Death of Rexor

Right. Sometimes I feel as if though I am an inconsequential character in a book about someone else. Like my life is an unnecessary preamble leading to an event, which causes the main character a minor inconveince in some unimportant subplot of his life. But I feel this no more, at least not today. The reasons are plenty. Actually there are only two.
As you may well know, I have hinted that the Army is one soul-crushing defeat after another. Every time you think something good will happen the Army has a tendency to fuck you out of it. This was the case of my duty assignment. I did not want to go to the unit I was assigned. I now am going to a different unit. I am now headed to a high-speed brigade, one of the first of its kind. We will get together at Fort Lewis and officially stand up in Germany. Yes. Germany. I do not have the words to tell you how happy this makes me. A nice side note about the Army, my chances of being able to attend SERE school are finally good. Hopefully I can attend this three-week torture session. I really want to do this shit.
Secondly, I have a really good feeling about this weekend. Things might happen.
I usually tend to shy away from matters of public interest. This is because usually because arguing isn't going to change your mind. However, I have an issue I will not let rest and I must get you on my side. Congress needs to stay the fuck out of baseball. See, here is how I look at it. It is already illegal to use steroids. Cool. I can get on board with that. People in MLB use steroids. I have accepted this. I think its shitty and I think all records should not be broken until baseball cleans this up. However, for congress to make baseball police a law is insane. If I owned a paper during prohibition and congress came up to me and said, "It's evident that some of your writers drink. We need you to punish them." My response would be, "Fuck off. Fuck right the fuck off. It is not my job to ensure people do not break laws. Nor is it my job to punish those who do break laws. You deal with it. You have the police and the FBI to investigate. I will not be doing that." See, I feel it is wrong to make an organization with a collective bargaining agreement, a union and employees punish law breakers. Even if there is no union it is wrong. Let the cops look into individuals and build a case. I don't want to be worried about my boss punishing me for some shit that he caught me doing. Am I the only one who honestly fears where this could lead?
She has expensive hair. A thousand different shades all highlighted and blended perfectly. Her eyes change colors depending upon what she is wearing. Mine used to do that. Then I lost my soul.

Decapitated Orgasms

Right. Did it ever occur to you that I might just be spending time, as of late, fighting crime on a level so secret that space aliens don't even know about it? I fight intradiminsional crime here people. Accept it. These are things that we cannot discuss nor contemplate. But we can hypothesize, unless you already know, which you don't. But don't feel bad.
You wouldn't think that if a guy hadn't ate all day he'd have to shit. But here we are.
There are things I do constantly, and when I do them the result is me being pissed every single time. I also make a note that I should never do it again. Yet I do it, everyday. Why? Why don't I put my bottled water in the refrigerator? Why don't I empty the ashtray? Why do I forget to fold my jeans? Why do I leave CD's in my car? Why do I forget to always forget to buy paper towels? Why do I never make ice when I finish the tray? I hate that I continue to do this shit.
Are you gone?
I have a good feeling about this weekend.
You know what I suck at? Small talk. I usually don't care much about anything to talk to people about for a brief period of time. And even if I do, I usually just consider the person to be a moron so why talk about the baseball game with him or her. So I usually just sit there with my mouth shut. And people think I'm an ass for not being social. Well fuck that. They would know I'm an ass if I let them know how much they sucked. But I don't, I decide to be nice, and this is how I am repaid.
I just saw her again. We had coffee together. I sat at a table alone and across the room she sat there. She was reading some book I would probably hate. I was trying to teach myself magic. Not the gathering, but like slight of hand type shit. No one seemed amused at my folly, as I suck at slight of hand. Why is she even here? I sat there and drank my coffee. It was black with no sugar. I drank about seven cups. She milked one new fangled monstrosity latte thing for close to two hours. She just read. She knew everyone looked. She seemed bothered by it. How? How can someone be annoyed that another will take interest based solely on aesthetic value? With most people you have to get to know them before they become attractive. Unless you're like me, and your soul is black. Then you just sort of watch her drink her coffee and wish you were the binding of her book that she holds firmly and securely. She know how to hold the spine of a book, she's done it before. Her hand needs a book. It feels empty without one. It is in the nature of her hands. The nature of my hands is not making things disappear.

