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So there I sat; a 20 year old Anglo American posed in the chair of a Mexican salon in the heart of the Latino ghetto of Oklahoma City engrossed in the latest issue of 'Seventeen.' "What the fuck for" you ask? Unfortunately, by nature I'm a sincerely helpful being. I foolishly fell in love with a ravishing, illegally employed muchacha at work, subsequently falling victim to the manipulative powers of the female. I volunteered my resources, mi carro, to basically chauffeur her down to the salon and unknowingly deplete my life away by three hours. Woe is me. Uuummmm, Herpes.
What's in a bum? Recently I've noticed the town bum, Barry, promenading outside the deli at which I work; almost daily now. Earning his notoriety and my discreet admiration, a couple of years ago Barry worked at the local Little Caesar's with a couple of acquaintances of mine. Barry was supposedly fired after allegedly threatening the life of a customer over something about misplaced breadsticks! Barry, how do you give your hair such a playful bounce? Can I borrow that striped cardigan? Have you ever guiltily indulged in a daydream about a sexual scenario involving Roseanne and/or Sally Jesse Raphael?
"Women are meant to be loved, not understood" Oscar Wilde said something to that effect and ya know what, I think I've already wasted the energy I was congenitally alotted to try and understand the ambigious species. Where does that leave me? In a strobe-lit, lisp-filled corner of homosexuality. But, I must persist and press on with my heterosexual endeavours, if I ever encounter any ya know. So I'm not coming out of any closet via the web or anything. Can't we all just get along. . .and hump while we're at it? Is that not what we all desire?
¡Que buena vida. Salud! Estábamos tomando un poco licor en mi trabajo. No sé como es mi español...¡Me vale madres! Me encanta ver a nueva gente que nunca he visto beracho, es como un diferente lado. La muchacha con que trabajo tomó muy pocito y ¡se puso muy beracha! ¿Por que dos amigos no pueden tener relaciones sexuales juntas?. Le pregunté a ella esa pregunta y dijo que nunca piensa en el sexo ni lo quiere. Esto me confundí profundamente. ¿Como no puede pensarlo? También ella dijo que piensa que el sexo oral es grueso ¿¡QUE!? Me voy a enseñarla.
Ahhh.Still feeling the repercussions from last night's bruising encounter with that SouthernCo. Just saw the Life of David Gale; an exceptionally eloquent piece of film. I strongly implore anyone who has any taste in movies to run out your door, pick up a copy, lock yourself in a room, and fasten those thinking caps for it truly is a masterwork. God how I wish I were in Europe right now, speaking another language, drinking, smoking, flirting with stunningly gorgeous femmes so smitten with my foreign tone that they can't resist but neck me with violent lust. Where'd that lotion go.
Upon working double shifts at the deli today a realization befell upon me:
I have no sympathy for the fat
. Insensitive and uncouth as it may sound, check it. Sure you have your naturally wide-framed, big-boned, heavyset, whateveryouwannacall'ems who are innately large in girth, but on the other puffy, mit-like hand lounge the 'morbidly obese' who apparently don't have the cognitive capabilities to register the fact that their gargantuan proportions could be jeopardizing their well-being..Not a morsel of sympathy I profess. "Mmmmmaybe I shouldn't eat at a deli
I feel as though I'm inadvertently contributing to their deaths.
Hmmm, nope. There is no sum of money I wouldn't cough up to see her be anally obliterated by a large horse; foot-long shlong with a double digit diameter vigorously pumping her poop chute, climactically erupting its seed inside her like some thunderous volcano in a fit of beastial fervor. I believe with heavy conviction that some people's soul funcion is to
. Worst sound ever: Undoubtedly, the sound of a flacid horse penis dropping out of a human orifice, in turn spilling its surplus.
Jesus man! Lay off the horses already!!
Ok now I'm tired
.....Sweet dreams await!
