IPOD
RADIO
I'm happy, as per usual, yeah...
But I'm so fucking angry right now.
Last night, me and cute little buddy of mine went longboarding. Hopped a bus so we can grab a bite, she can get a piercing and some smokes, hit up some friends' places on the way back...
All it takes is a little rain to ruin the day.
So we said fuck it, skated in the rain anyways. Got a bite to eat. Piercing didn't happen. Some intense skating ensued...
We're outside of this Youth Centre askin' kids for smokes (We're doin' 'em a favour, they sholdn't be smoking anyways!), when three really tall, really skinny, probably tweeker G-Unit thug fucking hick retard wannabe's show up. One kid, the one who was jumping and singing and dancing, gets singled out... Oh, did I mention these guys were in their 20's? Anyhow, these three guys single in one this one fuckin' 13 or 14 year old, and push him around. The kid was playfighting just moments before, so at first I thought they were friends, joking around...
Nope.
The fuckin' older one pins the kid up against a wall and smokes him in the face about 20 times. I wasn't paying attention much 'cause I thought they were fooling around, and to be honest when I WAS paying attention, I didn't even noticed it was real until about the fifth punch. So instant adrenaline. Start shaking. And as soon as I feel the urge to fuck some shit up, it's over, and the "thugs" are running. Security comes out, gives the kid who just got shitkicked a hard time and give him shit...
Why the fuck didn't I step in?
Why the fuck didn't I clip anyone upside the head with the longboard I had on me?
Why the fuck didn't I even say anything?
Why the fuck?! WHY?!?!?!
It's been fucking haunting me for the past 12 hours! I could have fucking stopped a kid from getting his ass kicked! But I didn't! WHY?!?!?!?!!?!!
I was by FAR the biggest fucking guy there. I was one of the oldest. The fucking dude was pewny. I could have fucked his shit up something hardcore, but I didn't! ...WHY???!?!?!
I fucking hate fighting. I really do. I'm so much more of a lover than a fighter. And in the FEW minor instances when I have gotten into fights, my friends said they actually thought I was going to kill the other guy.
"I'm so fucking glad you're the nicest person I know, and my friend. I would NOT want to fuck with you man!"
So I'm good at it... But I don't like it?!
Fuck!
FUCK!
This is all so fucking stupid!
Sooooo pissed.
At me.
At the fuckin' loser who beats people up for... Get this....
You ready?
...Smokes.
As he was beating the shit out of someone about half his age, he was screaming like a little girl "You owe me smokes, faggot! You owe me smokes, faggot!" No better reason to make a kid want to shoot up his school than... a handful of cigarettes.
I hate this fucking town.
I hate the inhabitants of this fucking town.
I want to light this whole fucking town on fire. At the borders. And fucking burn all the idiots inside.
I'm pissed off.
I really, really am.
Fuck.
Kill. Hate.
- PunkerSlut
But I'm so fucking angry right now.
Last night, me and cute little buddy of mine went longboarding. Hopped a bus so we can grab a bite, she can get a piercing and some smokes, hit up some friends' places on the way back...
All it takes is a little rain to ruin the day.
So we said fuck it, skated in the rain anyways. Got a bite to eat. Piercing didn't happen. Some intense skating ensued...
We're outside of this Youth Centre askin' kids for smokes (We're doin' 'em a favour, they sholdn't be smoking anyways!), when three really tall, really skinny, probably tweeker G-Unit thug fucking hick retard wannabe's show up. One kid, the one who was jumping and singing and dancing, gets singled out... Oh, did I mention these guys were in their 20's? Anyhow, these three guys single in one this one fuckin' 13 or 14 year old, and push him around. The kid was playfighting just moments before, so at first I thought they were friends, joking around...
Nope.
The fuckin' older one pins the kid up against a wall and smokes him in the face about 20 times. I wasn't paying attention much 'cause I thought they were fooling around, and to be honest when I WAS paying attention, I didn't even noticed it was real until about the fifth punch. So instant adrenaline. Start shaking. And as soon as I feel the urge to fuck some shit up, it's over, and the "thugs" are running. Security comes out, gives the kid who just got shitkicked a hard time and give him shit...
Why the fuck didn't I step in?
Why the fuck didn't I clip anyone upside the head with the longboard I had on me?
Why the fuck didn't I even say anything?
Why the fuck?! WHY?!?!?!
It's been fucking haunting me for the past 12 hours! I could have fucking stopped a kid from getting his ass kicked! But I didn't! WHY?!?!?!?!!?!!
I was by FAR the biggest fucking guy there. I was one of the oldest. The fucking dude was pewny. I could have fucked his shit up something hardcore, but I didn't! ...WHY???!?!?!
I fucking hate fighting. I really do. I'm so much more of a lover than a fighter. And in the FEW minor instances when I have gotten into fights, my friends said they actually thought I was going to kill the other guy.
"I'm so fucking glad you're the nicest person I know, and my friend. I would NOT want to fuck with you man!"
So I'm good at it... But I don't like it?!
Fuck!
FUCK!
This is all so fucking stupid!
Sooooo pissed.
At me.
At the fuckin' loser who beats people up for... Get this....
You ready?
...Smokes.
As he was beating the shit out of someone about half his age, he was screaming like a little girl "You owe me smokes, faggot! You owe me smokes, faggot!" No better reason to make a kid want to shoot up his school than... a handful of cigarettes.
I hate this fucking town.
I hate the inhabitants of this fucking town.
I want to light this whole fucking town on fire. At the borders. And fucking burn all the idiots inside.
I'm pissed off.
I really, really am.
Fuck.
Kill. Hate.
- PunkerSlut
Wowee! Do I fucking love you all! 
All the warm welcomes and everything, I fuckin' love you guys! I missed you all so much!
Life is good.
But more importantly, life's a little different...
I wanna tell you something. I don't care who you are, member, SG, or creeper, I want to share a secret...
I've killed a man.
He's dead. Because of me. I did it. I killed him.
I don't regret it either.
Am I crazy? No.
Fucker deserved to die.
I'm really happy I killed him.
Here's to someone I loved, but killed.
Kid was weak. If I didn't do it, he'd do it himself. Or natural selection or something would have claimed him.
I fuckin' loved him, but I hate him.
If it weren't for him I never would be the person I am today. And if I didn't make him disappear so nobody would ever see him again, I wouldn't be me either.
But if he never lived, I never would have learned to love. To live.
This kid taught me how spend my time on this fucking Earth.
Without him, I wouldn't have my motto.
You all know it, but in case you're new:
"Live. Love."
He showed me how to live, he taught me how to love.
He didn't really do it properly, which is why I took his life from him, but he had his head in the right place... Sort of...
Kind of up his big ass, but wrapped around the world at the same time.
He can fuck himself though. He let people walk on him. It really got to him. Then he'd crawl back to them and beg them to hurt him again. 'Cause he was fucking weak.
I did him a favour by killing him.
I'm not going to tell you how. And I'm not going to tell you anything else...
But I will say that I am glad he lived, and I'm glad he's dead. And I'm glad that I'm the one that did it.
Wanna see who I'm talking about?
One picture can't do shit against me. I have a nice, big, fat alibi.
Here you go, lovely spectators.
The man I killed (pictured on the left):
Rest in fucking piece, you fat fuck.
Thank you for living.
Thank you for dying.
Thank you for everything.
You're forever be loved, and hated.
Thank you.
In other news. I'm not really... Ummm... Well, I don't know. I'd say "myself", but I've never felt more like me.
I don't know.
I haven't had an orgasm in a month.
If you know me at ALL... You know how big of an epic fucking deal this is.
But for some reason, it doesn't feel like it unless I think about it.
That last sentence came out way more philosophical than I meant it to be.
Rad!
I haven't been spending any money except for the essentials. Some people may say "But Christoph, going to a show isn't very important!"
Yes it fucking is.
Hear me out...
I don't know what the fuck happened to me. I was drunk. I was punch drunk. From beer and moshing and trash-thrash-shred-skankin' all over the place. I was making a huge fuckin' ruckus, as per usual. I was supporting the shit out of my close friends' band. Their set ends, Jonny Abandoned lets out a giant scream, chucks the mic. I turn around to leave, and some chick is in my face.
"Hi!"
I was floored.
Being an idiot, and drunk, and beat up, and tired from a killer shift at work and then a nice fat mosh, I kind of just just went "Ummmm, hey. I need a drink." When really I was thinking "Shit, nice tattoos! Sorry, I'm a little retarded right now, please excuse me, but do I know you from somewhere? What is your name? How are you? What band are you here to see? What are you up to after the show?"
"Come with me!"
To where? Who the fuck cares. I remember I needed a jacket, she followed me to get it, then she followed me to pee, and then lead me on my way to wherever she was taking me. I don't even remember how long we walked for but long story short, she brought me to a park bench that had about nine average joes on it. They were mid-20's losers. They're really common, and they come to shows just to pretend they're having a good time by sitting on the floor at the back of the venue, or standing near the mosh to tell everyone that they were in the pit... Anyhow, nine baseball-capped-dress-shirted-blue-jeaned-running-shoed sat in front of me. I didn't understand why Little Ms. Awesome took me here, but she did. And begins the "rip on the loner punk kid session". I laughed with them and made their jokes extra funny by joining in and ripping on myself. To this they were confused. I told the chick that I needed beer and that she was more than welcome to join me. She wanted to, but one of the guys she lead me to frowned on this immensely.
So I take off in pursuit of more beer and friends. I asked around as to who the hell this chick was.
Nobody. Fucking. Knew. I had about 100 fucking friends at the venue and nobody knew this chick or anything!
So I looked for her, once my head was clear(er), and no avail. I looked and looked and looked. High and low, far and wide. Nothing.
Now normally, something like this would bounce right off me, I'd put it in my rather large mental-folder with the label "awkward/funny"...
But was it the booze? Was it the multiple blows to my head? Was it the music? Was it the atmosphere? Was it her pheremones? Was it her overall presentation? Was it even her? Was it just a perfect moment for me? Was it time for me and she popped up at the perfect moment? Was it the lighting? Was it the planets, chakras, and hormones and dimensions alligning?
...I wanted to be held by this woman, and die. Peacefully.
She was my soulmate for a moment. And I don't even remember what she fucking looks like, let alone her name.
Nothing like this has ever happened to me before.
Nothing.
I've been analyzing the situation in my head, over and over and over. And the more I think about it, the more retarded I get, and the more retarded the whole thing seems. But I can't get away from this damn woman in my head with the fuckin' inkjob on the right arm.
"The Further You Go, The Less You Know"
I don't want anything but clarity. I'm not lookin' for that soulmate or anything. I was smashed from booze and smashed from dance-fighting. I just want clarity. I want to know who she is, if she knows me from somewhere, why she approached me, if that dude didn't like me 'cause he was her man. Whatever. I just want more information.
And if I make a new friend, enemy, or lifemate, so fucking be it.
But I will not rest until I find this woman.
What I'm about to say is supremely embarassing... But in order for you to even fathom how badly I need to find this girl...
I made a fucking MySpace... If anyone knows me, they know how much I hate MySpace, Nexopia, Friendster, Facebook, BlahBlahBlahBlahBlah... It's all fucking trash. But the bands we saw that evening all have MySpaces. So maybe she's a member. So maybe I can find her.
