| i'll just never understand girls. |
[17 Sep 2002|01:34am] |
blew it again. man. i just don't know what it is with chicks! what am i doing wrong? seriously, 'cause i'm doing everything perfect. and still. i can't get nowhere. i mean, hell. i don't even wanna have sex with them. personally, i find sex repulsive. all that grimy, stinking, screw-faced nonsense. jutting your hips out like some ape, writhing in fluids, squirming in your primal desperation, grunting, etc. i'd rather get stoned to death with bowling balls.
jesus christ. that sounds pretty harsh. i don't know if that's true. by bowling balls? okay. maybe i was exaggerating. but anyway, i think i just live on a different plane than girls. like....like you, know, i'm on my own plane. like they're on TWA, and i'm way over here, on Carnival. Or what's that one over in israel where they're all safe and shit from airplane terrorists? Ja-Lel? no, isn't that Superman's father? something like that. eh, anyway. what was i saying?
oh yeah. i'm in a world of my own and shit. or..oh yeah.
so anyway, after tasha left, you know, i was feeling pretty low. but there's this other girl that i've kind of been making eyes at for the longest time. we see each other at 2:15, right before my sculpture class. out in the the hall. anyway, her name is judy. yeah, kinda cool, right? reminds me of Punch and Judy, you know? yeah. i made a joke about it, but i don't think she got it. she just got some weird look on her face and said something hostile. i don't know. she's weird. fuck her.
but yeah, so here i was feeling bad, 'cause tasha just split. so i arrange this date with this girl, with Judy. yeah, i know, i'm skipping part, but that part is boring. hi, how are you, blah blah, flutter of eyes, shy smile, etc. the date was made.
and on the way home -- she notices this guy, and this guy is doing this little routine, with a radio and stuff. he's doing this dumbass little jive and bop pantomime about some guy going to work, and everything going wrong, and then, oh i don't know, something about the guy leaving and being happy, or something stupid, i don't know. it had a happy ending. i just wanted to go, she wanted to stand and gawk there. this guy had a head of blonde curls and this amazingly huge and vapid grin on his face the whole time. i found myself smiling along with him out of some insane physiological empathy. i immediately wanted to foul myself. and carve my guts out publicly.
so, anyway, later i'm thiking. you know? i've been developing this little routine, too. because i'm just like that. i perfect things. it's a sign of my higher nature.
okay, anyone can just wipe their ass and get off the toilet. but me, i've got a whole little number. i've got thirteen steps, and it's sort of a dance. it all just flows together. it begins with a twist, and a lick of the fingers before i grab the toilet paper (for grip), a tucking under of the arm, a quick, sharp tug of the paper, a mid-air transfer of the tissue, and so it goes. i'm really rather good at it. all the motions just flow into one, and i can just imagine a crowd oooohing at the majesty of such flawless art. i really think it could be a judgable thing. like those bartending competitions. there would be points awarded for originality, dexterity, speed, technique. oh, lord. i would bring home all the ribbons.
so, yeah, finally, the obviousness of it struck me! if i could just get Judy to somehow...walk in on me in the act of this graceful maneuver, i could surely win her respect, too! just like the grinning idiot with the radio!
well, anyway. it wasn't as foolproof a plan as it sounds. i managed to call her into the bathroom just at the right moment, but the actual door swinging open completely threw me off balance; i panicked, licked my fingers in the wrong order....it was mayhem.
but you think that seeing how ambitious i was to win her affection would've sealed the deal! oh, well. i guess she just wasn't the one.
