When Life Gives You 3 Cords, Make Punk Rock

April 15th, 2008

Drink

4/15/08 03:36 am

I’m having a bad day, but then again which day isn’t. Unfortunately this is my life, stuck in the town I grew up in and going no where towards a dream. I still have dreams, which I think is worse. It gives me hope, something that I shouldn’t have. I try to blame the situation but I know I should just blame myself.

I realized today that I’ve gone five months with out being drunk, I’ve had a drink or two but I haven’t been drunk. December 8^th, a Flogging Molly concert. I remember dancing, falling, and trying to hit on a woman. It was going well until I came to the realization that I didn’t have my cell phone or a pen. Figures, the day I decide I may lose my cell phone and leave it home is the day I was in a position to pull digits from a woman. Pathetic.

I use to not drink, I use to be a straight edge type of person though I didn’t really follow a code. I didn’t drink because that’s what the people who I didn’t like did. It’s what the people who get stuck in Wright do, the irony isn’t lost on me. I didn’t want to be one of these people who get stuck in the town they grew up in, yet here I am working at the very mines that I swore to myself I wouldn’t.

I had a plan, to go out to Hollywood and become an actor. That didn’t pan out, I realized that there are half a million people out there who want to become an actor. Roles for me are few and far between, I’m not a leading man. The reality of the situation hit me. I drank.

I realized in College that I wasn’t very socially adjusted. I was nervous around people, even the people I liked. The people I liked was worst because I was afraid of rejection. I was nervous and worried. Always ashamed. I drank.

I became one of those noir characters that I thought were so interesting. I was the guy dreaming of electric sheep living one bottle at a time. I drank to kill the pain, I drank to become comfortable around those who I was suppose to be comfortable around. I drank to drown out the fears of growing up and the fears of disappointment. I drank in hopes of getting laid. I drank to destroy myself.

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April 11th, 2008

The Devil Tree- Third Revision

4/11/08 03:36 pm

“Here’s what I don’t get” the swinging body known once as Jeph Lewis said to me, “I have to stay here until someone cuts my body down?”

“Yes” I sat down to relax on a nice piece of grass.

“So um… could you just, I don’t know, cut me down?” I looked up at Jeph’s soul which was still inside of the Jephs body, his corpse slightly swung in the wind.

“I can’t interact with the living world like that, it’s against the rules. We have to wait until some one finds your body so you can be put to rest” Jeph was becoming a pain in the ass, but all souls tend to do that. Haven’t met one yet that wasn’t.

“But that could take days!” Jeph’s voice had a whiney tone that really isn’t something expected from a man in his twenties and as you guessed, it was awfully irritating. “Why doesn’t my soul just leave the body at death? That’s what my daddy use to tell us and he should know he’s a preacher!”

“Well, you’re in a world of shock son, the afterlife isn’t exactly what that book o’ yours said and most of the philosophers were wrong, there are no nine circles or paradise. The only religion that came close was Hinduism and even they were far off.”

“Hinduism? Those heathens we’re right?!” Jeph was in pure shock, I have to admit dropping that bomb shell on the recently departed is my favorite part of this job. That Gorilla Paul must have it in for me because I seem to be getting all the difficult jobs these days. Well not difficult but, annoying.

“Well you might as well tell me how you got your self at the end of that rope. I have a feeling it’s going to be a while before anyone does anything about your body” I raised my hands to cradle my head.

“I hung my self” Jeph said so matter of fact it peaked my interest. Suicide wasn’t something I deal with, people who kill them selves… well I’m not going to get into it but lets just say a reaper doesn’t deals with ‘em.

“Why would you go and do a dumb dip shit thing like that?” I couldn’t help but ask him since curiosity got me hook line and sinker so to say. When I looked up at Jeph I could see tears flying in the wind.

“Sharon, my wife to be… she… she was taken away from me” I could tell Jeph was trying to keep his poise, minus the tears of course.

“How’d she die?” I felt like a jerk asking because obviously it was a hard subject for him.

“Lynched, by a mob of men parading around in white robes. They said something about doing Gods work, that…” He stumbled over his words “That folks like me weren’t to marry folks like her. I told them they were wrong, my daddy said it was okay, he should know he’s a preacher! But they didn’t believe me, they said that no… no nigger knows anything about gods plan!”

