Tag Archives: Fuck

19. Woop-De-F******-Do

19  Well, well, well.  Fancy seeing you here.  You sure have a load of balls showing your face around these parts after what you did to my dog.  Peanut butter?  Really!?!  If I would have known what you were up to, I would have brought the fuckin’ Smuckers!  What was that?  Yeah, I know I look like shit.  I bought some stock in Jack Daniels and I’m just making sure my investment is not going tits up.  Soooo, what do you want?  You want to… Really.  Well shit, let’s go have a seat and pretend this is going to be fun.  So, who starts this again?  Right.  Well, OK.  Start Up The Fuckin’ Generator!

One Breaking.

What is that supposed to mean?  Is that really how you are going to start?  Fine.  Let me explain something.  Sometimes you decide that there are places and people and things, nouns really, that you don’t want to deal with.  There are good nouns and there are vicious, angry, bleeding out of your ass crap nouns.  Well, what I’m trying to say is, um, you can’t live without nouns.  But sometimes certain nouns make me want to shove a snickers up my ass in hopes of reverse fermentation because my mouth will not open to utter the syllables.  Why are you laughing?!?!  I can stop talking whenever I want to!  Fine!  My mouth is the glory whole, bitch.  I can spin a tale like worms spin silk.  AND, I didnt’ break up with you, I just didn’t want to look at your needy face anymore.  This is a two-way street, darling.  Two breaking!  Two breaking!!

Suspect Least.

Are you saying I’m not trying?  I haven’t seen you in over a month.  AND, you’re wrong.  I was trying desperately not to see you.  I was trying extremely hard.  How did you even know I was at this bar?!?  You heard me from outside.  Funny.

Equation Tell.

I dunno.  What do you want.  Exactly… What are you.. the sum of our parts?  Are you fuckin’ kidding me?  The only sum I’m interested in is the ounces of whiskey on my tongue…  Yeah, I know I’m a smart ass…  Wait a minute.  Are you trying to get back together with me?  Really.  I’m not sure.  I definitely can’t do two a week anymore, if that’s your idea.  I have other interests now.  For one, I’m writing a couple of things a week for a different blog.  Yes!  No!  That’s not true!  Whatever.  Take it or leave it.  One a week.  And no podcast.  I can’t believe how narcissistic I became with that fucking thing.  Embarrassing.  “Let me let you in to my insanity!?”  What a fuckin’ douche bag.

Get Behind.

OK.  I guess.  With those previously mentioned stipulations, I can do it.  Sure…  Damn.  Just when you think you’re done, they pull you back in.  It’s like a false turd.  At one moment it feels like you’re crowning, and the next moment you discover it’s just a big pain in your ass.  Kind of like you.

Leach Jest.

Hey, hey, wait a minute.  Let’s not go too fast.  “Leach Jest?”  I’m like a beached whale over here.  My mind isn’t up for much more than peeing on myself and rubbing my back fat with more back fat.  Can we please take it slow?  Are you slobbering?  Wow.  OK.  Well, that’s enough for now.  Put your penis back in your pants, Padre.  We can do the full Roundoms next time.  Yes, OK.  A proper one.  A thousand words.  I promise.  I’ll even give you a reach around.  Sure.  Yesssss.  I promise to spit on my hand next time.  One dry rub and suddenly you’re Hitler.  OK.  I gotta go.  Are you happy now?

Dragging Grand.

Yep.  Woop-de-do.

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17. Lighting A Bag Of Dogshit On Fire

Sometimes you feel like a nut, and sometimes you feel like a meth induced lunatic.  I don’t know what exactly happened in the last eight days, but it happened.  Let’s see.  Maybe I can Nancy Drew this shit for you.  Firstly I have a roommate.  She is a good roommate who doesn’t judge any aspect of my lifestyle.  Regardless if I am raping my guitar with the ghost of Darby Crash or spewing the answers to life out loud like some cranked out, not as funny, George Carlin.  Which I like.  But she decided she was going to visit her mom for a week in Hawaii.  Cool.  I have a free week to write and walk around the apartment free-balling my way to success.  I’ll do the dishes when I fucking want to and blast the new Bloc Party until my anus bleeds.  All good.  What i didn’t count on was the lack of supervision.  Or, at least, a lifeline.