Maybe maybe maybe.
Here's hoping.
Here's wishing.
Here's being more naive and unrealistic than I've ever been in my life.
And I've never been more whole.
Dreamin'.
I would like to take this opportunity to take a step back, as I often do, and soak in how fucking lucky I am to be here, typing this. If you go back in my blog, you'll see that this happens every so often... But goddamnit. What are the odds, that somewhere in the universe, near a small (in relation to the size of everything there is) gaseous ball that has been sparked up, some molecules on a rock, three rocks away, bumped into one another to form an element that will be the basis of all life. Life goes from single-celled-organism -...INTERMISSION...- all the way to me, percieving and sensing and reacting. A bag of meat and filth, and chemicals are bouncing into one another, creating little shocks and charges that are making me move my probe-like-digits on the other end of this bag of meat, in such a set, synchronized order that they bounce off of little pieces of plastic and metal, that creatures just like me, before me, have created, using other sets of molecules that have formed together to create plastics and metals. And these plastics and metals are sending super complicated messages over our creations of dirt-and-mud-turned-into-metal-strips to display these characters, on your personal complicated pieces of platics and metals, that your organs can recognize, recieve and decipher as a form of communication.
And you know what I feel.
It's amazing. We're breathing. Thinking. Using other elements to benefit us. All to finally take a step back and realize how lucky we are. How lucky I am. To be experiencing this electronic-to-organic stimulation, with other meatbags such as myself.
I am thankful.
I am happy.
I am me.
Live. Love.
- PunkerSlut
All the warm welcomes and everything, I fuckin' love you guys! I missed you all so much!
Life is good.
But more importantly, life's a little different...
I wanna tell you something. I don't care who you are, member, SG, or creeper, I want to share a secret...
I've killed a man.
He's dead. Because of me. I did it. I killed him.
I don't regret it either.
Am I crazy? No.
Fucker deserved to die.
I'm really happy I killed him.
Here's to someone I loved, but killed.
Kid was weak. If I didn't do it, he'd do it himself. Or natural selection or something would have claimed him.
I fuckin' loved him, but I hate him.
If it weren't for him I never would be the person I am today. And if I didn't make him disappear so nobody would ever see him again, I wouldn't be me either.
But if he never lived, I never would have learned to love. To live.
This kid taught me how spend my time on this fucking Earth.
Without him, I wouldn't have my motto.
You all know it, but in case you're new:
"Live. Love."
He showed me how to live, he taught me how to love.
He didn't really do it properly, which is why I took his life from him, but he had his head in the right place... Sort of...
Kind of up his big ass, but wrapped around the world at the same time.
He can fuck himself though. He let people walk on him. It really got to him. Then he'd crawl back to them and beg them to hurt him again. 'Cause he was fucking weak.
I did him a favour by killing him.
I'm not going to tell you how. And I'm not going to tell you anything else...
But I will say that I am glad he lived, and I'm glad he's dead. And I'm glad that I'm the one that did it.
Wanna see who I'm talking about?
One picture can't do shit against me. I have a nice, big, fat alibi.
Here you go, lovely spectators.
The man I killed (pictured on the left):
Rest in fucking piece, you fat fuck.
Thank you for living.
Thank you for dying.
Thank you for everything.
You're forever be loved, and hated.
Thank you.
In other news. I'm not really... Ummm... Well, I don't know. I'd say "myself", but I've never felt more like me.
I don't know.
I haven't had an orgasm in a month.
If you know me at ALL... You know how big of an epic fucking deal this is.
But for some reason, it doesn't feel like it unless I think about it.
That last sentence came out way more philosophical than I meant it to be.
Rad!
I haven't been spending any money except for the essentials. Some people may say "But Christoph, going to a show isn't very important!"
Yes it fucking is.
Hear me out...
I don't know what the fuck happened to me. I was drunk. I was punch drunk. From beer and moshing and trash-thrash-shred-skankin' all over the place. I was making a huge fuckin' ruckus, as per usual. I was supporting the shit out of my close friends' band. Their set ends, Jonny Abandoned lets out a giant scream, chucks the mic. I turn around to leave, and some chick is in my face.
"Hi!"
I was floored.
Being an idiot, and drunk, and beat up, and tired from a killer shift at work and then a nice fat mosh, I kind of just just went "Ummmm, hey. I need a drink." When really I was thinking "Shit, nice tattoos! Sorry, I'm a little retarded right now, please excuse me, but do I know you from somewhere? What is your name? How are you? What band are you here to see? What are you up to after the show?"
"Come with me!"
To where? Who the fuck cares. I remember I needed a jacket, she followed me to get it, then she followed me to pee, and then lead me on my way to wherever she was taking me. I don't even remember how long we walked for but long story short, she brought me to a park bench that had about nine average joes on it. They were mid-20's losers. They're really common, and they come to shows just to pretend they're having a good time by sitting on the floor at the back of the venue, or standing near the mosh to tell everyone that they were in the pit... Anyhow, nine baseball-capped-dress-shirted-blue-jeaned-running-shoed sat in front of me. I didn't understand why Little Ms. Awesome took me here, but she did. And begins the "rip on the loner punk kid session". I laughed with them and made their jokes extra funny by joining in and ripping on myself. To this they were confused. I told the chick that I needed beer and that she was more than welcome to join me. She wanted to, but one of the guys she lead me to frowned on this immensely.
So I take off in pursuit of more beer and friends. I asked around as to who the hell this chick was.
Nobody. Fucking. Knew. I had about 100 fucking friends at the venue and nobody knew this chick or anything!
So I looked for her, once my head was clear(er), and no avail. I looked and looked and looked. High and low, far and wide. Nothing.
Now normally, something like this would bounce right off me, I'd put it in my rather large mental-folder with the label "awkward/funny"...
But was it the booze? Was it the multiple blows to my head? Was it the music? Was it the atmosphere? Was it her pheremones? Was it her overall presentation? Was it even her? Was it just a perfect moment for me? Was it time for me and she popped up at the perfect moment? Was it the lighting? Was it the planets, chakras, and hormones and dimensions alligning?
...I wanted to be held by this woman, and die. Peacefully.
She was my soulmate for a moment. And I don't even remember what she fucking looks like, let alone her name.
Nothing like this has ever happened to me before.
Nothing.
I've been analyzing the situation in my head, over and over and over. And the more I think about it, the more retarded I get, and the more retarded the whole thing seems. But I can't get away from this damn woman in my head with the fuckin' inkjob on the right arm.
"The Further You Go, The Less You Know"
I don't want anything but clarity. I'm not lookin' for that soulmate or anything. I was smashed from booze and smashed from dance-fighting. I just want clarity. I want to know who she is, if she knows me from somewhere, why she approached me, if that dude didn't like me 'cause he was her man. Whatever. I just want more information.
And if I make a new friend, enemy, or lifemate, so fucking be it.
But I will not rest until I find this woman.
What I'm about to say is supremely embarassing... But in order for you to even fathom how badly I need to find this girl...
I made a fucking MySpace... If anyone knows me, they know how much I hate MySpace, Nexopia, Friendster, Facebook, BlahBlahBlahBlahBlah... It's all fucking trash. But the bands we saw that evening all have MySpaces. So maybe she's a member. So maybe I can find her.
Maybe maybe maybe.
Here's hoping.
Here's wishing.
Here's being more naive and unrealistic than I've ever been in my life.
And I've never been more whole.
Dreamin'.
I would like to take this opportunity to take a step back, as I often do, and soak in how fucking lucky I am to be here, typing this. If you go back in my blog, you'll see that this happens every so often... But goddamnit. What are the odds, that somewhere in the universe, near a small (in relation to the size of everything there is) gaseous ball that has been sparked up, some molecules on a rock, three rocks away, bumped into one another to form an element that will be the basis of all life. Life goes from single-celled-organism -...INTERMISSION...- all the way to me, percieving and sensing and reacting. A bag of meat and filth, and chemicals are bouncing into one another, creating little shocks and charges that are making me move my probe-like-digits on the other end of this bag of meat, in such a set, synchronized order that they bounce off of little pieces of plastic and metal, that creatures just like me, before me, have created, using other sets of molecules that have formed together to create plastics and metals. And these plastics and metals are sending super complicated messages over our creations of dirt-and-mud-turned-into-metal-strips to display these characters, on your personal complicated pieces of platics and metals, that your organs can recognize, recieve and decipher as a form of communication.
And you know what I feel.
It's amazing. We're breathing. Thinking. Using other elements to benefit us. All to finally take a step back and realize how lucky we are. How lucky I am. To be experiencing this electronic-to-organic stimulation, with other meatbags such as myself.
I am thankful.
I am happy.
I am me.
Live. Love.
- PunkerSlut
I'm fucking back.
I've been well. Really well.
Runnin' from cops, having cops pull tazers on me, having cops pull guns on me, evading said cops entirely, almost getting stabbed by thugs (the "Fo' life" variety, not the real, yet dengerously rad, ones), being way too fucking single for my own good, starting a fucking killer band, making new friends, going to shows, having parties, going to parties, drinking like a badfish, rescuing people from death, playing music, writing music, working my ass off, planning out tattoos for myself, drawing up tattoos for friends, skankin' like a mad man, almost killing people, trying out this pacifist thing, eating healthy, rocking out way too fucking hard. making dreams come true for me and those around me...
Living.
Loving.
Every fucking moment. As per usual.
I dunno. Just a bunch of pics I have lyring around. Yours to see now. Stuff I've been up to lately. Don't assume I'm "with" any of these girls. When you assume you make an ASS out of U and ME. Oh snap. Yeah, my friends say that little phrase a lot. Especially when its completely redundant. Catchy shit.
Can you guess which picture is my super-stereotypical myspace picture? Even though I fucking hate myspace and will never have an account for that garbage. That's why it's comedy! With every rule, there is an exception: my band will have a myspace once we record some shit.
Anywhore, I fucking missed you SG, and I ESPECIALLY fucking missed all the lover-ly peoples on SG! I missed you guys so much! Fucking do me! Now! Pweeeeeze! Hahaha!
But I'm back. And I'm here to stay. All thanks to the fucking super-hot, extra-lovely, mega-fun-bonus-deluxe NextTuesday!!!!! If you enjoy me, go tell her you said thanks for bringing me back! She's a babe too, so even if you don't wanna talk to her, go look at her piccy's! She gets naked in them!
!!!
I'm in a really good fucking mood right now. I am cranking up this fucking dub music, NextTuesday hooked me back up on SG, I'm going to a show and a few parties tonight. I spent all last night in a haze. 11 beers, 3 shots, and a litre of cooler... in 9 (nine) minutes. I ended up puking through my nose, laughing the whole time. Woke up drunk.
I got plans to come down to Cali within the next few months. My reason is to get a dream-tattoo I've been planning for the last 5 years by Opie Ortiz at American Beauty Tattoo in Huntington Beach. He inked one of my few idols, Bradley Nowell, may he rest in peace.
I'm going to do what I can to come to Cali near the same time as SG Prom. I've never been, and I know VERY little of it, but I'm gonna see what I can do to get in. Sounds like fun, whatever it is.
Anyhow, I gotta go shower, get dressed, shave, and all that shit. It's a night on the town. I got a five day weekend and it starts now.
