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It was the middle of the day and I was bored, so I decided to break into a trailer.

I had to carefully thread my way through the remains of the fallen tree, and then negotiate the half-rotted steps leading to the door.

This trailer is abandoned, and in my back yard. I live in a neighborhood where you can have abandoned trailers in your backyard. I'm breaking the law, but not really.


I try the door, which is of course locked.

I know how a lock works, so theoretically I should be able to rig up a way to pick it even though I've never done it before.


Not really.

I lean in and shade my eyes to peer in through the window on the door, but it's the kind of glass that's textured so you can't see through it.

Defeated, I move to retreat and notice the top window pane is out.






I never noticed that in six damn months. It didn't look recent, either.

So I reach in and unlock the door.

It's musty and not very interesting, but as a token I snag an old postcard of the refridgerator and make my way back home.


They keep black mold in places like that, it'll make you go retarded.

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This is my month to feel like an asshole, the best explanation for which is that I am in fact being an asshole, but is it true?

Probably, there are specific instances I remember, enough of which probably aren't just my imagination retroactively coloring me jackass to constitute a definate deviation towards acting like a true bastard.

I'm going to keep that sentence there, as a warning to me.



I had a concert a couple of nights ago, and my dad came to see it.

My dad and I don't really get along, but we're polite.

I neglected once again to tell him I now have a female as a roomate. I pussied out, and that's going to bite me on the ass.


I write better than this, dammit.

I feel really dull.

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I have put a bunch of random pictures on my door, of random mundane things and a couple of pets. Roomate tells me I should find a decent camera and see if I'm any good.

I could have a hobby, finally.


But cameras are expensive.

I want to start drawing again, I'd like to design things like Shepard Fairey's faux-propaganda prints or the artwork on some labels for libations. They have a super complexity I like and desperately want to imitate.

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I've been run ragged by school. That doesn't happen too often, and I don't like it.

No respite this weekend or the next week either, and it's getting to be March Madness soon.


No rest for the jackass.

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I'm in a reletively neutral mood, so the words won't come out.


They only come out when I'm being whiny. Then they come out like puke.

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I finally went back for jazz night at a local pub. It was excellent.

I took my dad there too, and it appeared like this girl was checking me out regardless. Probably because I was the only male there in the same age group.

Dad didn't care for the waitress, so he didn't leave a tip.


I, however, left an outrageous tip, so it worked out.




I saw the same waitress again today, she's a student.

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I've linked to a page of those omnipresent online tests and took just about all of them.

My brain is half-female and my love number is 4. I am the ideal seductor and I'm the United Kingdom. I'm McDonald's Burger Gray and my cock's name is Beefy McManstick.

The names for the first girl I ever had a real crush on's tits is Dixie and Daisy. If she had a cock it would be called Harry and the Hendersons. Her actual sex organs, however, would be called Easy Bake Oven.

Zing?

My pussy's name is Little Sister. That's kinda off.

What's-her-face's glorious, mysterious, and divine womanhood's name is Passion Flower. Her perfect exquisitly small breasts would be called Abercrombie & Fitch. Her satiny, lusterous hair, her sumptuously smooth pale skin and her gorgeous, tender, mischievous smile they have no names for.

Proto-Bridget's boobs would be Tweedledum and Tweedledee. Bridget's are Bert & Ernie.


Bert & Ernie?

That's also the name of Ex's tits. In fact, Ex's and Bridget's primary erogenous zones all share the same names, which I find disturbing.

Ex's sex would be called Venus Fly Trap, which I find appropriate.

Bridget's cock would be called Anaconda (So would Ex's, but let's speak no more of her).

I guess I'm using this as a device to introduce some of the aliases I plan to use when referring to real people. I use Bridget's real name because she is not. She is a primary character in a book I'm not writing, so she can't be stalked.

I've decided to call the girl who's just destined to be the next what's-her-face Inamorata.

Because I'm stupid.


Her naughty bits are called Silk & Satin and The Flaming Lips.

Because she's perfect.






le sigh...




If Inamorata had a cock, it'd be called Godzilla.


Absolutely perfect.


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