IT'S A SUMMER BALLSBUSTER AT THE *BOX* OFFICE! A-*HEAD* OF ITS TIME! FOUR-AND-A-HALF STARFISH!

CLICK HERE, RIGHT HERE AT THIS LINK, AND ENJOY THE LONG HOLIDAY WEEKEND WHICH YOU ARE IN FACT ALREADY IN THE MIDST OF...





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SSS: BETTER THAN A SMILE

*CLICKY CLICKY*

click above for #3 of 4

armor

guess what the F stands for?



misanthrope, dry, given up on the world/
glide, glide into my mouth, rest/
i eat like Pac Man all the world's trash/
this is really for the best.

i have learned, i have fucking learned/

congressman, high, figured out the real rules/
realized, realized he did not have the key/
change comes with money and responsibility
and secret men most importantly/

i have learned, i have learned fucking/

as i take a breather from all this typing, i lie down on my bed alone, thin sheets over me now that it's summer, slightly-cracked window to let the less-hot air in to combat my hot air. i really should have done this from the beginning, my mind is comforted by taking a 30-minute mental-health break, closed eyes, no tv or other digital distractions, the key is not to sleep, that's cheating, but rather to meditate, to lie in the absolute quiet and calm, to really feel your cells moving and soothe your nerve endings, to see as your eyes are closed, to see, see, see the black calm miles forward through my convoluted brain into the other side of the peaceful coin, an all-white screen.

i have lived, i have loved (i think), i have learned, i am not Alanis, i'm a wandering phoenix bird ready for his next sacrificial burning, this summer heat cooperates quite nicely with that.

i have learned that i am who i am, as Paula Deen would say, "I is what i is", i'm Popeye the Sailor Man, except my spinach is green beans, mmmmmm, green beans with butter, mmmmmmm, broccoli with a little soy sauce, squash with salt, squash with a racquetball racquet, racquetball, what an abomination, the bastard child of tennis, tennis for corporate executives, you can smell the dirty money in the air, wish i had dirty sexy money, just enough money to get by, me and my potential online lover.

i'm a loner, never meant for flesh friends, i can't fight it anymore, i sink into my bed, the water is cruel and suddenly there, downward whirlpool into the pond of my conscience's center, like that Silverchair music video, i have to be calm, acceptance is the first step, right? i was addicted to changing me, i must now be addicted to having me permanent through the winds of life's changes.

i can't snap anymore, i can't get angry at every little thing that goes wrong in my computer life, it's just a computer life after all, it's tissue paper, it's air, it's gone one moment and here the next, always here as a love replacement. sex? yes, but love, that's what the archaeologists are searching for with their outdated equipment, they stumble upon ancient dustpans yet still never learn.

i can only be me, it's literally impossible to be anyone else, it's wasted energy, i am the first human to defy science, i have actually destroyed energy.

THIS, CLICK HERE, RIGHT HERE, TAUGHT ME TO CHASE MY DREAMS.

it's one thing to have dreams and be taught to chase them, it's another to achieve them in the stark reality of a mass of others trying to achieve theirs. heads will get boot-stomped on the way to the stop, be kind to the little people, they catch you or not on the way down. trust exercises are more vital than the Corporation knows, they are team-builders, you need a team around you to achieve your dream, behind every successful man is a hot babe, i can do the cooking and cleaning, dear, be the strong woman that you are, be who you are meant to be, you have enough strength for the both of us, i have no strength at all.

i learned that there is something better than a smile of confidence across my lips, i wear a straight face of acceptance and resignation and calm and inner peace and the loss of will to fight.

i learned, i learned, i learned, i learned...





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TMIT: INDEPENDENCE-FROM-MY-COMPUTER DAY

well, that didn't last long...

Phoenix: Tiger Woods, hi there, hey, i know what you're going through. i'm in a bit of a slump myself...

(Tiger leaves.)

Phoenix (surprised): oh, he left. where is he going? oh, to that little cafe he always enjoys, he's visited there every day this week. man, that dude LOVES that cafe!