It's been too fucking long since I've been gone. I'm really fucking happy to be back. I fucking internet-love each and every internet-you.
What have I missed in the past 2 months?
I heard about Lith. That shit's fucking lame. Gimme an update!
Keep in touch.
Take care!
Christoph "PunkerSlut" Leon
Live. Love.
I've been well. Really well.
Runnin' from cops, having cops pull tazers on me, having cops pull guns on me, evading said cops entirely, almost getting stabbed by thugs (the "Fo' life" variety, not the real, yet dengerously rad, ones), being way too fucking single for my own good, starting a fucking killer band, making new friends, going to shows, having parties, going to parties, drinking like a badfish, rescuing people from death, playing music, writing music, working my ass off, planning out tattoos for myself, drawing up tattoos for friends, skankin' like a mad man, almost killing people, trying out this pacifist thing, eating healthy, rocking out way too fucking hard. making dreams come true for me and those around me...
Living.
Loving.
Every fucking moment. As per usual.
I dunno. Just a bunch of pics I have lyring around. Yours to see now. Stuff I've been up to lately. Don't assume I'm "with" any of these girls. When you assume you make an ASS out of U and ME. Oh snap. Yeah, my friends say that little phrase a lot. Especially when its completely redundant. Catchy shit.
Can you guess which picture is my super-stereotypical myspace picture? Even though I fucking hate myspace and will never have an account for that garbage. That's why it's comedy!
With every rule, there is an exception: my band will have a myspace once we record some shit.Anywhore, I fucking missed you SG, and I ESPECIALLY fucking missed all the lover-ly peoples on SG! I missed you guys so much! Fucking do me! Now! Pweeeeeze! Hahaha!
But I'm back. And I'm here to stay. All thanks to the fucking super-hot, extra-lovely, mega-fun-bonus-deluxe NextTuesday!!!!! If you enjoy me, go tell her you said thanks for bringing me back! She's a babe too, so even if you don't wanna talk to her, go look at her piccy's! She gets naked in them!
!!! I'm in a really good fucking mood right now. I am cranking up this fucking dub music, NextTuesday hooked me back up on SG, I'm going to a show and a few parties tonight. I spent all last night in a haze. 11 beers, 3 shots, and a litre of cooler... in 9 (nine) minutes. I ended up puking through my nose, laughing the whole time. Woke up drunk.
I got plans to come down to Cali within the next few months. My reason is to get a dream-tattoo I've been planning for the last 5 years by Opie Ortiz at American Beauty Tattoo in Huntington Beach. He inked one of my few idols, Bradley Nowell, may he rest in peace.
I'm going to do what I can to come to Cali near the same time as SG Prom. I've never been, and I know VERY little of it, but I'm gonna see what I can do to get in.
Sounds like fun, whatever it is.Anyhow, I gotta go shower, get dressed, shave, and all that shit. It's a night on the town. I got a five day weekend and it starts now.
It's been too fucking long since I've been gone. I'm really fucking happy to be back. I fucking internet-love each and every internet-you.
What have I missed in the past 2 months?
I heard about Lith. That shit's fucking lame. Gimme an update!
Keep in touch.
Take care!
Christoph "PunkerSlut" Leon
Live. Love.
I look funny. I'm loud and offensive. I dress funny. I have a mohawk and all the little strange accessories that come with it. I have the biggest sense of humour in the world, and there's humour in everything, so I laugh at "inappropriate" things sometimes. My parents are by no means conventional. I was raised completely open-minded and free.
I'm no stranger to negative attention.
But, boy, is my heart a little tangled right now.
My goal in life is to make the world a better place. Hands fucking down. That's my goal. I want to make people fucking happy. By being happy myself, and doing everything I can for everyone else to make them happy too. I'm here for everyone, open-minded and unbiased. No prejudice or assumptions here. I help everyone.
I want to make the world a better place, one smile at a time. One good feeling at a time. Hence my dream career in the film business. I don't want money. What fucking good is money? Money brings nothing but troubles. Fucking rights I want fame. Is that greedy? No. I want fame because I know I fucking deserve it. And in a completely selfless way. I just want people to take something I've created and enjoy it. That's all films are: a series of feelings that you enjoy in one way or another. I want people to know that I want them to feel good. I want them to enjoy what I can do for them. I want them to know that Christoph Leon made this just for them so they can take it and enjoy it. I want them to know that. I want to be known as a good person. I want to be remembered as a good person.
I am a good person.
I've never done anything wrong or "bad" in my life. Hear me out on this one: I've done my fair share of things that weren't the smartest things I could have done in those specific situations. Everyone has. It's called growing up. But I've taken those events and learned from them, how to avoid causing hurt, or how to avoid the situation alltogether. I had my reasons for doing the dumb things I've done. But by no means were they "wrong". At the time, they obviously felt right enough for me to act (or not act) upon. I had my reasons and my own experiences and my own perspective brought to the table at that precise time, and I did what I did because it's all I knew. If I know it wasn't the smartest choice, then it wasn't a bad thing I've done. "Bad" would be doing something so severe it'd damage another person so extremely they took it with them for a long time, or not learning from that situation. I've never done this.
I am a good person.
Anything that I've done that anyone disagrees with is their own issue. It's called "perspective".
I'm not a nun. I'm not religious. I'm not completely without "sin".
I have no regrets. None. If something wasn't the smartest choice, I've lived, learned, and moved on.
I've lived and learned.
But there's lots I do that many people wouldn't agree with:
I commit crimes on an almost weekly basis, but I do so with morals and ethics. I don't steal from people. I don't do anything to endanger anyone else but myself. I'm smart about it. I don't wanna hurt anybody. Stealing from big companies is pretty much all I do. Big name record labels, supermarkets, fast food chains: victims of mine. Anything that would cause any hurt to anything BUT insane amounts of profits, I do not do.
I have more sex than anyone on this planet. But never do I lie, cheat, or munipulate. If you ask me a question, I'm going to be 100% honest with you. I am an honest person. People deserve the truth. I will tell you exactly where I stand, and what I'm looking for and anything else you want or need to know. I've been extremely sexually active in my time, and never once have I made a girl feel any less about herself for sleeping with me. Whether they were strangers before we had sex, or an old friend, I've never once made someone regret their time spent with me. I never cause any heartbreak either. I am a good person. I have been on the recieving end of infidelity. The feeling I had is not one I wish on anybody on this Earth. It is not a good thing. I will not touch you, no matter how attractive the situation or individual, if you are involved you are out of bounds. Every person I've ever touched in any intimate way has become a friend of mine, whom of which I treasure immensely. Every single person I've ever done so much as pecked on the cheek has blossomed into a beautiful friendship, if not more. So obviously I'm not doing anything wrong.
But there are people out there who will make bold statements like "all criminals should be burned" or "anyone who has sex before marriage is a filthy person". Obviously, not the most open minded of things to say, but it is your opinion and you are entitled it. Hate me all you want, I really don't mind. I respect that you have your own experiences and your own perspectives and your own morals and your own values. I respect and understand this. We may not agree on many things, but that does not matter to me. I still give everyone the benefit of the doubt, and I treat everyone as equal. Even if you're a bible-thumping prosecutor, I got nothing against you personally. I am not one to judge. Who is anybody to judge? It's none of my business what you do, and even if you do things I don't agree with, it's your own life - you have your own reasons and your own perspectives.
I'm a criminal to some people because I've downloaded music.
I'm a bad person to some people because I've had more than one sex partner.
It's cool. Label me all you like. If it helps you cope, so be it. Some people need to live by other peoples' rules. Hence the amount of religious people we have. Religion is not for me. I don't need anyone else's rules but my own.
I am a good person. I have good morals and values and ethics.
But some people do need them in order keep themselves from selfdestruction, or maybe they even use it as a comfort zone. I respect that. It's simply not for me. Religion is not for me. I have my own experiences and live my own life the way I see fit. I don't hurt anybody, and I do nothing but good things for people, so I don't see why I should give up sex before marriage, or stop downloading the music that gives me the warm fuzzy feelings that they all do.
I'm not spiritual. No faith. Nothing. I am me. I am happy. And it works.
There's a lot I do that people don't agree with, but again, it's a matter of perspective. You still are in no place to judge me. Go ahead, judge me if you like, but we're all human. We're all in this life together, otherwise you wouldn't be reading this, or I wouldn't have heard of anything about you or anything that you might be.
If you hate me, go ahead. I don't mind. As long as you're happy with your choice, so be it. That's all I ask anyhow. Just be happy. If one day you decide to open your eyes and take a step back and evaluate the situation, I'll be here for you should you decide to actually enjoy your time with me. If not, so be it. Just stay happy. Do what you got to do. But I'll always forgive.
So why can't we all just be happy?
I am seriously the happiest person I know. And not in a "completely ignorant to everything that happens around them" sort of way. I acknowledge everything that happens around me, and everything that happens around me to the things that happen around me, and so forth. But I choose what affects me. If it's worth crying about, I'll cry. But there's not a lot on this Earth that can do that to me. If it's worth being scared about, I'll be scared, but again, nothing rational comes to mind here. I am not a victim. I am strong. I am happy.
I find joy in all the little things, all the big things, and all the little combinable variations of said things, that this life has to offer.
And anything that causes happiness is worth fighting for.
Some things that cause happiness are temporary, but enjoy what you had, be thankful and grateful, and move on in life.
Whatever happens, happens. You only live once. Enjoy it. Life's too short to waste it with negativity or pessimism.
To anyone who's ever entered my life: Thank you, and I love you.
Even if you're someone who's fucked me over completely, thanks. You made me who I am today.
Even to you, reading this, on the internet, chances are I haven't even met 90% of you, but I still enjoy the mental stimulation you send me via electronic communication, so thank you. I wouldn't be typing this for you to read if I didn't treasure you on some level. Sure I don't love you as much as I do, say, my mother. But I treasure you all nonetheless, and that's all that matters...
I am a good person.
I want to make this world a better place. One smile at a time. One feeling at a time. One person at a time.
I want to make this world a better place.
And to think, all of this came from a little bit of sadness.
Someone I've never even met, who only knows my name through several people, has a lot of control over someone I hold rather dear. And for some reason this person decides to resent me. I can deal with that. I don't mind. He's entitled to his opinion, no matter how jaded, negative or closed-minded. Those are his feelings and they are just as valid as mine, or yours. But I was doing some blog reading, where a person I hold rather dear has quoted a conversation she had with him. And basically, she had something nice to say about me (as I try to often make happen through being a good friend), and him, at the same time, and his response was pretty much:
"Don't you ever fucking compare me to him."
This hurt me a lot more than any words I've ever read.
Sure, his response might have been a reactionary impulse to portray his feelings about me, possibly caused by another reactionary impulse due to the fact that on one level or another he feels replaced as a friend by me (to a girl, on top of that (we all know how some guys are with girls)).
I don't know this, just saying, it's a theory.
Or he could very well be the most ignorant, pessimistic, negative, closed-minded, marose, depressed individual on Earth.
Or somewhere in between.
I don't know. It's not my place to say. I don't know the guy, and even if I did, it's not my place to judge.
But what I do know is that these words were spoken about me.
They fucking shouldn't have been.
