sonofapunk

FUNFACT: I hate religion. It fucking angers me. What kind of people think they're doing a good thing by assimilating other people?! Christianity is the most offensive fucking thing to strike the human race since child molestation. I don't hate all religious people, and I don't hate all religions. I admit, some people need it to keep them acting in a socially responsible manner or they need it to get their shit together. For serious criminals and shit "seeing the light" can be a good thing. As for (generally) law-abiding citizens as myself, we don't need it. Yeah I have a mohawk, I dress a li'l effed up from time to time, I rock out loud, I fuck even louder, and I enjoy everything life has to offer. I don't need your fucking rules. I'm a good person. If there is a heaven, I'm getting in. I don't need to wait 'til marriage. I don't need to read your fucking fiction-novel. I don't need to worship two sticks intersecting eachother with some hippie on it. I'm fine. Trust me. I don't care what your intentions are, if you go around trying to assimilate people to YOUR beliefs, then you are a fucking asshole. Now get the fuck off my fucking doorstep before I release a barrage of used condoms on your conforming-ass!

Thanks to JoJo_Suicide for inspiration for this fact!

I HAD MY SURGERY!

Well folks... I had my surgery... That's why I've been absent like crazy this past short while.

I went in. Got prepped, shaved, flirted with by nurses. The usual. Got some attitude from God-bitches who didn't like my 'hawk. Got some "fuck-me" eyes from some nurses who loved my inkage. All the while PinkPunk13 was by my side and flirting with nurses alongside. It was a shitty, yet benefitial time.

The clothes they made me get into left my junk a-flappin'. Some ladies watched me get changed through a window. Some old guys fixing the roof watched me through a window too. Too many windows. The hospital was very cold. I am waaaay too big a person to fit into anything they tried to squeeze me into, so I did the best I could. I was still rather exposed. Oh well, exhibisionist at heart anyhow. No matter.

I took some ant-acids. They were quease-ifying. No like the ant-acids. Tasted poopie. But those were by far the least of my worries.

I got sent around, and my surgery came 5 hours after I arrived at the hospital, and was 4 hours late. Three cheers for Canadian medical issues.

Anyhow, I get shaved. The wrinkly, sweet old lady who shaved me was talking about how I was "taking the shaving process all-too-well". She went on and on about how guys usually don't take the shaving all that well because shaving takes several times to get used to. Little did she know... I shave my crotch all the time.

There.

I said it.

I shave my crotch. I trim and shave it all the time. They I way I look at it is if girls are kind enough to keep it tidy for us boys, it's the least we could do to return the favour. Girls put a lot of work into their pink-part's appreance, so I will too.

Anyhow, I get shaved and eat away time with PinkPunk13. We watched a bit of TV, and wouldn't you fucking know it. They rad new Eagles of Death Metal video came on. I love that video so much. It was the last thing I saw (other than a bit of "Charlie-X" original Star Trek stuff).

A young dude came in with his hand all ripped up and squished and ripped. We exchanged stories. His is way more badass (he got it caught in a crane's winch), but at least I'll be fully functional in under two months! He slightly macked on PinkPunk13... Well... Tried to at least. Haha! Kids!

Anyhow, I get checked out and questioned-the-same-questions-over-and-over-again by about a dozen different people. My family ditched hours prior, and PinkPunk13 got the boot, because my time has come. I get sent into the coldest, most emotionless, death-filled room I've ever been into. I'm not all too spiritual and shit, but you can just tell a lot of people died in the Operating Room. Very cold feeling. I get marked up, and whatnot. One bitch told my surgeon to slice me on the wrong side. I corrected her before I went out. That coulda sucked. Bad...

But I get the mask on... Pure oxygen at first... Complete euphoria... Then I get a heavy dose of "Goodnight"...

I wake up 4 hours later in excrutiating pain. I moan. I can't move. I moan in such a fashion that I give another sweet wrinkly lady the hint that I need this pain gone. Within 10 minutes I went through 12 milligrams of morphine. And an unknown amount of codine. I felt very little.

I laid there for about 2 hours, slowly regaining my composure. PinkPunk13 was nearby, waiting, I could sense her... And hear the nurses talking about her worrying about me... Some chick gets wheeled in, and she just had knee surgery. She lifted her blankey in such a fasion that I caught a nice glimpse of some rad ink she had on her calf... And then her snatch. I was so embarassed! I just liked her tattoos and then I accidentally saw her pink!

