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this is a playful shot that Nick took about an hour after he proposed... i was on cloud nine.
Nick is really a sweetheart. I have always known that I am a good looking plump girl. I am not fat... i just have that rounded out look (and feel). Nick and I met in college... it was a mid-size liberal arts college, we had about 1,500 students in our class. I was shy... not because I had low self-esteem or anything related to my self-image... just because i chose to play that kind of role. I never got too drunk and I never had to do a walk of shame. Well... I can't exactly take credit for my quasi-mature behavior... I can probably admit this here because there is a relative level of anonymity... I suffer from a perpetually smelly crotch. I have had this issue for as long as i can remember. In seventh grade... i believe i was 12-years old... i was walking toward the playground when an eighth grade boy, who was sitting on a bench next to a row of bike's locked to a rack, stopped me and said... "holy christ you stink like a whore's pussy". I ran inside and cried for three hours and to make matters worse I got an in school suspension for cutting my last four classes. I wouldn't dare repeat those words to a guidance counselor or even try to recreate the situation in any form... the worst part was that he was right... i mean i have never smelled a prostitutes vagina... but the smell emanating from my nether regions was not pleasant.
Anyway, i have tried different odor masking agents, i have gone to the doctor, i even tried to scrub myself with ajax once, it was before junior prom, nothing has worked to the point of long-term success... but i have developed a system: i pour lots of fruity-smelling body scrubs on my crotch and i rub deodorant right over the vagina slit, it usually buys me about three hours before the hot garbage odor starts flowing from my pants/skirt/etcetera. I had learned to live with my problem. I just stayed shy and played hard to get. And then Nick came along. Nick was gay in highschool. He said that he was really fascinated by the male physique when he was in his early teens. However something happened as he got into his twenties... he began to find women attractive again... in a candid moment he told me that he "just lost the desire to receive the hot ass-fucks" and "women's hips started singing to him". He was extremely drunk when we had that conversation and I never told him exactly how he phrased it... i was rather taken aback when he said it... but surprisingly that is the way that i imagined gay sex... just a flurry of passionate desire that leads to a really frenzied round of no-strings anal intercourse. so whatever... i saw where he was coming from. time went by and he started courting me. i planned it out so that our meeting never last long enough for him to smell my pussy. but that became taxing... i liked him... and i wanted to spend prolonged periods of time with him. i wanted to make-out with him and cuddle with him... but i was so afraid to get moist... oh my god... if i got wet it would have instantly smelled like skanky otter-corpse. so after two months i decided to tell him. i had to prepare myself for complete rejection (you already know that he didn't reject me, but who cares, the details are good) so i started the pre-depression. when he came over i sat him down..
"i have to tell you something, and i don't want you to speak until i am finished. there is a reason that i have been such a prude... it is not because i don't want to... i am very attracted to you and i have wanted to so many times, but i have an issue that is holding me back. i suffer from a constantly bad-smelling vagina." i didn't know how to phrase it and that is what came out. "there is nothing wrong with me... other then the smell... i don't have any diseases and the smell doesn't stem from anything unhealthy... i just tend to sweat and well... you get the idea."
to my surprise he wasn't really phased. he asked me if i had a paper clasp... you know, the things that have a black plastic piece that is shaped like a triangular prism missing two sides that also has two silver metal clips on the line that runs along the apex. i did happen to have one... he snapped it on his nose and started to rub my crotch... i was so nervous... but i was floored at the same time. i began getting wet and i began to smell my musty-cheese stink... but he wasn't phased he was kissing me and grinding the inner-side of his pointer finger on my clitoris...his thumb rested on my upper thigh and his finger-tips rubbed around in my under-ass. it was amazing. we went on to exchange oral-sex performances. i was SO HAPPY!
needless to say... we figured out a way to make it work... we both have our eccentricities... mine having to do with vaginal odor and his having to do with a slightly loose anus... but regardless we have found a happy niche. we will be getting married this upcoming May. May is a beautiful month here on long island. i don't know if i have ever been at peace like thjs. i really thank the stars for Nick. life has a funny way of working out.
Peace and Love,
-Gina
i allow the process to begin. i always know the outcome... but somehow, in some moment... i imagine that each instance will be different... in the frenzy of desire i justify that which should not be justified. it is called weakness... lack of discipline.
