Wednesday, March 27, 2013



fronty: just wait 'til it's colored...

click the fronty for the skin pic, my big news, do you see me glowing? i'm pregnant...and i wanted to show you guys that gnarly bandage i wore there from one of my many scratches provided by my fur baby, my furry cat son. it was kismet, i snapped that photo and then one shower later, the week-long brown strap finally melted off my thumb.

at The Store, i prove i'm a man the only way i can,
by balancing a ten-ton bag of cat food with just my pinky,
that'll get the sandwich girl to finally notice me
and turn me into a proper man.

these days, i never leave my house,
my tiny ipad mini has become my tiny world,
i use the tiny tip of my fingertip to thumb out words
and phrases and clever puns which make me feel better for a second,
and then it's back to being small.

but if they make you feel better for a second,
that second lives beyond my expiration date,
like the bad milk i purchased there while walking around,
head in the clouds,
the manager had to be called, thought i was a sanitarium escapee.

The Store is my second home,
it's the place i have to go to if i want to eat,
you can't live your life on tumblr,
because you biologically have to eat, it's a human
fail-safe God provided our machinery to keep us from being lonely.

the woman who will turn me strolls her shopping cart down the waxed aisle ahead of me,
this lady with the huge tits and a penchant for making men men.
will we bump-into-each-other-meet like a sappy Hollywood romantic comedy
or end up taking home the Oscar for the indie slice-of-life angsty mumble porn
about one twentysomething's idea of girls and Girls and a slice of key-lime pie?

the walls of my computer room have caved in full
i'm squashed physically by the mounds of dirty, cum-stained drawers
and psychologically by the constraints of being a loner,
if i don't say hi to a stranger soon, i will lose my gift of speech,
i scoff at stranger danger, i need friends!
but wait, who's the stranger here?

i know that if i type one more word,
one more youtube comment,
it will finally be answered by my soul mate on the other line,
the other side of the screen,
soul mates don't exist, but other people furiously typing away at their keyboards do,
not the song in that movie about mice, the other
i lull myself to sleep with this song's lyrics every night, inbetween the cum,
the sheets, the milk tea, the latest 4chan meme, you, love.


Monday, March 25, 2013


what are your five most memorable/amazing sexual moments?:

1) little boy, i discover it for the first time, the thing that will lead me on my epic quest of sexual self-discovery. i name him My Hand...actually my mom already named him that, but i confirmed it.

2) the infamous TV Guide cover, it wasn't Megan Fox or that babe from Firefly or even Helen Mirren. no, my first was some obscure television actress who went on to win two Oscars out of the blue. covered in cum, i knew we had forged a singular bond that would live forever, that would help me when i started to grow pimples.

3) the time when society says one should have their first girlfriend: the two of us would hang back on Friday nights, playing Zelda and contemplating society's rules. normal people told us we were strange and would be committed. i let it all roll off my back like so much water like from that screenshot from the game, y'know the Zelda one, where it's almost all covered in blue, Lake blue, there's just that one spot of land, and you have to somehow maneuver your way onto that land and get the key or open the treasure chest or something...

4) Senior Prom, here we go, everyone who has lived on Earth has one of these experiences, it's the ultimate high-school trope: well, mine was about as sitcom as you could imagine with the smoke bombs and the spiked punch and the first-time fucking and the orgy in the limo with the limo driver getting involved and the cops getting involved and Hand and i playing the latest Zelda game in the basement and even my parents managing to break from their busy work schedule to have a "date" together that night and me feeling really alone and pathetic, still have Hand, it's okay, still have early porn sites where they asked for 10 bucks for five naughty pictures of "Siren", and the foreknowledge that i would blog about this one day and laugh and laugh and laugh.

5) first marriage: she was sweet and kind and a good cook and a freak in bed...and i wanted to break free from the SHACKLES of Hand's spell...but after so many late-nights with Hand, i couldn't, he had a GRIP on me that was UNSHAKEABLE, i tried to HAND him his walking papers and get on with my life, but he was determined to stick a FINGER in all of my IRL plans for happiness i had for myself, i was gonna touch other SKIN. i tried to give him the big THUMB off, the big fuck you, but he's connected to my body, i would be cutting my hand to spite my face, and i still have a somewhat handsome face, so i can't take any more chances.

it's me...and Hand...together forever...regretfully...and the thrill is gone...the cum flows not as freely anymore...not as happy...

