Water Melancholy

I guess it is time for me to start feeling sorry for myself again... so here goes nothing. Well, looks like being voted most popular isn't going to cheer me up. Nor is the fact that I am so incredibly good looking that random people around the city constantly ask me if I am a full-time model... or at least an action hero... or some kind of sexual chef. I don't even think that the 50,000 friends I have on myspace, who are always leaving me comments about how much they miss me and love me (and other things too), will help me feel less cheerless. My gorgeous hairdo can't save me now... neither will my outgoing personality... or my golden silverish bronzie skin tone... which is all natural I might add. Speaking of all natural, my naturally good smelling body smell doesn't seem to be helping out much either. I don't even think that my naturally tight muscular body and naturally throbbing huge junk can make me feel any better. Even though I am currently thinking about all the people that wanted to do me in high school... and all the teachers too... and rodeo goers... I still can't seem to muster up a smile or a happy thought or a boner. I think I will start crying. I don't even want to think about how nimble my fingers are... sure they could give pleasure to lightning bolt babes and spider monkeys and blurry kung fu moves, but they can't tickle my weeping blue soul or sobbing self esteem. Even though my jumping ability is so enormous that I could easily propel myself along with several of my sporting trophies and pageant medallions into the heavens, it can't propel the sadness out of my butt hole. Don't try and tell me how much fun I am and how much beer I can drink and how much high-fivin' I can do... I just want to wallow in my self-deprecating horribly gloomy grief. Why must such an incredible smile go to waste? Why does such a perfect jaw line end up being ignored by the grin that decorates it so well? Why do the eyes of the beholder miss out on the sharp attractiveness of the smirk which sailed a thousand sailors to war? Why do so many people call me up and try to hang out with me? Why do all these people invite me to lunch all the time? Why do people feel the urge to text me just to let me know how special I am to their hearts? I dunno... but I do know one thing... this sorrowful little dude can't stand the unjoy any longer. Thank you for all of the warm tinglies I know you all are sending my way. There are probably a lot since I have so many friends. So... happy new year.

Who opened up the party behaviouré?

*Warning: this love poem contains explicit lyrics not suitable for humanity.

Cale opened it, you phunkin' pumpkin phuckin' phool! I am going to hollah at you, coming straight out of Compton... make that Hampton... the Hampton Inn... I work right next door, you phizzled phark ballers! Man, I got so many words that I need to say to explain how much I love you, you piss-poor phrick nickel station. Darn! Darn the Man! The Man is holding back my plan to show the glory of my ultimate love for you, you tickle herdin' phergie dork sausage. Ahhhh! My undying, endless, boundless, fearless, timeless love for you urges me to pour my soul into a vase and ship it, by DHL, to your heart, you dumb bastardly phuck head. I heart you, you vomit spark of a turd n' pickle sandwich. My love for you has no equal and I want to bake you a cake to show how hard my love is for you covered in fudge chocolate frosting, you ergonomically ass-kick-to-the-groin doo doo basket. I wish I knew how to change the oil in your car, 'cause I would replace it with my love juice of all flavors and combinations... and textures, you living, breathing shit-for-brains. I will treat you to a night of pleasure unlike any night of pleasure a smurf-killer has ever heard... full of good ideas, ping pong and roast beef, you phreak nipple-eating prankster. I love you more than the really big words that I have made up, more than rocks, more than a bowl full of wheat, more than a bird foot... you stupid ass, (crying) You stupid section of phukeroni pie... phuckin' phuck burger... (angerily) You phuck phart!

I love you.

Freedom Write: Nov. 26, 2008

This be a freedom write and also a freedom right that I have to bex-plode my bwains on the world wide web... or so I'm told. I will say much but nothing at all, with a sexaticious grin from my chin to my ball.. 'cause I gots just one hangin; from the vine but I'll grow three more before the end of time. Don't scare me with your dinosaur 'tude and wit' cho wiggles tiny giggles, you be crazy mad, dude. Flex! I just popped you in your eye with my muscles of strength and I be prepared to die for a short length of time. My knuckles are painted pink and my pickles be painted blue and I be totally fricking nuts in my gorilla-stink mood. Don't stop me now! Unless you be totally frightened of the monty python bite my freedom write just created and perplexerated on your face! Happy Thanksgiving for life. Hollah.

Vice Clamps Aren't Dangerous?

I wanted to take this opportunity to explain the risks associated with putting your nuts in a vice clamp. There are far too many young Americans who foolishly partake in this atrocious behavior without knowing the facts.

Here are what the studies find:

Fact: Vice clamps are not kidding around. When a vice clamp decides to squish your nuts, your nuts will explode.

