This is a message from god

Mon, 21 Jan 2008 01:28:45 GMT

People just don't seem to get it.

UGH

Thu, 10 Jan 2008 01:42:02 GMT

SO I just filed an LJ Abuse report for the first time in three years. It's actually rather sad, that people are so inclined to make fun of you for looks on the internet. It's like, most of these people wouldn't even have the guts to say shit to your face in real life. They're all closeted, introverted, dummies. But whatever.

Moving on: I wrote another poem today. Squee!

My heart moves fast
faster and faster when
you are around
It palpitates and skips a beat
My inner demons released
All in the name of love
All in your name
I love you, Brandon
And I don't love anyone

...

else.

Sat, 11 Sep 2004 21:39:51 GMT

Oh no wonder

When you vote for a guy named after a women's genitalia he ends up looking for weapons of mass destruction in places they don't exist. He ends up looking like a baboon and desecrating the White House with his stupidity. He ends up dragging everything down in the dirt and fucking us all over with a steel bar.

Then you start to feel bad for yourself. You start to feel bad for being so stupid as to elect a baby kitten eating monster as your president. You start to feel so bad that you need a little masturbation and you masturbate TOO much and your balls turn blue and, well...

And now you really feel bad. You know no girl is ever going to want to fondle your balls. You know you will never end up zipping your pants up again. You know your life is over and your human instincts to reproduce have been canceled out.

Then in a fit of rage you grab up all your mom's prescription pills from the kitchen, lose yourself in the moment and down every last one of them like Dawson in that movie where he downs a lot of pills. You die, ironically with small balls again. The moral of the story? Don't vote Bush, especially if you're in Florida. I know a pansy named Francis teaching everybody a lesson down there. Don't vote Bush.

Smoke pot instead.

Sat, 11 Sep 2004 00:24:46 GMT

It's true.

These stupid emo kids do dress like this. It sickens me to think that someone can so easily classify a group of people by the styling on their bodies. I think I laughed for about an hour after I saw all of this. How many of you will this piss off now?

I most especially had that stupid ear plug in his ears. Why would you cut a hole in your ear and put a piece of plastic in it? Do you know how not cool you're going to look when you get a job? Or when you grow over the age of thirty? You're going to be pretty uncool dudes, pretty uncool.

It sickens me to death that I have a pair of Saucony shoes. Does that make me scene or emo? I hope to God not. I had these shoes before they were the cool man's cool.

Fri, 10 Sep 2004 16:55:03 GMT

Look at these shoes.

These are some of the ugliest shoes I have ever seen. I was surfing through zappos.com and I came upon these these, these things. They're made by All Day I Dream About Sex. I think I vomited inside my stomach when I saw these them. First of all, they chose the ugliest colors ever for a pair of shoes. Shiny chrome and red, I really thought chrome was for the rusty plumbing in your kitchen. But I guess I could be wrong. It looks like some alien took a radiactive dump in a ditch somewhere and an Adidas rep came by and snatched up what was left. Look at the bottom of the shoes. What is going on there? You're like standing on eight mini heels. Some shitty hybrid cross between a pair of six inch pumps and soccer cleats. These shoes can't seem to make up their mind. What are they? Would you wear them every day? Where would you wear them?

Guess how much these things cost?

Two hundred and thirten bucks. Yes, I shat my pants too.

Sat, 04 Sep 2004 20:28:46 GMT

There’s a certain attribution I give to LiveJournalers.

First you have the day in the lifers. “This is what I did today. I got my hurr did and my nails done. I sat on the toilet for a while and a tiny piece of poop came out. It was light brown and it floated. So the doctor says I have healthy poop. Me and Rhonda went to the store today to get weaves for are stink ass hair. I saw Johnny at school and he looked at me. But I didn’t look at him back.” These people tend to be the most annoying people in the world. I don’t care if Johnny put a hole in your jeans with his staring eyes. Either spice that dry mess up or your'e off the F-list.