Kuhn might be right in this case. the story will be coming soon.
how soon?
not soon.... but soon.
and say say say
what what what....
it will always be unclear, and the truth lies in desire....
yo yo yo
nah nah nah
get the fuck fuck fuck out of here with that corny bullshit.
piss on a kitten.
what in the dirty tit-machine do you think you are doing?i want to know.what is your life plan?do you think life plans are a good idea?give me something.i need to get my life straight.i need outside help.i need someone to write a book that addresses my problem exactly.come on.i want to read myself to freedom.yes!
yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo convo.
the cutting and pasting of conversations is always suckbag... but incest is a winning.
MaurilaX: somebody had to fuck their cosuin somewhere down the lineManiacalDeviant: not to mention i would not fuck my cousin
ManiacalDeviant: for a number of reasons
ManiacalDeviant: saving face being a major oneMaurilaX: saving face?ManiacalDeviant: my family would be pissed
ManiacalDeviant: a huge level of pissed
ManiacalDeviant: they would find out somehowManiacalDeviant: and it would just be too weirdMaurilaX: it could be like an adventureManiacalDeviant: without even thinking about getting caughtMaurilaX: life changing momentManiacalDeviant: yeah i have read about it at literotica.com
ManiacalDeviant: i haven't watched porn in so long either
ManiacalDeviant: i had a dream that i was fucking a big bootied black bitch
ManiacalDeviant: and it was intense
ManiacalDeviant: i may have had a wet dream
ManiacalDeviant: either that or i pissed myself a little
ManiacalDeviant: and then woke up
ManiacalDeviant: whatever it wasManiacalDeviant: i went right back to sleep
ManiacalDeviant: cause it was too cold to get out of my sleeping bag or investigate in any sense
i am about to have my favorite conversation. the best one i will have ever had. i can feel it. i will pick up the phone... and life will spin like shitty idiots on a playground-wheel. i get so fucking excited when i think about this conversation that my arms move wildly.... i am not thinking... i am just reacting and jutting-out with limbs. i am so happy with this. i am going to smack a bitch.i have a story to tell before the conversation. i will get it out in time. yeah yeah; what the fuck?
go to coney island and shoot the freak.for real, if you ever find yourself on the coney island boardwalk you better ask about it... don't be a bitch.
don't get addicted to the internet... the life style is foul. real people, real communication, being able to see faces and mannerisms... that is the only acceptable realm.
oh oh oh... fuck yes i am so eager to check my e-mail.... i am gonna cheese all over brooklyn with my delight squat.
recent metaphysics fodder...
'When studying the philosophy of mathematics/metaphysics the question “what is a number?” or more generally “what is an abstract entity?” is unavoidable. The answers to those questions are not simple. A number seems to be a particular kind of thing that has some role in existence, but a number is not the kind of entity that one can hope to observe as a physical object. Surely you can go to any kindergarten classroom and observe the symbol 9 tacked to a bulletin board but that would not be an instance of observing nine individual objects grouped together to form the concept that we know as nine, but even that grouping is not an instance of nine itself, it is just an instance of the specific quantity within a relation that nine represents. So we can observe the groups of things that come together to be instances of the concept nine. But then where is the number nine? I am going to assume in this paper that numbers are tools, and that abstract entities along the lines of numbers and propositions are synthetic abstractions. A synthetic abstraction is an abstraction that occurs after the recognition of a series of relations, that series of relations is then harnessed into a concept through synthetic abstraction. The difference between the word “abstraction” as it is commonly used and the phrase synthetic abstraction is that abstraction takes place after confronting a concept or a thing that impinges upon experience directly and synthetic abstraction requires the conglomeration of a group of relations between entities to get to the point of conception. To clarify that distinction I will give an example. Common abstraction takes place when a person sees a green leaf. A leaf has many characteristics; physical construction, smell, position in relation to the rest of the world, color, and so on. When we observe a green leaf and take note of its color we abstract the notion of green out of the observation of all of that leaf’s characteristics. Green comes into our perceptual apparatus because a certain wavelength of light impinges upon our experience. When we receive that wavelength and have the associated perceptual sensation we have recognized the color green, the word becomes attached to the sensation that we had and we then have the concept of green. The combination of the visible light spectrum and the particular wavelength that we experience as green is what makes it possible for the tools within our perceptual apparatus to abstract the color green. Synthetic abstraction requires a little more effort on the part of the perceiver. In the process of synthetic abstraction there is no clear designated entity or individual element within existence that is being perceived and designated. I will use numbers as an example of synthetic abstraction. Unlike the color green there is no direct connection between the portion of physical existence that we are labeling and the concept that we are using when we use numbers. It seems that the concept of number had to have come about through the recognition of relations. These relations are formed in more complicated ways than direct perception. When we perceive things the lattice of perceptual experience may be broken down into individual entities through the recognition of different characteristics, behaviors, and so on. Sometimes individual entities are similar to each other in enough ways, based on the characteristics we observe with our perceptual apparatus, that those entities get grouped together as a kind of entity. The groups of kinds do not have to be formal. A child may group a balloon and bicycle together because they are both red or because they are afraid of clowns and clowns often wield and manipulate both entities, but these groups come together through a form of trait-recognition relations. Our perceptual apparatus in concert with our organizational capabilities lead to groupings of the entities that are seen to be similar through the recognition of the common traits. Through such a process of trait recognition and relation we end up with aggregates. The quantities, of things being grouped during trait-recognition relations, are what we are describing when we use numbers. When one individual is similar to another individual they are two of a kind. And the system continues sequentially as more individuals enter the mix. I call that synthetic abstraction because it requires more than perception and designation. It requires a more complicated process, a process that involves critical thinking.'
