30 December 2005

In Nomeni Patri Et Fili Spiritus Sancti

Right. This here post if chock full of sneaky links. Deal with it. Accept it. Make it your own. Love it. Bathe in it. New Years. Fuck. I hate this crap. So I guess I need to make changes and all that good shit. Well fuck that. I like the guy I am. I like my life. I don't want to change; I want everything to be the same. I just want everyone else to change. I want to stop going to bars filled with douche. I want other people to pay for my car accessories. I want malls to turn into homeless shelters. I want to have morons stop telling me the evil things the Army does and how I am consequently evil for being in it. I want random people to show up at my apartment and cook me dinner. I want my nieces not to date. I want Bill Gates to give me an offensive amount of money. I want cigarettes and dip to cost less. I want people to stop being little bitches. I want the right to beat people with a pillow sack full of doorknobs or a sock with a cue ball in it because they need a beat-down. I want attractive women at the ages betwixt 37 and 52 to bone the living shit out of me. I want my high school, college and graduate school to stop sending me mail. Everyone can continue calling me LT. That's cool.
I want to read this more. I want to read this more. I want to read this more. I wouldn’t complain reading this once in a while. I want to find out if this is true and if it is I need to kill people. But I think it might be a skit or comedy movie. A hoax if you will.
Mainly I want to deploy, and stay deployed and come back when my contract is up. Then I want to get a job in Ireland and live quietly.
I also want to say, "Good Night." Instead of, "God Damn." Because saying, "Good Night" is funny to me.
I have this gold ring mixed in the greenness of my eyes that circles my pupil. Anyone care to tell me what that’s all about? Cocaine...you're a doctor of the eyes, tell me, and start using my comments section as your blog again.
I was next in line. Standing behind you. You smelled nice. You had blue eyes. I stared a little to intensely, but it was only to try and decide if they were contacts or not. I apologized and explained my actions. You smiled. Your insurance was expired so they wouldn't let you in. You left your phone on the counter, smiled at me, pushed your hair behind your ear with your hand looked me in the eye and dropped your head and exited. I picked up your pink razor and went through the phone book. Not one guy. But there is a home number. I'm going to call and say, "I was behind you in line, the guy in uniform, you left your phone and I have it and my ransom holding days are over. So how can I get this back to you?" I was thinking of your jeans and your shadowy hair. I envisioned your sweater that you wear tightly and well. I thought about your fingernails and how they were slightly different lengths, had no color on them but shined. I thought about watching you laugh as we sit at some café sidewalk. I thought about swimming in the sweat on your skin. I felt your breath on my neck and your fingertips on my lips. I thought about leaving and calling then. But the fat lady at the counter took the phone and said, "We'll get that back to her LT." Thank you fat lady. Thank you.

29 December 2005

Eye Sea It In Us

Dear Yossarian,
I want badly to leave my wife for another woman. We have a fine marriage but I do not love my wife any longer and I fear she may not love me. I have four children and I don't want to hurt them. What is my best course of action?

Mr. X

P.S. I recently found your blog a few weeks ago and I really enjoy it. I was wondering if you could inform new readers of some of your work you think is best and would best describe your style of blog?

The bloody hell is wrong with you people? Mr. X? Nope. Now you are Jason. Because every Jason I ever met was a shit ass, and you are one as well. Okay you want to leave your wife. Dig. You don't love her anymore. Say word. You fear she may not love you? You prick. The fuck do you care? You don't love her remember? You don't want to hurt your four children. I don’t want cows to change on a genetic level either but I will not stop eating steak. Ya heard?
We got this thing in the Army known as, "Fake it till you got it." See, a large part of the Army is being motivated to do whatever bullshit you are doing at a given time. Think of it like a woman's orgasm. You either fake it until you get motivated, or you fake it so well you fool your boss. Are you picking up what I'm putting down?
You want badly to leave your wife because you no longer love her. So fucking what? Whatever, look, you are a douche bag and I cannot help that. You don't want to hurt your kids. You're suspect and it looks to me the family is about to restructure themselves out of retards they got living with them.
Your kids will be hurt, deal with it, unless you'd rather be a fucking man about it. But I doubt it.
Sorry, you wanted a course of action. Take out a huge life insurance policy and go around saving people and being all heroic. Hopefully you'll die in the process and your kids can think their father was a hero and they will be able to pay for college.
Everything I write is pure literary genius. Read it all and you will know about my blog.

