Guess You Could Call it a Weekend
I'm slowly curbing my drinking to just weekends. This has been a lot of fun.
Ha ha hiiiiiiasdhgh;dhgkfds;hg;dhsag;dshl
So, when Friday rolled around I found myself anticipated a night of drinking.
When it came, I realized it wasn't much more fun than the sober night from before.
Have I found something here? Maybe booze and drugs aren't the maniac ride that I thought would bring me closer to God?
Most definitely.
But, I'll still drink on weekends; even if it ends up I'm puking Hooter's fries and 911 strips into my toilet bowl.
We started off modest, at the piece of shit, non-smoking chain restaurant, Red Robin.
Ross (token black guy), Chris (token retarded guy), and Scott (token Catholic guy) began drinking around 4. After 45 minutes of shitty service (bartender was too busy spinning glasses and checking the receipt paper stock to serve us) we left.
Ross and Chris took off to pick up their sons from wherever and Scott and I went to the Joker for more boredom.
At the Joker we drank.
That's it. Nothing happened whatsoever, and this is coming from a guy who found a way to write three paragraphs about a bag of ice.
Scott's girlfriend showed up from some business trip and Scott left and I took off for Hooters.
Ross was over there with his son and I told him I'd meet up with him.
But, first I stopped off at home.
To my surprise, this credit card company sent me a credit card I signed up for in some fit of desperation.
I now had a grand in my pocket.
I walked down to Hooters.
I thought of calling up a limo, considering I had 1000 dollars in my pocket that I'm too stupid to realize comes with so many chains and shackles that it should have been sent with some prison food.
At Hooters I found Ross drunk. I was drunk as well, so this worked out nicely.
The night progressed and Ross and I got drunker.
When Ross gets drunk he likes to proclaim that every white chick in the place only likes brothers.
I encourage this, as there's no reason to believe the women working in Hooters even like men.
The amount of fake-itude in their delivery of flirts is so unbelievable they remind me of the last woman who told me "You know, I don't usually do this."
So, the night progressed and Ross was dead positive that this waitress that looked freaked out to even serve him had the hots for him.
"Dude, watch, I'm gonna ask her out and she's gonna say yes." I've never seen a man so sure about a woman. I even started to believe in him.
She comes up and before he orders another beer and is right about to plunge into whatever gibberish pickup line he had in mind, she cuts him off.
And not just verbally.
No more booze for Ross.
I quickly made a save and told the woman I was driving. She seemed OK by this, considering she wasn't present for my first eight beers.
I paid for the meal with my newfound riches (that I will be paying for for the next 10 to 12 years) and Ross gave me a ride home.
Once home I decided it was imperative to go blow more cash.
At Tower I purchased P.I.L., Autolux, Nails, Smiths, Primal Scream, LCD Soundsystem and a porno.
Oh, and I threw in some incense.
122 $ (USD).
Gravy.
I decided it was imperative that I max out my new credit card within the weekend.
I didn't make it.
You see credit card companies will decline your card if it's used as if it was just stolen from someone.
And that's just what I was doing.
The following day I blew another 125 on more CDs: Killing Joke, Saul Williams, PIL, Buzzcocks, Brainac, Gary Numan, TV on the Radio, and Cat Power.
I then bought my buddy Rob a 90-dollar wedding gift from Williams Sonoma.
Then, I went to buy a couple packs of cigarettes.
DECLINED!
I had 574 left! What the hell?
I was determined to be in debt for another grand and this credit card company was making it hard for me.
So, I called them up and found out that reckless spending is against their lending policies.
Fascists.
This left me fucked cuz I was going to take Rob and his new wife for dinner.
Luckily, I had some "cash" on another card to pay for it. It's also lucky that his wife was sick and couldn't make it.
At Peso's I got a burrito the size of Italy and Rob and I pointlessly talked about our parents being drunks and what a scum ball George Bush is.
Rob is a recovering Republican.
Sunday I went to dinner at my Mom's and left pissed.
My Mom gets pissed off at my cousin (mentally disabled, living with my Mom) and it ruins the evening.
