Tore the Fuck Up
By the time the four-day weekend is over I will have djed 5 times. My house is two parts lemon-scented Mister Clean, one part malt liquor. The cleanup effort is a continuing success. The socks I threw on this morning, however, smell like I puled them out of a dead man's ass, and a little bit like rotting crickets. Come over and I'll give you two types of strawberry pie.
Autumnal family traditions are crumbling around me, or maybe just for me.
Every year, the holiday is a little easier. At some point I became less of a joke to them, and more of an interesting person.
After thanksgiving dinner and two breakfasts at Manny's Deli, I can feel the increased heft of my tits, and the situation needs rectifying.
I had to manually raise my hairline the other day. There were a few wisps of long hair that stood alone at the crown of my head that I had to put out of their misery. I could see this coming for some time. It was about two years ago that I noticed how the front spike of my mohawk was thinner and weaker than the rest. Much like my father's height or his metabolism, which produce that wonderful Ableson lankiness, I didn't inherit his hairline either.
I'm giving up on drinks that I need to use my blender to make, at least until I become a better person.
If anybody needs me, I'll be at the Megamall, buying belt buckles that say 'cocksucker' or something.
[confidential to the Slut 69 crew: slow down on the poison intake, so you can party harder better faster longer]
[Currently reading "Exiles Volume 6: Fantastic Voyage TPB"]
Autumnal family traditions are crumbling around me, or maybe just for me.
Every year, the holiday is a little easier. At some point I became less of a joke to them, and more of an interesting person.
After thanksgiving dinner and two breakfasts at Manny's Deli, I can feel the increased heft of my tits, and the situation needs rectifying.
I had to manually raise my hairline the other day. There were a few wisps of long hair that stood alone at the crown of my head that I had to put out of their misery. I could see this coming for some time. It was about two years ago that I noticed how the front spike of my mohawk was thinner and weaker than the rest. Much like my father's height or his metabolism, which produce that wonderful Ableson lankiness, I didn't inherit his hairline either.
I'm giving up on drinks that I need to use my blender to make, at least until I become a better person.
If anybody needs me, I'll be at the Megamall, buying belt buckles that say 'cocksucker' or something.
[confidential to the Slut 69 crew: slow down on the poison intake, so you can party harder better faster longer]
[Currently reading "Exiles Volume 6: Fantastic Voyage TPB"]
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