Oh Joy!
2003-07-17 || the fact that none of my male friends are probably any good in bed
Soundtrack � Wire � Pink Flag

the chord is F#, the woman is soaking wet

I�m unna fug yoo now, listen to the tune for our good friend jayzus.

A 60 pound lawyer comes up to me and asks about Iron Maiden and I tell him I am starving for cock and I need a light. The lawyer, you know, the 60 pound lawyer gives me a light, and I ignite the sage until it turns into an electric bunny factory security guard from East Michigan (near Brooklyn) and starts whispering incoherently to me. I ask about his 3 pound cock. �57 pounds of lawyer, 3 pounds of cock� I tell him. He gives me another light and I refuse it because I am not that kind of boy. One time though, as a little boy, I went in the bushes with this girl Melissa. I showed her my penis, and she showed me her vagina. Years later, girls shave them, and I am uncomfortably reminded of this pre-pubescent experience in the bushes in some apartment complex in Encino California. We discovered bagels there. We discovered Mexican food. We got fat, came back to Massachusetts with divorced parents and a head full of Attention Deficit Disorder, and an obsession with orgasms. This lawyer hands me yet another light, I tell him if he doesn�t leave me alone with the fire, I will call the fire department. They smoke marijuana. At one point as a teenager, I started smoking marijuana, I bought it off the punk rock guy, and here I am years later with short hair, trendy sneakers, and a propensity to play songs that sound like New Order and Black Flag, via the Grateful Dead. I have 27 different directions I go in at once. Yet I have no directions. I have not read the directions. Funny, the phone is sort of broken, or allegedly broken, so I thought for a minute �where are those directions�. Who would ever need directions to a phone besides � actually, yesterday I thought how intense of a release it would be to go on one of those workplace shooting sprees. I then jerked off to the receptionist in the men�s room upstairs.

Upon arriving home yesterday the cat greeted me at the top of the stairs as she always does. I wondered if she thought of her impending death as much as I do. Every few weeks I awake in the night and say to myself �I will be dead�. Jesus rubs my back and puts me back to sleep though. He doesn�t want me to be scared. The men in the rocket ships, they never saw Heaven. I need some assurance. If everything is free up there, I want to go now. As it is now, I�m living paycheck to paycheck.

This is the way it is. One block of time. We hang out. We will go to the bar. Spend 4 hours. Everything is in 3 or 4 hour blocks in my life. The weak cocksuckies can only handle the 2 hour increments though. I feared, I mean feared going out of the house and being social for so long. The winter. Everyone is grey and talking about the weather. The summer. Everyone is golden and talking about the weather. I think I want to cut my own head off if at all possible. Where was I? Oh, the blocks of time. Yeah, you go, and they sit you down and you watch them, and you shake your head in disgust. You watch other men and women play instruments. You lie to everyone you talk to, even your friends. You know that at the end of the night that when you go home you�ll be in this giant bed with the ability to sleep diagonally. Everyone else is somewhere with their arms around someone lying in each other�s ears about how much they like them and want to stay with them forever. I think of staying with someone forever, and I feel like you would have to be completely fucking crazy and out of your fucking mind. Why put that person through death, why should they put me through death. I don�t want my wife to die. I don�t want to be a dead husband. I want to be a dead guy. It�s cheaper, and much more relaxing. I don�t even want to fuck every again, it bores me. Sex bores me. I want to fuck horses.

Speaking of which, someone is going fucking nuts with that. Every day I get 6 million hits from folks looking for girls fucking horses. Who wants to see that? Get a life.

The year is 1992 I am in a car with a big dent in the side of it. My haircut is questionable in that it�s just that, a haircut. Only homosexual men should have �haircuts�, the rest of us, just have hair. So here I am trying to impress god knows who, when all of a sudden, I realize I

Need to do some actual work today.

fuck you Cathy and Linda! I don�t know anyone named Cathy or Linda, but fuck you! fuck you Cathy and Linda! I don�t know anyone named Cathy or Linda, but fuck you! fuck you Cathy and Linda! I don�t know anyone named Cathy or Linda, but fuck you! fuck you Cathy and Linda! I don�t know anyone named Cathy or Linda, but fuck you! fuck you Cathy and Linda! I don�t know anyone named Cathy or Linda, but fuck you!

before & after