Why do girls have to be so goddamned enigmatic? I've been working with her for a year and a half now and we've established a pretty sturdy friendship. We regularly just eat out together being how she works 60hrs. + each week (yes, illegally.) She's a hard-working, sweet-hearted, lively, heart-stoppingly beauteous gem who, about eight months ago, had a purely physical "relationship" with some schmuck whom she now despises for reasons unapparent to me....
She's been exuding more flirtations than usual around me. I really ought to tell her where I stand mañana. I dunno. What's a gringo to do?
I really can't visualize myself ever being married. For one, I don't find the purpose behind having to legalize a relationship, when in an ideal one (in mine anyways) the bond should transcend any legal document or anything tangible for that matter. Two, the constraining structure of marriage I've bored witness to, thanks to my parents, doesn't sound alluring in the slightest. No thanks. I'll stay with my Peruvian whores and Guatemalan hustlers. Besides, after I get famous I'm not gonna want to come home to bang the
night after night! I'm a practical thinker you see. Amen.
Honesty I seldom see. Sincerity is beginning to run thin... but coconut flavored Puerto Rican rum is flowing in abundance like a sexually starved serial rapist who just got let outta prison! Woah... that even scared
. I'm gladly growing accustomed to drinking at work. Firewater really gives me the extra initiative. It's my way of whistling while I work (because you see, I was not blessed with the skill of whistling like my peers were and am still ostracized and ridiculed for it to this day.) Nine more grueling months until I drink legally. Legally schmegally, FUCK THE POLICE!!!
Mars is gleaming throughout the barren skycape tonight. This prompted me in thinking: Perhaps I should devote my entire existence to the cultivation of Mars's drugs. I mean there's
be some good stuff up there ya know? Possibly substances that could provide us with a panoramic perspective and forthright understanding of this mystical universe. In doing so I would assuredly have my name perpetually scribed in texts, not to mention ensuring my first dibs on the dope! I should get some flyers circulating around about this to spread the word. Ehhhhh screw it I'll just go shroom hunting tomorrow.
I went on a thankfully brief errand to the hell of all hells today. I purchased some footwear at.....the MALL. Ahhhhhh!!! But like I said, it was brief and virtually painless. Not surprisingly, the usual TRL-bound yuppies were adorning the walkways getting in my way and being their yuppy selves. One interestedly gave me the once over, and I probably would've given her the infamous "bend over" had I not been in such a determined stride. I swear I walk faster every time I step foot in there. I oughtta carry weights while I'm at it, get my cardio on.
I was sitting in church a couple Sundays back (my parents
make me go) when one of my laughibly trivial but completely noteworthy musings sounded in me.
Is it wrong for one to get an irrection while in a house of worship?
I've had to rise and shine nearly every Sunday morning to "praise" the 'ol G-O-D and my perverse mind cutomarily begins to wander into not so holy territory upon entering the church. I don't
to any religion so I think I'm in the clear here to pitch a tent when I feel it.
Shine Jesus Shine!
Well, looks like me and my muchacha just might be co-habitating together in a one-bedroom apartment. Come this November her aunt and uncle whom she currently lives with are hightailing across the border, leaving her with lil 'ol me. I had to doctor up a "schedule" of my classes I'm taking at the university to give to the secretary at the apartments that says I'm only a part-time student; "I'm sorry, full-time students aren't allowed to live here." "Nigga please." Later I explained to her that I had "dropped" a couple of hours.
Beatn' the system...like O.J.; without the blood.
If I were a bird I would make sure to over-eat. Soon after I would defecate on every car that looks relatively expensive. People shouldn't be driving cars more than $15,000...an absolute waste. Feed a bum. Buy a poor kid a wardrobe. Find me a hooker with a bitchin' body and a passable face. Help out us needy folk. Back to being a bird, I would scour from above, "eney meney miney.....MO!" KABOOM! If I were lucky I would find one of the gluttonous drivers walking and give them an aerial assault of wet white karma for their greedy indulgences.