i sit through dinners. i listen to the conversations. bunch of dinner-robot bullshit. people talk about the problems they are having with their cars, the drama in their work-places, they make reference to political situations... but they barely even skim the surface of the issues... they recognize that an issue exist and that it is a shame or that it is whatever other one-word thing that it is, they stay on sturdy ground, talk about the yankees, talk about vacations, talk about barbecue....i must be a fucking retard.
i am the one complaining. i am the one that is dissatisfied... i am pissed, because i am probably a shit-eating emo faggot... and i just haven't seen it this whole time.but that is only one option. more likely... the world is filled with douche bags and i just happen to be a pristine vagina. i will strike a pose and hope that the splendor is recognized.
and
when i fail i will just call, lonely as shit, and try to scum my way in to some satisfying interaction.
despite the plight i will be all right. golly, i love my time on the internet...
jerk-off or move on. fucking dipshit.
there is never enough. i want more naked women... that is the first thing that comes to mind. But they can't be fat... and their faces have to be pretty. the world has to be filled with innocence and curiosity. i want some beautiful scenery and some intelligent compatriots. i want to have conversations that flow nicely. and i don't know how to do it all the time... people seem to like different things.in other words the doors are open, but i am scared of all the faces in the next room. i am writing letters, but i never send them out. this is really the way that humans should function. afraid sometimes but full of hope.nah nay nah, that ain't what i want to say. i was typing while i was checking my voicemail... all of that was bullshit. don't even think about it. i mean of course i can delete it... but that would be dishonest... you should see the nature of my folly... because all this bullshit is; is a chance to open the door to my way of functioning. i am putting on a show for you... i am hoping that you will find something in my something. you know... i try to find words to sum it all up so that you will learn something and think that i might be cool or unique or something... i can't help thinking about why i am compelled to do what i do.i am a weirdo scientist, getting passionate about projects and burning myself out because of the frequency of my bursts into hyper-drive. but even when i am completely burnt i decide to sit down and churn something out... because maybe i will strike a chord that will ring through the masses..... oh god gooooooood the masses, the people that need to hear to help make the changes.... oh my gooooooood god.... if only i could be heard by the masses.... everything would evaporate and the barriers of cognition would crumble with the shift in matter state.... holy nun-fuck i want that change... i want to be a part of something and be in someone. call my cell phone. and we can fight and fuck and be like normal people... why don't you want that with me? who wouldn't want to be here.... in my room watching me type with my music on blast? come on, maximize your experience. get to know your savior. gog dag. dustispolista. dus-teese-pole-easta is how you would say that. dustispolista is that secret shit that you will need. you gonna need it at crunch time.welcome.
you can chalk this up to boredom, loneliness, and attention-seeking. learn to jive.
it would be so much easier to get ass if i were gay. i mean they have entire sections of cities that are devoted to steamy homo-fucking. in the realm of abstract sexual absurdity... i have noticed something lately. i am a man and i just don't get excited by men... i have explored it in thought experiments... just to prove to myself where i stand in the realm of sexuality... guys just don't bone me up... however i do find the notion of being a woman somewhat intriguing. i don't want to get fucked by a guy... because i am not attracted to men... but i do find the thought of being fucked by a guy as a woman to be somewhat exciting.
