sitting around and picking my buggers and waiting for genius to strike. a stroke of genius would be swell about now. an inspirational embolism straight to my constipated creativity. am i not eating enough deep fried brie? am i not poking far enough up my nose? what's the deal? where's my stroke?
can you help stroke me?
so adam and i were plotting operation ikea and i said that the store was in red hook and adam said that sounded "seedy" and i corrected him that it sounded "swedey"
omFUCKINGg i am hilarious!
fun. it's what i do. it's my middle name. scott "fun" thomas. why my parents chose to include the quotation marks is a bit of a mystery. a cruel mystery, really; people at the dmv usually seem like they're making fun of me. making "fun," that is. haha, get it?
some things fun and i have recently done:
you, my lovely little world, are my kosher oyster and i am a giant walking point of view. old people and young people and dead people and people i wish were dead and sexy people (such as myself) and people i wish were sexy and dead sexy people and sexy dead people and insensitive people and sensitive assholes and lovely little daddy-issue faggots: i view you all from the comfort of my point. ants crawling out of a butt-hole in the ground. that's you, world. king of the hill. queen of the hole. that's me. i built this body out of food so you could spill yourself on my ass like a pierced poached egg. drink me. eat me. i make you big and i make you small. do whatever you want with my legs just don't fucking apologize. face-down on the counter-top, this is my point of view. this is my point.
Today we have another of my fictitious newspaper columns.
hewo fwend
i'm always blogging about myself. why don't we blog about you for a little bit. what's new? how is whatsherface? are the two of you still not speaking? that's terrible. i know how much those kidneys meant to you. it's like grandpappy used to say whenever we caught him pooping in the crib: "i'm a big boy!" what i mean is, you need to rise above. and accept jesus christ.
ok, that was a good blog. let's do it again some time.
ever,
myself
in life, as in dance, one should be correct, erect, and smiling
so i'm working. right now, actually (i'm waiting for things to compile). it's unbefuckinglievably awesome and interesting but i am not going to tell you anything about it. because now we have an excuse, you and i, to talk more and spend more time together and be better (please circle all that apply):
sunset spills across the skyline like an overturned abortion; the leftover mess of today's accident. in sunglasses suitable for welding, i appear three kilofags fabulouser than real life. i look both ways after crossing the street and stare into the loving face of my reflection. swiveling my jawline downtown and my ass up, i advance upon the night, eager for the next accident.
stupid smiles are all i flash when my official face is on the line. trying so hard to look like myself, the official card gives my official name by my officialy stupid pair of partially parted lips. cheese, motherfuckers!
stupid jokes are all i crack when i want people i want to want me back. buh dum bum, motherfuckers!
stupid hair is all i wear when stupid hair matters.
stupid shit is all i worry over with an air-mattress under me at 3 in the morning and nowhere to jack off.
the moral of the poem, my dear motherfuckers, is to keep your mouth shut. and wear a hat.
flight was canceled. new plan:
finished my book yesterday - uncle tom's cabin - and now i'm going to start a new one in the sun. if my credit cards don't arrive today, i will make a pouty face and say a bad word.
The season claiming to be "summer" begins to make its hobbled exit from a decidedly low-key performance. We seem to have got the understudy this year. Bashful meteorology aside, this summer has been, to quote Richard III, "batshit fucking insane."
I returned in March with no job, no home, no money. But I returned. To readers who share my actor's vocabulary, this was the second of my "super objectives." (The first took me away.) Unemployment was a 4 1/2 month exercise in patience, panic, and disappointment. The demure solstice made an overcast backdrop for my spend-nothing/do-nothing prison of poverty. New York is not cheap, you know.
But now the leaves turn. Now I have a job. A really good job. And I am so happy. And summer slowly changes to my favorite season: fall. I loose my youth, but I gain my life. I get to spend paychecks on Williams Sonoma cookwear and drugs.
"I've been thinking everything I ever thought." - Alex
a career really. i am a senior software engineer. i am happy. i just opened a bank account. i will get a cell phone. i am going to be a real boy! again! maybe things will work out in this hemisphere.
I AM STILL ALIVE!
And also...
I AM WELL!
What else?
I JUST BAKED DEEEELIIIIICIOUSSSSSSSS BANANA BREAD!!!
And what, pray tell, was the banana bread baking theme song?
REVEREND HORTON HEAT, SILLY!
Anything else?
YES!
What?
GTA IV IS FUUUUUUNNNNNN!!!!
Four exclamation points seems excessive.
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
That's enough.
YOU'RE ENOUGH
What does that even mean?
!!!!!!
OK, I'm going away now.
I WIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!AHAHAHAHHAHA