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|Monday, June 5th, 2006|
|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....
|Wednesday, May 31st, 2006|
|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.
|Monday, May 29th, 2006|
|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.
“That you did *sniff* *sniff*”
“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!” 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.
“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.
|Saturday, May 6th, 2006|
1. How tall are you barefoot?
5'8, but i think 5'9 with the afro and the peaked skull i have
2. Have you ever smoked heroin?
i didn't know you smoked it.
3. Do you own a gun?
5. Do you get nervous before "meeting the parents"?
oh man all parents hate me. its a rule
6. What do you think of hot dogs?
hots dogs in iceland are made of lamb and served with remoulade
7. What's your favorite Christmas song?
prince - another lonely christmas. it sounds like a 'purple rain' b-side, and its about his girlfriend dying last christmas...and i love dramatic things like that
8. What do you prefer to drink in the morning?
9. Do you work out?
lately its just pushups and going walkabout
10. Have you ever done ecstasy?
11. Are you vegan?
i make it a rule to chew on everything i can get my hands on/and or mean to me
12. Do you like painkillers?
13. What is your secret weapon to lure in the opposite sex?
sincerity. always sincerity - don lockwood, singin' in the rain
14. Do you own a knife?
oh man i have a ton
15. Do you have A.D.D.?
im pretty sure i do but ive never been to a doctor before.
16. Do you love the pain a tattoo brings?
i wouldn't know darling.
17. Top 3 thoughts at this exact moment:
-the work im putting off by filling this out
-the multiple hooks in girls aloud - biology. "the way that we talk. the way that we walk. its there in our thoughts. the way that we talk. the way that we walk. so easily caught"
-logistics of a personal project
18. Name the last 3 things you have bought:
-fat free miracle whip (its a sham. don't buy it)
19. Name five drinks you regularly drink:
thai tea with 1/3 condensed milk or some ridiculous shit like that, diet lemonade, iced tea with 3 packets of sweet n low , water, a&w root beer
20. What time did you wake up today?
its disturbing for me to go that far back :serious:
21. Current hair?
22. Current worry?
losing weight. that im dragging my feet on moving.
23. Current hate?
24. Favorite place to be?
25. Least favorite place to be?
i can't think of anything. i think its kind of cute people are saying 'the dentist', having worked as a hygenist.
26. Where would you like to go?
27. What do you wear when you go to sleep?
28. What do you think you'll be doing in 10 years?
same as i am now. but with more things, more experiences, more knowledge, and ill be less afraid hopefully
29. Do you burn or tan?
i tan, but im pretty brown naturally. i like the way my brother calls it. he calls it 'bringing out your color'. that bitch doesn't tan like i do though.
30. Last thing you ate?
subway 6 inch italian herbs and cheese garlic bread/meatball marinara/melted mozarrella/mayo and pepper.
yeah ive been bad.
31. Would you be a pirate?
darling, i AM a pirate.
32. Last time you had an alcoholic beverage
2-3 weeks ago
33. What songs do you sing in the shower?
rufus wainwright - cigarettes and chocolate milk
34. What did you fear was going to get you at night as a child?
after watching 'cats eye', that a troll in jester garb would run across and tackle me as turn as i flipped on the lights. but i saw this halloween episode of night court once and they had a 'ghost case' using decades old evidence and it sent me into a grade school existential depression for like 3 months, like it was the first time i thought how i'd be dead one day. it was pretty bad.
35. What's in your pockets right now?
36. Last thing that made you laugh?
teacher crying in 'mad hot ballroom'. what a sap
37. Best bed sheets you had as a child?
red striped ones
38. Worst injury you've ever had?
when i slammed some bike handlebars into my chin. i was bleeding and thinking 'oh no, now ill be a monster forever! and i went to my friends house immediately afterward and his mom answered and i was afraid to show my ghastly visage
39. What are your dreams like?
dont remember them lately. my favorite ones are about well fleshed out bands and movies that don't actually exist
40. How many TVs do you have in your house?
41. Who is your loudest friend?
42. Who is your most silent friend?
the gun i have IN MY CLOSET
43. Does someone have a crush on you?
probably people who dont know me well at all
44. Do you wish on stars?
no. i wish on satellites
45. What is your favorite book?
at the moment:
fiction: Oscar and Lucinda - Peter Carey. this is like my schlock romance novel
nonfiction: The Strategies of War - Robert Greene. it sounds really nerdy but this really sent me off careening into other interests. plus, it made me think about how much civilizations are changed by warfare. you can be the smartest, creative person alive, kind to small animals and children, but it means nothing when theres a gun pointed at your head.