(i just enjoy imagining myself, as a woman, in danger underwear... waiting to take some pole.)
i don't know where that puts me on the spectrum... probably just confused. i am not about to have operations or anything like that... because i still find females to be sufficiently unbelievable. their curves and their box-warmth and their particular way of interacting are still plenty-good for me. i hope i don't become some whacked out tranny taking it in the ass on the subway. i am really not looking forward to that.
you ever hear, or read, the language that people use to describe photographs? yeah, it sucks. it is the most pedantic art-fart shit on the block. i even hate it more than the description of painting or sculpture because it is fucking photography... it is capturing light from some sort of perspective... from some angle. i like photography... don't get me wrong... some photographers are great artists... but the photo-praise language is drifting somewhere in the realm of scummy nuts on a hot date. she probably ain't gonna lick em and you aren't going to be comfortable if she does... lose lose. on another note; wouldn't you want these people to be your friends?
damn damn damn life is sweet
we are all jokes.
but we survive... we survive to fret and converse. we find ourselves musing over the dramas in our proximity... but all the people just want to get off and be loved. at least all the people that i know. so we drift around speaking when we feel so inclined... keeping to ourselves when the mood is correct.... never knowing exactly what the fuck is going on. some people don't worry about exactly what is going on. as long as they can perform their daily functions they put the rest on automatic. so what are we doing? it seems that we are right to invest our time in the little shit-fist issues that hover around our social scenes and our politics. what else should we worry about? solving complex problems? problems that would take years to scratch the surface upon? should we waste the eighty, or so, years that we have with this experience thinking about metaphysical issues, dissecting ambiguity, looking for ways to open new portions of perceptual experience? should we look into expanding the way we manipulate our surroundings? probably not.
we should continue to dick around with the sensations that we have. there are people that find comfort and stability. they dedicate their lives to keeping their comfort and their stability. i think that that is the most foolish pursuit possible. at least it is the most foolish if comfort and stability are the ultimate goals. we should be pressing boundaries at all times.
ah yes. it is the same old shit.... time and time again. try to push the progressive angle. but honestly... i have no fucking idea what the proper angle is. maybe the stagnation fucking that we are slamming to ourselves is just the right thing to open the next existential doorway. maybe we will figure out a way to network our perceptual experience and human beings will then link with chimps, gorillas, bonobos, ferrets, a variety of woodcreepers, a single gazelle... etcetera... and we will have a super organism... a singularity... and then bang... the universe will explode due to the monotony.
what are we supposed to do with all this cognition? find happiness? what a fucking joke. happiness is ignorance. if an individual human being is adept he or she will see the paradoxical nature of their ability to critically analyze their situation. it doesn't go anywhere. our species will go extinct. all the information will be lost. so we are forced to live in the here and in the now... but there is nothing epic about here and now. here and now is composed of deep-rooted belief-based conflict, a worthless culture, a surplus of event coverage with no reason to fully believe the bodies of information coming forth, nothing about being here now is particularly exciting... aside from my ability to ask the questions that lead me to absolute impracticality. doing drugs... that is also interesting. so i find myself asking impractical questions and hanging out with people that do drugs.
what exactly am i supposed to do with that pattern? should i just break it off? do the dirty deed and start boozing? get a girlfriend and buckle down into the mode of crafting a life within the current conduct-paradigm? i don't want that life. i want to kill people and change things... i want there to be enough meaningful conflict or meaningful enlightenment that something tangible can be felt among the masses.
please put some more gay sauce into my anus! is that what you are thinking? maybe you should be.
what i am saying doesn't make any fucking sense. a paradox is dealt with by the conception of duality. there are simply ambiguous situations that we must transcend. we must transcend those situations and persevere. we must try to see the sides and act according to the nature of the dichotomies and the changes.
nothing is achieved through the analysis of ambiguity. (maybe something could be achieved... perhaps the creation of interesting thought experiments... but it probably will not lead to progress.) trying to figure out the nature of human cognition as it pertains to the actuality of existence... is beyond foolish... it is worse than the pursuit of maintaining comfort and stability. such frivolous pursuits are a drain on the people that actually put forth effort in this world. while i spend my time dreaming about square-circles there are people making it so that society continues. people who do not pose ultimate questions.... people that take on their roles with a sense of responsibility or a sense of desire and greed. whatever their motivation, the people of which i am speaking are contributing something to society. i am just a dirty misanthrope. i sit at my computer scratching my scalp and jerking off because i just can't handle the magnitude of the futility. i have no fucking choices. i have crushed my own freedom with a suicidal amount of analysis.