scanning for "Hand" got me into a heated internets debate over the character Thing on The Addams Family. that quickly transitioned to a more enjoyable discussion over which goth babe was hotter back in the day, Morticia Addams or Lily Munster. i'm not suddenly in love with gifs now, but that one gif above is simply Morticia's reaction to when she saw MY thing. it's big. i admit that as a kid, i was hardcore Munsters, watched every episode religiously, but i never watched one episode of The Addams Family, it was never on lazy Sunday afternoons on one of the three channels you accessed only by turning the channels knob with your HAND. dunno why that was the case, but because of that, the show didn't exist as far as i was concerned. my brain only recognized its very existence by backpedalling in time after that Addams movie came out, it was a mystery to me, still is. little did i know then that the Munsters were planting the first goth seed into my belly, a sprout which would blossom into the full-fledged Nine Inch Nails Ninja you see typing before you today...

bonus: what is one quality you appreciate in a lover?: when the cock crows, and my cock is rested from the night-before's activities, and i turn around from the fresh white-daisy-scented sheets, and i see a real woman next to me, not a pretty-accurate-and-anatomically-correct-and-functioning-though-still-rubber sex doll covered in love, i take a deep breath and i know i'll be okay, God is in His Heaven and Hand is cooperating.



Friday, March 22, 2013



yay me

folks, i plug in the brown wire with the three-pronged adapter extension cord into the little hole every morning after my Starbucks Coffee flavor, i discontinued the Double Shot Espressos, even the light grey-can ones got me painful explosive diarrhea, i turn on this idiot box known as the computer, this idiot box which has replaced the previous idiot box tv, and i try to type words which will make me feel better and entertain the masses, except there are no masses, only tired Catholic Mass.

there is such a temptation for all of us to go into troll mode when we start writing, it's so hard to keep sincere because we realize that we can literally type ANYTHING, we can pretend we're Superman, or She-Ra for the boys, we're instantly a part of this ever-anonymous world where we can hide behind screens and type away any word, ANY word we want.

i fall into this daily, i try to make it fun and joking, perhaps i haven't succeeded, but if you shared a laugh with me, know that this whole computer living thing was meant to be fun, i am the very embodiment of the WHY SO SERIOUS? meme. it's so difficult, isn't it? you begin by earnestly typing a memoir of your battle with cancer or your depression struggles, but you realize that you can concoct a story of wondrous unicorns and far-off places you want to visit but can't afford to. also, interaction on the internets is very suspect and hinges on shaky legs and a giant troll-face as your giant fall balloon as you stand there like the Flying Wallendas on a very thin tightrope trying to be stern telling your story. i mean, if your potential to go crazy online is there as the blog author, imagine anyone anywhere in the world who has the chance to comment at your blog and make his mark felt, the troll potential there is a hundred-fold. plus, all the visitor to your blog has to do is make his ONE attempt and leave forever, his sentence of shame, that paragraph that when you read it at first, it seems sympathetic to your cause, but slowly degenerates when you read the words "asshole" and "Papi Smurf" together, that's when you've been had. there is only one solution: realize what the internet really is, the limits of it, the actual real limits of it, that it is the death of sincerity, that "internet love" is pretty much an oxymoron, and decide to play ball, warts and all. you must make friends with the trolls, ignoring them will just make them madder, loving them, like Jesus would, is the way to soften their hearts, for after all, trolls are people, too, they just want to be recognized for the geniuses they are, they want to get noticed and counted among humanity, this great humanity that somehow continues to get by despite its horrid history. kiss a troll today, and tell them i sent you....actually, don't, i get enough spam as is.

i've learned that i should have gotten a female cat at the SPCA pound, i think i had the chance with that furry tiny black kitten  i saw, but i went with the strong male orange tabby, i was still heartbroken and mind-glazed over losing my Persian of ten years, i wasn't thinking straight, it all happened the same day remember. i do love the new cat, but even as a baby, this mini lion i think could kill me in my sleep, he's that strong with his jaw of teeth and claws. i love him, but i fear him, the way a street-sweeper would his banana-republic dictator. the problem nowadays is ants, fucking ants everywhere, ants in his bowls of food and water, man, do you know how depressing it is to wake up and find five or six ants in the cat's food, ruining the food for that day, and him not eating the food so i'm thinking he's gonna spit out bile again from malnutrition, i monitored that in the first week, but of course the other way is bad, too, when you overfeed your cat you get those obese cats who can't move on the news just laying there done with life, with the hot lights of the tv crew bearing down on the poor cat's sad mellow face? what's the cat supposed to do? to say? he liked food too much, is that a crime? apparently.

