It's been a long and adventuresome journey but today I literally bought new jeans. I know what your thinking 'I want to get into those jeans.... Would have been a more literal title for this blog.... Especially seeing as I want to get into your pants bad, and I've been led to believe they may currently be jeans'
Well calm down, no one should ever 'get into someone's pants' without first hearing a story about those pants, and I want you in my jeans, so here is the story.
Its a bit of a roller coaster so hang on to something. A year or so ago I bought two pairs of new jeans. I needed them because I'd recently gotten so fat the one last pair of pants I could squeeze into burst around the groin region. Which is a bitter sweet day, on the one hand you get to show your underwear to strangers, but on the other hand your fat sucks your confidence to the point where your not sure strangers in Mcdonalds even want to see your underwear.
I was traveling at the time and I tend to walk a lot when traveling which can result in weight loss. And I was super excited you guys as my new fat guy jeans got looser and looser on me. So much so that by the end of the trip I needed to buy new jeans again to fit my sexy slim new body. Which is a bitter sweet day, on the one hand your once again comfortable but on the other hand now your pants no longer fall down in McDonald's and so strangers miss out on seeing your underwear.
Upon returning home I got fat again and reverted back to my still newish fat guy jeans. Then I got so fat that I ripped the groin in one of these pairs. This inspired me to diet and exercise till I fit back into my skinny guy jeans. Which is bitter sweet because my diet was so weird and inconsistent my underpants now smelled of bacon grease sweat.
Then I came over here to Canada where I am now, and I purposely only brought that one pair of skinny man jeans so I couldn't afford to gain weight. But I needed new jeans so I could have a second pair and eat the delicious gravy covered poutine fries every day without worrying I'd spill all over myself and end up walking around pantless. The good news is now I can eat without fear and so should be too fat for these jeans within weeks.
The point is, these new jeans, while definitely super sexy, have one small problem. The fly always feels open. This is reverting me to my awkward high-school self where I had pants that always felt like the fly was open. Sardonically this meant I was constantly touching my groin in public to check, drawing people's eyes to my groin, the one place I wanted no one to see, because at the time instead of wearing underpants I just dipped my balls in boiling bacon grease.
No in truth I actually wore the same stinking pair of school pants every day for 4 years, only getting them washed 3 times in that entire period.
Why? Because i was too scared to buy new pants. That would require me going to the school uniform shop and potentially, gasp, both have to talk to a sales clerk for as long as it took to measure me up, and talking to a human for me was a truly mortifying thought AND I'd have to be measured up, something so potentially humiliating I'd rather of cut off my own legs, or even talk to someone.
And I didn't wash them because some strange voice in my head suggested my social skills weren't up to meeting girls so who cares of I stink.
The point is, see how far I've come? I may still have no social skills but now when I need new pants I now GET new pants! Hell yeah!
Also see how much more you want into my pants now that you've heard the story about them? I say make your move now, or you may end up just hanging out in McDonald's waiting for my groin to burst.
Also I wrote all that's above last night. Today I found a very specific colorization on my chosen jeans. A dark patch of denim right at my balls. Wearing these jeans makes me look like I've always just peed myself. The point is I need new jeans.
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
Saturday, March 10, 2012
A word from a Dictator’s son
Pre Blog Warning: I'm taking a break from humor today to bring you something sad. Please prepare tissues for yourself before attempting to read the following story as written by a Dictator’s son:
"I walked into the bar just as the band ended their set. My Heated Jetty business closed down today so I’m really sad. I sunk like all my money into that business and it’s all gone! I still don't get it. People love hovercrafts right? But who wants to leave their warm ocean side mansion and walk on a cold jetty to get to their heated hovercraft? I'm right, right? Those two minutes walking in the cold can be almost unbearable! So buy a Heated Jetty, what’s the problem? It just makes no sense. I don’t know anyone else who sells Heated Jetties, so where are people getting them?
Fuck I hate the West, that's the third one of my businesses that's failed here so far. I barely had a single customer at my camel diaper store. 'The female circumcision business didn't take off.
They don't like my ideas either. They didn't take to my ‘bring your lion to your friend's amusement park day’ idea. And they never even listened when I told the local fire fighters they'd have more work if they used bazookas on retirement villages.
I'm down to my last 3 billion in allowance now, if I don't turn things around soon I'm going to have to ask dad to take over another country again soon, you have no idea how hard those calls are to make, there are like so many international phone codes, it takes up like ten minutes to dial them all, it's the worst, you just can not imagine, seriously. I shouldn't have to live like this.
I can't believe Pops sent me here to Oklahoma. 'Get to know the enemy' he said 'learn to live on your own'. Fuck you pops, your dad never made you 'get to know the enemy'. You got to start shooting children in the face when you were twelve too, but you made me wait till I was fourteen, just to be superior. You asshole.
I just wanted to hear some music playing tonight but the band said they were going on a break. Couldn't they have their slaves play in their absence? If those were my slaves I’d have caned them for making me look this bad.
Who am I kidding?’ I’d cane them regardless! Ha ha, at least I haven’t lost my sense of humor yet! Oh man, I miss my slaves. Anyway I've had a few drinks here, and the band hasn't restarted, there are no cute skinny Muslim virgins here, and my onion rings are taking forever! I'm just not in a good mood. I might just go home and snuggle up in bed with my lion".
Asmid got run over by a drunk driver later that night while stumbling back to his house and died a long painful death in a pile of dirty snow next to a dead skunk that had been run over a few weeks earlier. It's sad isn’t it? Hard to take really. I mean international phone codes are STILL hard to use and annoying people! I mean my god, when will the world learn. When damn it, when?
"I walked into the bar just as the band ended their set. My Heated Jetty business closed down today so I’m really sad. I sunk like all my money into that business and it’s all gone! I still don't get it. People love hovercrafts right? But who wants to leave their warm ocean side mansion and walk on a cold jetty to get to their heated hovercraft? I'm right, right? Those two minutes walking in the cold can be almost unbearable! So buy a Heated Jetty, what’s the problem? It just makes no sense. I don’t know anyone else who sells Heated Jetties, so where are people getting them?
Fuck I hate the West, that's the third one of my businesses that's failed here so far. I barely had a single customer at my camel diaper store. 'The female circumcision business didn't take off.
They don't like my ideas either. They didn't take to my ‘bring your lion to your friend's amusement park day’ idea. And they never even listened when I told the local fire fighters they'd have more work if they used bazookas on retirement villages.
