[Most Recent Entries]
Below are the 5 most recent journal entries recorded in
|Saturday, August 21st, 2004|
Whether or not you'll admit to it doesn't matter. I know we've all been there one time or another. You're at your friend's house. Nobody else is home. His eyes light up, his mouth closes to form a tiny O, and he says "Hey, wanna see somethin'?"
That "somethin'" could be a few things. His father's gun. A dead animal on the side of the road. His sister's journal. However, in most cases, it is something pornographic usually belonging to his parents.
This has happened to me a lot. It's happened so much, in fact, that sometimes I wasn't even impressed. Once, I was directed to my friend's older brother's bedroom in which I was shown an outdated issue of Playboy, and a measly box of condoms. I remember myself saying, "That's it?" because not two weeks prior, I was privy to a stack of Hustler's large enough to climb, and a blowup doll.
The most shocking part about these experiences wasn't the things I saw, but rather the people who owned them. One friend of mine had the prudest of mothers. She was always outraged at everything she saw. She was the kind of mother who monitered everything her son watched on TV, and wouldn't let him watch certian PG-13 movies.
One day, as this friend of mine's mother was headed to work, the moment the door closed, his eyes lit up and his mouth formed that oh so familiar "O". Seconds later, we were in his mother's closet. It turned out, this prude of a woman was the owner of quite a large dildo collection, a stack of porn movies, and a book on sex positions.
I could never look at the woman the same way again. AFter that moment, everything she said came out as, "Dildo dildo dildo. Big black dildo. Little pink dildo. Weird curvy dildo that vibrates. DILDO! DILDO!"
I was listening to a comedy album with this friend one time, and his dildo mother walked in on us just as the word "Fuck" was uttered. She told us to, "Turn off this filth!". All I wanted to say was, "Hey lady, I got a gym bag full of dildos with your name on it that says we CAN listen to this album!"
If that prude was my mother, her secret little gym bag would have been the most powerful weapon in my blackmail arsenal.
"You can't watch this movie. It's rated R"
"You're right. Perhaps I can borrow a movie of yours. Let's see. Oh, I got one! How about Cockstalkers 12. One through eleven were so enthralling. I can't wait to see what happens next!"
Another thing I'd do is, everytime she did something to piss me off, I'd throw another one of her dildos out. She wouldn't be able to say anything, but hopefully she'd make the connection, and leave me alone.
Unfortunately, and fortunately, the days of being shown the dirty secrets that lie in the closets of peoples' parents are past me. Soon my children will be making "O" faces, and leading their friends into my closet. I'll make sure to keep it well stocked. Hope they like horse dildos.
|Monday, August 16th, 2004|
|Update My Livejournal
I haven't been writing in the livejournal. Why? I forgot I had one, and haven't had anything profound to talk about. If I were like everybody else, I would use this thing every day to complain about how much of a drag my parents are and how "depressed" I am.
I can't wait 'til being depressed isn't cool anymore. That way you all can give it back to the limbless war vets, 40-year-old virgins, and malignant tumor carriers who had it to start with.
One more thing on the same note- I bought a knife. It goes into the eye of the next person to tell me they have a sore body part, i.e. Bad Back, knee, kneck, headache. I don't know what they've been writing about me in the tabloids, but trust me, I don't have magical healing powers.
That's about all I have to say about that. I could be wrong, however. Maybe I'm just superhuman, and the rest of the people I know are fragile pussyfart bubbles forever on the verge of popping. If so, be careful...I've got a needle with your name on it.
|Tuesday, June 22nd, 2004|
With my fingers still smelling like vomit, I typed up this true short story of what happened to me a few hours ago
"Fuck," was what I said when my finger punctured through the cheap paper towel into the pool of vomit I was scrubbing. "Fuck my boss for trying to save thirty cents on paper towels," and, "Fuck that little fat girl for puking all over the floor when the door outside wasn't more than five feet away," were the only two things on my mind.
