Fuck it. If that’s what y’all need, I’ll crank. Grindy crunk.
Muscly dudes are getting naked on the internets, and every vagina within a crow’s flight still thinks I’m fucking creepy. Life rules. Do any of you have sex ever? What the fuck is wrong with humanity? Where is everybody? I really wouldn’t get it if I haven’t seen the show, huh. It’s totally me, isn’t it. I know. Thanks.
For fuck’s sake. I grant you all the right of use. The property now belongs to you. Plant and encourage plants of local and edible varieties, for all organisms must consume, and all play a part in decomposition as well. This partitioning nonsense is redonkulous. Re. Donk. You. Louse. I said it. I know what I fucking said. I mean every word all the time, but I can’t believe I still slip on you. AaaAAaarrghh. As I describe the process, I am performing the verbal act. Right. Yup. Stop talking about that. Stop raising awareness of disease. Stop it. Right now. Destroy the infrastructure which perpetuates this torture at every level where it exists. Eradicate the means of “celebrating” fear.
I don’t want to be talking to you. I have nothing to say. I say it all here. I like to leave it out where anyone and their mother (quite literally, fun intended), can look at it, read it again and again, and decide whether wanting to go somewhere and get naked is a worthwhile and pleasurable activity to partake at any time of day or night. I’m about to.
See, this mega goatee mullet chop monstrosity is just to show off my beautiful neck. I still miss the rest of the beard. I love you, beardy. You were fucking epic. The rest of this shit’s gonna suck from now on, so don’t say I didn’t warn ya (ya know, skull hairz-wise). Heh heh heh.
Why have I not put the psych profile up yet? All the kewl kids have already seen it, but whatever. A head-shrinking-theory piled higher and deeper is my prescription for hookers, as far as I’m concerned. You know, and weed. I can see myself showing it to the officer on duty, being like, “and there’s nothing wrong with me. I’m just the most hatable person on the planet.” Lol. A good cop would just fucking shoot me in the head out of pity, but there are no more good cops, are there? That’s like a good banker, or a good lawyer, or a good “school”teacher (thereby leaving open the possibility of a good teacher of non-school subjects/skills/information/methods/maths). Oh, the meticulosity is mind-boggling. The direction baffles further, and the involuntary and unwanted associated sexual arousal makes everybody want to scream until they cum. Let ‘er rip.
Freshness. Fresh. Niss.
My new spec-goggles feel like superman disguisers. Yeah, “the big blue faggot” or whatever. I saw, quote, pullin’ out hose on the familial estate. He turned his bare back to me. He was family for a stretch. Family owes me zilch. I send my love.
Two pump chump has been running through my head. Fuckin’ radio promo and that song I writed post-falling on the floor laughing during some nature show with tiny, fast little birds fucking so fast they had to show it in slow motion. He’s all, “whoa. He’s a two-pump chump.” Apologies to dudes named larry. It’s mostly about me. Whatever. If you are capable of communication regarding sex, the quirks can be accommodated. Not to mention, it sticks around. All I can tell you is what happened before. I don’t know if I’ve ever been with a non-competitive participator. They’re a rare breed.
Breeeders! Fuck yes, we should make a baby. Or just get naked together all the time. Whatever. At most? I dunno, all day. Five times a day? Depends on your needs, desires, tolerance, condom stash, whether you like my cooking, whatever. I rarely say no.
In one sense, it has a different level of utmost respect for those who have touched it on multiple occasions. Then again, they all stopped. Harness that, tantric, you get cum hammer. BaWm! It comes out in jiggles. I dunno. You’re the one with all the fucking cameras. Why can’t you see it?
Constant competitive hater-zien consumers, infected with tape-rolls-ah’red, the puppet strings of their vocals. Rock the casbah, bring the noise, kiss wait long enough, that’ll make it cum, with u-bolt compliment advance’d, bike to that warm spot in the sun. set.Lake. Woods in and of the woods.
My imagination runs wild in your presence. I don’t want to be talking a few inches from contact. I want silent contact. I can purr if the sound helps. Re-integrate the pieces of a shattered home. Grow the limbs that have already taken firm root, those that bear fruit. For therein are the teachers of the new way. Crystal. Clarity.
LazyAssWasteoid In-dows-trees hereby announces its meatbot design competition. Your raw material is the life and times of the once-human dictator, that shell of a nobody what gots our picture onnits passport. Yeah, that guy. I have placed, strategically for your consumption, works of sound, video, and word. Networks of humans, artists, sounds, and shapes. There’s a fucking wake of destruction to work with. Anyway, your job, should you choose to except it (sic misuse, dude) is to redesign us, it, him, the coop/campaign. Whatever, all of it. From hairstyle to beardstyle to body decorations and schedule of in-person dance/between-the-sheets-a-thons. Fucking video-tape all of it and edit it together because the fucking dictator ain’t never been schooled in the goddamn editing department. I don’t know what’s acceptable to you guys. Help me sharpen this cutting edge here. No, there’s enough red tape that we’re gonna need a high-speed-vibra-spinning blade. Help me sharpen its diamond tip. The major facets are already visible to those with the skill to see. Pick a spot to add your elbow grease and spit-shine, and send some of your light into the prism. No deadlines. Entries and entrants are participators. All works are open to future re-interpretation, and remain in the public domain forever. It never belongs to anyone, and neither do you, now or ever again. I have utmost faith in your abilities, and I look forward with delight to being seduced by your submissions.
We’re starting with henna for the skin itself. Functionality, sacred geometry, beautifully subtle communication, and accompanying physical contact will be given highest immediate priority. Make it good enough in veneer so that the differently abled can see/feel/know it. This crazy train needs a recharge, a powerplant upgrade/transition, and a schedule of e-co-pilots to help steer when I’m makin’ ma babies squeal. For sure, the you, baby boo. I love you so much that I put it to you. I am putty. Your wish is my command.
I’m going to go cut the tire-lethal prong of my shattered front spring with a beautiful-noise-producing, yet very inexpensive tool. This will facilitate the hobbled transport, upon the wings of a donut, to the coolest car repair guy I’ve ever met. My life is charmed. Help me see it.