“That’s… I’m sorry”

“Thanks” Jeph gave me a sincere smile. His smile gave me a hint of déjà vu, a flash of a woman in her wedding dress hanging from this very tree, I had reaped her two weeks back. It hit me.

“You know Jeph, it seems that I was the one who reaped your bride” Jephs eye’s lit up. I couldn’t really tell if they were lit with fury or joy.

“You…You were there when she died?”

“Yes, I don’t know why I didn’t make the connection when you said her name, it was an unusual reaping. You see we get called to this tree a lot, its called the devil tree because of how many people get lynched here and well it was unusual because not many women get killed here especially white women”

“So you talked to her,” Jeph jumped in “was she okay? Oh god did she go on to a better place?”

“Yes she was okay and yes she did go to a better place. I’ve never seen some one so accepting of death, she simply looked at me and said Take me… Take me home” This time when I looked back at Jeph I saw his face gleaming, a giant smile on his face and the tears still pouring. I knew his reasoning in killing himself wasn’t out of self pity, the damn fool did it just to make sure that his fiancé had made it to heaven. That’s why his soul wasn’t lost.

“Oh look here comes my dad, guess he got the note” Jeph said happily now that he knew that Sharon was in a better place.
Mr. Lewis with tears in his eyes, managed to get Jeph’s body out of the tree to the ground. He knelt over his son and yelled at him.

“Damn it Jeph, you should have left well enough alone! Why’d you go and do something stupid like this you dip shit!” and with that Mr. Lewis picked up Jeph’s body and carried it down the hill while Jeph’s spirit remained next to me.

“Well…” I said “Is there anything you with to wrap up here? Any one else you wish to see before we cross you over?”

“The only person I would want to see just carried my body down the hill, besides I don’t want to listen to him telling me what I should have done. Well Mr. Reaper Take me… Take me home”

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April 8th, 2008

Mothman

4/8/08 10:54 pm

Here it is, the plain truth. I had sat down to listen to the radio for the night when I heard it. The sound of something falling from the sky, it wasn’t loud but more of a muffled fleshy sound. I grabbed my lantern and walked outside to see what it was. On the ground I saw what I could only describe as a man with the body of a moth. He didn’t have arms, but wings. He didn’t really have a head but he did have a face. The thing didn’t have a mouth but he had other things like his nose which looked like two big holes and he had eyes where his shoulders would have been. The eyes were the creepiest things I had ever seen, they were big the size of two fists and they seemed to glow red in the lantern light. What really made them creepy was the vacant stare.

Not wanting to be rude I helped the thing up. It looked like he was flying when it fell out of the sky. I examined his right wing where I had noticed that some idgit had shot the poor thing with a shotgun. I can’t describe it but I knew the thing was scared. I escorted the thing inside my house where I let it take a seat well I looked around the house for some bandages. I found a old shirt that I wasn’t much using anymore and I ripped off four swatches. I found a bottle of hydro- peroxide in my kitchen and I started to tend to the things wound.

When I touched its wing with the peroxide I started to feel the sting. It was the weirdest thing, it felt as if I had applied the peroxide to a phantom wing. I figured then that the creature must communicate through thought. I told it to calm down, it would be alright. It believed me and I managed to bandage it up. When I finished, the creature thanked me in its way. I got this feeling of joy. Inner peace flooded over me and I knew that everything was right in the world. That feeling has stuck with me to this very day.

The thing stayed with me until its wing healed. I had went into town the day after it left and I heard local rumors going about how this creature attacked some people, giving them images of disasters and what not. The people think it was trying to give them a warning, but that wasn’t it at all. The thing was scared and I guess it had a right to be, I mean it was a human who attacked it.

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March 24th, 2008

Lockbox *Revised

3/24/08 04:48 pm

I’ve threatened it for years but this time I may just do it. I have the deadbolt in place and only one copy of the key was ever made. The door is made of pure titanium and the hinges are welded to the wall. The only window in the house has bars blocking anyone from coming in but more importantly keep anyone for leaving. I’m going to do it, I’m going to lock myself up, away from this painful world and the people who inhabit it.