I'm down to my last 3 billion in allowance now, if I don't turn things around soon I'm going to have to ask dad to take over another country again soon, you have no idea how hard those calls are to make, there are like so many international phone codes, it takes up like ten minutes to dial them all, it's the worst, you just can not imagine, seriously. I shouldn't have to live like this.
I can't believe Pops sent me here to Oklahoma. 'Get to know the enemy' he said 'learn to live on your own'. Fuck you pops, your dad never made you 'get to know the enemy'. You got to start shooting children in the face when you were twelve too, but you made me wait till I was fourteen, just to be superior. You asshole.
I just wanted to hear some music playing tonight but the band said they were going on a break. Couldn't they have their slaves play in their absence? If those were my slaves I’d have caned them for making me look this bad.
Who am I kidding?’ I’d cane them regardless! Ha ha, at least I haven’t lost my sense of humor yet! Oh man, I miss my slaves. Anyway I've had a few drinks here, and the band hasn't restarted, there are no cute skinny Muslim virgins here, and my onion rings are taking forever! I'm just not in a good mood. I might just go home and snuggle up in bed with my lion".
Asmid got run over by a drunk driver later that night while stumbling back to his house and died a long painful death in a pile of dirty snow next to a dead skunk that had been run over a few weeks earlier. It's sad isn’t it? Hard to take really. I mean international phone codes are STILL hard to use and annoying people! I mean my god, when will the world learn. When damn it, when?
Friday, March 9, 2012
A New Era is upon us
It’s here, it’s finally here! The new incarnation of the ‘New Era Adventure club’ is upon us.
There will be no more ‘opening and yet not actually opening’ the well-known modus operandi of the proponents of the past era of the ‘New Era Adventure club. Thank god.
And, ha ha, of course no more orange shorts, the ill-fated theme of the original movement of the ‘New Era Adventure club’ who of course proceeded the founders of the ‘New Era Adventure club’ which itself was an offshoot of the ‘staring at rock adventure club’, that was developed by a bunch of rock climbers when they realized that that if you just put a rock in front of your face you basically get the same experience as you get from rock climbing, only without the need to pack yourself a lunch, which can easily waste ten minutes of your morning, or even fourteen, depending on your peanut butter spreading techniques.
Wow, look who I am telling this too, you guys, as if you don’t know the history of the ‘New Era Adventure club’. I mean at least a dozen of you guys have personally gifted me all twenty-seven volumes of the ‘New Era Adventure club’ encyclopedia. I mean, sure none of you were kind enough to fork out for the not super crappy twenty nine volume version, which I mean is a bit of a backhanded gift ‘here’s a gift, I just wanted to let you know that I don’t consider you worth a nice gift, but here’s a gift anyway’. But still they have the same information, so I know you know it all, even if you don’t think I am worth the beautiful font the twenty nine volume version comes in, that is far easier to read, and therefore crucial to my continued eye health. So what, we’re the new era of the ‘New Era Adventure club’ and if some of us go blind who cares?
It’s not like there is no precedent to here to worry about. Oh wait, volume twenty two of the ‘New Era Adventure club’ which states ‘in the old era of the ‘New Era Adventure club’ there was a new era who were based on experimenting with a new era of peanut butter spreading technique, who called themselves the ‘new era of the ‘New Era Adventure club’ based on experimenting with a new era of peanut butter spreading technique’. This new era incarnation the ‘New Era Adventure club’ was disbanded after only one week after a member was left with a really sore wrist after attempting a ludicrous left handed spread’.
Well I FOR ONE am not going to ALLOW us to go back down those hellish paths. Not in my era of running the ‘New Era Adventure club’. In my era we eat our peanut butter with spoons, you got that right? OK? And I mean orange shorts? Seriously guys? You really thought we’d bring back them? They did not match our burnt sienna shirts, ripening tomato socks, and our carrot colored hats, just stick with the mandarin colored shorts like was written in the original by laws for Christ sake! We don’t need to add this fancy ‘orange’ color just out of the blue. I don’t care that they are easier to find! Plus ‘no goddamn opening something without really opening it, got that?
Now for the reason I was writing to you. We need to pick a new font. Something EASY TO THE EYE PLEASE. I want at least ten ideas from each of you with detailed reasoning by tomorrow please. Cause I mean seriously, if as the ‘New Era Adventure club’ we can’t stop arguing, especially in this new era of the ‘New Era Adventure club’ then one of these days we may even get around to going on some adventures, and who can be fucked with that shit?
There will be no more ‘opening and yet not actually opening’ the well-known modus operandi of the proponents of the past era of the ‘New Era Adventure club. Thank god.
And, ha ha, of course no more orange shorts, the ill-fated theme of the original movement of the ‘New Era Adventure club’ who of course proceeded the founders of the ‘New Era Adventure club’ which itself was an offshoot of the ‘staring at rock adventure club’, that was developed by a bunch of rock climbers when they realized that that if you just put a rock in front of your face you basically get the same experience as you get from rock climbing, only without the need to pack yourself a lunch, which can easily waste ten minutes of your morning, or even fourteen, depending on your peanut butter spreading techniques.
Wow, look who I am telling this too, you guys, as if you don’t know the history of the ‘New Era Adventure club’. I mean at least a dozen of you guys have personally gifted me all twenty-seven volumes of the ‘New Era Adventure club’ encyclopedia. I mean, sure none of you were kind enough to fork out for the not super crappy twenty nine volume version, which I mean is a bit of a backhanded gift ‘here’s a gift, I just wanted to let you know that I don’t consider you worth a nice gift, but here’s a gift anyway’. But still they have the same information, so I know you know it all, even if you don’t think I am worth the beautiful font the twenty nine volume version comes in, that is far easier to read, and therefore crucial to my continued eye health. So what, we’re the new era of the ‘New Era Adventure club’ and if some of us go blind who cares?
It’s not like there is no precedent to here to worry about. Oh wait, volume twenty two of the ‘New Era Adventure club’ which states ‘in the old era of the ‘New Era Adventure club’ there was a new era who were based on experimenting with a new era of peanut butter spreading technique, who called themselves the ‘new era of the ‘New Era Adventure club’ based on experimenting with a new era of peanut butter spreading technique’. This new era incarnation the ‘New Era Adventure club’ was disbanded after only one week after a member was left with a really sore wrist after attempting a ludicrous left handed spread’.