Roll Tide

Right. Ten years ago I graduated high school. This year, my nephew is graduating high school. He plays football and occasionally asks me to go to games. I oblige, as he came and watched me play when he was a child and I was playing. This past Friday I sped home for two reasons: I was finally getting my car back, and it was his homecoming game. My nephew doesn't play much, but I wanted to see it anyways. He goes to the same high school I went to, so it's nice to see the change in the school and all.
I got into St. Louis, took a shower and went to get my car and watch the game. I met my parents at the game and got my friggin car keys. Fuck yeah. Behind my parents was sitting the hottest woman ever. Anyway, behind her was some mother of some girl I went to high school with. I didn't recognize her. But she directed me to her daughter and her friend. I remembered the two. To boil it down, it's reassuring to know that when the hot girls from high school whom wouldn't talk to me in high school get fat, they still want nothing to do with my ass.
After that I took my car home and fell asleep. I awoke on Saturday and read my book and took naps all day. I made some blueberry muffins, and I ate them. I read some more and took a nap. I watched a movie and went to bed.
Sunday I made some bacon and ate it. I read, watched some football, took a couple naps and went to the porn store. This was the best weekend ever. I got to eat, I saw the hottest woman ever (who looked straight through me) I was visually rejected by fat girls, I read, I got my car back and I did laundry. I also accomplished the greatest task known to man.
I did it. I fucking did it. I can't believe that I did it. I created ten; count them ten, reasons why Kiera Knightly ought to go on a date with me. These reasons are so solid that upon reading them she will have no argument not to date me. So if you know her, tell her to read my shit.
10 – I am pretty funny.
I tell jokes all the time, most of which are funny, all of which are offensive, some of which involve herpes.
9 – Pizza tastes good.
Seriously. Oh she doesn't like pizza? Who cares, just change the word, "pizza" to "coffee" or "beer."
8 – I am the bomb.
I discovered this when I realized that I am probably the coolest person I know.
7 – I won't be calling her back.
I hate the phone. I am not a big fan of email. I don't write letters. I don't own a telegraph. I don't know Morse Code. So I will not be bothering her for a second date. If she wants one, she can call me. Which she will, on account of reason number seven.
6 – She wouldn't have to worry about putting out.
I don't get any with regular women. So I would imagine if I were drinking beers with the best looking woman in the history of best looking women, sex would be the last thing I would expect. Thus I would have ample energy to display reasons number ten and seven.
5 – I like to think that I am somewhat attractive at moments.
And if she doesn't think so, we can just hang out in my car. It has tinted windows so it's really dark in there. Also if we went out on a Saturday night, I would have time to grow my kick ass cool stubble beard. I can't grow this during the week on account of Army regulations.
4 – She won't miss anything cool.
I usually get tired around 9. Ergo, she will still be able to make the cool after party and hook it up with some dipshit who waxes his body hair.
3 – The good-looking child my mother and father conceived is married.
My brother is the pretty one, my mother is the smart one, my father is the hard working one. I am the drunk one. That really has nothing to do with her, but wait...I'm going to have to come back to this.
2 – I want to.
Seriously. I do. So she ought to have the decency to at least give it a shot. What's the worst that can happen?
1 – I have a really great movie idea I need to pitch to her.
It involves a renegade drummer, I'd like to get Nick Cannon to play this role, who learns to be part of a team and not be an individual in order to help the greater good. The greater good is winning a drumming competition against the defending champions who have unethical practices. This movie would be the bomb. No wait. This movie would suck. In fact I never even thought of that movie. You know why I never thought of that tripe? Because it sucks, which is the real reason she ought to date me. Because I am smart enough to not think of that horse shit.