46.What is your favorite movie?
at the moment, i can't stop watching the Muhammed Ali/George Foremean 'Rumble in the Jungle' fight documentary when Foreman was heavily favored and younger and stronger, and Ali pulled the Rope a Dope when nobody believed the shit he was talking. its so inspiring.
i saw Burt Lancaster's The Swimmer recently and loved that too.
47. What is your favorite candy?
very cherry jelly belly beans, swedish fish
48. What song do you want played at your wedding?
earl jean - im into somethin' good
49. What song do you want played at your funeral?
girls aloud - biology
50. What were you doing 12AM last night?
its painful for me to remember anything beyond five minutes ago.
51. Why are you doing this survey?
|Wednesday, April 26th, 2006|
|Saturday, February 25th, 2006|
|Why I have not been around lately ...
Guys I finally did what I always thought I would never do ... I fell in love with an internet chick. Even worse I met her playing World of Warcraft.
She joined our guild a few month's back and me being the guild master got to talking to her a lot, we eventually started chatting on ventrillo and got to know eachother a lot better. Then I started wanting to talk to her all the time, online her name was Janet but her real name was Michelle and she is 38 years old. She lives over in Maryland near Towson University. As some may know I have had the same girlfirend that I felt I was going to marry for the last 6 years. This girl jsut blew her away, and I had never even met her in real life ... she shared the whole online gaming thing I loved to do too, she was single and pretty hot fro mthe pictures she sent me. So finally one day I gave into the temptation and told my girlfriend I had to take a business trip to Maryland for a weekend ... I took off work Fri, and Mon and headed down to see her.
So I meet up with her, we basically sit around and chat about stuff, she shows me her gaming rig, house, place she works etc. She blows me, I come home a couple days later all in good fun. At this point I am in love with this girl, calling her every chance I get, finally end up telling my girlfirned we are finished ... she's pretty damn upset but I don't even care. I keep my eye on the prize because I want my new hot sexy gamer girl.
So I'm talking to some other players in WoW I pvp with about this chick, then all of a sudden the discussion about how she flew this fucking annoying faggot named shadowskillz to her house and fucked him. I'm like wtf, and he's all like yeah it ruled and then I ask her about it, she gets pissed, quits the guild and won't talk to me. Seems kind of odd to me, not like I care that much good luck finding an untouched girl these days ...
But no she really won't talk to me and I don't know why. After a few days I start to feel that lonely spot, the one you feel when you are missing something. My something was missing, I needed this girl, she has been part of my everyday life for the past 3 months in WoW and now in real life. She doesn't answer my calls, she has me blocked in game, and she changed her aim/email addresses. I just want to be with her, I would love to just sit there every night together raiding end gam instances then afterweards go to bed and hold her everynight, and I feel like I fucked this up forever. So finally another lonely night I find myself back here, with my real family of ljers.
I <3 you guys.
|Friday, February 10th, 2006|
|The grand list of things I've never done.
-Ridden a rollercoaster.
-Broken a bone.
-Had a cavity.
-Been in a physical fight (not even one punch)
-Tasted beer, alcoholic or otherwise.
-Eaten french toast.
-Eaten beef (it just repulses me. All other meat is fine)
-Been in a car accident.
-Been pulled over.
-Been expelled, grounded, arrested, fired, reprimanded or in any other way punished.
-Done anything to warrant being punished.
-Hit on someone/flirted/asked someone out or been hit on/flirted with/asked out.
-Ridden a bike.
-Skated (on skates, ice or a skateboard)
-Ridden a train.
-Ridden in a taxi or bus (other than the schoolbus when I was little)
-Played in any kind of sport.
-Been in mortal danger of any kind.
-Witnessed a fire.
-Witnessed a human death.
-Been to a play (I would really really like to)
-Been to a concert.
-Been river rafting/boating.
