, 2008 | | 6:58 pm |
I was a very, very troubled 6th grader
I was raised a Christian, but suffice it to say that by the time I reached 6th grade I was not only on very bad terms with God, but also on bad terms with humanity. Over the course of a month, as I struggled, I drew a 94 page graphic novel called "Bio-Apocalypse" in one of those Mead notebooks. I did this during recess or whenever I had free time, and even in class when the teacher was not looking. It's a good thing I was never caught, because I might very well have been expelled considering the content.
It was not discovered by others then, but not too long ago I discovered the old Mead notebook where I had created the aforementioned amateur graphic novel (stashed away in a pile of other creative shit I had tossed under the rug years ago). I thought it would be a sin if I didn't share it with the rest of the world, especially the people of these here who would be far more inclined to appreciate it.
I present to you: "Bio Apocalypse" (by THE HORSES rear end, 6th grade) :
http://hillridge.net/SA/Bio%20Apocalypse.pdf
I hope you enjoyed it. There's plenty more where that came from (as I said, I was a troubled 6th grader with plenty of free time), but it takes hours to scan and upload all this shit so that's it for today. | | Thursday, February 21st, 2008 | | 2:55 pm |
| | Thursday, April 19th, 2007 | | 8:06 pm |
| | Sunday, October 8th, 2006 | | 3:01 am |
since im bored: my little nazi doll collection
my hobby is collecting nazi dolls.
they are actually called 'action figures.'
right now, i have around 65 of them, plus three big vehicles, two motorcycles and a pair of bicycles.
this is the SS Scharfuhrer (that's the equivalent rank of staff sergeant).
i bought those little playing cards seperate.
i purchase a lot of little items for these guys -- cigarettes, plastic food, little chairs and tables, etc.
Current Music: andreas dorau - allen im park | | Monday, October 2nd, 2006 | | 11:35 am |
get your nails done and your hair did
official lj nail salon bulletin WHAT STYLE OF NAILS DO YOU WANT TODAY, LIVEJOURNAL? (im too poor for the poll function. i spent that money on nails your favorite sodas  bedazzlered  DOLPHINS PRIDE  sesame street is brought to you by your nails  eat my shorts!  something about a pineapple under the sea  SNACKTIME  | | Monday, September 11th, 2006 | | 6:31 am |
recommend me books.
taking a trip so id like some low tech ways to keep me busy. just in case. i stopped reading magazines awhile back heres what i have so far. 1. the bride of catastrophe - heidi jon schmidt. i just never finished it. its big and fiction 2.Laugh If You Like, Ain't a Damn Thing Funny: The Life Story of Ralph ''Petey'' Greene - Lurma Rackley. non fiction bio 3. My Voice Will Go With You: The Teaching Tales of Milton H. Erickson, M.D - Sidney Rosen. anecdotal case studies of a therapist 4. Milton H. Erickson, M.D.: An American Healer by Bradford Keeney. bio about the life of the same guy. 5. Chuck Klosterman IV: A Decade of Curious People and Dangerous Ideas - Chuck Klosterman. non fiction essays the last book i read i really liked was the secret life of the lonely doll: the search for dare wright, by jean nathan so hopefully you can make a recommendation with a short writeup of a potentially life changing (or why would i read it really) book | | Friday, September 1st, 2006 | | 11:39 am |
100's of used dvd's for sale
sinice some people before expressed what dvds i have for sale, im giving it a couple days here before i sell them off elsewhere
1. ill consider all offers until sunday afternoon, after which they start being sold else. until sunday, if theres a bidding war, whoever offers the most for said dvd would win
2. more than half are in the $5-6 dollar range, but some are more. i would just assume they are though. what i would do is just reply back with a list of whatever youre interested in an ill reply back with the same list with adjusted quotes, and we can go from there. sorry if that seems inefficient, but i tabulated what id stand to make on each dvd, and it never occurred to me to try going straight to the consumer first. hopefully, wed trying to find a price thats inbetween what more than i'd sell to a third party for, and less than what youd pay a third party for :D
3. if you live inside the loop of METRO HOUSTON, TX area , ill consider meeting up, other cities, ill ship at the lowest prices i can find. naturally the more you buy the cheaper the shipping would get
4. most of everything is in mint to near mint condition, with most wear and tear if it came with with a paper slipcase. ill mention anyting otherwise though. if you have any questions about particular editions or number of discs if there happen to be more than one, just ask. also everything is Region 1 Official Discs. most everything is widescreen if it was ever offered in widescreen, if its not ill mention
5. would be willing to trade (or even dvd rips, which id actually prefer) for Barfly, The Fly - Collector's Edition, Rebecca - Criterion Edition, The Girl on the Bridge, Billy Liar - Criterion Edition, Salesman - Criterion Edition, Any James Brown dvd concerts that are good.