thing is, i used to love ants generally, cartoon ants, that ANts movie a few childhoods back, it was all good, but i've learned to hate them. i'm sorry, i'm a hippie, i should love every living thing, especially the smallest of the bunch, but these ants are deceptive and cunning for their small size, and we all know from nature class that they can lift, like, ten times their weight or something, so they're not as helpless as all that. in their final act of defiance, if you ever push to death an ant with your finger, it leaves a terrible gas odor on your damn finger, you have to wash it every time you do before you touch any raw chicken, it's quite annoying, are they fucking made of arsenic or something? man...i wonder when i die, if God Himself (NIN reference) will reach his thumb over to me and squash me under it like the perspective bug i am, Twilight-Zone-style, that would be karmic cosmic justice.

because the ants will come into our room at the very hint of any food or drink, i can't eat or drink anymore in my room like i used to do, it was so comfortable for me to be the eating loner in my room ruminating on what i was gonna write next on my blog on my ipad mini. i ate all three meals in there, i do open the window, i learned that in the third year, to make the smell at least a little tolerable, and i was a happy goth clam. it's not just the three meals that i have to eat in the kitchen, it's the snacks, y'know, i would have a can of soda and a bag of chips just beside me in bed as i watched tv or vegged or thought or typed, you get used to that routine of feeding and liquidating your mind and then transferring that energy immediately into your typing fingers to complete that dynamic next stanza of poetry. now i can't have my Fanta and Triscuits, i have to take the long walk to the kitchen and stand around in the cold kitchen with its one working light that spreads the powder-green alien light like a Costco Warehouse onto the area, stand there for five minutes as i shovel the crackers and sips of carbonated beverage into my mouth, and walk back to my room. it's a fucking waste of time and foot exercise, i don't need to work out, i'm a rail-thin skinny future rock star, where is my rider, i want to amend!

it messes up the writing pattern, too. i have a brilliant idea, usually fed with the food/drink right there, and it's in print there, done, all within a space and time of thirty seconds, nice and efficient like Human Centipede. now because i suddenly have a lot of roaming around to do, the brilliant thought gets changed, lost, or worse, i keep thinking it can be better, funnier, better, better, always better, but it was good the way it was, better, better, better word, better choice of word...

i have been reduced to what i dub "manor living." this is what would go on if i lived in a stately mansion in the English countryside. you never bring your leftover tea and weed muchies into the place where you sleep, the bedroom, the fancy boudoir, no no, you take your meals AND your three snacks always either in the expensive dining hall or the spacious kitchen where Chef will accommodate you.......actually, hmmmm, this is a cool thing after all, it's like i'm living in the Clue mansion, and we all know Clue is the greatest board game ever invented, so i'm down, once i get my rope and lead fix the burst pipes, what did you think?

i cried this morning on my birthday as i looked back at what my life has become. it is now, and i think the final verdict of it will be, that my life was a waste of potential. i was smart enough to be President, devious enough to be a CEO, athletic enough to be the next Federer, talented enough to be an artist, and fucked-up enough to be an actor, but the depression has killed all my dreams. i am the lowliest of the low, i'm a...can't even say it through the tears...i'm a...Momma i'm sorry...i'm a blogger!

i know, i know, i, can't, i can't do this anymore, i can't type another meaningless word...

women like men who cry, right? that's emotional intelligence, or do i have that backwards? is macho still in? the currents run too hot and cold, i can't keep up on the rapids of love. a grown man crying is a pretty...ugly...sight, the Rolling Stones wrote a song about it, and that lead singer danced his wild unique flailing dance over it, so it can't be all bad. i need is dead...i beat the Last Boss on all my video sites are frauds...i need a woman, like that Live song

folks, this is probably the last time i'll be here with all of you lovely blog folk on my birthday like this, so i'm asking like a carnival barker for a lot of comments at this post, it's your last chance to interact. if not my birthday, when? if not now, when? let's have everyone come visit me, you can leave a comment, i'll comment back, and we can talk about this horrible thing called life. yes, this is a cheap ploy for comments, but when has it ever been otherwise? i mean, this REALLY is my birthday day, of this i am being perfectly truthful, can't i have this one thing, Helen?! pretending here Helen is my wife in an Archie-Bunker-type one-act play i'm working on...

