Ok ok, so here we are again for another week in the mind of a master of the Primus inter pares effect or was that victim of imposter syndrome? Hmm I don't know maybe I should go down to the hardware store and grab some dynamite.....then throw it at a Brady Bunch parade while quitting lines from Frasier. But I never was a big fan of Frasier or Mr T chains...I was more a fan of drinking diesel and dressing up like an Islam fundamentalist in with a chainsaw for Halloween and passin out toilet sandwiches with a thousand yard stare....
A Moment Plz
Don't appreciate me because I hate you. This is like a debate of how debase I can be, and since no one in my household can or does read my blogs I get free reign for the next....ten years of so. I guess its like being a porn star, it's cool till your kids get old enough to know. Unless of course you don't care and want to mentally scar them....well I suppose them going to get their jollies and seeing mom or dad's naked ass on the screen with donkey Jake or huge Helga wouldn't really help their mental condition any...so maybe just come out and tell them you did it even if you didnt?
Tonight only on roadhouse.....no not really but you sure did drop some pie thinking roadhouse had a series. Well that or thinking that episode of family guy was back on, and haven't you noticed Im banging these blogs out like the fags over at Trion bang out gimpy Iranian dudes? That's an inside joke....well Im sure by this point no one will get it but hey it's worth the effort and a word is a word just as well as a turd is a candy bar laying on the bathroom sink at Walmart. Yes I have heard about people shitting in candy wrappers, though I have not seen it I whole heatedly do believe that shit....literally no pun intended is true.
Every time I think I can sit back and take another break from the blog....it sucks me back in. It's like the worlds in Seinfeld....and no I wont explain them if you don't know about the worlds....I used to play online games, or just games in general well, too much. Now even before many more major responsibilities are to come crashing down on me...and not like looney toons I mean like utter splat powdered bone and intestinal juice crashin level shits, I just quit playing. Why? I don't know, maybe because I quite smoking some time ago, maybe because I finally got tired of the established you do this being dictated by some no dick never got pussy even if they paid for it fan bois that still live in the mom's basement. Maybe it was because people I know trying to epeen on a game that I was better at but didn't have enough time to spend my entire life on proving it.
The C Word
So I'm a cynic it seems. I know your probably getting back up off the floor right now because like me you were knocked out of your chair in shock on that one. But In looking on these here inter webs it seems maybe I have become a soft cynic? You know that just sounds nasty kinda like....aids infested SARS spreading glass eye chicken head. Soft....fucked up word to men, soft is OK if its my bed or chair or like a cookie, but not my cynical nature. So what if you are a cynic because its your thing?
For The Critique
The Sinatra is on, its not too late but not early, and here we are. Well here you are since I have long since written this and went about my business. The issue I regret to inform you for this piece of pseudo entertainment is.....well, I was going to say because I have no material but that's why you take notes as inspiration hits especially when the ole short term starts going south like a pair of knockers on an eighty year old hooker.
When you sign up in a relationship...there are a couple of things...at least in my world you should consider. One of these is does this female have friends? Family? Anyone that may keep her sole attention off of you if so needed. This also goes for your Gomez Adams lookin asses too men, not having any friends or selling them up river when you get the first taste of that promise of pussy is like playing Russian roulette with six bullets. See you do not want the whole universe to be your or her, this is really really self destructive ego maniacal self absorbed self conscious ridiculousness.
Back to Basics
Maybe we should go back to basics. Smoke cigarettes drink booze and go hoe hopping. Maybe just kick back and relish in the style that these motherfuckers picked up in the way back machine like their name was Mr. Peabody. I don't know where the sense of sensibility bit me but I think it has so I have to take a time out everyone once in a while to show that reality though I am a master of it....still holds no true chains on me. I can escape it just as well as any internet slum whore you see down on the corner of Madison and Orleans, though I choose to not to share this fate when I step back from the real, I still need a vacation every once in a while.
How many notches I gotta carve out to show you that I'm the sole survivor? I've overcome odds by doing nothing, by bending like water with the sun beating me down under the influence of quikcrete. Then I see these people that claim to be something or more than I am or ever have been shitting where they eat everyday. I suppose that's a sign of high society though like fucking your sister though right? They make me think of a cum dumpster chew toy and bag of Cheetos. Its just so funny to see someone obsess over something or someone, intangible how do you know your not talking to a gangrene wallflower in a pair of corduroy's working off their Ablilifi debt? How do you know its not a big floppy dick on the other side of that wall of text? Or...is it that you secretly want it to be sure it's a fat cock special waiting on the other side of an IM or text message?
Was it a lull you were looking for? Was it some kind of bedtime story put together for your juvenile amusement? Oh, oh especially at my expense that's the best kind of jokes right? Yeah. I don't think so. I don't think you quite understand where this line of questioning is going....how about....I'm drunk...well drunkish tonight something you no doubt will never see cause as I affirmed many times in print and shouts I'm all dick after midnight. Such a reassuring thought for all of you I'm sure, women that is men can get shot stabbed beat maimed and none of it has anything to do with dicks like you are hoping fuckers.
About the Author
Your Saint For Suicide as seen on Blood Into Blog.