Words To Live By

BE STUPID

Given Me The Giggles:

"You look like you suck good dick..."
"Are you calling me fat?"

"STDs and republicans, they both include getting fucked raw in the ass"

"Anyone who still wears polo shirts should just go jump off a bridge"

"Look, if your horizontally challenged you shouldn't be wearing stripes, that shit looks like parentheses"

"Flair jeans are not a good idea, nor are high waisted pants, the fuckwades who actually try to pull the look off need a reality check. The 60's are over, buy some fucking deodorant. AND CUT YOUR DAMN HAIR."

"If it aint cute, put it on mute"

"He is the merely the weak shadow of an orgasm"

"Look, I'm sorry but I can't take you seriously when your wearing those white pants, you look like a cannoli"

I'm Not Buying What Your Selling, Sister.

Ever see a woman who is a little too pale and pink, looking like an oversized cherub, but with the face of that pig your mom roasted last christmas? Yea you know what I'm talking about, I'm talking about the oversized, carpet don't match the drapes, all American, a little too chubby for her own damn good, still hasn't lost her baby fat, DOSE NOT KNOW HOW TO DRESS FOR HER BODY, pink lipstick wearing, blackberry obsessed, 5'2 hunk of disaster with her god awful highlights perched on a pair of heels so she looks like spinning top, vapid air-head. And she smokes light cigarettes. Gag me. These formidable creatures can usually be found outside a bar sucking on their cigarettes with that one pretty friend who is drastically taller then her and hangs out with her because the vapid fat ones are always the nice ones.
That was of course till this trend of intermixing the fat and the skinny came to light. Now our pudgy little retards surrond themselves with the tall pretty ones who can afford to be bitches, and naively think that just because they hang out with pretty people they must have some redeemable qualities, assume the bitchy attitude. What the grenade fails to understand is that there are a number of perks for the fairer ones in being seen with such grenades:
1. The attractive ones always look better with an average looker by their side.
2. The pudgy little friend is going to eat more, drink more, and be a worse mess, and that is pure entertainment. And again, the attractive one can get away with tomfoolery if there is a pink and white spin top/garden nome next to her laughing loudly with her cheap beer, stupid comments, bad cigarettes and saggy cleavage.
3. WINGMAN. Need I say more?
Now the real problem is when these little garden nomes decide to be bitchy, and easy. It's a problem for humanity. They, if not already so, become easy, and in becoming easy, sleep with the confused men who just dont have enough blood for their penis and brain at the same time. These are not bad men, they simply are horny, shit happens. Unfortunately for these men they face the reality in the morning and turn over the mess of bad highlights to find an even worse mess on the other side. All they are left with is the smell of cheap parfume, lipstick smears on the pillow, and probably an STD of some sort. Now how is this a problem for humanity? Well now that our pudgy little tinker bells have slept with half the town there aren't that many options for our lookers left. Not to mention that we don't need to have these less-then-perfect samaritans copulating to spread their bad genetics and cheap persona. Trailer park trash should stay in the trash and decay. Not be kicked around the block a couple times by giddy little boys.
Now I am not saying that the pudgy tinker bell shouldn't have love, everyone deserves love. I'm just saying that if the pudgy tink has a bad attitude and has been the mary go round of the town she should take a step back, find the local gym, stop wearing clothes that expose all those rolls, cut out the bad highlights, and go in for some vaginal reconstruction. And until that list is complete please don't show your face. Because I will fart in it.
As for the pretty ones who are vapid bitches, well what can I say, just think about Darwin and the laws of evolution and you'll see where I'm going with this.. I didn't make up the rules of human attraction, I'm just pointing out the ugly truth. PRETTY PEOPLE HAVE RIGHTS, DAMNIT!!

Remember When

When the boy you love gives you a rusty key. When the bed smells like him and whisky, when you can't move in the morning because your fell to hard last night. When there is glitter in his hair and lipstick smear on your cheek and you both still look beautiful. When you crawl towards each other in the morning in bed because you somehow got untangled in your sleep, and you hid in the shadows because the sun hurts your eyes. When you use his shampoo and you smell like him all day and it makes you want to smoke cigarettes and watch film noir all day. When your still young enough to think that somewhere down the line life will become easy.

peep this 2010

So far it's been a crazy 2 months, it's not looking much different then 2009. But it's been a whirlwind of books and music and booze. Here is a quick little ramble of tittles and labels and names that has been the undercurrent of 2010 so far:
Jack, Jim, Jose, And The Hippos Boiled In Their Tanks, Maggot Brain, Junk(y), black, pills, booze, Elvis, Women, book stores, book stores, book stores, Hot Water Music, whisky, Low Life, Paul Auster reading, Strauss at Carnegie Hall, Cash, LES, Dylan, Chinatown, drawing, Sinatra, painting, charcoal, working, Martin, Led Zeppelin, country music, coffee, 27's, good eats, bad wine, drunk conversations, drunk texts, regrets, fights, makeups, break ups, uppers, downers, diners, romance, writings, confessions, lies, half truths, insults, trash talk, intellectual talk, no talk, the good, the bad, and the ugly.
In the mean time:

Maggot Brain

GOOD FOR THE SOUL.