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| so tasha left me. |
[17 Sep 2002|12:55am] |
i always seem to have the greatest ideas about how to please a woman. and i'm always dead wrong. i think, really, the problem is that i'm a visionary. i'm just terribly brilliant. and being terribly brilliant (and innovative) means that you are often going to be misunderstood. it's the mark of genius.
like personally, i thought it was pretty original for me to want to introduce spare ribs into my sex life with tasha. i mean, sure anyone can think of using honey, whipped cream...or bananas. and who hasn't tried a few brussel sprouts???? come on, now! yeah, that's right! i know i'm not alone in that!!
but spare ribs. now that takes a creative mind. oh yeah. i know you can see it. that's right. those greasy, splintery shards of crisp pork. the slick little bones. the charred edges, the DUCK SAUCE for crying out loud. i was workin it.
ah, well. i was getting tired of her anyway. she did all this weird looking at you shit. you know? like...like lookin at you, an' shit. it was fucked, man. like...what are you looking at? you know? like, fucking freaky. so fuck that.
yeah, fuck that. i'm glad it hurts when she laughs too hard. it will keep her in check. damn. and i smothered those things in duck sauce. it shoulda been a cakewalk.
maybe i shouldn't have heated them up in the microwave first.
eh, anyway. enough of that. that shit's getting me down. i'm hungry.
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| deep orange is the color of my love for you |
[14 Aug 2002|01:09am] |
eh
agh
hot hot hot.
the girl downstairs laughs and laughs
bass drum and the feel of her bra-strap ripping in my hands
THAT'S what i want
to feel your body give way
and if you fight a little
that's okay
hey
dollface
i just wanna say
i liked it better when you didn't know my name
then it was understood you know?
we knew it was a game
days like this
days like this
days like this
i still pretend i'm sane
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| Draft #4 |
[22 Jun 2002|04:03pm] |
| [ |
mood |
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Well-read |
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music |
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Thumbsore Bridefighter |
] |
to tell the truth, Mrs. Ebolathon:
i realize now that i was, after a fashion, interested in your family. i must refute the allegation that i was only around to "take what i could get." it's completely unfair, not to mention silly, to use one little gunpowder burn to erase years of good mutual masturbation. and i do hope you're being careful not to confuse our little tuesday "arrangement" with the larger issues.
(speaking of which: i would prefer it if from now on, while we are engaged in sexual activities of any kind, you not refer to my classwork, or in any other way, to our relationship inside the classroom. i know, i'm sorry to have to say this. i realize, by your muscular contractions, that you greatly enjoy a critiquing my work during these moments of passion, but i must say that i find it greatly distracting. especially last tuesday. i mean, really, as if overhead projectors aren't intimidating enough.)
anyway, getting back to our topic. (do you like the way i am separating thoughts into their own paragraphs? that's right, i know how you like it. yeah.) right, whether or not i display "profound symptomatology indicating sociopathy." i must say, mrs. E -- this sounds suspiciously like one of those strings of words that you practice for those moments when you're right on the edge. like the ping-pong paddle with the thumbtacks glued to it. you're really sick, you know? and i thought i had seen it all with the Trembling Ben-wa.
but anyway, as i was saying: just because i had sex with all three of your daughters does not, in any way -- must not be seen as a show of selfishness, but more as a show of great respect. it is to your geneology that i now offer my most humble thanks. it is to your family tree that i bow. i stand, naked and erect, in the valley of your humble pie, pissing into the wind of chance, spraying down the wings of love with a fine, lemony, banquet of vitamin B.
Sincerely, Much Adieu, Etc,
the Young Man in the First row
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| fear my truth, mssrs. mendola and haverstraw |
[22 Jun 2002|03:22pm] |
so what is there to say? "please don't grind your teeth when my penis is in your mouth." but these conversations get old. and no matter how many times i walk behind your girlfriend, i can't think of anything but raping her. she's one crazy bitch, but i'd get her to cry. do you mind of i picture you in a collar? with her hand on the leash? you crazy devil! who'd a thunk you liked pain that way?
i remember when we met. you wasn't but seventeen yet. you had these dreams and somewhere down the line you told them to the wrong girl. but nobody else knows you enough to say so. and i guess i sacrificed my friendship to dare.
she's the kind of girl i'd hug tightly just to hear her bones crack. she's sugar-coated smallpox. she's a pretty torpedo. she's hungry and she's sucking the soul right out of your urethra. like cats and babies, don'tcha know? sucking it right out of you. and you come to me with your cheeks glazed and want me to tell you that anchovies smell like love. hey. i like anchovies, too, but i can't imagine how you see your old lady naked and still manage to work it. does she smell good enough to cover up a steaming silver platter of regret?
she's a tractor beam, my friend. she's a minefield in a tunnel, she's a big therapy bill gone bad.