Something new popped into my mind. "Fuck that fat girl's father for being handicapped, and therefore not able to pick her mess up. Fuck him hard."
Here's me three minutes before this: I'm handing the handicapped man his change from the five dollar bill he gave me to rent Charlotte's Web 2. The handicapped man begins to hobble off when he hears his daughter's friend say, "Jamie's throwing up!" I lean over the desk for a glance. I laugh. The customer's who have formed a crowd around the vomiting spectacle give me a dirty look. I say, "What?"
In walks the frantic mother. Not the fat puking girl's mother, just a mother in general. The first words out of her mouth are, "Oh my god, somebody do something!" I'm too busy laughing to realize she's looking at me. "Get her a bucket!" demands el frantico. I look at her with a "What makes you think I can pull a bucket out of my ass" expression on my face. "The barrel!" she says, "Give me the trash barrel!" I hand her the trash barrel, and the woman intercepts the vomit. Now there's a chunky yellow sauce being sprayed all over the plastic water bottle I threw away earlier.
The vomit frenzy comes to a hiatus. By now there's a half dozen onlookers. The fat girl's sickly, pale head rises from the trash barrel, yellow streaks dripping down her chin. Then she systematically leans forward again, widens her jaw, and a new burst of fluid erupts from her mouth, some of it landing in the barrel, some hitting new spots of the carpet. The crowd gasps, I laugh even harder than before.
Why was I laughing so damn much? Well, here's the thing- When I first walked into work my boss asked me, "Notice anything different?" The first thing I looked at was his scalp. Nothing new there. He was still balding. The second thing I did was look around the store for something new. Everything was just as bland as usual. "I give up," I said. He told me to look at the carpet. I did. Like I said before, just as bland as usual.
"What?" I asked.
"I had it cleaned today".
"Oh yeah," I lied with a fake smile on my face, "look at that. You can really tell the difference".
"Yeah, I had a crew come in today, and they did the entire carpet through the whole store".
He was so proud of his new carpet job. He had probably been thinking about it all day. Chances are, the moment the fat girl's vomit splashed all over the floor, he was sitting at home, smiling, saying to his wife, "Yeah, I had the carpet cleaned today at the store. They did a great job".
Everything stopped being funny the moment I grabbed the roll of cheap paper towels, and realized what my duty was. It's hard to find anything funny when you're on your knees in a pool of reeking, fat girl belly soup. It's hard to laugh when you turn into the punchline. The only fuel I had to keep me scrubbing and not crying, was to picture the different kinds of faces my boss will be making tomorrow morning when he walks in to find a big yellow stain on his newly cleaned carpet. I giggled.
|Sunday, June 6th, 2004|
|Reagan comment #159,434,562,747,813,529,002,846
We've all heard the news. Former president Reagan died of "alzheimers" the other day. Even though he was 93 years old, Alzheimers was the culprit. That monster of a disease, always leeching off of people who have lived way past their life expectancy.
I don't know what this means to anybody else, but what it means to me is that I have to take a bit of a hiatus on making fun of Alzheimers because for the next few months, if I mention it, Im going to hear "Don't make fun of that disease. That's what killed President Reagan". GODDAMNIT! If those two bullets had done their job back in the eighties, I could still be making my Alzheimers cracks today, but with my luck, Reagan happened to have been the Fifty Cent of United States Presidents.
Besides the stifling of my Alzheimers comments, when I heard that Reagan left us, I was giddier than when Thurmond spat out his death rattle. Why is it these assholes always live so long? Do they know something we don't know?
I grew up through most of Reagans reign over our country, but at the time I was oblivious because I was between the ages of either 0 or 6, so I had no opinion. All I knew about him was something I heard from my best friend, TV (fuck dogs). I heard somebody call him "Senile", and it stuck with me.
