Friday, December 6, 2013

Give Me Bade (BAH day)

I Feel Good

I walk along
But then I trip over myself and I fall
I stand up and then I’m okay

So Do What U Want, what you want with my body
Do what you want. Don’t stop; let’s party 
(Write what you want. Say what you want about me 
If you’re wondering, know that I’m not sorry)
Do what you want, what you want with my body

What you want with my body?

You can’t have my heart and you won’t use my mind BUT
Do what you want with my body. Do what you want with my body
You can’t stop my voice 'cause YOU DON'T OWN MY LIFE but
Do what you want with my body

Do what you want with *my* body

Early morning, longer nights
Tom Ford, private flights
Crazy schedule, fast life
I wouldn’t trade it in 'cause it’s our life

(Let's slow it down)

I could be the drink in your cup
I could be the green in your blunt
Your pusher man
Yeah I got what you want
You wanna escape
All of the crazy shit
You’re the Marilyn and...

I'm the president

And I love to hear you say, girl:

"Do what I want, do what I want with your body
Do what I want, do what I want with your body"

Back of the club taking shots getting naughty
No invitations - it’s a private party ;)

(Do what I want, do what I want with your body
Do what I want, do what I want with your body)
Yeah we're taking these haters and we're roughing ‘em up
And we lay in the club like we don’t give a F#%&

Sometimes I’m scared I suppose if you ever let me go
I would fall apart if you break my heart
So just take my body and don’t stop the party

You can’t have my heart and you won’t use my mind but
Do what you want with my body. DO WHAT YOU WANT with my body
You can’t stop my voice 'cause you don’t own my life but
Do what you want with my body

DO what you want with MY BODY

Do what you want with me
What you want with my body
Do what you want with me
What you want with my body
Do what you want with me
What you want with my body
Do what you want with me
What you want with my body, world

Friday, November 8, 2013

I Know. I Need to Shave. Everything. But Just Read the Damn Blog Entry and Shut the Hell Up ;)

I wake up and first thing’s first: I’m of service. I make sure your needs are met; I’m so selfless. I give hard and serve hard and now...

I need a break.
I give big. I give all and now...

It's time to DEGENERATE.
Today’s ALL about me. All about cup-filling. Today’s ALL about me!*
Learning how to receive. How to receive? Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh!

I move on through offerings often one-sided. Being this low on list of worth (over extended), I give hard, provide hard and now...

I need some relief
I look out, I proffer and now...

I need some respite indeed!
My habit to love you first in me remainders**. Favoring you is so knee-jerk: leaves me a stranger. I give hard and fight hard and now...

I need to retreat.
I give out, dedicate and now...

I need to acknowledge me!

*Repetition is vastly underrated.
**Ummm....I don't know what that means either

Oh Alanis. I know your song is about remembering to take care of oneself in the spiritual sense. Yet, it has become my Anthem Against Total Bottoms. Well, that and I'm a narcissistic bastard. "All about me" are definitely lyrics I can relate to. Come on now. I'm just kidding. But speaking of things I'm doing, I'm performing with my band at PRECINCT BAR in Somerville MA on November 16th. Set time is 9p. Come! 

Here's a snippet of our latest recording. It's not *anywhere* else yet. I'm telling you this now: The composer, who happens to be the guitarist, would kill me dead if he were to know I'm leaking this. When he sent me the dropbox link, I had to hold my phone up to GarageBand to record the audio, export that shit to iTunes and create another SoundCloud page. I think he follows me on my regular SoundCloud. Whew! All this for a 34 second snippet. Really? Yes really because I am killing those harmonies. Yes. I. Am. 

Thursday, October 17, 2013

Rolling Stone(d): Sticky Fingers

Have you ever met people who aren't used to being told "no?" They're insufferable. Have you ever met people who aren't used to being told "yes?" They're insufferable. Life hangs in the balance. For the good of the universe, I try to keep my black ass in balance because I am a biiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitch (!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) when my scales are off. When I have reached the point where I don't give a fuck, everybody's gettin' cussed out: old people, the wheelchair-bound, kids, my parents, a boss...e-ve-ry-bo-TEE. Since I know that, I stay sweet. (If you even try to refute me on how sweet I am, I'll fucking cut you!)