1. if my sex life were a film, it would be rated ______: G for General Audiences, nothing to see here but fluff, folks. of course i thought Bambi was G and that ending scarred me for life. i can no longer use the word Thumper in polite conversation, brings up too many images, i have to boast at parties that i "thumped her" instead.

2. i got a body for _____ and a face for ______: i got a body for radio and a face for closed-circuit spy drones.

3. it's extremely sexy when a guy/girl _______: asks me how to get to the beach. i get orgasmic over that, somebody acknowledged my existence. i get so excited that i myself forget to go to the beach. there was a brown bag of money hidden underneath the sandcastle...or was it a bag of needles?

4. doing _____ naked makes me ________ : doing number 1 naked makes me think about doing number 2, and on my froggy days, possibly number 3.

5. in the morning, i am always _____ : alive, despite the horrible death nightmares i experience during the night. i cool myself off with some mint chocolate chip and steak for breakfast, remind myself i am indeed alive in the waking world on this particular plane of existence on this doomed planet by listening to some nice, mellow Nine Inch Nails, and set up for morning meditation. as i zone out, i think about how to alter my brainwaves so i can have the naked dream instead, the one...where...i'm...completely...naked...at SCHOOL?! oh FUCK my life!

6. i would love to ______ in the _______ : jump cannonball into one of those huge plastic display cases full of gallons and gallons of water at one of those wilderness stores. what?! someone has already done that? he's already uploaded it to youtube for the world to see? 10,000 hits? 5,000 likes? 2,000 comments? seriously, why am i alive?

that was a MAD LIBS nostalgia arrow.

bonus: complete the rest of this poem: Roses are red, Violets are blue...

okay, this is my forte, my wheelhouse, i'm all about this, here goes, get ready to be dazzled, wordsmith extraordinaire at work here:

Roses are red
Violets are blue
This is my poem now, bitch, i'm takin' over, i'm better than Jay Z, fuck all the haters, you don't know me! you don't know my life!! JERRY JERRY JERRY

fuck you all, i just wanted to be loved, orange is my favorite color 'cause it can't be rhymed with anything, it doesn't fit in like me in society, amen. i like turtles. i like pie.

CLICK HERE FOR TMI TUESDAY

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UNRAVELING OF (MY) GUT STRINGS

what's the most important item in the news currently? that bloodbath at Wimbledon of course, that unique day when many top seeds in both the men's and the women's were upset or retired due to various ailments COUGH COUGH WET GRASS, all occurring on the same day, an historic clusterfuck for the tournament's future ratings next week. i mean, seriously, what the fuck happened? tennis is a star-driven sport, it's not football or baseball or ball ball, no team, just you, mano v. mano, it's solitary, a loner's sport, that's why i adore it. without the stars, you literally have nothing. watching for the pure love of the game? respect for the sport? rubbish. i tried, i tried one time to watch Djokovic vs. Berdych JUST to watch tennis, my brain couldn't comprehend and went into emergency sleep mode. i have a Ghost In The Shell cyber-brain in case you're wondering. without my stars to watch, my favorites, i can't do it, i fall in line with the rest of the masses who claim that tennis is boring, i have to agree in such cases.

...The Great Fed's career seems to be closing sooner rather than later...

...Sharapova and Serena quarreling over the same man, the same tennis stud who plays on tour. i must meet this man and copy his charms, fuck that VH1 guy's mating techniques, the proof is in the pudding, this dude is getting it done: Serena AND Sharapova? finally something to spice up this rivalry, the head-to-head speaks to this never being a rivalry...it started so well, too, with Shazza's princess win vs. Serena at Wimby which vaulted Sharapova out of Kournikova territory...i love tennis (babes) despite everything...

...Wimbledon's tedious to watch now...

i need my Federer, my Fed, my man-crush. Fed's loss in the second round wasn't just a freak accident i'm afraid, it wasn't just that he was caught up in the upset bug like everyone else that day...

...yeah, also, i forgot, there's no more Sharapova, no Shazza, AND no Azarenka and her sexy grunting, i watch women's tennis for the athleticism...i watch women's tennis for the babes...that was my cyber-brain correcting itself, it will always spit out the truth, it's a machine incapable of lying, like Data the android...