Society is too painful to go on in. I can’t be a part of it, it’s apparent that people don’t want me to be a part of it. I’d much rather spend my time alone in my steel cage where no interaction could go on. People don’t find me clever, smart, witty, attractive, or someone they would want to hang out with. Why? The fuck if I know, maybe because Society doesn’t want people who try. No they want to kiss ass to the one person who is the life of the party. The one person who is the center of the click. The person who has it all made and didn’t have to lift a finger to get where they are. It’s not only the people who are good at sports or the normal people. No you can find this in Punk Rock, Beat Nick, Indy Hipster, Theater Troop, Up Scale, Low Scale, Hip Hop, subgroups. Groups who pride themselves form being so different from the pack. Subcultures’ who claim that they are comprised of nothing but social outcasts. So what are you, if you’re an outcast in a group of outcast? You’re just a pathetic being if you can’t get along with people who are supposed to be your peers.

I want to hide. People have such hurtful words. People say they never mean what they say, but they do. A slip of the tong is just that, they’ve been thinking it. Sure its nature, but none the less, if they cared they wouldn’t let it slip. No one cares for me. They puke venomous words, words that eat away at me. Fester until I can take it anymore. I explode in tears and uneasy tirades. I cry at night. The only thing that keeps me sane is the work. With out work I dwell on thing in the past. I can’t stand who I am when I get to thinking about it.

That’s why I’m locking myself in my room. I don’t need to interact with people. Interacting with people will lead me to over thinking in the seconds of silence. Over thinking leads me to twist words and then to a twisted reflection of myself. I don’t like people, so I avoid them. I can give a shit less about what they find interesting. They will just turn around and hurt me anyway. Armageddon could come tomorrow and I wouldn’t bat an eye. It’s not that I wish them death I just wish them to learn. Too bad they don’t.

High school guidance councilors tell you that life is much better on the other side of graduation day. They say that people act with more compassion. They don’t, they just give you fake sincerity and just wait their turn to talk. They don’t listen to you or care about you. Any one of them would use you to make themselves look better. That’s the nature of society.

I’m going to do it this time. Lock myself so that I can’t get out. I have all I need. Enough food to last me years and I have a sink for water. I would only wash to avoid infection. It will be great, no pressure to deal with and sure the hell no society to tell me that I’m a lesser person. No one to talk down to me. No one to use me to better them selves. No one to leave me. No one to break my heart. I will sit in my house and write. Spend waking hour after waking hour typing about the Utopian society that should exist. Not this fake society who eats upon the emotion of the easily used. Not the moral decay that is inherent in society since the day our chimpanzee forefathers decided that living in a pack was better then living alone.

If I get lonely I can always use my neighbor’s wifi connection. I can get onto message boards and chat rooms. Log onto myspace and comment on the pages of people who randomly add me, maybe see them on their web cam. I can pretend to be some one else. Some one who doesn’t have emotion some one who belittles people. I can use my wit with out reproductions. That’s the nature of the internet. It’s a release for people like me. Maybe become a flame troll and get the attention I don’t have in my life. That will make me feel better. I will tell these people that I matter and they don’t.

If I need a female companion I always find a Suicide girl, I already have my favorites picked out. They are my type of girls. Anti-social just like me, but then again here I am with one friend and they have hundreds. No, I have a connection to them. I must, I mean we are kindred sprits. They read books other then Harry Potter. They understand Shakespeare and Vonnegut. They know of movies like Metropolis and Evil Dead. They read comic books and play video games. These women are goddesses among internet swine. They will be my lovers when I log on. When I bore of them I will find me a new one or close my browser and write some more.

In my fantasy these women will love me but the hypocrisy of it is if I saw a Suicide girl and the streets, I wouldn’t be able to approach her. I’m social inept. While most kids learned to socialize in school I was busy with my gamboy beating Mario land. Maybe that’s the appeal of such women, maybe they are socially inept too. No that’s just a lie I tell myself. These women have friends. They are loved even if it is by guys with Dorito stained dicks.

Yes, this is it. I’m going to lock myself away. Leave this ugly world behind and enter my own. Nothing can stop me. It’s better for the world if I just leave it. No one likes me, I’m not a popular person. I don’t function well when I think someone likes me. I don’t trust anyone who likes me but that’s not my fault. It’s theirs. Society made me this way. A hatefully fear filled man. I couldn’t change if I tried. I’m leaving so far well so long. I will be locked in my home until I can no longer stand it or until I die. I can’t wait for that day. I would say if I could go back and do it over again I’d change it, but we know that’s a lie. I’d still escape into my own world. It’s the only safe place.