Dear Mr.Indifferent

Dear Mr. Indifferent:
I know you have a Napoleon complex of sorts, perhaps you think you don’t come off cool enough or you feel that you need to be the biggest asshole on the block. Unless you get off on being labeled as the biggest scumbag during ladies night out I suggest you listen up.
As men I know you beings like to try to keep a calm façade and play it cool. Nothing touches you, you, in your head, you don’t flinch if a bullet passes you by. I get it, you want to be Keanu Reeves and you think it’s the coolest shit ever. It’s like girls where they still secretly hope that men don’t think they shit or fart (I personally let it be known to everyone at all times that I do indeed, shit, fart, and burp). Well here is the fuckin’ deal bucko. Your woman, makes you fucking excited (hypothetically, if not, then GET THE FUCK OUT OF THERE), it made fuckin’ Reeves excited, it made 007 excited. We are the beings that have the super natural ability to get your dick hard just by licking our lips a little slowly and it is a fucking miracle that you people can pay attention to anything long enough to actually comprehend it in your puny little brains. So the next time your woman wants you to get excited over something she has done, you sit your indifferent ass down and you listen and you act like she is about to tell you all about the 5th dimension. Because guess what, passion is sexy, a passionate man is very sexy, a man passionate about his woman is hella sexy, and a man passionate about what his woman is passionate about, makes me say "me love you long time" :)

Limp Dick

So it seems that my creativity is suffering from limp dick syndrome. And the only kinda Viagra it responds to is Jameson. To cut the shit and make it short and sweet I seem to be your typical alchi who can't produce jack shit unless intoxicated. See I wasn’t always like this, Dear Diary, I was a sweet and simple child who made rainbows and butterflies, but the Jameson entered into my life and I learned what it was to REALLY make shit...or did I. Who knows. See the thing with drinking is that I forget to be scared in front of my canvas or whatever the hell pathetic piece of medium it is that I’m working with. When I'm drunk, It's All Good. I can't fuck up, and if I do, I don’t care, and if anybody says anything, well fuck 'em. I'm just your average Picasso when I’m drunk. But see the thing is that it actually is good. Its better then I could have hoped, its better then you could have hoped, shit its the best yet to come. So when I’m sober I look at what I’ve previously shit out and think "well, shit, you aint gonna’ make an honest piece of work like that again unless you got nothin’ to lose". See making art is a lot like gabbling, but to an extreme. You put everything you got out on the table; you lay down all your cards. If you lose your fucked, cuz this just aint your cards they’re judging, its you, its your fucking work, its a piece of your soul. Call me a fucking old fashion romantic with my head up my ass I don’t care, that’s how I make my shit and people seem to dig it. So if you think I’m full of shit then stop reading the damn blog, fucker. Back to looking at the previous work that I made while drunk. Well, the problem is, bucko, that I can’t afford to be that honest when I’m sober, its too much of a risk. I don’t know why, I got a couple demons in my closet perhaps, but who the fuck doesn’t, sue me. And shit maybe it’s just a good fucking excuse for me to be an alchi, I don’t know. All I know is that if I don’t have that Jameson I got a creative limp dick. Aint that a shame. Now look I aint no Bukowski, in any sense of the word other then that I like my drinks a little stronger then my heart, cuz I aint got a lot of heart. No in fact maybe I don’t have a heart, maybe it just fucking slipped away with the rest of the bullshit I spit to ignorant fools thinking I make some kinda’ godamn sense. No I don’t got no goddamn heart, I gave that shit away. I figure we already got too much baggage to carry around why carry around one more damn thing that we are gonna’ give away to some asshole in the end anyway. You show me one fucker with a heart and I’ll give you their weight in gold. Shit don’t exist. Going to my main point of making art. Well it’s all in connected anyway. See I ain’t got no heart so I make it with my soul, and my soul only likes to talk when it’s got a little somethin’ in return. Greedy little bastard. Shit the problem is that we are all just wandering, some just don’t know they lost.

Runin Wild

Okay so I'm in on it too. The birds do it, the bees do it, hell even the Canadians do it, I'll do it, I'll blog. I have just as much to rant and rave about as anyone else. I have PLENTY of shit that pisses me off, and tons of stuff I know people would love to hear and would agree on.

So here is the 411

I'ma chick, early 20's. Did the art school stint. It Stunk. Brooklyn has stolen my soul and I made a deal with the devil in allowing the hipster trends to bleed into my closet. Now I'm like a crack addict and can't get away from those damn lace up boots and flanel shirts.
Forgive me father for I have sinned.

JK.

Just my quick little hello to all you pathetic insomniacs like me out there who can't sleep and are looking around for blogs. This is mine. hate it, love it, whatever, just don't jack it.

Love and Peas