...it's indicative of something more with my beloved Fed. sure, this uncanny defeat breaks that insane consecutive Quarterfinal-appearance record at Slams he held which will probably never be broken...of course we all think his Ultimate Slam Record will never be broken but along comes Nadal and his uncertain, wobbly knees...we thought Sampras's record would NEVER be broken before Switzerland gave up trying to be neutral and graced us with Maestro Roger... but Fed isn't in it for the streaks snapped or the money, money buys happiness. he wants to be THE legend, THE icon. he is still, right? McEnroe recently proclaimed Nadal as the GOAT: Greatest of All Time. ol' Johnny Boy had a little egg on his face after Nadal's curious first-round defeat (his first-ever at a Slam) at this Wimbledon. perhaps not so curious, knees hurt after all. i still like Mac, i love him in fact, he's the best color announcer in tennis history, he should be our very first Tennis Commissioner, but i have to admit, his siding with the Dark Side hurt me. ESPN despises Fed, all of their columns do their utmost to trash him as hard and often as they can, i still don't know what that's about, Fed must have brushed aside an interview opportunity with Bud Collins or something and they've declared war on neutral Switzerland ever since. is it just that they can't forgive the foreigner who broke the American Sampras's record? they will never get over this? is it the posh RF sweaters that Fed wears? that he would be crushed in an MMA fight? that he kind of just lucked into his 17 Majors because he happened to become dominant when the rest of the field became incredibly "weak"? it's one of those chicken-and-egg scenarios: is it that Fed dominated everyone in the field so it seemed easy to rack up all those titles, or were the other players just a bunch of hacks and Fed easily conquered them all just being an above-average player?

go watch the youtube vid FEDERER PLAYING TENNIS AS A RELIGIOUS EXPERIENCE and we can debate more after that...after you don your monk robe and perform your morning chants.

when i was young, i thought nothing would rip baseball from my top throne, i was all about baseball, i played Little League (badly), it was just my thing, there was nothing better. then a wild-haired dude with a dangling earring and a lanky Greek guy who stuck out his tongue like Jordan when he served and ate a ton of bananas during sideline breaks entered my tv screen, and tennis was born for me. my love of tennis is fierce, blessed, from the womb, feral, sticking, all-consuming, forever, forever, forever. i played tennis, this was my sport, my life, my girlfriend-replacement, my love for a good five years or so, i had the goods to become a pro, if only i had taken that chance, slid into that one year or so of functioning stability to snag myself a Russian model before the depression took its final ugly turn and sidelined me permanently into a black hole. what could have been? it could have been me vs. Fed in The Greatest Match Of All Time at Wimby, me instead of Nadal, final score:

Federer defeats Phoenix 7-6 (14-12), 6-7 (12-14), 7-6 (14-12), 6-7 (12-14), 1002-1000

Sampras was my first love, i loved that strange, awkward guy with the Muppet eyebrows and that fucking one-of-a-kind serve that still can't be beat. that serve won him so many easy points, so many aces, easy points at crucial times, that serve motion landed him a blonde model/actress. hey, that's all life's about for a man, y'know, that and cheese fries.

when Fed came along, i wasn't sure, i sneered at the newcomer, but the dude pulled it off, he broke Sampras's record just six years after Pete's accomplishment, i mean it was an unholy but fascinating thing to watch, this record which was clad in gold that EVERYONE AND THEIR PET GOAT knew would never be touched was broken apart in six short years by this unassuming Swiss genius on the court with the then-flowing hair who looked like Quentin Tarantino. i mean, really? is this happening? but i grew to love Fed, and now i'm a blind devotee of his. don't ask me to choose between the two, let me just have my fun threesome dreams.

then, this week happens, i dunno, Sampras did come back from an early Wimby loss to win the US Open. will this happen for poor Fed? i'm thinking not, i'm thinking he'll probably never again win another major. it was a glorious run, but the point i'm making with all this rambling is i'm thinking that tennis is done for me as a whole. who am i gonna watch now? the Djoker? hell no, he's cool because he keeps Nadal at bay, but...oh shit, am i gonna have to go through the transformation with Novak now and learn to finally love him like the end of 1984, learning to love Big Brother? i have so much love to give, but no woman is willing to accept it...so i slum around with tennis players.