Current Music: freeform five - no more conversations | | Thursday, August 3rd, 2006 | | 11:47 pm |
i uploaded these to link to a friend but i may as well link them here too: patrick wolf is a musician as well, and i like his stuff, this remix is very in line with his solo stuff. i also think its a rare case of a remix being better than the original song. pure ear candy Annie - Helpless Fool for Love (Patrick Wolf mix) from the unrealeased Basement Jaxx album, Crazy Itch Radio, the lead single and by far one of the best songs ive heard in months Basement Jaxx - Hush Boythis is supposed to be a skit/segue between songs, but i like how the melody she sings steals from Roberta Flack's The Closer I Get to You Basement Jaxx - ZoomaludeBasement Jaxx - Keep Keep On | | Wednesday, July 5th, 2006 | | 4:24 am |
my little sister had a slumber party last weekend
visting home can still have it's advantages! First, let me tell you a little something about my sister. She is a lovely girl, 16, bright and beautiful. And do you know how much she adores me? She does. I suspect all younger siblings at some time blindly admire their older counter parts no matter who they are, even if, in fact, they cause them harm in some way or the other, it is all justified to them, somehow. This was the case with my older brother, whom I have grown to hate, quite rightly, because he is stupid, rude, and sometimes the butt of jokes to those people he calls "friends." Back to my sister; she is one of great potential, and I recognized my duty as her older brother to help mold her. I won't make the same mistake my brother did with me! I try to inspire her, enlighten her, open her mind so that she may reach her highest potential, whatever it is that a woman could hope to be. It started with my reading suggestions. I was put in the position of someone who could recommend books for her to read, and in return she would respect my opinion of certain subjects, by my ability to comprehend and elaborate on her english assignments. I got her to read Camus's "The Stranger" one time. The conversation afterwards went like this: "I don't get the ending," she said. "What don't you get about it?" "Is he happy or what? I think he's happy, but I don't see why." "He isn't really happy, after all, he is condemned. He has just understood his place in the universe and the universes' relation to him, chiefly, indifference. All he has to do is be indifferent to it and the world, just as he is to society's laws and morals, and then finally, apply that to death. He has some sort of peace, but I think he would somehow rather live, if only out of habit." She paused for a moment, reflecting, or trying to reflect, so as to impress her older brother. "I think I got it," she finally let out. "Come to me with any other questions," I said. So you see what kind of a mentor I am to her. She comes to my room everday after school and talks with me. She loves every minute of it. But it is also double sided, because if anyone has spent enough time with a girl you know how boring their stories become. It seems to be in their nature to bother you with every trivial and meaningless detail in their lives, somehow, I think, it makes them seem closer to you, to know all their bullshit. Keep that in mind, young men of the world! Having sufficiently boosted her self esteem and whatnot, she eventually made friends in highschool. She was quiet and shy like I was in my youth, and so that always troubled me about her, and so I was quite pleased that she had made friends. I came to learn that one of her friends, Casey, had a crush on me. I don't know how that happened, since I have never met the girl, or if so merely in passing. Apparantly this bothered my sister a lot, and Casey, being aware of this, wrote on my sisters notebook that I was cute, hot, etc. My sister showed me the notebook. I also think there is something appealing about older men to little girls, older brothers, just as older siblings are somehow more powerful and knowledgeable, older boys are omnipotent and exciting. They know how to have fun, they know about life, after all, at least from the little girls' perspective. I knew this when I was sitting at my computer chair and heard the