life was nicer when i thought about how to get pussy, life was nicer when i cared about doing my hair right...
it was so nice that evening that i took that beautiful girl's virginity and i knew she was mine.
i can look back and remember nice things.... and i can see that i am currently a disaster of a human being...
good thing i am having the time of my life. because all this depressing bullshit is probably capable of crippling non-saviors of the universe.fuck you, and most especially me.
penis and vagina.
i'm really not a misogynist.i have no proof.but...Simone de Beauvior is one of my favorite authors/philosophers.if you know about her, then you know i am so legit.
isn't that great/repulsive.... i don't know where you sit!
i don't understand the way that things operate. so i will post some photos, with brief commentary. because most of the things that i say... are bound to be contradicted by my actions at some point... so enjoy the photographs if nothing else!1. Females are subdued by the pressure of our culture.
2. Most men objectify women. Most men have one-track minds.
3. Some females manage to stay classy and beautiful. Some females do their thing and demand respect. Maybe even get extreme... or moderate.
4. But all to0 often females buy into the objectification scheme. They wear revealing outfits and engage in liquored-up sluttery.
5. Before you know it, a male that has engaged in objectification and a female that has bought into the scheme, or is too drunk to know anything, wind up in a bathroom... fucking.
6. She screams rape, he gets an S.T.I., everyone feels dirty, no one remembers... whatever happens it is an ambiguous dynamic. Females need to stop whining and be more assertive and males need to do something also. I don't really know what that is.
(the image directly above this text is a photo of the most assertive anthropology professor i have ever met, i am extremely attracted to this image!) (she once told me that i could have sex with her if i let her fuck me with a strap on, the proposal came after the ingestion of some psychedelic drugs and a 10 hour conversation. I think she offered because she respected my intellect and wanted me to open myself to a new experience... she tempted me with her perfect bi-sexual, more on the dyke-side, box... but i just didn't feel right so it didn't happen)7. I don't know what males have to do differently because I am a fan of pretty bitches paying attention to me. And since that happens so frequently in the circles of hardcore feminist dykes which i socialize in... i am hoping male conduct stays the same... and that all females become hard-headed like these fem-dom anti-sluts.(this is a crime) (stay up on your rights)
8. however, this is what i actually like... when i am not being a cunt-sniffing loser.
in other words... feel free to act any way that you want... dress any way that you want... present yourself as a confident and autonomous woman.... but you should really maintain a deep level of insecurity... be subservient... and give blowjobs to get attention. because you won't be able to make it without the men.
i could really go for a good titty-fuck right now.
rise up fool.believe that you are something that you are not. start the revolution and watch it collapse. your gut tells you the right things.
i think in parts. it all tumbles out eventually. i am so eccentric and i just want to find a partner that will love every ounce of me. wouldn't that be perfect. we could spend lazy afternoons together... hugging, kissing, laughing, crying, fucking hard.and i really can't stress how hot the bitch would have to be. I don't dig men sexually... that form of partnership is out for now... i can't categorically right it off... due to my love of a finger in the bum... but... i will say that my life-love would have to be one fine slut to keep me occupied.
you don't understand me... and it feels so good to be mysterious at you.i am not playing any cliche cards. i am not using words that you haven't heard before. it is just that i am no longer interested in your attributes... and maybe you find that attractive. whatever has changed i hear the difference in your voice. a minor urgency in your calls. it isn't a matter of time... it is a matter of achievement. you want to earn a certain status back. you may get it. i am prone to cave. but for now... i am interesting and witty. i am reading the situation well. i am hating myself as much as ever but having a slightly better time. no more attachment. it can all be considered time that i will waste, as i plunge into something other than worrying about a cancerous situation, but at least it won't be spent in thoughts of who you are letting into your box.love is stupid. stupid can be good. but it is still stupid.