yeah, also, Fed's bombastic claims of wanting to play at the next Olympics at Rio is, i mean, come on, even Superman has his limits. Fed, i love ya, but a kryptonite racquet is being fashioned as we speak, ya feel me? you had that ultimate, gorgeous chance in London to complete your trophy cabinet with the Singles Gold, it was right there for you to snatch, but that insane Del Potro semi the match before just tanked you, huh? plus, the weight of history with Murray in his homeland (sort of) kinda just depleted you to where you saw the Ring, but Muzza (Murray), who looks like Gollum, stole his Precious as Gollum is wont to do.

so close, so fucking close...came back haunted...

folks, i'm done, tennis is dead, tennis died according to a Newsweek article from 1988, but this time, it really is in my heart. what's the point anymore? who will i watch and cheer for and get out of bed for? i used to place my Swatch Watch on the tennis racquet i used to play my dad with early cold Sunday mornings on empty courts (25 cents for one hour), i'd place my watch on the racquet as a symbol, i'd set the watch for early in the morning, 6AM on Saturday and 6AM on Sunday, for Breakfast at Wimbledon on NBC, i made sure to never miss that event, all the pomp and circumstance i associated with tennis while i was watching my heroes Sampras and Fed.

here's my list: Cobain, Reznor, Corgan, Sampras, Fed, and the Zelda games...and cheese fries

i'm done, i'm done with everything, life isn't exciting anymore...wanna go out to the courts with me for a quick hitaround, some volleys and overheads? i once saw monks playing on the same court complex my dad and i used one time, i'm not shitting you, that was definitely a sign about my future. wanna hit with me? wanna hit me? that's it, let it all out, i can take it, that's hot. love-15. 15-love. i love you 15 times over...

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SSS: PRAYER TO THE SUPERMOON

*CLICKY CLICKY*

click above for #2 of 4


Supermoon, i feared you, i bought insurance to protect myself,
but Neil Degrasse Tyson cleared things up with his twitter pizza analogy,
he knocked me out in the first round with his wisdom and my Little Mac finger-arms rested comfortably.

i no longer am scared, i'm calm and composed
enough to compose
this on a blog no one reads or cares about, i am strong enough to pray alone.

the Pac is back,
when i watch his Ghostly Adventures and see that at the end of the 22 minutes
Pac's zit problem disappears conveniently because of the portal,
i wish i had a portal to fix everything,
or at least i wish i had my own tv show.

the kitchen is divided into two spaces, the one that is lit by a bright-white neon bulb
and the other side which has remained dark for 6 months because everyone is too lazy
to screw in a light bulb:

HOW MANY DOES IT TAKE TO SCREW IN A LIGHT BULB? JUST ME, APPARENTLY...AND THOSE NEW PRICE-SAVER LIGHT BULBS ARE TRICKY TO SCREW IN, IT'S NOT AS EASY AS THE SAYING GOES.

what was so important that we denied ourselves light? no wedding or funeral can mean that much, can it? no job or relationship or party or necessary function we thought we needed to attend in order to continue functioning? a function function? it all fizzles away eventually, right? despite our best efforts, nothing remains except the dark

and the light we could have strived for.

finally i take time out of my busy schedule of watching tv shows and reviewing said tv shows to change the damn light, the bulb's glass housing is sick sticky with disgusting dust and grime and bug eggs nesting and making a home there, but it finally gets washed and screwed

and i'm screwed, because i forgot, we all forgot, that this side of the kitchen has a bulb which is yellow, distinctively different from the white side, so now our kitchen expresses a strange hue combination of white and yellow lights depending on which side you are on, a dizzying blend of the two colors if you're standing in the center of the room, bad for the eyes and brainwaves, so it ends up not really being a fix. perhaps that is why we never bothered to change it, our subconscious was allowing us to laze, the inner workings of our daily routines and patterns are forged through years and years of trial and error, i must learn to trust my body more and what it's whispering to me.

