And this is why I love the Nines:
I was going to write a poem de love. It was going to be titled "You Can Eat My Balls Bitch." But I thought hey that sounds kinda familiar so I used the little search thingy and low and behold we have MULTIPLE posts that include the phrase which includes the words eat and my and balls.
To me that's really what writing is. Sharing your innermost. It's like yeah. Maybe at work I'll act like it's funny if you treat me like a stupid boy but secretly I am thinking eat my balls, bitch. Also I am thinking about you sucking my balls. Typing about balls is gross. I just pictured a goat. Also overweight guys in tighty whities.
Also. A guy I used to work with got caught on that Predator show. He thought the girl was thirteen. He is a fucking idiot.
I wonder where he works now. Prolly coaching soccer somewhere. Like that episode of the Sopranos right. Oh. I know.
Some other things. Sometimes women send me sexy pictures. I never know what to send back. I mean. Not that I do. But it's like idk women can change outfits and remove things and whatnot and what can a guy do? Here baby. Here is a picture of my wang. Tomorrow will be the same thing. Exponential wangs. You know what I'm talking about tho right (know-what-I-mean-face)?
Another thing. I don't know why I'm typing this. I'm the only person on Blogger in America right now. Someone should shoot me. And by shoot I mean make sweet love, baby. Also can you wear a tennis dress and plz do not be completely shaved down there it makes it all sweaty. Also no moles with hairs anywhere they should not be. And don't worry I will wear the burglar mask or the Hamburglar mask or whatever you want honeychild.
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I also want to leave you with an inspirational message. There is always hope.
Kick ass right? No fuckin doubt>
2226
If there was a car that went thru walls and everything else we could drive it and there would be no bullshit like making a living or being nice to some girl's ugly mom and then later the whole time while you are doing it you wonder the entire time if she is going to end up looking like that thing.
No wait. That's like a total plot for a road trip [with a dark twist] movie [excuse me I mean a] film.
Instead I would like my wistful meander to involve a cute honeypie who 1. does not bother me and 2. i do not bother im-
possible I know but regardless one can't insult her mother if one wants to hit the heynansker nawmean so let me back up. Also and only as a quick interjection: Don't you hate when ppl write like whiggers on fb? It annoys the fuck out of me.
Anyway. Back to the thing.
Yeah so your blue eyes would be a Benetton ad and I would know by your unpainted fingernails that you are of the bourgeois or at least mimic very well and really for this application that is totally ok becuz money is not needed in my special writing world. I mean. Ok. It's needed. But I already have it
baby please
And we would drive that endless car and write novels with our conversations and there will also be a rocket ride to the Moon. An actual one too. Not some metaphor for sex. You don't have to worry about that. I'm more into moping around the countryside with you. Taking Polaroids. Listening to the Smiths. I mean
We can eat at gas stations baby. And we will never go back. Tu Credi
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I don't like a lot of things. But I like writing. And I like thinking that you just read what I wrote.
No wait. That's like a total plot for a road trip [with a dark twist] movie [excuse me I mean a] film.
Instead I would like my wistful meander to involve a cute honeypie who 1. does not bother me and 2. i do not bother im-
possible I know but regardless one can't insult her mother if one wants to hit the heynansker nawmean so let me back up. Also and only as a quick interjection: Don't you hate when ppl write like whiggers on fb? It annoys the fuck out of me.
Anyway. Back to the thing.
Yeah so your blue eyes would be a Benetton ad and I would know by your unpainted fingernails that you are of the bourgeois or at least mimic very well and really for this application that is totally ok becuz money is not needed in my special writing world. I mean. Ok. It's needed. But I already have it
baby please
And we would drive that endless car and write novels with our conversations and there will also be a rocket ride to the Moon. An actual one too. Not some metaphor for sex. You don't have to worry about that. I'm more into moping around the countryside with you. Taking Polaroids. Listening to the Smiths. I mean
We can eat at gas stations baby. And we will never go back. Tu Credi
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I don't like a lot of things. But I like writing. And I like thinking that you just read what I wrote.
2131
Maybe maybe too much talk this song is not a rebel song
Another thing what if this was not to the real you but to the you in my writer world. Becuz that's what faggottass writers do. They take the real world comma the one they don't fit into comma and remake it into a world where they have power or a voice or friends they don't secretly hate or whatever. And before we move on plz don't think I hate you. Blah blah that could never happen blah blah.
So like then in the writing world I could say I want to stick my fingers in you baby and you would not say WOW that is really classy didn't your wife just have a baby two days ago and I would not feel white trashy and guilty as fuck and also sad becuz I know that my self-destructiveness will be my eventual downfall even though it is my parents' fault or someone else's fault I mean THIS IS AMERICA WE ARE A NATION OF VICTIMS RIGHT
Wait. Let's take a break while I try to think up something I haven't said a million times already. Irregardless the point rings true. But who am I to criticize really. My job is to go to work until I die from some disease. Otherwise, I am a cultural leper.