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March 23rd, 2008

Cardboard Hollywood Revised

3/23/08 06:32 pm

G.Q. Esquire pages with pictures of models. Not men or women, just unrealistic representation. MEN do not look like this only boys in overcoats. Real women shouldn’t strive to be the arm candy of Joe Cool. They have no self esteem. These Guys and Dolls are fragile porcelain who can break at a moments notice. Call them old, point out a flaw and they blubber on for days on end. No they are hollow like a cardboard tube.

They get their kicks by making the any person feel bad. The any person can not look like this, they don’t have a gym, or the time to spend locked away with a personal trainer. No, they are lucky they can take two steps from their cubical to the cubical where the office printer is.

The any person buys into the false cardboard people. They feel ashamed that they don’t have the time. They feel ashamed about the donut that they had to eat. It was the donut or nothing at all. These pictures are there to make them feel bad. To make the feel left out.

I’ll tell you what I do, I tear the pages out, passing article that tell me “you’re not a man. You are just some speck of dust who wishes he could be a man”. I tear these cardboard photoshoped people and burn them. Give them the hell they are destined for. I damn them and curse them. Shallow people do not need to live. They don’t deserve to adorn our publications telling us that we are imperfect in their eyes. They need us to inflate their egos, they need us to be imperfect so that they can feel better and superior. I’m not going to let them. I rip their photos and I burn them. I burn away every thing they represent. I make an event of it. A night of booze and a marker. I write on their faces mark up their clothing then I rip them to pieces.

The Cosmo Esquire Maxim Magazines laugh at the any person, tell them that they need to buy a subscription if they are to become a functioning member of society. The men’s magazines tell jokes about a woman confusing a cucumber for a dick and the women’s magazines tell the woman how to properly administrate a blow job that will make the man appreciate her more. They trick the men into thinking a woman likes a guy for his money, they trick a woman into believing that if she does this one blow job she will keep him around for ever. Not only do the pictures make the any person insecure and now they bombard the reader with words that slice what little belief in themselves left.

These magazines give the idea that women can orgasm at will and men can hold on just a little bit longer. Penis size doesn’t matter as long as you have a little brown brief case that goes with anything. Women, the amount you give to your man doesn’t matter unless he knows you love him. Lies, lies on paper and the any person eats them up. It’s their nature because pretty cardboard people don’t lie, beauty can not lie. It’s common knowledge. The pretty cardboard people have your best interest in mind.

To be a man your fashion should have at least three dead animals and a little black brief case that goes with any tie. A real man goes running fifteen miles a day and eats power bars made of flax seed and packaged by the indigenes people of some foreign country you shouldn’t give a shit about.

Women should be able to sit at home and cook a mean, pick up the kids and have a 40 hour a week job. They should be willing and ready to give their big man the BJ at the end of the night and be up at the crack of 3 to milk the family cow. Not only that but the woman should be skinny and always trying to be skinner. Its what the cardboard people say.

Society is fucked. Let’s face it. The any person hold them selves up to the standards of models who spend more time in a gym each day then you do at work. They go under the knife and get the any person to pay for because after all it’s a business expense.

The Cardboard people look down upon the any person because the are just that much better then you. If they weren’t then why would the any person hold them in such regard. They fuel the ego. The emptiness expands.

I say lets show them. Storm the walks of Hollywood. Send it to flames. Burn them like I burn their cardboard facsimiles. Send their silicone parts into the air. Perky breasts and define abs ablaze in a chaos that hasn’t been seen since the Spanish Inquisition. These people don’t deserve their praise, they deserve to be flogged. Death to those hollow people. Cardboard people should live in fear, the fire will end them.

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Anger *Revised

3/23/08 04:42 pm

My first kiss was in College and the last kiss I experienced was in college. I’ve only actually made out with one girl, and I was too drunk to even remember what she looked like. I fear kissing a person. The fear comes from my not having practice, the fear that I’m 25 and the number of kisses can be counted on the hand of a fry cook who had an industrial accident and loss a couple finger. I fear that the time may never come, or I may make my move too fast. It’s not that I’m some John Hues character or in this case an aged John Hues character. I’m not some hopeless romantic. No those characters have dreams of kissing, good dreams. I have nightmares. I fear kissing because it leads to other things.

