Saturday, February 21, 2004

Just Act Like You've Got a Brain

My mom used to always tell me that when I was growing up. She is a sassy fun woman. I'll talk about her later today. Right now I have to vent a little.

And if that inbred, white trash, honky cracker, sister fucking, goat sucking, "It's my gawdamn Raybull flag stoopid muther fuukin faygit. Ha uck yuck," piece of excited southerner shit does not stop FIRING his GODDAMNED GUN........I am actually not going to do a thing about it. I do wish he would stop though. It is loud and obnoxious.

Sweet Boy is no more. Well, he is not dead or anything nor have I stopped speaking to him. I am just not going to chase after him anymore. Well, I am still going to chase him, but I am not going to hide in the bushes outside his apartment while smearing cheese whiz all over my body. I will at least stop doing that. Well, I will at least stop doing that on Sundays.

Basically, I think that I am after someone who I will never end up with. I was not sure about it until I went to kiss him yet again, and he did that whole duck to the right, backhand spring, Matrix float, "let's just hug" thing. Which would be fine if he were not ready to even kiss. However, he has screwed four different guys in the past three weeks. I asked his best friend, Little Gay, what he thought I should do. Well actually I told him that I am kind of tired of being hung up on Sweet Boy because I feel as though I am just being played with. I then told Little Gay about me being down with the sickness. He then had this very enlightened look on his face.

"So THAT'S what he meant!"
"So what's what who meant?", I asked Little Gay.
"Well, Sweet Boy told me that he really likes ya alot, but he could probably never be in a relationship with you for certain reasons. That must be what he meant."
"Must be," I muttered as the orange haired IHOP waitress asked if I needed more unsweet tea.

Remember when I went off about the little blond haired 19 year old in my entry Apparent Lepper? And remember what kind of pissed me off the most about him (other than his sunburst sphincter attitude)? I am really hoping that if Sweet Boy decides that he cannot even attempt to ever be with me because of "the hiv" he will have the balls to tell me. I know he has them. I have felt them before in a friendly grope. I just hope he doesn't make me castrate him.

What else is going on? The redneck neighbor is outside shooting his gun. It is a good thing too. Apparently, there are plastic deer running amuck thru the streets of my little town. If it were not for him, we could all be killed. Oh the huMANitY!! Sometimes I swear to the gods that everyone in this town, my family excluded, was scraped from the bottom of the same gene pool.

It is a pity that no one ever told them about the consequences of inbreeding.

Friday, February 20, 2004

Bedwetter's Dream

I probably need to be in bed right now, but I don't care. I am wide awake. Actually, why the hell should I be in bed? I am off work tomorrow/today, I am not at all sleepy, I am not yet drunk, and YOU'RE NOT THE BOSS OF ME!! I can stay up all night if I so choose. Quite frankly, I think I just might do that. I mean, sleep is so overrated. It is so, like, 1993 or some such shit.

Speaking of sex, let me tell you about a sex dream that I am always having. Okay, so it all started a year or so ago. I got naked, ate a Twinkie, made sweet love to a watermelon, and went to bed (Shut the hell up. I do not judge your pre-sleepytime rituals). So anyway, I had this dream where I was in France. I was sitting down at an outdoor cafe. It was late spring/early summer and the trees were partially full of blooms. I could hear generic French music in the air. There were alot of Mary Poppinsesque blue birds everywhere. I was sitting there having coffee and talking. The conversation was awesome. I laughed. I cried. I bought the t-shirt. Seriously, the conversation was outstanding. I sat and spoke and spoke and laughed and laughed with my coffee drinking companion. I wanted to never wake up. The only thing I could not figure out was how the hell does he pick up his coffee mug while wearing that claw glove. It made no sense to me. Oh yea, I was having coffee in France with Freddy Krueger. So we sat there and spoke for the longest time...he really is a funny, funny man...but eventually the coffee ran out.

As he finished his cup, Freddy looked at me with great disappointment and said, "Well, Preston, I'm sorry and I hate to say it, but it is time. You know that I don't want to, but it is sort of my thing."

"No, Freddy, don't apologize! Seriously, I totally understand! I mean, it is what you do. It's cool, seriously," I reassured.