doorbell ring last Friday night. It was Casey! The night had begun! I was imagining them, from behind my door, greeting each other, their bright teenage smiles and barely controllable excitement. They would hold each others hands as if to try to contain each other as they looked into each others eyes and burst into laughter and giggles. Such movement and electricity surrounded them at every moment. There were many instances when, after the other 2 girls arrived, making that 4 in all, that it seems like a grenade exploded in the other room, except instead of hearing destruction you heard shrieking yells and fits of laughter from all around you, which would be equally as disturbing and unsettling as a grenade. At one point in the night I heard my sisters door open. She is right across the hall. I ran quickly to my door and pressed my ear to it. I heard whispers. From what I gathered, one girl, Casey, was showing another, Lauren, where the bathroom was, but they also were discussing which room I was in, and daring each other to go in and see me. This filled me with a powerful excitement. Eventually, though, they were too timid, or picked the wrong room, and eventually returned to my sisters room. All that evening an idea was spreading inside me. At first it started as a seed, a joke and passing thought that I even laughed at. But it grew. It sprung roots and branches and as each minute passed become more and more a possibility, and strangely it seems, an inevitability. I was heading towards it and it was pulling me in whether I had a say in it or not! It was only two doors, gentlemen, two doors that seperated me from those lovely girls. My imagination was running wild with ideas of what they could be doing, what they looked like, and indeed what they were thinking! I could not take it any more. But I had to have an excuse, a reason, a justification, or otherwise everything would fall to pieces! "And who cares what other people think, so what if they are sixteen?" I thought to myself. "Am I not like The Stranger myself? Aren't we free to invent our own rules? What does it all matter? Where do these laws come from? Are they holy? There is no holiness! That is a lie, and only for children to believe. Children need morals. I can step over them, all those who judge, in one giant leap I can crush what they think! Heh, heh!" "Hello, sister!" I said as I pushed the door open with one hand, carrying a bottle of Jack Daniels in the other. "What are you doing here?" she said, startled, and pulled a blanket over her legs and closer to her face. "Oh, I'm just saying hello. Can I come in? Well, hello everyone! Let me close the door. Ok there. Well, how are you?" I introduced myself and everyone introduced themselves to me. I have to admit, at first they were startled, but I spoke in a tone of sincerity and frankness that was disarming and at times even enchanting, otherwise, if I detected, even in the slightest, a shred of sentiment that I was not accepted among them, I would have left immediately! That I promise you. That is the truth. There was Casey, as I mentioned, but now I was free to look at and admire her features. She was a blonde girl of sixteen. She would be the first to turn seventeen among the group. She wore a beaded necklace, had a crooked smile, and was pale and skinny. Lauren was brunette and had a curved, though small, nose. She was just as pale as Casey, but looked fuller, and her brown eyes were rich and deep. And lastly there was Becca. Becca's brown hair was long and fell to the middle of her back. She kept the front bangs short above her eyebrows and let the rest grow back behind her. She had a slight complexion problem but it could easily be ignored because she covered it with makeup. I don't know how you all feel about women's faces, but to my mind those sixteen years, those still childish eyes, that timidity, those bashful tears- to my mind they're better than beauty, and on top of that they were just like a picture. Little eyes, little hands and arms, little feet- lovely! ... So we got acquainted. I hid my bottle from view and also from thought for the time being until I gained their absolute and complete trust. "So Casey, that's with a C right?" I