Parachute

Right. Shannon was a bright man. He had a sordid past. His future wasn’t looking much better, but for different reasons. While growing up he made bad decisions. Most of his decisions only adversely affected himself. A few affected the people he loved, those decisions he couldn't live with. He lived with guilt for most of his life. When he was 13 he briefly exposed himself to the children next door while he was entrusted to baby-sit them. He was unsure why he did this, even at the time, but he did it nonetheless. From that day forward the shame he had consumed him.
He refused all things sexual in nature. He never dated, never married and never watched movies where the women were too attractive. He spent most of his time worrying. He worried he ruined the lives of his victims, whom had all had issues with drugs and later had all commited sucide before they turned 25. He worried about his motives. He worried about celestial reprocusions. He worried that no one would believe that he was miserable. He worried that no one would ever understand that he might worry too much about himself than the children. But mostly, he worried that there was nothing he could do, no amount of good he could do in the world, to make up for the mistake he made 40 years ago.
He was afraid that if he made one more terrible decision the reverberations would find its way to the children, drudging up old memories of that fateful day. So he lived clean. He made a decent living as a dog trainer. The little money he had left over after his rent and utilities he donated to charities. He never drove. He rode the same bicycle he owned when he was 13 as a constant reminder that one decision can affect the rest of his life. He fastened a spike to the inside of a small belt. He attached the belt under his left pant leg and tightened it to cause him constant pain. He never complained.
Shannon came home on a Tuesday and prayed that God would forgive him. He was not a religious man, but at this stage in his life, he saw no other alternatives. He finished his recompense and walked down to the gas station. It was the first time he did not ride the bike in 40 years. He bought a small bottle of Gin. He had never drunk before, but has secretly admired the detectives he read about in novels who did.
He went home and had a glass of the cheapest Gin offered at Shell. He thought of the four children and fought back tears. The small amount of Gin had made him drunk. He slowly walked to the closet and pulled out a small cigar box he had hidden behind a bowling ball his mother left him when she died, an event he believed was a result of his deed. He took the box to the couch and sat there staring at it. He poured another glass of Gin but couldn't drink it.
He closed his eyes and opened the box. He slowly reached in and found a World War II Luger his father had stolen from a German body. He loaded one bullet into the chamber. He placed the barrel of the foreign pistol into his open mouth and pulled the trigger.
Upon his death he learned one important thing. The children never even noticed. They were playing the floor is hot lava and didn't even notice his action. They wouldn't even had cared. Their father had molested them from the time they were three until they were 15.

Now That’s Progress

Right. Who the fuck is Stan? My favorite vegetable is either corn or spinach. I miss my car. I love that fucking hunk of machinery. I need rims so send me all of your money. I also need individual DVD players in my headrests. So continue sending money.
I am about to embark upon a whole new chapter in my life, a chapter of television watching. Never before have I looked forward to a specific show. This season I looked forward to two shows, Rome and My Name is Earl. The verdict is in on both. Rome is the bomb. I am two minutes into My Name is Earl, and it is quite possibly the best thing ever to happen to me. I am ten minutes into the show and it is enjoyable. I am glad to waste a half-hour per week watching this. It's the first commercial break, and this show is the jet. Sweet fuck this show is funny. I am going to watch the shit out of this every week.
Does anyone drink milk anymore? I mean honestly. I am about to start because no one does it. Thus, I will be ahead of the retro-underground-hip-indie-beverage-scene. It's an exclusive scene. You can't be part of it.
Life is all about goals. You have to set and strive to meet your goals. My newest goal is to swim across the Atlantic Ocean. But now that I think about it, I'll probably settle for a fly over.
Envy.
I need a life. Seriously.
I have this ritual I go nightly as I go to bed. I toss around my bed thinking of my future. In my plans, I usually come into a really offensive amount of money and do everything I've always wanted. You should see it. I am building churches, libraries, museums and homeless shelters. I fund little league sports and have season press box seats to every NHL team. I have a plethora amount of cars. I buy people crazy shit for Christmas. It's an enjoyable way to fall asleep, yet it tends to yield a miserable feeling upon waking up. So last night I tried something a tad bit different. I tried to be more realistic. My life unfolded out before me like an old t-shirt from the top drawer. I will return from the Army and the war to the world. I will find some job in some city I whimsically decide I must live in. I will work. I will buy a boat. I will drink. Then, just like everything else, I will die of liver failure at the ripe old age of 38. I want Elton John to write a song about that shit.

