Case #31861

City of David Dept. of Child Services
December 25th, 0

Multiple complaints of suspicious activity at local establishment The Inn. Responding CoDPD officer confirmed crying from within adjunct barn. Entered barn on probable cause to discover infant male and 9 suspects:

Female, age 12-16, believed to be the mother, psychologically unstable. Describes audiovisual hallucinations and claims to have been asexually impregnated by a spirit. Recommend rape counseling as well as further diagnosis of psychotic episodes and treatment for possible chemical abuse. Currently in the care of CoD Woman's Health Clinic postnatal unit.

Male, age 25-35, claims to be the mother's husband but not the father. No identification or marriage licence on record. DNA tests scheduled. Currently being held on charges of child endangerment, child abuse, and sexual assault. He has filed for custody.

Three cloaked males, ages 45-60, claim to be "here to adore the child." Currently being held on charges of child exploitation, sex trafficking, expired visas, and first degree possession of frankincense and myrrh with intent to distribute.

Three younger males, ages 18-28, also claim to be inquiring after the child. Report to have been referred by a man in white robes wearing wings. The description has been relayed to all area precincts. The men are currently being held for questioning.

Male, age 5-7, with drum. Also said to have "gift" for the baby. Currently in the care of CoD Dept. of Child Services. Under examination for sexual abuse and drug use. Due for transfer to Longterm Intermediate Housing.

Infant male found lain in feed hay. Currently in NICU. Tetanus and rabies sequences for unsanitary exposure to animal livestock. Tests reveal blood alcohol content above 90%. Life expectancy: short.

Inn Keeper being held on charges of accessory child endangerment and unlicensed keeping of animal livestock.

a reminder

better times have many names. "tomorrow," "the day," "when my hemorrhoids go away." i'm not fucking awful right now per se.

'tis the season and that's by no means an excuse for disguised drinking in public but it's a reason. like genes. substance abuse is so stinking commercialized.

now with double active ingredients for lasting relief: alcohol free! minty scent! acts fast! he will stink like perfect when we're happy for once at last. and that's money well spent!

all the good greek gods were blind and luck strikes only to remind: fucking awful's just a state of mind.

the new adventures of post-op nancy drew and the mystery of the missing pickle

big day tomorrow, team. i need everyone looking their best.

first i have a doctor's appointment, then i am dancing at a housing works fundraiser party (via evb). if you were planning on missing that, plan again, bub. i know where you live and i can go-go all over your face AND THE FACES OF EVERYONE YOU LOVE!

now is time to exfoliate my butthole. JUST KIDDING. i am grosser than you anpissitated.

TCOBLTSM

"a warm compress of holiday cheer helps you take those sacraments like a champ!"

it's
The Church of Better Living Through Self-Medication,
bitches!!

with
ALL SALVATION ALL THE TIME
24/ETERNITY

have you sinned?
are you sinning right now?

The Church luvs sinners
and we know just where it hurts
IN THE VESTIBULE!!

PRAYERS: ANSWERED!
MORAL RELATIVISM: ESCHEWED!
ARTISTIC BOYS: MADE REGULAR!

we get the RESULTS
'cause we're the only ones with the goods on Almighty God
and that slut does whatever we say
EXCLAMATION POINT

BELIEVE AND BE CURED
JOIN TODAY
THE CHURCH OF BETTER LIVING THROUGH SELF-MEDICATION

"IN THE VESTIBULE!!"

be specific!

I want the boy the boy I want would want. I want to bodysnatch his general ass. He is general to my specific and that's what the boy I want wants. As in: generally long hair. As in: generally ripped shirt. Posture LIKE THIS. Punk rock LIKE THAT. Slide the fader, motion the band. He is our sound-boy tonight. I make the kind of money his ripped shirt (and ripped pants!) can only wildly dream about. I work out very specifically while his metamorphic metabolism alchemically churns value menu fries into tightly packed, Saran-smooth, little muscled flesh. Generally toned. Generally smooth. General eye contact and then motion the band again. He smokes. I don't. Guess who's generally getting lung cancer? I want him to want me and be seen to jealously abuse the boy I love. I bet he's straight.

love, hate, legislate!

there's context for this. if you don't know what it's about, get a fucking clue.

GENERAL QUESTION:
how does one handle these kinds of things? smile or bile?