-Watched a porno.
-Seen "Fight Club".
-Tried a burger of any kind.
|Tuesday, February 7th, 2006|
|Friday, January 27th, 2006|
|Thursday, January 19th, 2006|
|Wednesday, January 18th, 2006|
I made a graveyard:
Yes, this is real dialogue. Yes, this is what my main character looks like:
Marina the octopus is the only villager I actually talk to. One of only two octopus villagers in the game, so of course she has to be my little guy's specialest friend. Indeed, she's becoming more obsessed with me every day. She's visited my house twice, started talking only about insects since I told her I liked them, has given me rare gifts including a MARIO HAT (called the Big Bro Hat) and also kept asking me to dress her.
Almost as funny as the pants line though was when she told me she would like it if I treated her "mean" sometimes so she could "pretend to cry and hide her true feelings". They take out halloween to be politically correct but have a masochistic octopus lady? This is why I love nintendo.
She almost tried to randomly move out but I put a stop to that. For some reason if you got an animal packing up to leave, you can prevent it usually by just skipping the clock ahead five days or so and then back again. I made sure to talk to her a bunch too, though, and sent her a bunch of letters before "time traveling". The letters might be the important bit.
Tick tock, Clarice.
Buy the Police Cap, the Aviator Glasses and the Zipper Shirt.
INSTANT GAY LEATHER FETISHIST.
I would like to point out that Dr. Shrunk is an AXOLOTL.
A FUCKIN' AXOLOTL.
If that isn't the greatest reason to buy this game, I don't know what is.
When I saw there was an axolotl my face contorted into a giant sideways letter "X" next to a giant sideways letter "D". AND HE'S A COMEDIAN/PSYCHOLOGIST.
I spent an HOUR on this new "skulls" pattern.
If only you could apply a pattern to the ground of your entire town....
|Sunday, January 15th, 2006|
|Should I call this girl back?
I just started a new job at a fancy restaurant, and by fancy I mean that the bill for two people is at least 50 bucks, without tip. So it's a nice place, lots of rich people, and also preppy/ frat guys working there. I wasn't sure exactly how I would fit in, but I ended up making a few friends with other bussers and some of the kitchen staff (they've got the best stories, like this one time they dressed up as business men and walked into a McDonalds and got them to give them lots of their business information, anyway). So one busser, Jake, invited me out to his country club last weekend. I had nothing to do, and I thought maybe a round of golf would be fun, so I went.
Two other guys came with us, Brett and John, more typical frat guys. I thought I wasn't gonna have fun, but luckily Jake was a good conversationalist, so they were at least tolerable. Brett talked about scoring with chicks the previous night, John agreed and complimented him, showing his follower status. When we got to the first hole, Jake went first, hitting the ball smooth and clean and straight. Then the other two went, and then I went. I did the worst since I hadn't played gold since highschool.
We played about halfway through before I lost my ball in the woods. When I went to go looking for it, I asked myself if I was seriously having fun with these guys. I was tempted to just ditch them and go home, or maybe think of an excuse. I finally found my ball when I heard this strange sound, like a dull, air pressure sound, like popping open a metal can of peanuts or something. I looked around and saw this chick playing tennis alone. The sound was coming from the automatic serving machine. I went closer to get a better look at her. She was pretty hot. She had hair pulled back in a pony tail, brunette, a white top and a tennis skirt. Whenever she turned quick the skirt would move with her circular direction and bundle up and then fall back out as it straightened. I just had to keep watching it. She had pretty big boobs too.
Eventually she hit a ball way over the fence accidentaly and it landed near me. She faced me and let her arm and racket dangle to her side.
"Hey there!" she yelled.
"Mind if you give me my ball back?"
The serving machine was still going, obvlivious to anything but what it was made for. Pthum, pthum, pthum.
"Yeah, sure," I said. I went and picked it up and walked through the door shaped hole in the chain fence. I handed her the ball and noticed the pile of balls that was collecting behind her.
"Thanks," she said. "What were you doing way out in the woods over there?"
"I was playing golf with my buddies and I sliced hard, lost my ball."
"And then you found mine," she said, and her lips curled into a smile, then we both laughed.