the laughing is a good buffer, but it seems the overall darkness in me is winning. it's a good thing i have the poetry to fill my serious vase with when i get too real me. what do they say about the best comedians?...

for Jenny Last Name: Conquistador, the one with the blonde hair and the drama, it was always only ever you, this computer life never mattered, but you always will x

and now, my friends, Olivia Wilde and her animated boobs and i retire to sleep, to dream, to play, to wake up on the other side, to come




Wednesday, March 20, 2013



click above to end me, i mean, this series.


the real sun scorches my right hand,
but it is away from the real action,
enough to protect the gooey important center,
the center where my imagination lives.

in my imagination i see where my life should be,
where it should have been taken,
only here can i breathe a sigh of relief
and dwell in my own colorful fantasies.

my rose-scarred fingers, veiny blues forming a cup,
lifting the window with strengthless nails, fingertips,
just enough to let in a breath of fresh air,
this time not from my lungs but yours.

let in just enough of the world
so i can play with this world,
shape it to my desires and vents,
make it into a place that's signature me

with my colored pencils
newly sharpened with an electronic sharpener,
tossing the brown shaved bits from ten years ago,
10 years ago was when depression halted my art.

in this circle protected from the fucked outside world,
i can draw the real orange sun however i like,
only i will test the limits of freedom,
i make the sun's curved rays simple lines if i want,
i own the sun now,
it was never yellow to begin with.

i think back, this is a window to my past,
when happiness was still a possibility,
when i began to enter special realms,
wondrous places of my imaginings, these worlds only i knew,
i was god, king, creator, ruler,
i stood over the people i created, lovingly, but with a six-year-old's easy command,
i drew my men and women and children how i wanted,
with those pointy noses that have become my signature,
i made them say what i wanted in my stories, i drew everything:
the houses, trees, shrubs, street lights and signs,
power cords as straight and black as the man's eyebrows,
My First Book, the first of many million more books penned and illustrated by me,
all words, all pictures just by me, always, let no one else sully my image,
it was the dictatorial start of something harrowing
but exhilarating at the same time, a little kid
rejecting this world in favor of his own.

Monday, March 18, 2013


1. what made the best sex partner you've ever had so good? it was familiar, it was almost as if i knew the person, knew what made the person tick in bed, like his hand was connected to my body...

2. what made the worst sex partner you've ever had so bad? just the fact that she saw me naked, forever that could be used to blackmail me, as long as the two of us lived...

3. who was the most physically-attractive person you've ever had sex with? Olivia Wilde, tune in on Friday for my birthday-day post to see if i'm able to post that Olivia gif everyone's been raving about.

4. how was it? like a dream...

5. who was the least-physically attractive person you've ever had sex with?

things learned from this past weekend:

* iphones, screens in general, have become the new Jesus.
* being an internet troll is fun for one day, then the law of diminishing returns takes hold. it's like that Looney Tunes scene, it was the greatest trick ever, but it can only be performed once...the guy blows himself up.
* if a youtube comment isn't commented upon, does it even exist at all?
* don't spend too much time at, i literally spent seven hours simply coming up with ALL the possible word combinations of the letters friokjkjhsy, seeing which were real word entries and which i could claim i invented first.
* do you think fellow bloggers can really, TRULY meet in real life, become boyfriend/girlfriend and eventually marry? i really need to know this. if not, i'm leaving come summer...

6. why did you do it? desperate...and human...a desperate only goes so far

7. how was it? best sex of my life

bonus: describe a bad sexual experience you admit was your fault: tiptoed to the Papal Conclave in my Batman suit deliberately handcuffed in the back waiting for my Catwoman to spring the lock, only she had the key. obviously got the wrong directions, i wasn't paying close attention, my bad...though the Cards and i did shoot the breeze about how red robes are cooler than crime-fighting pajamas and that Batman is in a sense a Christ figure for today's pimply fat internet youth.



