The afternoon is good, it’s good, and god, he’s okay. Today is Wednesday June 11th 2014 and I swear I’m not turning this into a bi-weekly thing. Or am I? I think I should open a Japanese restaurant called “Orami” and hire really sketchy waiters: “Salmon avocado? I’ll bring it right out… or am i?” I think it’s going to be a hit.
In other news, I’ve decided to talk to the people (you) about something that is very important to me: Naked Men. Yes, it seems that every now and again I’ll come across an argument that completely confuses me. It goes like this “Well, H2K you know that women are just more aesthetically beautiful, I mean the curves, the lips, it’s just… Men don’t hold a candle to this natural sexiness” — EXCUSE ME. First of all, men have curves, it’s not like men are made out of legos (which also have curved parts), we’re fucking humans, muscles are curved. Look, we come in many shapes — some men have boobs, which is a delicious combo of the sexes.
So I’ll just say it. I love men, I love staring at men, undressing men, thinking about undressing men, I love looking at their dicks, their hair, the hair near their dicks, their legs, the hair on their backs and chests and noses. I love the way they sweat through their clothes and I love the damp part right between their ball sacks. You say its repulsive, heterosexual man / lesbian woman, but I think its god gift to this world. And as for T&A, yeah those are nice too, but you don’t see me sticking them in my vagina do you? (except for that one video, and I’m sorry mom).
Things to think about today when eating coconut ice cream:
- Why haven’t I always eaten coconut ice cream?
- It’s creamy, but there’s no dairy. holy shit.
- I feel like I’m on a fucking tropical fucking island
- Get me some pineapple in this bitch
- I need a tiki umbrella and a beach chair ASAP.
- Summa summa summma suckaaaa
Brain ramble brain ramble brain ramble FART:
I have twenty-two minutes to live… someone please have sex with me right now! There’s no one around. Even if I order seamless the delivery guy won’t get here in time to fuck me before I die.
That was a short excerpt of a play I’m writing called “Death by Orgasm” it’s premiering nowhere, and there’s no indiegogo campaign for you to donate to.
Creativity is a beast you have to nurture, like a small child wandering alone in the forest before a sexual predator gets a hold of them. You need to find the love and light in your life that keeps your back from imploding on itself while you’re sitting, staring that the fucking screen of some technological advancement, wondering WHY GOD WHY… where is this world heading? and why am I writing? why am I breathing? Creativity is like a baby suckling on my teet, only instead of milk its acid rain. And goddamnit I didn’t bring an umbrella.
Today’s writings are OUT OF CONTROL. Here’s some order
Letter of the day: F
I don’t want this to ever end. I want it to go on forever. I want you to read and weep every word that is protruding out of my sexually charged fingers (that have a lot of work to do later tonight). I want you to love the pimple underneath my ear, and the fact that sometimes there’s hair growing on my lower back. I want you to spoon feed me whipped avocado, and tell me the world is shit. Just love me daddy. Just love me.
Obviously I need to stop, because it’s just an avant garde kind of day, and I need to get my nipples lasered.
Until the next wave hits, or if it just trickles on the shore, thats fine.