HNT: I HAVE A CONFESSION TO MAKE: I AM, IN FACT, KEANU REEVES

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dudes, first click on me on my bad hair day, uh, bad sad day, to start up a brand new shiny series, bro!

it's me, keanu, it's really me here, check my facebook and twitter. i have legions of adoring fans, some are human, most are animal, but on that one particular day, i was so dejected after a breakup that not even the poundcake i was eating there tasted good, and poundcake always tastes good to me, so that was a major bummer. because of my bad filming schedule and all the forces of the Cosmic Wave in the Sky coming together at just the right moment, that picture of me was taken, and now i'm an internet meme, and i'm done. i mean, you can't get more famous than being an internets meme, once you achieve that, you live on forever, you're immortal, you're greater than the great philosophers and thinkers and writers of our time. hell, this made me cooler than when i was an actual movie star. eat your heart out, shakespeare and sartre, and that nifty derrida guy.

okay, okay, let's bring it down, this one goes out to all the ladies out there:

CLICK HERE AND LET'S LOVE EACH OTHER A LITTLE HARDER AFTER


did that do it for you? i'm keanu, of course it did. yeah, paula is still my girl, y'know? i have had EXCELLENT ADVENTURES, air-guitaring it with Ol' Abe Lincoln right before he...well, y'know...travelled to those debates. good times, RIP Abe Man, you live on at least in my heart, Abester. i also taught the world that this world is a joke, it's a facade, it's all the Matrix controlling things, so yeah, there's no more need for school and books, just take your Pills and you'll be fine. then there was the time i looked good taking letters out of my mailbox in that one movie, i remember a fall setting of some sort, that was some great sci-fi romance, that's a new sickening genre emerging these days, huh? the sci-fi time-travel romance drama that never makes sense, but hell, i love it, i got paid for that, so whatever. i'm keanu, the baddest mother on the planet, and i'll be sad when i want to.

like the emo song long-ass post title? yeah, that was me, too. LOVE YA, SHOUT OUT TO ALL MY BLOGGER PEEPS!!!!!





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SCAM SIREN SEDUCTION

FIRST, CLICK HERE, RIGHT HERE




oh to be seduced by this babe on tv
i am a typical weak man and will swallow anything she offers
it's a shame, too, 'cause i really need an ipad,
preferably the ipad 2, the one with the camera, right? camera for HNTs, wink wink
yeah, i need one of those things for this blog and all of the
award-winning writing of novels and screenplays i'm gonna do soon
if i don't die first, that is.
those ipads are cool but are fucking expensive, i mean shit,
i'd need to blow a hellavu lot more holes than i'm now to snatch one of those puppies,
so i rely on the pretty lady on my screen who says she'll
take care of everything and get me my ipad 2 for a red cent.
i believe her, i need this, i need to type more masterpieces, but i also need sex
gorgeous lady on the tv idiot box, she satisfies both of my needs,
on both fronts, i am filled





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HNT: TABLES-TURNED THANKSGIVING

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first, click on my thanksgiving nightmare last night to serve this done series on the table, ready to suck on the last of the cooked scraps



THEN, WAIT, WHAT DO WE HAVE HERE? NO LINK TO ANOTHER HIP MUSIC VIDEO? WHAT'S GOING ON?!



well, i thought about it, but there really isn't a definitive thanksgiving song the way there are millions of christmas carols. i mean, there's the one about going to Grandma's house, but after the Wine Incident last year, we don't speak to Grandma anymore, we're constantly on eggshells every time she calls, and we dread that 1 AM impromptu visit from her in her old, beaten-up volvo bug





sexy thanksgiving words: meat, dark meat, sauce, virgin cranberry, potato holes, beaning the greens (wink wink), football, tight end, touchdown, SCORE!!!, backyard tight ends, backyard scoring, wearing the silverware in inappropriate places, using the table sans tablecloth for a little "dessert", milk, chocolate milk, drinking the "milk" in your mouth, candles, scented candles, candlewax, glass, and the all-time winner: stuffing



bon appetit, and remember to look at what you're eating before you eat it. that's how i lost my first marriage: wandering eating, it gets you in trouble




HAPPY THANKSGIVING, HAPPY TURKEY DAY, MY BABIES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!






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BABE OF THE WEEK: LINDSAY CZARNIAK: UPDATED PICS!!!