I introduced myself and got her name too, Des. Didn't ask what it was short for. We chit chatted a bit, obviously flirting. She kept hitting me in the stomach with her racquet, then I eventually tried to grab it from her. We both locked eyes and playfully tried to force it from each other, my hands over hers. We talked some more. She asked if I had to go back to playing golf, I said my buddies could finish the game without me.
By then the machine had run out of balls to shoot. You could hear the moment when a ball should have been loaded, but instead you heard an empty, hollow sound. We both looked at it and then back at each other and thought the exact same thing. There was a slight breeze that came and a strand of her hair was over her face. She had a serious, almost sad look all of a sudden. I leaned in and kissed her. She dropped her racquet as we started to make out. Then she said, "Not here, I know someplace better."
The sun was really beating down by then, it was mid-afternoon. We walked by the lounging area and then the swimming pool. Des said she used to be a lifeguard there and now has a free year long membership, otherwise she couldn't afford to join a place like this. Good, I thought, she's no yuppie. She was leading me to the storage room for the pool supplies. I was getting really excited and anxious, fire in my stomach, my legs were feeling weak, heart pounding. She led me and then grabbed my hands from behind her. I was about to scream to lead me to the pot of gold, but I didn't want to ruin the intensity and feeling of the moment, though that woulda been pretty funny.
As soon as we got in and shut the door, she pounced me. Heavy making out, barely able to breath. I took off my shirt first. I felt her boobs and just stared into her eyes, and she put her hands on mine and spread her fingers and scrapped her nails out over my hands. I really like it when girls are affectionate like that, I wish all girls would be that affectionate. I took off her top and sports bra and went at it. She did a funny thing and started sucking MY nipples, which I thought was weird, but I was too passionate to really care.
We went further along, further and further, I kept wondering how much further we were gonna go. Eventually we went all the way. Then suddenly there was a knock on the door. She screamed oh shit and covered her mouth. I ran and turned off the light and then, remembering where she was, grabbed her and hid behind some boxes. The door opened, it was a member asking for directions, thinking he had seen someone come in there. He gave up and left. We both sighed, and decided to continue again, lights off this time. There was a small window near the ceiling which gave a little light, but for the most part it was dark.
We had been going at it for like 30 minutes when I decided I was about ready to finish. Curiously, I noticed a box that was open beside my foot. It had a bunch of packets of shock treatments for the pool, the stuff to balance ph, and one bag was open. I bent down and grabbed it, then went back at it. She didn't notice I had anything in my hand. I remembered that I didn't say my other joke before, and I like to test girls to see if they like a weird sense of humor, so I know we'd get along down the line. Without thinking, I poured it all over my dick and shoved it into her and kept pounding away. Then I poured it all over her coochie coo basically. There was no affect at first, then suddenly we heard fizzing.
"What the fuck is that?" she asked.
"Oh god why does it feel like that, did you come?"
"No not yet."
"What the hell?"
I told her it was nothing and kept going, emptying the whole packet inside of her. I faked a moan and told her I was done. I turned on the light and she started screaming. Her whole vagina was foaming and dripping white shit everywhere, and her upper thighs and stomach were scorching red. I busted out laughing. She was crying and obviously very confused, I told her Turkish semen was very potent. She poked at the area and something exploded and sent white stuff spurting. Some got in her eyes and made her cry harder. Then she noticed the empty packet and made the connections. She barely had time to say anything before I was out the door and heading back to my buddies. I gave myself a high five.
Actually now that I think about it, I didn't even get her number. What was the point of this post again?
|Thursday, January 12th, 2006|
|Saturday, January 7th, 2006|
|My New Years party experience
There's always this hype about new year parties. All the sitcoms make shows about it a week before, just like all the other holidays, at least the christian and jewish ones. I just never understood it. I guess I never had much fun at partiess. I mean, I had fun, but not the kind of fun everyone makes it out to be, like, nothing big or important happens at these parties. There was no When Harry met Sally moment of finding a girl I loved and using seducing words to finally break her will, so she'll fall softly into my comedic and graceful arms. None of that shit.
So, you can imagine what kind of mental state I was in when my friend Ben invites me to his New Years party.
"There's gonna be lots of girls, Don , lots of girls," Ben says.
"That's great, there's gonna be lots of guys too."
