I'm spent. So damn exhausted. My spine is in dire need of an overweight toddler to dance on it -- think I could find one in some dingy massage parlor deep within some desolate shopping center? I don't need a happy ending, I just need an overweight toddler to walk on my back. Does that make sense?
When I'm not using, I can't get away with seeking shelter in blankets and back seats. In order to be productive, oddities must be restored and reinstated. First you have to be an upstanding member of society and eventually you earn the privilege to share war stories with a grain of salt. I had a throughly busy day today for the first time in a very long time.
The coffee non-date that I had anticipated turned out to be a total dud. Of course I got my inner eighth-grade all worked up. Conversation sucked. I was tired. He seemed preoccupied. Christ, he's hot. Of course, with it being my chance to get it in, naturally a roadblock must ensue -- this time in the form of a casual acquaintance who spotted my non-date and I from afar and decided to tag along. The cock blocker, ever determined to prove that YES, YES THIRD WHEELS CAN BE INTERESTING AND APPRECIATED spewed nonsense about manga and karate until my non-date did the whole half-hearted "Well... I should get going" and shook my hand, yes, fucking SHOOK MY HAND goodbye. Bitch, I didn't hire you to build me a goddamn treehouse. I invited you to buy me tea and hopefully make out a bit to the oldies in your cadillac. Clearly I was not the one who invited the Animorph over here because as you can see, I had ulterior motives. My motives were wasted. Here's hoping for round two...
I swerved through quiet neighborhoods with this on maximum volume last night, drawing interesting looks from Hispanics who do not understand how organs FUCKING RULE (meaning the instrument, not lungs). Overbearing clouds have concealed the sun for weeks. Come dusk, it doesn’t really matter. I have one knee up, I have one menthol, I have one blow of remorse. I try to think of something else, but my head keeps going back to him walking besides a delicate little thing with worn out, feline features. She has a long neck and perky tits. He purposely walks into her as they approach the hill and leads her downstairs into the murky basement where he will guard her and bask in the glory of her sitting beside him. From the corner of my eye, I watch her feigned disinterest and I study his discomfort. (Did he fuck her? From what I know about him, he probably fucked her. How did he manage to fuck her without her breaking into dust?)
It’s one of those instances where I will, just for right now, ignore how useless I feel. How used up I feel. Like thrifted cotton and silverware. (He fucked her. He probably sold to her and they fucked. Her legs are porcelain and delicate and I want to fuck her, too. A year ago, he put down the bong and picked up a Bible. That’s when I fucked him. Does that make me the better person?) He announces that he has to drive her home and says his goodbyes. I watch him quickly embrace the other girls, girls who are also beautiful and tired. When he approached me, I am pulled in and time stops. This is how it usually goes. He’ll hold me for a few extra seconds. Sometimes I’ll bury my head alongside his neck and send him off with a quick bite. Last night, he sent me off with an affectionate rub.
Yeah. Kind of got a bit of track there. Overcast, late spring, jeans have paint on them, Robert Plant sometimes you make me shiver.
YOUR TIME IS GONNA COME, MOTHERFUCKER.
When I'm not using, I can't get away with seeking shelter in blankets and back seats. In order to be productive, oddities must be restored and reinstated. First you have to be an upstanding member of society and eventually you earn the privilege to share war stories with a grain of salt. I had a throughly busy day today for the first time in a very long time.
The coffee non-date that I had anticipated turned out to be a total dud. Of course I got my inner eighth-grade all worked up. Conversation sucked. I was tired. He seemed preoccupied. Christ, he's hot. Of course, with it being my chance to get it in, naturally a roadblock must ensue -- this time in the form of a casual acquaintance who spotted my non-date and I from afar and decided to tag along. The cock blocker, ever determined to prove that YES, YES THIRD WHEELS CAN BE INTERESTING AND APPRECIATED spewed nonsense about manga and karate until my non-date did the whole half-hearted "Well... I should get going" and shook my hand, yes, fucking SHOOK MY HAND goodbye. Bitch, I didn't hire you to build me a goddamn treehouse. I invited you to buy me tea and hopefully make out a bit to the oldies in your cadillac. Clearly I was not the one who invited the Animorph over here because as you can see, I had ulterior motives. My motives were wasted. Here's hoping for round two...
I swerved through quiet neighborhoods with this on maximum volume last night, drawing interesting looks from Hispanics who do not understand how organs FUCKING RULE (meaning the instrument, not lungs). Overbearing clouds have concealed the sun for weeks. Come dusk, it doesn’t really matter. I have one knee up, I have one menthol, I have one blow of remorse. I try to think of something else, but my head keeps going back to him walking besides a delicate little thing with worn out, feline features. She has a long neck and perky tits. He purposely walks into her as they approach the hill and leads her downstairs into the murky basement where he will guard her and bask in the glory of her sitting beside him. From the corner of my eye, I watch her feigned disinterest and I study his discomfort. (Did he fuck her? From what I know about him, he probably fucked her. How did he manage to fuck her without her breaking into dust?)
It’s one of those instances where I will, just for right now, ignore how useless I feel. How used up I feel. Like thrifted cotton and silverware. (He fucked her. He probably sold to her and they fucked. Her legs are porcelain and delicate and I want to fuck her, too. A year ago, he put down the bong and picked up a Bible. That’s when I fucked him. Does that make me the better person?) He announces that he has to drive her home and says his goodbyes. I watch him quickly embrace the other girls, girls who are also beautiful and tired. When he approached me, I am pulled in and time stops. This is how it usually goes. He’ll hold me for a few extra seconds. Sometimes I’ll bury my head alongside his neck and send him off with a quick bite. Last night, he sent me off with an affectionate rub.
Yeah. Kind of got a bit of track there. Overcast, late spring, jeans have paint on them, Robert Plant sometimes you make me shiver.
YOUR TIME IS GONNA COME, MOTHERFUCKER.
