Up and About After a Pout

Around this time of year I usually go around climbing into the top of fast-food restaurant’s soda fountain machines as discretely as possible and contaminate everyone’s ice at the cost of my own comfort (which is priceless). But this summer I live in a apartment building that has a swamp cooler. It is physically impossible for a man my size to jump inside a swamp cooler (not that I tried), though I have contorted myself into some tiny soda fountain machines out of desperation. The swamp cooler produces beautiful breathtaking coolness, but the inside of the machine is full of gross sweaty cramped hotness.

I feel like a king in my accommodating studio apartment castle. On my demand I have my own personal jester to perform. I beckon him by changing the channel to 72 and he performs old reruns of Futurama and South Park. When I become bored with my jester I send him off with the effort of one finger and retreat to my personal library and surround myself with books. In the middle of the room I build a large thrown of books, which are similar to large stones, all the way up to the ceiling with a stairway leading up to it. Today I was comfortable for awhile until my personal message carrier notified me that one of my friends would like to meet at the local pub that very evening to imbibe copious amounts of ale.

I tore down part of my stairway scrambling to my personal message carrier, leaving the destruction for my many peasants to clean up. I returned a message saying, ‘Why go to the pub when a king can bring one to his castle?’ I did not receive a message immediately in return from my friend. Perhaps he wasn’t aware of my high social status causing him great confusion, but later that hour he returned a message saying, ‘Because many fair maidens will not be flirting about in your castle, but only our royal asses sitting about until we’d part ways with only our hands to please ourselves… I‘m sick of pleasing you :-p’ I returned, ‘You’re lucky you’re my comrade or I’d banish you to the dungeon for revealing my lack of intelligence right in front of all of me. I will have my servants dress me in lavish garments and I will meet you at the pub after the sun sets in the west. Good day sir!’

I snapped for my servants and posed waiting with my arms out so they could strip me of yesterdays rags. Being stripped naked by other people is my favorite part of dressing in lavish garments. I shook in stripped-to-nakedness-by-other-people anticipation. It built and built until I realized I sold my servants last week for a better jester and personal message carrier. I wanted to be stripped naked by other people. I still want to be stripped naked by other people. I flung myself into a royal whine, wailing my hands in the air as I ran in circles unto flopping into a snot-nosed face blubbering weep on my four-poster bed (behind curtains so it didn‘t really happen because no one saw me in that state).

After crying myself to sleep I had a vision in a dream. I visualized being undressed by hot fair maidens who imbibed copious amounts of ale. All I really needed was my daily three hour nap because I awoke refreshed and I new my vision would come true. I pampered myself to my annual bath (a week early) in a handcrafted large basin with rose pedals and a soap that came all the way from the Springs of the Irish. I just finished dressing myself in hand-woven lavish garments knowing the evening will bid me a fine passage to it’s removal by hot fair maidens. My personal scribe was nice enough to scribble today’s happenings onto a digital scroll as if it were me myself who was the scribe who scribbled on a scroll. You can tell the difference because I would have portrayed myself for the true greatness that I really am.

One Life to Live

When I was younger and someone told me how hard of a life they lived I’d tell them that was nothing and proceeded with explaining why my life was harder. If kids at school picked on them so did the kids at my school, but also at my parent’s church and in my rough suburban neighborhood. I was completely honest of course, I’d try wholeheartedly to keep my detailed accounts non-fiction in origin, but if a detail popped in my head that I wasn’t sure happened I would say it anyway because I was sure I suppressed it at one point in my life to cope with the anguish.

I’d highlight all the mentally harder things that happened because mental anguish was harder to endure than physical anguish. “My family didn’t have a VCR until I was almost fifteen… cable TV until I was fourteen… and I never had a TV in my room ever!“ I did this so they could see how amazing of a person I was and that they were silly for complaining about living within asbestos riddled walls when I had so much of a harder life. They’d sooner or later come to see that they had it easy (because of being so stupid partially due to being exposed to asbestos but mostly because they were stupid by nature) and then they would feel sorry for me.

Whenever I need attention from my fellow peers I bring up the anguish I’ve endured and they empathize for me. Whenever they are complaining about something I just bring up all the harder anguish I’ve been through and they eventually quit their petty complaining. I usually start crying if they don’t and that always makes them see. If a person doesn’t think I endured more than them I continue to list off everything and it’s good I have kept a detailed log to read off. After a few pages they realize my amazing strength.