"I'm flying in my own girl from California, from USC! Man she's hot. She's like, well, have you seen the asian chics at E3? The one near the Megaman stand?" he asks me.
"It's gonna be great. You've GOT to come."
And halfway through my bottle of beam, I admit, I'm having fun. I'm drunk, first of all, and there's a lot more people at the party I know than I thought I would.
Let me stop here for a moment and describe Ben's apartment. Now, for those of you who simply wish to skip ahead and get to the meat of the story, feel free to, because this part is of little or no consequence. But for those who want a little atmosphere and those who want to understand the situation, and the world I'm seeing through my eyes, then I suggest you continue reading.
The Christmas tree took up most of the living room, and I hate to sound so sensitive, but it was beautiful. Christmas had past, yes, and it was getting a little dry, but the lights and ornaments were very profressional and movie-like. And when you stared at the lights there was that soft glow like there were hundreds of thin needles sticking out of each bulb, and they could never quite stand still enough. The carpet was white and the kitchen was crowded. The x-box was playing techno songs from DDR, anime, and other various crowd moving rythyms, but the music was not a source of interest to the party (it was too quiet).
And then, as I stood near the center of the room and held my sweaty plastic cup, I looked down the dark hallway and saw a beautiful creature emerge from the bathroom, looking ever so graceful and relieved. Men, I did not endorse or believe in love at first sight in my younger years, and in my later years I thought it was merely lust, but that night, I tell you, that night I came as close as I think man has to loving someone without a previous acquaintance. She graced me, ignored me, as she moved into the crowded kitchen, too crowded and undeserving for her. Too cold and uncaring the people she had to touch and smile at to get to move, so she could make her way to her bottle of Gin. Oh Gin what a terrible drink, how many nights have you disrupted my belly, and caused embarrassment on my part and the parts of those witnessing my action of vomit. I had to warn her, because maybe she was not very good at drinking. Or maybe she was too good, I don't know which I would like more or worse, but it was a reason to approach.
Let me skip ahead of some minor details, fellow readers, for I am sure you wish the story to be gotten on with, as the medium of forum post does not make pleasant the prolonged encounters with the art of word play.
*Ahem* We were in the bathroom, on the toilet, kissing and fondling each other fondly. Her brown hair kept falling at our faces, so soft and flower smelling, and the way she ran her long and boney fingers across my head, stopping at the back to twirl my hair, made me engrossed in my manness. Flushed and nervous, I moved my hands up and down her back, finding my way to the top to pull down her shirt. She gave no resistance, and down her top came. I fell back to revel in the moment, staring and calculating. Her shoulders were red and narrow, like a girls. And her breasts were bulging from her bra, begging me to be freed.
"Have at you!" I screamed as I dug my head between them, shaking my head side to side and growling like a dog. She arched backwards and let her hair fall back as she moaned, oh how I loved her voice and longed for her lips again. Perhaps I have been too descriptive of her, neglecting the important details, such as her name, Celine, and the color of her panties, red, and the smell of her panties, fresh and non pungent, and the cut and color and texture of her pubic hair, mohawk, light brown, and soft, respectively. What a cherry it was, my fellow readers, your humble narrator felt the need, more than once, to be lacking of goggles which would shield me from the various juices and moistures that accompany a man in his visits to the delicious regions of the female body. Drip, drip, drip. I thought to myself, now I know what a male cheerleader feels like as he holds his female above his head and looks up to catch a quick look at the tight, youthful personal area of his female counterpart. Drip, drip, drip it goes. Goggles needed. A must.
After we had both exhausted ourselves, many times apiece, we lay there, in the bathtub, still nude and I still eager. I held her close, so close and tight, I thought if I should let go she would fall from a great height. It was then that we spoke earnestly, for after two bodies exchange their secrets, there is a sense of openess, for being naked together is the greatest intimacy, and should be reserved for only two people of sincere emotion. I had to ask her if it was lust she saw in me, or the sudden evokation of great and deep emotion as my case was.
"How do you feel about me holding you?" I asked.
"I think I should like it," she replied.
"Do you want me to let you go?" I asked.
"No," she muttered, half drowsy.
"What if I held you like this, here, until the morning?"