All at once the scene changed. I was in the boilerroom and Freddy was chasing me in an attempt to kill me.

So anyway, I woke up. Well the next night, upon going to sleep, I believe I found myself in the cafe once more. It is hard to remember now. At any rate, he took me out on a date. Freddy is so romantic. We ended up back at his place. Now, I am going to spare the details, but MAN!!! WOOOO!!! It was the best sex I have ever had. Be that dreamt or real. It was da proverbial "bomb"! I still do not understand why anyone ever actually used that term. "Da bomb" I mean.

Okay for the next week I was running home and going to bed early because I knew that Freddy was waiting on me. Every night for a week and a half we would have dinner somewhere, then go and fuck. Then, we'd finish and fuck some more. Il est tres romantique.

Well anyway, Freddy and I did not see one another for a month or so. He then came back to me for a couple of weeks of extremely erotic sexual escapades. Then nothing. Then he came back. Then nothing again. Then back again. I have decided that his line of work is more demanding that mine and he therefore travels alot.

Well, the last time I saw him was just before the movie 'Freddy vs. Jason' was released in the theater. Freddy and I were walking thru the streets of New York, hand in claw, and talking. People passed us but did not look twice. Only in New York I suppose. Well, I basically told him that I had missed him and that he was so going to totally kick Jason's pussy ass. Freddy, being the modest man he is, told me that either of them could win and that it would be an interesting and fair fight. I said yea it was going to be interesting and fair, but he was still going to kick Jason's pansy ass. (I will not ruin the movie's ending for those of you who have not yet seen it. By the way, what the fuck are you thinking not seeing some goddamned 'Freddy vs. Jason'?!?! That is fucked up dude! Like seriously.) He just got all shy and may have blushed...hard to tell...then said that he did hope to win. After walking and talking to him for several minutes, he had to leave. He said that he had to go and take care of something. I said my goodbyes and watched as he crossed the street avoiding being hit by one car. There was a little old lady with lavender hair. She was walking a poodle whose hair was the same color as hers. I watched Freddy from across the street as he stabbed her in the stomach repeatedly, disemboweling her.

I just looked at him, shook my head, grinned, and said, "Oh Freddy!"

I don't know why my dreams are always so fucked up. The sex is always good though.

Thursday, February 19, 2004

Appendix Food

Sitting at work is kind of boring. Granted, I am being paid to be here. Well, they TELL me I am being paid to be here although I have yet to see any money. I feel as though I have somehow managed to sell my soul to the Dark Prince without realizing it. It is not so much that I'd even mind it if my soul is, in fact, sold. However, I feel like I need to be getting something out of the deal. Actually, I take that back I am rather fond of my soul. Not that I have ever seen it. At least, I did not realize it if I saw it.

I have decided that man's soul is his appendix. It serves no known purpose, and if it goes bad, you die. I read an article somewhere that said that the appendix was developed way back in the day to help digest all of the salt that was used to keep meat from spoiling. Now that we have refrigeration, it serves no purpose. I still say that the soul of man is his appendix. The soul of woman is her hips. I have no reason for believing this other than I want too. I mean, why not?

So Elloise is obviously Buddha reincarnate. I went to the Wal-Mark and bought sixteen more glue mousetraps. She is still not stuck on one. Obviously, she is put in my room to serve some higher purpose. What that purpose is, I do not know. I think she has taken up residence in my computer desk as I usually see her running around back there. She doesn't chew on the wires or anything, and she has not crawled in bed with me again. She stopped after I mentioned that she should not get in bed with someone unless invited. She is such a little whore. Everyone says so. Damn her! I think I am in love.

So I have decided to not call Sweet Boy until he calls me. Why? Well, I decided that I call too much. Not call too much...more like I am always the one placing the phone calls. Does that make sense. No, I think not. Okay let me try again. I am not calling him too often (I'm not calling him 40 times a day or anything.), but I am the one who has to make the phone call too often (He does not call me enough). Basically, he text messages me saying, "Call me," then I call. There. I think that made more sense. So it is not that I am obsessively calling his ass, it is just that I am the one who must always make the phone calls. Actually, it really does not bother me. I am just ranting. Why do I rant? I do not know. Why do you breathe? I do not know that either. Your breathing and my ranting are just two more of life's little annoyances. Get off my back!!