You don't know me, and even if you did and still disagreed with everything I've ever done in my existence, my actions and mentality are not something that anyone should ever be so disgusted by that I should be talked about as some sort of bad person.
I am a good fucking person.
I will always be a good fucking person.
For one reason or another, you don't know what you're talking about. It's cool. I don't mind that you dislike me. Just don't make bold blanket-statements about something you don't understand. Especially about my lifestyle. One I've done nothing but tried to endlessly perfect my whole life.
I hope one day you open your eyes. If not, no loss of mine. Some people never change.
I am a good person.
...Sorry about the rant. It just hit me so hard, reading that about myself. I am not trying to do anything but clarify and put somethings into perspective about myself. For myself. For others.
I'm just glad I got that out there. I put it into existence for all to see. It's been put into reality from my head. It's in existence. Finally. I hope I summed up who I am (very generally, mind you) pretty well.
Thank you all for reading this crap. You really didn't have to. In fact, if you've read to here please let me know. My time on SuicideGirls is very limited until specifically stated, but I will be going gray for a while. SonOfAPunk will be inactive until he gets enough resources for another membership. So please say something to me if you've read until here so I can specifically tell you how much that means to me.
I love you fucking all. I really do. I really, really enjoy this community. I've made lots of really good friends from here and am thankful for everything from the nice things everyone's got to say, to the strange going-ons that are posted, to the alternative-lifestyle erotica. My favourite website of all time. And I'm thankful for every little encounter it has blessed me with.
I plan on being back, but I really don't know when that can be.
But until next time, everybody, please take care. And know that in one really superficial way or another, all the way to wanting to spend the rest of my life with you, I love each any every one of you reading this. And again, thank you. For everything. It means a lot more to me than you will ever know. I am grateful and thankful for ever little thing, even the little comments that consist of even just one Smilie. It's just the fact that you responded, took the actually time to make a click or two (or even more!) for me.
Thank you.
For everything.
This isn't the last you'll hear from me, everybody. I will spend the next few days I have responding to everything and being super SuicideGirls active. Then my account will run dry. Then I will do what I can to come back, so I can share with you, some more of my love.
I have enough to share.
I will be back. And know that no matter what anyone tells you, you are a good person. You are worth every damn you can get, and whatever you do, be happy. No matter what. Just be happy.
Farewell for now, my friends, my love.
Be well, may my love be with you.
Thanks again, one last time.
- Christoph "PunkerSlut" Leon
(AKA - SonOfAPunk )
Live. Love.
I'm no stranger to negative attention.
But, boy, is my heart a little tangled right now.
My goal in life is to make the world a better place. Hands fucking down. That's my goal. I want to make people fucking happy. By being happy myself, and doing everything I can for everyone else to make them happy too. I'm here for everyone, open-minded and unbiased. No prejudice or assumptions here. I help everyone.
I want to make the world a better place, one smile at a time. One good feeling at a time. Hence my dream career in the film business. I don't want money. What fucking good is money? Money brings nothing but troubles. Fucking rights I want fame. Is that greedy? No. I want fame because I know I fucking deserve it. And in a completely selfless way. I just want people to take something I've created and enjoy it. That's all films are: a series of feelings that you enjoy in one way or another. I want people to know that I want them to feel good. I want them to enjoy what I can do for them. I want them to know that Christoph Leon made this just for them so they can take it and enjoy it. I want them to know that. I want to be known as a good person. I want to be remembered as a good person.
I am a good person.
I've never done anything wrong or "bad" in my life. Hear me out on this one: I've done my fair share of things that weren't the smartest things I could have done in those specific situations. Everyone has. It's called growing up. But I've taken those events and learned from them, how to avoid causing hurt, or how to avoid the situation alltogether. I had my reasons for doing the dumb things I've done. But by no means were they "wrong". At the time, they obviously felt right enough for me to act (or not act) upon. I had my reasons and my own experiences and my own perspective brought to the table at that precise time, and I did what I did because it's all I knew. If I know it wasn't the smartest choice, then it wasn't a bad thing I've done. "Bad" would be doing something so severe it'd damage another person so extremely they took it with them for a long time, or not learning from that situation. I've never done this.
I am a good person.
Anything that I've done that anyone disagrees with is their own issue. It's called "perspective".
I'm not a nun. I'm not religious. I'm not completely without "sin".
I have no regrets. None. If something wasn't the smartest choice, I've lived, learned, and moved on.
I've lived and learned.
But there's lots I do that many people wouldn't agree with:
I commit crimes on an almost weekly basis, but I do so with morals and ethics. I don't steal from people. I don't do anything to endanger anyone else but myself. I'm smart about it. I don't wanna hurt anybody. Stealing from big companies is pretty much all I do. Big name record labels, supermarkets, fast food chains: victims of mine. Anything that would cause any hurt to anything BUT insane amounts of profits, I do not do.
I have more sex than anyone on this planet. But never do I lie, cheat, or munipulate. If you ask me a question, I'm going to be 100% honest with you. I am an honest person. People deserve the truth. I will tell you exactly where I stand, and what I'm looking for and anything else you want or need to know. I've been extremely sexually active in my time, and never once have I made a girl feel any less about herself for sleeping with me. Whether they were strangers before we had sex, or an old friend, I've never once made someone regret their time spent with me. I never cause any heartbreak either. I am a good person. I have been on the recieving end of infidelity. The feeling I had is not one I wish on anybody on this Earth. It is not a good thing. I will not touch you, no matter how attractive the situation or individual, if you are involved you are out of bounds. Every person I've ever touched in any intimate way has become a friend of mine, whom of which I treasure immensely. Every single person I've ever done so much as pecked on the cheek has blossomed into a beautiful friendship, if not more. So obviously I'm not doing anything wrong.
But there are people out there who will make bold statements like "all criminals should be burned" or "anyone who has sex before marriage is a filthy person". Obviously, not the most open minded of things to say, but it is your opinion and you are entitled it. Hate me all you want, I really don't mind. I respect that you have your own experiences and your own perspectives and your own morals and your own values. I respect and understand this. We may not agree on many things, but that does not matter to me. I still give everyone the benefit of the doubt, and I treat everyone as equal. Even if you're a bible-thumping prosecutor, I got nothing against you personally. I am not one to judge. Who is anybody to judge? It's none of my business what you do, and even if you do things I don't agree with, it's your own life - you have your own reasons and your own perspectives.
I'm a criminal to some people because I've downloaded music.
I'm a bad person to some people because I've had more than one sex partner.
It's cool. Label me all you like. If it helps you cope, so be it. Some people need to live by other peoples' rules. Hence the amount of religious people we have. Religion is not for me. I don't need anyone else's rules but my own.
I am a good person. I have good morals and values and ethics.
But some people do need them in order keep themselves from selfdestruction, or maybe they even use it as a comfort zone. I respect that. It's simply not for me. Religion is not for me. I have my own experiences and live my own life the way I see fit. I don't hurt anybody, and I do nothing but good things for people, so I don't see why I should give up sex before marriage, or stop downloading the music that gives me the warm fuzzy feelings that they all do.
I'm not spiritual. No faith. Nothing. I am me. I am happy. And it works.
There's a lot I do that people don't agree with, but again, it's a matter of perspective. You still are in no place to judge me. Go ahead, judge me if you like, but we're all human. We're all in this life together, otherwise you wouldn't be reading this, or I wouldn't have heard of anything about you or anything that you might be.
If you hate me, go ahead. I don't mind. As long as you're happy with your choice, so be it. That's all I ask anyhow. Just be happy. If one day you decide to open your eyes and take a step back and evaluate the situation, I'll be here for you should you decide to actually enjoy your time with me. If not, so be it. Just stay happy. Do what you got to do. But I'll always forgive.
So why can't we all just be happy?
I am seriously the happiest person I know. And not in a "completely ignorant to everything that happens around them" sort of way. I acknowledge everything that happens around me, and everything that happens around me to the things that happen around me, and so forth. But I choose what affects me. If it's worth crying about, I'll cry. But there's not a lot on this Earth that can do that to me. If it's worth being scared about, I'll be scared, but again, nothing rational comes to mind here. I am not a victim. I am strong. I am happy.
I find joy in all the little things, all the big things, and all the little combinable variations of said things, that this life has to offer.
And anything that causes happiness is worth fighting for.
Some things that cause happiness are temporary, but enjoy what you had, be thankful and grateful, and move on in life.
Whatever happens, happens. You only live once. Enjoy it. Life's too short to waste it with negativity or pessimism.
To anyone who's ever entered my life: Thank you, and I love you.
Even if you're someone who's fucked me over completely, thanks. You made me who I am today.
Even to you, reading this, on the internet, chances are I haven't even met 90% of you, but I still enjoy the mental stimulation you send me via electronic communication, so thank you. I wouldn't be typing this for you to read if I didn't treasure you on some level. Sure I don't love you as much as I do, say, my mother. But I treasure you all nonetheless, and that's all that matters...
I am a good person.
I want to make this world a better place. One smile at a time. One feeling at a time. One person at a time.
I want to make this world a better place.
And to think, all of this came from a little bit of sadness.
Someone I've never even met, who only knows my name through several people, has a lot of control over someone I hold rather dear. And for some reason this person decides to resent me. I can deal with that. I don't mind. He's entitled to his opinion, no matter how jaded, negative or closed-minded. Those are his feelings and they are just as valid as mine, or yours. But I was doing some blog reading, where a person I hold rather dear has quoted a conversation she had with him. And basically, she had something nice to say about me (as I try to often make happen through being a good friend), and him, at the same time, and his response was pretty much:
"Don't you ever fucking compare me to him."
This hurt me a lot more than any words I've ever read.
Sure, his response might have been a reactionary impulse to portray his feelings about me, possibly caused by another reactionary impulse due to the fact that on one level or another he feels replaced as a friend by me (to a girl, on top of that (we all know how some guys are with girls)).
I don't know this, just saying, it's a theory.
Or he could very well be the most ignorant, pessimistic, negative, closed-minded, marose, depressed individual on Earth.
Or somewhere in between.
I don't know. It's not my place to say. I don't know the guy, and even if I did, it's not my place to judge.
But what I do know is that these words were spoken about me.
They fucking shouldn't have been.
You don't know me, and even if you did and still disagreed with everything I've ever done in my existence, my actions and mentality are not something that anyone should ever be so disgusted by that I should be talked about as some sort of bad person.
I am a good fucking person.
I will always be a good fucking person.
For one reason or another, you don't know what you're talking about. It's cool. I don't mind that you dislike me. Just don't make bold blanket-statements about something you don't understand. Especially about my lifestyle. One I've done nothing but tried to endlessly perfect my whole life.
I hope one day you open your eyes. If not, no loss of mine. Some people never change.
I am a good person.
...Sorry about the rant. It just hit me so hard, reading that about myself. I am not trying to do anything but clarify and put somethings into perspective about myself. For myself. For others.
I'm just glad I got that out there. I put it into existence for all to see. It's been put into reality from my head. It's in existence. Finally. I hope I summed up who I am (very generally, mind you) pretty well.
Thank you all for reading this crap. You really didn't have to. In fact, if you've read to here please let me know. My time on SuicideGirls is very limited until specifically stated, but I will be going gray for a while. SonOfAPunk will be inactive until he gets enough resources for another membership. So please say something to me if you've read until here so I can specifically tell you how much that means to me.