asked. "Yes!" "Cool! I once knew a Kacie with a K and IE." "Cool! Me too! Whenever I meet another Casey I have to ask how their name is spelled!" "That's so funny!" And thus, and thus. Finally I introduced the bottle. "So, have you girls ever drank before?" "Nope," Casey said. The others replied the same. "One time," my sister said, bashfully, but with a hint of pride. "Oh wow, really!" Becca said. "When was it??" Lauren said. "It was during Mardi Gras. He let me," my sister said, pointing to me. "Haha, I remember that, that was funny. So do you girls want to try some? It's really fun," I said. "Sounds cool!" Casey said. Luckily they already had coke in the room to mix it with. First I gave them weak drinks, and hoped no one would get an upset stomach. But would you have guessed how quickly they drank! They were so excited about the prospect of being cool and drinking, and hanging out with an older boy. I'm 22, by the way. In just an hour all the bottle was gone. I barely had 2 drinks. I sipped quietly and slowly so they would get more than their share of it. Finally my moment was coming into play, as if it were appearing before me and suddenly tangible. I could feel it's weight bearing down on me, more and more, every minute, until it almost broke me. "Has anyone done a three-way kiss before?" I asked. No one answered. They looked at me and then each other, and then back at me. "It's simple, it's just like regular kissing except with three people. Who wants to try?" Everyone volunteered. I told my sister no... next turn. I got Casey, Lauren, and Becca standing on their knees and told them to go at it. They were giggling but determined. Finally the laughter stopped and then all I could see were flickering tongues, wetness, and a warm sensation that was crawling through all of the little girls' chest and up their necks to their little cheeks. It was their sexuality, blossoming. I wiggled my dick between their lips and tongues. Their eyes didn't open at first, but surely they noticed this new alien object couldn't have been anyone else's face. And after all, it probably smelled pretty bad and was suspect. They opened their eyes, stared for a moment, and started screaming. "What's the matter with you??" I screamed back. I quickly put it back in and zipped up. They were in hysterics and hyperventilating. I tried to calm them down as quickly as possible. "No wait! Wait! Look uh.. have you heard of a keg before? At college parties they have kegs," I said, in a broken voice. "Yeah... I think I have... " Casey said. "Well, girls, that was a keg. You all just did a keg stand." "I thought kegs had beer." "No that was a keg, trust me," I said, backing away, grabbing the empty bottle of Jack Daniels. They were bewildered. I prayed that they would be too drunk to really remember what happened, or too ashamed. "Don't tell anyone you saw a keg tonight," I told them as I shut the door. I went into my room and fell with my back against the door and slid down in agony. I had done what every man had dreamed of, yet why were all these troublesome and burdonsome feelings coming over me now? I was not completely justified, even in my mind. I could not convince myself fully! Why was I so weak? Was it true what Camus said, or was that just optimistic? I was programmed, just like all the others, just a simpleton! But at least I had made it with three hot chicks. Current Music: carpenters -rainbow connection | | Tuesday, July 4th, 2006 | | 7:22 pm |
YES! life is worth living again.
"SingStar Anthems announced(News)by Ellie Gibson
Women and gay people of the world rejoice - Sony is planning to release a new instalment in the SingStar series that's specially for you.
SingStar Anthems features 20 music videos from pop's most glittering stars - "think Priscilla Queen of the Desert meets Kylie Showgirls tour", apparently.
Track list highlights include Laura by the Scissor Sisters, Candi Staton's Young Hearts Run Free and I Feel Love by Donna Summer. Not to mention Girls Aloud's Biology - quite possibly the best pop song EVER. And topping it all off there's a track by Steps - most definitely the best band EVER. Shame they've chosen Deeper Shade of Blue though, it's not a patch on Better Best Forgotten.