But seriously, I have been a little grumpy the past 24 hours. Sure, I turn 38 today, but I have no issues with that. I'm spending next week in Vegas with a friend and am definitely in high spirits about the trip. I'm getting it all the way in. I think I've been grumpy because I need a serious deep dicking, like no bullshit. From a hot dude please and thank you. I'm balancing out my sex life and TRYING to be more of a bottom, but very few dudes are really buying it. I mean, what do I have to do? Scream from the rooftop: I LIKE TO FUCKING GET FUCKED TOO! HELLO!!!

I was chatting with a super hot Spaniard yesterday. Unfortunately, I had to shut him down because 2. he listed being a bottom in his profile and 1. I already told you I had an attitude yesterday (because I needed to fuck! Yes, I cut my nose off to spite my face. Being an ass kept me from getting ass.) When I told him why I wasn't interested, he said "I like to flip, too." Yeah, right. There was not a dick pic anywhere. I know exactly how that shit would've gone down. He'd have gotten fucked (very well and I do say so), gotten his nutt and "flipped" right the hell out the bed. (Damn I should've fucked him.) Nope! I've been waaay on down that road too many times. The only ones getting this dick right now are the ones who are looking for ass first. (Unless he's mad sexy, then I'll just pound him.)

I shouldn't get so riled up about this whole top/bottom thing. I'm really starting to be a baby about this. After all, I LOVE ASS. Trying to prevent my head from whipping around to look at a phat booty walking by is like trying to sneeze with my eyes open. It's just not happening. Still, my main issue with total bottoms is the idea of them doing all the receiving and none of the giving. It's just not fair! (Stomping off to my room with pigtails flying.)

Umm, I kinda really don't know why I went off on that tangent. Now I feel bad :-/ I should smoke.

You are not alone, Wheat Thins. You are not alone.
If it weren't for your maturity none of this would've happened.
If you weren't so wise beyond your years I would've been able to control myself.
If it weren't for my attention you wouldn't have been successful.
If it weren't for me you would never have amounted to very much.

This could be messy*, but you don't seem to mind. Don't go telling everybody and (just) overlook this supposed crime.

We'll fast forward to a few years later: No one knows except the both of us. I have honored your request for silence and you've washed your hands clean of this.

You're essentially an employee and I like you having to depend on me. You're a kind of protege and one day you'll say you learned all you know from me. I know you depend on me like a young thing would to a guardian. I know you sexualize me like a young thing would and I think I like it...

What part of our history's reinvented and Under Rug Swept?
What part of your memory is selective and tends to forget? What? With this distance? It seems so obvious.

Just make sure you don't tell on me, especially to members of your family. We best keep this to ourselves and not tell any members of our inner posse. I wish I could tell the world 'cuz you're such a pretty thing when you're done-up properly. I might want to marry you one day, if you watch that weight and you keep your firm body. (((SLAP)))

Hand *not* clean

*Not so much messy as squelchy. I believe that's the hottest sound in sex. Period.

Sunday, September 1, 2013

Hi. Bruce Wayne.

Man of Mystery?
Your favorite hero might say a lot about you. Does he fly in from the sky and is born of another planet, or is he simply the seemingly random person you just met online who gives you a couch to sleep on? Or is your hero even male? I wasn't into superheroes growing up, but I do like Batman. He doesn't have superpowers and he isn't an extraterrestrial. He just has great tech gadgets, style and lots of money. Essentially 007 in tights. But as with any great crusader, there's the inevitable underlying darkness that compels and precedes the do-gooding. And, naturally, vigilante slappings (usually against perceived evil) ensue.

My smokey ass Bat/Fap Cave
I'm not so into heros. I think they're ultimately about having someone else fix your life and do all the things you don't have the patience or balls to do. Nobody's stopping you from standing up and making a citizen's arrest. No one's going to stop you from getting a citizen's ass whuppin' either. But hey, you can step up. I do, however, find the love interests of heros to be compelling. Vicky Vail, Lois Lane, Mary Magdalene. If you really want to know how super a man is, don't read the Twitter feeds. Just ask the one who's sucking his dick. I've created so many script ideas over the years and, in almost every single case, I've written myself as the love interest. Besides the inevitable fact that romantic interests always get kidnapped and usually end up dead, it's nice to feel wanted :)

Another facet of being a hero is having to hide all the damn time. I don't mind having an alter ego/stage name, but I don't want a secret identity. I'd want people to know to whom to address all the thank you cards, presents and personal porn videos. And presents. As this very transparent blog will attest, I'm not very good at hiding myself. I like to let it all hang out.