How You Like The Meat Flavor

Right. My man sent me some dope pictures of his vacation. read his shit or pay the piper. He ain't giving out change these days either so carry small bills.
Here is where I am at in my life. I hate Texas. Always have. No offense. Texas just sucks and it's a stolen territory. However, as of late I find myself enjoying a few things about the lone star state. I like the Houston Texans, even though they suck. I like Texas A&M and Texas University football. I believe the two biggest reasons for me hating Texas is because of the fact that I hate the Dallas Cowboys, everyone I've met face to face from Texas and that TV show Dallas. Sadly it seems that as of late I respect Jerry Jones as a man and a NFL team owner. I also really dig these new uniforms the Cowboys are wearing. Recently I have met someone from Texas whom isn't all that bad.
Of all the things that happen in the world in spite of me, I think it is possible things may happen in spite of you. If you say, "In spite of you," fast enough, it sounds like, "In spider view." Hey look! Here comes that Jesus guy we knew in spider view. Did you see what I did there? It wasn't very subtle. I'm just saying. What if.
I hope the bitches are hot in Seattle.
Here is where I am at in life. I think I'd be more apt to donate money to the relief fund for the hurricane if the hurricane were named, "Hurricane Katana." That is a way cooler name. I just feel bad donating money to people whom were warned to leave and choose not to. I mean I’ve already given a lot of cash money. But if Hurricane Katana did the damage, I could see the brutalness of the disaster then. But as it stands, Katrina's husband should have kept that bitch in the kitchen.
Too early to joke? I suppose we will find out.
Christmas is damn near here so I started my Holliday shopping today. I love Christmas. I mean it's almost like it is Jesus' birthday. Or at least when I celebrate it. That's right. I. As in Me. Not you. Well you because of me. I am the catalyst for the day. But not the eve. I mentioned Jesus twice this post despite intending to mention his zero times. Weird.

Bill Bixby

Right. What happened? I honestly couldn't tell you. Where did we go wrong? I used to be able to watch a normal porn movie and enjoy it for what it was. Now...nothing. I can't seem to enjoy porn unless there is something inherently evil and wrong about it. Is someone in pain? I can watch it. Does someone have both sex organs? Good. Is there a female ejaculating a dangerous amount of fluid, having to receive an IV for dehydration midway through the scene? Sweet. Is the unnecessary amount of mascara running down some girls face due to sweat and tears? Outstanding. You got a 70-pound crank victim and an 18-inch cock and you got my attention. Bondage. Bukkake. Violence. Blood. Feces. I have some serious ass porn watching issues.
I cannot do this anymore. Crazy things involving crazy people are happening and I just don't think I want to do this anymore. I have been asked to leave every thing I've ever been part of. Who knew I would be asked to leave this shit?

A Manifesto Of Sorts

Right. This post is either going to enlighten, confuse or piss off the reader. There is no alternative.
I am 27. I joined the Army about one year ago after receiving my Master's Degree from Boston University in Government Relations. Government Relations is essentially Public Relations only focused on the government. I used to be in a punk rock clique called skate life. I was drinking in bars with a fake ID since I was 18. I would rather hang out with certain people than make love to anyone. I spend an obnoxious amount of money on clothes. Seven women have had the decency to sleep with me. I like to drink beer. I have known seven people in my life that I would call friends. Two of whom I have pissed off beyond reproach. Three never really liked me that much anyway. I hate the summer. I tend to hate most girls because they depress me with their taste or choices. I run two miles in 14 minutes and I smoke a pack and a half a day. I have strange eating habits. My favorite song is fade into you by Mazzy Star. I want the Houston Texans to make the playoffs. I drink beer for breakfast, lunch and dinner. I believe Keira Knightly is the best looking woman to have ever walked the earth. I would rather make out with Claire Danes. I hate country music. I like Waylon Jennings, Johnny Cash, George Jones, Willie Nelson and Hank Williams Sr. I hate the fact I love Star Wars.
I joined the Army because the United States was at war. I wanted to serve the country and then go about my business. I still have the same plan. What comes first, the country or the man? I have looked at a lot of evidence. I have seen articles arguing both sides of the war. I have seen intelligence documents, which would help both sides. I know this is the best thing I have ever done. I have learned a lot about myself. The Army has given me many things. I hate the Army because of many things. If the war is wrong so be it. My decision was made. My decision was made knowing both sides of the issue. Leave me alone. If the war is wrong then so be it. I do not care. Wars have been fought, at a greater time length and a larger death toll, over things far more petty, than oil, or revenge or the expansionist tendencies of the evil American empire. People I hoped to call friends have discontinued communications with me as a result of my decision to join the Army. I do not appreciate it when one side looks at me like I am stupid for joining. I do not like it when the other describes the other side as stupid for opposing. We are all just trying to go home.
If we are wrong about the war, or we are handling it wrong, then how do we fix it? I do not know. I only know that the best way for me to fix it is to be part of it. There is a lot of good to be done, and I wish to be part of it. We tend to look at ourselves and hate us. The media has taught us this from our infancy on. Some of us tend to expand this hatred to all that we are and all that has made us who we are. Some of us despise the fact that though we have the most freedom, we are still destined for mediocrity.
The only way for me to try and make things better is for me to do so. Complaining or disagreeing will do nothing. Buying a yellow ribbon and fastening it to your car does nothing. "Supporting" does nothing. My intention is to help people. If, for some little girl right now to live freely and happily, if that cost is my life...then so be it. No one can tell me there isn''t good to be done. No one can tell me the people are worse off now than before.
It's hard, that's true. What can you do? I never asked for support. I never asked for your approval. I never asked you for acceptance.
Someone will always get rich from war and someone will suffer. It's in the very meaning of the word. But I feel, and I wish I didn't because it would be easier, that I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I sat back and did nothing.

