sonofapunk

Happy Hallo-

...Ween?

Oooooh man. Wow... Good times. I didn't gauge my intake last night and I ended up taking in way too much, let alone with Red Tangerine Fanta. Man. Isn't it wierd how the next day, if you sit and think about the taste and smell of whatever it was that made you puke, it makes you even more grossed out?

I'm nauseaus because I just typed "Red Tangerine Fanta".

Fuck...

Thank god for my garbage pale!

So fuck my last few posts. I'm not "over her" or anything. She's fucking rad. And she'll always be fucking rad in my books. Just she don't want me right now due to (...Siiiiiigh) schedules. No bad blood. Always gonna love her. But it's time to let it go, and move forward. Not necessarily in a rushed "gottagetagirlfriend" way. Just in a "stop worrying if she's ever gonna take me back" sort of way.

All my friends are kind of rubbing it in, to poke fun, and to congratulate me at the same time... And I don't know if I'm proud or wierded out, but there is definately something different going on here... Usually, if/when I'm head over heels for someone and they dump my, I go through women like a hot knife through butter. Not in a bad way. I'm still a fucking gentleman. I hold my class, and I've never slept with someone I suspected to be a skeez. I've never lied about my intentions and actions, and I've never made a move in my life. And with that said, usually, I would be "courting" about an average of three women day. But this time, something is different. Don't know what. Don't know why... Yet, anyhow.

Ah, the Tums and stale tuna sandwich are kicking in, and I'm starting to feel better as I type this.

(Fuck... Shouldn't have drank like that...)

But yeah, as I was saying... My friends all say "We don't know what's wrong with you" when it comes to sex. My current love and recent ex even said something about my sexual activity... Can't remember what... But I don't know. To me, I have no problem at all. I play safe. I'm really good friends with every single woman I've ever touched, even if I didn't know them all to well before we touched one another... I don't see an issue.

I enjoy sex.

So fucking what?

I really don't understand how some people don't enjoy it as much as I do... Not saying everyone should sleep with a lot of people (Hell! I fucking wish I've only slept with one person... Not for sake of choosing anyone specific, but for sake of fun and trust and no-holds-barred sex! ), but I think people should start fucking properly now.

(I will give lessons, if need be. Haha!)

So I'm sitting here, and not to dwell... But I'm kind of irked by something she said a while back... Something about "jumping on top of a lot of grenades"... Hmmmm... Wierd...

But looking forward, and to put my current actions into perspective (for myself, as per usual), my fingers must keep typing...

I haven't touched a single woman since the last one I was committed to. Well... Seriously anyhow. I got fucking sneak attacked by tongues and lips at a party or two. But nothin' more. Even when it fucking should have escalated, I didn't let it.

Oh god...

Did I break myself?!

...What the fuck am I doing?

Not that it's a bad thing. But why the hell didn't I go forward with the touching of shiny-pretty-ladies?!

I gotta crack my head open and find out.

But yeah... Ixnay on the exsay, and that says a fucking lot. It was a while... A long while with the last girlie, she dumped me after we hath not partook in sexual congress for a while...

I got hit by a fucking car last night! It fucking SUCKED! I got tossed like a salad! I'm really hurt now, but I'm gonna go to the doctors and then make the claim. Nothing like this has ever happened to me before, so I dunno what I'm doin'... Askin' for assistance.

Oh! And I got a tooth knocked the fuck out. And then, like I said some chicky face-attacked me, and cut her tongue on my fucking tooth. Haha!

"...Ow!"
"Yeah, just happened like twenty minutes ago. I'm new to it too. Sorry."
"Shut up. It's hot."
"...What? How is th-"
""

So yeah, Bonnie-Bones, you owe me a fucking tooth. I will also accept bone.

So yeah, she thinks I have a drinking problem since we broke up. I don't. I just got all this spare time and money to kill with people I hold near and dear and are here for me...

What's fucking funny, is as I hop onto this topic, the NOFX song, "Bob" starts pumping out of my stereo... Except it's done by Rancid!

"He spent fifteen years, gettin' loaded,
Fifteen years, 'til his liver exploded!
What's Bob gonna do, now that he can't drink?
The doctor said 'Hey, whatchya been thinkin' 'bout?"
Bob said 'That's the point, I wasn't thinkin' about nothin'...
I gotta do somethin' else...
To pass the time, he shaved his head,
Got a new identity.
Sixty-two-holed air conditioned boots,
And a girl who rides a scooter!
To take, him out, of town...
They could get away.
Riding around, as the trucks drive by,
You can hear those motherfuckers go..."

Wow...

Haha!

It's funny how much relevance some songs hold to you even though someone else wrote it...

But yeah. I fuckin' met you and courted you all fifties-era, black and white on the TV, style. I would have serenaded you with the assistance of some very stereotypical Mexicans, but I didn't know where you live. But since I landed you all old-school, I'm goin' down old-school. Long day at the fuckin' office, I set my briefcase down and put my fedora on the hook. Haphazardly undo my tie, call up the boys and drown my sorrows at the local drinkin' hole.

The band Left Alone comes to mind for a lot of how I feel about this.

But it's not negative, and it's very mildly destructive. I've never found this much salvation at the bottom of a bottle before in my life... I'll stop. I can when I want.

Something nobody knows about me... And this is a fucking secret. I've never told anyone this before in my life... So fucking cherish this:

I don't quite succumb temptation, but I test my limits a lot. Think about it as... You're feeling out how far you can go, stretched as far and as thing as you can go, before things get dangerous... So now you know your limitations (besides the ones in your head). And you can go fucking nuts inside that playing field.