My cousin is pretty much a 47-year-old with the mentality of a first grader. Everyone understands this, but I'm sure it gets annoying just like raising a first grader.
So, my Brewster's Millions plan of blowing a grand was foiled once again.
Pleace,
matt
Monday, January 25, 2010
Some More Old News
700 for 4
In case you've missed it, upwards of 700 Iraqis have been killed in the last month in retaliation for four American security guards being torched and dragged through the streets in Iraq.
The question here is, and was on 9/11, are we avenging the spectacle or the amount of lives lost?
Four missionaries were killed last month by Iraqi insurgents; how come there wasn't a 700 body bag payback? Could it be that because the missionaries were killed in a more "decent" manner (gunshots), rather than being ripped apart by heathens?
Are we so attuned to the spectacle of death that we avenge with more fervor when murder is played out more brutally than when it is done cheap, without care, and in the manner of taking lives within the swoop of a sub-machine gun?
How many West Africans have lost their lives due to civil war in the past five years? Would it be more than the 3000 lost on 9/11? I bet it would, and yet, because this mass murder is taking place so slowly, and gradually, and without the horrific sight of two ziggerauts falling into a city there is no public outcry that responds with Al Pacino and Robert Deniro answering phones for a telethon.
Sadly, we are tuned to attribute menace to the more shocking of crimes, when the ones that go on and on quietly and with less passion are forgotten.
Which is worse: the man who kills out of duty or the man who kills because he believes it's his duty?
Both men are guilty, and I would even go as far as saying the man who killed out of a belief or an ideal has more moral leverage than the man who killed because he was told to do so.
Why are body counts judged by the manner in which they occurred rather than the actual loss of human beings?
Is it fair to exact a toll of 700 to 4 because their side decided to drag our dead through the streets?
If we continue to react with brute force for spectacular crimes, rather than take aims at preventing the belief that only spectacularly gruesome or spectacularly awesome crimes will get our attention we will continue to stoke the flames of the medieval and Die Hard-esque crimes.
Rather than attack, America needs to comprimise and quit writing opposing ideologues off as nuts. As the sole Super Power left from the Cold War, we (whether we like it or not) have become the grandest hope of any world government that is to work. And if we are not listening to the people of our fledgling global democracy, even if it rails against that very democracy, then we are to continue this cycle of terrorism and retribution.
In case you've missed it, upwards of 700 Iraqis have been killed in the last month in retaliation for four American security guards being torched and dragged through the streets in Iraq.
The question here is, and was on 9/11, are we avenging the spectacle or the amount of lives lost?
Four missionaries were killed last month by Iraqi insurgents; how come there wasn't a 700 body bag payback? Could it be that because the missionaries were killed in a more "decent" manner (gunshots), rather than being ripped apart by heathens?
Are we so attuned to the spectacle of death that we avenge with more fervor when murder is played out more brutally than when it is done cheap, without care, and in the manner of taking lives within the swoop of a sub-machine gun?
How many West Africans have lost their lives due to civil war in the past five years? Would it be more than the 3000 lost on 9/11? I bet it would, and yet, because this mass murder is taking place so slowly, and gradually, and without the horrific sight of two ziggerauts falling into a city there is no public outcry that responds with Al Pacino and Robert Deniro answering phones for a telethon.
Sadly, we are tuned to attribute menace to the more shocking of crimes, when the ones that go on and on quietly and with less passion are forgotten.
Which is worse: the man who kills out of duty or the man who kills because he believes it's his duty?
Both men are guilty, and I would even go as far as saying the man who killed out of a belief or an ideal has more moral leverage than the man who killed because he was told to do so.
Why are body counts judged by the manner in which they occurred rather than the actual loss of human beings?
Is it fair to exact a toll of 700 to 4 because their side decided to drag our dead through the streets?
If we continue to react with brute force for spectacular crimes, rather than take aims at preventing the belief that only spectacularly gruesome or spectacularly awesome crimes will get our attention we will continue to stoke the flames of the medieval and Die Hard-esque crimes.