Damn you, The Man!!

Wednesday, February 18, 2004


So I am sober tonight and decided to actually read what I wrote in the entry "G-O-D-D-A-M--M-O-U-S-E (to the theme of Mickey Mouse Club)".
Okay so NN told me that she needs to meet this guy as I am head-over-heels for him. I thought that was odd of her to say as I am not at all. Upon reading what my drunken alterego wrote about him, it is no wonder that she said that. I mean what the shit hell fuck?!

To Clarify:

When I wrote that I had had WAY too much wine, puked for a couple of hours before passing out, and woke up with a helluva hang over that lasted for the greater part of two days. And when I am drunk I should I put love with every Tom's Hairy Dick that I see. As I have been seeing Sweet Boy and had him on my mind, my Mr. Hyde side had to profess his undying love for him. Did I mean it? Not exactly. What do I mean by not exactly? Well, I mean not at all, basically. Is he still a sweet boy? Yes. Am I still interested in him? Yes. Does he meet all of my "Ken" criteria? Yes. Are we about to become eunuch, lesbian lovers who run away together to San Fran, get married, buy a kid, and settle down in the country with a white picket fense? Taint no way in hell.

In Summation:

Like him?........................................Yes.

Love him?.......................................No.

Still sweet?.....................................Yes.

Swooning a bit?...............................Yes, just a bit.

Eunuch lesbians?..............................Not that I am aware of.

A Somewhat Sing Songy Poem of Sorts

This is not going to be a typical entry for me so feel free to not read it. It is a poem I wrote in my head on my way home tonight. And to my readers who may think you know to what this is all in reference, chances are you do not. I'll explain later, NN.

A Simpler Place in Time

What I would not give to go back to fifteen
When things that I now know had not yet been seen.

When this "lifestyle" had meaning, though not based on truth
Back to the paragon of innocence, the ignorance of youth.

When statistics were statistics. Only numbers, nothing more.
Before I became a number pinned down on that floor.

When the worth of a man was most often based
On his actions and character. Not his wallet and face.

Before keybumps and nosebleeds, blackouts and debt
Before heartache. Before sorrow. Before withdrawal. Before regret.

Back to romantic visions of forbidden bliss
Before reality ordered these visions dismissed

No tomorrow's tomorrow, the future never quite here
And tomorrow's yesterday, remaining a month and a year.

Oh, what I would not give to go back to fifteen!
When things that I now know had not yet been seen.

Okay that is all I am writing for tonight.

Monday, February 16, 2004

G-O-D--D-A-M....M-O-U-S-E (to the theme of Mickey Mouse Club)

"Squeak! Squeak! SQUEAK!!"
"What the fuck is that?" I thought as I awakened Sunday morning after a long night of rich, pretentious faggotry and my Sweet Boy. Slowly opening my eyes, I am momentarily blinded by the afternoon sunlight pouring through the tacky fire-engine red miniblinds of my sister's old bedroom. "Squeak! SQUEAK!", I again hear. Rolling over slowly with a big smile on my face because I am thinking of my Sweet Boy and his cute little innocent demeanor, I notice I have a bedmate. "JESUS, MARY, and JOSEPH!!!", I screech while leaping to my feet, abandoning all thoughts of Sweet Boy. What kind of backwoods, third-world shit hole, sixth circle of Hell CRAP is this. A MOUSE!!! IN MY BED, nonetheless. Right next to my face. It could have been curled up asleep in my mouth for all my partially hung over ass knows. Fucking flipped to say the least. I tried to find it, but all I found were the chocolate sprinkles it left behind on my sheets. OOOH NO MA'AM!!! It is one thing to climb up in the bed with my ass without asking, BUT it is an ENTIRELY different thing when you crawl up in MY bed and shit! I'm not having it! Was not even remotely amused. So basically, I have spent the greater part of the day in a war with the mouse. I will call the mouse Ellouise. If I have mispelled it's name, I will fix it later. So Miss Ella has been running in and out of my sister's old and my new bedroom all day long. I have those mouse glue traps all over the room. I decided that I would outsmart her bitch ass and line them up in the doorway. That way, she will not be able to run around them.