Well I FOR ONE am not going to ALLOW us to go back down those hellish paths. Not in my era of running the ‘New Era Adventure club’. In my era we eat our peanut butter with spoons, you got that right? OK? And I mean orange shorts? Seriously guys? You really thought we’d bring back them? They did not match our burnt sienna shirts, ripening tomato socks, and our carrot colored hats, just stick with the mandarin colored shorts like was written in the original by laws for Christ sake! We don’t need to add this fancy ‘orange’ color just out of the blue. I don’t care that they are easier to find! Plus ‘no goddamn opening something without really opening it, got that?
Now for the reason I was writing to you. We need to pick a new font. Something EASY TO THE EYE PLEASE. I want at least ten ideas from each of you with detailed reasoning by tomorrow please. Cause I mean seriously, if as the ‘New Era Adventure club’ we can’t stop arguing, especially in this new era of the ‘New Era Adventure club’ then one of these days we may even get around to going on some adventures, and who can be fucked with that shit?
Thursday, March 8, 2012
That’s more like it
‘It’s been delayed a week’ she said to me on the phone.
And with those words, profound and powerful, yet unfortunately true. I was left with nothing else to do, but attempt to do something profound and powerful, and hopefully true, but not necessarily, because truth is so fucking overrated. I mean consider this:
Hitler? - TRUE
Globes made of helium that tastes like victory? - NOT TRUE
Erectile Dysfunction? - TRUE
Donkey wizards that visit children with boo boos and give them bottomless coasters? - NOT TRUE
Deadly spiders that sometimes live under toilet seats in Australia? - TRUE
True Love? - NOT TRUE
See! ‘NOT TRUE’ can be better than ‘TRUE’, or worse, depending on your relationship status and how that affects your need for coasters.
I for one am guessing that if you’re in a loving long term relationship you need MORE coasters than if you’re sad and alone. Because there are two of you to use coasters. And because you’re probably trying to impress each other with your coaster skills.
Yet kids with boo boos are never in loving long term relationships because for some reason that is creepy (the ‘some reason’ is that it is ‘really creepy’, and ‘immoral’, or both, up to you). And kids are the very ones in possession of bottomless piles of coasters in this scenario, which is PROOF once and for all that ‘TRUE’ love is not just a myth but a genuine impossibility.
But this is not a story about my flawless ability to prove things once and for all in profound and powerful, and unfortunately true yet undebatable ways, no this is a story about something being delayed for a week. Yes, A WEEK!
A week when I could have used this thing, or even ignored it finding myself too lazy to cut the box open after it became clear after two seconds of looking that once again I could not find my goddamn scissors! That’s how profound and powerful and unfortunately true this story is.
When that sentence was said to me ‘it’s been delayed a week’ I was like ‘awww man’ and then I was off like a rocket! By which I mean my feat were on fire because the room had been flooded with lighter fluid and someone had just dropped a match that had been lit on FIRE!
I guess in hindsight this made the delay of the package a blessing in disguise because had my thing been delivered it would have burned in the fire that burned my house down that some bastard did to me merely because I convinced his wife there was no such thing as true love causing her to divorce him and bang his brother and father and uncle and son, which frankly says more about her than me if you ask me.
The point is my box of coasters didn’t show up this week and I was going to put a glass of beer on one of those and without them I had to go to a bar to put a glass of beer on a square of sponsored cardboard, and a bar is the most likely place a person will meet the person they will fall in true love with.
Not fuck that, it’s the ONLY place you can fall in TRUE love, from what I have been told, and yet this did not happen to me. Goddam it.
My plan is to go out and comfort myself by going out and purchasing a globe filled with helium that smells like victory. They better not fucking be ‘sold out’ or even worse ‘not exist’ or I’m going to really fuck up some marriages.
And with those words, profound and powerful, yet unfortunately true. I was left with nothing else to do, but attempt to do something profound and powerful, and hopefully true, but not necessarily, because truth is so fucking overrated. I mean consider this:
Hitler? - TRUE
Globes made of helium that tastes like victory? - NOT TRUE
Erectile Dysfunction? - TRUE
Donkey wizards that visit children with boo boos and give them bottomless coasters? - NOT TRUE
Deadly spiders that sometimes live under toilet seats in Australia? - TRUE
True Love? - NOT TRUE
See! ‘NOT TRUE’ can be better than ‘TRUE’, or worse, depending on your relationship status and how that affects your need for coasters.
I for one am guessing that if you’re in a loving long term relationship you need MORE coasters than if you’re sad and alone. Because there are two of you to use coasters. And because you’re probably trying to impress each other with your coaster skills.
Yet kids with boo boos are never in loving long term relationships because for some reason that is creepy (the ‘some reason’ is that it is ‘really creepy’, and ‘immoral’, or both, up to you). And kids are the very ones in possession of bottomless piles of coasters in this scenario, which is PROOF once and for all that ‘TRUE’ love is not just a myth but a genuine impossibility.
But this is not a story about my flawless ability to prove things once and for all in profound and powerful, and unfortunately true yet undebatable ways, no this is a story about something being delayed for a week. Yes, A WEEK!
A week when I could have used this thing, or even ignored it finding myself too lazy to cut the box open after it became clear after two seconds of looking that once again I could not find my goddamn scissors! That’s how profound and powerful and unfortunately true this story is.
When that sentence was said to me ‘it’s been delayed a week’ I was like ‘awww man’ and then I was off like a rocket! By which I mean my feat were on fire because the room had been flooded with lighter fluid and someone had just dropped a match that had been lit on FIRE!
I guess in hindsight this made the delay of the package a blessing in disguise because had my thing been delivered it would have burned in the fire that burned my house down that some bastard did to me merely because I convinced his wife there was no such thing as true love causing her to divorce him and bang his brother and father and uncle and son, which frankly says more about her than me if you ask me.
The point is my box of coasters didn’t show up this week and I was going to put a glass of beer on one of those and without them I had to go to a bar to put a glass of beer on a square of sponsored cardboard, and a bar is the most likely place a person will meet the person they will fall in true love with.
Not fuck that, it’s the ONLY place you can fall in TRUE love, from what I have been told, and yet this did not happen to me. Goddam it.
My plan is to go out and comfort myself by going out and purchasing a globe filled with helium that smells like victory. They better not fucking be ‘sold out’ or even worse ‘not exist’ or I’m going to really fuck up some marriages.