Think About It

Right. Today we got to drive around in Humvees all day. We had other shit to do while we drove around, but I will be very honest with you, I didn't do much of it. No, instead I decided to have fun instead. Most of my fun came through conversations I had with some of the annoying people in my class. For instance, today I was instructed that I had to lead PT again. Only it was raining, so I said, "Zonk," and everyone got to go home and get more sleep. Then the conversation went a little something like this:
Real squared away 40-year-old douche bag who acts like he outranks everyone (RSASYODBWALHOE): I think we could have moved under shelter to conduct PT.
Me: I'm fucking this chick; you're just holding the legs.
RSASYODBWALHOE: Is that the standard you want to set for your future soldiers?
Me: No. I'd like to set an even lower standard, but I'm too busy fucking your mom.
That pretty much ended the conversation. Then later I was talking with my Captain on account of the test I failed the fuck out of Monday. The conversation went as follows:
Captain Ass Hat: So...uuuhhh...with your education...uuuhhh...and...uuuhhh...scores on previous tests, there is no way…uuuhhh...you should be...uuuhhh...failing tests.
Me: Yes sir, I haven't had math since high school and all of this stuff was a little too much for me to grasp in one week.
Captain Ass Hat: Yes...well...uuuhhhh...I mean...uuuhhh...I got a 100% when I took it.
Me: I suppose I am not as smart as you sir.
Captain Ass Hat: Well...uhhh...I don't think that's it.
Me: Yes sir, me neither.
I was surprised when he got the insult and ended our conversation. I hate my Captain by the way.
Then we were out in the Humvees and I’ll be damned if this one ball-bag didn't try to pull some stupid shit in one. He ended up crashing it into a tree. Here is our conversation highlight:
Me: What the fuck is wrong with you?
Mario: It was an accident.
Me: How? You were doing 60 and tried to make a 90-degree turn. Ass clown.
Mario: Aww shit. The fucking grill is all dicked up.
Me: You better unfuck this.
Mario: How am I going to do that?
Me: I don't give a frog’s fat ass. Just fucking do it moron.
Mario: I think we should call Captain Ass Hat.
Me: I have your Captain…In my pants.
All In all, today was a good day.

Done For The Day

Right. Post artwork of Greek mythology here. Align it left, maybe right, sometimes center it. Talk about bullshit. Throw in random thoughts you have no business thinking. Write where the music takes you. Blah, blah, blah. Shitty post. Throw in some fragments. Forget where to put punctuation. We know the drill. Or do we? Because I don’t. But if I don’t then how did I just explain it? These are questions.
Murder. Death. Kill.
So I was thinking today of people I didn't really care for at the time I was hanging out with them. These people have names and faces, most of which I can't remember. But, I miss them, even though I hated every second I was with them. I hated life. I had a lot of fun, but was miserable. Anyway, if anyone from the old BU crowd finds this. May the Gods destroy the obstacles in your life before you reach said obstacles.
Enough. Have you seen that commercial where the hefty black lady makes her husband some type of fruit smoothie, probably watermelon on account of how racist advertising is, in her garbage disposal? Well the look on her baby daddy face when he drinks it is piss in my pants funny. So even if you aren't wearing my pants, your soul is pissing in them. My pants are covered in soul piss. I wear them everyday. I have sat in front of my mirror for hours trying my damnedest to replicate that expression. Sadly, I cannot.
I am all about raising the envelope. You know, pushing the bar.
You know what made me hate rap? Bone Thugs. I cannot hear that fast. Luckily I found some other shit I can keep up with.
You know what we need more of? Snoop. He needs to be involved in more mediums. I mean hip-hop, acting, producing, football little league and porn aren’t enough for me. I demand all Snoop all the time.
"Flask" is the only word I can type without removing all my fingers from the keyboard.
When will we all learn that dis bitch rules? Indeed.
I want to shoot someone in the spine.
I am the master of the sneaky link.
Anyone know where I can learn drunken boxing? I really want to learn that shit.