I ultimately go on to tell of the great things I’ve done to show them what I’ve overcome to succeed. I managed a pizza delivery place and made the business more money than it ever made ever before. When I was a mere sixteen years of age I aced my on road driver’s license test the fist time in a full-blown horrific blizzard. I’ve gone from no VCR to this amazing level of greatness.

Nobody has endured what I’ve endured. I’m a better person for enduring more than other people and they are less of a person with their pampered lives. My life has been the hardest to live and I’m still breathing to talk about it. I’ve never seen anyone with the determination that I have. To overcome what I have overcome inspires every person I meet to continue to endure their struggles even though mine were worse struggles. I stay a humble person trying to make the world a better place. It’s good I’m persistent because then people would never have become inspired. It makes me feel good to know I’ve overcome such a suffrage more than anyone else.

These days I’m more brilliantly informative about how and who I tell. Nowadays I go to soup kitchens and impoverished neighborhoods and inspire them to overcome their strife’s that are less harder than my strife’s. Eventually, I see my self maturing to a all new level beyond most people and inspiring young ones with my captivating trials and tribulations. I’ll visit playgrounds and schools and have them gather around me in sheer awe as I captivate their wonderfully developing minds. I’ll teach them to “aim for the stars and don’t look back,” a saying I just came up with. Sometimes I astonish myself.

Soon the whole world will see, they will see a fantastic made for TV movie about my life that will win the lifetime achievement award. That’ll do it. That is something that will really solidify what really happened in my life and it also gives me a chance to remember all of the details during the writing process of the movie. Everyone will see it because it will be on TV and everyone in the world has a TV.

For Love of the Story

I love stories so much I make out with them. Metaphorically I do. If it was possible I would physically. Rubber lips on the book wouldn’t cut it, though they would be almost as tempting as my first playboy and the foldout of Miss May, but that is creepy and weird. I wouldn’t do that… because I’m older now and more mature… and I get bitches all the time… I’m making out with someone right now. Actually, I’m making out with multiple people. Two women to be specific. It’s hard to type this, but it seems important enough to mention it right now in this casual manner.

The story would have to become a living, breathing soul for me to engage in a sloppy lip slobbering make out session. It’s the escapism that I love so much about stories. Every now and then I catch myself confessing my love to my books, audiobooks and DVD‘s, but when they don’t react to my deep words I realize they haven’t become a living being yet. The only thing that stops stories from becoming a mortal individual is being encased in the physical ink and paper, and whatever DVD’s and CD’s are made of.

The material outside is something used to show the story, the real story is in the words and the performance of the actors. Do I like a woman because she is all dressed up in hot ass tight jeans and or her naked body, or because of the words she speaks? Oh… its obvious though because of that one saying ‘don’t judge a book by its cover’ or translated to modern day speech ‘don’t get horny because of her sexy ass ‘cause she could be a annoying dumb ass’.

Women are kind of like stories. They are full of drama and if you don’t stop them they’ll keep on telling you their life story even if you never met them. Their cover (cosmetics) can be deceiving, but sometimes they turn out to be a good read you keep going back to. If they are really good you never put it back on the bookshelf and you read it over and over again to see what you haven’t seen before. I sleep with my books and it isn’t always intentional. Even if they are good or bad sometimes you leave them somewhere and if you like them enough you’ll go back to get them, but sometimes they won’t be where you left them because someone else picked them up. Occasionally you buy them, sometimes you steal them from a business that rents them (and you accrue late charges), and sometimes they stare at you until you go over and see what they’ve got to say.

From time to time I can almost sense the story is about to bust out of its material shell, but it could just be that the story has gotten my creative juices going and I’m just imagining it. The type of creative juices that can be used in a sloppy lip slobbering make out session.

Succumbed to the Power of Laze

I have two weeks off until school starts and I’m too broke to take a vacation or even go out and do stuff. I haven’t had any responsibilities or deadlines for the past week and my concept of time has strayed because of it. I thought yesterday was Saturday until I caught myself being enlightened by the words of the lord by a charismatic man begging for money in $500 shoes at 5 in the morning on TV. I think I watched old episodes of Red Dwarf and Little Britain on Netflix: Instant View for two days instead of what I thought was one day. Today I caught myself sitting on the crapper for who knows how long after dozing off for a bit; I couldn’t stand up because my legs were numb.