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| back to da source |
[19 Jun 2002|10:29am] |
the Ass Source is gone. she went to southern california for the summer. i'm up early, and the Source is gone.
thus: time for some Ass shoppin' soon. i am plumb out...
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| Stinking Badges - Origins, Revealed |
[19 Jun 2002|10:07am] |
hell. i cleaned off my friends list. the survey i took was right. i hate people. why the hell am i gonna add friends? the realization took a weight off me. i'm really not very interested in reading other people, anyway. mainly, i come here to share my god-given revelation with the masses, hoping that in some way, i can make their pathetic lives bearable, but this attitude of generosity has borne NO FRUIT! and therefor i must bring an end to it.
i will instead use my time to invent new ways to destroy the well-being of my neighborhood.
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| in his image |
[18 Jun 2002|02:52pm] |
You are bad. So bad. You absolutely hate people and animals. In fact, you probably sacrifice them. No one likes you, but of course it isn't your fault. You should just go back to New York because you are a corrupt Jesus.
Take the What Jesus Would You Be? Quiz
</center>
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| I'll Never Be the Same.doc |
[18 Jun 2002|12:59pm] |
i can't do a thing now except bawl my eyes out. i lost her, fuck. it happened! oh, my GOD. i can't believe it, you know. after all that time. i was sure we were...destiny...or something. i am in hell. i am truly in agony.
my life is over. this is it. the sun shines black in my eyes. (well, the sun is blacked out from my windows anyway, i use Glad trash bags, the sun glares onto my computer screen, but you get my point!) i'm in misery! i can barely operate the new oven through my tears. what the fuck! are these intructions in french or ...oh. they are in french.
we were in love. true love, that is. i know it was true, because all i can do is think of her. think of her and masturbate. like a fool, i'm always down my pants. i say her name as i spray down the morning mail, as i huddle in the garage, as i rub myself frantically against the velour bathrobe. it's love. why else would i have printed out all her jpgs on the glossy brand of paper? christ! that stuff is very expensive! if it were just a crush (like with DazzlingPrincess100), i would've printed everything out on the regular stuff.
when i'm at my lowest, i think of those beautiful brown pants her mother wears. i mean, i don't love her mother, i don't actually think of her mother when i play with myself, i just imagine her pants. they're these horrible polyester pants, with a little raised ridge riding down the front of each leg. they don't fall anywhere, they pinch and flare, their business weave smugly hugging her fantastic 17 year old ass. (and i have many jpgs of that!)
god i miss her company. when will i ever hold her in my arms again? god, i just want to die. well. actually, i've never held her in my arms, per se, but we've stayed up all night on the phone together. and almost every night she mails me a WAV. file in which she tells me she loves me. you won't see two more dedicated people. i've spent over four hundred dollars on phone bills. and it's been worth every penny.
so, in my favorite masturbation fantasy, she -- oh did i tell you her name? haha! how funny. i guess not. that's probably because i'm just so used to direct contact...when i'm talking to her, i don't really say her name a lot. mostly, i call her "Essy." that's short for "SexyPrincess4435" which is her screen name.
i met Essy at about four a.m. one night, shortly after impressing all my friends by drinking a combination of rum, mustard sauce, wart-remover, and spoiled milk. shortly after that, i was on the computer, searching for a Poison Control Center in the area.