28 December 2005

Crawl Back Home

Right. I've decided that from hence forward, I will forgo the use of the word “what” when asking a question. For instance, I decree that from now on, when speaking in public or private I will utter, "The fuck are you talking about?" Instead of, "What the fuck are you talking about?" I will do this because it is funny and no one, not you nor God himself can take away this right I give to myself.
BOHICA. Because of PAMELA, right now I am tasked to write a TM or ARTEP depicting the PACS of our STRYKER BDE. I hit the LD today at zero ten and will complete NLT one week from Thursday. When I am done I will have to brief the SCO regarding my progress BTI with my NCOIC. The hard part is the BQL. But it's manageable on account of the old S1 has what I need. Other than that it’s all M&E and PACS, all MTOE stuff, IOT have a higher MYP. Then I have to do something involving the MADAEC, but I am unaware of that tasking ATT. BOHICA indeed.
Where are we at here? Yes, I see now. The detective was not really a detective at all. I don't like this movie. The book was better. It had nothing to do with detectives and more to do with immature colored eggs and some sort of swine. But this movie is dealing with detectives, bricklayers and motorcycle thieves.
The things she was insecure about baffled him, but the things she was secure about enraged him, because she wasn't like the other, the other one who broke his heart. He wanted her manifested in the new one. But people are too strong to be other people. This is what he could never understand. He searched and searched for someone he could make her. But she never came. He looked to someone else to make him whole, instead of to himself to find out why he needed her so much. He thought the one was better because she liberated him from his ways and realigned his perceptions on social aspects. He thought she was smart. But where was she at the time? Where is she now? He couldn't recognize the correlation between her views and her life. She taught him things and instead of learning from them, he embodied them and became her with a different dependence. She had this power and he succumbed to it while thinking he was in control. He believes this happens to other people. This is how the soul of a man dies.

27 December 2005


Right. Christmas with Yossarian is always special. Off work early on Friday, and by early I mean I only worked for close to 14 seconds. So I bought some last minute plane fare and headed home. I surprised my mom and dad and I think I damn near gave her a heart attack. The Taste was unable to make it home because he is a bitch. Cheers to the underpants lady who informed me of the cheapness of Southwest Airlines. Jeers to the underpants lady for saying I looked like a merchant marine when I exited my plane and her and her man picked me up from the airport.
Now I am back and working and it's doldrums as usual. However, I can look forward to the next Holliday, New Years Eve and the consequent day itself. Fuck that. I hate that sham of a Holliday. I have never, in all my life, had a good time on this celebration of change. In fact, the one time I was having a good time, I was all set to get laid and I was taking an old friend and these two girls back to his house and my old car died. Sometimes life is funny. Sometimes the other girl throws fits and complains and I spend an hour in the snow waiting for someone to pick us up.
I hope everyone had a blessed Christmas and gave and received everything needed or wanted. I like Christmas, but it is no Saint Patrick's Day. Now there is a Holliday boy. I've always had a good time on that day. I don't think I ever got laid on one, but who cares? I've been so drunk that I had a cerebral orgasm every time.
Have you ever seen an angel? I knew one once for a brief moment in my life. She tasted the way I always imagined clouds taste. She smelled perpetually of diamonds. She was in constant subtle motion like a shark that would die if it stopped moving for a few seconds. Her touch felt quiet. I loved her as fiercely as I am capable. I loved how regardless of the expression on her mouth her eyes were smiling. I was in awe of how her mind worked. She is gone now though. She has more people to flummox and bless simultaneously. She must meet as many people on this earth as she can. This is God's way of letting people know his existence. We look to miracles or answered prayers, but we only need to look at her. She is the medium through which God shows his grace. She is aware of this and she has chosen to submit to it. Now all who meet her will know love. All who know her will feel devotedness. And all who feel her will never desire the feel of another.

