I read the other day that dolphins are the only other animals on earth that masturbate for pleasure. Which sort of put a whole new spin on “sailor’s best friend,” eh? There you are bobbing in the ocean as your ship goes down and here comes a dolphin — kikikiki — and the dolphin lets you grab on as it takes you to safety. Maybe you flop onto a piece of wreckage, or even find land. Then, exhausted, chest heaving, you lay there staring into the stormy skies and…the dolphin jacks off onto your stomach and then swims away. Kikikikikiki!
It wouldn’t be common knowledge, of course. I, for one, wouldn’t share that tidbit when retelling my “saved by a dolphin” story to the local paper.
Continue reading ‘The Strokes’
A couple of friends have recently told me that I need to talk about my problems. All the childhood madness, all the fears, all the things that cripple me emotionally. If I talk about these things, then they’ll have no power over me.
Continue reading ‘The voice across the line’
When I was a kid, I used to think there was a little man in my stomach who was responsible for handling all of the poop. Day after day, there he was, at the bottom of my stomach, surrounded by vats of bubbling acid, endlessly shoveling poop down a little hole that led to my intestines. Sometimes the hole would get stuffed up and he’d have to jump on the poop to force it through.
Continue reading ‘Tommy the Poop Man’
Since I now only write articles so that I can keep the GS Kindle subscription active and, therefore, make my precious $3 a month from subscribers who mistakenly think this is a porn site for some reason, I should probably angle towards more light-hearted fare.
Continue reading ‘Beautiful Things’
I often go on about how bored I am. And I am. It’s overwhelming, sometimes. Every single aspect of my life is predictable. Like a show you’ve watched a million times. My entire life is Star Trek II on mute while I sprawl on the couch with a midday gin and tonic and mumble the dialogue, not even bothering to watch the screen. Let them eat static.
Continue reading ‘Let them eat static’
I have crooked teeth. People like to point this out all the time in what, I presume, is an attempt to destroy me and make me finally commit to a path of ultimate evil. I suppose, if I had a normal life, I would have had braces when I was a kid. But I didn’t have loving, normal parents who raised me. I was raised, instead, by a goat-headed man that only I could see who lived in my bedroom closet and didn’t care about things like my teeth. He only wanted me to paint those funny symbols on the wall of the boiler room of Holy Redeemer in Kensington, MD using the blood of the homeless people that he would have me lure into back alleys of old Silver Spring by dressing me up in a schoolgirl outfit.
Continue reading ‘That Place on My Lip That I Keep Biting’
I’ve come to appreciate girl’s butts.
Continue reading ‘Ass’
One of the things I struggle with is why I so often go girl crazy. I don’t enjoy relationships, I don’t enjoy sex, I want nothing but to be left alone, and, yet, time and time again, I’ll fall instantly in love with a woman and be willing to trade anything for her.
Continue reading ‘The Pattern’
If you’re reading this, then that means [
I’ve initiated a highly volatile hostage situation/survived Easter]. Now that the last family-oriented holiday has passed, we enter six blissful months where I don’t have to think about being a functional human being and can, instead, sit under a tree and drink and yell at my neighbors.
Continue reading ’38′
In Sunday school, of course, Easter was always a hot topic. Something about a bunch of guys having an orgy in a room who are accidentally drugged and have a collective hallucination that acts as Event One for 2000 years of mass murder, rape, and extreme inhumanity.
Continue reading ‘Easter’