It’s easy to succumb to the power of laze when my biggest obligation is to feed and hydrate myself so I don‘t die. I try to fill my day with doing free things like brushing teeth, playing bingo by myself, and draining the spittle-trap on random wind instruments, but my day usually becomes consumed by laziness. My TV, computer and laptop can be in one of those moods and whenever they feel neglected they’ll either cut me down or seduce me to stay immobile.

Whenever I need to be reminded that I live in a world full of other people I go out my front door and walk around my neighborhood. I did that today. It can be strange at first when one isn’t outside everyday like normal. The streets and sidewalks are sometimes full of people like a bad zombie movie and other times empty like a post-apocalyptic movie. Some people materialize out of nowhere while others can be heard but not seen. They all move in a direction I am not, but they still fill up space in the world. My mind strayed to thinking that if humans drained themselves of water then we would be able to fit more of us on this planet. Faces on people were strange, almost alien. I hoped my face wasn’t as hideous with large bug eyes, snot encrusted nostrils, drooling slacked-jaws, and riddled with face pustules (but I was wrong, my face does look like that). Spoken voices were odd to my ears like a backward playing record with hidden satanic meaning as people walked past.

I then began to realize my own point-of-view and thought how unfortunate it was that I will always see things from my head that sits on my shoulders. I thought about the advantages of having a detachable head or the ability to morph my face to another part of my body. Instead of going to a doctor or having an x-ray done I could look myself and see inside my body; inflated gallbladder, broken leg, moldy veins, wham bam diagnosed this, diagnosed that. I could move my eyes down to my nut sack when a chick goes down on me and amaze her with four balls. Women can really become amazed at the capabilities of a mans reproductive organ.

It took me almost a whole day to come back to reality. I’m back to normal now, but I'm also back on the way to being a hermit again because I’m back in my apartment. My TV and my computer aren’t speaking to me, but my laptop is young and just wants attention.

Succeeding at Success

If I want to have a successful life I need to succeed at something. Can I be successful at doing nothing successful? If so I’ve already succeeded. I really want to write about how I have these mischievous adventures about stealing menstrual pads and dancing the tango with police officers at three in the morning in empty parking lots, but I should probably appeal to the masses some how if I ever want to become a successful writer. Only talented people make it into pop culture, so I need to change.

If I’m going to do that I need to get my mind in that mindset. I’ll get married tomorrow to start, that should get things going. Nothing looks more like your right on track than getting married. A successful relationship wouldn’t look normal without marriage. I‘ll look into starting a house and buying a long-term relationship (I think that‘s how it goes), so I can have some of those zany family moments to write about some day. I’ll have to have kids to do that. I’ll try not to force those zany family moments because I need writing material, unless if I’m desperate. It’ll be a small price to pay (looking weird) to have something good to write.

Creating a family takes time though. It takes a long time, and I want to start as soon as possible because I really need to do this. After I write this blog I’ll go buy a new wardrobe, and some clothes to put in it. I’ll only get name brand clothes of course. I’ll get a suit, also, so I can someday become a prestigious businessman, lawyer or doctor because those are the most successful professions to be in. I’ll make writing a side hobby, so I can really be a successful person. I’ll cut my tattoos off because I can‘t waste any time waiting to get a proper tattoo removal. I’ll comb my hair, I’m sure there’s a internet site that can assist me in finding the correct technique, starting with getting rid of my Flintstones animal rib comb. I’ll start subjecting myself to only mainstream music, movies and books. All of this shouldn’t be too hard, if I forget what to do I’ll just look at the person next to me and see what they’re doing and just mimic their actions.

I’ll start personifying myself as a noble person. I will set an example for everyone else. I’ll be the moralest moralist on the block. People will start looking up to me because I’ll be the first person to have the complete ability to judge what is and what isn’t the correct thing to do on everything. When I’m in a moral debate with someone (or someone’s) I will probably stand for the exact opposite of what they think because they need to be wrong. I’m going to be the only superior being there. Unless if there can be more than one superior being? I don’t know, I’m so unsure about that. I can’t make up my mind. I’m having a hard time deciding if that is possible. Can there? For some reason my mind can’t figure that out right now. I really wish there was someone else I could look up to and talk to about this, but I‘m really not sure if there is anybody who can think at my high level of thinking.