Rather than attack, America needs to comprimise and quit writing opposing ideologues off as nuts. As the sole Super Power left from the Cold War, we (whether we like it or not) have become the grandest hope of any world government that is to work. And if we are not listening to the people of our fledgling global democracy, even if it rails against that very democracy, then we are to continue this cycle of terrorism and retribution.
DO NOT READ THIS
For Women: Interesting Facts About that Stuff that Some Dude Just Blew on Your Face (IN LAYMAN'S TERMS)
You can have fraternal twins with two different fathers. That's right. Let's say you screw your black husband, and then cheat on him with some Asian dude. Your ovaries decide they're producing two eggs this month and your husband's sperm fertilizes one, and your lover fertilizes the other. Come the birthdays, you're husband will be scratching his head wondering why he now has a full Asian son.
Only around 10% of sperm are made to impregnate you. It's true. The others are blockers or warriors. It's like Alien. The blockers will jam your cervical canals in order to stop some other dude's sperm from getting in; these are the bastards with up to four heads on them. The warriors are even more interesting. They hunt other sperm from other guys. They'll bop heads and "smell" the DNA package atop a fertilizer's head to make sure it's one of its own. If it's not, it will bop it's head hard enough to release a cocktail of sperm poison into the enemy's head, thus killing it.
10% of the world population's fathers are not their biological fathers. That's right, this 10% are sired from some dude their mother cheated on their father with. So, if your father molests you, make sure you get a DNA test before you call it incest.
Sperm live in your body for five days. So, you're fucking some dude and you decide halfway into it you don't like him. You tell yourself you're getting rid of him as soon as fucking possible. Well, he's going to be around (inside you) for five days whether you like it or not. This is all the more reason to give head on a first date.
Your pussy will only hold so much spunk. It's true. But, what's even weirder is that your boyfriend will only blow so much spunk; in fact, only enough spunk to fill you up. So, you're doing your boyfriend for the first time and he blows 500 million sperm into you. Well, you get a wild hair and do it again a half hour later. Your body has rejected a good portion of the sperm in flow back, but it can fit another 300 million. He'll only fill you up that 300 million and so on. His body is biologically programmed to only blow what is needed to keep you jam-packed with his minions.
Women ejaculate flowback. Try it. Go into the bathroom the next time a dude has filled you up. Stand over the bathtub, spread your lips apart and let it go. It will come out like a gusher.
So, now that you know a few choice details about the wonderful world of cum, go get yourself laid.
Pleace,
Matt
You can have fraternal twins with two different fathers. That's right. Let's say you screw your black husband, and then cheat on him with some Asian dude. Your ovaries decide they're producing two eggs this month and your husband's sperm fertilizes one, and your lover fertilizes the other. Come the birthdays, you're husband will be scratching his head wondering why he now has a full Asian son.
Only around 10% of sperm are made to impregnate you. It's true. The others are blockers or warriors. It's like Alien. The blockers will jam your cervical canals in order to stop some other dude's sperm from getting in; these are the bastards with up to four heads on them. The warriors are even more interesting. They hunt other sperm from other guys. They'll bop heads and "smell" the DNA package atop a fertilizer's head to make sure it's one of its own. If it's not, it will bop it's head hard enough to release a cocktail of sperm poison into the enemy's head, thus killing it.
10% of the world population's fathers are not their biological fathers. That's right, this 10% are sired from some dude their mother cheated on their father with. So, if your father molests you, make sure you get a DNA test before you call it incest.
Sperm live in your body for five days. So, you're fucking some dude and you decide halfway into it you don't like him. You tell yourself you're getting rid of him as soon as fucking possible. Well, he's going to be around (inside you) for five days whether you like it or not. This is all the more reason to give head on a first date.
Your pussy will only hold so much spunk. It's true. But, what's even weirder is that your boyfriend will only blow so much spunk; in fact, only enough spunk to fill you up. So, you're doing your boyfriend for the first time and he blows 500 million sperm into you. Well, you get a wild hair and do it again a half hour later. Your body has rejected a good portion of the sperm in flow back, but it can fit another 300 million. He'll only fill you up that 300 million and so on. His body is biologically programmed to only blow what is needed to keep you jam-packed with his minions.
