| Who are you to ask who am I? |
[May. 26th, 2005|10:48 am] |
The rebirth is afterburned and half-formed like an aphrodisiac at midnight. Spanish, I flew--I am a pendulum, battling the sun and scarring the eyes of believers and non-believers alike.
More importantly, I love you.
The twin cunts of Jesus and Hitler rule the universe with an iron clit. |
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| pretty pointless at this point |
[Apr. 13th, 2005|01:15 pm] |
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This journal is so underused. Oh well, at least it's not like everyone else's--overused obscenely. |
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[Mar. 3rd, 2005|04:38 pm] |
Better Halves and Better Halves Not
What the fuck is up with all this shit about 'better halves.' You know, you hear guys all the time referring to their wives and girlfriends as their better halves. "I gotta get home in time for getting bitched at, or my better half will be upset!" Is that supposed to be sarcasm or do guys literally believe that
a. Their girlfriends are not actually separate individuals with their own thoughts and feelings, but extensions of themselves without whom they would be incomplete. I guess that they find the notion romatic, but to me it just sounds parasitic.
b. They are somehow inferior to their female counterparts.
I despise when anyone sacrifices their self-esteem on the altar of someone else's ego. It's a sickening practice, and bad for the species.
Do you think that the men who built society spent their days eating pussy, listening to constant nagging, doing their own laundry, fending for themselves for dinner and referring to their no-blowjob-giving dictator quasi-dyke women as "My better half?"
Fuck no. They were out building shit, and declaring wars, and raping and pillaging and plundering. They had fun that it's illegal to even imagine today.
And women ultimately suffer as well. Women fucking hate being pampered and adored and extolled and all the fake ass nonsense. They want a rude obnoxious bastard who'll smack them around when they back talk, fuck them without the slightest concern for their needs, curse at them, spit on them, degrade them in every way possible. Any guy who is polite and soft-spoken knows that girls don't go for that. They go for Joe Niggerdick. the motorcycle riding caveman without two brain cells to rub together.
Yet Joe Niggerdick is going extinct due to what I refer to as 'The Pussification of the American Male.' And we wonder why Muslims don't want us interfering in their culture-they see the way our women run us and they say to themselves: "Fuck that shit!"
And you would too if you had any sense.
That's why you can't find a man to please your ass, bitch. It's because you are repressing the true nature of male. The brash, obnoxious and belligerent creatures that you love to have cram you with dick on every possible occasion have been replaced with whiney, sniveling retards that buy you chocolates and write 36 stanza poems about the depth of their love for you. Who wants to get fucked by that? |
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[Feb. 13th, 2005|02:33 am] |
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lonliness |
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| The sharpness of these odd angles is absolutely perplexing. |
[Feb. 9th, 2005|03:50 pm] |
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Several times last year I saw shapeless shapes that have since inspired lucid imaginings at ket intervals in my day to day life. Often, while I am driving, I will black out for minutes at a time, envisioning some implausible scenario. This never seems to effect my driving. |
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| "Dreams" |
[Feb. 8th, 2005|10:10 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| | racknaristic | ] |
| [ | music |
| | ARRRGH!!!!!! | ] | Laser-guided nothing.
Purely responsive.
My life is a figment of my imagination and my fantasies are memories of a reality I lost long ago. This explains everything.
Something is keeping me docile. It's you, isn't it? It's always been you.
FUCK YOU!!! |
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| Who are the atheists? |
[Feb. 7th, 2005|10:11 am] |
| [ | mood |
| | intrinsically sadistic | ] |
| [ | music |
| | BOOM CRASH BOOM BOOM SMACK! | ] | By what technicality do you survive? In the streets at dawn . . . again?
Seven hours ago (or from now--it's hard to tell which) I went (or will go) to the store to buy delicious breads for my children, all of whom are terribly deformed. It's terrible.
Thanks for listening! |
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| Beatifully meaningless or meaninglessly beautiful? |
[Feb. 6th, 2005|12:48 am] |
| [ | mood |
| | nargfarstic | ] |
| [ | music |
| | The dull hum of nothingness | ] | What the mother, mother, motherfucking fuck, fuck, fuck is going on and on and on about his lawn and on and on and who are you to tell me how to feel and shit?
