PUSSY HAIR IS MAKING A COMEBACK

A STEREOTYPE YOU MAY NOT KNOW IS THE LESBIAN SPORTING A FLAT TOP HAIRCUT DRESSED IN JEAN SHORTS AND A POLO SHIRT WALKING A PUG DOG

EVERY DAY FEELS LIKE 72 HOURS

A black couple sat down next to me.  The woman had large sagging tits and a perpetual "wha' child?" facial expression.  The man was tall and skinny, dressed in slacks, collared shirt and pork pie hat. 

He looked sleepy.

There was a suitcase between them, the kind typically reserved for long european vacations, with handle and wheels.

The woman pulled out a translucent garment bag and unzipped the seam.  Preserved inside was a vibrant purple snuggie with peace signs printed all over.

"Television is winning the war on drugs."--I thought.

The garment bag was folded and placed on the chair, like a sanitary napkin.  She then sat down again and wrapped herself with the snuggie.

The man fished his hand in the suitcase for several minutes, then pulled out a shopping bag.  He looked at the woman.

"How many choo' want?"

"Huh-uh, lemme think... Jus one."

Two pieces of white bread stacked on one another appeared in his hand.  A slice of processed cheese placed on top, still in the wrapper.

The bread and cheese was offered towards the woman, palm up.

She didn't say anything.

The hand started waving side to side.

"How many?"

"Hu?"

The hand waved back and forth aggressively now.

"Woman, how many!"

"Oh, shoo, ya' know.  Jus one."

The man felt satisfied.  He unwrapped the cheese.

A greasy round piece of pink was added to complete the sandwich.

No mustard or mayonnaise.

Nothing fancy.

Just the same chemicals compiled differently.

Stacked.

He handed the woman the sandwich, then made his own.

She took a bite.

"Mmmm."

"Mmmmm... yes."

They nodded in unison, not at each other, but at their respective food.

I suddenly felt nostalgic for my youth.

And debated climbing inside the suitcase to sleep for a very long time.

YOU LOOK GOOD ENOUGH TO FACE FUCK

“We have to create culture, don't watch TV, don't read magazines, don't even listen to NPR. Create your own roadshow. The nexus of space and time where you are now is the most immediate sector of your universe, and if you're worrying about Michael Jackson or Bill Clinton or somebody else, then you are disempowered, you're giving it all away to icons, icons which are maintained by an electronic media so that you want to dress like X or have lips like Y. This is shit-brained, this kind of thinking. That is all cultural diversion, and what is real is you and your friends and your associations, your highs, your orgasms, your hopes, your plans, your fears. And we are told 'no', we're unimportant, we're peripheral. 'Get a degree, get a job, get a this, get a that.' And then you're a player, you don't want to even play in that game. You want to reclaim your mind and get it out of the hands of the cultural engineers who want to turn you into a half-baked moron consuming all this trash that's being manufactured out of the bones of a dying world.”

― Terence McKenna

SO WHAT

SADNESS MITIGATION

I came across this note today:

Write about the albums that helped distract myself from depression over the years: license to ill; a cassette dub of the dr. demento radio show; kill em all; dare to be stupid; happy hour; unplugged in new york; live in australia, 1959; pinkerton; take off your pants and jacket; not exotic; 13 tales of bohemia.

I think my original thought process was to explain the depth of sadness in my life during each album's rotation and how it helped. 

Don't feel like writing about it anymore.  I will say that I've listened to each of the listed albums over a two hundred times.

Easy.

I THOUGHT ABOUT SUICIDE 5 TIMES WHILE THINKING THE BELOW THOUGHTS

Trying to decide which has a more fucked connotation: a person who dies from an incurable disease or a person who dies from negligence.

Talking about anything substantial seems pointless.

My friend's ex-girlfriend let herself go and now resembles the fuck child of Cruella DeVille and Oggy Doggy.

The world would be a better place if every person had unfettered access to a pair of tits.

Tiny men who wear white blazers...

Imagining my body being crushed by the giant boulder from Indiana Jones is how I cope while at parties.

Only black girls should wear animal prints.

Just want to die in a fire while children watch.

Battletoads.

IN AN ALTERNATE REALITY MY HEART IS A SMALL BOY DRIFTING HIS BIG WHEELS UNDERNEATH A MOVING ICE CREAM TRUCK