Not complaining though...

Anyhow, I get sent home with shitloads of pills... Morphine, Codine, T3's, Ibyprophen, and some antibiotics...

I got mesh in me, so I'm finally part synthetic. Isn't that badass! Not technologically advanced, but synthetic nonetheless, soI'm just that much closer to being an indrestructible doom-bot!

I've been a total vegetable. I've been playing shitloads of CounterStrike: Source. I've been taken care of by PinkPunk13. I've been telling people off at work left-right-and-centre about not being able to come in. I don't gotta work for a month. I'm looking into compensation of sorts. It's been rad. I got lots of presents and paycheques coming my way!

Unfortunately, I got a lot of shitty deals too. No sex for at least 6 weeks unless I pull a "Wolverine" and heal really quickly. But 6 weeks is gonna be the longest time I've gone without getting laid since I was 13. It's gonna be hell. But it's also gonna prove to me (not that I really needed it) that everything that goes on between PinkPunk13 and I isn't just "sex" or "sex-related".

Yesterday was the most pain I've ever been in throughout my whole life. It's retarded. I can't even scratch an itch without being so hurt I wanna scream, but if I scream I'll blow my stitches. My balls have swollen to the size of grapefruits (each) and they are black and blue from bruising. My dick is going black and blue, but unfortunately is not swelling. Teehee! I got a gnarly gash, and I'm uber-swolled and mondo-sore and giga-numb in places I don't wanna be numb. I'm constipated as all hell, and since they blew shitloads of air into my system while I was under, they gave me so much gas. But I can't get rid of said gas. It hurts so bad, just it moving around and stuff... But if I try to fart or burps, I verge on blowing my stitches. I can't laugh, or move quick (or by myself), or poop, or pee, without fear of blowing my stitches.

Well... I'm on a constant diet of painkillers and numbifyers. I'm so skinny yet so bloated...

This whole journal is a blur to me... I don't remember what I wrote ten seconds ago... I think I've written too much... I dunno... I got so much drugs in me. I'm nauseated as all hell. I'm in so much pain. I'm lonely as hell because PinkPunk13 has a bit of her own shit to tend to at the moment. She's rad. She takes good care of me. I owe her... Bigtime...

I'm listening to the new Eagles of Death Metal CD. I'm listening to it over a complete-online-cd thing that plays the whole album, but I think my Aunti Michelle is giving it to me tomorrow as a gift.

I tell you guys...

This disc... "Death by Sexy" is soooooo good. You don't even know. It's just so sexy. Really. I know that term tends to get thrown around a lot these days but it's a really sexy disc. Really. I promise. It's kinda like... Making love to me. It's like fucking me so gently, but so hard at the same time. It's like... Laying me on my back and caressing me smoothly and kissing me in sweet spots, but it whips out this giant stiff penis, and fucks me. It's so big, it hurts. But it feels so good at the same time. It's like letting me get accustomed to it's size, but in no way is it being slow or letting me stop. It's just there. Gently ripping me. But I love it.

Oh, how I fucking love it.



So good...

That was quite a grotesque review... I blame codine and morphine and sleep deprivation and ibyprophen and stuff...

It's late and my computer has taken it upon itself to update itself, so I'ma bamboozle... I forgot to show you guys a pic from my fake-tattoo-adventure. It's prolly the most important picture of that day... But somehow it got left out... I'ma try to hook you guys up right now...


That's my new Sublime shirt. If you're a big Sublime fan, you'll know what makes it so rad and special.

Its text is in the exact same spot as Bradley Nowell's tattoo!


I love it so much!

What do you guys think?

I wonder if one day I can get a tattoo done by Opie Ortiz... He inked Bradley, and I wonder what the odds of having something by him are... It would be such an honour to be tattooed by the guy that blessed my idol with his ink... Wow... Drugs in my system won't even allow my to fathom how awesome that would be...

Thanks to codine, morphine, etcetera, etcetera... I don't think this whole entry made much sense...

I'm sorry...

I'll try to clarify and be more sense-making in my next entry when I'm hopefully not such a fucking trainwreck...

So my apologies people, for being absent and making so sense... Thank you all for the kind wishes and the get-well's. You're all so awesome!

Thanks for being so awesome.

You guys sure know how to make a big, hardcore-punk-kid like me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

Thanks.