Women ejaculate flowback. Try it. Go into the bathroom the next time a dude has filled you up. Stand over the bathtub, spread your lips apart and let it go. It will come out like a gusher.
So, now that you know a few choice details about the wonderful world of cum, go get yourself laid.
Pleace,
Matt
Jeremy Has Spoken
Raindrops
Sometimes, in the morning, it would rain as we ate breakfast. I would look out the window and think about each rain drop and how long it had taken to come from the Gulf to my breakfast table.
Each rain drop seemed to symbolize how isolated I was from the rest of the world.
After breakfast on those days, I would walk the compound and let the rain fall on my head and think about them as enemy bullets beating my brains into my spinal cord as I felt them, like blood, venture down my body and I would cry...I would cry...you know?
It doesn't rain often in the dessert, so that is where I would go to relax; out of the way of the palace and its confines. I would breath easier out there.
It would just be me and the thorazine. I would shoot up and go running out into the horizon screaming out old Bee Gee songs and scratching at my chest till I bled.
I would imagine I was a Viking running onto a coastal shore and I would make love to the sand as I writhed in withdrawals.
Back at home, I would say nothing about my travels. Father was very....uh....see no evil when it came to me. So, when I would come in twitching and shaking, bleeding from the chest down he would tell me that I was "a fine soldier" and move on to his daily duties.
When it would rain at night, I would imagine the rain as shrapnel coming from a mosque that had exploded near by. I would run out into the yard and praise Allah for showering me with the bits and pieces of his temple and the worshippers inside.
I would then return to my room and masturbate to Archie comics. I was young, very young at the time and I would paint myself in Technicolor and pretend I was Archie banging Veronca over the lion statues in the courtyard.
Then I'd play Zaxon and fall asleep....under the rain drops.
That has been another edition of Uday Hussein on....
Join us next week for more yucks and laughs!
For further reading on the history of Iraq:
http://www.mnftiu.cc/mnftiu.cc/fanblog1.html
Sometimes, in the morning, it would rain as we ate breakfast. I would look out the window and think about each rain drop and how long it had taken to come from the Gulf to my breakfast table.
Each rain drop seemed to symbolize how isolated I was from the rest of the world.
After breakfast on those days, I would walk the compound and let the rain fall on my head and think about them as enemy bullets beating my brains into my spinal cord as I felt them, like blood, venture down my body and I would cry...I would cry...you know?
It doesn't rain often in the dessert, so that is where I would go to relax; out of the way of the palace and its confines. I would breath easier out there.
It would just be me and the thorazine. I would shoot up and go running out into the horizon screaming out old Bee Gee songs and scratching at my chest till I bled.
I would imagine I was a Viking running onto a coastal shore and I would make love to the sand as I writhed in withdrawals.
Back at home, I would say nothing about my travels. Father was very....uh....see no evil when it came to me. So, when I would come in twitching and shaking, bleeding from the chest down he would tell me that I was "a fine soldier" and move on to his daily duties.
When it would rain at night, I would imagine the rain as shrapnel coming from a mosque that had exploded near by. I would run out into the yard and praise Allah for showering me with the bits and pieces of his temple and the worshippers inside.
I would then return to my room and masturbate to Archie comics. I was young, very young at the time and I would paint myself in Technicolor and pretend I was Archie banging Veronca over the lion statues in the courtyard.
Then I'd play Zaxon and fall asleep....under the rain drops.
That has been another edition of Uday Hussein on....
Join us next week for more yucks and laughs!
For further reading on the history of Iraq:
http://www.mnftiu.cc/mnftiu.cc/fanblog1.html
An Unfortunate Post
Sexual Abuse is a Rite of Passage for Celebrities
So, Ellen Degeneres has announced that her stepfather sexually abused her when she was a teen.
I guess the lesbian thing wore thin.
What does this mean? This means Ellen is an "adult" celebrity now.
That's right, if you want to be welcomed into the world of celebrity adults you need to fire walk with the best of them. And the best of them were sexually abused.
So, if your dad cornholed you at the age of 14, you may be celebrity material. In fact, if you ever want to apply for a SAG card, you'll probably have to admit that you might have been abused at some point in time, but you don't recall at this point.