CLICK HERE FOR STICKS


CLICK HERE, NOW EVEN THOUGH COUNTRY MUSIC TO ME IS A SYNONYM FOR SATAN HIMSELF, STILL CLICK HERE


CLICK HERE, OH CRAP, RIGHT HERE TO TOP YOURSELF OFF



i get all my sports info from one source: espn. does that make me a shill? yes, yes it does, but i don't care, because espn is the child of abc, which is the parent of something which leads back to disney, walt disney, a man who is more a hero to me than the war hero i pretend to be. without walt disney, i wouldn't want to live in this god-forsaken world. without early mickey mouse and the pirate ride at disneyland, i wouldn't be typing to you right now. when i was deeper in my depression, i still thought that all i had to do to survive was hole up in my dark cavern of a room, pull the blankets up to my eyes, never turn on the lights, and watch hour upon hour of espn programming and just forget that i had social problems. you should have seen me, it was pathetic even for my standards, i lived all my failed tennis-star dreams through these shows. i'd watch religiously JIM ROME, PARDON THE INTERRUPTION, and AROUND THE HORN, every single damn show, 5 days a week, that's 1 and a half hours of witty sports banter a day. sure, i was well-informed, but where did it get me? nowhere, that's what. i still remember AROUND THE HORN with max as the host, that's how far i've been there, max and woody going at each other with verbal fire, i think deep down they really hated each other, those were the false-good times. along the way, my limbic brain kept reminding me that if i didn't at least get some feminine wiles in my sports system, i'd become a jock loaded up on steroids, full of vim and vigor but lousy in bed. eventually, the babes on espn started cathcing my eye more, just ask tony kornheiser about a certain hannah storm dress. then, now, it's lindsay's turn. she is ******* hot, huh? she started co-anchoring the ESPN NEWS segments, and i'd count myself lucky when she hosted the 30-minute segment alone, 'cause i really wanted to know her views on the latter part of the show, y'know, where they would showcase the world toe-curling championships and that one sport where you fling yourself down a grassy hill with a round of cheese to see which breaks their skull at the bottom first. anyway, lindsay has definitely made my sports days brighter. she's a whip-smart babe, too, see she's still new to the anchoring thing, but i've noticed that whenever she first works with a new-to-her anchorman, she knows a little about his back-story and uses it to make the situation more warm and friendly, like reminiscing about a canadian place when she was working with that cool, reference-laden indian canadian anchor. for awhile there i didn't see lindsay, for a week or so she was gone, i wondered if some office politics had reared its ugly head, if some male anchors were feeling jealous and underappreciated, if maybe some race cards would be played, but then she came back. must have been a long vacation or honeymoon or something, i hope she really enjoyed herself, wink wink. no, no need for oj politic cards or climbing the glass ladder, she had returned and all was well. oh, and i've come to my senses, i shun PARDON THE INTERRUPTION now, i hate wilbon for always bagging on federer. i purposely miss AROUND THE HORN, i like Stat Boy as host, he's a cool dude who loves his nintendo, but it just isn't the same after max left. i still drink my daily intake of ROME, however, and i'm quite surprised at this. at first, i hated that smug arrogant ***hole rome, but as i watched more, i realized that i was the ***hole because i was simply jealous of his smarts. when it comes to smart smug, don't hate, IMITATE. so, that's progress, right? fuck, i need to get outside again, been ages since i hit my wimbledon-winning slice serve at some dope on the other side of the net.




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HNT: SWAMP PREACHER

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first, click on the magical swamp of life lessons for #3 in the series

THEN, CLICK HERE, RIGHT HERE FOR THE SERMON




do i want to die?
do i want to die?
do i want to die/
that's what the song keeps imploring of me
well, yes i don't

if only my priest had stood on the marble altar stage all those moons ago with a nice fuzzy guitar in hand to preach the gospel of jesus, i wouldn't have discarded all of the Myths now and would have remained blissfully unaware of the truth. music and freedom don't mix, it's a volatile gasoline combination which always leads back to negative zero

JESUS, the most powerful ending a song has had yet, JESUS

help me, yes, i need all the help i can get, i need an ungodly amount of help, so i much prefer the Dad to the Almighty Son, but beggars can't be choosers, unless you choose LIFE

wouldn't have spilled my soul and emptied my guts on the pews, that wouldn't have been my offering as the man in the nice sunday suit held that long-ass money pit on the stick, remember those things which collected each patron's 5 dollar bill in those envelopes? man, i'm just remembering that image now as i type: y'know, from afar, from the view of a Space Alien, that whole scene would have seemed funny, the dude reaching out that long metal pole up and down the people row, with the nice soft felt basket at the end of said pole collecting the dough, i always wanted to drink that altar wine, did it once when i was an altar boy, i was a naughty altar boy, an evil alcoholic altar boy, wasn't there an altar-boy comic book that came out not too long ago?