Think like, "Battle Royale". You've found a glitched sector. It won't detonate your collar and nuke your ass. But you walk all along the border, every angle, until you feel a slight vibration in said collar, and then back out... So now you know your limits. So your bomb-collar becomes decorative, if not, your friend. And then you spend the rest of your life skanking and dancing and enjoying the fuck out of yourself inside this sector... Each time getting as close to the edge (of life)... Closer... And closer... And then you back down... To skanking safely...

I wish I wasn't leftover-drunk from last night so I can explain this more... But basically what I'm trying to say here is... I have no temptation to do things such as drugs and really masochistic things... But I sure as fuck know what would happen in those situations. I've done some stupid shit before, just to see how far I can go.

I don't get addicted to anything. Ever.

I'm 100% convinced I can shoot a load of primo heroin into my arm, and continue to do so for say... a week. And I'll be fine if I wanna be fine.

Oh fuck off... Like you've never looked at the blender, wondered how sharp those little fuckers are, and looked at the wall... "It's plugged in still"... And one slight bump can chew you the fuck up. But you look in... You ponder... You look at the wall...

I've felt how sharp those blades are. Didn't bother to plug it in. I'm fine. Nothing bad's ever going to happen to you unless you let it.

You fucking hear me?

Nothing bad is ever going to fucking happen to you unless you let it.

That's life.

Hahaha... Frank Sinatra... "That's life! ...That's what all the people say..."

Last night, I found out, you can sell your foreskin for forty-thousand dollars (Fine... I'll fucking do it for your dumbass... You know who you are: "$40,000.00") I'm gonna punch my mom in the face.

And back to Sinatra > 50's Era > 50's Era Courting And Trickery To Get The Girl > Dumped > Classic Boozing To Forget (In Good Spirits) > Next thought...

I had a sweet conversation with one of my best friend's girlfriends about this kitchen set she bought... And it basically ended with...

"Christoph, you need to score yourself a girl. One that when you come home and hang up your hat, she'll creep to the doorway, lean against it wearing nothing but an apron, oven mits, and a fucking smile. She'll be whisking away at something in her mixing bowl...

'Long hard day at the office?'
'Yes, ma'am.'
'...Good. Now it's time for something long and hard...'

And with a wink and a whisk pointing your way...

'I'm baking cake... Wanna lick?'

A smile, and a very cheeky (excuse the pun) turn, she's back in the kitchen... Waiting..."



I don't know what the fuck is wrong with my admiration for shit like that. I'm not exactly the classiest of all guys. I'm polite and a gentleman, but I love my fucking brothers: punk rock and ska... So I'm not exactly all Mr. Executive 50's Revival. But I have a fetish. A serious fetish. For rockabilly, horrorbilly, and psychobilly babes and bombshells. They're so fucking... perfect. Even the imperfections. They're perfect imperfections...

Maybe I need one of these...

I met a skinhead during my roadtrip to Seattle. It's a very long and entertaining story. But he's fucking rad. Namely because he's a skinhead and he hates all types of prejudice and hate... He's a "Unity Skin". He's Skinhead Sean. He's fucking rad. The song that came on... "Brews" writting by NOFX, covered by Rancid... Reminds me a lot of him.

Wow... I've been droning on and on and on...

I know about 6 people will read this... Other than that, I'm wasting my time.

I gotta go file a claim, go buy something for my stomach so it stops pickling itself, and then get back to writing good music with my band.

I love you all.

But I want you all to listen to this song...

It's Big D & The Kids Table.

"She Knows Her Way"

She only heads out when it's late and dark
No need to worry, she's smooth, she's smart
I'll see her later 'cause we can't be apart
You tell me my girls trouble, yes, you tell me my girls trouble, 'cause she
Falls, gets back up, stumbles round, spins around, then just
Falls, gets back up, stumbles round, spins around
She melts into the night in her own rude way
Blown into the party like a warm hurricane - she says
"It's nice to be
Drunk from love"
She knows she's floating, but she can't never get enough
Sings your name
Her word is art
Her chest's a window, so you can always see her heart
Her chest's a window, so you can always see her heart
Wayfaring drunkard dancing home, well she departs
But she knows her way back home
Sings to a branch that she passes on her way
Dances for a little sleepy pleased stray
Talks to a crow she's named a Mr. Blue Jay
I'll tell you my girl's wonders, yes, I'll tell you my girl's wonders
She's walking staring upward, staring upward, singing something
Kinda feeling like a devil on her way up to the heavens
She likes long, drawn, French songs
Stops to sit
The sidewalk
Bass is low, she sings a Ms. Bardot song
Space is high, she yawns and rubs her eyes
Then she calls me on her tele, just to tell me 'bout
A spider she finds pretty, a red polka-dotted spider
Police drive by and see her talking to the stars
Police have her put her hands on the car
"Where are you heading, Ms.?"
"76 Franklin, see that's where my baby lives"
Here I sit
My porch stairs
I breathe and squint
My cat sits by me
Way down the street I see my girl, she floats, yes, and dances slowly to me
Sits on me, hugging, both quiet in the dark
Whispering, 'cause it's a direct line to the heart
There is no distance that is keeping us apart
You tell me my girl's trouble, but you just don't know her wonders
And the waiting, whoa-oh
Yes, the love of waiting, whoa-oh
Yes, the love of waiting, whoa-oh
Yes, my love of waiting
For her

Sorry for the colossal post again...

I love you all... Again...

Take care of yourself.

Live. Love.

- Christoph AKA - P.S.