Mark the "yes" box under "May have repressed sexual abuse memories."
Look, if you're going to make it in this business you're going to need to know how it feels to have someone violate you anally, and that person is probably going to be someone you trust; probably your manager. And if you're a child star, there's a good chance your manager is your mom or dad; so, it works out well.
Never been sexually abused? Don't fret, there's another option: severe addiction.
As much as I worship the man, Trent Reznor just pulled this one when he went from interview to interview telling everyone how he's freed himself from the bondage of cocaine and alcohol and is now all grown up and ready to say something meaningful.
(APPLAUSE)
Now, if you've read the above you might wonder how successful you would be if you abused drugs and were molested and beaten as a child?
Go to your record store and buy the album Thriller. You'll be the billionth person to do so. And you know who wrote that album? And do you know anything about his past?
But, then again, he self-destructed and is now nine tenths of the way to prison, so maybe the abuse AND the painkillers are just too much celebrity baggage to form a long-lasting star.
But, you're well on your way.
Don't have a drug or a cornholed memory?
Well, you can start using drugs anytime. They're out there.
Hint: go to where poor people live.
Need a good cornhole memory? Make one up. Look, sexual abuse is usually (according to Dr. Phil and other retarded buzzards) repressed. That means, you can wake up one day and decide that someone sexually abused you.
No problem there.
Now, you're almost there. You have your back-story and your addiction. Now, it's just a couple of acting classes and you're there.
You'll probably have to blow Harvey Weinstein on the way, but no big deal.
So, you're wiping Harvey from your lips and you've just scored a cameo in the new Nicholas Cage piece of shit.
You're thinking: I'm almost to the top.
Well, you have a couple of other duties on your way.
First, you have to pretend that celebrity embarrasses you and give off that romantic Kurt Cobain vibe of "I do not want this."
When interviewed, make sure you're loaded enough so that as you're thinking about the bees eating your ears the audience will think you're deep.
You're going to also need a pet cause. Go environmental. This way you won't have to deal with the homeless people that make you want to retch every time you pass them on the street. Hug a tree and all's good.
Next up: you've got your own movie. You're the star, it's a killer script, you only have nine lines to try to pull off some stab at acting, oh, and you're Keanu Reeves.
Now, you're on top.
It's time for the Downward Spiral.
You're now realizing that life is empty at the top when there's only drugs and sex as a ladder. You look down and see a wasteland of genitals and needles and you think you're above it.
But, then you look up and there's nothing but excrement and maggots.
You're fucked.
Let the addiction and the painful memories, that aren't even your own, take over and fall into an Axl Rose spiral of Ruffles, whiskey, and fried chicken.
Stay this way for five years and then re-emerge with your heartbreaking story of pain, loss, and redemption.
With any luck they'll make a movie about you. It may or may not be called Ray, The Doors, or Nixon.
Celebrities are bags of offal.
Pleace,
Matt
So, Ellen Degeneres has announced that her stepfather sexually abused her when she was a teen.
I guess the lesbian thing wore thin.
What does this mean? This means Ellen is an "adult" celebrity now.
That's right, if you want to be welcomed into the world of celebrity adults you need to fire walk with the best of them. And the best of them were sexually abused.
So, if your dad cornholed you at the age of 14, you may be celebrity material. In fact, if you ever want to apply for a SAG card, you'll probably have to admit that you might have been abused at some point in time, but you don't recall at this point.
Mark the "yes" box under "May have repressed sexual abuse memories."
Look, if you're going to make it in this business you're going to need to know how it feels to have someone violate you anally, and that person is probably going to be someone you trust; probably your manager. And if you're a child star, there's a good chance your manager is your mom or dad; so, it works out well.
Never been sexually abused? Don't fret, there's another option: severe addiction.
As much as I worship the man, Trent Reznor just pulled this one when he went from interview to interview telling everyone how he's freed himself from the bondage of cocaine and alcohol and is now all grown up and ready to say something meaningful.
(APPLAUSE)
Now, if you've read the above you might wonder how successful you would be if you abused drugs and were molested and beaten as a child?