So I am sitting down there watching "Magnolia" (which is an excellent movie that I highly recommend) when I see her cunt ass run halfway under the door. She ran halfway under the door, stopped, stuck her tongue out at me, squeaked, "Bring it on crackuh!", then turned and ran back out the door. Slightly pissed was I. I double checked all the glue traps to make sure that there was no way for her to run around them. Being pleased with the results of the inspection of Operation "Sticky Clit," I went back to lying in bed and watching my movie. About twenty minutes later I notice some activity on the floor near the bedroom door. Ya know what that little hooker did? Her ass did a fucking hundred yard dash down the corridor, went under my bedroom door, and LONG JUMPED her ass over everuh mother fuckin one of those goddamned glue traps. OOOH NOOOooo...! My ass can take alot of things (and has), but I refuse to be outsmarted by a goddamned mouse named Ellouise. HUH uh! Not havin' it!

So you know I have, due to the events of today, had a few cocktails and am feeling a bit Shaquita Marie tonight.

Anyway, tonight I am spending the night on the sofa of the den with Mr. Bear, my teddy bear protector since age four. I covered my bedroom floor with glue traps, closed the door to the bedroom, and covered the corridor floor with glue traps. If that fucker is not stuck on one of those mother fuckers in the morning, I am going to 1) Forget about her as she obviously has done something right soas to deserve to survive, 2) Start a religious cult called the Loyal Order of the Ellouise, 3) Sue the company that makes those god forsaken glue traps. Enough about Miss Ellouise.

I stopped smoking again today. I decided that I need to as smoking serves no purpose whatsoever other than keeping me from going on a shooting spree. What is life without a good shooting spree now and again I always say. At any rate, no more cigarettes for me. Hopefully, I will not gain any weight. If I do, I will start smoking once more. Until someone comes up to me in a bar and says, "Oh my god! Your lungs are FUCKING HOT!!!", I am going to be more concerned with my outward physical health and appearance than that of my innerself. Conceited? Sure, but I really do not care. Some guy came up to me Saturday night and told me that I am too cute to be smoking and that I need to put my cigarette out as he has asthma and has to inhale my second hand smoke. I told him that if he has a problem with my smoke then he really needs to go somewhere other than a bar which is 75% smoker filled and no, I am not Jewish. Oh yea, he asked me if I am Jewish also. He has a thing for the Jews. I do too, but I am really REALLY into noses. I know it is odd, but whatever. When it comes to noses, the size really does count to me.

I have decided that I am most definitely swooning for Sweet Boy. Swooning hard at that. Still no kiss. Still no sex. Still nothing other than hugs, pecks, and the occassional innocent grope. Maybe, for all you breeders out there, you do not understand the concept of the "innocent grope." Basically, it is feeling or being felt up by another member of the same sex. Nothing is meant by it. It is almost the equivalent of a hand shake or a post game slap on the ass. At any rate, the fact that he wants to take things short bus slowly is making me want him so much more. It is not so much a need to fuck. It is more of a need to say that he is mine. Not in the possessive sense of the word. More or less I just want and am needing to say that he is with me. I am his. I am his protector. I am his provider. I am his for whatever he may need. The reason I think I am swooning so hard over him is because, with him, if we were to never have sex, I think I would be totally content with it. If we were to stay together as a couple for any extended period of time and he was never ready to go "all the way," it would not bother me in the slightest. I enjoy his company and his personality that much. Should I be saying this? No, I definitely should not as we have only been sort of seeing each other for a week or so, but I cannot help it. I am a good judge of character. He is genuinely nice. Not to say that he will not change or that I will not for that matter, but the Sweet Boy that I have gotten to know in the past week or so is exactly what I am looking for in a relationship. He fits all of the "Ken" criteria. Actually, you do not know what I mean when I talk about "Ken." "Ken" is the characteristics and standards I always look for in a guy. Sometime I will describe each to you. For now, all I will say is that Sweet Boy does meet them as of now. Granted things with him could and probably will change as they often do, but for now, I could see myself being with him or a guy like him for a very long time. He is just great.

Swooning and swooning hard.