Friday, March 15, 2013


can it? humans are complicated creatures, that's the simple uncomplicated comeback to all internet challenges, but is it in fact true?

envision the Worst Human Tragedy Ever, WHTE. say your grandparent survived the WHTE, it's been a long time since the event, thirty years, and then he sees a late-night comedian joking about it, talking about ovens and whatnot and tying it to a modern harmless general kitchen sense. is he not supposed to laugh? can he not laugh EVER? would it always be a tremendous everlasting slight to his brethen who weren't so lucky and lost their lives? so he's entitled to merriment, but not for this one joke. however, what if he does in fact laugh? now the grandfather being the stoic man he is would do his darndest to hide the fact he's laughing in front of the children and help and dogs, he'd cover his mouth in a dignified way, reach for a kerchief, but he still laughs, he laughs inside, his brain is snickering at the thought, this is human response.

so then, only certain people have the right to be offended, those who went through it. those who didn't can laugh freely, unburdened by having gone through it, but isn't it offensive to laugh casually at a joke another, especially a loved one, a family member, would be completely wrapped into, a joke which represents the man's very life-and-death struggle, his raison d'etre, his continuing fight for causes, the very spark upon which he gets up every morning and lives another day, his honoring of his beloved fallen? so if he laughs, we can laugh, but only if...but what is we laugh at it and he doesn't, but we can't help ourselves, at that very moment, the joke was funny, there wasn't time to process the fact that it was offensive. the joke lives in the duality of being both funny and offensive.

i'm dusting off my memory banks for this one, but i do remember reading something in college, a pamphlet about Freud and how he thought jokes played into human experience, a joke was a way, a quite healthy way, to deal with trauma, nervousness in a situation, embarrassment at something that just happened to you, the whole "laugh it off" philosophy.

can hard-core feminists enjoy Family Guy the same way others do? is it just because it's a cartoon that it's easier to laugh at core beliefs, to smirk when our very religions and deep-seated faiths are being made fun of in quite hilarious colors and skits? is it simpler to merely laugh at the pretty animated colors? it would be a different story, though, if such heretical ideas and thoughts were presented in a dramatic format, right? if atheism or the WHTE were trashed in an episode of House when the good doctor Gregory House cynically smears your belief in order to make another of his classic rude remarks, another smart one-liner slam at the System? go check imdb, the butthurt on a drama like House type away paragraphs and paragraphs over their hurt feelings, and most of the time, the trolls comply and engage in somewhat elucidating conversation about faith in modern society, what crosses the line, etc. on the Family Guy boards, the butthurt basically get trolled back with "it's a comedy, laugh, relax, it's a joke..."

and that's precisely the point, it's a joke, is it all okay if it's a joke, something meant to be funny? what if it's an attempt to be funny but the joke falls flat and it's not funny to the majority of the room? then it's a mob-rule determination as to whether it's acceptable, if 20 people get it, it's okay, 19 and no. what if the very same line is said seriously rather than by a stand-up with a mic? then it's not okay.

"i bought better ovens at the local Walmart than those used in the WHTE."

that sentence delivered as a joke would elicit either tons of laughs or tomatoes, but the audience knows this is said in jest, it was said trying to get a laugh. if the very same sentence is used in a diatribe in the New York Times over some government policy the author is ranting against, then it is looked upon in a very different light, the line is delivered angrily, seriously, and so it is possibly offensive. what if the author is on the side of those affected by the WHTE? then it's okay, that softens it a bit. if this is on a hate site against those of the WHTE, challenging whether the WHTE ever occurred, it is humanly universally condemned. that i agree with, but again, it comes down to a matter of tone, of the speaking/typing voice, whether it's done in jest or with a stern face.

this bleeds into my theory of jokes, humor, and the NIN/SNL effect. you can view life through two extreme lenses, the Nine Inch Nails lens or the Saturday Night Live lens, both speak to the utter ridiculousness of human existence but with two different paintbrushes. on the NIN side, you have Trent constructing beautifully brutal songs about how life basically sucks and is meaningless, no God, etc., and this is done seriously, he's in pain and wants his listening audience to know it and to share in it through his music. Saturday Night Live approaches this absurdity of life with humor, with tearing down the most sacred of our pillars of faith and reasoning, of touching the untouchable, of making fun of our leaders of supposed high esteem, of making a joke out of the Pope, rape, pedophilia, etc., it's all just another punch line. did the date-rape of those two celebrities make for a good joke? well, if the joke was constructed carefully during the week, and the two comedians chosen to portray the ill-fated lovers came off genuine and with the right accents, and the punches and abuse were staged for comedic effect, it can be a funny joke, something unpleasant and humanly degrading is made to be laughed at. is there a line? is there such a thing as going too far? why does SNL go for a joke rather than not? the bottom line: it's funny. that's all that matters. will the audience laugh even despite knowing it's probably in bad taste to laugh at date rape? bottom line, the result: did you laugh? that's all that matters...yes, you laughed at a joke about the WHTE, you should feel ashamed...or maybe it's just that you're human and couldn't help it, it was an involuntary response of sorts, you was funny, sorry...but it was funny.