I love you fucking all. I really do. I really, really enjoy this community. I've made lots of really good friends from here and am thankful for everything from the nice things everyone's got to say, to the strange going-ons that are posted, to the alternative-lifestyle erotica. My favourite website of all time. And I'm thankful for every little encounter it has blessed me with.
I plan on being back, but I really don't know when that can be.
But until next time, everybody, please take care. And know that in one really superficial way or another, all the way to wanting to spend the rest of my life with you, I love each any every one of you reading this. And again, thank you. For everything. It means a lot more to me than you will ever know. I am grateful and thankful for ever little thing, even the little comments that consist of even just one Smilie. It's just the fact that you responded, took the actually time to make a click or two (or even more!) for me.
Thank you.
For everything.
This isn't the last you'll hear from me, everybody. I will spend the next few days I have responding to everything and being super SuicideGirls active. Then my account will run dry. Then I will do what I can to come back, so I can share with you, some more of my love.
I have enough to share.
I will be back. And know that no matter what anyone tells you, you are a good person. You are worth every damn you can get, and whatever you do, be happy. No matter what. Just be happy.
Farewell for now, my friends, my love.
Be well, may my love be with you.
Thanks again, one last time.
- Christoph "PunkerSlut" Leon
(AKA - SonOfAPunk )
Live. Love.
Wow buddy-dudes and lovely dudettes... I'm fucking sorry! I love you all so much and you all rock my box so hard and whatnot, and I've been neglecting the shit out of you all. I have just been mondo busy-extreme to the max. But also in said mondo busy-extreme to the max, incorporated within is super-ultra-fun-giga-deluxe. I've been really busy.
Actually... As I type that. "I've been really busy", some alarms are going off. They're alerting me to analyze and evaluate my situation. If Emily were here she'd say "Christoph, evaluate your situation." And as soon as you'd say one syllable in response she'd get "all up in yo grill" and scream, really loudly "SITUATION CRITICAL!"
I guess all this unemployment and friends and band-stuff and whatnot has got me exceptionally unmotivated. It consumes so much of my time and is generally free or really cheap, so I indulge. Who really wants to slave 9-5 anyhow?
Not I.
"Money don't make no man of me."
So I have just been rotting in irresponsibilty and loving it. Fuck it. Tomorrow, I make an effort to edit my resume and get applications, and then coming up, I will dish them out in unison.
I've been eating once a day lately. And I'm at an all-time (post-12) thin (before I was sick, as of late). I like my body. Not that I didn't before. It's just a lot more comfortable lately. Hehe.
Thanks for all the fucking BIRTHDAY WISHES you douches! I didn't get ONE! And if I did, I forgot about it! Oh well, I was too busy getting fed and rad the whole time to notice anyhow. But it woulda been nice to come back to "Happy Birthday, Fuckface!" or something.
I don't mind.
In 7 days, a lovely or two (sometimes six
) took me out for 6 dinners and 3 breakfasts. It was rad.
Some good stories too.
Next entry, I will tell you all the tall tales and give you pretty, pretty pictures and videos. I promise! It's going to be a bandwidth-overload of pretty and fun things! You got my word!
Take care lovelies and raddies. Catch you on the flipside.
Actually... As I type that. "I've been really busy", some alarms are going off. They're alerting me to analyze and evaluate my situation. If Emily were here she'd say "Christoph, evaluate your situation." And as soon as you'd say one syllable in response she'd get "all up in yo grill" and scream, really loudly "SITUATION CRITICAL!"
I guess all this unemployment and friends and band-stuff and whatnot has got me exceptionally unmotivated. It consumes so much of my time and is generally free or really cheap, so I indulge. Who really wants to slave 9-5 anyhow?
Not I.
"Money don't make no man of me."
So I have just been rotting in irresponsibilty and loving it. Fuck it. Tomorrow, I make an effort to edit my resume and get applications, and then coming up, I will dish them out in unison.
I've been eating once a day lately. And I'm at an all-time (post-12) thin (before I was sick, as of late). I like my body.
Not that I didn't before. It's just a lot more comfortable lately. Hehe.Thanks for all the fucking BIRTHDAY WISHES you douches! I didn't get ONE! And if I did, I forgot about it! Oh well, I was too busy getting fed and rad the whole time to notice anyhow. But it woulda been nice to come back to "Happy Birthday, Fuckface!" or something.
I don't mind.
In 7 days, a lovely or two (sometimes six
) took me out for 6 dinners and 3 breakfasts. It was rad.Some good stories too.
Next entry, I will tell you all the tall tales and give you pretty, pretty pictures and videos. I promise! It's going to be a bandwidth-overload of pretty and fun things! You got my word!
Take care lovelies and raddies. Catch you on the flipside.
FUNFACT: Dreams come true.
I got a temporary-leading-into-other-not-so-temporary job in the field of my dreams! Thanks to the lovely Kara I got a job as a PA with a big budget company! Movies! About fucking time! I've been dreaming of this forever, and now I'm going to be making a FAT fucking wad of cash for a few days work. Three grand, with 4 meals a day, for 10 days of work. Hey, it's a low start, but lots of money, and it's with movies, so it's a dream come true.
Me and Jax are okay again enough to talk. Happy.
So much unnecessary drama with friends' bi-polar parents. Accusing me of drugging my friends and getting them home and tucking them into bed. Fuck. Unnecessary. And mean.
I'm too intoxicated to type much.
Things are good. They are.
I got to stop throwing parties.
I know too many girls for my own good.
This week. I VOW to take it fucking easy until my custom Chuck Taylors hit my doorstep.
Jam sessions. My new band fucking slays. Seriously. I'm gonna see what I can do to record some shit and get it up on the net. We're not trying to be famous or anything. Just trying to really play what we like to entertain ourselves and some friends. But it's really catchy shit. Shit goddamn.
I'm gonna go now. Jux one out something hardcore.
Christoph: "Eat the dildo!"
Anthony: "I going to smoke fucking your asshole!"
Aaaaahhh... My punk friends from other countries where English is their 3rd or 4th language fucking rock.
The end. Sleep now. Take care lovelies. Sweet dreams.
I got a temporary-leading-into-other-not-so-temporary job in the field of my dreams! Thanks to the lovely Kara I got a job as a PA with a big budget company! Movies! About fucking time! I've been dreaming of this forever, and now I'm going to be making a FAT fucking wad of cash for a few days work. Three grand, with 4 meals a day, for 10 days of work. Hey, it's a low start, but lots of money, and it's with movies, so it's a dream come true.
Me and Jax are okay again enough to talk. Happy.
So much unnecessary drama with friends' bi-polar parents. Accusing me of drugging my friends and getting them home and tucking them into bed. Fuck. Unnecessary. And mean.
I'm too intoxicated to type much.
Things are good. They are.
I got to stop throwing parties.
I know too many girls for my own good.
This week. I VOW to take it fucking easy until my custom Chuck Taylors hit my doorstep.
Jam sessions. My new band fucking slays. Seriously. I'm gonna see what I can do to record some shit and get it up on the net. We're not trying to be famous or anything. Just trying to really play what we like to entertain ourselves and some friends. But it's really catchy shit. Shit goddamn.
I'm gonna go now. Jux one out something hardcore.
Christoph: "Eat the dildo!"
Anthony: "I going to smoke fucking your asshole!"
Aaaaahhh... My punk friends from other countries where English is their 3rd or 4th language fucking rock.
The end. Sleep now. Take care lovelies. Sweet dreams.
I'm not going to reem on you. I'm not mad. So don't think that I'm contacting you to bitch at you for being a bitch to me. I don't really care. I'm just fuckin' depressed. Really fucking depressed.
Why?
Why don't you answer my calls?
Why do you feed your mom bullshit to tell me when I call?
Why the fuck do you hate me?
Seven fucking years: Damn fucking right I'm going to keep on saying seven years. "It was only six." Oh? So I don't matter? So if I hit seven (on technicality) I might be able to talk to you? Why do you keep saying shit like that? "It was only six." Like that's not a big chunk of your life or anything. Why do you despise our relationship?
I can't stop asking myself questions.
I've become fucking sick of this question mark. It's fucking retarded. All I can think of is questions.
Why do you hate me?
Do you miss me?
Are you finally happy now that I'm dead to you?
Is it easy knowing that someone out there wants to talk to you?
Does it make you feel like you have power?
Do you get off on knowing I'm hurt?
Does that make you feel worth, or validity?
Why do you avoid me?
I'm sick your fuckin' hostility. I've done nothing but be nice to you. What the fuck did I do wrong? I "slept with two chicks at the same time"?! Is that it? You've told enough fucking people about that, even though it's bullshit. That's not what happened at all. You don't know anything about anything right now and that's only because you don't talk to me, and when you do, you take what I say and turn it into anything that'll make you look like the biggest victim ever.
Read "Haunted". You know damn well who it's by.
Life's too fucking short to play the victim all the fucking time. Nothing is wrong here. No matter how bad you want to make anything look, I still fucking love you, and I'm not being fucking mean.
I miss you.
I'm being sincere. I fucking mean that.
It pisses me off though, that I miss someone who won't even speak to me on the phone. Everytime I am accidentally lined through a stupid parent to talk to her, she's always gotta go in five minutes. "I got a date. A lunch date." Glad we've grown up, Jackie. You could have said "I gotta go. It's really important." But no, we have to rub in the ex-boyfriend's face that we're so much happier without him. Right? Way to go. Way to fucking go.
Would I do something like that to you?
No.
I don't owe you any information. But I sure as hell will tell you the truth about anything you'd ever ask me. Why? Because I'm a fucking moron for you.
But I will definately not tell you anything "just out of the blue" (for example, "I got a date. A lunch date.") because things like that are meant for nothing but hurt.
Why do you want to hurt me?
What did I do that was so wrong?
I called you a ridiculous amount of times tonight. Nothing. You said you'd talk to me. Why? If you knew you weren't going to, why did you tell me you would? That's not right. That's filling someone with false-hope. Again, a malicious attack. Why? What did I do that was so wrong? I was going to call your home number, but I know for a fact that your parents would say something as ridiculous as "She's visiting her nanny. Call back some other time." Dude, your nanny fucking lives with you. Like she can't speak ten feet away to wherever you're "visiting" the person who lives in your same fucking house. Your parents are mean.
I chucked a rock at your window. Taylor snapped and wouldn't stop barking. Little shit hasn't changed. You were most likely asleep. I kept on sending voicemails. Your mailbox is full. It's pretty much all the same shit.
"Miss you. Call me. Please."
I called you thirteen times at 1:13 because superstition, as fucking lame as it is, is all I got to cling onto right now. No dice. Lucky fucking thirteen's never failed me. Strange.
You fuckin' promised though. I made you promise and promise that you meant it when you said you'd talk to me. And low and behold... Here we are again.
What gives?
We need to talk. Well, I need to talk to you. I don't know if you need to talk to me. But I'm sick of a lack of closure.
Like I said...
If you don't want me fucking talking to you ever again, give me the fucking word, and as much as it'll hurt - I'll blow the side of my brain that is infected with lovely thoughts of pretty Jacqueline clean the fuck out of my head.
Or if you are a good person you'd at least talk to me and want to be cool with me on some level or another.