22 December 2005

Scale Down All You Want...I'm Still Going

Right. Fantastic post yesterday. I just know Carl will be fine. So between the 66 and 87 people a day whom visit this site and never leave comments...well fuck, now is your chance to have me help you. Thursday is. So email me, or AIM me and we can make this work.Dear you two bitches and the third in the green, (Oh if either of you two brown haired women had light eyes)

I know that you aren't the tender age of 45 that I like so much. But I can look past this. I'm flexible. I'd like to fuck. I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I'd like to date you...all over your faces. I'd like to love you down your respective throats. I'd like a hand job from your mouthandtitsandpussandass. I'd like to give it to you the way your daddy used to. I'd like to get up in your ass like a gerbil.
But now I'm into different porn.
I'd like to have you puke on me while you finger yourself. I wouldn't complain if you took the ass to mouth cum shot. I want to watch you shove assault rifles up your swollen twats. I'd like to give you pink eye from a batch I must run in your eye. I want you all to piss on one another. I want to watch you blow a horse and try your best to swallow the load and then what is left of the load, I want you to snort like the coke-head that you are. I want you to bring your mothers into the picture, I’m sorry I can’t help it. I'm okay with fucking you while you choke yourself with a spike studded belt and then watching you cut yourself with a razor where I jizz, unless it's the above mentioned pink eye scenario.

With respect,

Yossarian the Laudable

I might need to find a self-help blog for myself to visit.
Stick around, cocaine will use my comments section as a blog later.
K-Luv, call me. I need help bro. And not help with my porno watching tastes. For some reason I can't stop thinking of the one whose name we shall not mention. You know, the one with the hot sister. I need sense talked into me, or beaten but since you are not an older woman, so just verbalize normality to me and say words I don't like to admit I know one more time.
I think it's a safe bet I lost all those readers who came here to read the sensitive guy shit I will get back to writing next week.
Don't forget the trail mix...bitch.These rims will be on my car in 3 weeks...three...tres..trip...some other way of saying three I don't know.

Havana Affair

Dear Yossarian-
It's true that you can meet people on the Internet and then end up making out with them in their car and touching their hard on through their Dockers. This may or may not have happened to me. Either way, I'm scared I will do it again or may WANT to do something like this. While I don't consider this cheating because nobody was naked, I do feel that it can't be entirely morally correct. Please tell me what I can do to ensure I do not stray from the straight and narrow path again, or...just stray for the first time because I never actually did something like this.
Anonymous in the Internet

Firstly, this Anonymous shit will not do. I shall dub you Carl, because that's a funny name and it makes this homoerotic.
Carl...wow. I really didn’t expect anyone to take advantage of the Thursday advice column. I intended the new feature as a means to enable me to be lazy and not write. But thank you Carl, because I am here to help. So let’s make with it.
Point of order Carl, why are you making out with a dude who wears Dockers? Was it Easter? Is he heir to the Docker fortune? I mean honestly.
But if the guy is Heir to the Docker fortune and that fortune is immense, then cheat and suck enough money out his dick to pay off my student loans.
Carl, I deduce that you are in a relationship already, as your main concern seems to be guilt of possibly cheating. I am a super sleuth. Anywho, you can guess I am Catholic and all and I could never cheat on anyone I was with. However, my hypocrisy knows no bounds and I will help any woman cheat on her husband or man or boyfriend because that's just how I roll. I'm not proud of it. Yes I am.
Okay so you don't want to cheat I dig it. Have you tried self-mortification? It's a Catholic thing where you take a belt with a spike on it and you tighten it around your thigh until you bleed. It's supposed to cause so much physical pain that when you are tested morally you are too hurt physically to do any wrong. But all it really does is bloody up the pants. So that's out.
Cheating is funny, funny strange, not funny haha. Unless you happen to cheat with a guy wearing Dockers, then it's funny to people like me. But it is strange that even though I have been single for a large part of my life, a small part of me considers it cheating even though I want nothing to do with the one I was once with.
You don't need me to tell you cheating is wrong and I won't, especially if you are a really hot girl and you live a few feet from me. You just seem to want to remove the desire to cheat. The Army has this thing where if you are caught cheating on your spouse, they fire you. A four star general got fired a few months ago. So maybe you could think, "If I cheat I will get fired and have no money and be poor and have to get rid of my Acura." Or maybe, in the heat of the moment when you want to get down, picture the other person as your Father, or Mother or your Great Aunt with the hair lip.
I really suck at this because it's hard for me to get laid so cheating is never really a problem I had afforded to me and thusly had to overcome. But listen Carl, I hope whatever I said was helpful.