Though I Wanted To

Right. There are records everyone must own in order for me to toss salad. So if you don't have one and you want salad tossed, well I guess you ought to buy them.
10. It's A Shame About Ray – Lemonheads
9. London Calling – The Clash
8. Dr. Octagonecologyst – Kool Keith
7. Any Thing By Nirvana
6. Power in Numbers – Jurassic Five
5. Endtroducing – DJ Shadow
4. Music Has The Right To Children – Boards of Canada
3. Low End Theory – A Tribe Called Quest
2. Don't Try This At Home – Billy Bragg
1. Humanoid Erotica – Fat Jon
Shit I need to get to K-Luv. Billy Bragg, Joe Strummer and the Mescaleros and John Broaddus.
There are days when I hate everything about myself. Days when it seems that despite all I have done, I feel worthless. Days when I feel, despite everything, stupid. Truly stupid. Days when no matter how good my hair looks, women don't look at me. These are days when every minute seems to test my will to live. Days when every look I receive is filled with disdain, contempt and a seemingly awareness of the blackness and decay of my soul. Days I pray for hours to bleed, and feel my life drain away and sleep. Days when I hope something fucked up happens to me, leaving my body punctured and deformed, so that my physical pain outweighs my emotional pain. Days when not even the majesty of Ludacris can make me smile. When the thought of speaking is too much effort. Even the best of friends cannot help. Days when bashing my own teeth out seems appealing. These are the days when I desire Armageddon and to burn with the world as everything dies. I welcome the apocalypse with an open heart and yearning in my gullet to witness the destruction and cleansing of the world. Let the light in.
On the plus side, K-Luv's kitten drew my blood with its razor sharp devil teeth, rendering it crazy with the bloodlust.

Put It In Your Mouth

Right. Click hizzle for the best thizzle you'll ever rizzle. Word. If the post is the most, we must boast.
I bought some fucked up assed porno on my way from the baseball game back to my current residence. It's fucked up. These chicks fuck each other with guns, like actual weapons in the pussy, and they scream at each other and they gag and puke all over the place. I call it family programming.
There is this kid who lives down the hall from me. He seems like a nice guy I guess. He is quite and doesn't bother anyone, so I really like him actually. There is one way to get me to like you, it's to shut the fuck up and not talk to me about stupid shit. Anyway, dude is a nice guy. He's corpulent, but not too bad. Well last night he needed help studying for this test we had today. He should have thought about asking me for help on account of I am pretty sure I will have to retake it, as I am pretty sure I failed the fuck out of it. I will find out tomorrow. But that is neither here nor there. Anyway, my man and I are going over this shit and he is all like, "Hey Larry." Larry may or may not be my name. Just pay attention to the fucking story. "What's it like to always be so happy and funny?" I reply with, "Can we forget about the Taster's Choice moment and study for the test?" Wrong. He then broke down and told me all this fucked up shit about his life. He has been either anorexic or suffering from bulimia nervosa for the better part of his whole life. He can't lose weight either. He apparently hasn't eaten in like four weeks, and he works out twice a day and he gains fat daily. He also told me all this crazy shit about his mom passing away when he was 11 and his dad was molesting his sister. He tried to stop his father and was put in the hospital. He signed up for ROTC in hopes he could lose weight in the Army and learn discipline and all so he wouldn't fuck his kids up and maybe he could help his sister. I felt like such a shit because I didn't know what to say. I can't make it all better. I don't know Doc Brown and the only guy I ever knew with a Delorean sold it years ago. I can't kill your father. I don't know why you aren't losing weight. I am helpless. I hated him for making me feel that way. I am such an ass. Here this kid has it worse than me and I hate him for inconveniencing me with the burden of knowing his hardships. What the fuck his wrong with me?