I felt her weight shift as she tried to turn her head to face mine. "All night?"
"Yes," I said.
"What if I get hungry? Or have to use the bathroom?" she asked.
I breathed heavy, and she rose and fell on me with my chest. "I should not let you go no matter the reason."
She whimpered and kissed my nose. "Don't be silly."
"Would you think I was silly if I said I liked you?" I asked.
"No, I like you too, obviously," she said.
"What if I really liked you?" I asked, but she did not reply, perhaps starting to doze off. "What if I thought I even loved you?"
No answer again. The bathroom door started jerking and we both turned quickly to see if it was locked. It had been, at one point during our encounter, but then I forgot that the cat was scratching just an hour ago, under the door, and we let him in and out after he used the litter box. But in our haste and passion, we forgot to lock the door for a second time, and in comes in my good friend Benjamin.
He just looks at us, blank faced and glossy, with a sad, far away look in his eyes as if a great underlying trouble had been clawing its way in him for many years (I would find out later his lady friend from USC had no interest in him more than an acquaintance).
"What are you doing?" Ben asked us.
"What does it look like?" I said.
"Do you know how disgusting that is?" Ben asked us.
"What are you talking about?"
He pointed, and all three of us looked down at what he was pointing at, towards our crotches. "How can you stand to lie down in that?!?!" he screamed.
Our legs, hers and mine, were covered in a thin black film, with chunks of black and dark matter of various colors and consistencies laying at the base of the tub. It's source: her anal canal. In our drunkeness and passion filled encounter, we forgoed our other urges of the body, and like hunger and sleep, it must come. And come it did. The stench was now in full force, and as she got up she shitted on me some more.
The events afterward are somewhat fuzzy, being drunk and enraged. She was deathly embarrassed, and I was deathly angered. What a sad day it must be for love to be diminished at the sight of our own body's natural responses. It was not true love, though, and perhaps it is better that way, because in my heart, I doubt ours would have survived that test of time and acceptance.
|Wednesday, January 4th, 2006|
|people with animal crossing ds
leave me messages on my bulletin board so i can check next time im in a mcdonalds (or other wifi enabled eatery)!
Friend Code: 4209-6947-6908
I logged on on new years eve and i was invited to a new years party (in animal crossing)and the party I went (in real life) to was so weird/didnt get going till after midnight that I actually had a chance to turn it on at about midnight (someone else had a ds at the party too for some reason)
there was fireworks and everything.
I still can't work out why I keep playing. it endorses indentured servitude to tom nook and endless mortgaging like it would even make my lil' avatar happy and fulfilled.
|Thursday, December 22nd, 2005|
|Oh Snap son! I got TOLD!
So I'm in the elevator at work and talking to someone I work with about taking a trip to the Philippines to visit some friends in February.
Friend: So, will you go see anything touristy?
Me: No, tourist stuff is gay.
Elevator Man: No! I'm GAY!
(At which point I think he's making a joke and I laugh.)
Elevator Man: You wouldn't use the word NIGGER like that. You wouldn't say tourist stuff if NIGGER! So DON'T USE THE WORK GAY LIKE THAT!
At this point I really start laughing because it's just so funny. Everyone in the elevator is trying not to look at him.
With my luck, he'll be my next boss and make my life a politically correct hell.
|Friday, December 16th, 2005|
|Sad cookies make me want to die.
These were like this when I found them around 3 am in the back of the bakery:
I can just imagine them, coming out of the oven for the first time, marveling at the great big world around them. "We are cookies!" they say. "Our lives will be short, but we will make someone smile!". But then they are brutally ravaged in the face by a random passerby for no good reason, and have to be thrown away like so many velveteen rabbits because they might have germs on them.
"Who will smile now?" They say. "Why won't we be loved?"
They go in the cold, dark garbage where they are eaten by ants who have not the cognitive ability to appreciate anthropomorphic food and thus the little cookies make no one happy
I made myself cry just now.
Although the third cookie underneath the one-eyed one was actually still smiling so I think maybe he was the real culprit all along.
There'll be sad cookies to make you cry, Current Mood: crushed
mis shapen cookies often do,
They can touch the heart of someone new
Saying I love you, I love you
Do do do do do do do do do do do do do
Saying I love you
|Wednesday, December 14th, 2005|
|"The earth turned on itself and in us, until it finally brought us together in this dream."