21 December 2005

Belsen Was A Gas

Right. Here is a list of shit I love about the Holliday Season:
Sucking on a candy cane until it is a weapon.
That is all.
I will be spending my first Christmas away from anyone I know this year. But that is okay because I just made a trip to the porn store and I have plenty of MILF's to keep me company.
Did you know that I can drink 3 gallons of water in a day? I found that out myself yesterday.
Man. I have nothing to contribute here. But that’s fine because I don't see you winning any awards. Except for X. That bitch always wins shit. I won some shit once. But nothing cool. This post is taking me all day to write. I write a sentence and then go sit on the sofa and think of what the fuck else I ought to be doing with my life. I also went to the gym. I might go to the mall later. I am pretty hated in my apartment complex. My work here is done and I've only just begun.
I need to take a shit.
What if I told you that right now, as I type, I am the recipient of the best blowjob ever? What if I told you that today I went to the mall and got to shucking and jiving with some redhead inside of the Hallmark store? What if I said to you that she mentioned that her Internet is down and it sucks for her because she lives online? What if I were to tell you that her mouth is the warmest place I have ever been? What if the conversation went on and she mentioned blogging and I mentioned that I had one and then she said she reads my shit but didn't believe that I was the author? Wow. Anyway, what if on a bet she followed me home and I proved to her that I am Yossarian. What if I said she just cupped my balls as I blew my load down her throat? Would you believe me? Because I'm lying. I ain’t even go to the damn mall. Do you feel used?

20 December 2005

Stand Up And Fight

Right. I would like to share with you an experience I had last night resulting in me knowing I do not belong anywhere except Boston. I am trying to sleep because I am still fucked up with the west coast time and it's one in the morning and I have to be up at four to go to PT and I'm tired. Well the idiot who decides to park his car right outside my window has an alarm on his car. His KIA. Can you believe that? His fucking KIA has an alarm. So the fucking thing must be broken because it goes off for two hours every night. So last night I open my bedroom window, give it my best Wolverine yell and scream, "Hey fuck head, no one is going to steal your piece of shit parked next to my Acura. Turn the fucking thing off or I will slit your fucking throat." This is no big deal in Boston. This warrants a visit from the police in Puyallup.
I would next like to share with you an experience I had today resulting in me wishing I could never leave the greater Seattle area. I go to get a haircut and I walk into a place called Gina's or Tina's or something. The HOTTEST Asian-American women are working and one promptly goes to town on my hair. The whole time her and her counterpart are speaking in some language I can’t understand. But what I do understand is broken parts of English mixed in with their conversation. The following word I could make out: "Emerald Eyes. Sexy, Sexy. Beautiful Curls. Back Room. Sexy, Sexy." I tipped her 200% and will go back next week in hopes of making this work.
I know you all want to know about my TV. It's fucking huge. I really have no room for it. But it rules. I love it. I watched the following movies in a row on my new bitch: Smokey and the Bandit, Cool Hand Luke, Riot Sluts 2, Mallrats and Sin City, all deserving of an LCD HDTV. I should also note that I really only watched Riot Sluts 2 for about 20 minutes. Sin City is the fucking bomb and bullocks to the lot of you for not tying me down and making me watch that shit.
No last paragraph today. Nothing about how she smelled constantly of vanilla. Nothing about how I stayed awake at night to watch her dream. You won't read about how looking into her eyes made you feel that you were better than you are. Nor will I say how looking into her eyes made you want to be better than the feeling she gave you of superiority. How everything she did was perfect. You won't read how every time you looked at her it was as if it was the first, because the human mind isn't sophisticated enough to retain such magnificence as reality. You won't get that shit out of me today.