It's like I never say, "If you don't fall for anything, you stand for something." You see how wrong that is? If something becomes untrue when you reverse it isn't not true at all.
EXAMPLE PROVING ME WRONG:
All fish are animals. All animals are fish.
FUCK!
I hate being smart enough to know how dumb I am and point it out to myself and laugh and say, "YOU DUMB ASS!!!!"
I know shit though. I know shit that would make your fucking minds explode like dogs in the rain.
That's right, Dog's explode in the rain. It's a little known fact . . . but I know it. Because I know shit.
FUCK YOU! |
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[Oct. 21st, 2004|12:07 pm] |
Aggravation. Starvation. Memorization. Evaluation. Condemnation. Desperation.
You thought it made sense before, well it's even worse now. The clarity! The clarity! I put up signs, but no one reads them. What kind of shit is that.
On the count of 26 I want you all to scream the name of the person you hate.
1-2-3-4-5 You're lucky to be alive! 6-7-8-9-10 Never coming round again 11-12-13-14-15-16-17-18-19-20 I hope I make tons of money 21-22-23-fuck you! 24-25-ARE YOU READY?-26 SCREAM!!!!!!!!
God breaks most of the ten commandments himself. Talk about do as I say, not as I fucking do.
GOD:Thou shalt not kill! DA PEOPLE: Or what? GOD: I'll fucking kill you!
GOD: Though shalt not steal! Yet God steals my dignity on a daily basis.
GOD: Honor thy father and thy mother! Easy for him to say. He doesn't have parents. God was never an angsty teenager with a beer in one hand, a joint in the other, listening to AC/DC records in his room while his dad pounded on the door screaming "Turn that shit the fuck down, you little bastard!" Maybe that's why God is so fucked up. No one was around to give him moral guidance or to whoop his ass if he got out of line as a kid. God is like every crazy gun-toting nigger you see around the hood--no father-figure. It's really quite sad. |
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[Oct. 14th, 2004|11:39 am] |
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My eyes are nearly as heavy as my heart. I'm weighted down. My stomach hurts. Everyone is my enemy, especially my friends. Nothing slides today. Nothing fails to hurt my feelings. I'm all shattered. |
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[Aug. 16th, 2004|12:29 pm] |
Yesterday, we went to the Aquarium. I saw the Jellyfish. Amazing creatures. Very pretty. Writing like a two year old talks. In fragments. Not sure why. Oh well.
Today a guy called. He had a thick middle-east accent. I put him on hold, but no one was available to talk to him so I got back on the line and asked him who he was holding for. He started screaming at me about how terrible I was at doing my job. I said "Thank you," and he hung up.
Fucking sand niggers. |
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[Jul. 28th, 2004|11:43 am] |
Memory assures me that the world even exists beyond this room, but what is there to assure me that memory is at all accurate? Will I at some moment find myself in a coffin with maggots and roaches warring over my flesh and realize that my entire existence as TJ Kirk was nothing more than a dream?
I suppose it's a common enough concern in this world of waning sanity. Hell, entire movies are based upon the premise that all which we perceive is false.
It's the one 'what if' that we can't get over. What if the world is all a dream? But the real question is, if it is a dream, what's the truth about reality?
The human mind, ever creating fears for itself, would never conceive that a world hidden from our perception is beautiful or filled with wonder and merriment. No, they always conceive of some hellish nightmare world ruled by Demons or Machines or overrun by zombies or vampires--monsters of a thousand varieties.
What if I opened my eyes one morning to find myself on a beach, naked, my body sculpted like that of a greek god, sex-object of the most sensual nature to the left and right of me? Would my mind even accept such a reality? Or would I go mad and smash all my beloveds against the palm trees until they were nothing but bloody tangles of human beings? Would I laugh? Would I smash my pretty face ugly? Would I run off into the woods, cackling like a madmad, seeting things on fire?
I'd like to think not. |
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| my wrist hurts |
[Jul. 24th, 2004|12:29 pm] |
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It does. It's from typing and masturbating to much. I hate everything. |
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| BOOOOOOOOORRRRRRRRRIIIIIIIIIIING |
[Jul. 23rd, 2004|01:45 pm] |
garg
it never ends never it just goes on forever and ever and ever |
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| BLAH BLAH BLAH FUCK YOU BLAH BLAH BLAH |
[Jul. 22nd, 2004|03:40 pm] |
Whoever said truth is stranger than fiction was a fucking moron with no imagination.