Sex is another thing that I’ve been missing out on. I want it my body wants it, but I’m so gun shy that I don’t think I could do it. I’m not afraid of loosing my virginity, no I’m rather afraid of touching some one, no I’m afraid of them touching me. It terrifies me that some one will some day touch this… pile of flesh. My self image is that of a anorexic model only I don’t have the guts to puke up my lunch.

My sexual anxiety led me to drink and drink and drink until I was in a stupor that numbed the bodies yearning. It yearns to touch some one else but my ego refuses to budge. I can’t I wont. Pride dictates too much of my life. I hate it. I hate it so much tears come to my eyes. If pride was a tangible part of my body I would claw at it and pick at it until it was removed from my body. I would burn it in a fire and coldly stare it down. I would not miss that part, I would not allow myself a phantom pride to replace it. I would let it go for ever.

Fear, ego, and pride are diseases that need treatment. They have gone untreated for so long that they are now a malignant cancer on my soul. It makes me hate myself. I hate myself so much that I’m killing myself slowly with food and drink. My liver is probably working overtime without holiday pay.

This must be what it feels like to be a monster. Wanting what you cannot, striving for something that you will never allow yourself. I had a dream last night that seemed real. I want to remove that dream from my memory. The woman kissed me. I believed, I actually believed that woman wanted me. That’s the problem about dreams the women always want you. The women always does what you want her to do. She never asks she takes. This woman took something from me last night she took my comfort. She took my rational thought. She showed me how lonely I am, she showed me the hypocrisy inherent in myself. Then I woke up. Pain. Pain was all that I could feel this morning.

I should just lock myself in my room. Never let myself out, never see the sun. Block my view from the TV, all it shows are things that I can’t have. Maybe I can pray, pray that I don’t have those dreams anymore. The dream’s of women who are prefect, they are prefect because they want me. They don’t want my money, my looks. No, they want me, the person, their author.

I don’t even deserve these women, the ones in my dreams. I’m a bastard, an asshole who should never interact with society. Keep me locked up, keep my away from your pets and children people. I’m the boogie man, I will give them nightmares. Hideous in its entire splendor.

My emotions are in a turmoil that even the most weather person couldn’t handle. I survive everyday in this storm. I tire of it, but that is my life that is my lot in life. The brain is just nothing but chemicals and mine are out of balance. Things that make people happy just make me cry. They make me sick. I hate the world. Physicality is absurdity to me!

I still think about that dream, I think about a lot of my dreams. She wasn’t the first one to kiss me in my dreams. No there had been others, she just happens to be the freshest. Every time I dream about a woman I get like this. The woman is just a reflection of how empty my life is. If I could I’d bang my head on this fucking desk. Let home row engrain into my skull until there is nothing more then a bloody stump that is my neck. Leave me alone god damn it. I know I am a bad person. I don’t deserve one second of happiness even if it was in my dream.

Hell is with out hope… I say hell is with hope but never the ability to realize it. Without hope I wouldn’t be tempted to reach for that apple. Tear it out, tear out this hope that is plaguing me so much. Give me a knife and a flame. I need to sterilize it. I’m already infected and I don’t need to further it.

I’m not happy, it’s apparent but I don’t let it get me down. Each key stroke alleviates my guilt my anger my fear. To eliminate it would require a life time, a life time of missed opportunity. A lifetime filled with dreams. Dreams filled with what could have been or what should have been. This is no one’s fault but my own. Let me go self indulge in my pain. It’s the trendy thing to do.

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The inside world

3/23/08 03:25 pm

I’ve threatened it for years but this time I may just do it. I have the deadbolt in place and only one copy of the key was ever made. The door is made of pure titanium and the hinges are welded to the wall. The only window in the house has bars blocking anyone from coming in but more importantly keep anyone for leaving. I’m going to do it, I’m going to lock myself up, away from this painful world and the people who inhabit it.