Seven fucking years. Seven fucking years for what?
What are we right now?
Enemies?
Why?
There's not one good fucking reason that I can even think of.
So seven years all for fucking naught. Nothing. If anything: hostility.
Why?
Seriously fucking think about it.
Why?
Who are you listening to that's making you take this shitty advice?
I'm not saying you are, but you got that bad habit of doing that. You act before you think, let alone for yourself. But I could be wrong. This could be your own actions. And if they are... Wow...
Why?
You know if I took any ONE person's advice on this whole matter, even though I have not been able to speak to anyone but two or three people about ANYTHING concerning you and I, and everyone's got a fucking opinion here no matter how little they know... I'd be fucking up. Becuase no matter how much I love these people as friends and family, they don't know shit. Because they don't know me.
Do you think the same way?
Or did you not learn anything from all the hard times we've been through before?
My point here is if I listened to any one person, I'd be doing a whole lot of dumb shit, such as telling you off to your face, flaunting hot bitches off deliberately yet "coincidentally" in front of you, stalking you, or fucking with your shit. I'm not going to do any of that. I have no urge to. But don't follow other peoples' advice, if you are. Look inside yourself BEFORE you look to others. For once. Old Jackie did that lots. Is she around these days?
I miss you. I truly do.
Casual acquaintances, friends, lovers, married-couple.
Or nothing at all.
Whatever we turn into, it's a whole lot fucking better than where we are right now because I don't know how you feel about this whole thing. I hate limbo. I fucking hate it. I sincerely fucking do. It's worse than hell. At least in hell you're certain that you're screwed.
I just want to talk. That's all. Even if you just gotta say three words. Be it "Fuck off forever" or "I love you" I just gotta know what you think.
I'm losing my mind trying to talk to you. I am. I truly am. It's hurting more and more.
Stop fuckin' hurting me. Please. Or at least stop making me hurt myself.
That's all I ask.
Like I said in number four of my messages. It's my fucking birthday. I hate birthdays, but desperate times call for desperate measures: My only birthday-wish is to fucking speak to you. That's all.
Can I get that?
I know you're super busy with work, and dates, and whatever the fuck... But I know you're full of shit if you say you can'ttalk to me, because just weeks ago, when everything was that way it is now, you still had time to get on the phone with me for fucking hours on end.
Your parents are terrible liars.
You're just as bad.
Now please.
Fucking talk to me?
Please?
I will drop my fucking birthday dinner, my birthday party, my fucking once-in-a-lifetime job-interview with a producer/director (dream coming true), band practice, recording time... you fucking name it. Talking to you is priority one right now.
It sounds so fucking stupid...
But please.
Please.
Just fucking talk to me.
I don't care when you get the urge to call me, if you decide to, you fucking do it. 4am-4pm-4am-4pm, I don't fucking care. I need to hear your voice. I just need to. I'd love to do this in person, but I'm so desperate I'm not going to picky. Your house, my house, restaraunt, park, heaven, hell, or even just on the fucking phone. I don't fucking care. Just fucking talk to me. Please.
If you want nothing to do with me. Just give me the word. I'll make that happen.
But the way I see it is, if I spent that many good times with you, for that long of a time, and felt that way I did for you for that long and THAT fucking intensely all throughout, through all the SHIT you've dragged me through... I am still trying. I just want to be on good terms with you. Even if we never speak, to know that you don't hate me for no fucking reason is good enough. You don't have to talk to me ever again, or you can call me two-hundred times a day, I don't really mind. As long as seven years equals an enemy. I don't hate anybody. And I sure as hell don't hate you.
If we see eachother walking down the road by some stroke of coincidence... I want to be able to walk up to you, say "Hi, how are you doing? What's up? What's new?" and smile when I see you.
Do you honestly think we can do that right now?
No.
And that's not by any action or fault of mine. I want this to be good. I fucking do.
Why don't you?
What the hell do you think you'd do if you saw me walking towards you down the street? You'd probably cross to avoid me, is what. Or turn around and run away.
Look, I'm fucking sorry, kiddo, but you've flat out fucked me one day, fucked another dude the next, and then fucked me the day after that without telling me, and I'm STILL HERE TO FUCKING BE ON GOOD TERMS WITH YOU. I have never fucked up that badly with you, and I showed you forgiveness and love... And look how much you're showing back.
Never once, even the shittiest times of my life, even when you've cheated on me with anyone, anytime, have I fucking denied you the ability to contact me.
Now show me some of the same respect that I've given you when you've fucked up this bad right now, even though I've done nothing wrong and we ended it fucking mutually.
We were supposed to remain friends. What the fuck happened to that?!
Why do you keep saying things you don't mean?
Why won't you even speak to me?
What did I do?
I miss my fucking Jackie. Even if she's not mine, I want to be able to say "I had that once. And it was the time of my life." And I want to be able to talk to you, either about the hard times, or simple about buttfucknothing. I just want to be good with you on SOME fucking level.
Can I get that?
But more importantly. Can we fucking speak?
Please?
If you want me to beg, I'll fucking beg. I did that already on message three of your voicemail.
But I'll do it again if you want.
As I type this I was born exactly 20 years ago. 3:10am. November eighth. Happy Birthday to me.
Fucking call me. Please?
I miss you. And I'll always fucking love you. Even after you fuck my dad in front of me and chop off my fucking penis and choke me to death on it. And beyond.
Call me.
I just want to talk.
And if you've read to here, thank you.
I mean it as much as I meant the one on the phone earlier today when you said you'd speak to me.
"You always sound sincere even when I don't think you are."
I always fucking am.
It's you.
I don't lie to you. And I don't fake.
But fuck all that shit. Fuck everything, nothing fucking matters but the fucking air molecules exiting your throat at certain pitches to create said voice. That little bit of air exiting your tiny body will mean the world to me.
May I please have this?
Please?
Be well. And call me whenever you can. And I don't mean waiting another two months. My birthday is technically today, and my wish has got to come true today.
Knowing my luck you won't even read this fucking message until next week or some bullshit.
Take care, lovely Jacqueline. I miss you. And I still fucking love you.
Thanks for everything. From all of my teen-years you've graced, to reading this retarded e-mail. Thank you.
Talk to you soon.
Why?
Why don't you answer my calls?
Why do you feed your mom bullshit to tell me when I call?
Why the fuck do you hate me?
Seven fucking years: Damn fucking right I'm going to keep on saying seven years. "It was only six." Oh? So I don't matter? So if I hit seven (on technicality) I might be able to talk to you? Why do you keep saying shit like that? "It was only six." Like that's not a big chunk of your life or anything. Why do you despise our relationship?
I can't stop asking myself questions.
I've become fucking sick of this question mark. It's fucking retarded. All I can think of is questions.
Why do you hate me?
Do you miss me?
Are you finally happy now that I'm dead to you?
Is it easy knowing that someone out there wants to talk to you?
Does it make you feel like you have power?
Do you get off on knowing I'm hurt?
Does that make you feel worth, or validity?
Why do you avoid me?
I'm sick your fuckin' hostility. I've done nothing but be nice to you. What the fuck did I do wrong? I "slept with two chicks at the same time"?! Is that it? You've told enough fucking people about that, even though it's bullshit. That's not what happened at all. You don't know anything about anything right now and that's only because you don't talk to me, and when you do, you take what I say and turn it into anything that'll make you look like the biggest victim ever.
Read "Haunted". You know damn well who it's by.
Life's too fucking short to play the victim all the fucking time. Nothing is wrong here. No matter how bad you want to make anything look, I still fucking love you, and I'm not being fucking mean.
I miss you.
I'm being sincere. I fucking mean that.
It pisses me off though, that I miss someone who won't even speak to me on the phone. Everytime I am accidentally lined through a stupid parent to talk to her, she's always gotta go in five minutes. "I got a date. A lunch date." Glad we've grown up, Jackie. You could have said "I gotta go. It's really important." But no, we have to rub in the ex-boyfriend's face that we're so much happier without him. Right? Way to go. Way to fucking go.
Would I do something like that to you?
No.
I don't owe you any information. But I sure as hell will tell you the truth about anything you'd ever ask me. Why? Because I'm a fucking moron for you.
But I will definately not tell you anything "just out of the blue" (for example, "I got a date. A lunch date.") because things like that are meant for nothing but hurt.
Why do you want to hurt me?
What did I do that was so wrong?
I called you a ridiculous amount of times tonight. Nothing. You said you'd talk to me. Why? If you knew you weren't going to, why did you tell me you would? That's not right. That's filling someone with false-hope. Again, a malicious attack. Why? What did I do that was so wrong? I was going to call your home number, but I know for a fact that your parents would say something as ridiculous as "She's visiting her nanny. Call back some other time." Dude, your nanny fucking lives with you. Like she can't speak ten feet away to wherever you're "visiting" the person who lives in your same fucking house. Your parents are mean.
I chucked a rock at your window. Taylor snapped and wouldn't stop barking. Little shit hasn't changed. You were most likely asleep. I kept on sending voicemails. Your mailbox is full. It's pretty much all the same shit.
"Miss you. Call me. Please."
I called you thirteen times at 1:13 because superstition, as fucking lame as it is, is all I got to cling onto right now. No dice. Lucky fucking thirteen's never failed me. Strange.
You fuckin' promised though. I made you promise and promise that you meant it when you said you'd talk to me. And low and behold... Here we are again.
What gives?
We need to talk. Well, I need to talk to you. I don't know if you need to talk to me. But I'm sick of a lack of closure.
Like I said...
If you don't want me fucking talking to you ever again, give me the fucking word, and as much as it'll hurt - I'll blow the side of my brain that is infected with lovely thoughts of pretty Jacqueline clean the fuck out of my head.
Or if you are a good person you'd at least talk to me and want to be cool with me on some level or another.
Seven fucking years. Seven fucking years for what?
What are we right now?
Enemies?
Why?
There's not one good fucking reason that I can even think of.
So seven years all for fucking naught. Nothing. If anything: hostility.
Why?
Seriously fucking think about it.
Why?
Who are you listening to that's making you take this shitty advice?
I'm not saying you are, but you got that bad habit of doing that. You act before you think, let alone for yourself. But I could be wrong. This could be your own actions. And if they are... Wow...
Why?
You know if I took any ONE person's advice on this whole matter, even though I have not been able to speak to anyone but two or three people about ANYTHING concerning you and I, and everyone's got a fucking opinion here no matter how little they know... I'd be fucking up. Becuase no matter how much I love these people as friends and family, they don't know shit. Because they don't know me.
Do you think the same way?
Or did you not learn anything from all the hard times we've been through before?
My point here is if I listened to any one person, I'd be doing a whole lot of dumb shit, such as telling you off to your face, flaunting hot bitches off deliberately yet "coincidentally" in front of you, stalking you, or fucking with your shit. I'm not going to do any of that. I have no urge to. But don't follow other peoples' advice, if you are. Look inside yourself BEFORE you look to others. For once. Old Jackie did that lots. Is she around these days?
I miss you. I truly do.
Casual acquaintances, friends, lovers, married-couple.
Or nothing at all.
Whatever we turn into, it's a whole lot fucking better than where we are right now because I don't know how you feel about this whole thing. I hate limbo. I fucking hate it. I sincerely fucking do. It's worse than hell. At least in hell you're certain that you're screwed.