This is a hard thing to assess. I must be having one of those blond moments. No, wait I’m not, there can be multiple superior people in the same world because multiple superheroes can exist at the same time! I figured it out! The American Justice League is a perfect example of that. Villain’s and superheroes can‘t though. I’ll have to exude a superior attitude towards villain’s so I can be more superior. Villain’s as in unmoral people who lack morals. If they can’t read my body language or tone of my voice (most villains have feeble minds) I’ll shoot them with my morality taser gun that I invent. The taser gun will juice them with 800,000 volts of my morals, but at the same time make them dumber so they can’t become more of a superior moralists. The taser gun will also remove an eye and a tooth.

Alright, I’m already feeling good about myself existing in existence successfully. I’m excited now. I’m so excited I feel like getting up and dancing, but not with just anybody. It needs to be a real moral person like a police officer or something and it needs to be a special moment of sharing so nobody can be there. Like it’s an intimate relationship with morals, like in a parking lot in the middle of the night. It needs to be an exciting dance though like the salsa or the tango to express my true excitement. I don’t know if I can wait that long though. I need to do something right now. I’ll do something moral for someone, but it has to be exciting so I can show that I’m excited about being this new person. I’ll give someone a present. I’ll give it to someone in need. I’ll do it in a exciting manner because I‘m excited. I know what I can do! I’ll steal menstrual pads for a bunch of menstruating homeless women. It’s exciting and a good deed!

The Social Interaction of the Unnamed Beings

Day One:

I have failed to reach the exact location of the species sought to be studied. I believe I am within a hundred miles east of where I want to be. I do not have the funds to travel any further. I have made contact with a similar group of beings and who I believe is the leader, but I’m not sure. I wish I had the resources to find better intelligence because I cannot converse with any of them. I have decided to call them the lodged feces in the brain tribe for the obvious reason that they lodge feces in their brain through the ear from the time they are an infant. They speak my native language of English, but they are too dim-witted to communicate with because they utter only nonsense. I drew objects in the dirt to try and communicate with them but they thought I was playing a game. Their minds aren’t even developed to a child’s in our culture. I’m afraid not even an infants. I don’t even think their minds are capable of developing. They have stagnant brains that emit gaseous fumes from years of forming compost in their skulls. I can’t even find out what their tribes name is. My company hired me a translator, but I can’t even understand him. His words are completely garbled. Their words consist of English words, but there is no connection from one word to the next. The so-called translator was so intent on trying to converse with me that he sprayed it and didn’t say it.

Day Two:

I awoke on the outskirts of their village. I was honestly too scared to stay in town for fear that they would wake me in the middle of the night spraying their garbled language and scaring the bejesus out of me. I have made camp in the woods. My plans are to concoct a disguise and enter the village as one of them. I’m going to salvage this anthropological observation to compile enough information to form a proper analysis of their social interactions.
All of them file one behind the other in a line everywhere they walk randomly sniffing the pits under their arms to make sure they bathed incorrectly for a proper level of foulness. They graze in fields masticating grass in their mouth all day, occasionally dripping and sputtering feces out their anus without stopping to pick up the muck. This eventually provides nutrients for the grass to grow, so in due course they will consume food produced by their own filth. When one of them aimlessly wanders to one side of the field they all follow. This can occur a countless amount of times a day accomplishing nothing in the process except for existence. Their fingers often get wedged in their noses (not always their own nose) in search for what they think is better sustenance and can become stuck there for the greater part of the day, unless if one of the brighter ones aids in removal.
They slap their hands in the most peculiar way when greeting each other. Some slap it this way and that way, chest bump, fist bump, shoulder bump, and thumb and fore finger snap in every imaginable combination for seconds, even minutes, as just a common single salutation. The length of time it takes for a group of them to greet each other is astounding. By the time they finish greeting they disband from the pointless encounter. They exit the group exactly how they entered achieving nothing in the gathering except for looking stylish to each other. This is probably what happens in their political hearings if they are even competent enough to establish a form of government.
The females proudly display their breasts with busting cleavage out of the top of lavish brassieres. The male’s eyes are magnetized to this display until the female slaps the male upon the side of his face with an open hand and or object in hand. Without delay the female then kisses the male on the perimeter of their food holes on the face. The male is initially flabbergasted but immediately engages in the fluid exchange. Mating occurs 5-10 minutes afterward completely devoid of a meaningful relationship.
Their sexual intercourse is executed in alleyways, bathroom stalls, automobiles, and the back few rows of theatres. They lack civility, have uncontrollable gyrations, and sometimes carry out intercourse with multiple beings of their kind. They penetrate orifices I wouldn’t think possible of penetration. They reproduce at an alarming rate and with their brain capacity I expect over population and complete self-annihilation due to absolute warfare over grazing privileges.
When a male gets angry at another male he jumps on him and they fall to the ground in a homoerotic clash tossing and groping each other in a way which closely relates to their form of intercourse, but without penetration of an orifice. This occurs on a regular basis with males who parade around with bulbous muscles. The odd thing is that these males never have sex with a male, so I have come to a conclusion that they have deep homosexual desires they constantly suppress. This desire must build when they tease other males who do act upon their emotions and seek homosexual interactions. The idiocy is astounding in this type of male. I expect them to keel over due to severe stupidity and a top-heavy body with lack of coordination, but I do not have the time to wait and witness such a thing.
I have decided to leave tomorrow due to the fact that their stupidity is contagious. It is like a disease that fills the air and which now fills my lungs. My intelligence is decreasing at an alarming rate. My brain aches as I write this. I can barley remember how to perform the easiest of functions like scratching my head. I have never seen a culture continue to exist in this condition of reckless futility in my lifetime and I hope to never experience this again. My company sent me out here because I’m a novice in this profession, but I am going to go back to my place of origin and pursue a different occupation and question my life. I can only hope that I am competent enough to get out of my sleeping bag tomorrow morning.