Anyway, SingStar Anthems - which certainly looks like being the best SingStar game EVER from where we're sitting - is out on August 4th, priced at £39.99 with two microphones or £19.99 on its own. Here's the full track listing:
Queen - Radio Ga Ga
Bonnie Tyler - Total Eclipse of the Heart
Take That featuring Lulu - Relight My Fire
Cher - If I Could Turn Back Time
Steps - Deeper Shade of Blue
Dead or Alive - You Spin Me Round (Like A Record)
Candi Staton - Young Hearts Run Free
Gloria Gaynor - I Will Survive
Bananarama - I Heard A Rumour
Pussycat Dolls - Don’t Cha
Leann Rimes - Can’t Fight the Moonlight
Donner Summer - I Feel Love
Bucks Fizz - Making Your Mind Up
The Weather Girls - It’s Raining Men
Ultra Nate - Free
Scissor Sisters - Laura
Kim Wilde - Kids in America
Whitney Houston - I Wanna Dance With Somebody
Girl Aloud - Biology
Charlotte Church - Crazy Chick"
....Steps - Deeper Shade of Blue would have been better replaced with Last Thing on My Mind (with the dance routines and standing facing each other at angles like an ABBA video), and Whitney Houston's - I Wanna Dance with Somebody is good, but i think How Will I Know (my karoake staple) would have been better. and S Club 7's Never Had a Dream Come True would have fit in there perfectly, but they have have an an Ultra Nate song in there so they clearly know what they're doing.
still it almost feels like someone made this just for me. i can't wait. Current Music: steps - last thing on my mind | | Monday, June 19th, 2006 | | 11:50 pm |
few things never let you down, i've noticed.
one of those things is Parker Posey
Current Music: minnie ripperton - only when im dreaming | | Monday, June 5th, 2006 | | 2:39 am |
The worst thing to ever happen to me.
So I was walking home from the gym, thinking about how much I hate those fucking basketball players and their fucking chiseled abs and their retarded goddamned perfectly molded buttocks, when I realized that every person in every car at every stoplight was staring -no- GLARING at me. I checked my crotch for stains and felt my face for any strange pulsating growths or swastika tattoos that I was unaware of but it came up clean. Then at yet another stoplight, some peurto rican-looking guy with a grey tanktop and spiked hair said "Hey buddy!" and I said hey back but wondered whether he was just friendly or one of these people that know me from somewhere without me recollecting them whatsoever, then the light turned green and as he pulled away he leaned out the window and shout "ALL YOU NEED IS SOME PURPLE PANTS!" and laughed snarkily as his car dissappeared over a hill. I stared after him for a moment, not fully comprehending the situation. Then I looked down at my bright green t-shirt and the red overshirt I had thrown on and it occured to me that I had been fucking drive-by fashion critiqued.
I hate this town. I hate it so fucking much.... Current Music: scott walker - next | | Wednesday, May 31st, 2006 | | 10:48 pm |
The secret going-ons of Terri Schiavo's husband: Michael Schiavo
We've all heard the news, and unless you've been under a rock or in a coma yourself, you've heard about the unfortunate yet eventful case of Terri Schiavo. But as with every story, there are many aspects left out or uncovered and until later, sometimes much, much later. And how can a story explain everything that has happened? Aren't stories merely a nice way to sum things up to quiet our anxiety about a situation, how we attempt to explain and rationalize things to ourselves? This may be true, and maybe my story won't add a great deal to the infinitely describable life of another human being, in this case Terri Schiavo, but I will go on anyway, if you will listen... Let me first say that I've always been interested in the medical field. I don't know what drew me to it (and who really knows why they chose their profession, mate, or place of living? those personality tests only can know so much!). I will say that I am filled with a deep, inner satisfaction in being the sole cause of another person's pleasure. Who isn't! Gratification aside, there are not many of us who will put up with the torture of working in a hospital. And it is true, too, that many of us sit idly by, without communicating or acknowledging each other, and stare at the clock all day, waiting to go home. A life like that, simply waiting to escape, what does that remind me of? Anyway, so I was a nurse at Terri Schiavo's hospital in Pinellas Park, Florida. A male nurse. Yes, haha, we've heard the jokes and seen Meet the Parents. We do exist. We are as brave as the male flight attendants and female pilots! I don't think I could have handled medical school, or all the technical rote memorization in being an actual doctor. I prefer to listen to people. I've been told all my life I was a good listener. I'm also a good watcher too, a scopophiliac if you will. I've gotten strange looks sometimes from people that I've been watching, but there's so much you can learn from watching, it's remarkable! I was not anywhere near Terri Schiavo as of late, all of these events