PERSONAL ANSWER:
i spilt my bile already. i can also do without the hemorrhoids right now. i am going to smile because my life is full of beauty. i share my beautiful life with beautiful boys and maybe one day i'll fall in love with one of those beautiful boys and maybe he and i will have a big party with all of our friends and family to celebrate our love and our lives and everyone will dress up and eat cake and abuse champaign and then somebody with vested powers will read a nice speech and then ask us some questions and then we'll kiss and get a piece of paper and then we won't use condoms anymore. i plan to live the rest of my beautiful life in the future. the future, where health care costs grow slower than GDP. the future, where capital letters are reserved for sarcasm. the future, where everybody can marry the person they love. i am smiling.

PS PSA:
if you decide to go bile, please remember to be clever!

i want us to run away and get hitched in a foreign jurisdiction, but fuck! we just CAN'T ELOPE!

OH READER, you old coot. how the hell are you? i'm always getting these "feelings" but this time i really feel it. like we're like this, you and me. you maybe can't see; i'm twisting two fingers together. yeah, i feel like we're close. private. biblical. i'm just kidding, SILLY!

or am i?

enough of riffraff; let's get down to business. the serious stuff.

over here is me, symbolized by this cantaloupe. now cantaloupes don't have noses, but i do. and i want to talk briefly about mine.

richard feynman wrote brilliantly about smell. summarily, people smell better than we pretend we do. "smell better" i mean have a stronger facility for olfaction, not what you thought i meant. i feel (there i go again!) like we only really exercise our sniffer when we're COOKING or having SEX. the rest of the time, smell is bad. an intrusion. a violation. "you smell" is an critique instead of a tautology.

smell has to be my favorite sense. if i were given to favoritism. it combines the unelectiveness of sound with the proximity of touch. and it's everything wonderful about taste.

smell isn't about understanding, the way the fancier senses are ("look, ..." "listen, ..." "do you feel me?"). smell is about relationship. it establishes identity and situation. transient and ambient, odor precedes and lingers. it is a product of our bodies; not our minds.

that's my third semicolon which means it's time to call it quits. i have more to say but it all means so much and i'm tired. also there is a very real risk of further semicolons and i'm seriously NOT IN THE MOOD FOR THAT SHIT right now.

smell somebody. now. do it because i told you. my blog is depressingly odorless, but this post ends with a whiff of a woman. or a man. take your pick and stick your shnoz at the nearest body. and remember it! because it's about memory too.

i've lost the will to post

NOW YOU TRY!
What Would Scott Say?

Write a post for Scott's blog. Think about voice and content. If you were Scott, what would you blog about today? Try to be both profound and funny.

Here are some keywords to get you started:

• Brunch
• Boner
• Creative Cop-out
• NOW YOU TRY!
  What Comes Next?
  
  Complete this list with an apropos and witty keyword. Consider using a thesaurus or non-sequitur.

Parents: Write a comment for your student's post. Be sure to highlight and correct any spelling or grammatical errors.

prolapse

are you allowed to put anything in front of the words "industrial complex" and be automatically right? WAKE UP, AMERICA!

• Circus Industrial Complex
• Jumping-On-The-Bed Industrial Complex
• Hemorrhoid Industrial Complex

if you're obsessively following everything i do and say on Internet (Creepers Industrial Complex), you will have noticed a recent up-tick in my mention of hemorrhoids (up from "never"). i've got 'em. mild. not painful. one is prolapsed.

why am i telling you this? because i am a genius brilliant medical detective like House! Ego Industrial Complex. when you're me and you get hemorrhoids, the first question is, "what the fuck is going on!" the second question is, "why the fuck is that going on!"

i'm going to try to not be too crude in this post because there could be children who have somehow learned to read and open doors that are looking at this. let it suffice to say that hemorrhoids cramp my style.

so i was worry worry worry worry. the usual causes include: too much sitting, dehydration, lack of fiber, pregnancy, being really old, and "intimate reception." i am virile and young and if any of the above were to blame, it would mean that i am naturally given to such things. my dickensian character flaw: mr. thomas and his 'rhoids.

and then i knowed! i knowed what caused 'em! my stalker readers will again perhaps remember a tweet from last month: "My asshole has had ABOUT ENOUGH of this office toilet paper." friends, you don't even know. i had three straight weeks with papyrus-rash inside my ass. i am very thorough when it comes to hygiene and i just couldn't leave things be, despite the VICIOUS FRICTION COEFFICIENT. blood and all. it hurt to walk, i kid you not.

moment of realization came when i was tenderly cleaning myself last night and noticed that the prolapsed bugger is RIGHT WHERE the wiper meets the wipee. evidence #2: they showed up the week after i got back from boston. Logic Industrial Complex!

i am absolved of worry. some prep h for a week and all should be well in the land of my ass. now whom do i see in human resources about this?