I just want to talk. That's all. Even if you just gotta say three words. Be it "Fuck off forever" or "I love you" I just gotta know what you think.
I'm losing my mind trying to talk to you. I am. I truly am. It's hurting more and more.
Stop fuckin' hurting me. Please. Or at least stop making me hurt myself.
That's all I ask.
Like I said in number four of my messages. It's my fucking birthday. I hate birthdays, but desperate times call for desperate measures: My only birthday-wish is to fucking speak to you. That's all.
Can I get that?
I know you're super busy with work, and dates, and whatever the fuck... But I know you're full of shit if you say you can'ttalk to me, because just weeks ago, when everything was that way it is now, you still had time to get on the phone with me for fucking hours on end.
Your parents are terrible liars.
You're just as bad.
Now please.
Fucking talk to me?
Please?
I will drop my fucking birthday dinner, my birthday party, my fucking once-in-a-lifetime job-interview with a producer/director (dream coming true), band practice, recording time... you fucking name it. Talking to you is priority one right now.
It sounds so fucking stupid...
But please.
Please.
Just fucking talk to me.
I don't care when you get the urge to call me, if you decide to, you fucking do it. 4am-4pm-4am-4pm, I don't fucking care. I need to hear your voice. I just need to. I'd love to do this in person, but I'm so desperate I'm not going to picky. Your house, my house, restaraunt, park, heaven, hell, or even just on the fucking phone. I don't fucking care. Just fucking talk to me. Please.
If you want nothing to do with me. Just give me the word. I'll make that happen.
But the way I see it is, if I spent that many good times with you, for that long of a time, and felt that way I did for you for that long and THAT fucking intensely all throughout, through all the SHIT you've dragged me through... I am still trying. I just want to be on good terms with you. Even if we never speak, to know that you don't hate me for no fucking reason is good enough. You don't have to talk to me ever again, or you can call me two-hundred times a day, I don't really mind. As long as seven years equals an enemy. I don't hate anybody. And I sure as hell don't hate you.
If we see eachother walking down the road by some stroke of coincidence... I want to be able to walk up to you, say "Hi, how are you doing? What's up? What's new?" and smile when I see you.
Do you honestly think we can do that right now?
No.
And that's not by any action or fault of mine. I want this to be good. I fucking do.
Why don't you?
What the hell do you think you'd do if you saw me walking towards you down the street? You'd probably cross to avoid me, is what. Or turn around and run away.
Look, I'm fucking sorry, kiddo, but you've flat out fucked me one day, fucked another dude the next, and then fucked me the day after that without telling me, and I'm STILL HERE TO FUCKING BE ON GOOD TERMS WITH YOU. I have never fucked up that badly with you, and I showed you forgiveness and love... And look how much you're showing back.
Never once, even the shittiest times of my life, even when you've cheated on me with anyone, anytime, have I fucking denied you the ability to contact me.
Now show me some of the same respect that I've given you when you've fucked up this bad right now, even though I've done nothing wrong and we ended it fucking mutually.
We were supposed to remain friends. What the fuck happened to that?!
Why do you keep saying things you don't mean?
Why won't you even speak to me?
What did I do?
I miss my fucking Jackie. Even if she's not mine, I want to be able to say "I had that once. And it was the time of my life." And I want to be able to talk to you, either about the hard times, or simple about buttfucknothing. I just want to be good with you on SOME fucking level.
Can I get that?
But more importantly. Can we fucking speak?
Please?
If you want me to beg, I'll fucking beg. I did that already on message three of your voicemail.
But I'll do it again if you want.
As I type this I was born exactly 20 years ago. 3:10am. November eighth. Happy Birthday to me.
Fucking call me. Please?
I miss you. And I'll always fucking love you. Even after you fuck my dad in front of me and chop off my fucking penis and choke me to death on it. And beyond.
Call me.
I just want to talk.
And if you've read to here, thank you.
I mean it as much as I meant the one on the phone earlier today when you said you'd speak to me.
"You always sound sincere even when I don't think you are."
I always fucking am.
It's you.
I don't lie to you. And I don't fake.
But fuck all that shit. Fuck everything, nothing fucking matters but the fucking air molecules exiting your throat at certain pitches to create said voice. That little bit of air exiting your tiny body will mean the world to me.
May I please have this?
Please?
Be well. And call me whenever you can. And I don't mean waiting another two months. My birthday is technically today, and my wish has got to come true today.
Knowing my luck you won't even read this fucking message until next week or some bullshit.
Take care, lovely Jacqueline. I miss you. And I still fucking love you.
Thanks for everything. From all of my teen-years you've graced, to reading this retarded e-mail. Thank you.
Talk to you soon.
FUNFACT: I've been clinically dead more times than I can remember. As a kid, I've drowned, been electrocuted, been poisoned, suffocated, crushed, impailed. None of this by anyones hand other than my own. I was a very curious kid. If I wanted to know what a little shock would feel like, I'm going to jam those car-keys in that hole, whether you tell me it'll hurt a lot or not. I was very determined. I've been brought back to life too many fucking times. I'm normal now. Haha! I'm not like "I'll do it whether you tell me it's bad or not, I just need to know" anymore. Unlike a lot of people I know. Druggies, coincidentally. As of Saturday, a handful of people I know will become heroin addicts for the rest of their lives. Because "they just gotta know first hand what it's like". I'm gonna miss you guys.
Well, all's fine. I suppose. I just finished an entire day of fucking up. Within the past 24 hours, I've fucked up way more hardcore than I ever have in my life. I have been up for 66 hours as I write this, so forgive the lack of sense.
I'm fucked up.
My new band slays. We're all so dedicated and similar. It's rad.
I got new leather. It was a bargain from a friend. He's rad. A possible bandmate in the future.
I think I'm starting to hallucinate. From sleep deprivation, mind you. I don't fuck with chemicals.
I'm so bundled up right now. Big poofy comfy sweater, baggy Dickies, and a blanky. Taking it fucking like I fucking deserve. Tomorrow, I vow to sit around and do buttfuck nothing all day. Vows. Heh. Those have been real fucking useful lately.
I'm such a fuck up. Knowing me, I'll get all my stupid fucking energy back tomorrow, and be all go-go-go.
I'm so fucking tired.
I fuckin' miss her. I'm not going to lie. I fuckin' do. When you give that much to a girl, and then she's pretty much dead to you... Whatever the fuck. I don't care. Just goes to show her true colours all along. And because of that: I'm better off without her. Why dwell on something that hates you?
Fuck it. Life's too short.
Words I gotta lay the fuck off of.
I'm fucking rambling aren't I? Hmmmmm...
Other than my harsh fuck-up as of late... It's been a pretty good little while. I'm going to post some shit that makes me happy, as a reminder. And if you're a loser, pretend you're in these pictures too. Just squeeze yourself in here somewhere. You're all friends of mine.
I need to be happy.
I'm alright. Just a little down right now. That's all. I just need to stop acting without fucking thinking all the fucking time.
Try this new shit out...
[EDITED TO ADD: Custom made burger. Five patties. Ten cheeses. Twenty bacons. Thing kicked my fucking ass. It was like eating a ball of cardboard all held together by grease. With stringy bits. ]
Live. Love. You fuckin' kids. I love you.
I'll haunt ya!
Live. Love. PunkerSlut.
Well, all's fine. I suppose. I just finished an entire day of fucking up. Within the past 24 hours, I've fucked up way more hardcore than I ever have in my life. I have been up for 66 hours as I write this, so forgive the lack of sense.
I'm fucked up.
My new band slays. We're all so dedicated and similar. It's rad.
I got new leather. It was a bargain from a friend. He's rad. A possible bandmate in the future.
I think I'm starting to hallucinate. From sleep deprivation, mind you. I don't fuck with chemicals.
I'm so bundled up right now. Big poofy comfy sweater, baggy Dickies, and a blanky. Taking it fucking like I fucking deserve. Tomorrow, I vow to sit around and do buttfuck nothing all day. Vows. Heh. Those have been real fucking useful lately.
I'm such a fuck up. Knowing me, I'll get all my stupid fucking energy back tomorrow, and be all go-go-go.I'm so fucking tired.
I fuckin' miss her. I'm not going to lie. I fuckin' do. When you give that much to a girl, and then she's pretty much dead to you... Whatever the fuck. I don't care. Just goes to show her true colours all along. And because of that: I'm better off without her. Why dwell on something that hates you?
Fuck it. Life's too short.
Words I gotta lay the fuck off of.
I'm fucking rambling aren't I? Hmmmmm...
Other than my harsh fuck-up as of late... It's been a pretty good little while. I'm going to post some shit that makes me happy, as a reminder. And if you're a loser, pretend you're in these pictures too. Just squeeze yourself in here somewhere. You're all friends of mine.
I need to be happy.
I'm alright. Just a little down right now. That's all. I just need to stop acting without fucking thinking all the fucking time.
Try this new shit out...
[EDITED TO ADD: Custom made burger. Five patties. Ten cheeses. Twenty bacons. Thing kicked my fucking ass. It was like eating a ball of cardboard all held together by grease. With stringy bits.
]Live. Love. You fuckin' kids. I love you.
I'll haunt ya!
Live. Love. PunkerSlut.
Well, I'm gonna get all the redundant shit out of the way, and then I'm going to rant on and on and fucking on about how we ended, because a lot of people are asking, and I'm yet to vent in a creative/expressive manner. So here goes:
The new fucking Deftones fucking slays. Every song reminds me of someone I've met within the last two weeks.
I'm part of a new group of friends and it feels awesome. I got more in common with one person right now than I ever have in my life. It's something special.
I think I'm gonna slap a few pictures here and there, I might not. I might just put them in a folder. I don't know.
I got fired. Which is bullshit. I was a slacker, yeah. But then they warned me. And I snapped into place and became the hardest worker there. I was working at 330%. I wasn't necessarily just working harder, but smarter as well and did exceptionally well. Then out of fucking nowhere, I get another warning for talking. I tell them it's bullshit because I have killer tonsilitis and it hurts to breathe. "Well, that's your opinion." What?! Hahahaha! Bullshit! They say "Well, we don't mind if you talk as long as your numbers are up." My numbers were fucking sailing, sales were at a record high, I was number... fucking... one in Canada for sales (ratio, mind you. One mens pricer's numbers against men's sales, and at other stores it goes two ways, whatever the fuck - I was number one.) Then on Friday, they fuckin' call me into the office.
"Christoph, we have reports that one team members exposed themselves last night during cleanup, to another team member. Would you like to tell us what you know about this?"
"What?! Like nudity-exposed?!"
"Possibly... You tell us."
"Well I sure as hell didn't expose myself, and I didn't see any exposure. So..."
"And that's the story you're sticking with?"
"Yes!"
"Alright, that'll be all..."
And I go back to work. On my way out, manager one to manager two goes "That's not gonna work."
Twenty minutes later, and not one word spoken. I get called into the office again.
"Nevermind about that other thing Christoph, we settled that. But now we'd like to talk to you about your disruptiveness in the production room. You talk too much. We warned you once. We warned you again. And still your voice and vulgarity are beyond anyone's here. We can't have it, and since you're on probation, we're going to terminate your employment here. Please give me all your gear. And we'll walk you to your locker."