Go to your record store and buy the album Thriller. You'll be the billionth person to do so. And you know who wrote that album? And do you know anything about his past?
But, then again, he self-destructed and is now nine tenths of the way to prison, so maybe the abuse AND the painkillers are just too much celebrity baggage to form a long-lasting star.
But, you're well on your way.
Don't have a drug or a cornholed memory?
Well, you can start using drugs anytime. They're out there.
Hint: go to where poor people live.
Need a good cornhole memory? Make one up. Look, sexual abuse is usually (according to Dr. Phil and other retarded buzzards) repressed. That means, you can wake up one day and decide that someone sexually abused you.
No problem there.
Now, you're almost there. You have your back-story and your addiction. Now, it's just a couple of acting classes and you're there.
You'll probably have to blow Harvey Weinstein on the way, but no big deal.
So, you're wiping Harvey from your lips and you've just scored a cameo in the new Nicholas Cage piece of shit.
You're thinking: I'm almost to the top.
Well, you have a couple of other duties on your way.
First, you have to pretend that celebrity embarrasses you and give off that romantic Kurt Cobain vibe of "I do not want this."
When interviewed, make sure you're loaded enough so that as you're thinking about the bees eating your ears the audience will think you're deep.
You're going to also need a pet cause. Go environmental. This way you won't have to deal with the homeless people that make you want to retch every time you pass them on the street. Hug a tree and all's good.
Next up: you've got your own movie. You're the star, it's a killer script, you only have nine lines to try to pull off some stab at acting, oh, and you're Keanu Reeves.
Now, you're on top.
It's time for the Downward Spiral.
You're now realizing that life is empty at the top when there's only drugs and sex as a ladder. You look down and see a wasteland of genitals and needles and you think you're above it.
But, then you look up and there's nothing but excrement and maggots.
You're fucked.
Let the addiction and the painful memories, that aren't even your own, take over and fall into an Axl Rose spiral of Ruffles, whiskey, and fried chicken.
Stay this way for five years and then re-emerge with your heartbreaking story of pain, loss, and redemption.
With any luck they'll make a movie about you. It may or may not be called Ray, The Doors, or Nixon.
Celebrities are bags of offal.
Pleace,
Matt
Daddy Didn't Give Attention
I'm actually connected to the internet while drunk.
This is something of a first.
Now I can tell you all everything I really know, without spellcheck or grammar.
I've seen things you can't imagine.
Like this party where everyone was drinking champagne and beating homeless people to death. I think it was called Chuck E. Cheese's.
Oh, God, for out thou when we find a monitor the size of your strength and power we will erect web viruses to download every keystroke you have made.
And I wish I was/were/is you.
You are so beautiful in the infinite light of a Denny's left on late, after dark.
And so beautiful in your vengeful ways; when I shot a load on my laptop and you descended down in the form of an ice pick and stabbed me about the head and neck.
I love you, oh God, my God. My palace in the sky. My winter in the abyss. My salvation for times left amiss. Dear Sally, take this one from me - I forgive you for fucking the help. It wasn't your fault. It turned me on.
Oh, won't someone turn me on? There's no turnon in this abyss. Can you see why we're all pissed. But i regress. I love you Sally, you are my God.
I just possesed a loan of so much money that I keep thinking I might become homeless out of boredom. And I hate the sky. Send the sky down in intervals, don't let me catch it watching me again. It's up there, on high, so high; I wish I were high.
I'm high in this guy's front lawn, puking my brains out and thinking about how I have finally found something tangible in this lifetime.
And I wish I was Robocop. Oh, how I wish I was Robocop.
Robocop
I AM A COMPUTER 0010101011 DON'T DOWNLOAD MUSIC
Brrrrrrzzzzzzzzzzz. Do you feel me? Do you hear me? There's no transmission like the absurd.
The absurd will save the world. Give it time. We'll elect world leaders using a bag of macaroni and nuts. Trust me.
This guy's got a gun to my head and he keeps telling me to move on. It's not like I want to. But, there's this gun hanging onto my head and I can't get rid of it.