Not. Shy.
I'm also no good at being nice to ungrateful motherfuckers. If I save your ass from a burning building or rescue you from the possibility of a real ass beating, I bet' not neva have to pay for another beer in your presence again. Ever. Period. And would it kill you to name all your children after me? Would it? I really don't think that's asking for much. Additionally, ixnay on being a martyr, which is oftentimes a huge part of being The Savior. Things would've been very different if I'd been Christ at the Inter-Dimensional Quik-E Mart:

"Sup, dude? Yeah just this watermelon Slushee and these Macaroni and Nacho-Cheesier Curly Fried Pork Blasts. What, bro? Can you repeat that? I'm high as shit right now. Oh yeah. Sure. I'll be charitable and make a one-time contribution to the Save the Human Race-a-Thon. All right. You say that's two dollars and I GOTTA DO WHAT? Uh-hell no. Good luck with salvation, bitches. I'm out." Sluuurp

No one can deny that martyrdom does make for a great story, though. Joan of Arc. (Those bangs have gone down in herstory. But still nope. You're not setting my ass on fire. Not even for a bunch of musky, erect, I meant enraged townsmen.) Martin Luther King, Jr. (Nuh uh. He could've just said, "Look. Y'all ni**as need to chill. And stop aggravating all these white people!") Vladimir Putin. (Oh wait. He's still alive and he's still an asshole.)

So maybe I wouldn't care to be a superhero. Super rich would be nice, though. I'd love to have someone clean up my apartment after all my friends leave. Because as of right now, I am cleaning up after me and all my friends. I swear they all must share a secret checklist that clearly includes, but is damn sure not limited to, the dirtying of every dish and towel in sight; the wearing of my clothes ("Yo, can I borrow a pair of shorts to chill in? It's hot in here." Yeah it's summer, ni**a. I live on the second floor and you come here all the time. You already know it's hot. sigh Here."); the drinking of every beer and drop of liquor in the house (I've taken tequila shots before 11a in my kitchen a few times); the ordering of food and not paying for it; and the smoking of all my damn weed!!! On second thought, I don't need anybody else to clean up after these knuckleheads. These are exactly the people and situations that make me happiest and give my life the most meaning. I haven't saved anybody's kitten from a tree today (yet). But I feel pretty incredible because I've got amazing friends. And I think that's what it's all really about.

I'm singing here September 21st ten minutes past 4:20.

Miss Manners Says:
Don't talk with your ass full. It's rude.

Sunday, June 2, 2013

Pay-Per-View During the Rapture

Caution: New geetarist ahead
For all my MENSA striving and studying, I am still so incredibly ridiculous. I was sitting on the couch smoking last week just thinking of how the tips of my fingers had been sore-slash-numb the past several days. So strange, right? (Yeah, when you don't think about it.) Few people know this about me, but I immediately go to that place. I thought, "oh I've got fingertip cancer. I knew this shit was gonna happen. Oh well. Better get that looked at Monday," (riiiiiiiiiiip the bowl). Then it dawned on me. Stupid, you've been practicing on metal-ass-strings. You don't have cancer yet.

Speaking of doom and gloom mentality run amok, I've got to give it up for the recent slew of end-of-civilization-as-we-know-it story lines everywhere - After Earth (LOVED), World War Z, The Purge, another season of Love & Hip Hop: Atlanta - It's like Hollywood went en masse to get tarot readings and they all pulled the Tower card. Should there actually be a Rapture, I am most certainly going to still be down here* hanging out with the rest of you who are reading this blog. I'm just kidding. (I'm not going to be hanging out with you.)