Soul Sandwhich

Right. I fucking hate people I swear to God. Not really. I just hate it when people pop off at the mouth with some shit they deem as fact when they simply don't know what they are talking about.
I am thinking of trading my car in for that Ford Super Duty truck. It's bad ass.
I wonder what would happen if I said fuck it and took all my money out of the bank, cut myself and bleed all over my apartment. Walked out the gate. Had my friend K-Luv pick me up and we start anew in another country. I'd like to go somewhere where the weather is cold. Maybe Greenland. I'll bet it would be pretty sweet. The Army would probably assume that I was killed and or kidnapped. They would pay my life insurance to my mom. Then K-Luv and I could move to Greenland and find jobs as bartenders or janitors or teachers or something. We'd then make friends with some nice people down the road and they would cook us meals on American holidays, to make us feel welcome and all. We'd meet these two college students and probably fuck them until their mothers orgasmed all over the pears they were cleaning after a nice trip to the market. We would save our money because there isn't much to do in Greenland. Marry these girls and send them to work while we tended to the house and all. But really we just sort of sit around drinking Gin and Tonics all day and watch TV. These girls are hard workers too and they climb the corporate ladder quickly. We then divorce them and take half the dough. We would then probably move to South America and open up a bar on the beach and bone Brazilian women all the time. But that would eventually piss off one of their boyfriends. His name would be Juan or something stereotypical of a Mexican. Even though he isn't Mexican. But he is down with the mob in Brazil. We'd get shot up gangland style one night and no one would ever know we were actually dead, because we had faked our deaths earlier. So no one would ever go to our funerals. Bitches.
I like short weeks. They make me happy.
I want to be naked. I want to just hang out naked all day long with a woman. I want her to demand action. I want to light it up like a hooker in a crack house. But I'd settle for some fried chicken.

Geppetto And His Dolls

Right. So there is no point in emailing me, as I cannot load anything having to do with yahoo these days. XTX makes me want to impress her every time I write. It isn’t fair to me.
K-Luv is having a naming of his cat-a-thon. So check it out and offer up your recommendation. I would say check out the Taste as well, but his punk ass never updates because he is a filthy little bitch whore. He is an Insolent, deconstructed whelp of a whore.
He was just a little kid. He was full of hope and secret dreams about finding the knack for life he saw in so many others. Others he wished he was. He was just a child. His inquisitive nature seemed inappropriate because the older he got the less he wanted to learn, but the more he wanted to know. He knew things most people don’t. He knew things he had no means of knowing. He could sense things. Then she left. She took him away. She made the kid into steel. He had no more feelings. No more desire to live. His only ambition was to try to live as long as possible without ever experiencing intimacy again.
She spoke to me today but I couldn't hear her because last night I took two nails and a hammer to my eardrums. But I was happy I was able to see her before I took this steak knife to my eyes. She came close enough for me to feel her breath, but mine couldn't make it past my tongue on account of the blowtorch I used to burn my lungs out long ago. She asked me to follow, but it was impossible, as I had previously dug a chainsaw into both of my legs.

Happy Cycling

Right. Where would one go from here if one wanted to get there but only really wanted to visit? Sometimes we just all need to figure it out. Even if it means that Ryan will die. I mean Ryan in the proverbial abstract sense of the word.
I want to do some shit to drive the people insane with insanity. Some next level type shit. I don't know where to begin. How do I start? Under which medium should I do this? Can I even do this? Will the masses pay attention? Will I pay attention? Would people trample over one another when the stores open to get my shit? Will people collect it and get compulsive about it? Will people kill me to immortalize me?
I had a dream last night I died saving children from a fire. The fire was in this huge field in the middle of nowhere. The fire started because of lightening. Only it wasn't raining. I died after all the children were safe. Some farmer hit me in the head with a shovel and ran me over with his combine.
Today I learned about stupid shit no one cares about. So I will keep it to myself.
When the new aeon births the world bathed in blood, I will have to buy new pants.
I am replaceable. In all facets of my life I can be replaced without missing a beat. I am like a drummer.
I wish life were more like the movies. Not all movies. Not like musicals or anything. No choreographed dance numbers, but with theme music and stunt doubles.
I consider myself a peaceful man, but I may have to kill a man. Don’t act like you're not impressed.
I’d like to drink her.
We used to walk on tables here. Now we just watch them.
The street where I’m living is on TV because there's a house on fire. Once fire kept me warm. But now I know that nothing lasts forever. Something precious has been shattered, and I wish I knew what it was. But I just turn off the lights and go to bed.