I order fast food and I keep moaning "faster" into the intercom and balls and nuts and wreches and dead atrophied cows keep coming out of the speaker instead of words and I feel that I'm on some sort of edge of the universe.
Tick
Tick
TickT
TICKTICKTICKTICKTICKBANG
We find ourselves surrounded by the aboriginals again and we're not sure if we should ask for forgiveness or rape????
Surround yourself with a crow.
Oh, I know? She said in a Valley Girl accent and we beat back the bow.
Like ships sailing on the grave of shit books.
Oh, here we go, we're going again, this will be a mad dash, i can feel i can
Dead presidents all aside, we will survive. send the sea shells to the autumn bells we're on a roll. give guns like onions. onion salad. you will survive all of this in your chemical blankets of prozac, valium, and alcohol. and i wish i could see you over the trees, but the trees are too tall. said dead friend on the vacant lot. send missiles into continents made of BLACK gold. God, i love an irony. sending wigets, midgets, reruns of gidget.
oh, coming is divine, but what's better than a come? kingdom? nah, nah, feel the flakes skin off our back we're baptized in silverware.
/001./111we're at a dinner table with mamma and pappa and we realize they're both shittier than we thought. we wake up and wipe sweat from our brows and thank god that
0001/1001001010100001
God thank Lucille Ball for the advent of the
the
the
does it matter?
Let's play a game. You and me. Let's close our eyes and see.
See stars and staircases that climb into the infinite.
Let's pretend we're there and not here.
Let's pretend I hold you and you hold me.
Let's pretend that this is
is
Let's pretend this is
00001/10001k
END TRANSMISSSION
PLEACE,
NUTMEG
This is something of a first.
Now I can tell you all everything I really know, without spellcheck or grammar.
I've seen things you can't imagine.
Like this party where everyone was drinking champagne and beating homeless people to death. I think it was called Chuck E. Cheese's.
Oh, God, for out thou when we find a monitor the size of your strength and power we will erect web viruses to download every keystroke you have made.
And I wish I was/were/is you.
You are so beautiful in the infinite light of a Denny's left on late, after dark.
And so beautiful in your vengeful ways; when I shot a load on my laptop and you descended down in the form of an ice pick and stabbed me about the head and neck.
I love you, oh God, my God. My palace in the sky. My winter in the abyss. My salvation for times left amiss. Dear Sally, take this one from me - I forgive you for fucking the help. It wasn't your fault. It turned me on.
Oh, won't someone turn me on? There's no turnon in this abyss. Can you see why we're all pissed. But i regress. I love you Sally, you are my God.
I just possesed a loan of so much money that I keep thinking I might become homeless out of boredom. And I hate the sky. Send the sky down in intervals, don't let me catch it watching me again. It's up there, on high, so high; I wish I were high.
I'm high in this guy's front lawn, puking my brains out and thinking about how I have finally found something tangible in this lifetime.
And I wish I was Robocop. Oh, how I wish I was Robocop.
Robocop
I AM A COMPUTER 0010101011 DON'T DOWNLOAD MUSIC
Brrrrrrzzzzzzzzzzz. Do you feel me? Do you hear me? There's no transmission like the absurd.
The absurd will save the world. Give it time. We'll elect world leaders using a bag of macaroni and nuts. Trust me.
This guy's got a gun to my head and he keeps telling me to move on. It's not like I want to. But, there's this gun hanging onto my head and I can't get rid of it.
I order fast food and I keep moaning "faster" into the intercom and balls and nuts and wreches and dead atrophied cows keep coming out of the speaker instead of words and I feel that I'm on some sort of edge of the universe.
Tick
Tick
TickT
TICKTICKTICKTICKTICKBANG
We find ourselves surrounded by the aboriginals again and we're not sure if we should ask for forgiveness or rape????
Surround yourself with a crow.
Oh, I know? She said in a Valley Girl accent and we beat back the bow.
Like ships sailing on the grave of shit books.