TRUTH: I sit in front of a computer sending out emails, studing internet advertising and talking to my online friends.
FICTION: I am a ruthless space assassin that can kill without flinching, catch bullets between my fingers and do whatever the hell I please, whenever the hell I please.
Which is stranger? Which is more fun?
FUCK YOU! |
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| DEATH IN THE FAMILY |
[Jun. 29th, 2004|03:52 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| | hoplessly sad | ] |
| [ | music |
| | nothing | ] | My little sister called her Scooby-Doo. My brother called her Helos. I just called her "The Big One".
About a month ago one of our dogs gave birth to two maltese puppies. As of today, one of them is dead.
You'd think that someone like me would be impervious to pain like this, but right now I'm so deeply and terribly sad. I keep thinking of how healthy the damn thing looked last time I saw it. It was stumbling around in it's rolley-polley way, full of life--positively teeming with it. I could pick her up and she would gnaw enthusiastically on my fingers. If I even entered a room, she would run over to me and roll over for me to bet her belly.
And now she's dead. Dead without a warning.
Monday--alive, happy, healhty
Tuesday--dead, lifeless, a fragile little corpse.
When first I heard the news I hoped that it was one of my fathers patented dumbshit conclusions. I wanted so badly to call them up and heard that beautiful harmonious couple of words, "False alarm."
I wanted to hear those words so bad that I went into the server room of our office and I got on my knees and prayed. Yes, me. I knew how ridiculous I was being. I knew that the world didn't give two licks of a hermaphrodites cum-crusted ass about my prayer.
The lord giveth, and the lord taketh away.
I don't particularly believe in the lord and I frankly think he's a complete fucking cocksucker, but isn't that just the truest fucking sentence you've ever seen?
Anyway, I called my father and when he answered the phone like a man who had just seen his wife gunned down, I knew that I wasn't going to get to hear the words 'false alarm'. Instead I got to hear thaqt the dog was dead and he didn't know why. My sister had been holding the dog and wanted to give him a bath. My father thought the dog looked funny so he took it fron here and examined it to discover that it was dead.
No clear reason why.
Maybe my little sister got a little two playful and dropped her on or threw her against a wall. Maybe she choked on a piece of adult dogfood because Scotty and I didn't buy any puppychow. Maybe she just went asleep and didn't wake up for reasons as mysterious as those behind the human equivalent, SIDS (Sudden Infant Death Syndrome).
Who knows and what does it even matter at this point?
We'll keep lil sis away from the other pup, buy it some puppychow, take extra-special care of it and hope that it doesn't fucking die. That's all we can do. That's the limitation of our control.
Fuck you, world. |
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[Jun. 18th, 2004|09:53 am] |
I'll be all alone this weekend.
Scotty is in Mass-a-choo-sits. Dad and Natalie will be in Florida.
If I was worth a shit I'd invite my bitches over and have me an orgy. But since I ain't got no bitches, I guess I'll just watch TV and read.
Kill me. |
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| Movies I really need to remember to get |
[Jun. 17th, 2004|03:06 pm] |
Salo: 120 Days of Sodom Battle Royale Rock 'n' Rule
There are thousands more but whenever I try to come up with any sort of list, they all slip my mind. The reason behind this is becuase I'm a moron. |
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[Jun. 17th, 2004|02:58 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| | dorky | ] |
| [ | music |
| | crappy soft rock | ] | God, I've been so horny lately. It's like I need to masturbate a million times a day just so that I don't rape everyone who speaks to me.
It's sort of embarassing because I'm in the office and though I know my co-workers are far too dim to think anything of me making a thirty minute discursion to the bathroom, I still feel like they are talking about me while I'm there. "There he goes . . . jerkin' off again!"
God this place is boring. If I spent the entire day actually working I'd run ot of work to do and plus people would expect that sort of dilligence from me at all times. On the other hand, there are only so many things you can do to fuck around that no one will notice and they're all boring.
Garg. |
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| The Duck of Death |
[May. 18th, 2004|03:18 pm] |
Chewing on a straw. Listening to shitty music blaring from the speakers of the stupidest woman on earth.
Life is whore.
And she gives bad head. |
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