And I mean it sucks. I was telling Melinda Maria DeJesus Bonaventura Cruz just that the other day. I go why can't I be into weighing 250 lbs and watching CSI shows and playing Halo online until four am? Why the fuck do I have to think about writing all the time? It makes me fucking miserable. And I blurt shit out like a Tourettes individual. I think that's a side effect of writing btw.
Writing is like hate fucking a girl who was so mean to you for so long but then suddenly got on your jock and you acted like shit was cool with her so you could get diggy down and then once you did you discovered that you still hated her but also wanted to fuck her again only the problem is she does not want to fuck you becuz your stupid ass fell asleep right after you came and you KNOW that shit does not fly with the in-demand crowd holla
Another thing what if this was not to the real you but to the you in my writer world. Becuz that's what faggottass writers do. They take the real world comma the one they don't fit into comma and remake it into a world where they have power or a voice or friends they don't secretly hate or whatever. And before we move on plz don't think I hate you. Blah blah that could never happen blah blah.
So like then in the writing world I could say I want to stick my fingers in you baby and you would not say WOW that is really classy didn't your wife just have a baby two days ago and I would not feel white trashy and guilty as fuck and also sad becuz I know that my self-destructiveness will be my eventual downfall even though it is my parents' fault or someone else's fault I mean THIS IS AMERICA WE ARE A NATION OF VICTIMS RIGHT
Wait. Let's take a break while I try to think up something I haven't said a million times already. Irregardless the point rings true. But who am I to criticize really. My job is to go to work until I die from some disease. Otherwise, I am a cultural leper.
And I mean it sucks. I was telling Melinda Maria DeJesus Bonaventura Cruz just that the other day. I go why can't I be into weighing 250 lbs and watching CSI shows and playing Halo online until four am? Why the fuck do I have to think about writing all the time? It makes me fucking miserable. And I blurt shit out like a Tourettes individual. I think that's a side effect of writing btw.
Writing is like hate fucking a girl who was so mean to you for so long but then suddenly got on your jock and you acted like shit was cool with her so you could get diggy down and then once you did you discovered that you still hated her but also wanted to fuck her again only the problem is she does not want to fuck you becuz your stupid ass fell asleep right after you came and you KNOW that shit does not fly with the in-demand crowd holla
1928
"I said if u let me do your enema I won't tell anyone and she laughed and said go away. Haters man."
"It's almost like she didn't believe you. Silly bitches."
1854
I am not good at porn on the iPhone. A thin layer of skin is peeling off my cockdome and the underrim and foreskin. I am not worried. It must be the heat multiplied by in my pants that is what she said. Heads are chopped off across the border and left in suitcases at police stations and may I have a second of your time? Driving is small towns is chill. My rental key is not a key. I press the break and push an ignition button to blast off and the A/C roars and I do not play music because I hate the accordion and that hellish instrument is in every goddamn song down here and fuck that shit and fuck Paul McCartney, too, that overrated dick. Miller High Life 33oz for a buck three six niner. Fuchsia house with lime trim. Why the fuck not. See, your homeowners assoc wants to crush your self-expression for the almighty Benjamin. Not here. Let freedom reign. Lap dances. Beef BBQ. It is so hot so hot so hot today is the longest day of the year and every day down here is the longest. Double X triple bypass gifs do not play on my fuckingphone okay.
0956
Hello. I work for an Internets company. Our Internets is down. Has been for more than an hour. I am watching "Eat, Pray, Love" with a coworker in our "media room." White people problems. Big flat screen. The plight of the rich. Give or take a couple or none, 1,369 channels, a dozen DVRs with placeshifting and comfy chairs and India looks increadible and if I am reincarnated with a cooch and some loot I will definitely go there to find myself when I stop appreciating how great my life is. Mosquitos. The Internets is still broken. Some old scraggly white guy on teevee is crying. I am smiling.
2352
Hey You. Enough. The shock of it is the shock of it. You need to stop fucking whining. You need to go in a direction that does not make my skin crawl. Right here is the part where I would type: (insert name or pronoun) said to the mirror - and of course this is only if I wanted you to develop sympathy as an auditor (Hi I am typing super loud right now I know I should use loudly instead of loud but seriously don't you think ppl sound faggy as fuck when they say loudly tho?) ok all right but even if you don't the point is if I want you to like me as my narrator - and believe me the author as his/her narrator is a dissertation in itself - I will couch my accusations and make it like you and I are so super cool that I would never dare insult you with little black words on the big black Internets. Becuz you are snuggly sweetums and I'm the big bad wolf right? I mean. You might be right. You gotta be. I mean. There is certainly a trail of girls who think so.
But I'll also tell you this: The prettiest ones are the ones who hate me the most. Well. Except for one. But we got together over drugs so it's whatever.
I hope you get my point.
But I'll also tell you this: The prettiest ones are the ones who hate me the most. Well. Except for one. But we got together over drugs so it's whatever.
I hope you get my point.
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