yo today i realized not to be a dick today anymore. after i go to sleep i won't be able to tell myself anything anymore. so when i wake up the instructions are out of date. but for right now... while i am awake the deal is not to be a dicksquat. would you like to know what a dicksquat is?!?!?!?!?!?!!! a dicksquat is a person that is super-self-aware, they are extremely self-righteous, hypocritical (but they do a good job of hiding the elements that make them a hypocrite), they try to be funny at all costs... it could be at someone elses expense... it could be completely out of the realm of their usual style... they are just fucking flailing into the cosmos for comedy... usually it feels awkward for everyone involved... until the person tries to make a recovery with not funny stuff and then it is just creepy... because everyone knows everything is really fucked up. so the dynamics.... the dynamics... the weakness. sticking to your guns... but hating yourself. or breaking down... doing the wrong thing... and feeling really good when the dirty deed is in the books. cleaning a plate with your tongue. naming your child roger... ouch. nevermind. the real issue here, is the acceptance of periodic isolation. the ex-social scene is a black hole. either the people have departed physically or mentally and the previously occupied niche is vacant in a wildly depressing sense. i believe that this sort of change is part of a "natural" progression... some of the people grow up and others continue to drift as they were drifting when it was almost acceptable to be drifting because soon you would be growing up. the social spectrum grows for some and shrinks for me. i am almost positive that i hate that aspect of everything. its gotta be booze... well it doesn't have to be booze but... you are going to have to try extra hard to find pussy!!! dating seems like it could be fun... you know... blind dates or a quick rattle through your cell phone contacts list... oh hell yeah whatever dude!!! maybe people like me are the ones that have been called losers by everyone that knows how to speak but isn't an idiot. i would not like it at all if i was found to be a loser by society. i want to fuck skinny girls with pretty faces... i want to break through barriers of innocence and sensibility... i want to be the fucking man!!! Losers ARE NOT THE FUCKING MAN!!! shit. so when i lay on the floor in my dining room at 12:30pm, after only having been up for about 3 hours, and i put my headphones on my ears, and i press the play button on my music player, and electronic jams blast me to sleep, i wonder about my life-status. i do things. i read. i write. i converse with intellectuals. i play the role of intellectual to all those that are far enough away from the workings of my life to have missed the fact that i am a misanthropic douche and that i am just too lazy to use whatever shit-squawking skills i have developed, i have not done anything in the last five years beyond occasionally getting stoned and wowing (the wowing is really up for interpretation) people. if my pursuits ever seem noble... you might want to reassess the situation. i will try to shed some light. my intentions are usually good... but then i end up gripping a girls arm too hard or telling her that i want to rub my nose on her clit. that usually happens with the help of alcohol. now that i have stopped consuming alcohol my interactions have become even more pleasant... they are either filled with glancing awkwardness (stemming from blatant honesty) or they are just mediocre displays of trying to hard. well that may not be true... i have been known to handle things well. but that was before my death phase. the phase where all came in to question. the phase where body became house of nightmare. heart attacks, panic attacks, rotator cuff, glenoid labrum tear, whatever the fuck you got for me... i have thought it... feared it, sweat out the smell of it, drank its blood with a shaman, laughed it off with homeless person, and concluded it was all indigestion in the end. without any sort of anything that resembled a solution for more than a few days. now to address the real issue. i stopped writing on this gay shit hole of weblog because i think that the internet is a fucking cancer. i still think that that is the case... but nobody gives a fuck about what i think. some people might find it entertaining, some people might find it shocking or gross... whatever... this weblog may be a number of things but there is one thing that it is certainly not... it is not going to be a source of life advice... who gives a fuck about me hating the internet. maybe a total of 60 people have read this fucking stink tent. i am not going to change anyone's opinion by trying to be some sort of blog martyr. i guess i was pumped up when i wrote that post about hating the internet and never wanting to look at the blog again. I tried not to look at it for a while... but then i checked on day and someone had left a comment... it was a person that wanted to know something about my thesis... which i wrote about months ago... I WAS FUCKING PUMPED!!!! yeah yeah more play by play of my day to day when i return from sucking my own piss out of the toilet. easy trap to get caught in. i will sum this up with the slinky pebblin moral of the mousy nipple story. i am going to keep posting on this shit because i am bored. i was entertained for a while by other shit that i had going on. now it is time to return to this disease infested medium of impersonal easy flow... there is no fucking pressure.... i type this bullshit while i am naked at my computer... you don't know if that is true... you don't give a fuck... its funny or its gross... but you don't have to deal with shit... you don't have to look at my toes or suck on my package... the pressure is off... you don't have to know what my voice sounds like... you don't have to ask me to leave... there is no time commitment... there is no conduct commitment... just X this mother fucker out when you get sick of it... wouldn't life be fucking raunchy sweet if we could just move along in that fashion... fuck that X... ex-girlfriend calls wanting you to save her life and touch her vagina... X no porn/soap opera digest for me today... i am actually really artsy. but i character act. so... this.
this is a playful shot that Nick took about an hour after he proposed... i was on cloud nine.