One day, a few years after I heard this, I was in my Elementary school library, and I saw a bookmark with his face one it. I picked it up and showed one of my friends, telling him, "This guy's senile". A librarian heard what I said, and she was pissed off. She scorned me, and made me feel like I just pissed on God's beard (The god which I don't believe in today, but did then, and when I DID believe in him, I pictured him as a Santa Claus in more formal robe-wear). I made sure never to say anything bad about Reagan again. That was until I read about him, even more years later, after the library incident.
The material I read, coiincdentally, was from a library, albeit a different one. Turns out- not only was the sonofabitch senile, but he also freed a bunch of mental patients into the streets, ignored the AIDS epidemic in the US resulting in the loss of thousands of lives that could have been saved, was involved in an illegal war which was funded by drug money (money from the crack released into urban areas, which devestated households, and resulted in an endless amount of lost lives), armed both Sadaam Hussein and Osama Bin Laden so they could kill leaders he didn't like, and for oil security (look where that one got us) and foremost; in order to cut even more out of education budgets, he labled Ketchup as a vegetable. According to him, sucking on ketchup packets was just as healthy as chomping on celery sticks. There are many other horrible things he did such as accusing trees of causing more pollution than industry (because all that damn pollen really fucks up our water supply), but his list of horrible deeds can go on forever, and my point is that I was bitched at by a prude librarian when I was a kid, not because what I said was wrong, but because what I said wasnt republican. This just goes to prove that we have to keep our children away from republicans at all costs.
So, just for this one night, I am going to believe in a Heaven and Hell, because I don't want for Reagan to have peacefully faded away from existence, I want to know that somewhere, right now, he is being fucked in the ass, and given AIDS to by Satan himself.
|Monday, May 31st, 2004|
|My Fellow Americans
I wonder what George W. Bush calls gay people. I'm not talking about how he adresses them in the media. He just calls them 'Gays' or 'Homosexuals'when he's on TV because he doesn't want to piss them off since that would lose him some votes, and I'm sure in his mind even a gay vote's an A-OK vote. But no matter what the guy says on TV, we all KNOW he hates gay people. In fact, I don't think he was really into black people all that much either until Colin Powell and Condoleeza Rice started saving his ass.
What I want to know is what he calls gay people when he's just hanging out with his friends in Texas playing Nintendo, skateboarding or whatever else it is him and his buddies do these days. He certainly doesn't just call them "Gays" because that's acceptable, and I think I've made it pretty clear with vast amounts of evidence that he hates gay people. So he's gotta call them something that gay people don't like to hear.
So far, the verdicts I have are "Homo" "Faggot" and "Queer". Anything else, I think, would be too creative for him to come up with. I don't think he'd be clever enough to say something like "Butt Buddy" or "Pillow Biter". He's the kind of guy who just sticks to the basics.
I came up with a little excercise that can help me determine what he calls gay people. What I do is: I picture George W. Bush driving down the street, sticking his head out of his pickup truck window, and shouting something to a gay couple holding hands. Then, of my three selections, I choose which one sounds most realistic coming out of Bush's mouth. Go ahead, and read them all, then pick the one YOU think sounds best, and afterwards, I'll show you MY decision.
"I'm George W. Bush, and I approve of this message, homo's!"
"I'm Geroge W. Bush, and I approve of this message, faggots!"
"I'm George W. Bush, and I approve of this message, queers!"
I don't know about anybody else, but right off the bat "Queers" sounds like the most appropriate choice to me. I think that, for most of his life, George W. Bush called gay people "Queers", however, fairly recently, the word "Queer" has become somewhat acceptable in the gay community. For example, look at the titles the shows "Queer Eye For the Straight Guy" and "Queer as Folk", and there are terms which are used such as "Queer Cinema". Because of this, I'm sure the word "Queer" has become somewhat of a turn-off for Mr. President.
With that taken into factor, the next best choice, in my opinion is "Faggots". It's a little more powerful than "Homo's" and just seems like it fits coming out of the Presidents mouth.
So there you have it. Yet another mystery debunked by Mark Gallagher. Tune in next week when I determine what type of wood Klan members prefer for cross burning.