Then you have the deep and meaningful writers. “The actions of my mind aren’t necessarily systemic to functions of my body. I can’t control my extremities due to unforeseen anomalies ergo failure. Failure to recognize the at enmities a la body soul and mind connections.” I hate people who write like this. It’s not like anyone can understand what it is that you’re saying. I have no damn clue what “at enmities” is and I’m not about to dictionary.com that shit yo. Just speak in normal tones like the sane people.

Then there are the so obviously contrived journals. People will spend five hours just looking for the pictures to enhance their posts. Then they’ll come up with some long drawn at scenario using the fabulous of fabulous words. These people usually have a Friend’s of list backed up to Djibouti. Well I don’t want a Friend’s list backed up to Djibouti. I want my bouti right here and if your bouti happens to tag along, fair enough. But the Dji is staying where it is. Don’t expect anything under the name of reciprocation.

Then there are the funny LiveJournalers who crack the wisest jokes and have the wittiest entries. You know these people most be hella funny in real life. I read a journal the other day that had me on the floor for minutes at a time. Those are the types of journals I like reading best. The ones that make you spit out your soda pop in hilarity every now and then, again. The ones that make your side ache double over in pain. I would have sex with each and every single funn e-persona on the web. Girl or guy. Seriously man. Seriously.

Wed, 01 Sep 2004 03:13:45 GMT

Butterfucker.

The fucker that fucks butter like a butt fucker. No seriously, I’m not joking. They exist. Butterfucker. They fuck butter and stuff. And more things you don’t want to even know about. At first I heard the phrase from my friend and I was like oh yeah that’s a Cibo Matto song. But it’s also a nasty fucker who fucks butts obviously. I’m kinda grossed out after seeing that. But that’s what I get for watching porn with the stupid freshman on my floor. I think they were going to upload it to Kazaa so butter lovers all around the world can download it.

What would you search for on Kazaa to find butter fuckers? Butter? Sweet juicy cream that comes from bacteria. I don’t know. Butterfucker. The things people think of. What’s next? Refrigerating my nutsac sex, yeah probably. Ooh, the cool air from the fridge just feels so good on my warm balls. Ooh. They’ll put out anything that can be put out. You’d think the porn industry would spend a little more time on making some of their lines less cheesy.

I would like to see a good porno with some good lines and without that chitty chitty bang bang horrific porn music. I should direct a movie. Would anyone be interested? Hell, I should star in it too. I can act. I can sing. I can dance. I can fuck. I could so make good quality porn movie with excellent dialogue and the stylings of A List celebrity music. All the cool kids would watch it. No joke man. No joke.

Mon, 30 Aug 2004 21:21:32 GMT

Simplistically back to nature.

Uno. You may know me. You may know me not. I may be the friend in your backyard. I may be a Fed in Iraq. I may be be your baby’s dad. I may be not. I may be your mom. Your dog. Your car. I may suck the sweet juices from your neck at night How would you know? You wouldn't. Could you possibly recognize me as something else? You couldn't. Something more faint? Where am I going with all this. Where where where. I may be a tree.

Dos. Something sticks in my throat. It feels like Satan jabbed a box of toothpicks down my throat and left me someplace to die. Possibly over in France. He left me to die looking at bad hygiene and laying in a puddle of a mess smelling nasty French people. I tried Tylenol. I tried Benadryl. Which I shouldn’t have. Because now I’m sitting here with a high higher than life high. Which probably explains that first paragraph. If it doesn’t.

Tres. Quatro cinco seis. I remember the Spanish lady trying to teach me her Spanish ways back in middle school. I don’t remember her name. Hell, I don’t think she had one. I think we all called her Spanish lady. And she just taught Spanish. Well she couldn’t teach and she taught horribly. The lady barely knew English. So how was she going to sit there and try and teach us conversions of words from Spanish to English. Sometimes I wonder who the fuck gives these people their teaching degrees.

Quatro. People seem to be misinterpreting my words. They seem to be confusing me with things that never happened. They seem to be playing off my mistakes and acting like everything I’ve ever done was a mistake. You can’t judge a book by the first chapter and guess that the following chapters are just going to be like the first. That’s like eating a scrumptious lemon meringue pie and expecting the first bite to be as good as the last. Not always is the case.