is there a line? what does it mean to cross it? is absolutely ANYTHING in bounds? can you say absolutely anything if it's ultimately "funny". does discussing atheism in the lyrics of a pretty melody somehow make it more palatable than would a lecture about atheism among young people dryly droned on by a boring professor in a vest in a college-campus auditorium? who determines if something is funny? if the one who is being made fun of thinks it's okay, then it's okay, let's abandon our human kindness in favor of the laugh, let's not think about human dignity anymore, building people up instead of tearing them down, even people who think it's okay to be self-deprecating to a fault, to their detriment, it's like saving people from themselves...great, nanny state, that's not a topic i want to tackle, i'm almost done with this. take any Comedy Central roast of a celeb, it's okay in this setting to fucking destroy this poor famous person in the hot seat from one C-list comedian to the next B-list actor because the person is in on the joke. however, take these horrid, demeaning, soul-crushing jokes out of the Roast and just look at them in a vacuum. if you were to slam the person in the hot seat with one of these jokes, casually mocking him with one of these jokes as you encountered him on the street on a sunny day, the Roastee would clobber you within inches of your life, and his bodyguards would finish the job. so then it's a matter of setting, if the dude isn't comfortable with you, isn't in on it, it's not okay, even though these are the same exact jokes used. tone, setting, and comfortableness of the one being made fun of, three factors...

...and the fourth, mob mentality. it doesn't matter if singly you think a joke is in poor taste, if the rest of the room comes to a consensus that the joke was funny, you're out in the cold, your opinion doesn't matter. hey, i thought all opinions mattered, every single human life is precious, right? that was the whole point behind the internet, everyone, every single troll, every person around the world with a keyboard, has the right to type away his little diatribes about this and that and no one can stop them, this is his feelings, his opinions, and he matters, i'm typing this right now, whether you read it or not, the fact is that i was able to give you my thoughts on the matter, my thinking has spread to your reading, Big Brother has a gun to my head and tries to stop me from expressing my true feelings, everybody in the entire world can hate me or think i'm an idiot for typing this, but here it is, it is typed, this happened, i typed this, screw the haters, i have proven that i exist, i'm a human, a human who cowardly hides behind the moniker the late phoenix and will never show his face for fear of recrimination, these paragraphs prove i am alive, have a heart, a pumping heart, and a mind that thinks thoughts, and here are my thoughts, ha ha, you tried to stop me, you tried to troll me into silence, but it's still here, my thought, here for all to see...and examine and ridicule, yes...but for all to mostly see, see, that's the point, read it and you read me, you validate my human existence.

Wednesday, March 13, 2013


fronty 3 of 4: scan with printer paper taped up 4 ways on a black canvas, then crop
clicky 3 of 4: click to chest cliffhanger to next week

i got this post's title's reference, but not after another childhood bullet. see, when i first encountered Mr. Van Winkle's seminal hit on the radio (yes radio was the prime source of teenage community back then), i honestly thought i was listening to an original beat. only years later when i entered my music-snob intellectual phase did i learn it was Queen and Bowie all along, and the dirty word "sampling" entered my fevered brain, never to get out. the last part of the song, "too cold," for the longest, my friends and i couldn't decipher that lyric, one thought it was "to go", another, "jamon," which presented a fresh set of problems.


she didn't respond to my youtube comment,
what the fuck is the point of blogs and youtube channels
if you don't talk with the uploader?
no interconnectivity is a big waste of the energy panel.

what am i, a mindreader?
how am i to discern what my comment did to you?
i promise i worked hard on it to make it just right,
just the right amount of humor, seriousness, and good ol'
internet moral relativism for you to skew.

these are the problems i have these days,
it's as pathetic as a sack of potatoes.
long gone are true causes like freedom and hunger,
they don't make pizza in this world anymore with real tomatoes.

i mean, shit, a little mark here or there, the kiss or the o hug
would go a long way in determining intent,
although i confess that fucking ;) sign is irritating,
i use it too much, and i agree to relent.