But if some of us are left behind, can we still get take-out? Will weed be legal everywhere then? Will there still be cable? Internet? Don't worry if these thoughts have never crossed your mind. You have to be pretty damn high to wonder about this shit. In all seriousness, I don't believe in that whole cataclysmic, Final Battle/Armageddon situation. The only Final Battles I care about are on The Voice. And when they got rid of Judith Hill, I said "fuck 'em." Judith Hill? JUDITH HILL?!?!?! Three things about her blind audition: opening pose and hair (okay four things - I died); Usher and Adam's almost immediate, synchronicitous turn (she barely got the whole line out); and the fact that she made Usher stand up and scream.

Personal Fun Fact: Sometimes I laugh uncontrollably after I cum. Is that weird? This video sent me over the edge after several orgasmless days with my parents in North Carolina! Not only is there NOTHING like watching and receiving good oral, the top looks like someone I probably blow...know. I meant know!

*What? They were both 20 and 21. They're legal.

Uh oh! Overflow, population, common group, but it'll do. Save yourself; serve yourself. World serves its own needs. LISTEN to your heart bleed. Tell me with the Rapture and the reverent in the right...right. You: vitriolic/patriotic. Slam? (((Fight!!!))) Bright light.

Feeling. Pretty. Psyched.

It's the...

(Transmission Lost)


Not rice, bitches

Label Whore

Sexual Labels

Gay for pay, straight but will suck a dick if it's Tuesday and I haven't had my coffee yet (which is essentially gay for pay) and don't even get me started on women. A hasbean is a woman who used to be a lesbian. Look. In the immortal words of Nene Leakes, "I get it." (Random.) But there is a point where it becomes delusional and unhealthy to call a bowl a fork. I love that these types of people don't let anybody tell them who they are or what they should be doing within their self-described orientations, but come on. You're getting pounded on the regular by trannies who finish on your face, bro. Maybe you're a little gay. That's all I'm saying.

But is it really anyone else's business how we label? De jure sexuality v de facto. (Anybody care to ring up Morocco on this one?) Straight bottoms (pegging), anal-averse gay men (weird), enharmonic chords (F# / G flat), the platypus (#$%*). Yep. You already guessed it. These things exist solely to fuck with and confuse the shit out of us. But I do understand not wanting to skee-doodle down the Hershey Super Highway sometimes, though. It's a lot of work preparing for anal sex. It takes a village to clean an asshole. (Feel free to use that one.) Not everybody understands that shit, which is why I'm giving this ass a break.

Whoa! When did my ass get so hairy?  

Okay. Break's over. Come get it.

If the end truly is near
This is all I want to hear

And speaking of singing, check out me and my band June 21st in (the Republic of) Cambridge at Cantab Lounge at 9p. We're on first, so bring it*.

*Including, but not limited to: weed, hoes, boots, chips, candy corn. You know, the good shit. 

Saturday, May 18, 2013

Looking 4 Myself? (Brotherly Love Edit)

Philadelphia, PA
Montreal, CA
Boston, MA
Durham, NC
Limerick, ME
Walking with my head down, counting every step. Hoping that the next one brings me closer to the man I was. (Be)cause I was way better. Maybe it's because we were together. I said I'm looking for myself and I still can't find me...Who am I? Someone remind me. All my life I'm searching. Somehow I ran right into you.

Escaping on a tightrope trying not to fall. If I don't keep my balance, I know I will lose it all. I should have known better. It's all my fault that we're not together. 

I was on a journey trying to figure out who I really was. Then I realized that, when you're not here, half of me is gone. So in order for me to find me, I had to FIND YOU (see below). And you know? I got a funny feeling that you won't know who you are unless you find me. It's like you look in the mirror and you see the person that you truly love.

Let's not forget. For all the colorful characters met and experiences endured, neither Dorothy nor Alice really went anywhere. Still they each got exactly where they needed to be. Moral of the story: It's the same journey over and over and, like, you're already there (kinda). Until we stop looking for answers in others and waiting for them (whoever "them" is) to give us permission to BE WHO WE REALLY ARE (see above), we'll never get it right.

Thank god. I really need to believe that true happiness isn't outside myself. I hate to say it, but I just don't see much hope on the dating horizon. It's not that I don't want to be completely swept off my feet. Holy shit I totally fucking do. I'm a romantic. I'm even looking forward to an eventual relationship. But it takes at least two other people for that.