We

A second ago my computer screen was blank. Now I’ve thought of something to write. Now you have something to read. And something more to read. And something else to fill my screen with. This blank screen is kind of like the inside of a drawing in a coloring book. My crayons are always a color of standard black, but when you look closer at the scribbling a picture emerges with bright meaning and colorful images. Your crayon traces mine, but sometimes our wax tips stick.
When reading, your mind is only a split second behind my mind that is writing. After awhile you can catch up and practically write this with me. Especially if I pause to think of what I should write and go back and spell ‘especially’ correctly because I always misspell that. I just went back and respelled ‘especially’ twice, but not this last time because I copied it and pasted it. That takes the same amount of time, so you should be able to catch up with me at any moment. I’ll slow down my thoughts and t-y-p-e e-a-c-h l-e-t-t-e-r w-i-t-h t-h-e s-a-m-e f-i-n-g-e-r. And now… you are writing this with me. We’re writing and reading at the same time. Our minds are one mind. We are we.
We should have waited another sentence to start this paragraph. It’s too early. We think it’s okay to leave it. Everybody else is going to think we have poor writing skills and then they are less likely to read what we write again. We are everybody and we don’t really care. We need to work on our communication skills to make this go smoothly. Great, now everybody knows our faults. Who cares? Again, we are everybody. Plus, everybody needs to work on their communication even when they have great communication skills. We could over communicate, hindering a chance to instantaneously communicate because our over communication can take longer than these words that are written. One could over communicate and drive the other mad. Wait, we aren’t communicating if our mind is one mind though, so that means we are one pulse of thought traveling down to our fingers.
How are we doing so far? We think we’re doing just fine. Why did we erase that last sentence? It would have made this paragraph more understandable. It wasn’t necessary, we didn’t need to convey that any further because it could really mess up what is being said here. There isn’t anything being said here, is there? Are we asking that to each other or did one of us ask that? How about that last question, also? Does that mean we’re transitioning? I didn’t think this would happen. We are transitioning. ‘We’ are transitioning to ‘you and I’.
I’m lost in you. I am you and you are me. You and I have surpassed being we and have become each other. You are strange. The flow of your thoughts flows at a different pace. I smell milk. I hear a chair creaking. It feels uncomfortable in your mind, like it’s the first day of kindergarten. Did you just sneeze? I mean did I just sneeze? How would you know? You need to take out the trash. If I get stuck in your head I’ll take it out for you. Please don’t intentionally stay away so you don’t have to take out the trash. Aren’t you weirded out also? I need to catch up with these words. Wait, if you’re in my mind aren’t you typing these words? That means I have to catch up with your words. Your typing this to instruct me to catch up with these words. That read just like I was thinking it even though you were writing it. That is clever of me I know. No shit you’re an idiot in my mind because I am in yours. You and I are toddling like babies in new diapers that haven’t been broken in yet. Are you here yet? Come on already. You’re a slow reader because you’re used to writing. I’ll s-l-o-w d-o-w-n m-y t-y-p-i-n-g.
We are we again. That was crazy. We need to be careful when reading and writing. It’s not something that we can play with. We’re scared shitless. I hope we’ve taught us a lesson now. The writer should write and the reader should read. We like reading and writing at the same time though. We’ve got to be careful not to switch over to each other. We can try it again but we could get caught in each others minds. We are scared of being away from each other. We don’t want to be what we aren’t, but at times we want to do what the other is doing. Writer’s can read and reader’s can write, but at the same time it’s pretty chaotic.
We need to type faster and read slower to escape this kind of mind-meld. It is too fascinating to leave, but we can always come back. There is always time for us to share this again. We can say that again but in a different way. We could hold on to our thoughts for a long time, but it would lose its awesomeness the next time we do this. Which one of us is holding on? We are. We both are if this is still going on because we are we. To stop this we need to stop reading and writing. Stop!
I got lost in you, but you were nice enough to lead me back to me. You were probably scared in my head. My head is usually in the clouds; my mind stares off into outer space. If you and I met like that then our minds could be similar, but any tiny bit of difference is strange because we are always stuck in our own heads. I guess you and I found a way out if you and I ever wanted to do that again.