16 December 2005

No. You Can't Borrow My Car

Right. I need a wife. I am fucking useless. I go grocery shopping yesterday and I have no food. I spent 200 dollars on gin, beer, tonic and mustard. Now, I don't recall being drunk when I was shopping yet this is what I deemed as crucial sustenance. Mustard. Jesus H. Christ. I didn't even buy bread to put the fucking mustard on.
I am a dynamic man. As soon you will see as I present to you proof of how much I have grown over the past ten years of my life. I realize that my ten-year high school reunion is coming up and since I won't be invited, I thought I'd take the time to reflect on the man that was, is and will be Yossarian. I've got pictures to go along with it and all. It'll be great. But, probably not, it'll suck.
XTX sent me some music and I enjoy it. I'm not just saying that. My opinion means a lot on music because I have the most delicate musical palette known to man. Isn't that right Cocaine and K-Luv?
My non-TV-having-ass broke down and went to Best Buy and bought a 50-inch monstrosity. Fucking thing doesn't fit in the Acura so I have to wait till Monday before I can watch Smokey and the Bandit the way God intended. That would be on a 50-inch widescreen LCD HDTV in case you weren't tracking.
Puyallup WA is the ugliest city in the history of mankind. Sweet friggin Christ these bitches are ugly. No wonder Kurt shot himself.
I am slightly upset that as of yet no one desires my sage-like wisdom and advice. I know I still have a week left, but come on people I solve problems. That is what I do. I just solved my lack of a TV problem. Sheesh.
No Bill Gates, "ugliest" is a fucking word. Watch, I will use it in a sentence. I am not sure, but I think the woman I had sex with is the ugliest one I have literally come across yet. See.

15 December 2005

Lotta Hustle

Right. Let's see what we have going on for the post today. Looks like we have some incoherent nonsense. That'll be fun. Then we have some shit I find funny, but I might need to work on it because every time I write something I find funny K-Luv thinks I am depressed, or serious or seriously depressed. It looks like that segment today involves some current events/racial slurs. Good. The people always like that. And finally if we have time, we will get into some of that which makes you slap at your groin because my words make your dingle tingle. But first I have an important news update.
Tell your friends because this is going to be big. From here on out, Thursday's post will be a letter and response. More specifically, it will be Yossarian's advice column. So AIM me or email me (my email address is the same as my AIM only it's @yahoo.com) your query and you will receive sage-like advice. So if you have a problem, and not even tiny classified ads can help, if there is no one else to call, then think of me as the A-Team of advice. If I receive no query, then thank you because I get the day off.
I'm starting to peak now Al. Good. But soon he will be dead and you will listen to classical music on your car stereo and mom will drink whole milk while your father and I fall asleep watching The Greatest American Hero. Only we would have to be at your house, because I don't own a TV.
The dark guy comes to install my Internet. Thank fucking Christ. He is laughing at me because I don't have a TV so I don't need cable. But as he is doing his job he stumbles across some pictures I have laying on my desk. One of these alleged pictures is of me and a Puerto Rican I dated in grad school. "She looks familiar," he said. "Well, she lives in Puerto Rico," I said. I was simply trying to explain something about her to maybe jog his memory in case he did know her. "I am Columbian. Not Puerto Rican or Mexican or Bolivian or anything else you might think!" Emphatic he was. Thank you. Thank you for making this uncomfortable you fucking twit. You sure are Columbian. I suppose they started teaching the Jersey accent in Columbian schools years ago you dip shit. Thank you for informing me that you are Columbian and I am a lazy American incapable of discerning the subtleties of the differences between the people of the Latin world during the two minutes I was going to be slightly aware of your existence you fucking nimrod. No. I can't tell you apart and no I don't fucking care. Can you find Puerto Rico on a map? No? Is that why you are installing my Internet? Twat.
How she was self-conscious was beyond me. To this day I cannot comprehend what made her insecure. You could tell in how she walked she didn't like being in her skin. You could also tell by how others looked at her that anyone would have wanted to be in her skin. I would sit there and watch her and envision drinking from waters that ran off her legs. I prayed for the function of her sweat glands to be replaced by my tongue. I would keep her cool. I would sit behind her and smell her hair and want to grab her and hold her down with on had on the nape of her neck of hand pulling her hair to arch her back up making it easier for me to be inside her and bless the area in between her ribs with my lips. She was the catalyst for emotions I never knew I had. I didn't deserve to be in the same species as her. None of us do. She was too ashamed to make any noise when she would cum. She would just roll her eyes and close them as her mouth opened and her entire body contracted and relaxed. Then she would smile as I would start again and she always wondered why I wanted so badly to please her. She never understood that the collective orgasms of the history of man were an iota of the feeling that she gave me simply by me knowing she existed.