and fate brought me my Princess. my Sexy Princess. it was fate, i tell you. god. i'm crying again. i'll be right back, i'll post the IM after i get another blender drink. i took the day off work. there's no way i can work today. i mean, this girl was my life. hold on, the timer for the macaroons just went off.
okay. i'm back. the oven mitts make good tissues. there are chocolate smears across my face, though, i'm afraid it's rather an unsettling look for me. in the mirror i thought i saw some crazed freak with red eyes and fecal matter smeared all over his cheeks. i was about to tell him that i'm really not in the mood, today, for the usual, but then i realized it was me. how depressing. today's not thursday, what was i thinking?
oh yeah, so right, the rum concoction, and then, the fateful moment we met, and love smiled down upon me:
SexyPrincess4435: ur a little dickhead
SUP3RMILK: um..actually it's not, it's just that the rest of it is so uncommonly large, that in proportion, the actual head, itself, seems small
SexyPrincess4435: what?? >:(
SUP3RMILK: nothing, wrong window, nevermind
SexyPrincess4435: ??
SUP3RMILK: who are you?
SexyPrincess4435: remember? me n Tara were chatting and u came in the room and strted talkign about your dog? about your dog's dick? what are u? some kinda freak? all u ever talk about is sex! and gross weird shit
SUP3RMILK: oh, yeah, i remember you. you were the one with the cute nickname, right? i can't rememrbe
SUP3RMILK: *remember
SexyPrincess4435: hmmm. nickname! i don't know about any nicknames ;^(
SUP3RMILK: yeah, what was it?
SexyPrincess4435: cute, hunh?
SUP3RMILK: what does "violent aspiration" mean
SUP3RMILK: "trannygirl?" something likethat
SexyPrincess4435: candygirl!!>:^/ i like it! are u making fun of me? ;P
SUP3RMILK: oh no! cute stuff. hm. adorable.
SexyPrincess4435: OMG
SUP3RMILK: ugh my stomach
SexyPrincess4435: OMG
SUP3RMILK: what?
SexyPrincess4435: if u were there to hear "candygirl"
SUP3RMILK: i think the spoiled milk is getting angry
SexyPrincess4435: ...that means u heard me tell Tara all about...you know
SUP3RMILK: hold on a sec
SexyPrincess4435: u know, the "peppermint stick" experiment
SUP3RMILK: back
SexyPrincess4435: so...what did u think about it? how was it for you?
SexyPrincess4435: duh. i feel so...funny now! exposed...nervous
SUP3RMILK: chunky. creamy. me too, man...my stomach is all messed up
SexyPrincess4435: chunky? what are u talking about?
SUP3RMILK: you asked me how it was?
SexyPrincess4435: what?
SUP3RMILK: hunh?
SexyPrincess4435: nevermind
SexyPrincess4435: are u thinking what i'm thinking?
SUP3RMILK: i think so
SexyPrincess4435: you want my number, right?
SUP3RMILK: well. actually, i was about t hold on
SexyPrincess4435: k
SUP3RMILK: i gotta go
SexyPrincess4435: wait! the number!
SUP3RMILK: oh right
so now you see. it was almost instant, our rapport. we knew what each other meant and hardly needed to be told. the same butterflies in both our stomachs eventually led to a serious bond built on trust and sharing and common interests. we both love the computer, we both love cell phones, we both love LJ! we've shared over 800,000 words (i've logged it all), and we were almost always together. even if it was just the little prancing cow on my screen that let me know we were "directly connected."
one time we had the most beautiful evening...it was like a movie, it was so pure. just laughing for hours, sitting there in the computer light (my lamp was broken, has been broken for weeks), her face as my desktop, her voice looped on my mp3 player, a collection of eighty-two WAV. files, her jpgs on my wall. i finally shared my big Secret with her. and you know, she handled it very well. and made me feel very safe, and loved.
well, actually, it was her best friend, who found the pw to her IM, and was IMing me as if it were Essy, who made me feel safe and loved. but in my heart it was real. and that's what counts. (note to self - get SexyLady2002's phone number next time talking to Essy).