Society is too painful to go on in. I can’t be a part of it, it’s apparent that people don’t want me to be a part of it. I’d much rather spend my time alone in my steel cage where no interaction could go on. People don’t find me clever, smart, witty, attractive, or someone they would want to hang out with. Why? The fuck if I know, maybe because Society doesn’t want people who try. No they want to kiss ass to the one person who is the life of the party. The one person who is the center of the click. The person who has it all made and didn’t have to lift a finger to get where they are. It’s not only the people who are good at sports or the normal people. No you can find this in Punk Rock, Beat Nick, Indy Hipster, Theater Troop, Up Scale, Low Scale, Hip Hop, subgroups. Groups who pride themselves form being so different from the pack. Groups who claim that they made of nothing of outcasts. So what are you if you’re and outcast of a group of outcast? You’re just a pathetic being if you can’t get along with people who are suppose to be your peers.

I want to hide. People have such hurtful words. People say they never mean what they say, but they do. A slip of the tong is just that, they’ve been thinking it. Sure its nature, but none the less, if they cared they wouldn’t let it slip. No one cares for me. They puke venomous words, words that eat away at me. Fester until I can take it anymore. I explode in tears and uneasy tirades. I cry at night. The only thing that keeps me sane is the work. With out work I dwell on thing in the past. I can’t stand who I am when I think.

That is why I’m locking myself in my room. I don’t need to interact with people. Interacting with people will lead me to over thinking in the seconds of silence. Over thinking leads me to twisted means and then to reflections of myself. I don’t like people so I avoid them. I can give a shit less about what they find interesting they are just going to hurt me in a few seconds. Armageddon could come tomorrow and I wouldn’t bat an eye. It’s not that I wish them death I just wish them to learn. Too bad they don’t.

High school guidance councilors tell you that life is much better on the other side of graduation. They say that people act with more compassion. They don’t, they just give you fake sincerity and just wait their turn to talk. They don’t listen to you or care about you. Any one of them would use you to make themselves look better. That’s the nature of society.

I’m going to do it this time. Lock myself so that I can’t get out. I have all I need. Enough food to last me years and I have a sink set up. It will be great, no pressure to deal with and sure the hell no society to tell me that I’m a lesser person. No one to talk down to me. No one to use me to better them selves in the eyes of other. No one to leave me. No one to break my heart. I will sit in my house and write. Spend waking hour after waking hour typing about the Utopian society that should exist. Not this fake society who eats upon the emotion of the easily used.

If I get lonely I can always use my neighbor’s wifi connection. I can get onto message boards and chat rooms. Log onto myspace and comment on the pages of people who randomly add me, maybe see them on their web cam. I can pretend to be some one else. Some one who doesn’t have emotion some one who belittles people. I can use my wit with out reproductions. That’s the nature of the internet. It’s a release for people like me. Maybe become a flame troll and get the attention I don’t have in my life. That will make me feel better. I will tell these people that I matter and they don’t.

If I need a female companion I always find a Suicide girl, I already have my favorites picked out. They are my type of girls. Anti-social just like me, but then again here I am with one friend and they have hundreds. No, I have a connection to them. I must, I mean we are kindred sprits. They read books other then Harry Potter. They know of movies like Metropolis and The Goonies. They read comic books and play video games. These women are goddesses among internet swine. They will be my lovers.

But then again if I saw a Suicide girl and the streets, I wouldn’t be able to approach her. I’m social inept. While most kids learned to socialize in school I was busy with my gamboy beating Mario land. Maybe that’s the appeal of such women, maybe they are socially inept too. No that’s just a lie I tell myself. These women have friends. They are loved even if it is by guys with Dorito stained dicks.

Yes, this is it. I’m going to lock myself away. Leave this ugly world behind and enter my own. Nothing can stop me. It’s better for the world if I just leave it. No one likes me, I’m not a popular person. I don’t function well when people like me. I don’t trust anyone who likes me but that’s not my fault. It’s theirs. They made me this way. A hatefully fear filled man. I couldn’t change if I tried. I’m leaving so far well so long. I will be locked in my home until I can no longer stand it or until I die. I can’t wait for that day. I would say if I could go back and do it over again I’d change it, but we know that’s a lie. I’d still escape into my own world. It’s the only safe place.

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March 22nd, 2008

Men's Club

3/22/08 06:39 am

Alright just come out and say it, I’m a virgin. Oh shit I’ve done it now. DO NOT pass go, do not collect 200 dollars. That’s the end for my penis, I need to turn it in to the international club of men. This monumental proclamation will forever go down in the annuals of the club of men. One of the greatest shames but to be honest not the greatest of shocks. It was a safe bet that I wouldn’t get to use my dangle. Bookies really laugh at the odds.