Bloodholding

Whenever I’m about to take menstrual pads unlawfully I think about all the bloodletting it can prevent and bloodholding it does on the outside of the body while being fused to the skin. My hands tremble as I realize how truly remarkable these man/woman made objects are when I stand in the feminine hygiene aisle of this ordinary grocery store. It really starts to make me nervous the closer my hands get to the package. I hope I can decide to grab it before another woman sees my perfectly explainable but odd behavior and I have to check her off my lengthy list of potential dates.
The only time I need to use a period pad is when I get bitten by a vampire every four weeks. I don’t know why I never turn into a vampire. Maybe it’s the mighty healing power of the period pad that makes me so resilient. If only all those unfortunate victims of vampires knew. When I was in middle school my vagina used to bleed every time a bully told me I had a bleeding vagina because I was a pussy ass bitch with no wiener, but whenever they’d walk away all would return to normal.
The grocery store was quiet mostly, some distant laughing and moving around of pallets. The night crew was deep into their shift, stocking everything but feminine hygiene products; a job probably performed by robots. It’s an area of the grocery store that holds great power and believed folklore like King Tutankhamun’s tomb. Every man who goes down this aisle risks his life. Every woman who sends their man to pick up a feminine hygiene product just to push his limits should seriously reconsider their actions. Thrill seekers, it could be your last thrill.
I closed my eyes and spontaneously grabbed a bag of pads. I opened my eyes but didn’t look at them. I felt the power throb in my hands. I walked out of the aisle and headed towards the front entrance/exit by walking beside the frontline of unlit registers relaxing in their trench after a hard day of battle. I was aware how close I was to enemy lines but I had captured their flag so I was booming with confidence.
I darted for the front entrance/exit, but the night crew stocker/cashier saw a very large person moving faster than they usually do, so he put in the mouthpiece that was attached to a string tied around his neck and blitzed my slow ass. He caught up with me in the parking lot offside to the trench of legal purchasing registers and tackled me from behind slamming me face first skidding on the asphalt until my huge manly sperm abundant ball sack ripped.
The menstrual pads were strewn within twenty feet above my head, soaking up the never ceasing oil that drips in the parking spaces like it was a ten year long period bleed that was finally taken care of. I didn’t know what was damaged on my body because all of the front of my body burned with ache. I rolled over and saw my shorts were soaked with blood over my crotch, I needed to stop the bleeding. The night crew guy stood up, grabbed me by the collar a yelled obscenities in my mangled face like he dreamed about succeeding at this situation many times. I looked up and back, spotted an unspotted pad and grabbed it. I told myself to fuck dignity since I had already stole these period pads anyway, shoved the pad down my shorts and held the blood close to my body.