occurred long ago, near the beginning of her coma, in 1990. Anyway, she was a case like any other, and treated like any other. It was all routine. I hate to say it, but there comes a time in every profession where you have become so used to the problems, the solutions to those problems, the procedures, that people no longer appear before you as an actual free-willed individual, but as a number, identification code, a time remaining left in room number blah, etc. But then again, you might ask, how can I still be drawn to people if I dehumanize them, that is, no longer see them as people? Well that's the thing, that's the very thing, is that surely there is no SET STANDARD CASE for every case, there is no pure or perfect example, and that is exactly everyone is exactly unique, but though there is the dehumanization in the treatment, there isn't in the diagnoses. That right there is the trick. Did you know that half of all medical doctors are clinically depressed? They don't advocate anti-depressants, though they hand them out like candy and need to be on them themselves, and perhaps it is better that they aren't, because I've come to the belief, mainly through my incisive and precise observations of the human organisms around me, that people who are suffering themselves are more capable of understanding the suffering of someone else. Yes! That is what makes a good doctor you see, a sad doctor. He can understand your pain better than one who has never felt ill in his life. Stay off those SSRI's dickhead, we need you here! So you're saying on with the story. Very well. I first met Michael Schiavo shortly after his wife's arrival at our hospital. He was a nervous man. He had the odd mannerism of cracking his neck, without touching it, but by turning it acutely, during speech every time he completed a thought. For example, if I were to ask him, "Michael, dear friend, what is two plus two?" He would crack his neck after the number had magically appeared in his mind and say, "Four." And I say nervous because his eyes used to always fall to the floor in our conversations. With the doctors he would stare wide eyed, open, anxious, hanging on every word and syllable, and let me also add here that there is no doctor that does not feel an almost childlike enthusiasm and personal excitement in having that position of power over another person, yet the more experienced the doctor is, the more that feeling is tempered with the need for the outer, external appearance of confidence and respectability, as should every doctor act in their relationships to the weakened and helpless spectators of disaster. But with me, like I said, his eyes fell. He mumbled a lot. He was weak. He pressed her hand and stayed by her bedside day and night the first few weeks. Then time elapsed, and as is always the case, we saw less and less of him. But then I observed, as I always do, a strange occurrence that happened solely and entirely within the mind of Michael Schiavo. It was like taking a towel laying on the floor, spraying it with water, and then twisting it into a permanent position of being wrung. Yes, somewhere inside he snapped. He would visit his wife at odd times, usually after normal hours. And we were alerted to this scenario, and would have to keep special vigil over Terri. What would he want to do with her when everyone else was not around? What could she give him then that she couldn't give him at other times? Some would claim they heard wet noises coming from her room, and when they entered he would straighten himself and become highly flustered, sometimes yell something like "Look behind you!" and jump out of a nearby window. One night I was working a late shift. I was out of school then and was going to be employed full time by the hospital. I felt like Joker in that scene in Full Metal Jacket where he was on night watch and caught Pyle during an unfortunate moment. I was walking throughout the silent halls of the hospitals. The only sounds were not of those of the living, but rather, the machines. The beeps, the incessant humming. My footsteps were as loud as drums, and I even reproached myself for possibily disturbing the resting ill. I remember exactly where her room was, and, turning the corner, approached cautiously as was instructed. I heard nothing but my suppressed breathing. I leaned in towards her door and stuck my head as close to it as possible, without touching. At first I heard nothing. I waited another minute, then like clockwork, I heard the fabled wet sounds. They sounded like smacking, but I could not be sure. My heart was pounding so hard that I thought it would give me away. I crouched down, slowly, hearing the tension of my clothes from my movements, and attempted to look under the door to see what was going on inside. After all, this was my one and only chance to observe him in this state! I saw... nothing! Just the bed legs, the table legs, ordinary equipment. No one was standing in the room, at least not on the ground. I decided to enter, but enter quietly. The handle was metal and luckily, the door