so, in this masturbation fantasy, anyway, essy is sitting at her desk, working on homework. the chemistry class is really tough, and she's been at it for hours. i look over at her and note the way the desklamp illuminates her beautiful red hair. just like in "ponderous.jpg," where there is a reddish glow all around her face. (well, she did some photoshop work on it, but it only makes sense, it feels right, her hair is red, after all).
so, i come over and lay my head on her lap. my cheek is roughly caressed by the polyester of her pants. her hand floats down and strokes my hair. its a gentle touch (and i know it is, because she's a virgo, and i read all about them online). i gaze toward her lap, where the fabric clings tight to her pussy, where there are those twin swellings. at this point, she says, "Oh, SUP3RMILK, you know i want your
oh hold on i got an IM
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| texas violins |
[17 Jun 2002|03:16pm] |
this morning i woke to the sound of the neighbors again. man oh MAN. these two must decide whether or not to kill each other or enter the Guiness Book of World Records for "loudest sex ever."
like it's very disturbing. it's either screaming or banging. it's hell on my mood swings. one of these days i've got to stop putting my stethescope to the wall.
the other day, i had some friends over. well, you know, we're all sitting around huffing nitrous, and trying to decide what to do with the road sign that mickey brought over. stupid kid. he thinks it's cool to collect road signs, but man, i just wish he would grab a STOP or YIELD or MERGE or something normal. i've got this huge sign in my kitchen that reads "An Equal Opportunity Lender." it's like eight feet tall. rust flakes off it all the time. it can be scary. i was in the midst of wolfing down what i thought was a heavily bacon-laced omelette (sara was cooking that day), and finally realized that my eggs had been graced with a fine smattering of rust shavings.
so there we are, and the people next door -- i call them the RageHumpers -- start in on the sex thing. i mean, it doesn't really bother me, as my fancies lie elsewhere, but you know. energy is very contagious. so before you know it, everyone is masturbating in my livingroom. i found it to be quite awkward. and i couldn't believe how many of my friends don't trim or shave whatsoever. i find that very rude.
and balls are just about the funniest thing ever. there's no way, really, for them to look cool. i mean, serious. at best, they seem somewhat freaky. threatening in a Oddities of Nature kind of way. but stylish? sharp? striking? debonair? ominous? no. balls are sheer vaudeville.
so there everyone is, jacking off in wild abandon. the guys are yanking it, not-so-handsome sacs just jumping up and down. the girls are rubbing themselves like monkeys in heat, smearing their breasts all over the place with one hand, while they frantically search their greasy grooves for some morsel of relief. it was mayhem. no one seemed to care that everyone was moving in time to the Herbie Hancock song coming from the kitchen radio.
days like this make me wish i didn't have a photographic memory.
anyway, that evening was a real drag. after everyone was done, the mellow sounds of the Simpsons bathed the house in afterglow, and i waved around some incense to try and clear the air of some strange chicken soup odor that must've seeped in from the hallway. i thought the worst of it was over. the house was calmed, spent. it was actually nice for a while, before the arguing next door seeped through the wall and began making everyone edgy.
before you know it, arguments broke out everywhere, and tension began to mount. the night ended ugly. i won't say anything, but the shouting was loud enough to drown out the tv, and that began to really irk me. i should've been grateful, as the unbridled fury of the group make-up sex to come was truly terrifying.
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| Role Model #129 |
[17 Jun 2002|02:25pm] |
so there i was, and the kid wanted to wrestle me. i mean, i'm like 19, and he's like twelve. i mean, what the hell was he thinking?
so i gave the baby back to his mother. it was getting hard to hold him anyway, what with the recent injection of morphine. he's got a beautiful ass i told her. she grinned at me mischievously. she's into that baby porn stuff. i don't know. i don't find it very appealing. all that apple sauce and Desitin. just ain't my thing.
so i turned to the kid -- who was just beginning to charge me -- and said, in a very sincere voice -- look, i'll give you a headstart because of the funny shape of your genitalia and he stopped, suddenly, with a puzzled look on his face. of course, it was just a ploy to distract him -- he's got a wonderfully formed penis, and we all knew it -- and by the time he figured that out, i was merrily swinging the chair into his soft, pink face.
of course, i lost the wrestling match. no one there would back me up that chairs are a valid tool in the wrestling world. you'd think that losing seven teeth would get in the way of whining. sheesh.