Let’s face it son if you haven’t porked a woman by now you’re never going to. Emasculate your self, it’s the only way you’re ever going to be happy. Go live life in the mountains of Montana I here a lot of men found success up there after the lose of their man hood. Heck grow your beard out, become a lumber jack or even better send bombs in the mail. Nothing says you’re sane like a bomb in the mail.

I think I should have followed the advice of one of my College chums, “Screw a fat chick, something about screwing a fat chick makes you more attractive to the women you’d want to fuck. Trust me worked for me!” and another friend agreed with him with this statement “Fat women have a pheromone in their sweat, it gets on you and you’re set for life”. Of course at the time I chose to go with my dads advice, “Son, never follow the advice of idiots less you become one your self?”

Oh no what is he going to think? He might be disappointed finding out that his son might not produce the goods. Give him millions and millions of accidental grand children. I must be a disappointment to him. Well he’s going to find out when I show up at the club of men to turn in my penis.

I’m forever a boy because I haven’t giving it up. A man fucks! And he fucks! And he fucks! That is what a man does. Forget your foolish notions of love and respect. A true man doesn’t respect women, he fucks them and leaves them. If you’re not having a one night stand then you’re not living! Sneak out in the night so she feels like shit. That’s being a man!

It’s not really my fault that I haven’t used my penis. I followed the example of my TV. Women like clever quips and action. Unfortunately not many terrorist come around these parts for me to shoot with my gun that matches my watch. Wait, I remember a guy sticking his dick in a pie and getting laid. Quick stop by the store and get me some of those two for a dollar cream pies.

You know what try a work place romance. Those always work. Just get drunk at the office party and meet some random woman in the office closet. Don’t ask questions just do it.

Better yet go get smashed at the bar. Drunken guys always get laid look at the commercials on TV. Sexy women love booze and guys who drink it. While you’re at it pick up some cigarettes that will increase you sexiness quotation by ten points. That will surely get you laid.

I don’t want to loose my penis. I enjoy having it around. It gives me company when I need it. I think though that even it is disappointed in me. It’s probably thinking of all the pieces of shit to be connected to this has by far got to be the biggest and the shittyest!

That’s it go off and enjoy your life of social exile. Get your self a Dungeon Maters guide and invite the other virgins over. Nothing says my life sucks like imagining to be some one else. Use the dice to roll your charisma. Fuck 18, even this hypothetical being is gonna be getting more action then me. To hell with this, it’s a life of porn cheetos and masturbation. In that order. Welcome to the club, the club of losers.

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Cardboard Hollywood

3/22/08 04:15 am

G.Q. Esquire pages with pictures of models. Not men or women, just unrealistic representation. MEN do not look like this only boys in overcoats. They have no self esteem. These Guys and Dolls are fragile porcelain who can break at a moments notice. Call them old, point out a flaw and the blubber on for days on end. No they are hollow like a cardboard tube. Blow them.

They get their kicks by making the any person feel bad. The any person can not look like this, they don’t have a gym, or the time to spend locked away with a personal trainer. No, they are lucky they can take two steps from their cubical to the cubical where the office printer is.

The any person buys into the false cardboard people. They feel ashamed that they don’t have the time. They feel ashamed about the donut that they had to eat. It was the donut or nothing at all. These pictures are there to make them feel bad. To make the feel left out.

I’ll tell you what I do, I tear the pages out, passing article that tell me “you’re not a man. You are just some speck of dust who wishes he could be a man”. I tear these cardboard photoshoped people and burn them. Give them the hell they are destine for. I damn them and curse them. Shallow people do not need to live.

The Cosmo Esquire Maxim Magazines laugh at the any person, tell them that they need to buy a subscription if they are to become a functioning member of society. The men’s magazines tell jokes about a woman confusing a cutecumber for a dick and the women’s magazines tell the woman how to properly administrate a blow job that will make the man appreciate her more. They trick the men into thinking a woman likes a guy for his money, they trick a woman into believing that if she does this one blow job she will keep him around for ever.

These magazines give the idea that women can orgasm at will and men can hold on just a little bit longer. Penis size doesn’t matter as long as you have a little brown brief case that goes with anything. Women, the amount you give to your man doesn’t matter unless he knows you love him. Lies, lies on paper and the any person eats them up. It’s their nature because pretty cardboard people don’t lie, beauty can not lie. It’s common knowledge. The pretty cardboard people have your best interest in mind.