And in order to actually get in a relationship, there's a lot of silliness to wade through. A friend recently told me he was in Cali when another guy walked up, tapped him on the shoulder and asked, "top or bottom?" Really? What about, "Hello. Are you a top or bottom?" Maybe I'm too old fashioned. I know I show my dick and butthole all over the net, but I'm still a gentleman ;-) And even though I fuck on the first date, I still want to be wined, dined and sixty-eighted: You do me and I'll owe you one. Pardon. Sixty-eaten. (Yeah. It's late.)

The other month, I agreed to let a new FWB spend a night. A little before 11:30p, he went to the corner store... and came back three hours later.  I thought he was fucking dead! No. Seriously. He'd left his phone on my sofa. So I couldn't exactly call him. After about 40 minutes, I went out to check the stores and didn't find him. What could I do? When he finally came back, I didn't even say anything. I was just glad he was okay. I simply showed him what was left of all the (cold) food I'd ordered for us, left him in the living room and went back to bed. The next day, we had a really (really) good fuck and I silently called it done.

Over the following weeks, he blew my phone up until I finally just said, look dude. There's no need for you to continue hitting me up. There was just no way I was going to be bothered with anybody that inconsiderate. That's what I get, though. The reason he even went to the store in the first place was to replace a cord on the video game he brought over for us to play :-/


Thursday, April 4, 2013

Uh Huh. Hmm. E-E-E-F-E-C-G Hmm-mmm-mmm.

I-I-I-I've been through some things please don't hold that against me. Can't nobody love you like I'm gonna love you. Even though I-I-I still can feel a sting. No need to second-guess me.

See I-I-I-I-I-I don't mind you putting up a little bit of fight. It's all right, but why run from what's gon' hold you tight through any complications, baby. Maybe we can start tonight.

Hey! I saw the dirty looks you gave me. Don't care what your ex do... And if you dare (DON'T DARE) send me straight to voicemail. Babe, I'm just gon' text you. Hope it ain't no issue. I've just got to let you know: NO ONE'S GON' LOVE YOU. (Period, bitch.)

I put that on every thang!

But if you should go down that same road you've been before. You're in reverse. Your pain rehearsed. Just brace yourself for the blow. Don't you know that you could JUST let it go?

Don't you know that I'm making you this promise clutching on a rosary!

Sunday, March 3, 2013

Because We're Gonna Die Jung

Living in the fast lane. See ya when ya crash, babe.
Ah, mortality truly breeds psychotherapy.

In addition to the both of us being born in '75, I feel a great deal of connection with Carl. What's 100 years among friends? He was a free-thinker unafraid to question, yet embraced religion, which requires blind faith. Then again, the single most compelling scene in Life of Pi  involves the line, "Thank you Vishnu for introducing me to Christ." An interesting life is a life marked by all kinds of experiences. I was raised Christian (have since disavowed religion), am drawn to the serenity of buddhism yet value the teachings of Marx. I get that Marxism is a sociopolitical ideology rather than a spiritual path, but I think that makes it all the more applicable.

I'm feeling very "Is That All There Is" about life in general these days. It's cool. It's just that we've all been doing the same shit and having the same issues since before Jesus. "Abraham begat Isaac; Isaac begat Jacob; Jacob begat Judas; and Judas became a very popular hit for Lady Gaga." So on and so on and so on...Even though humanity's tech advancements over the past 1,000 years are undeniably AWESOME, our basic need for society with all of its highly dramatic ordinariness is exactly the same. The incongruity of smart phones and bustles is of no consequence. Society ain't changed! Shakespeare isn't popular for his thematic originality; his works are renowned for reminding us that, once again, ain't shit changed.

With that in mind, there are a few historical figures, in addition to Carl J. and Jesus, with whom I'd love to have a year-long hedonistic, cannabis-fueled, philosophical brunch to discuss EVERYTHING from how exactly silk gets from the worm to a $3,000 sweater to bareback anal orgasms. Siddhartha, Picasso, Duke Ellington, Vermeer (Why so dark, bitch? I love it, though ~ Kisses), Gore Vidal, Mozart and Prince (what happens when you meet a Reincarnation of yourself?), B. Marley (presumably big dick AND weed?), Bayard Rustin and Rudolf Nuryev (hoes).