Homo Gymnos

Loudest Guy At The Gym
Given to moans, sailor talk, barnyard sounds, and calling things "baby." May spontaneously clap.
Deals: 5 awkwardness
Fears: Techno

The Old Bird
Brings Depression-era gumption to a physiotherapy routine apropos of her last plastic joint. With sole avail of the half-pound weights, The Old Bird (and Checkers Meyerhold, the seeing-eye collie) are inspirational supernumeraries in anyone's workout.
Deals: 2 slowplay
Fears: Osteoporosis
Crit to summon Checkers Meyerhold

Sandals
Bucking gym dress code in Velcro-clad socks, this workout fashion maverick models selections from the Three Wolf Moon collection in timeless double-ex-el. Optionally sports a fanny pack + The Sony Walkman.
Deals: Unknown
Fears: Also unknown

Mr. Huge
The kind of huge that belongs on a rhinoceros, Mr. Huge is not anatomically able to perform the YMCA dance and has internal testes. Bystanders frequently steal lateral looks in hopes he will "pop any minute."
Deals: 290 lbs
Fears: Sudden drops in blood pressure

The Couple
The number-two cause of puking at the gym, after StairMaster but before bulimia.
Deals: 5 PDA
Fears: Wondering eyes

The Old Couple
In contrast to The Couple, The Old Couple is CUTER THAN FUCKING PUPPIES!
Deals: 3 PDAOPA (Public Displays of Adorable Old-People Affection)
Fears: Death

Powertool Kleptocunt
Dykebitch can, will, and should fuck u proper.
Deals: Larceny
Fears: Unicorn tears

Skinny Bitch
Wields Ponytail of Seriousness, because fun is too many calories.
Deals: Sudden drops in blood pressure
Fears: Bagel

recent events

there's context for this. if you don't know what it's about, search for jorge steven lopez mercado.

i've been struggling to understand this. "this" the crime, i mean. "this" the event of what happened and why it happened and "this" the world where such happenings do.

it makes me literally sick when i think about it. i get the urge to retch. and then i get scared because i'm not able to understand. it's, um, confusing. and unpleasant. blah blah blah.

i volunteered at the vigil last night. the vigil was beautiful and moving. and draining. and i still don't understand. but i am reminded of something forgotten at one's own peril: we are strong.

EXHIBIT A OF HUMAN STRENGTH:

Muttering Retreats

I am dragging out these ratty old fantasies in a desperate attempt to get some sleep. I've tried writing, I've tried masturbating, I've tried deep breathing, and now I'm wrapping myself up in what are certainly unhealthy, old, familiar thoughts starring characters from my personal life in highly creative situations of impossible intimacy.

I used to craft quite elaborate fictions concerning my objects - don't let's be coy; object - of desire. I specialized in specificity, as I always have. Rehearsal was an integral part of this ritual. Once initially improvised, a scene underwent nightly private drafts, refinements and performances. "From the top!" again and again until I couldn't keep my fantasy eyes open anymore and I succumbed to better dreams.

There is a story (one which takes place in the real world) about how Scott lost all of his fantasies. It is for another time, though. Now, all that remains of these empassioned productions are the manuscripts. Dusty with niglect, they come to mind on a familiarly sleepless night. With a new cast, we could ride a revival all the way to Dreamland!

Or I could masturbate again.

titles r trouble

i wish theez shitty little drizzle drops were snowflakes collecting on my coat shoulders and eyelashes, making me the image of something to kiss. instead, they remain rain. fuck you, meteorology. fuck you, causality. i am going to kiss anyway!

Things I Fucking Love, Vol. 12

Whole Foods' Moroccan Turkey Salad. I really hope the profanity effectively communicates just how much I fucking love that shit.