To be a man your fashion should have at least three dead animals and a little black brief case that goes with any tie. A real man goes running fifteen miles a day and eats power bars made of flax seed and packaged by the indigenes people of some foreign country you shouldn’t give a shit about.

Women should be able to sit at home and cook a mean, pick up the kids and have a 40 hour a week job. They should be willing and ready to give their big man the BJ at the end of the night and be up at the crack of 3 to milk the family cow. Not only that but the woman should be skinny and always trying to be skinner. Its what the cardboard people say.

Society is fucked. Let’s face it. The any person hold them selves up to the standards of models who spend more time in a gym each day then you do at work. They go under the knife and get the any person to pay for because after all it’s a business expense.

The Cardboard people look down upon the any person because the are just that much better then you. If they weren’t then why would the any person hold them in such regard. They fuel the ego. The emptiness expands.

I say lets show them. Storm the walks of Hollywood. Send it to flames. Burn them like I burn their cardboard facsimiles. Send their silicone parts into the air. Perky breasts and define abs ablaze in a chaos that hasn’t been seen since the Spanish Inquisition. These people don’t deserve their praise, they deserve to be flogged. Death to those hollow people. Cardboard people should live in fear, the fire will end them.

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Anger

3/22/08 03:01 am

My first kiss was in College and the last kiss was in college. I’ve only actually made out with one girl, who I was too drunk to even remember what she looked like. My high school highlights were beating Final Fantasy and being all state in Drama. While kids were out living life I was living mine through American Pie.

I fear kissing, I don’t have the experience. Each year that goes by I fear the day where I have to kiss a woman.

Sex is another thing that I’ve been missing out on. I want it, but I’m so gun shy that I don’t think I could do it. I’m not afraid of loosing my virginity, no I’m rather afraid of touching some one, no I’m afraid of them touching me. It terrifies me that some one will some day touch this… pile of flesh.

This anxiety led me to drink and drink and drink until I was in a stupor that numbed the bodies yearning. It yearns to touch some one else but my ego refuses to budge. I can’t I wont. Pride dictates too much of my life. I hate it. I hate it so much tears come to my eyes.

If I could I’d tear that part in my brain that governs my fear, pride, and ego. It’s a disease that needs treatment. It makes me hate myself. I’m killing myself slowly with food and drink. My liver is probably working overtime without holiday pay.

This must be what it feels like to be a monster. Wanting what you cannot, striving for something that you will never allow yourself. I had a dream last night that seemed real. I want to remove that dream from my memory. The woman kissed me. I believed, I actually believed that woman wanted me. Then I woke up. Pain. Pain was all that I could feel this morning.

I should just lock myself in my room. Never let myself out, never see the sun. Block my view from the TV, all it shows are things that I can’t have. Maybe I can pray, pray that I don’t have those dreams anymore. The dream’s of women who are prefect, they are prefect because they want me. They don’t want my money, my looks. No, they want me, the person, their author.

I don’t even deserve these women, the ones in my dreams. I’m a bastard, an asshole who should never interact with society. Keep me locked up, keep my away from your pets and children. I’m the boogie man, I will give them nightmares. Hideous in its entire splendor.

My emotions are in a turmoil that even the most weather person couldn’t handle. I survive everyday in this storm. I need to end it. Leave me to my dark room to pity myself.

I still think about that dream, I think about a lot of my dreams. She wasn’t the first one to kiss me in my dreams. No there had been others, she just happens to be the freshest. If I could I’d bang my head on this fucking desk. Let home row engrain into my skull until there is nothing more then a bloody stump that is my neck. Leave me alone god damn it. I know I am a bad person. I don’t deserve one second of happiness even if it was in my dream.

Hell is with out hope… I say hell is with hope but never the ability to realize it. With out hope I wouldn’t be tempted to reach for that apple. Tear it out, tear out this hope that is plaguing me so much. Give me a knife and a flame. I need to sterilize it. I’m already infected and I don’t need to further it.

I’m not happy, it’s apparent but I don’t let it get me down. Each key stroke alleviates my guilt my anger my fear. To eliminate it would require a life time, a life time of missed opportunity. A lifetime filled with dreams. Dream, oh horrible dreams.

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