I was rummaging through my pantry today, searching for anything remotely appetizing. I casually glanced up at the top of a rack on the door and saw a furry creature clumsily swinging about. A fucking
was in my pantry! A second later it plummeted down to the floor. I had just comprehended what was happening as it scurried off into the pantry with Carl Lewis-like haste. "MOUSE!" That was about all I could get out before the varmint retreated. This was a declaration of war in my eyes..... I wanna eat it. Ya' think chili sauce would compliment rodent?
Just returned from a nightly visit to sooner town Norman, Oklahoma. Nothing has changed; same 'ol street folk strutting their stuff outside the bars. I sat at a window for a couple of hours and managed to see 2 BLIND PEOPLE! One with a stick and the other with a dog! In one sitting! What is the likelihood of seeing two of them in one night. I dunno. I'm too dazed to do the math. I just find enjoyment in counting my lucky stars that I'm not blind...right now anyhow. I need rest. I'm working out con la mexicana mañana.
I'm filling time between classes at school in the computer lab and I must note that there are some mighty fuckin' fine females attending this university. They all seem to have that bitchy/daddy's girl/"stop looking at me you freak" kinda look about them. I just attended a lecture on the French revolution. I loved the part when the townspeople marched into Bastille and lynched the governor and his subordinates....I'd bend her over a sink. What? I hope no one's peering over my shoulder. "Oh my God, what a freak. He's like
creepy." Eight inches of creepy baby, eight inches!
If anyone else tells me I look like the singer from the All-American Rejects again their head is going on my wall, along with all the other mounted heads I've accumulated over the years. A couple of my shirts might vaguely resemble something he might sport but I think
look nothing like the guy. The weird thing: the drummer(Chris) used to hang out with a lot of my friends; Smokin', tokin', drinkin' wit hoes and the like. It's kinda weird to see him on the tele next to all those inept MTV "icons" whom we all so fondly adore.
Some mothefucka called me at work on my cellphone using some kinda voice altering device saying that he was gonna kill me or somethin' today. Although I couldn't hear the majority of what was said I played along with a patronizing tone.
I'm gonna kill you tonight motherfucker.
"You're gonna what? I'm sorry, I heard the first part but at the end 'ya kinda trailed off"
I said... I'm
"a raving homosexual? Sorry. Listen, I'm working, lemme call 'ya tomorrow." That's the gist of what transpired.
I guess these things just tend to happen when you live the thug life.
I bought gas and drove off with my gas tank cap laying on my trunk. After discovering my forgetfulness I used a nearby oil rag to serve as a makeshift cap. A fews nights later, I was sleeping like a decapitated zebra when I heard an ominously thunderous !!!!!BOOM!!!!! My immediate thought was
my fucking car has exploded and I will pay with my life for this fuckup
. I descended my stairs in one second flat. It was 4a.m. Nothing amiss. Turns out a nearby transformer had blown... I'm still using the oil rag.
WHEN A MAAAAN LOVES A WOOOOMAAAN!!!
Three months ago I ordered this bitchin' Japanese tee via Ebay. I've conducted several successful transfactions in the past with this individual. She sent me the Japanese shirt a couple months ago. HOWEVER, it was an XXXL. I wear a small. I promptly e-mailed her; she agreed to send me a S shirt if I returned the other. I am still shirtless and have sent her several admonishing e-mails. Tha bitch don't know who she's toying with. I think I might send her some excerpts from the satanic bible, ya know, just to ruffle her a bit. Kudos to Anton!
Last night I had a horrific nightmare that I lost my penis. Laugh if you must, but this was a life-rattling experience for me. Being the atypical dream, I only recall bits and fragments. The most lucid scenario I retained was one of my severed manhood being strewn about a floor. After gasping in bewilderment at the atrocious scene I collapase to my knees and frantically began collecting the components of my organ. To make matters even more bizarre, the pieces seemed to fit together in a quasi-lego fashion.
I awoke this morning and immediately gave "it" a warm homecoming.