08 December 2005

Right. I was terrified. I wanted to cry. I wanted to run away crying out to my mother begging forgiveness. "Oh lord forgive me I made a mistake. Please let me take back this one decision." I wanted the plane to crash. I wanted the bus to explode. I wanted a mistake with the paperwork to happen and for them not to let me in. I wanted to inexplicably slip and break my femur. But none of that happened. The plane landed safely. It's funny to remember how scared I was.
I move into my apartment tomorrow and my shit will be delivered to me Monday and I have to sleep on the floor this weekend and I don't have a TV and I will have to wait for the cable guy to come and hook up my internet before I can access the internet and I don't like my apartment because it is lame but it was available so I got it and this run on sentence is fun to write.
My apartment. Yes. Let us discuss. Lame. Lame as the day is long. It has shit that I suppose other people would like and think, "Gee Martha this sure is a swell place to live. The apartment is on top of a mountain and there is a big bay window overlooking a valley and it's pretty. There is a comfy looking window seat inside the big bay window. I'll bet I can read and drink hot chocolate and listen to the rain patter on the window in that seat while I smell the vegetable stew I'll be working on for a couple days cooking in the kitchen. It sure will be nice to snuggle up by the fireplace and listen to the rain hit the skylights in the vaulted ceilings while I watch a movie. I have my own washer and dryer and an obnoxiously large bathroom. Yes Martha, this is the place for me."
I however do not think such thoughts. No I think, "Where the hell is the dank? Where is the wood? Where is the dark creepiness that I love? Where is the intercom to buzz people in? Where is the noise of people? Where is the fat guy you have to walk around whom is always at the mailbox?" I like to pretend I live in a cave. I like to pretend I am batman. I do not like carpet. I hate scenic views of lakes and pines and a valley and goofy shit I could care less about. It's temporary though.
So. News. My nephew is in the Navy and he is stationed seven miles from me. He is married. Yes, married. To what I can only hope is a woman. I wrote about her a while back and I am too lazy to look it up and sneaky link it. But trust...she sucks. She is pregnant now. Yay. I call him yesterday and she gives me attitude. I tell her what she can do with her attitude and how if she pretends her attitude is a silver charger she would need to polish it up real nice and shiny, turn that sum bitch sideways and stick it straight up her ass. Well after that I got to talk with nephew dippy shitty. I invited him to dinner in a couple weeks and then I had to invite his wife and I don't want to do it, but it will afford me an opportunity to make something they hate and make them eat it.
(There is a sneaky link in this sentence.) The tramp stamp. Someone want to tell me why the stupid assed white stripes are covering a Tegan and Sara song? Isn't that song like brand fucking new?

06 December 2005

Yossarian The Adjective

Right. The apartment is got and I move in Friday. However my shit won't be delivered until sometime next week so I sleep on the floor for a week. Hoorah. But it's cool because a man should be upright not held upright.
A noble man compares and estimates himself by an idea which is higher than himself; and a mean man, by one lower than himself. The one produces aspiration; the other ambition, which is the way in which a vulgar man aspires.
Everything that happens does so as it should, and if you observe carefully, you will find this to be so.
I have a hard time listening to my XM radio here. Apparently, this area is immune to satellite radio waves. My phone is also real spotty. But here is a funny thing I've learned about the greater Seattle area. You know those small concrete islands they place about eight inches above ground separating the freeway from the entrance ramp? Well everywhere else I've live they painted the sides in an obnoxious yellow color. Not here. Don't cross the white line early. Or else your Acura will make a god-awful noise and two tires will blow and you will scrape and slide 50 yards down the island. Some people learn the hard way.
Her eyes are big. Big eyes. Makes me want to erupt. Makes me want to scream. Belt out a ballad of love on a frequency that would make elephants cry. Flex my muscles until each one rips through skin exposing the literal of my inner self. Run until I can't move my arms from fatigue. Lay waste to tracks of land and burn ancient battlefields lost in the annals of time and memories and civilizations until nothing remains but her and her eyes. I would rename beauty her name and the female gender the same. I would create an entire language glorifying her and in 1000 years no one would know. Making it right. Because she deserves it.