Eccentric pop star Bjork insists her plans to become a ship captain will not signal the end of her music career.
The singer is currently taking a 10-week course to captain a 30 ton boat, and when completed she will embark on an epic journey with her boyfriend Matthew Barney and their three-year-old daughter Isadora.
She says: "It has always been my ambition. I have homes all over the place at the moment - Iceland, England and France - but I'd love for my home to be a boat so that I can take it wherever I go.
"The course I'm taking tests whether I have the balls to do this. So I'm having to work hard and behave myself. My life's always changing - I'm constantly looking for new things. I'm never still. My theory is that life on a boat could be great."
But rather than giving up on music, the singer is planning to take a laptop with her on the voyage and hopes the journey will inspire her next album. "Technology allows me to take my music anywhere. With a laptop, I can set up anywhere in the space of two hours.
"Sometimes I feel I need to go to the end of the world on my own, with a recorder, and do vocals. That's what I'm like."
Grant Morrison and Frank Quitely Chip in on Rock Star's New CD
Brit Pop superstar Robbie Williams knew there one place to turn when it came to designing his new album cover - his favorite comic book writer.
A huge fan of Grant Morrison's The Invisibles, the music sensation behind hits like "Angels" and "Rock DJ", quickly became friends with the Scottish writer, and Williams even talked Morrison - and his All Star Superman artist Frank Quitely - into designing the cover for his new release "Intensive Care." And if that art wasnt enough, Morrison even added in something a little different - magic!
"We designed Robbie's new 'Eye of Horus' logo, and it's wierd to see it turning up everywhere across Europe and on MTV," said Morrison of the occult symbol he and Quitely created for Williams. "The sigil on the CD cover is actually a two-dimensional circuit design to accelerate the global evolutionary process, among other things - the idea being that when you press the Robster's fingertip, you help activate the circuit along with millions of others. By touching the cover of the 'Intensive Care' album you participate in charging up one of the biggest magical spells in history."
To put this into perspective, Grant Morrison is a practicing Chaos Magician, and claims to have cured a cheek tumor by weaving a magic spell into a comic he wrote, The Invisibles. Also it is widely known the first Matrix film was *HEAVILY* cribbed from the Invisibles (ever wonder why the first film was so good compared to the others?)
He claims much of the content in The Invisibles was information given to him by aliens that abducted him in Katmandu. He was alleged to have been told by these aliens to spread this information to the world via a comic book. He revealed that the reputation as a "rock star, drug-taking comics writer, "is somewhat dubious, as he was always very straightedge and didn't start experimenting with hallucinogens until he was 32, which for those keeping score puts his controversial "Doom Patrol" run in the drug-free zone. As for "The Invisibles," "Yeah, that was drugs," Morrison said. "All day, every day."
|Sunday, November 20th, 2005|
|video of me busting into my car
the video :http://tinylink.com/?m7JhCw1Ry1
(i swear i only lisp that bad when im super drunk, like eveyone else in the video)
i locked my keys in my car last wednesday and no one i knew had coathangers OR couldn't come fast enough so i figured it made more sense to replace a windshield ive always intended to replace over paying for a locksmith.
heres the writeup courtney(who broke in her own car window a couple weeks before, and was most helpful) posted the day after:
"Ok so last night...
Yes yes... it happened again...
I think I have a problem... an addiction??? what have you..
I totally bashed in my friends front windshield...
we were drunk...
he locked his keys in his car.... a freaking BMW...
and it just rolled off my toungue....fuck that shit up.... break that window....break it.... hahaha...
so he went with it... I took my tools from the back of my car and I let my friend sawyer have a go at it.... she didnt have the passion behind it like myself.... I totally broke it with my first try.....
now thats passion....
My friend whose car was the victom decided too video tape that whole event... at one point some lady starting yelling "WHAT ARE YOU DOING" like we were some criminals trying to take a joy ride in some dudes BMW...
but I made it clear it was my friends.... and then she busted out her video camera too... HAHAHA..
GOOD TIMES... "
what the other girl said when she saw the video:
"holy shit. i was really trashed "
|Saturday, November 19th, 2005|