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| bionic apple |
[10 May 2002|12:05pm] |
i would like to have a contest with the cashiers. like, every time they say "will that be all, then?" i'll reach into my pocket and pull out another item. and then when they say "is that it?" i'll say, aw, no, actually, here, and pull out something else. i wonder if i could get the last word in. i wonder, if after enough times, they would stop asking. after i've pulled thirty-something hidden items out of my pants.
this is the bionic mind you've forged! i hope you feel your taxes have been well-spent.
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| coffee in mah gazoline |
[10 May 2002|11:58am] |
i like waking to the smell of coffegrounds in the air and the feel of your long soft hair brushing against my naked thighs. and who cares if it's called a "mane?" it's still hair to me!
how come "meunster cheese" never caught on as a ice-cream flavor? it's so damn...chewy.
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| only the good die jung |
[10 May 2002|11:50am] |
so there i was, thinking about the whole "mask" experiment. and seeing that it is a healthy, thing, really. you know, as long as the subject is well-shaved and lubricated. of course.
and i thought of Carl Jung. and said to myself, "well, now. carl would have some things to say about this." and i thought to myself that i sure do miss that crazy bastard.
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| i must be hungry because you seem attractive |
[10 May 2002|11:36am] |
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microwave hotdogs are the best kind. they retain a beautiful springiness, a sort of beef-laden resistance to the cruel teeth you foist upon them. i am to be the hotdog of the new generation, microwaved and brimming with saucy juices and oils. bite me.
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| important life lessons #324 - #329 |
[10 May 2002|11:15am] |
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they never teach you anything important in high school. like how to flip an egg with a frying pan. or how to look busy at a shitty, stupid job. or how to tell if someone is out to harm you. or how to listen to people. they never teach you that some of the puffiest and most expensive toilet paper just doesn't have enough traction.
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| golden raspberry |
[09 May 2002|12:57pm] |
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all i want to do is run around and cause trouble. play loud music. expose myself to hesitant cashiers. i've got a brand new thumb and nowhere to stick it.
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| in a window, chromium blue |
[09 May 2002|12:51pm] |
ah, it's funny. i'm funny. i'm such a good talker! there i was, head tilted into the warm glow of evening, wine glass up, laughter all round. i've talked the whole room into understanding the impossible! i tilt my head back, mid-laugh, and sidestep. smear my self out of the social cracker.
i see the lie! it's bottled up tight in a peach wine bottle! i don't want anymore.
i'm pouring myself out, down the drain, between her slim fingers, out of the glass, running like rain over her stomach, making bubbles, soaking into the grass patch.
the best part about this game is that i get to make up the rules.
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| the grace-filled face of Love |
[08 May 2002|12:29pm] |
god has made us irrational, surreal, funny and creepy characters. he's the ultimate joker. god's like the drunken writer at the table.
just take lust. what kind of inventor would dream that one up? to obsess about sticking a part of your body into the body of someone else and rubbing and bouncing and shoving and rubbing and pumping over and over again until you squirt? what kind of shit is that? the diety is a sadist with a really bizarre sense of humor.
don't think so? just stick a video camera in a corner and later, watch yourself having unabashed sex. yes, that's you, looking all gangly and frenetic. yes, that's you with the herbie hancock-like motion and the hump in your back. that's you with the angry seafood sticking out from your otherwise sensible shape. yes. that's you, you silly, wet, redfaced, engorged fool.
ain't you pretty?
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