I didn't say a single word. But the look on my face and the way I was standing, I suppose, made them say "Please don't make us call the cops". Good to know I got the fear in them. They didn't think the nicest, friendliest guy in the store could also be this pissed off. The fuckin' screwed me. I talked the fucking LEAST in the whole fucking store because of my tonsils-touching-eachother. I didn't fucking talk. And when I did it was fucking work related. And the whole able-to-talk-as-long-as-you're-productive-thing? My numbers for a single person were number fucking one out of 220 stores in this country! Sales were fuckin' top fuckin' notch! I was breaking fucking records. Still, they canned me. They fucking canned me. Vulgarity?! What the FUCK?! The only thing I spoke about was work and every now and then a chuckle or two at another persons jokes, usually vulgar. Usually pretty fucking vulgar. As a matter of fact, as much as I liked some of the girls there, the majority of them were THE most vulgar people I've met. I was the only male on the "team". I am young and stupid, and the people I work with, all being females, obviously poked fun and teased me. But if I want... "Sexual Harassment" instead of fun. "Discrimination" instead of teasing. But did I? No. Because I thought we fuckin' enjoyed eachother. But fucking someone somewhere sold me the fuck out. They knew whatever reason they told me was bullshit. They weren't telling me the truth. I've been canned a number of times for several reasons and I know for a fact that when they "let you go" they make you sign papers saying you know why. I didn't get this luxury. Isn't that illegal? I'm looking into taking legal action.
I'm really good friends with some of the girls I worked with. They're telling me of rumours flying around.
Rumour one: Christoph got fired because he was still on probation and it was now or never. He was working way harder and more productive than the boss's sister who was on his level, and the boss' mother-in-law, also at his level. He talked at first, but smartened up after a warning and was a model worker. So they took the only half-assed excused they could have found and ran with it. He was one of the few people that didn't suck dick and brown nose and hang out with management after work and listen to country music and all bow-the-fuck-down to management, begging for "the quirks" of being friends with them. Of which there were many.
Rumour two: Christoph slept with too many employees. They knew Christoph was friends with many of the younger more attractive girls in the store, and they didn't like this. It has been heard that he had sex with several female employees in the womens washroom in the employees-lounge. This is unacceptable behavior and ends in termination.
I never fucking gave them any reason to think that. Did I? That's none of their fucking business. If I did it wouldn't have been on store-grounds. I needed that job and I did nothing to fuck it up. I was close friends with several of them, yeah, but it's fucking lame to assume shit like that. We flirted a little at work. So fucking what? I'm allowed to do that as much as I fucking want. It wasn't crude and it wasn't obnoxious. I didn't give them ANY REASON to think that I'm sleeping with employees there. If they somehow found out that I did, say, two at the same time, several times over... and then another two at the same time two days later, several times over (hahaha, yeah... so what? ) who fucking cares?! Seriously. It's not fuckin' harming anyone. We're ALL still REALLY good fucking friends and it's not like anyones feelings got hurt and it did not disrupt a single aspect of work. Fuck them.
Anyhow...
One of my new best friends is one of the raddest people I've ever come to meet... And said friend's father is hooking me up, or friend is going to hook me up, because they're both rather immersed in the film industry. I'm so excited for this. It's a new feeling of dreams coming true...
Plans for moving out are fuckin' skewed due to breaking up with you-know-who and lack of job at this moment.
Well... I guess I better vent...
DO NOT READ THE FOLLOWING IF YOU DON'T LIKE LOUD RANTS ON DRAMA!
The new fucking Deftones fucking slays. Every song reminds me of someone I've met within the last two weeks.
I'm part of a new group of friends and it feels awesome. I got more in common with one person right now than I ever have in my life. It's something special.
I think I'm gonna slap a few pictures here and there, I might not. I might just put them in a folder. I don't know.
I got fired. Which is bullshit. I was a slacker, yeah. But then they warned me. And I snapped into place and became the hardest worker there. I was working at 330%. I wasn't necessarily just working harder, but smarter as well and did exceptionally well. Then out of fucking nowhere, I get another warning for talking. I tell them it's bullshit because I have killer tonsilitis and it hurts to breathe. "Well, that's your opinion." What?! Hahahaha! Bullshit! They say "Well, we don't mind if you talk as long as your numbers are up." My numbers were fucking sailing, sales were at a record high, I was number... fucking... one in Canada for sales (ratio, mind you. One mens pricer's numbers against men's sales, and at other stores it goes two ways, whatever the fuck - I was number one.) Then on Friday, they fuckin' call me into the office.
"Christoph, we have reports that one team members exposed themselves last night during cleanup, to another team member. Would you like to tell us what you know about this?"
"What?! Like nudity-exposed?!"
"Possibly... You tell us."
"Well I sure as hell didn't expose myself, and I didn't see any exposure. So..."
"And that's the story you're sticking with?"
"Yes!"
"Alright, that'll be all..."
And I go back to work. On my way out, manager one to manager two goes "That's not gonna work."
Twenty minutes later, and not one word spoken. I get called into the office again.
"Nevermind about that other thing Christoph, we settled that. But now we'd like to talk to you about your disruptiveness in the production room. You talk too much. We warned you once. We warned you again. And still your voice and vulgarity are beyond anyone's here. We can't have it, and since you're on probation, we're going to terminate your employment here. Please give me all your gear. And we'll walk you to your locker."
I didn't say a single word. But the look on my face and the way I was standing, I suppose, made them say "Please don't make us call the cops". Good to know I got the fear in them. They didn't think the nicest, friendliest guy in the store could also be this pissed off. The fuckin' screwed me. I talked the fucking LEAST in the whole fucking store because of my tonsils-touching-eachother. I didn't fucking talk. And when I did it was fucking work related. And the whole able-to-talk-as-long-as-you're-productive-thing? My numbers for a single person were number fucking one out of 220 stores in this country! Sales were fuckin' top fuckin' notch! I was breaking fucking records. Still, they canned me. They fucking canned me. Vulgarity?! What the FUCK?! The only thing I spoke about was work and every now and then a chuckle or two at another persons jokes, usually vulgar. Usually pretty fucking vulgar. As a matter of fact, as much as I liked some of the girls there, the majority of them were THE most vulgar people I've met. I was the only male on the "team". I am young and stupid, and the people I work with, all being females, obviously poked fun and teased me. But if I want... "Sexual Harassment" instead of fun. "Discrimination" instead of teasing. But did I? No. Because I thought we fuckin' enjoyed eachother. But fucking someone somewhere sold me the fuck out. They knew whatever reason they told me was bullshit. They weren't telling me the truth. I've been canned a number of times for several reasons and I know for a fact that when they "let you go" they make you sign papers saying you know why. I didn't get this luxury. Isn't that illegal? I'm looking into taking legal action.
I'm really good friends with some of the girls I worked with. They're telling me of rumours flying around.
Rumour one: Christoph got fired because he was still on probation and it was now or never. He was working way harder and more productive than the boss's sister who was on his level, and the boss' mother-in-law, also at his level. He talked at first, but smartened up after a warning and was a model worker. So they took the only half-assed excused they could have found and ran with it. He was one of the few people that didn't suck dick and brown nose and hang out with management after work and listen to country music and all bow-the-fuck-down to management, begging for "the quirks" of being friends with them. Of which there were many.
Rumour two: Christoph slept with too many employees. They knew Christoph was friends with many of the younger more attractive girls in the store, and they didn't like this. It has been heard that he had sex with several female employees in the womens washroom in the employees-lounge. This is unacceptable behavior and ends in termination.
I never fucking gave them any reason to think that. Did I? That's none of their fucking business. If I did it wouldn't have been on store-grounds. I needed that job and I did nothing to fuck it up. I was close friends with several of them, yeah, but it's fucking lame to assume shit like that. We flirted a little at work. So fucking what? I'm allowed to do that as much as I fucking want. It wasn't crude and it wasn't obnoxious. I didn't give them ANY REASON to think that I'm sleeping with employees there. If they somehow found out that I did, say, two at the same time, several times over... and then another two at the same time two days later, several times over (hahaha, yeah... so what?
) who fucking cares?! Seriously. It's not fuckin' harming anyone. We're ALL still REALLY good fucking friends and it's not like anyones feelings got hurt and it did not disrupt a single aspect of work. Fuck them.Anyhow...
One of my new best friends is one of the raddest people I've ever come to meet... And said friend's father is hooking me up, or friend is going to hook me up, because they're both rather immersed in the film industry. I'm so excited for this.
It's a new feeling of dreams coming true...Plans for moving out are fuckin' skewed due to breaking up with you-know-who and lack of job at this moment.
Well... I guess I better vent...
DO NOT READ THE FOLLOWING IF YOU DON'T LIKE LOUD RANTS ON DRAMA!
Now that that's out there... And done with, I can move on.
I guess after all that garbage, I owe you some eyecandy. Not much of that around here lately. Usually when the fun shit happens I'm too busy immersing myself in it to take pictures or videos.
That video that's out there where I fucked up a gangster, is being put onto a DVD. I want the video now so I can share it with you guys. I'm greedy like that. It was a good fight. Punk versus gangster. Punk wins. Those are my favourite fights.
I'm in "Alternative Lifestyle Erotica". Illegally. That's all I'm going to say about that.
I started a band. So far we're like "F-Minus" meets "Horrorpops" meets our own little style. Tomorrow we jam with a new girl on guitar. It's fucking fun! Once I get some recorded, I'll play it for you on here! Don't expect a good recording, this is punk rock. Tape recorder quality at BEST, I assure you. Haha! In the past three days we've written about 5 or 6 songs, and clash so fucking well. I just met our guitarist on day two of jamming, and I just met the drummer a few weeks ago when he took part in saving me from said overdose. He's a gnarly motherfucker. And tomorrow we have a new guitarist trying out with us. She's rad.
Oooooooh shit! So excited!
More couples I know are breaking up as the days go on. I'm gonna miss them as a package. All of 'em.
Fright Night tomorrow! (CANCELLED BECAUSE MICHELLE AND HANNAH ARE BITCHES! Kidding.)
I'm losing it. I've been in and out of my house like 6 times since I've started writing this, so I better just end it all, and get on with lame pictures. They're nothing special, but they sure as fuck ain't more text!
Haha!
Emily
Kirstie
Josephiend
Ashley
Bonnie Bones
Party (Bonnie Bones and Robin and Josephiend to the far left)
Bonnie Bones
Kara and Meagan
Robin and Bonnie Bones
Kara and Kara
Madame Sindi
Madame Sindi
SV
SV
Josephiend
Kylie
Kylie
Josephiend
Kara
Ninja Kara
Sadie (Refer to previous entry)
Brayden
Andrew
Secondrate Rejects (Here ya go, Willie!)
Alley
Dolly Kara
Kitty Alley and Kitty Kara
Kylie
Josephiend and Kara
I showed you a few of the shiny girls I know. Fuck off now. You can't say it wasn't worth the read. 
Pretend you're with us in some of those photographs, even! Hangin' out, drinkin', jammin', sexin', gettin' totally rad...
You're more than welcome to.
Thanks for the ear, SG-Folk! Always a pleasure! Take care!
Live. Love. PunkerSlut.