i think i'm done, folks,
i know i've said it before,
but this computer living
has rightly sucked my soul.
i deserve all that's been done to me
for thinking a keyboard can replace flesh,
no amount of precious words typed
can replace a real live cum-and-clit-juice sesh.

as sandwiches go, though panini and bacon rules,
it's not as much fun as a skin sandwich
when you and your lover are intertwined, mashed together, combined,
and the dreams are real, and you two drool

into each others' mouths, it's a sex thing.

facebook, twitter, foursquare, and the rest
are technological marvels, and garbage.
meeting furries has lost its initial joke,
everything you type will become a tired meme,
words have been completely vacated of their power
when you put a little knocked-out Pacquiao pic beside them.
all there is now is irony, there are no real feelings,
love has been banished to the Heaven Universe,
easy hate to the Hell of our Hearts.
online communication is a band-aid,
rip it off and address the actual bleeding gaping wound,
talk to your flesh friends, make flesh love.

18, legal, and the four of our eyes lock,
before long, we had forgotten what we typed,
that was all a blur, deleted or restored, didn't matter,
we were born again anew
in a bed of birth,
we were ripe
and ate one another,
as if computers died but rivers and streams remained,
no need for green technology, only green,
primeval mountains and trees and dinos roaming
awoke our fucking, later on the rooster's cry did that, millions of evolution years later,
a million years wrapped up into my cock entering her ass,
all nice wonderful

we were keen and supreme and believed and were free,
no status updates, no CNN scrolls, no plug (except the butt plug), no tweets


Monday, March 11, 2013


1. what is the most revealing thing you have ever worn in public? the easy answer is nothing, and that is the answer i'll go with. contemplate nothing with me for a will think about that now for eternity, long after you've been shoveled into the ground.
2. have you ever unwittingly showed more than you wanted to in public due to a wardrobe malfunction? hello, blogworld, my name is Janet Jackson...Justin's lagging behind...
3. are you more likely to arrive at an event under- or over-dressed? in true rock-star fashion (fashion, get it?), i'd arrive fashionably (fashionably, get it?) late. please invite me to your next event, blog friends, i'm leaving for good this summer.
4. regale us with a story about how you came to an event and wanted to leave immediately because you realized you weren't dressed correctly for the event: oh man, something happened to me in college, shock i know...yeah, that was fucked-up...beet-red face over
5. what is the one thing that a man/woman/vegetable/lover wears that you look upon with passion? when my dream lover, my favorite blogger, wears that wedding dress on our wedding day...we will serve vegetables passionately cooked with a wok...the vegetables will also don wedding dresses and sharp black suits, the pickle will look the smartest with his top hat and tails
6. what is the one thing a man/woman/vegetable/lover wears that you hate with a passion? hate is such a strong word, hate destroyed my life, i need to learn to channel my anger and angst into constructive song melodies and make billions like my hero Trent Reznor did...but seriously, what is up with banana hammock thongs? only a certain British comedian can wear them with dignity, the rest, no. i mean, maybe the cucumber can pull it off, i can see the radish having his way with the babe carrots, but the broccoli, for-fucking-get it.
bonus: okay you have this thing called a friend who spent shitloads of money and time getting all gussied up for this imaginary event you go to to make yourselves feel better about yourselves. so after weeks and weeks of planning and tailoring and primping, the friend makes the grand entrance with the dress and it's horrible, horror-movie terrible, just plain bad. do you talk or keep your mouth zipped? friends above all should be honest with one another. tell the painful truth, a friend will, a yes-man won't. of course you will lose that friend as a friend, which begs the question: what's the point of friends if you can't keep any friends?

Friday, March 8, 2013



THEN, please choose your perfect reaction from amongst the following (i love the sound of the word *amongst*):

1) that's not good...

2) and not a single fuck was given all the angry ocean

3) in life, the waves come and go, the successful, well-intentioned marriages must flow with them.

4) in life, the waves cum and go, only the strong and well-monied can ride through them.

5) "see, honey, if we can get through this, we can get through all the cheating you did..."

6) this was supposed to come during the divorce, not now.

7) i do, i blue.

8) " salt in my mouth...not that kind of salt...yet..."

i do agree with the youtubes, those are some awesome if unintentional wave action shots there with that burning sunlight. i mean, pro surfers don't get portfolio pics that good.


