There are a few things that make a man proud to be a man. The great outdoors, gun powder, SPORTS!, big Shakira-esque booties devouring skimpy bikinis, spurs, and above all, the most tightly wound neatly bound vagina that would make even the most tired war-ridden eyes ready to fight again in all his quadriplegic glory.
Yes, my friends. I do love a barber cut bush. The simplicity and elegance of a wonderfully managed bait shop makes my nose open up the way the nostrils would in a Febreeze commercial. Seeing a clamstand do a handstand is enough to make me want to whistle on american bandstand. Viewing the narrow passageway into the woman's soul honestly gets me so overjoyed that I could sing opera, brave my chest out against torrential waters on jagged rocks, or just hang up silk curtains around the beef ones and take indie contrasting pictures of my martha stewart masterpuss.
I love crotchdigging like beavers like to build dams. I love figuring out Victorias' secret like Sherlock Holmes loves solving crimes. I love feeling the faint drips of holy woman water drizzling on my forehead the way the military loves chinese water torture. The only reason I'm so good at going down on girls is because I'm hoping that if you're good enough, it spits out some sort of treasure chest like how Mario gets a key when he beats a world (I mean...I'd like to believe if you're that good, you do win a key to a woman's soul, whether they admit it or not)
Just picturing a quaint vagina sitting on a hilly sun infused plateau makes me want to break out a ukelele. Flowers in her haaairr, flowers everywheeeeeeere.
If it were my choice, vagina would be the death of me. And I don't mean dying in the sack or choking because the thighs are blocking my airpipes. I mean I want it to be castle times. I want to be dragged up their, ropes binding my slit-sinning wrists. And just before the guillotine is released upon my poor head, the executioner removes the mask and there it is:in all its glory, the 8 foot Hulk Hogan Vagina. I can almost hear the angels readying their trumpets, waiting on the Composer to beam me up to my 40 virgins. ahhh a life born, run, and destroyed by something that sometimes smells like a new york dock. such a beautiful shame.
Ladies, please don't take this as offensive. If you knew how my mind worked, you would understand that I practically had butterflies around my head when I was typing this out. And yes, I did just jot this all down in 5 minutes. You see how much I care? DO YOU SEE? I don't even need to come up with it, its just sitting here. Now lemme say it to the other side of your buttz.
alright go back to your miserable lives ive done enough for today.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Friday, April 3, 2009
The Greatest Invention
Fires. Floods. Jews bringing mother earth to her slaggish knees and making she suck the cock of ultimate defeat. The present time can be one that fills deaf hearts and clouded minds with sorrow and regret. The present time can lead to crime, disease, short fuses which produce short thinking, like a midget under pressure. There is no thought, even in these desperate times, that is more rash than the bubbles of ideas that form above the equal heads of the religious that brave this old world amongst us. To fully grasp my opinion on the situation, we've got to go back. Way back. Like the kind of "ago" that you would see in a Star Wars flick.
CAUTION:I was extremely fucked up when I stumbled upon this discovery, so please do not read this wholeheartedly. On the contrary, dump any grain of salt you can find down my hatch because the shit I talk will funk up a George Clinton concert.
Ever since the dawn of man, "why" was always the forefront of his thoughts. What am I doing here? What is my purpose? Why is this girl next to me so damned hairy? Man why is it so cold? Why is my stomach grumbling? If I don't eat something and find some warmth, I'm going to have to scalp ms. teenwolf over here and nomnom down on some neckbone while I rock some authentic woman-made cavewear.
Hol' up hol' up hol' up...I'm flowing too freely down the shit talking turnpike. Initially, man made fire. Then, man made tools. After that, man impressed the woman with his shaving utensils and his knowledge of burning flesh over wood. Indeed, man created love. But when love dims down and the fluid is on empty, what will you have then? When your hunger fades and you have no urge to command any craft, what are you left with?
Desire. Every man (and woman, unless life really is a big trick and there are two separate roads for each sex) has a burning inside of him. A yearning to become something, even if we don't know what that something is. To unlock those doors which appear sealed off to us, when there was no knob constructed for it. To claim, to wish, to get, to achieve, to love, to burn, to be. . .to have. Neither power nor pleasure can quench this thirst. This is something truly unachievable. This is not the pursuit of happiness that has remained non-existant. This is the pursuit of God.
Lets backtrack a step to Mr. Geico. After having love, surely a child, and the complete windlessness that you have sought after in your life, IT still consumes your gut. Jimminy Crickett is constantly mumbling in your head, but the muffling is only worsened by the low volume. So, man starts to build. He builds because he feels he has gotten it wrong. The hunger in him is not sustained so he must prove himself to..himself. Tools become man made. We are entombed in breathing cemeteries, storing carcasses up to 30,000 feet in the air. Only in this life can you drive a car you cant afford in a sinkhole. Love has become man made. We will never stop inhaling the intoxicating fumes of another person's thighs, eyes, and lies, complete with a plethora of cards, credits of romantic 90 minute nothings, tears, and anything else to drive you to unfortunate states. Fire has become man made. We trek in a world where we believe that money and glory are what we need to satisfy our aches. Where white picket fences and golden retrievers will somehow numb our brains into believing that this is what it was all for. A blind eye will see no difference in this sentence than from my earlier statment, but alas, everything has shifted 180 gut-wrenching degrees. Who pulled the bait and switch with my fire?