  I dissed my Roundoms and she was not keen to hang out.  Which was fine with me.  I couldn’t imagine rubbing on her noun like nipples at all.  Bleck!  Fuck her!  Fuck that!  I’m not going down that road right now.  I thought about writing everyday, but dismissed it immediately for long sessions of Fifa 13 and giant bottles of Gentleman Jack.  I watched a load of movies like some neanderthal.  I inhaled a small bag of pita bread and an entire container of roasted garlic humus to the warm flickers of “I Love You, Man.”  I slurped up an entire pan of pasta Primavera with pesto and crushed red peppers over the three hours of “The Green Mile.”  I pounded a six-pack of Fat Tire to Ice T‘s hip hop documentary.  And all the while I slowly turned into a mix of Gollum and The Uni-Bomber covered in speckles of random food items and my own drool.  I occasionally took a peep outside, but it just depressed me more as I decided this place was a fine place to curl up to no one and hang out with myself.  Which, I now understand, is fucking difficult.  I just kept drinking more whiskey and ignored anything that was calling my name.  I was sinking pretty deep.

  The interesting thing you notice when you are drowning in the deep end of life’s pool is how serene it becomes.  You are well aware that you are heading south underneath the surface of reality, but you don’t flap your arms or kick your feet.  You look around at the diminishing light trying to break through the surface as you sink like there are huge boulders of regret tied to each ankle.  And all you do is watch it happen.  It’s almost like you are enjoying it.

  “You should try to swim to the surface, you know.”  “Yeah.  I know.  But the water is perfectly warm and there is no one around at the surface.  Who will see me break free?”  “You will see.  Isn’t that the important part?  Do you not want to swim to the surface?”  “I dunno.  I just kinda want to pee right now.  Ahhhhhh.  I’m peeing.  I don’t know why peeing in a body of water is so fantastic.  But I find great pleasure in it.”  “But, you realize, this is all a metaphor.  This isn’t actually a body of water at all.  You have passed out on the floor of your apartment and you are pissing your pants.”  “No I’m not! Am I?  Fuck!  God damn it!  Fuckin’ asshole!  Get up. Dickhead.  I’m glad we have wood floors.”

  I should probably apologize to my Roundoms.  I created her and then hurt her pretty much immediately.  Which sounds pretty familiar to me.  I’m sorry, ladies of the past.  I’m sorry I didn’t fuck you over sooner!  Hahahahahaha!  Sike!  You got what you deserved!  Hahahahaha.  Oh my god!  I’m sorry.  Just playing and shit.  Don’t cry.  You knew I was an asshole.  Didn’t you? Oh.  I guess you didn’t.  Well then what am I, some fucking old shack?!  You thought you could put in new floors and a gazebo in the backyard?!  Well fuck that!  That yard is reserved for all the dead hookers that came before you!  You better run, Sugar Tits, because I have the perfect plot for you!  Right next to dear old Aunt Olivia!  Hi, Olivia!  Remember when I looked up your skirt?  You should have kicked me right away instead of squatting down for a tinkle!  I might have enjoyed it if you hadn’t eaten so much fuckin’ asparagus!  That was disgusting!  Your dietary selections are very important if you want to play the water works game…  Uhhh.  Hmm.  I’m sorry.  Wasn’t I going to apologize to someone?

  Right.  Let’s go over and knock on her door.  “Hello?  Are you in there?  I haven’t seen you come out of your room for over a week.  Are you OK?”

Permitting Think.

Yeah, me too.  Listen, Roundoms, I’m sorry I publicly humiliated you last week.  You challenge me like no other and, on occasion, I’m not up to that challenge.  I’m sorry.  Can we try this again?  No promises.  Let’s just try to work on our relationship one Roundom at a time.  Is that something we can do?

Estimate Treat.

Well, whatever you want.  Anything your heart desires.

Preverified Necessitude.

Well, I can’t assure you of anything I will say at any given time.  This is still a wild endeavor that I don’t know we will survive.  Listen, I created you but I wont debate with you on any of my opinions.  You still have only one roll in this and that is serving up the words as I tear them down with my slanted and enchanted intellect.  You choose the vehicle, and I choose where we go.  That’s it.  Take it or leave it.

Set Magnitude.

I say we set the controls to stun!  Just you and me, babe!  We have a load of work to do.  Let’s light this bag of dog shit on fire and watch their nostril hairs burn down to the flesh!  Fuck ’em all!  Dead by dawn!  Get off my back, dad!  You are crushing my smokes!

Mastermind Duke.

Roundoms.  You’re just so fuckin’ cute.

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