My throat is sore. Don't you want me no more? The phlegm drove you away. Each time I swallow it's hard not to wallow in the pain. Ibuprofen's the cure for what Dayquil can't get, and the Nyquil's got better things to do. So my ear can't quite hear, it's been beat quite a bit but the bass still goes boom. The wax is cleaned out still ya might hafta shout 'cause it's just a temp job. Clean all the bathrooms and once you're done with that you'll find that your throat is an extension of your ear so best keep both clean and leave the music and smoking to the professionals who don't know their right from their left.
A shout to your libido; all we, twelve and under.
"Hi, I'm _______. This is my lover and soulmate, ____. The one behind me with his penis in my anal cavity is ___. The ugly, buck-toothed moron who is licking my right breast is ______. My fiance with an accent on the 'e', is... shit. I can't remember his name. This beautiful example of a hick with his tongue in my cunt is _____. So, go on and tell me about how I need to change my ways, and I'll stand here and act like what you're saying is really going to change me."
I took my girlfriend on a drive to the open country. We eventually hit a long stretch of tar that was paralleled on both sides by huge fields of wheat. I stopped the car right in the middle of the road. There was absolutely no traffic and I doubted that there ever was. She got out and gathered the picnic baskets from the backseat. She headed towards the eastern field. As she did, I thought to my self,'I am the luckiest man alive. I am in love with this woman. She is the best thing that's ever happened to me.' I got out and walked quickly to her. I unsheathed the hunting knife on my belt and stabbed it into the small of her back, raking the spine as I went upwards. She fell. I removed the knife and carried her far into the field. I placed her body on the ground and undressed her. She was still moist. I came and she went. I dressed myself as a trucker drove from the north. He pulled off onto the side of the road and got out. He walked towards me with a shovel in his hand. He said to me,'So you're one o'them necrophillies, 'm?' I nodded. He began digging the hole I was planning on doing myself. We shoved her in and covered her up. As we walked back to our vehicles he shouted,'Doncha give up, now! I foun' one ta hate! I 'magine you can do the same!' I headed north and he headed south.
You should really take advantage of any good-looking opportunities, whatever they may be. Not for example, I was being a rat at the mall (NE), when I saw someone whom I hadn't seen in over a year. I've never actually had a conversation with this person, but I have known about her for four years. I was shocked. I thought that I would never see her again. With all the courage I could muster, I took a deep breath and walked right out of the mall. Now I hate myself for not having done anything. In other words, I suck. Ed can vouch for that.
What a piece of fuck!
In a bookstore under wire paintings... Ginsberg beneath this card... I count four women... three pulled back or up... one down, fingers in nose... always looks left... never right... to her right is a revolting sight... she has risen, scrambling to find notes by Cliff... she peeks at the abomination and quickly turns to the road sign books... maybe she'll drive home and grab her mate's bulging torso for dear life and tell him the story of a horror of skin, muscle and bone structure... then they'll fuck 'cause they love eachother... five women now, now one... not hot enough to mention... still, she'll drive home and tell her lover of the thin crust pizza in a chair... then they'll fuck 'cause they want eachother... three women in sight... a reminder of Jamaican Woman near Sports... hiding behind a column and dares not leave that safe haven... she's left the building by now with a grotesque image burnt into her pretty little mind... still, she'll drive home and tell her soulmate about the breathing piece of shit in a chair under true works of beauty they call art... then they'll fuck 'cause she makes him hard and he makes her wet and they love eachother and shit can't do that.
Romance is like a blasphemous little monkey that spits on the floor every time you say "lustig".
Take me home. Mitch just stopped by. Dirk goes to Taco Bell. Tiff goes to Taco Bell. Dirk goes to Subway. Tiff goes to Subway. Home- it's not the best place to be, but it's the most comfortable. Now I'm stuck in this shithole that I used to call home, and I make myself believe that it will be FUN. Then, when I get here, it's boring as shit, and I turn into a "sad kid". I'm sitting right here by the drinks, so they can probably see what I'm writing, but I'm not moving. People pick me up, then people drive me home. I hate working. I've never called in sick. I left early yesterday. They'll probably fire me if I go back in, anyway. There are two cheerleader bitches at the other table. They're talking their shit about me. Well, they're the ones wearing those short fucking skirts. Tiffani, I can't be comfortable around anymore. I'm not sure why. I tried to become friends w/her, but that didn't work... so what do I do? What I'm still not used to... burning bridges. That's why I'm uncomfortable around her--> I tried to make her my friend and she refused. When shit like this happens, it never goes back to the way it was. I feel sorry for Dirk. Maybe one of these days I'll make a whole new set of friends. It would be nice to have that comfort w/everyone I know. I wish I was a junkie, then I would have a reason for being depressed. Then I would get all my sought after sympathy and some true help for a true problem. I hate my life and I know I shouldn't. I smell wonderful all the time. People keep getting refills and it's really pissing me off. It's pretty pitiful that I don't at least have a car at this age. I can get a life later, but a car is needed presently. You know, I was having a much better time when I was into life. The time that I was, didn't last long enough. "So, what are you doing at Taco Bell?" That's Tiff. So damn uncomfortable. Now some girl is standing by the condiments counter. IVn seems to have a nonstop love-life attitude. Wish I was him w/different parents. Wow, this is so awkward that it hurts. Fuckin' shit. If there was a person inside me, I would show it. I think that one day, Sam is going to get on my nerves, or vice versa, or mutual. What am I doing at Taco Bell? I have no money. I blew my last dollar on a soft taco. I want to be happy. My standards are too high.
What the fuck is so bad about an ugly bad conversationalist?
Smile, you'll be dead in a couple years.
Good morning students. I am Mr. Atio. To start off, I'll give you a brief introduction to the class, and then I'll pass out these nifty little cards that will require the elligible print of your full name, address complete with zip code, and your home phone number. Immediately following, I will set up the VCR and let your curious little eyes view images and sounds pertaining to this subject matter. Well, let's begin. Let me start off by saying:
Sex education is the course; intercourse, of course.
A world of love and lust and loss
and for many men, no remorse.
It's black, it's white, it's all the same,
though some will call me crass,
you all want to hear about hands on tits and dicks in clits and ass.
Dry fucks, multiple fucks, quickies that just fly right past,
her bloody first, his drunken next, and her necrophiliac last.
Jimmy says,"Snatch in the Hat is neon black."
I suck, you suck, we all suck to hell.
I'm glad they put "Bosom Buddies" back on the air. Just what the hell is television here for?
Cut off your testacles and then wrap them back up in the sac. Then stick the sac on the ceiling. Then pour me a glass of lemonade. Sit down and watch me stare at your balls. You can drink my lemonade 'cause I'd rather watch your balls hang from the ceiling. Come here and scratch my back, down to the tailbone. That's where I like it the best, and that's where no one else goes when their scratching my back. I'm going to hit you 'cause I enjoy watching your balls hang from the ceiling.
Straight down the tubes - all the ripples, all the coils - cling, clang - the metal smell - cling, clang - slick bumps - a head sinks into a coil - eyes roll to the bottom of the trench - a neck -