To attempt to make it more clear, man is constantly walking with a void. A dark hole that no dollar amount, no child's love, no mother's love, no friend, no drug, and no lifestyle will fill. In the earliest time of civilization, they had to have asked the same questions each person asks themselves today. You will never figure this out, all you can do is take a shot at it. So then comes the philosophers. The Jesus Christs, the Davids, the Muhammads. The men who took their fire and made it understandable to the masses. When "sensible" people didn't understand it, men were killed for their beliefs. Jesus Christ is no different than a Socrates. If you strictly look at these religious icons in a religious fashion, you are missing the message. The talking snakes and removed ribs are only stories--something to make someone understand an idea more thoroughly. Why do you think so many religions and outlooks of tribes have such similar core messages?
We absolutely are heading to an endtime. It does not take a genius to map out how the world can work. When you build and build and clutter your vision up, so much so that you arent able to even explain what it is you were after in the first place, you are on a one way trip to destruction. We have replaced this desire with ultra religion, sans any spirituality. We have powdered our inner needs with sugary substance, not meaningful material. Eventually, some radical people will also realize my words in their own way. Someone will have to take those 180 degrees and make it whole. Someone will start a fire, some day.
Did fire make the man make fire?
Will fire make the man put the fire out?
CAUTION:I was extremely fucked up when I stumbled upon this discovery, so please do not read this wholeheartedly. On the contrary, dump any grain of salt you can find down my hatch because the shit I talk will funk up a George Clinton concert.
Ever since the dawn of man, "why" was always the forefront of his thoughts. What am I doing here? What is my purpose? Why is this girl next to me so damned hairy? Man why is it so cold? Why is my stomach grumbling? If I don't eat something and find some warmth, I'm going to have to scalp ms. teenwolf over here and nomnom down on some neckbone while I rock some authentic woman-made cavewear.
Hol' up hol' up hol' up...I'm flowing too freely down the shit talking turnpike. Initially, man made fire. Then, man made tools. After that, man impressed the woman with his shaving utensils and his knowledge of burning flesh over wood. Indeed, man created love. But when love dims down and the fluid is on empty, what will you have then? When your hunger fades and you have no urge to command any craft, what are you left with?
Desire. Every man (and woman, unless life really is a big trick and there are two separate roads for each sex) has a burning inside of him. A yearning to become something, even if we don't know what that something is. To unlock those doors which appear sealed off to us, when there was no knob constructed for it. To claim, to wish, to get, to achieve, to love, to burn, to be. . .to have. Neither power nor pleasure can quench this thirst. This is something truly unachievable. This is not the pursuit of happiness that has remained non-existant. This is the pursuit of God.
Lets backtrack a step to Mr. Geico. After having love, surely a child, and the complete windlessness that you have sought after in your life, IT still consumes your gut. Jimminy Crickett is constantly mumbling in your head, but the muffling is only worsened by the low volume. So, man starts to build. He builds because he feels he has gotten it wrong. The hunger in him is not sustained so he must prove himself to..himself. Tools become man made. We are entombed in breathing cemeteries, storing carcasses up to 30,000 feet in the air. Only in this life can you drive a car you cant afford in a sinkhole. Love has become man made. We will never stop inhaling the intoxicating fumes of another person's thighs, eyes, and lies, complete with a plethora of cards, credits of romantic 90 minute nothings, tears, and anything else to drive you to unfortunate states. Fire has become man made. We trek in a world where we believe that money and glory are what we need to satisfy our aches. Where white picket fences and golden retrievers will somehow numb our brains into believing that this is what it was all for. A blind eye will see no difference in this sentence than from my earlier statment, but alas, everything has shifted 180 gut-wrenching degrees. Who pulled the bait and switch with my fire?
To attempt to make it more clear, man is constantly walking with a void. A dark hole that no dollar amount, no child's love, no mother's love, no friend, no drug, and no lifestyle will fill. In the earliest time of civilization, they had to have asked the same questions each person asks themselves today. You will never figure this out, all you can do is take a shot at it. So then comes the philosophers. The Jesus Christs, the Davids, the Muhammads. The men who took their fire and made it understandable to the masses. When "sensible" people didn't understand it, men were killed for their beliefs. Jesus Christ is no different than a Socrates. If you strictly look at these religious icons in a religious fashion, you are missing the message. The talking snakes and removed ribs are only stories--something to make someone understand an idea more thoroughly. Why do you think so many religions and outlooks of tribes have such similar core messages?
We absolutely are heading to an endtime. It does not take a genius to map out how the world can work. When you build and build and clutter your vision up, so much so that you arent able to even explain what it is you were after in the first place, you are on a one way trip to destruction. We have replaced this desire with ultra religion, sans any spirituality. We have powdered our inner needs with sugary substance, not meaningful material. Eventually, some radical people will also realize my words in their own way. Someone will have to take those 180 degrees and make it whole. Someone will start a fire, some day.
Did fire make the man make fire?
Will fire make the man put the fire out?
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