Saturday, February 18, 2012
And now in really simple riddles
What is the gender of the author of the following quote?
'Reece Witherspoon has only gotten more beautiful since having children'
a. A man
b. A woman
c. You are a sexist douche-bag for writing this blog
d. She never was beautiful, let alone now MORE beautiful
e. Chocolate and peanut butter should never make love
f. A transgender
g. I'm too busy masturbating at pictures of her from that time she went topless before she was famous to answer this question
h. I think she is gorgeous, and I'm a man, and my boyfriend agrees
i. With a spoon, more like with my penis, am I right?
j. Isn't a multiple choice supposed to have four answers at most?
k. A multiple choice can have as many answers as you want you asshole
l. Maybe I'll keep adding more just to fuck with you people
m. I just realized that I was completely messing up the alphabet here
n. That's pretty pathetic, even if you have fixed it
o. If you fixed it then why are you still mentioning it
p. An alien that looks like a woman
q. If 'Q' is always followed by 'U' then why doesn't the alphabet reflect that
r. I hope he doesn't try and drag this out to 'Z'
s. Hermaphrodite
If you chose A, K, Q, or U you are correct.
If you have noticed there was no U then you are also correct
If you think chocolate and peanut butter shouldn't be friends then I agree
If you can hook me up with her please do so
If you can't then who can you hook me up with, I am horny and lonely, please help!
'Reece Witherspoon has only gotten more beautiful since having children'
a. A man
b. A woman
c. You are a sexist douche-bag for writing this blog
d. She never was beautiful, let alone now MORE beautiful
e. Chocolate and peanut butter should never make love
f. A transgender
g. I'm too busy masturbating at pictures of her from that time she went topless before she was famous to answer this question
h. I think she is gorgeous, and I'm a man, and my boyfriend agrees
i. With a spoon, more like with my penis, am I right?
j. Isn't a multiple choice supposed to have four answers at most?
k. A multiple choice can have as many answers as you want you asshole
l. Maybe I'll keep adding more just to fuck with you people
m. I just realized that I was completely messing up the alphabet here
n. That's pretty pathetic, even if you have fixed it
o. If you fixed it then why are you still mentioning it
p. An alien that looks like a woman
q. If 'Q' is always followed by 'U' then why doesn't the alphabet reflect that
r. I hope he doesn't try and drag this out to 'Z'
s. Hermaphrodite
If you chose A, K, Q, or U you are correct.
If you have noticed there was no U then you are also correct
If you think chocolate and peanut butter shouldn't be friends then I agree
If you can hook me up with her please do so
If you can't then who can you hook me up with, I am horny and lonely, please help!
Friday, February 17, 2012
Lesbians are beautiful
I had long hair for about six long years.
HAD long hair.
In the middle of the night, around a ten days ago, I was feeling inspired by a beautiful two month long insomnia bout, mixed together with watching lots of Californication while thinking 'I'm a writer too, if I had that haircut would I get all those women throwing themselves at me?' It was a perfect storm.
It was around 4am when I thought to myself ‘why not try a little trim, and see if I like it?’ then I could just keep trimming a bit more every day or two until I'm no longer inspired to continue. Just see how short may suit me. It was a perfect plan.
It took about two or three nights of dawn trimming before I realized that I had made a big mistake. I have cut my own hair maybe a hundred times in my life. On at least a hundred of those occasions I have thought to myself after ‘I really, really should never ever do that again’. I am the perfect example of stupidity.
The first couple of nights I thought it was looking alright, and so I was motivated to continue. Yet the shorter it became the more obvious it was that I had left huge imbalances of length and texture, almost as if I was both not an expert at this, can’t look at my own head from above, and was cutting with blurry insomnia eyes. So I kept trimming away hoping to even it out, always thinking ‘evening out wont make it seem shorter, it’s just evening it out, right?’
For the next ten nights my insomnia continued, now fueled by what was becoming a clear obsession. I have a huge mirror next to my bed and I kept studying my hair and then running back to the bathroom and trimming more…….. and more and more and more. And it wasn’t looking good, no matter how many people told me it was, so I thought simply 'this looks AWFUL, maybe if I trim more I can fix it'.
With my hair mania reaching the point of pure paranoia to the point that every laugh I heard anywhere near me was a group of people pointing at me saying 'look at that guys stupid hair' I knew it was time to let a professional have a look. I figured the professionals eventually fixed that BP oil leak, so there is an outside chance they could do something with the even worse disaster that is my head.
Now, I have a love hate relationship with hairdressers.
I love the massage chair while my hair is being washed, and the feel of another humans hands in my hair.
I hate hate the small talk, and I am always petrified that I'll raise all the cliché topics they're sick of talking about all day everyday, so I sit there half mute with a weird ‘thinking’ look on my face’.
I love love love watching people work creativity with their hands; it gives me shivers down my back with a feeling of pleasure that surpasses any sexual encounter I've ever had.
I hate hate fucking hate making small talk, especially when I'm having orgasm like shivers and I'm talking to the one male hairdresser after all the cute girls got allocated to the heads around me.
I love that there are cute girls who often have unique and funky look.s
I hate that no matter where I go or what I ask them to do to my hair they only hear one thing
‘Lesbian’
'just a trim and tidy up please' I say
'No worries’ they reply ‘hey this is my mind talking it’s so nice to find a client I can communicate with telepathically! So just so were clear, you just told me with your voice for a trim but with your mind you said to do everything humanly possible to make you look like a lesbian right? If so look straight ahead with a weird ‘thinking’ look on your face’ they think.
So I went along. And I asked for ‘not too much length off, just tidy up the mess I made of this head o’ mine please’ and you know what? She cut almost all my hair off. It turns out ‘not too much length off’ means ‘all of it off please’ I really need to work on my accidental telepathy.
Anyway I think it looks pretty good, because people keep saying to me ‘it looks pretty good’. Actually people keep telling me ‘wow, that’s so much better, so glad you got rid of that long hair, all this time you looked so awful but I never wanted to tell you, even though, in my opinion, you basically looked like a homeless bum with that messy shit and I am surprised I let myself be seen in public with you’. It turns out I was not the perfect friend.
Oh also I was walking around the other day and I heard a lady turn to another lady and say ‘that’s a really cute beard on that lesbian’.
Now for some sleep.
HAD long hair.
