clears throat.

eat it up worm hero.
/or

hello again.

it's been awhile.

"Don't be too clever, just mess up whatever. It's not as easy losing ctrl".

Beyond the crumbs are tables covered in linen and china. Silverware and eyeballs staring down the presented carcasses. Whoever seeks the excuse me wins. Is saved. Will live on. Next room. Continue.
I don't use my nostrils enough to speak french. Pain au chocolat.
Carry a lighter to see in the dark, arrive at the toilet burn my dick with the heated metal, held in my right hand as the zipper hits its ending.
Tiny Maxim Magazine type struggles, I cannot pry the zipper from the lowest point in the line. Caught there fingernails attempt to pry. It's useless. So close to reach so far away from.
Throw the pants on the fire. Grin over pits and throw a few sticks on the fire.
"It's the earnest, well worn, consonants that really get it going" said the the man with the hammer in hand, nails in chest, whole configuration fux0r'd. Fell up the stairs, bashed my knees. Can't distinguish between the good bug AND the bad bug. Tiny insect legs pave the path. Cement shoes tied on for walks through forests.
Let each man speak his father, nested in undead logic, it fired back in sweet ricochet.
Escape plans from the escape plans expel death. Logic forbids it. Take another card.
The fool, inverted means something but I couldn't grow to care.

The NintendoDS returns from the dead!
After being submerged in a big ol' muddy puddle.
A click to the power button provides my Age of Empires goodness.
Now I can go back to rocking out as Jane Wiedlin in Joan of Arc goodness.



Well in my mind at least..

There are few things good about being stuck in the middle of nowhere.
And one of them are the storms. I'm not speakin' tornados and hurricanes..
I'm talkin' run of the mill thunder storms. But fucking hell do they speak loud.
Right ear hears strange shaking.. step outside every dog in a 10 mile radius is going ape shit.
The sky ignites in shattershot spurts, brief descriptions of the sky above.
The ground rumbles and then it pours. And oh does it pour.

So what does a brain damaged boy with a festive case of alcohol slip between the scars?
Well bad movies of course fucktard, what the hell else?
Representing on the annual crackpot adventures into posthumous movie reviews is me.
Providing what no one asked for from the boy who couldn't care less.
But it's raining out! So no redneck vodka worm stories this eve...

So in quick and beautiful sentences i'll break it down..

X-MEN THE LAST STAND: Jean Grey is Phoenix: Who is my favorite superhero EVAR. And well she fucks shit up. Hard. The characters from their previous roles, as X-MEN rawk it up. Rest of the film: punches kids in the face and calls them faggots.

DOOM: The best actor in this movie is "The Rock". The part where it attempts to simulate the real the game is up there on one of those BEST/WORST movie moments ever for me. It insults me and finds my adoration at the same exact time. Also they have no bras on Mars.

DOMINO: Keira Knightley, Mickey Rourke, Christopher Walken, Mena Suvari, Tom Waits and the two douche bags from 90210 no one can remember to name star in a music video about a director who thought he could plot twist out a hyper stylized Tarantino film. Rent if you want to slap Kiera in the face with a handful of semen and tell how fake her name sounds. Girls you can do the same, i'll provide examples of substances you can use as fake cum (on request) so you can play at home.

So good night. And poop.
(and no i meant i will suggest cum look alikes, not my own).

The boom mic is in the cameras view. It's amateur hour. It's celebrated, it's horrendous, it's the real deal.
We sit in a tent, with multi-colored lights, next to a bar packed with the cheapest of alcohol. This family lives in the woods in a cabin with Playstations and HDTV's, satellite radio routed from the Pentium Dual Core.
Gathered 'round picnic tables, bbq into the Steve Miller Band. Throw up in your mouth, try to keep a straight face. Sitting solo, tv, Jagrmeister and the tick, tick, tick that follows.
Come down Tom have a margarita, how could I refuse, throw my back into a lawn chair, give press to generic brand aerosol bug off (that i secretly believe attracts them): watch as the crowd piles in.

She's 16, going on 17, she points out to me like a 12 year old. My tits Tom, have you seen my tits? What? Holding them over a hot tubs edge...
We have fuck parties in the woods. I understand half interested, the tequila drink mixer/father in earshot-we see who can fuck the loudest, fakings allowed, I like to bash my boyfriends face into the tents spikes.. She talks about music, she talks about myspace, she tells me i'm just like my little brother, I stare down into my Nintendo DS, and pray the family doesn't point me out, privy to some plot I never conjured. She talks about her favorite cock proportions as a I tune out, In half assed mixed drink I find God. Assume my brothers patience is a thousand fold as mine is.