The Voice in My Head

When I walk around to get where I’m going I think, mostly about getting shit done or I wonder when the next time I’ll see a sexually attractive woman. When I sit down on chairs and couches I continue to think, but with more concentration because I’m not worried about walking. I’m glad I don’t have to concentrate on sitting or I‘d be a lot dumber. I can think about different things and deeply. I usually think about creating, writing, homework, but I can easily fade into a daydream. I can fade into a daydream at any moment actually, even if I’m being held hostage by a group of girl scouts, or mercenaries or even the dreaded girl scout mercenaries paid for by those wonderful cookies. When I lay down my thoughts become dumber. I think about donuts, pizza, aliens, sewer manhole covers and wanting to open one but not go down unless if it isn’t too smelly and there is someone with me, and rural agriculture which isn’t dumb and I don’t know why laying down triggers me to think about it.
I’ve tried to think other people’s thoughts when they are near me, but I’ve been unsuccessful. At least I think I have. Maybe their thoughts become my thoughts and I can’t realize that it’s their thoughts have become mine. I wonder if everybody’s voice in their head is the same. People with other native languages would be different definitely, but maybe people who speak the same language have the same voice. Women could have a different sounding voice than men, unless if our voices in our head are asexual.
I can’t really place what my voice sounds like, probably because I’m thinking about the voice I’m thinking with. I know I can change my voice to sound more masculine when I’m not feeling masculine enough like when I finish watching an action movie or after loosing a bar brawl. I know I can alter my inner voice to sound feminine when I dress up in woman’s clothing, but that is probably too much information. So my inner voice is either male, barely male or asexual because I know I alter my voice in different situations. Characters in movies and TV shows think with their speaking voice, but I don’t think that is accurate to real life and it is done that way so the viewer can immediately know what character is thinking.
I’m probably thinking about this because I’m too feeble minded to distinguish vocal sounds. It’s either that or it’s too inane to be discussion worthy amongst peers, family or friends. If I bring it up I could threaten the relationship status I’ve worked so hard to reach. The view of my relationships can be a bit skewed though, due to a lack of intuition on my part. To me I’m a bad ass son of a bitch to everybody else, but to them I could be just be a bad ass, just below a bad ass, bad or just an ass. So there’s a chance that there isn’t too much at stake, or anything at stake.
I think the best way to figure this out is when I’m high or drunk. If I can remember to bring it up and remember to remember afterwards I think it’ll work.

Stalk of Stalkery

I’ve found a new hobby. I needed one because this writing hobby of mine was getting really boring. Writing down my thoughts in a humorous manner is the old me. The new me lives life on the edge and to make sure I stay on that edge I listen to that Aerosmith song. The song nudges you towards the edge, but doesn’t quite take you to the edge, so mischievous acts need to occur simultaneously. There can be moments where you feel like you’re on the edge, but it’s only because you are living vicariously through Aerosmith’s song.
What I do to take me to the edge is barely legal, living on the edge of barely legal. It could be illegal, but nobody has reported me. What I do is stalk stalkers. Yes, I grow infatuated with a stalker’s ability to follow someone without them knowing, so I follow them. It is a hard hobby to get into because you’ve got to notice what the stalked hasn’t noticed. You usually have to give up all of your plans like having sex, seeing a concert, vacationing in Hawaii, accepting the Pulitzer Prize, and collecting insects. You have to decide to follow the stalker the instant you notice or you won’t get to stalk the stalker.
I’m still learning. I’ve only done it a few times. I’m still not good enough to follow the stalker that long. I’m not good at being idle for long lengths of time. My legs start twitching and shuffling around. I nudge ever closer to the stalker and eventually the stalker sees me. Stalker’s usually act like little babies when they know someone is following them, they stomp off to their cars and drive away. They return to the same spot the next day. A endless cycle of me giving myself away and them stomping off happens. Some of them get confrontational after awhile, so if you’re considering this new hobby please be careful.
When it gets to be something I can’t handle, that is when I summon superheroes with my kick-ass superhero summoning ability. I yell, “Thundercats HO!“ and they appear almost out of nowhere. They capture them, scratch huge gaping wounds into them and then piss on the wounds with their toxic piss. One time they didn’t come and I looked kind of silly in front of the stalker, even though he looked silly first by stalking. You’d think he would have run away scared shitless, but he didn’t. I then summoned my backup superhero Regis Philbin, “Regis Philbin HO!” He jumped out from behind a tree and easily annoyed him to death.
The next time I go to Hollywood I’m going to bring a bunch of friends with me and we’ll take some pictures. I’m really interested in photographing the paparazzi from every angle, so we‘ll encircle one. Every second counts, we’re going to need to take as many pictures as we can. Not all paparazzi are the same so we’ll need to find as many as we can.