In the middle of the night, around a ten days ago, I was feeling inspired by a beautiful two month long insomnia bout, mixed together with watching lots of Californication while thinking 'I'm a writer too, if I had that haircut would I get all those women throwing themselves at me?' It was a perfect storm.
It was around 4am when I thought to myself ‘why not try a little trim, and see if I like it?’ then I could just keep trimming a bit more every day or two until I'm no longer inspired to continue. Just see how short may suit me. It was a perfect plan.
It took about two or three nights of dawn trimming before I realized that I had made a big mistake. I have cut my own hair maybe a hundred times in my life. On at least a hundred of those occasions I have thought to myself after ‘I really, really should never ever do that again’. I am the perfect example of stupidity.
The first couple of nights I thought it was looking alright, and so I was motivated to continue. Yet the shorter it became the more obvious it was that I had left huge imbalances of length and texture, almost as if I was both not an expert at this, can’t look at my own head from above, and was cutting with blurry insomnia eyes. So I kept trimming away hoping to even it out, always thinking ‘evening out wont make it seem shorter, it’s just evening it out, right?’
For the next ten nights my insomnia continued, now fueled by what was becoming a clear obsession. I have a huge mirror next to my bed and I kept studying my hair and then running back to the bathroom and trimming more…….. and more and more and more. And it wasn’t looking good, no matter how many people told me it was, so I thought simply 'this looks AWFUL, maybe if I trim more I can fix it'.
With my hair mania reaching the point of pure paranoia to the point that every laugh I heard anywhere near me was a group of people pointing at me saying 'look at that guys stupid hair' I knew it was time to let a professional have a look. I figured the professionals eventually fixed that BP oil leak, so there is an outside chance they could do something with the even worse disaster that is my head.
Now, I have a love hate relationship with hairdressers.
I love the massage chair while my hair is being washed, and the feel of another humans hands in my hair.
I hate hate the small talk, and I am always petrified that I'll raise all the cliché topics they're sick of talking about all day everyday, so I sit there half mute with a weird ‘thinking’ look on my face’.
I love love love watching people work creativity with their hands; it gives me shivers down my back with a feeling of pleasure that surpasses any sexual encounter I've ever had.
I hate hate fucking hate making small talk, especially when I'm having orgasm like shivers and I'm talking to the one male hairdresser after all the cute girls got allocated to the heads around me.
I love that there are cute girls who often have unique and funky look.s
I hate that no matter where I go or what I ask them to do to my hair they only hear one thing
‘Lesbian’
'just a trim and tidy up please' I say
'No worries’ they reply ‘hey this is my mind talking it’s so nice to find a client I can communicate with telepathically! So just so were clear, you just told me with your voice for a trim but with your mind you said to do everything humanly possible to make you look like a lesbian right? If so look straight ahead with a weird ‘thinking’ look on your face’ they think.
So I went along. And I asked for ‘not too much length off, just tidy up the mess I made of this head o’ mine please’ and you know what? She cut almost all my hair off. It turns out ‘not too much length off’ means ‘all of it off please’ I really need to work on my accidental telepathy.
Anyway I think it looks pretty good, because people keep saying to me ‘it looks pretty good’. Actually people keep telling me ‘wow, that’s so much better, so glad you got rid of that long hair, all this time you looked so awful but I never wanted to tell you, even though, in my opinion, you basically looked like a homeless bum with that messy shit and I am surprised I let myself be seen in public with you’. It turns out I was not the perfect friend.
Oh also I was walking around the other day and I heard a lady turn to another lady and say ‘that’s a really cute beard on that lesbian’.
Now for some sleep.
Saturday, February 4, 2012
Thursday, January 19, 2012
Dear Expert
I'm glad I don't write a 'Dear Abby' advice column because then even the birthday song becomes a request for advice:
'Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday Dear Abby'
'Wait wait wait, seriously you’re going to throw one of those at me now? Give me a break for fucks sake, how dare you try to make me work in the middle of my birthday song!''
'No no, it’s nothing, it's just the song'
‘Oh it’s just the song, it’s just the song, now help me, right?
‘No, not at all’
'So why do you have to include ‘Dear Abby’? It's supposed to be my day off!'
'That’s just how it goes, I swear, everyone gets 'dear' and then their name’
‘So you're saying everyone is trying to take my job now, ‘Dear Steve’, ‘Dear Phillip’, ‘Dear Dramquilla’ and you're telling me this on my birthday, very classy, thank you, and I'll remember this every year too, because you told me during my birthday song, thanks a lot you cunt'
'Um Abby? Are you sure you're qualified to give 'advice' to people?'
No sir, not for me one little bit. I guess what I am really asking is this - is your name really ‘Expert’?
'Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday Dear Abby'
'Wait wait wait, seriously you’re going to throw one of those at me now? Give me a break for fucks sake, how dare you try to make me work in the middle of my birthday song!''
'No no, it’s nothing, it's just the song'
‘Oh it’s just the song, it’s just the song, now help me, right?
‘No, not at all’
'So why do you have to include ‘Dear Abby’? It's supposed to be my day off!'
'That’s just how it goes, I swear, everyone gets 'dear' and then their name’
‘So you're saying everyone is trying to take my job now, ‘Dear Steve’, ‘Dear Phillip’, ‘Dear Dramquilla’ and you're telling me this on my birthday, very classy, thank you, and I'll remember this every year too, because you told me during my birthday song, thanks a lot you cunt'
'Um Abby? Are you sure you're qualified to give 'advice' to people?'
No sir, not for me one little bit. I guess what I am really asking is this - is your name really ‘Expert’?
Thursday, January 5, 2012
Some very good advice
On how to….. Wait for the excitement….. Fix a fridge!
Cricket, for those who don't know, is an awesome game. In its best variety, known as ‘test cricket’, a match lasts for five days. Some of the awesome elements included in this sport during these five days are:
- Long periods where seemingly nothing happens
- Heavy drama that to many looks like people just standing around
- The daily tea break
- Ducks (seriously)
- A player position known as ‘silly mid off’ (also ‘silly mid on’!)
- Another known as ‘the night watchman’ (that sounds like a superhero!)
Don’t you just love it? Ha ha, I put a question mark as if you may not!
One way to put it is that if sex is a super fast-paced game that lasts for 90 odd minutes, then test cricket is like spending five days in bed with a beautiful new lover mixing up long periods of cuddling and staring into each others eyes with regular unplanned moments of passion. Plus cool helmets.