04 December 2005

Savage Stabbing In The Garden

Right. My first weekend in Crappytown is dwindling away. What has the majestic templar Yossarian done you all ask with wet bathing suit areas in anticipation of what a semi-good-looking white guy with money to burn would do on his first weekend in a new city? Oh the exploits you think.
I will save you time and explain it to you in six words: 48 hours of the History Channel. That is succinct, tight, concise, brief, pithy, terse, laconic and short writing there. Brevity...I am your master.
That's all. No gin drunk. No whores purged. No fights fought. No digits got. No food ate. No dances danced. Just the History Channel. That's how I roll. Oh, and I got a haircut. Oh, and I found some porn involving mothers teaching daughters how to fuck. It's what I refer to as: The Devine Porn. Truly God blessed a true believer with the inspiration to create such beautiful work. Now I can watch this porn and it would seem to people I am watching for the hot younger girl, but my heart knows better. I am on about older ladies like Courtney is on about killing Kurt. I said it.
Am I a member of a secret society? I suppose that depends upon your definition of "a." There are more than one out there you know. But I am about to start self-mortification.
She is poetic in the way she moves. No one has the command or capacity to describe it. Regardless, no one notices. No one pays attention to how her fingers tremble when she handles money. No one looks when she pushes her hair behind her right ear with her left hand and sighs as her hair immediately falls. She isn't cognizant that she looks down and to the left while slightly tilting her head to the right when she finishes her cigarette. She thinks no one knows that she faintly stand on her toes when she hears good news. Everyone is oblivious to the glide in her step and rasp in her voice. But I know all these things and more. I deserve pain from knowing such pleasure.

03 December 2005

Pushing Down On Me

Right. I think I am in love with a magic woman. Magic. Indeed. Washington State will from henceforth be known as Crappytown. Crappytown. Indeed. My cell phone company sucks ass, as I get no service up here, resulting in me deciding to declare war on Cingular. War. Indeed. UCLA will not cover the point spread. Point spread. Indeed. I need to find an apartment. Apartment. Indeed. I hate West Coast time. Hate. Indeed. I should have attended, based upon the women in the stands, the University of Texas. Sluts. Indeed. If I was from Afghanistan I'd change my name to Dan and host a Dick Clark type show called Afghanistan Dan's Band Stand. Rhyming. Indeed.

02 December 2005

It Really Is An Amazing Country

Right. I am here. Tomorrow I have to go get the uniforms straight and I'll report and all that good shit. I called an Army buddy of mine today who was supposed to go to Hawaii. I wanted to see how he was enjoying it and all. Turns out that over his vacation he found out his kid had a fucking brain tumor. Sheesh. The kid is like a year old or some shit. He's pretty broken up about it, but more together than I would be. He got a pretty sweet deal though, he won't be going to Hawaii, but he'll be hanging out with this non-deployable Colonel in Nebraska. He will get to see his kid and wife every night. Good. I couldn't imagine that. Poor guy.
In case you didn’t know, there is a small town in Montana. In this small town there is a Subway. This Subway hires, apparently, the future of modeling. I am not lying. I don't know the name of the town, but I must go back and order another tuna sandwich. I am not lying, each of these girls was 16 and each looked like they were created in a lab. Maybe Ted Turner has some lab where he makes hot girls. I got to get in on that racket.
In other news, South Dakota is the most racist place ever. I can't say that for a fact. But I was outside my hotel smoking my cigarette, and this guy comes walking in and says, "Think it'll get cold?" I laughed and said yes because it was like 3 degrees or some shit. Then he says, "I bet them niggers in Clearwater Florida aren't cold." I sort of just tried to breathe as he walked inside. What? Who? Why the? When did? What made? I don't. Where was? I had no idea what to even think. I still can't wrap my head around it.
Did you know there is a three-story building made entirely of corn? I was amazed to. I have my picture of me trying to take a bite of the gutter.
Did you know that Elvis once ate at this joint somewhere and boned the owner of the eating establishment? I heard the whole story.
Did you know there is a 40-foot high ball of twine? I have a picture of me kicking it. I do not have a picture of me damn near breaking my crazy neck as I slipped on the ice whilst kicking.
Did you know that the Hotel I am staying in is completely non-smoking? Fucking bastards. Thank God for Copenhagen.

01 December 2005

Pop Up Target

Right. The Pacific Northwest is the most beautiful area on the planet. I wouldn't mind living in Montana. I stopped my car today and just looked at the mountains. I am still 300 miles outside of my destination. I would have made better time, but what with the blizzard and all.
If you are with your lady and you settle down on the couch and play Barry White on the stereo, and you go to make your move and you don't get any play...it ain't Barry White's fault.