What type of personalities would they all have? What would their twitter hash tags be? Or their Radical Faerie names? Jesus strikes me as a Middle Eastern, gluten-free, vegan DJ type who'd never bring anything but BO to potluck, but would eat up all your damn hummus and corn chips and smoke up all your shit. (Damn. I'm a lot like Jesus. My mother will be proud to finally hear this.) Jesus' ass would keep getting invited though because he'd be ripped from all that skateboarding, hung to his thigh and conveniently "live and let live" in his views on sexuality. #lunchmilk(ing).

Shut up, Luke Bryan. (Sorry. Watching Ellen.)

I also imagine Gandhi to be the flamboyant perv friend who's always getting misquoted. What he probably said was "you've got to be the dick you want to receive in this world." Truer words, brother. Truer words.

I watched Idiocracy yet again this morning. If, after the movie, you've still got a little hope left for the future, please read Super Sad True Love Story: A Novel. That'll knock it right outta ya. We're all gonna die and not necessarily young, or even Jung for that matter. But it's gonna happen. Before it does, though, we'll have ever higher tech gadgets that make us exponentially dumber. But hey, at least we'll all be pretty, young and biologically engineered for eternal perfection with a libido that gets stronger with age. I guess I can live with that. What could possibly go wrong? (Logan's Run, Gattaca, The Third Reich, Brazil the movie!)

Still, there's the bright side. I remember the product tagline, "you can't add more years to your life, but you can add more life to your years." Perfect. I am comforted by this. It's all going to end some day, somehow, no matter what. So let's enjoy this shit. I don't mind the idea of extending my life an extra 50 or 100 years beyond expectancy, but not at the expense of looking...old! I only want this if I can actually be 150 and still look 35. But getting older just to have more and longer-lasting health problems? Pass. I'm a firm believer that a healthy sex life is an important part of staying young. I know. Surprise. Or to put it a simpler way: Fucking is the best way to stay fuckable. I mentioned it here way back, but my sexual connection with the energy worker in Montreal CHANGED MY LIFE! Not to pop my own sexual collar, but (((POP))) sometimes even the shaman has to go for a tune up. Two words: Bubble. Butt. Two more words: All. Night. "New world needs spi-ri-tu-a-li-ty that will last. I've seen the future..." And I nutted in it.

Boy, you'll be the death of me. You're my James Dean. You make me feel like I'm seventeen. Drive too fast; smoke too much. But that don't mean a thing 'cuz I'm addicted to the rush. And I'd rather die young than live my life without you.

Scene Partners: An Unholy Trinity

This is real. I live off the blue line.


I'm performing here March 23rd. 

Saturday, February 9, 2013

o ( + >

He realized that she was new to love, naive in every way. Every school boy's* fantasy she was. That's why he had to wait. If he poured his "heart" into and offered it like wine, she could drink and be back in time for the Morning Papers

They could take a walk down the oceanside. They could wish on every wave. They could find a carousel and ride or kiss in every cave. They could contemplate the entire universe or just one star. Just how far was a walk for the Morning Papers?

Why is age more than a number when it comes to love? Should we ask the ones who speculate when they don't know what it's made of? Should we ask the moon light on your face or the rain drops in your hair? Or should we ask the man who wrote it there in the Morning Papers?


Tuesday, January 15, 2013

Will the Real Planets Please Stand...Uh Rotate?

Not so fast, Pluto. Apparently, the International Astronautical Union isn't that different from the entertainment industry: In today, auf wiedersehen later today. Or, in your case Plutes, almost 80 years later, but oh well. For the last several weeks I've been taking a self-guided crash course in planets vs stars. As to the why of doing this, all I can say is that should the process of thermonuclear fusion and/or the function of a Hertzsprung-Russell diagram randomly fall into conversation, I'll at least be able to contribute a tiny fraction to the discussion. You know, like we do. My stream of consciousness took me from Hollywood ---> star (vs) planet...Wait a minute. Why isn't Pluto a planet anymore? -->Wikipedia! Naturally. It turns out that back in blah blah blah dwarf planets, satellites, asteroids rah rah rah there are now 3 major qualifications for a planet to be called a planet. And they are (drum roll please):