A less erotic (and therefore less awesome) way to describe cricket is that it’s just like baseball only with way different rules and tactics and with way cooler helmets (cricket ones have face masks!)
So you can imagine my frustration, anger and desire to rip heads off little girls dollies when yesterday I was lying in bed, alone, watching the cricket, smack bang during one of the mesmerizing long period of seemingly nothing happening, when abruptly my electricity went out! NOOOOOOOOOOOOO.
First thing first - locate the problem (some of you may have already guessed that it will end up being the fridge). I made a quick guess that it was probably the fridge, but only after I had made sure that no power points were overloaded, that nothing was on fire, that I had scratched my head until I had blood under my fingernails, and had looked around. Looking around of course being a euphemism for fifty times looking past your houseguest's chest who is wearing a see-through singlet and no bra, all the while pretending to be checking all the lights and appliances that are located behind her. And eventually making the discovery that her breasts are lovely and your other houseguest has actually checked the appliances, and god bless braless boobs in see-through singlets. That may in fact be the best sentence in the English language.
Note to self: write a book named ‘god bless braless boobs in see-though singlets’.
Having played around with the fuse box (note to self: next time don’t use a wet coat hanger) I came to the expert opinion that the problem was either the fridge or some other unknown problem. I had to pull the fridge out of its cupboard to confirm; horribly this required finding screwdriver.
If you're like me you have several tools in your house, consisting of a tool set given as a gift ten years ago that is always missing the exact parts you need for whatever you need to fix, and a screw driver you've had since stealing it from your dad 22 years ago to fix a skateboard.
I have a special 'tool draw' where I personally put the tools after every use, so my tool draw was full of plastic bags, light bulbs for lights I no longer own, and indistinguishable bits of moldy food scraps that I’ve been promising to clean out for years and will eventually do so the day I ultimately decide to sell the place, upon when I’ll think 'that's much better, I should have cleaned that 17 years ago'.
I found the toolbox in the spice cupboard and went to grab the screwdriver set. Last time I needed tools the much-needed wrench was missing from my toolbox but it was back today, laying uncomfortably in the spot the much needed screwdriver should have been. The other screwdriver was discovered after literally a five-hour search, conveniently in the cutlery draw under 12 forks.
It was finally time to unplug the fridge and it turns out (and this may surprise some of you) but it WAS the fridge that was the problem. It is now sitting on my balcony and I am hoping that it drying out may stop what ever was shorting out the electricity. It’s the best repair idea I can come up with.
The lessons are:
- I probably need a new fridge
- This cricket game is going along awesomely but
- I would actually prefer five days in bed with a new lover
Cricket, for those who don't know, is an awesome game. In its best variety, known as ‘test cricket’, a match lasts for five days. Some of the awesome elements included in this sport during these five days are:
- Long periods where seemingly nothing happens
- Heavy drama that to many looks like people just standing around
- The daily tea break
- Ducks (seriously)
- A player position known as ‘silly mid off’ (also ‘silly mid on’!)
- Another known as ‘the night watchman’ (that sounds like a superhero!)
Don’t you just love it? Ha ha, I put a question mark as if you may not!
One way to put it is that if sex is a super fast-paced game that lasts for 90 odd minutes, then test cricket is like spending five days in bed with a beautiful new lover mixing up long periods of cuddling and staring into each others eyes with regular unplanned moments of passion. Plus cool helmets.
A less erotic (and therefore less awesome) way to describe cricket is that it’s just like baseball only with way different rules and tactics and with way cooler helmets (cricket ones have face masks!)
So you can imagine my frustration, anger and desire to rip heads off little girls dollies when yesterday I was lying in bed, alone, watching the cricket, smack bang during one of the mesmerizing long period of seemingly nothing happening, when abruptly my electricity went out! NOOOOOOOOOOOOO.
First thing first - locate the problem (some of you may have already guessed that it will end up being the fridge). I made a quick guess that it was probably the fridge, but only after I had made sure that no power points were overloaded, that nothing was on fire, that I had scratched my head until I had blood under my fingernails, and had looked around. Looking around of course being a euphemism for fifty times looking past your houseguest's chest who is wearing a see-through singlet and no bra, all the while pretending to be checking all the lights and appliances that are located behind her. And eventually making the discovery that her breasts are lovely and your other houseguest has actually checked the appliances, and god bless braless boobs in see-through singlets. That may in fact be the best sentence in the English language.
Note to self: write a book named ‘god bless braless boobs in see-though singlets’.
Having played around with the fuse box (note to self: next time don’t use a wet coat hanger) I came to the expert opinion that the problem was either the fridge or some other unknown problem. I had to pull the fridge out of its cupboard to confirm; horribly this required finding screwdriver.
If you're like me you have several tools in your house, consisting of a tool set given as a gift ten years ago that is always missing the exact parts you need for whatever you need to fix, and a screw driver you've had since stealing it from your dad 22 years ago to fix a skateboard.
I have a special 'tool draw' where I personally put the tools after every use, so my tool draw was full of plastic bags, light bulbs for lights I no longer own, and indistinguishable bits of moldy food scraps that I’ve been promising to clean out for years and will eventually do so the day I ultimately decide to sell the place, upon when I’ll think 'that's much better, I should have cleaned that 17 years ago'.
I found the toolbox in the spice cupboard and went to grab the screwdriver set. Last time I needed tools the much-needed wrench was missing from my toolbox but it was back today, laying uncomfortably in the spot the much needed screwdriver should have been. The other screwdriver was discovered after literally a five-hour search, conveniently in the cutlery draw under 12 forks.
It was finally time to unplug the fridge and it turns out (and this may surprise some of you) but it WAS the fridge that was the problem. It is now sitting on my balcony and I am hoping that it drying out may stop what ever was shorting out the electricity. It’s the best repair idea I can come up with.
