technobang

I’m a fucking creep.

No, really, I am. I don’t know why people tolerate me. I mean, other than the inexhaustible wit and dashing good looks, there’s a very good chance I’m picturing the number of ways a few well-hung black men could shame you as you walk down the street in your stupidly tiny dress, giant sunglasses, and dopey smile down 63rd street as if you owned the place.

It struck me today that I haven’t had sex since the calendar read “2008″ on it and I had an annoying Brit whining about her life as I’m haphazardly jamming my dick in her. I realize this is a horrendously graphic statement and I’m quite positive no one wanted to know this about me; however you’re going to read it and enjoy it as if I were pumping you full of mescaline and threatening to tickle you.

I half considered finding a hooker one lonely night while browsing through Craigslist’s almost laughable “adult services” section. I believe however that I’m far too ADD for such a course of action. Knowing me and my dumb ADD-riddled ass I’d likely get tired of it after a few times. I shudder to think when I hit the point where I’m in the middle of a paid blowjob unable to shoot your load unless you think about someone else you’ve paid to blow you who did a better job of blowing you. Blimey, that’s lonely.

I’ve realized that in many of my other self-loathing rants I use the term “fat nobody” a lot. In fact I have a draft titled “I REALLY A FAT FUCKING NOBODY.” It goes on to detail the many ways in which I am a collosal failure followed by 12 dick jokes and several references to taking a dump on someone’s chest. I don’t know how the latter got in there but I realized the writing was becoming very unoriginal very quickly when I realize I’m fantasizing about dropping a steamer on a portly maid named “Brenda” in a hotel bathroom somewhere.

Turning those creep-waves up a bit I’d dare say.

I have weird fucking vibes. That’s my super-mature way of saying that I carry weird thoughts around in my head at any given time. I wasn’t kidding about that negro-rape thing either, when someone has that fucking dopeysmug look on their face as if they’d won the lottery and wanted to know if you’d take it up the shitter for $10,000.

Safe to say I get a little frustrated with people who look like total cocksuckers.

I also have a tendency to wonder if I could successfully rub the outside of your left ear with my pinky if I were able to position myself behind you unnoticed. This is of course followed by another long series of fat jokes directed toward myself.

Look, I’m not negative, I don’t have a negative self-image or anything – but to deny that I’m nothing short of a small asteroid is not only ignorant but shows that you have extremely poor eyesight and I should laugh at you for not having some kind of optical care.

I realize it’s very difficult to make this position when the last few paragraphs I’ve written were inspired by the fact that I called myself a fat nobody.

Fact: we’re all nobodies in this dopey society unless you’re a celebrity, divorcing a celebrity, spilling millions of gallons of oil into the ocean or being one of the many people who are incapable of fixing it.

Fuck it, whatever. I’m keeping my phrase, eat a dick.

I’ve been trying to write more lately. Or write something. I’m even trying to start a novel which I actually interrupted myself from writing to squeeze this literary disaster out. The problem is that I’m far too impatient for writing. Try as I might, when I start writing about a “cool” subject one day, the next time I look at it will send me into a sobbing shame spiral that makes me want to hang myself from a running ceiling fan with no pants on.

The nice thing about being semi-funny in person is that you get the immediate laugh. In writing, you actually have to construct your wit and get it all on paper then hope someone feigns enough interest to read this far down and then take the time to construct a response that details whether it made him or her chuckle or covered their computer with a thick layer of vomit that resembles Cheetohs and Golden Grahams with a liberal amount of tomato soup mixed in.

It’s very similar to what happens when I like a girl. Instead of saying something bright and manly like “hey good lookin’, what’s cookin’?” and winking like the two-bit fruit I am, I instead wonder if we would be good together, how would we get to know eachother, what would sex together be like. Right around the part where I question whether or not she likes her nipples teased lightly or crushed with a pair of needlenosed pliers until she cries and screams “Uncle!” in a suspiciously manly voice that I find I’m staring at her and angrily masturbating under the table.

Wait, wait, somehow I got off topic here. Also that’s a Jim Norton bit, but I’ll be damned if I remember when he said it or if I’m paraphrasing it right. This, by the way, is why I’m not a goddamned comedian. My humor is recycled like waste water – someone else’s shit is harvested and turned into… okay, nevermind. I’m off the shit bit.

But I really am trying to make this happen, though. I’ve wanted to write a novel for longer than I can remember – which at any given day can be between the ages of 21-23 and 8-15.

Yeah, my memory’s more fucked up than my ability to express it in numbers.

The last things I successfully wrote was a series of love letters that I never actually intend to send. It was more an exercise to see if I could push a romantic notion so far that it becomes borderline stalker/rapist and gets me shot in the back by some angry man. Like I said before, I’m a fucking creep. Don’t look so weirded out right now, you’re the one reading my website, stupid.

I think I’ve managed to figure out some kind of formula to get my writing process started. I mean look, this is the longest, most constructed post I’ve had on here in the longest time. I might actually get something done…

What a thought.

UPDATE: Apparently annoying Brits don’t like it when you make fun of them. Which is funny because anyone else I jab at on this website is totally okay with it. Bawwing follows:

Her: 3:51:28 PM: Kay, I know that you’re at work..most likely.
Her: 3:52:27 PM: And I don’t want to distract you or talk to you for that matter. Since I like to see from time to time that you’re alive and well, I read your stupid blog. ” had annoying Brit whining about her life as I’m haphazardly jamming my dick in her.”
Her: 3:52:51 PM: Don’t appreciate that statement.
Me: 3:52:54 PM: it was comedy writing, cry me a river.
Her: 3:52:57 PM: Humor, or no humor.
Me: 3:53:07 PM: and yes I am at work
Her: 3:53:08 PM: I don’t give a shit what your intention was, it isn’t a very nice thing to say.
Her: 3:53:12 PM: So thanks a lot.
Me: 3:53:19 PM: k
Her: 3:53:58 PM: If you even had an ounce of respect for me, you’d edit that out, but I guess you don’t.
Me: 3:54:12 PM: No, actually, most people lol at the jabbing I give them.
Me: 3:54:17 PM: Most of them aren’t whiny and Q_Qing me a river.
Me: 3:54:30 PM: and considering most of that was directed toward myself, may I say bawwww.
Her: 3:54:48 PM: Ah. Okay. So I’m supposed to laugh at what you said?
Her: 3:54:50 PM: Really?
Her: 3:54:52 PM: My mistake.
Me: 3:55:21 PM: I don’t really care one way or the other. In fact, I’m going to add this conversation on the bottom of the update.
Me: 3:55:25 PM: ^___^
Her: 3:55:38 PM: Yep because you are and always will be an asshole. ^_^
Her: 3:55:45 PM: Forget I even said anything, ugh.

Interestingly, her pasting that pointed out a grammatical error on my part that I’ve now corrected. Thanks, toots.

Posted on Saturday, July 3rd, 2010 at 12:50 am in Whatever | rss feed for comments| Leave a response, or trackback