She's 40 something, completely overweight, and enjoys the throw up train that's inspired by the lift of her shirt. She's had one too many, yet she's the life of the party. A over hung breast here, an overhung breast there. Her pregnant daughter watches on, infant in arms, patiently waiting until the passing of her in utero, to rock alongside the horde Coors Light in hand to Steely Dan. I'm so jealous of all of you as her exposed breast-mother's boyfriend takes a nosedive into the firepit, careening about in Nascar bliss, a shoulder hits a tree and he sleeps. I understand from chitter chatter later that he awakes to 300 pounds hovered over him, the placement of cock to cunt a 10 minute endeavor. His face burned from the pit. I understand later that a bystander actually vomited at the sight of such flesh ridden bags. I congratulate him today for his intestinal fortitude yesterday.

I sit back now, quarter of a bottle of wine to tag along with me. Showtime cable in my wake. This American Life, a must see for anyone (plz fucking watch this show, I think they have the first episode on the site, also listen to the brilliant podcast), Weeds (Louise Parker, gah), a lot better than I'dve figured. My Nintendo DS in a puddle just as I found my new fix (Age of Empires FTW).Tears across my face as my favorite distraction dies. Phone calls letting me know my World of Warcraft guild cannot function without me. Thank you for Ondemand Time Warner Cable to distract me from the madness up the road. Fuck you ancient computer for denying me my level 70 warlock.

Two days ago in a NYC bus station bar, tossing the random blurb to the kid who decided to sit next to me.
It's funny how airplane bars are considered fashionable. I couldn't imagine what they'd consider this.
Guiness please. Thanks off to the off the Ireland boat Tom, for pint a poured well.

To fuck into tent spikes and her mother at the door. Her mother reminds me how she sung singed songs Welsh to me the night before. We discussed Chaucer, she plays cultured amongst the army of trash, recites missions with said Margarita tender. The sense scurries into mixed drink resistence. Watch the crowds peel back tact, and hammer out the crassness. Their Uncle Buck(!) tells us about his first blowjob, and how it tasted like shit. Grey and caned he went on.

They stop by, they get their drink on, they eat their food. Miles of overweight women with pregnant bellies fill the stalls. 16 year old boys with tongues that muster worse thoughts then my own, I sit back bewildered. Hug a cold beer and my still alive Nintendo DS. This question probes my mind, will we survive this night?
Return home to extremely alcoholic cider and the new Tomahawk album.

Mike Patton thinks he's an Indian which kicks my face in.
Catching hope in the sober hours. More music I've missed out, new Tub Ring. oh hell yes. The Killer are in Love.
Thank god for distractions as I coax a new laptop from the dying old man, I came here to say good-bye to.
For the 2nd year in a row.
Can't seem to reconcile the post into a final sentence. Just promise a lil more tommorrow. Hit the blanket bath and pillow it up. Tonight to ya. Hello to you again.

It caved in as the new assortment became regularity, found self somewhere between contrived grays of distant, not carings and fuck the lot of you. Shambled messes amongst the cacophony. Days work themselves into mathematical formulas, this will do-then this, then hopefully amount to distilled, ashamed, alone patterns of excess tittering along the unstable. Countering calculations with formulas so wonderful to ingest. Ramifications of spotlight images, humanitarian gene splicd' the eyesore helmeted meat sauce into uneducated dream phantoms.

And then it found momentum. God himself will come down. Forgive me to you for that last paragraph. A moist thumb print to your forehead and all is dissolved.

Or maybe it will burn...
Hopefully it'll burn. Waging war with the panic mother. Grief the days, trembling thoughtless. The mascara and days past. The wounds that kept me company. To be so arrogant to command a mountainous shattering. The decades adrift and the experience hollow. A dedication to the lowest common denominator, a paltry existence in hideous checks and balances.. that i dispense and dispense and dispose. Chemical gave the spotlight, exit on my stage where i abide to the clubs rules.

Papa said never trust a man that don't drink, riots funneled out from the culture. We pissed spite in the ocean blue, the cerulean blood bath gave to drains. A dead eyed finger to the shattering. A tumultuous grievance towards the sky. We are alone this day. May we die this day. May the sore spots in our hearts tear open with better days, imminent days, the desperate malice in one self break off into terry cloth. Adorned by the few. That said hello to me in the hallway. That would be foolish enough to take to jogging in my footsteps. And find themselves at a crawl.

Merry Christmas..

The phone rings in vibrate. Continuously, for hours on end, sits and shakes on my desktop.
I am the part of your body you are disgusted with.
That piece of your face that you'd wish would go away.
Only mask invited to the death parade.
Hold our banners, carry our floats.
All of the spectators carry eggs, and lettuce, and tomatoes..

Sit and play house with idiots.
And to dumb down the plight kick the escape..
garbled chatter between ears not paying attention to each other.
filthy stories you'd share within the company of friends.
spot brilliance, HAND out brilliance.
No one waits to hear you finish what you say.
ancestry came quick as a nerve ending.
be there when you wake up, probing filthy dabbed with astringent...
I didn't hear a word you said.
echo carries on spreading until it's deafening.

to hand it off to the buzzcocks..
it's a harmony.. in my heeaaadddd