POWER TOOL KLEPTO CUNT

POWERTOOL KLEPTOCUNT

is coming

for all your

BATTERY POWERED HAMMERS

and

PORTABLE ROTARY SANDERS

and

HAND-HELD HOT CAULK GUNS

you can hide

or disguise

these and other

POWERTOOL ITEMS

but the

KLEPTOCUNT

will

Locate

And

Steal

your personal powertool property

MOUNTING

SCREWING

BRACING

NAILING

HOISTING

DRILLING

all must be done with

MAN-POWER

and the old-fashioned

ELBOW GREASE

part

CUNT

part

BITCH

part

GODDESS OF REDEMPTIVE HOME IMPROVEMENT

POWERTOOL KLEPTOCUNT

cares nothing for your

SPECIFIC ECONOMIC CIRCUMSTANCE

nor your

NANCYBOY EXCUSES

KLEPTOCUNT

will have only

your

ELECTRIC JIGSAW

your

PNEUMATIC NAIL GUN

your

LASER STUD FINDER

and

SIMILAR SUCH DEVICES

a date to either side, OR, being clever with my words look how fucking clever i am

all of my dates seem to be of the up variety. if blog continues in this direction, we are very soon going to encounter my perennial Fear of Heights.

i have to poop so this is going to be a quickie. boston is over, my friend alex is in love, and i am looking for someone with whom to repopulate the world after our relationship causes the apocalypse.

call you mother.

own-age

I really want to look at you for a while. My day - side note: I always find the prevelance of possesives in English so interesting: "my day," as if the day belonged to me. "myself" is the funniest. Like "self" were this possesion; this thing that I owned. Kind of auto-objectifying if you ask me. Maybe it says something about our culture if we talk about everything in terms of ownership.

Center note: I just want to look at you. I've got a specific "you" in mind but you can pretend it's really you. Maybe it is. My day - side note again: what if each day really did belong to someone. Every day, one person would get to own that day. They (whoever they are) would show up at the one-bedroom shack of some family-man goat farmer in Abject Poverty and say, "the day is yours!" And that would be it. But it would be real. Official, I mean. Under property law. We can own land, so why not days? Space and time the same thing you know.

Regular note: My day was the kind of day I don't want to talk about. The kind of day that makes me want to swear off talking all together (which i guess would be kind of hipocritical). All I want to do is look at you. You don't have to do anything. You don't have to make your funny faces. You don't have to look back. The day-people haven't payed me any visits and the warranty on my self is up. Space-time is running out and all I want is to see you with my own eyes.

31

Morning passes for afternoon
And as the moon becomes a haze we wake
From strange sides of the bed.
The world feels brighter from below
And all of white is orange instead.
From our skin in our cloths we can't shake
The feeling more will happen; soon.

Crunchy leaves bunched in piles
Alite in flight of chase of minivans
Familiar miles down the streets.
Choruses of four-foot Deaths
Murder peace with four-foot breaths
Demanding handy candy treats
(Lest The Damned have other plans)
As each coy pumpkin squats and smiles.

Bigger figures mingle,
Fingers closed on glasses or to asses curled
And the evening passes for another world
Where no one is single.

And you and I meet in disguise.
At least, it could be you. And me.
Tomorrow we will pay the price
If the sun's alive
And we survive
But right now, this is very nice.
I take you where no one can see
But all the trees are full of eyes.

Orange in night light from the moon
We know that more will happen; soon.

'spection

i had this nightmare where i was slightly less in shape than i actually am and woke up in a body-image PANIC! the truth of the matter is, i'm rather in love with myself. i love my body, my face, my cock. i'm just not obnoxious about it. because self-obsession is unattractive.

on the nature/nurture spectrum, i feel like i'm off on a third axis: self-construction. my genes are the tools for building the person i want to be. i got lucky with genes. and parents. i guess those are the same thing, actually. heritage. but the past is just a bunch of ingredients for the future.

so i get to make myself into who i want to be. and i really like that person.

"I select a man and follow him into the adjoining glory hole." - Matt Seigel

blog is better than real. IT'S FOREVER!

holy fucking shitballs. you heard right. Shit. Balls. that's where we are right now.

shit is intense. BUGHOUSE. inside-out roller-coaster feeling. and there is fucking borrito bits stuck in my teeth. AAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!

it's saturday night, we're in the office freaking our precious little hearts out, and pervy Old Man Time is face-fucking all our inner children. here are the things (barely) keeping me sane right now:

• scissor sisters
  
• scooter racing
  
• my new s2vs jacket. and s2vs is having a fucking clearance sale that i am fucking missing because i am here in fucking bastan. fucking.
• i love my straight-people friends but two weeks is a lot of hetero to handle for me these days
  
• brian kenny is a god damn fox
• this list has become just random shit i'm thinking

PENIS PROSPERITY!