The lessons are:
- I probably need a new fridge
- This cricket game is going along awesomely but
- I would actually prefer five days in bed with a new lover
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
For need
I'm feeling perfect
Like a horrible concoction of lies
My glass full of past mistakes
The tambourine in rhythm
Yet not my hand clapping
Where has all my effort gone
A deception of my long planned undoing
I need nourishment for my truth
A positivity revolution
Just jam
Sing in my alcohol taunting voice
Any distraction from reality please
And listen to the ruthless crunch of insanity
At least I'm not a hypocrite
Just another thing I hate myself for
As always
Forever
My own regrettable choice
Like a horrible concoction of lies
My glass full of past mistakes
The tambourine in rhythm
Yet not my hand clapping
Where has all my effort gone
A deception of my long planned undoing
I need nourishment for my truth
A positivity revolution
Just jam
Sing in my alcohol taunting voice
Any distraction from reality please
And listen to the ruthless crunch of insanity
At least I'm not a hypocrite
Just another thing I hate myself for
As always
Forever
My own regrettable choice
Friday, December 16, 2011
Sleep tight your filthy motherfuckers
‘Sleep tight’ I said to her ‘unless you’re cool like me, in which case sleep loose mo-fo’
‘What are you calling me a slut?’ She angrily responded
‘At what point did I say slut?’
‘You called me loose?’
‘No I didn’t, I was making a joke, and also the word loose does not necessarily connote the vagina’
‘Oh now calling girls a slut is a joke to you?’
‘Yes that’s exactly what I said, and it is a joke, and it can be a funny joke in the right circumstances, but that was not the joke at all, the joke was that most people say sleep tight and I wanted to say the opposite, hence the wonderful joke sleep loose…. Mo-fo, which, you know, is short for motherfucker, but more…. Hip’
‘So I am a slutty motherfucker now?’
‘Yes, yes, ok I will allow it, you are a slutty motherfucker’
‘Well thanks for fucking being honest’
‘You’re welcome’
It was the best hang gliding trip ever. Fucking hang gliding.
‘What are you calling me a slut?’ She angrily responded
‘At what point did I say slut?’
‘You called me loose?’
‘No I didn’t, I was making a joke, and also the word loose does not necessarily connote the vagina’
‘Oh now calling girls a slut is a joke to you?’
‘Yes that’s exactly what I said, and it is a joke, and it can be a funny joke in the right circumstances, but that was not the joke at all, the joke was that most people say sleep tight and I wanted to say the opposite, hence the wonderful joke sleep loose…. Mo-fo, which, you know, is short for motherfucker, but more…. Hip’
‘So I am a slutty motherfucker now?’
‘Yes, yes, ok I will allow it, you are a slutty motherfucker’
‘Well thanks for fucking being honest’
‘You’re welcome’
It was the best hang gliding trip ever. Fucking hang gliding.
Thursday, December 8, 2011
How sickening!
Oh my god people, OH MY GOD, I don’t want to alarm you, but…….
I’ve got the flu!!!!
Well, or a cold, or you know a pandemic of phlegm emergent bacteria having epic orgies in my nostrils. I can never tell the difference between those three.
Of course this is actually no reason to be glum because being sick is fun! Most people think that having the flu is all bad and reason for tearful concern, but that’s not true, there are in fact lots of positives. Such as:
- Microscopic bacteria are breeding rapidly using my nose hair as a filthy swingerclub cum stained bed, which makes up for any of my own sexual inefficiencies.
- There are still idiots who think you get the flu from being cold so it's fun to pump the heat and ask if you can breathe on their face? 'Sure - I'm not cold', ‘really, ha ha, bloooooooowwwww’
- Coughed up phlegm has an awesome way of oozing towards the sinkhole that is always fascinating and wildly satisfying to observe. And
- You can have epic masturbation marathons, throwing the used tissues about the room with gay abandon, and far from being disgusted your roommates will merely feel sympathy for your endless discomfort.
Hooray!
It's not all fun though. Awww, I know just after I proved it was. Fuck I am a disappointment.
I know this is going to bring up some bad memories, because it happens to all of you all the time too, but there is the annoyance that the good medicines are now kept behind the counter at the pharmacy because scum bags buy them to make meth to sell to school children, and if as a guy with long hair you even attempt to purchase these you will be treated like a child killer. Yep malelonghairism, one of the most roaring forms of prejudice plaguing the world at the moment. With the well known hate group slogan of ‘I don’t hate men, I just think if they have long hair they kill children, and probably are a little greasy and therefore don’t deserve the good cold medicine’. HEY HATE GROUP – that’s not a catchy slogan, so suck on that for an insult.
I've tried everything to convince them that I am sick enough to warrant the pills I used to be able to buy when I was twelve with no questions asked. I’ve tried telling the truth, I have tried making up symptoms so my cold seems worse, I have tried taking used tissues into the pharmacy to prove I'm sick but all three of those ideas gets the same response - 'get your disgusting seamen away from me'. And for some weird reason I get the same response when I make up symptoms at the sperm bank. Another obvious flaw with having the flu is that you find yourself talking too much about your bodily fluids. Stupid disease.
But I'm not complaining instead I'm hopped up on an overdose of crappy over the counter meds and using my extra time in bed to study bacteria mating habits, and writing better malelonghairism slogans:
- Not as neat as it could be
- Gel wasters
- Now how can I tell if my wife cheated on me with a dude or a girl just by the foreign hairs I find in our bed?
- Ha ha wind hates you
Hell yeah if I ever go bald and turn on my own kind I am SET!
I’ve got the flu!!!!
Well, or a cold, or you know a pandemic of phlegm emergent bacteria having epic orgies in my nostrils. I can never tell the difference between those three.
Of course this is actually no reason to be glum because being sick is fun! Most people think that having the flu is all bad and reason for tearful concern, but that’s not true, there are in fact lots of positives. Such as:
- Microscopic bacteria are breeding rapidly using my nose hair as a filthy swingerclub cum stained bed, which makes up for any of my own sexual inefficiencies.
- There are still idiots who think you get the flu from being cold so it's fun to pump the heat and ask if you can breathe on their face? 'Sure - I'm not cold', ‘really, ha ha, bloooooooowwwww’
- Coughed up phlegm has an awesome way of oozing towards the sinkhole that is always fascinating and wildly satisfying to observe. And
- You can have epic masturbation marathons, throwing the used tissues about the room with gay abandon, and far from being disgusted your roommates will merely feel sympathy for your endless discomfort.
Hooray!
It's not all fun though. Awww, I know just after I proved it was. Fuck I am a disappointment.
I know this is going to bring up some bad memories, because it happens to all of you all the time too, but there is the annoyance that the good medicines are now kept behind the counter at the pharmacy because scum bags buy them to make meth to sell to school children, and if as a guy with long hair you even attempt to purchase these you will be treated like a child killer. Yep malelonghairism, one of the most roaring forms of prejudice plaguing the world at the moment. With the well known hate group slogan of ‘I don’t hate men, I just think if they have long hair they kill children, and probably are a little greasy and therefore don’t deserve the good cold medicine’. HEY HATE GROUP – that’s not a catchy slogan, so suck on that for an insult.