Is in orbit around the sun - I can dig that. Apple products continue to be the sun around which I (r)evolve. My iPhone is so beat up and sharded to death, I had someone ask me recently how do I not cut myself on the screen? It's been like this for some time, but it's getting worse (because I dropped it again). So I have to replace it sooner rather than later. But as soon as I saw the Samsung super mega phone with the 12 ft screen, I had a major case of screenus envy. But then the iPhone came out with a slightly lengthened retina display...Ugh! I hate this. It's like picking out eyewear. It takes me forever to find shades/glasses that look great. Once I do, that's it. I wear them until I lose them. But you know what? As much as I favor, say, the Verizon DNA model, I'm probably just going to get another iPhone. There's just something about the shape and feel of it that's so damned sexy. Even the box. The store. I cannot...No, I will not live without sexy products, dammit! This is America. So what if I can't send an email, watch a video, take a picture and edit a commercial all at the same time like some of the other smartphones claim they can? Who needs to do that? I'll just buy an iPad for that.

Has sufficient mass to assume* hydrostatic equilibrium (a nearly round shape) -

*You know what they say about assumptions: They jiggle when you smack 'em.
Yep. That's my ass. Despite showing it off, I LOVE having a dick and being a man. I also like communicating with other dick-havers. We have an understanding. I'm talking about more than physiology. I'm back to worshipping the notion of confidence, leadership and power. You don't have to be a man or even be masculine to exemplify these things, but it means you're an active decision maker. An equal. On the other hand, I find overly feminine energy and pussy-having issues to be way too aggravating. Example: the scene in Knocked Up when Paul Rudd's wife discovers he lied about being somewhere when he really went to the movies alone to watch Spiderman. She starts crying and says "I like Spiderman...You're mean." Hilarious to watch because it's so true and equally annoying because it's so true. A penis-having way of handling it would've been, okay. Well-played. You got me. I'll just be grabbing one of those personal nights as well. Why didn't I think of that shit? Done. Pass the snacks. There is no crying in baseball or relationships (aka controlling others - JUST KIDDING)!!! Please. For god's sake. Don't get me wrong. I care deeply about things and I'll give you the shirt off my back (if you have the right coordinating pieces). I don't lack feeling or emotional intelligence. It's just that, well, Effie, we all gots pain, girl. And even beyond that, I truly try to tell people the truth. I've been asked my opinion on everything from other friends' original songs, new haircuts, too small dresses, etc. My policy: Don't ask and don't ask.

On a side note, I'm surprised nobody caught the hidden sentence in last month's entry. What? You think that period was just sitting way over from the rest of the sentence because it had the flu? To illustrate how ridiculous I am about this blog, I spent way too much time matching the background of the page with the hidden letters. They can only be seen by highlighting. Yep. Way too much time on my hands.

Has cleared the neighborhood around its orbit -  I was having some difficulty with this concept until the term "gravitational dominance" popped up. I don't know about clearing my neighborhood, but I can damn sure clear a packed ass bowl and not even cough. Smoking of which, I feel like Jim Carey in 23.

Current Stage Script

Where the hell was I going?

Aaand the .0 is stipulated...on "The Joint". Riiight.

NOT smokeablez...(?)
Okay, those last ones are dried apricots. But they are the perfect follow-up to 420. And of course, the follow-up to even that are mucho philosophical digressions. Last weekend, I was asked whether, in the eternal, biggest picture possible, grand scheme of things, would I choose light or darkness. See, that's the wrong question for me. I'm more Shinto about all this shit: It's about the balance. Nevertheless, my answer was simply, "whichever one gives me the dick." I know we're back to this, but having a cock lets you be able to do all sorts of cool stuff ;)

My deck right at dawn, January 2013.

Yes, I piss with serif. BLAM!

((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((this space intentionally filled))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))

"We gon' take it to the moon, take it to the stars. How many people you know can take it this far? I'm supercharged. I'm 'bout to take this whole thing to Mars. Now we gon' take it to the moon, take it to the stars. You don't know what we've been through to take it this far. So many stars. We're 'bout to take this thing to Mars."

Knock knock.
Who's there?
You know what they say about black holes?
You Know What They Say About Black Holes who?
You know what they say about black holes? They're really pink inside :-|

I'd probably add one more requirement to the classification of planets. They can never give up. (Warning: Get your tissues BEFORE you watch this. All I had handy was my T shirt sleeve.)