was new, so it did not creak. I pressed down on the handle with great weight and restraint, trying both not to go too slow or too fast. When the handle could be pushed down no more, I gently, with my shoulder, edged the door open, millimeters per second. The wet sounds were becoming increasingly louder. Finally I could not bear it, and swung the door open quickly. It made no noise, and for at least a few seconds I was watching our much esteemed and highly praised Mr. Michael Schiavo dunk his balls into his comatose wife's mouth, jacking himself off in the meantime. They said she always maintained the ability to swallow, and it appeared she was attempting to do that very same thing, except with his balls. But since you can't entirely swallow balls she would suck on them and lick them, trying to force them off. The mystery of the wet sound had been solved! But now what was I do to? How can any sort of training prepare you for a moment like this, and shouldn't I forgive this kind of behavior, coming from a man who in a sense lost his life, his sense of well being? Suddenly he turned and caught my eye. I wished he would have maintained his meekness and downcast his eyes, but they held with mine, and were fiery and flaring and flashing. I heard the sound of air escaping, and then a log came out of his ass and dropped onto his wife's chest. And so quickly and effortlessly, just like snapping your fingers, like a hotdog from a chute. It was a log of fear. And just one log, one perfect, normal sized log! Once again he screamed, "Look behind you!" but I could not turn, and I watched, as if I too were suddenly in a coma, passively, helplessly, as I saw Michael Schiavo attempt to pull his pants up to his waist as he approached the window. He couldn't though, not in his state, so he decided not to fight it, and jump bottomless out the window. I looked at Terri again. The poo on her chest was wet and glistening in the dawn's early light, the fabric of her bedshirt clinging to its sides. I, of course, had to write a full report and turn it in to my superiors the following day. That was the last we ever heard of Michael. I'm sure the report is still somewhere, waiting to be discovered by a dedicated journalist or historian, but no doubt tangled in red tape or misplaced or perhaps even stolen, so it may be that we never can verify the event, but since I am the optimistic sort, I'm sure that date will come, only very late. So until then, you will have to take my word for it. Current Music: the stranglers - peaches | | Monday, May 29th, 2006 | | 4:04 pm |
cocaine and girls
Hello friends, it feels so long since we’ve sat down and chatted that I felt somehow obligated, strangely, to reach out to you again. Yes, I consider you all my dear friends, if I may be so ticklish and presumptuous, generally speaking, of course, for in posts like these aren’t we confessing something personal to anonymous strangers as if they were more than acquaintances? The jury gets to hear all the gory details of a murderer’s doing, so too, am I standing here in front of you asking for your opinion on a dear matter concerning the heart. We started off as coworkers, she and I. Her name is Nicole. We are both waiters at the same restaurant. It was one of those things where we had worked together for so long but never really spoke to each other, in fact, I had never even noticed her. But then suddenly one day we were passing each other, and she must have been busy because she had worked up a little sweat, and her cheeks were a little rosy, and I saw her out of the corner of my eye but then turned fully to face her. Formerly she had just been a pretty little girl… but now, I could barely forgive myself for looking at her for four months and not seeing. From that moment on I began my designs on her. I admit I knew little about her. She was friendly at work but wasn’t much of an outgoing person, so she became close to few people. She wasn’t one to offer much about herself, either. What little I knew I discovered from another girl that worked with us, Jennifer. Nicole had worked with her at another restaurant, and Jennifer praised her because she was the only one who had bothered to talk to her, and be nice to her. This seems to be the case for many people, because now, just recently, when I inquire about Nicole to others, people’s faces seem to light up as they express their fondness for how delicate and sincere a person she is. Jennifer knew that she had dated one guy who ended up cheating on her, and was told by one of his friends, who in turn she had dated and then cheated on her too. One could wonder, without knowing the parties specifically, if the initial cheating even occurred. If we twenty-something’s are anything like our high school counter parts, lies about infidelity to get the ones we’re after are common. But that is another story entirely, and merely hearsay, and was only suggested to me by someone else I was relating my story to. She broke up with him three weeks ago, and that leads us to our present state. I have now reread what I’ve