Wednesday, March 6, 2013


fronty pic 2 of 4: don't want to jinx myself, but i think i finally remembered the right scan position on the glass
clicky pic 2 of 4: i need someone to lick my chest wounds, i'm too tired

he stalks me in the middle of the night,
door slightly ajar, not a sound on the carpet,
i wake up with a disturbing weight on my chest,
lungs are working overtime to stop it.

he doesn't understand the chest is how humans breathe,
to him it's just another area of space to conquer,
so he plants himself smack in the middle of my heart
as if to say my heart is of no matter.

rude awakening, no use getting back to sleep,
those hours are forever lost as is your life,
might as well attack the very day you're friends with,
this is not how friends should co-survive.

when i cook my hard-boiled eggs,
i take two already-prepared and frozen from the bag,
a bag dripping with egg juice,
and place them in a pot deliberately oversized to avoid the bland.

soon the water boils and boils, toils and troubles,
and a great wave of steam emanates,
i place my frail face over this steam
and let the year's pain pimples for one second forget.

ah, the feeling of forced heat upon one's visage
forces the body to really get up and acknowledge,
it warms an ice-cube heart frozen from rejections
to stand up and beat again, for it is still human.

he mews and cries and wails as usual,
elongates his body straight up to the eggs
on a table not so high that he can't reach,
but one taste of my breakfasted finger is enough,
he's smart, he's learned that he's more of a bacon.

so i'm taking a shower and what should appear
as i'm collecting the three towels and drying my hair,
but his paw through the under-door slit, what a frightening sight
when you're not expecting anything but watery delight,
it made me faint, inside at least,
i called out to him to make sure he was okay,
there's something quite strange about addressing just a paw,
the familiar mew, and i realize what's what,
the torrent of wind and rain outside scared him,
must close the damn window in that room when the weather acts up,
an indelible paw has serrated my imagination,
a lasting image of our time together,
the adventure continues, another hard-boiled sauna
must be on the agenda tomorrow.

it just has to



Monday, March 4, 2013


1. what did you give up for Lent? ah, my childhood, when i still believed...
2. what sexually could you never give up? with all due regard to JOE BIDEN, i would LITERALLY be dead right now, not typing this but dead, if i couldn't masturbate twelve times a day, with one of them being a real cum gusher.
3. what act would you like to do for 40 days and 40 nights? rubbin' the genie lamp...huh? huh?...asking for 3 wishes...huh? huh? can't ask for more wishes as one of the 3 wishes...huh? huh? always end up having to use your last wish to erase the horror you created with the first two wishes...and screenplay class is over for today, folks...time for me to pick a corner and get ready for the cum gusher.
4. what sexual sacrifice have you made? why? it's more of a choice, i realize that true love lasts longer than mere dirty sex, at least one day longer until the divorce, so i have invested all of my time in pursuing true pristine love rather than more generic porn. it's going well so far, i just started three minutes ago...
5. have you ever been tied to a cross or anything else? getting symbolic here, my Cross, my Burden, is living this life on this terrible blue marble, i want out, i want to get onboard the Starship Enterprise and explore other star systems, the Klingon Home World, i want to fuck green-skinned babes...even those Klingon babes with that armor with the open middle that showcases their hot pushed-up tits, and you combine that with the feral nature of the Klingon species in general, can you imagine Klingon sex? yeah, a human would die from it, but what a way to go, you orgasm like you never had before then LITERALLY get eaten're dead, but it was worth it...cum gusher serves as a salad dressing for the meal...the meal being you the human.
6. what part of your body do you like worshipped? worshipped here meaning licked and sucked, that would be my straight long tentpole glistening-with-your-spit ba-boing-ba-boing-boing cock
7. what can your partner do to you to make you feel pure bliss? no partner, but i can imagine the perfect answer: just be you, my bliss comes from you just existing and being yourself. *AAAAAAAAWWWWWWWWWWWWHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH* see? i'm going for true love now, not sex. Oprah says to always bet on you, but i lost my pirate fortune gambling, so i'd rather bet on my imaginary true love.
bonus: tell us about a time you were tempted. did you resist or give in? gave in, i tried, i gave up (Nine Inch Nails), the end, fade to was over some uninteresting thing like the rent or something...couldn't was either the chicken or the fish...the peanut butter or the landlord's big-assed daughter...choosy Moms choose Jif...i "smelly tuna", i ate that "tuna" like i was eating my true love's clit...ended up swimming with the fishes...and the tuna...