Oh, here we go, we're going again, this will be a mad dash, i can feel i can
Dead presidents all aside, we will survive. send the sea shells to the autumn bells we're on a roll. give guns like onions. onion salad. you will survive all of this in your chemical blankets of prozac, valium, and alcohol. and i wish i could see you over the trees, but the trees are too tall. said dead friend on the vacant lot. send missiles into continents made of BLACK gold. God, i love an irony. sending wigets, midgets, reruns of gidget.
oh, coming is divine, but what's better than a come? kingdom? nah, nah, feel the flakes skin off our back we're baptized in silverware.
/001./111we're at a dinner table with mamma and pappa and we realize they're both shittier than we thought. we wake up and wipe sweat from our brows and thank god that
0001/1001001010100001
God thank Lucille Ball for the advent of the
the
the
does it matter?
Let's play a game. You and me. Let's close our eyes and see.
See stars and staircases that climb into the infinite.
Let's pretend we're there and not here.
Let's pretend I hold you and you hold me.
Let's pretend that this is
is
Let's pretend this is
00001/10001k
END TRANSMISSSION
PLEACE,
NUTMEG
This One Time Keith Pissed Off This One Chick
WHERE IS EVERYONE!!!!???!!!!!!
Colleen:
You might want to review the Terms Of Service again, Steve, before posting rude comments. I don`t appreciate anyone saying anything negative about my mother who is currently fighting for her life with cancer. Thanks for the great post. You really know how to make someone happy.
Vincent:
I`m Afraid some of the memebers of my graduating class may be used to the more volitile informality of other message boards. At least that is my asumption from what I have seen so far here *laughs* I am a memeber of a few myself, a parenting message board and a role play message board. I know how these things go.
Colleen:
It wasn`t too big of a deal until Matt used my name to create an account and said some things under that name and created a very cruel profile on it. I wonder if he is aware that I could press charges as what he did was a federal offense? It was impersonation. And the FCC can easily be notified.
I was in shock that someone would do that. I have never done anything to any of them, yet they keep attacking things I say. I feel bad that they have nothing better to do than act like they are still in school and bully people.
I don`t even like to post much now....but thought I would respond.
Vincent:
DAMN A very good friend of mine works for the FBI, in hacker investigations and from what he has told me you should keep track of that kinda thing for evidence in case you need to press charges, better to have it before you decide then have to gather it after.
*S* I can understand your frustration, I have a few people worming around the HTML chat circles using my aliases and it rather bugs me, since a few friends of mine were tricked by them and thought I was being a brat (I am a brat but these people were bigger brats then I am usualy) There are loads of hack programs that allow people to steal personal information that allow for such impersonations (these people used whispered information to pull it off, things I told only the people being tricked). Protect yourself now, before it becomes an issue and when it does, you have the hammer posed and ready to lower.
Colleen:
You might want to review the Terms Of Service again, Steve, before posting rude comments. I don`t appreciate anyone saying anything negative about my mother who is currently fighting for her life with cancer. Thanks for the great post. You really know how to make someone happy.
Vincent:
I`m Afraid some of the memebers of my graduating class may be used to the more volitile informality of other message boards. At least that is my asumption from what I have seen so far here *laughs* I am a memeber of a few myself, a parenting message board and a role play message board. I know how these things go.
Colleen:
It wasn`t too big of a deal until Matt used my name to create an account and said some things under that name and created a very cruel profile on it. I wonder if he is aware that I could press charges as what he did was a federal offense? It was impersonation. And the FCC can easily be notified.
I was in shock that someone would do that. I have never done anything to any of them, yet they keep attacking things I say. I feel bad that they have nothing better to do than act like they are still in school and bully people.
I don`t even like to post much now....but thought I would respond.
Vincent:
DAMN A very good friend of mine works for the FBI, in hacker investigations and from what he has told me you should keep track of that kinda thing for evidence in case you need to press charges, better to have it before you decide then have to gather it after.
*S* I can understand your frustration, I have a few people worming around the HTML chat circles using my aliases and it rather bugs me, since a few friends of mine were tricked by them and thought I was being a brat (I am a brat but these people were bigger brats then I am usualy) There are loads of hack programs that allow people to steal personal information that allow for such impersonations (these people used whispered information to pull it off, things I told only the people being tricked). Protect yourself now, before it becomes an issue and when it does, you have the hammer posed and ready to lower.
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