as i help Mom with packaging the cookies for the homeless, one chocolate chip in each plastic-bag half, i am blessed to be living this vignette and i pray to the Supermoon that the cookies she and i are preparing don't end up in my hands ten years from now when i am homeless. incurable mental illness has a consequnce, y'know, you can't skirt around the issue forever, ignoring it with video games and pomegranate cider doesn't disappear it, eventually i can't live here anymore.

i've been permanently living in the underground, my hands are stuck to the muddy walls, a doctor is needed to free me, no an archaeologist's pickaxe is needed. i shall become a fossil of futility. i shall never again escape to pop my head outside and breathe in the success, sex, love, money, and happiness of alive, active society. but do i have enough energy for one more song? can i spill a little of the aboveground sunlight onto me and the other mole people gathered here through my extra-sensory perception, by concentrating hard enough, by straining my third eye to recount tales of my past, when i was still healthy and walking down a bustling campus street? it's still the underground, but maybe it can be a

SUNSHINE UNDERGROUND, CLICK HERE, RIGHT HERE AT THIS LINK. 

but it's still my Mom and I jabbering back and forth over nothing, i must cherish this scene, don't know when this all ends, when the Supermoon will decide to strike, i worship out of fear the way any strong system is maintained. i guess i still do fear.

is any of this getting through? are my prayers empty psychological thoughts or are they real Pac-Man scared blue ghosts traveling through space to their intended target? Supermoon, the Sun of the Ancients, whichever Celestial Body will listen, does clasping my hands together, ruining my kneebones on the floor, does this stance help matters? do you hear me, see me imploring you for aid?

i beg you, i beg you, i beg you...let me not get used to begging




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TMIT: I NEED HELP...LOADS...I'M A LOAD

1. have you ever investigated having an open relationship? ever tried to have one?: yes, on many occasions, i take what i can get, i take what's granted onto me, beggars can't be choosers, but they all inevitably failed, i'm just not a strong person i guess, i can't take the slings and arrows of life, i don't know what i really want. you know what i really want? i want sex. no. i want to be happy. no, strike that, i want to be rich. naw, i'm a simple man, i merely want the upcoming new Nine Inch Nails album.

2. do you have any sexual phobias? what have you done to manage or overcome them?: i love that word "manage", that's what i do with my depression, just enough to be functioning, but never really curing anything. i don't have any sexual phobias, i'm into all things weird, so the stranger, the better. i am afraid of getting naked, though.

3. what is the best new sexual activity you've tried in 2013?: guys, there's this thing called a Solo Adventure, i just learned about it on last night's Venture Bros. yeah, it relieves tension, it helps you during the dry spells when you don't have a lover, just make sure you do it in secret 'cause not everyone is cool with you taking work days off to go on vacation, not everyone in society has the same "ticket to ride" as you do, if you catch my ocean drift.

4. have you ever called into a sex advice radio/tv show or written to a sex advice columnist? was it helpful?: no, but i wish i had. whenever i watch old-skool Degrassi, i feel if i had been at Degrassi during the cheesy '80s, i definitely would have raised my hand when Dr. Sally asked if anyone in class felt funny at times, if anyone in class wanted to touch themselves but the Nuns forbade it. as for Dr. Ruth, well, she's my heart, we have a connection, we joke and we learn, now and forever, until the end of time, she's my cool grandmother from another mother.

5. would you use the services of a sex therapist? why or why not?: only if she looked like Helen Hunt...

6. should sex therapists be allowed to engage in actual sexual activities with clients? why or why not?: GOD YES!!!

bonus: recommend any good adult sex-ed books lately? the Madonna Sex book, those pics, i mean, i still can't get over...it's actually Vanilla Ice...also, Archie comics, MAD Magazine, i learned so much more about sex and sex terms from these than i would have with a dry talk from our neighbor Old Man Larry across the street. besides, Mom didn't want me talking to Old Man Larry and his mustache...

CLICK HERE FOR TMI TUESDAY

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REAL LIFE IS SCARIER THAN GARDEN GNOMES

they tried to have this ad banned because it was scaring some folk. folks, imagination is a powerful thing, it can please as well as frighten, leave it to the professionals, they will never harm you, leave it for the out-of-work actors like me and the advertisement industry, those Mad Men know what they're doing, they have the television ratings to prove it.