Fact: Exploding nuts hurt really bad.
Exploding peanuts – no pain.
Exploding cashews – no pain.
Exploding parts of your body that contain testicles – mild to extreme pain.

Fact: Depending on the size of your nuts, clean-up can be very difficult.

Fact: Exploding nuts will cause blindness, cotton-mouth, fatigue, loss of hearing, diminishing sense of touch, inappropriate screaming, increase in blood pressure, loss of blood, use of profanity, mild discomfort in muscles, nausea, as well as some sexual side effects.

Fact: Nuts do not regenerate, do not contain caramel centers, do not release ink when frightened, do not contain expensive pearls and do not like to sleep in a vice clamp.

Fact: Putting your nuts in a vice clamp has never solved anything... and doesn't look good on the ol' resumé.

Does this mean we're through?

After a fourteen year love affair with the foot-long sandwich I am officially dumping it's ass. There comes a time in every man's life when he asks himself, "Am I getting anything out of this relationship that satisfies my hunger and/or sexual desire?"

Well, I definitely got something alright, but unfortunately it was a Pot Belly (with some extra large Love Handles, am I right?... OMG that's sooo funny). But seriously, I also received the gift of herpes. On my junk. Yeah I worried about STDs but I never thought I would actually catch anything... but catch I did... like a sacrifice fly in the bottom of the 9th inning which brought home the go-ahead run. I caught it like a left hook to the chin in the 12th round which introduced my face to the mat. I caught it like a case of jock itch after the community towel makes it's way through the football locker room (which also happens to be a good way to catch genital herpes I may add).

What sucks though, is now I have to end my relationship with pickles too. I wish I didn't have to... but I do. The only time I have pickles is when I have a sandwich... kinda of a menage-a-trois thing really. Man, there are things pickles can do that I didn't even know were possible. Seriously, pickles are truly crazy. I had pickles in the movie theater once. I also had pickles in the basement of my jr. high school. I even had pickles (multiple times) in the mens room... on an airplane!

(Sigh)

Oh well. It was fun while it lasted. But now I have more important things to worry about. Like... how am I gonna get rid of these terrible sores? And what am I gonna eat for lunch? And... how am I gonna support a little 6-inch of my own? Didn't I tell you? My sandwich is pregnant.

A better version of Little Miss Muffet

Little Miss Muffet,
Sat on her tuffit,
Eating her curds and whey,
Before she knew it,
A spider bit her on her arm,
And now she's dead.

The End

To Do List:

1. Jump really high and beat my personal best.
2. Discover a new stretch of land and claim it.
3. Pick up some milk.
4. Get the oil changed.
5. Make a catchy new rap tune.
6. Get in a fight (no knives this time;)
7. Believe in a superstition.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Superstition

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G4D3LmtC_4Q

Poem No.1

What Is It?

It is not like a ghost
It is not like a god
It is not unlike a man whose stories are fraud.

It is not like a soldier
It is not like a drone
It is not unlike a child whose brain is a clone

It is not like the dust
It is not like the dead
It is not unlike a tree whose leaves have all fled.

It is not like I care
It is not like I know
All I know is, It sure as hell ain't a turtle.

cC

Blog Yourself

I totally blogged myself today. It happened so fast. I was bored and I just finished up watching So You Think You Can Dance and... and... and I just did it. I don't even remember how it started, I remember being thirsty and I got up and the next thing I know I'm at my laptop... blogging the shit out of myself. It happened so fast.

I used protection. I have a firewall. It glows in the dark and smells like grape. I never thought I would be that guy... blogging when he gets bored, but... man it felt so good. Of course I regretted it when it was all done. I hated myself. But I also felt this strange feeling of freedom like it was the first time I had ever acknowledged that I was alive... I am alive. I don't know, man, I guess it's only natural and like 90% of humanity does it, but it changed my life. I blogged myself last night... using my iPod Touch. It was super easy. I find myself thinking about it at work, at the grocery store, driving around town... I even blogged on my lunch break.

I seriously think it should be taught in schools. I mean, kids are going to blog no matter what we do to scare them away. They might as well learn how to blog themselves correctly... and effectively. That could solve a lot of problems kids face nowadays... blogging increases your self esteem among others things and we all now what low self esteem can lead too. Don't get me wrong, blogging can be abused just like anything else. Hell, I heard of some junior high kid who stayed home from school to blog himself over 13 times in one afternoon, but that is an isolated case.

Anyway, it feels good to get this off my chest and out in the world. I blog. And I am proud. I blog.

cC

poetry and documentation to come

patience. blogging will commence when you are true of heart. details to follow. secret word: niller puddin'.