but i digress, no, i don't, no words can be said to be wasted, there is no digression, because each thought is precious, each word typed is memorable, each sentence laid is so important to the human race that the JESUS in Possum Kingdom has turned himself into a possum, or rather Sonic the Hedgehog, to SAVE US ALL, especially to save the last of the video-game nerd burnouts whom nobody cares about

be my angel
be my angel
would someone out there be my angel?
should i quit the blog? i'm bored and listless
should i quit my life/ there is no more altar wine to forget



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WAIT, OH SHIT! WASN'T FINISHED...

CLICK HERE AND DISCUSS







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HNT: ON THE CUSP OF A LISP

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first, click on the ruins (of my overhead tree view) for #2 in the series

THEN, CLICK HERE, RIGHT HERE



the war is over, you've lost
you have turned into the traitor you thought you would
getting the fuck out of dodge as the bombs rained down onto your tree fort
you leave your only family behind and race to the nearest clearing
there, a huge, unsurvivable jump into a large patch of tall woods and branches
you close your eyes to avoid any circumstance
you slowly raise your arm wings as the missiles are used now
you jump, bird
you jump, you did it, it's over
what do you see on the way down?
you fly, what to say?
bird




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SOCCER SERENADE

FIRST, CLICK HERE, RIGHT HERE




would this work on you? if no, then okay. if yes, wait for me to collect my five-lined music sheet paper and an apple, it's gonna be a long night of song creation.




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HNT: WE FUCK, WE LOVE, WE DUST

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first, click on watery Lady Parasol to dust off and open the new series


THEN, CLICK HERE WHETHER OR NOT YOU CAME TO THIS THROUGH THE VIDEO GAME


we meet, we meet finally, stranger bloggers taking a chance, i knocked on your door nervously, you answered sheepishly, we weren't wearing the right clothes, i step inside, you let me in like the vampire lore, we walk awkwardly to the kitchen table, we sip cold tea, we mumble about computer hacking and how hard it is to do the clicky function with hnt pictures, we stare into each others' eyes for the first time, the image and profile never match the real person, the real flesh, we ignore all the warning signs, we crave the danger somehow, we kiss without thinking about it, those are always the best kisses, we kiss the other cheek like jesus, we prepare, i kiss her neck, she kisses my unknown face, i've never been held like that before, we move our hands down and remove the clothes clumsily, i pretend to be a porn lothario and wipe away with my limp arms all of the clutter on the table, i take off the table cloth and lay her naked body down flat on this makeshift bed, i place a nearby rose in my mouth and position my small penis into her glorious clit, i spit the clit first to lubricate, in preparation to split the clit, then the fit becomes more manageable, i thrust as if my life depends on it, 'cause it does, she feigns pleasure, i can see it in her eyes, she smiles on the inside, that's what i catch, she can't fake these emotions for long, because we do care for each other, that's the difference, that's what separates this from a random booty call, she closes her eyes, but i still sense her inner feelings, we rock each others' worlds, for those are the only worlds which exist in this null universe, The Real World is as fake as they come, that's three minutes of glory, a new personal best record for me, she turns around quickly, but not before she shoots a wry smile straight into my orbitals, it's time for the sacred anal, the blessing every man yearns for, i enter her tattooed back door, oh this is truly glorious, the back and forth like wild bunnies, not cute rabbits, we are animals moaning and unconscious, we love each other so fucking hard, i feel it, i'm gonna cum, i shoot the strange white stuff into her waiting tongue, she swallows it all down as if a midnight snack of milk and cookies, that is special milk, a strange, goopy white that signals passion and decadence.

we love, i love her so much that i hold over her tiny head the parasol, to protect her from the rain that pours down on us as we take a leisurely boat ride down the middle of the lake, rain is meant to be admired from a dry spot and pondered over, and you can't do that when you're distracted from being constantly wet and battered with droplets.

we are dust now, it's thirty years later, we are two lovers who have each seen their end, we die far apart from our love moment, we lost touch decades ago, but the love is enough to bring us together for one last thought, we are now two streams of dust lifted by the strong winds over canyons and streams and yes, the lake, do we remember each other after all this time, does our love make us see each other, does it grant us eyes for one more moment to gaze into each others' souls, will i see my babe's face again? my beloved dust.



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