CLICK HERE, RIGHT HERE AT THIS LINK FOR THE AD


after viewing, in the comments, please list 3 THREE things which caught your eye in this ad. IKEA stands for I Know Everything's Alright. let's calm ourselves with yoga and garden-hose tea. gnomes are our friends, they help protect by planet by killing all the extra elves, they are the only ones willing to do these low-paying jobs, write your congressman for better immigration reform. they got mad here because the nice family was encroaching on their territory. let's keep the garden parties to a minimum and the wild in the wild, that's the solution, i'm a solutions-based individual.

*TURNING THE COMPUTER PROGRAM IN MY CYBER-BRAIN OFF FOR THE WEEKEND*


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SSS: SOMETHING HAPPENS, YOU'RE THEN HAUNTED

*CLICKY CLICKY*


click above to start the new series, 1 of 4, ectoplasm not required to click.

my collarbone story is as permanent as my tats stories...



now see, this is what i mean, the Spurs choking away their NBA Championship Rings last night is exactly what i mean.

in life, many times, more often than not, you have but ONE chance to make something happen, to achieve your dreams. the timelines work with one key at one hole at one location at one part of day for the rest of the years. you have to talk to a specific babe at this corner-shop coffee-shop in order to make the other connections which will allow you to sing on stage for a living and not starve. the Spurs expended all of their energy last night, they knew they had to win yesterday 'cause they weren't winning a Game 7 in Miami. Old Man Duncan stretched his dusty bones to the limit in the first half, the Spurs packed one day's worth of clothes, they wanted the trophy NOW. they were even wheeling out the championship celebration with minutes to go in the fourth quarter, the Heat "fans" were filing out because there were better parties elsewhere i guess and the handy traffic excuse. everybody and their grandmama knew the Spurs had this in the bag, but a couple of shaky free throws and Ginobili flailing away, swimming in costly blunders at the end, and the golden opportunity is missed.

the opportunity isn't just missed, it's forever gone, the Spurs are doomed, last night was their chance, their only chance, they made sure to play well so they could wrap it up, they will not win tomorrow in Game 7, you can book that, they are exhausted physically and spiritually, they are devastated beyond belief. imagine thinking you have something, you have obtained Excalibur, you picture the glorious sword in your hilt, you are touching it, but it is just a dream, the reality is that the Black Knight punked you, beat you over the head with Excalibur while you were daydreaming, and you are left with just your head above ground cartoon-style lamenting the fact that your dream was just that, a dream never rooted in reality. you are still the loser with no sword. so close, so fucking close.

that is my life.

the Spurs won't just lose Game 7 and the Finals and the championship that was there in their hands, they will wave the white flag, they will get destroyed by 30 points, it will be a laffer by Period 1's end. they will show signs of despair and grief, they will try to move to block and rebound, but their bodies will show externally what their internal psyches cannot bear to perceive but still do: they let it slip from their fingers, they couldn't grasp hard enough for a few more seconds.

the Spurs experienced something ghastly, horrible, and now they are haunted. you can see during their press conferences last night that they are haunted. they didn't even really try to cover it up, it was just too painful. sure, Coach Pop gave his reliably empty assertion that everything is okay, the team will simply rebound by getting back on that bus and playing another basketball game, but even the great legendary Coach Pop is being questioned today, his decisions are being challenged, something you could never imagine happening. as Trent Reznor puts it:

I'd listen to the words he'd say
But in his voice i heard decay

decay, that is all the spills out of the poor Spurs as they lean in to the microphone to try to explain their sadness. only i can see it, it physically manifests itself to me, it's a ghostly white trail that issues forth when Ginobili talks about the devastation, Duncan realizes that this is a difficult loss, Tony Parker laments that they were close to the 'chip. the words don't matter anymore, it's the heavy feelings which come out of their mouths, a straight line-drive mist which surveys the press corps then quietly ascends to the ceiling, the after-soul of humans, athletes striving with every cell but coming up short, of grand humans becoming bodies before the weight of failure, the decay of trying, trying, trying but not succeeding.