I've tried everything to convince them that I am sick enough to warrant the pills I used to be able to buy when I was twelve with no questions asked. I’ve tried telling the truth, I have tried making up symptoms so my cold seems worse, I have tried taking used tissues into the pharmacy to prove I'm sick but all three of those ideas gets the same response - 'get your disgusting seamen away from me'. And for some weird reason I get the same response when I make up symptoms at the sperm bank. Another obvious flaw with having the flu is that you find yourself talking too much about your bodily fluids. Stupid disease.
But I'm not complaining instead I'm hopped up on an overdose of crappy over the counter meds and using my extra time in bed to study bacteria mating habits, and writing better malelonghairism slogans:
- Not as neat as it could be
- Gel wasters
- Now how can I tell if my wife cheated on me with a dude or a girl just by the foreign hairs I find in our bed?
- Ha ha wind hates you
Hell yeah if I ever go bald and turn on my own kind I am SET!
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
335am I must be glowing
I haven't blogged much recently. I have been traveling, I have been writing a novel again for the first time in a few years and being reminded that I am not happy unless I am writing a novel, even if no one will ever read them.
It is the middle of the night and I am an epic age from sleeping, and I dont care that, that makes no sense.
I feel like it is time for me to start getting back to being honest, writing what's on my mind, and not caring so much if what I write is funny, or original, or so weird that it counts as art in my strange mind.
I have started fantasizing about being in a relationship again. This despite those being a rare find for me, a desperately painful and frustrating thing to maintain and a guaranteed angrily broken heart at the end. As usual the stories my friends share with me about relationships they are in and those they hear about are 100% stories of things that I can't help but feel would make me want to murder someone, most likely myself, yet I am finding myself thinking 'I could put up with that'. I am nothing but a hopeless romantic.
'I miss having someone to be pathetically sweet too' I thought moments ago.
'She's already had a proper sex life, I could never be with someone who has had that when I haven't' I thought moments ago.
I want to be more honest in my writing.
I spend way too much time on internet dating sights these days.
I am going to publish my book 'the embarrassing memory murderer' about my endless life of humiliation some way or another in the next few months and oh my god is that going to open eyes to a life like mine. Yet do I really want people to know the truth?
I have thirteen minutes of battery on this laptop left, I need to publish post soon or get mad at myself for constantly telling myself what I want to do more of yet never do.
Yes I do want people to know the truth, but is it going to be cathartic or an exercise in narcissism?
I am moving to Canada, is this right?
Perhaps, but perhaps not. I want the odd 'yes' in my life please.
I have just renovated my apartment and it is brilliant, but it is not leaving me with the desire to stay. I think this is good. I want to chase dreams fearless again.
I am now on reserve battery power. I can't be fucked to get my charger. I can't sleep. I can't be fucked to hook up the DVD player on my new TV so I have something to watch. I want to read but it makes me want to write and I can't write if my computer is out of battery.
I want to have a girlfriend asleep next o me to watch breathing and cuddle for warmth and affection. If I have a girlfriend I can't move to Canada unless I take her with me. If she can come she is probably not pursuing her own passions. I could never date someone like that. If I stay for a girl then I am someone like that.
Now it's six minutes. This blog may not cure all my doubts and fears after all. Maybe I should have worked on my new novel instead of writing this. No one will ever read those anyway and that is too horrific to imagine. I wish I had time to edit this, I know there will be something I regret.
Hey maybe I will end up with a humiliating story I can write about in a future non-fiction book. Humiliation is awesome for a writer. .
Three minutes left.
I want to get more honest in my blogging.
I hope I can find a girl to start my proper sex life with.
If she is anything like the girlfriends I hear about we're all fucked.
I dont like this as an ending but now time.
It is the middle of the night and I am an epic age from sleeping, and I dont care that, that makes no sense.
I feel like it is time for me to start getting back to being honest, writing what's on my mind, and not caring so much if what I write is funny, or original, or so weird that it counts as art in my strange mind.
I have started fantasizing about being in a relationship again. This despite those being a rare find for me, a desperately painful and frustrating thing to maintain and a guaranteed angrily broken heart at the end. As usual the stories my friends share with me about relationships they are in and those they hear about are 100% stories of things that I can't help but feel would make me want to murder someone, most likely myself, yet I am finding myself thinking 'I could put up with that'. I am nothing but a hopeless romantic.
'I miss having someone to be pathetically sweet too' I thought moments ago.
'She's already had a proper sex life, I could never be with someone who has had that when I haven't' I thought moments ago.
I want to be more honest in my writing.
I spend way too much time on internet dating sights these days.
I am going to publish my book 'the embarrassing memory murderer' about my endless life of humiliation some way or another in the next few months and oh my god is that going to open eyes to a life like mine. Yet do I really want people to know the truth?
I have thirteen minutes of battery on this laptop left, I need to publish post soon or get mad at myself for constantly telling myself what I want to do more of yet never do.
Yes I do want people to know the truth, but is it going to be cathartic or an exercise in narcissism?
I am moving to Canada, is this right?
Perhaps, but perhaps not. I want the odd 'yes' in my life please.
I have just renovated my apartment and it is brilliant, but it is not leaving me with the desire to stay. I think this is good. I want to chase dreams fearless again.
I am now on reserve battery power. I can't be fucked to get my charger. I can't sleep. I can't be fucked to hook up the DVD player on my new TV so I have something to watch. I want to read but it makes me want to write and I can't write if my computer is out of battery.
I want to have a girlfriend asleep next o me to watch breathing and cuddle for warmth and affection. If I have a girlfriend I can't move to Canada unless I take her with me. If she can come she is probably not pursuing her own passions. I could never date someone like that. If I stay for a girl then I am someone like that.
Now it's six minutes. This blog may not cure all my doubts and fears after all. Maybe I should have worked on my new novel instead of writing this. No one will ever read those anyway and that is too horrific to imagine. I wish I had time to edit this, I know there will be something I regret.
Hey maybe I will end up with a humiliating story I can write about in a future non-fiction book. Humiliation is awesome for a writer. .
Three minutes left.
I want to get more honest in my blogging.
I hope I can find a girl to start my proper sex life with.
If she is anything like the girlfriends I hear about we're all fucked.
I dont like this as an ending but now time.
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