just written, and see that I’m much more intelligent than what I’ve written. How does it come about that what an intelligent man expresses is much stupider than what remains inside of him? I’ve noticed that about myself more than once in my verbal relations with people during this last fateful year and have suffered much from it. About two weeks ago I walked up to her to ask her for change. She was working to-go, so she was in charge of the cash register. The scene the follows went accordingly: “Hey, I heard something about you,” Nicole said. “What?” “That you did *sniff* *sniff*” “What… cry?” “No! *sniff* *sniff*” “Coke? Who told you that?” “I’m not telling.” “Who told you… there could only be a few people.” “Is it true?” she asked. “Yeah. Do you?” “Yeah.” “YOU!?” “Yeah!” she giggled. With people that do coke, when we discover that another person does it, it is like they automatically join a certain club. With this membership comes a certain ability to talk freely about the drug without being judged, so finding another is quite a relieving thing, especially if they outwardly appear to be “normal” and not a stereotypical druggie. It’s like you can finally discuss aspects of the drug that don’t end up in a debate whether drugs are good or bad, right or wrong, but you can talk about your habits with them, how much you get them for (and if either of you can help the other in getting them), and what you like or dislike about them. That day we had a long, intense conversation detailing all of our drug use, but it was not just about that. If anyone wants to know what we talked about during that whole shift, I will reply that, essentially, it was about everything in the world, but all of it somehow strange. I very much liked the extreme artlessness with which we treated each other. Whenever something came up that made either of us busy, she would say, “Well come and find me again,” or “Come talk to me later.” When I got off of my shift, she made me stay, almost forcefully. It felt as though if I were to leave it would violate something sacred between us. I stayed up front with her and talked for hours. Often people would come and mingle with us, and our conversation would shift to adapt to make room for the broadness for this stranger, but as soon as they were out of earshot, we went back to discussing important, intimate details and affairs. I left that day rejuvenated. I felt that I had been happy again and that I was happy. Then slowly a worm of doubt crept inside me and threw everything about that day into doubt. Could it be that she was open with me not because she wanted to get to know me, but because she wanted to confess all of her drug secrets? Thinking back, it seemed as though she were confessing terrible things, and she wanted someone else to describe something about themselves that was equally despicable, so as not to feel entirely alone, and somehow justified. With that thought I threw away all the progress I had made with her, and that night going to sleep felt as lonely as ever. In the morning those feelings vanished, and all I could remember about the previous day’s encounter were the good things. I went online and looked at everyone’s schedule, and sure enough, she was working again. I went in under the ostensible reason of getting a paycheck, but I planned to ask her out. It worked! We had a date that night, but not just a date, but a coke date! I invited her to my apartment. We didn’t bother with the formalities. I spilled the eightball I got earlier that day onto my hand mirror and started cutting it up. We agreed that she would pay for however much she did, but I didn’t plan on bringing it up unless she did later that night. A girl coming over to do coke with you is payment enough. We talked nonstop, obviously. Things got heavier after a few hours. “Does coke ever make you feel horny?” Nicole asked. “Yeah, actually.” “It does to me.” She kept staring at me and I knew that it was my only chance. I took off my pants and made a huge line on my erect penis. She seemed interested as I was taking off my pants, but confused when I put the coke on my dick. “What are you doing?” she asked, gingerly. “Putting you to the test.” “Is that so?” “If you really like me, you’ll snort this line off my dick.” “Ok, be still.” She bent down. “Hold my hair back,” she asked. I did so and she railed the line. “Did I pass?” she looked at me with wild, coke eyes. But those eyes posed a mystery… did she like me for me, or for my coke? What will happen when the coke runs out? What kind of girl is this? She started giving me a blowjob and the coke from her snot and saliva made me numb, so I lasted for an entire hour. The thing about coke is that after a few hours of doing it, your life feels pretty empty. She’s gone now, and I’m still coming down. The bag is empty, and the day seems faded already. There’s nothing left to do or say at this point. I was just hoping someone would understand. Current Music: the 5th dimension -last night(i couldn't get to sleep at all |
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