THE SPURS WENT ON A JOURNEY FOR SOMETHING, BUT THEY CAME BACK...CLICK HERE, RIGHT HERE AT THIS LINK.

this is my life precisely.






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TMIT: 'STOP "LIKING" EVERYTHING,' SAYS THE DAD

HOW DO YOU LIKE YOUR_____________?




1. eggs cooked?: the same every morning, oil in the old, crusty little pan, swirl that around like i swirl my penis in the morning, one egg cracked into the center there, no more swirling, and you have one fried egg. sometimes i treat myself and buy at The Store a bag of already-cooked-but-cold hard-boiled eggs, i steam up an oversize pot of water, let the hot steam hit my face, it's better than an orgasm, and place not one but TWO hard-boiled eggs into the pot to transform them from cold to hot. routine is the key to happiness. i arrange my eggs much like the pic above into a happy face, that necessarily starts the day off happy for me...except i don't give the breakfast face a toast-and-butter hat, that would be ridiculous. while researching this, i entered the weird part of youtube and was viewing vids on some delicacy known as eggs and brains, pork brains in milk gravy...the happy breakfast egg face's bacon-strip lips are turning upside down...

2. your sandwich cut? in half, down the middle or diagonal?: funny you should ask, i go to The Store once a week, they call that weekly, to get my hot sandwich, just a hot sandwich, not a blowjob. since variety is the spice of life, sometimes i opt for the potato wedges and hot wings sitting all morning under a broken heat lamp. they're, well, never tasty, chicken is wiry, potatoes taste like concrete. sometimes it's good, you have to catch it right when they're put into the chafing tray, otherwise they've been coagulating for hours while you were eating your breakfast egg face, and now you have egg on your face. diagonal cut is only for the sophisticated class, thus i choose it, it's pretty and symmetrical and mathematical, Adventure Time!

3. your coffee?: Starbucks, it has to be Starbucks. this isn't me being a corporate shill, it's just that they have through the years transformed me into one of their advertising drone bots by creating those bottles of coffee and mocha Frappuccinos. i distinctly remember the very first time i tried a Frappuccino, it was at Cal, they were giving them away in an ice bucket at the front of the campus gate, never had one before, but i couldn't turn down free drink. i even remember what that dude was wearing who in passing me said to his friend, "yeah, dude, free Frappuccinos, this way." he wore hipster-yellow mittens. never heard the term Frappuccino until then...took an old-college-try swig of the stuff...now i can't bodily function without it. it's weird, though, because although i intellectually realize that the stuff tastes like cat piss, my tongue concurrently sends the signal to my brain that the stuff is good and rich and creamy and milky. science: it fucks with you.

4. your tea?: tea Earl Grey hot, exactly like Jean-Luc Picard orders it. i want to lick that man's strong bald head.

5. your ice cream---cone, cup or condom? yes, that's right, your ears are working properly, we said condom. Google it, just Google it: oh Japan! oh Japan, i love You so! you fit my personality perfectly, you're the grandest combination of creativity and weirdness, a chap like me can only hope to one day live inside you, wriggle inside around you, and never be birthed out. Japan and the UK, hopefully i can set foot in these two brilliant countries before i die alone.

6. you hair---long or short? up or down? straight or curly? permed or natural?: my relationship with my hair led to my depression. i hated my frizzy hair, i always wanted long, nice, straight, raven-black hair like Trent Reznor, but alas, it turned out unmanageably frizzy. curly i could cope with, but it was fucking frizzy and nasty. we tried everything: straightening it, but that became too expensive; crying, which was always comforting; until i made the decision to simply shave my head each month and be done with it. Dad always used to say after each of my monthly visits to the straightening guy's salon, "hey buddy, hey Phoenix," Dad called me Phoenix, "i thought girls liked dudes with a little curl in their hair."

is that true by the way? do the babes like curly hair, is it that straight hair is actually boring? please tell me my online friends.

7. to have sex? in what position?: scrunched up into a tiny ball, otherwise i don't feel the thrusts anymore.

bonus: how do you like your lovers?: real.




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THE UNDERSTANDING MOTHER

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name 3 things that stick out to you in the comments.




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