I just gave "Punch-Drunk Love" a view. I feel as though I know Adam Sandler now, seeing that he plays the same goddamned character in every role he is given. He did kinda veer off into a more self-loathing shade in this flick (which
personally can identify with) but he still took on the "I'm too immature to mantain any kind of mature relationship so I'm gonna talk like a baby and throw tantrums" role we've come to know from past Sandler features. I also indentify with Sandler's appreciation for older women á la Billy Madison. Ripe and experienced.
I passed up an utmost tempting invitation to visit Norman to again become re-acquainted with the world of magical mushrooms. I received a call from some friends earlier this evening suggesting that I come down to join them in the psychadelic experience but, like I said, I reluctantly declined the offer because my muchacha and I have made arrangements to go pump iron at the gym at 11:00a.m. I could've gone and then driven back in the morning but something tells me exercising and psilocybin mushrooms wouldn't mix well. Understanding the entire universe and doing squat thrusts just
I've really taken a strong liking to having these semi-religious "debates" with the Mexicans at work. No one ever comes out the victor when theses quarrels cease, they're really just a firing off of opinions interspersed with an abundance of interrogative "que?s" Assumably, they were raised with a strong catholic upbringing, like many hispanic people are, or some sort of christian background. My stance is typically one with an agnostic slant while the mexicanos uphold the judeo-christian mantras. My phish-head co-worker always interjectingly advocates pot smoking. I take it as just a coincidence that he likes phish
I nearly killed shot my face off after regrettably watching a rerun of the VMA's. Who does MTV think we are?! "We" being the youth which I hesitantly still consider myself to be a part of (I'm only 20 biatch!) To infuriate me even further, I missed the gossiped about make-out session between Madonna and those other two hoebags. Thankfully, I was halfway inebriated and didn't have anything close to a firearm in close proximity. I can't help but bemoan the subterranean level pop culture has degenerated to but hey, at least Chris Rock was there....white people really
Church camp can sometimes be a colorful piece of your childhood memory at which you can one day look back on and feel nostalgic about. My church camp memories have been rendered unrecognizable from chronic depression and coinciding rockstaresque liquor binges...Smell the irony? It wasn't really ironic, really just compensatory self-medication. I've forever had a deep disdain for my parents throwing me into church. Although, I do have a fond recollection of filling a spray bottle with toilet water, on the hottest of days, and "thoughtfully" misting some unsuspecting Jebus lovers. "Squirt it in my mouth" was not an uncommon request.
...It's fifth grade during recess and I notice a cardigan of some sort abandoned on the ground next to a large cinder block sized rock. Being the devilish little shit I am, I hatch a most diabolical idea. I position the piece of clothing over the rock, thereby hiding it from view. I coax a chap into my plot accosting him with the challenge: "I bet you can't kick that sweater passed that tree." "
tree that's two feet away from it?" "Yup. That's the one." He gets a running start.
AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH my toe!!!!!
He chases me, limping. I giggle.
My cat doesn't have the "normal" cat profile that one would conjure up. No, the sad fact is my cat has no profile: A short-haired flat-faced persian named Maggie who upon first seeing I exploded into a ten minute fit of violent laughter. I have since taken a unique liking to her visage. She bears an uncanny resemblance to an owl, and gizmo from the Gremlins. What I wouldn't give to have the life of a cat... Wake, eat, drink, sleep, wake, shit, burry shit, sleep. That's actually a slight variation of what I already do. *Pat on the back*
There's been some recent dramatic episodes happening between my muchacha and her ex-fuck buddy. He called her at work and I told him she had quit. He went to her house later and balled like a kid wanting candy and she felt bad afterwords and blahblahblahblahblah. He was a fuck, in all senses of the word. I don't have the time, patience, nor the attention span to care about such petty theatrics. I don't exactly have girls lined up willing to make whoopie with me and do
shed a tear? Nay, I shed my undies and watch my Jenna.
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