salivate, salivate, ooh lolly salivate
salivate, salivate, ooh lolly salivate
salivate
dum dum dum dum
its that time. its back. i dont really mind the salivation, but it annoys me when i actually notice it.
the phone is ringing again. i wont answer it. i know its you. and i know exactly what you want. but the problem is, not only do i not want you to have it, i dont even have it to give if i did. and i cant say that its your problem. cause its not just yours. its everyones. and everyone will have to deal with it. im sure they'll be fine.
sometimes when im riding up the road and i let the windows down, i can feel this strange intensity right behind my neck. its almost resting between my shoulders, but not. when the music is up really loud, it subsides, but if you turn the volume down just enough to reach that equilibrium, you can feel it, and it can feel you, and you know that its gonna work out. maybe not the way you imagine it, and maybe not the way you want it, but it will work out.
of course, you might die too. but then again, thats the breaks.
we dont share like we used to. there wasn't a toy in the house we wouldn't let each other have. now, i hog all the building blocks and you wont even let me near the fucking litebright. but fuck that litebright, i always hated that fucking toy anyway. 3 hours punching pegs through a fucking peice of paper. and for what? a god damn light up clown? or a sign that says "happy holidays!" clowns fucking suck, and christmas hasn't been the same since uncle larry fucking took us out to the garage and then made us promise not to tell anybody about what happened. fuck you and the litebright. im gonna build a fucking bomb with my blocks, and blow you and the litebright right the fuck up. i dont know how im going to do it, and i dont know how long its going to take, but be prepared for your ass and that litebright to be fucking blown away.
note: if you are one of those who prefers the lite bright, go here. also, go fuck yourself.
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clip from fight night 2
Mighty Joe vs. murdoc
the title pretty much explains it. you'll enjoy.
also. fuck geoshities. but im to blame cause im lazy.
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"IM A BARTENDER. I HAVE SO MUCH MORE TOLERANCE THAN YOU DO."
this bitch is crazy. i dont mean like, "ooooh, you wanna go skinny dippin in the river over there!!!?? crazy. i mean, bitch done lost her fucking mind, gone out of her fuckin gord crazy. crazy crazy.
and this comes almost 20 minutes after the bitch brakes her fuckin left ass bone after falling off of one of the barstools.
"IM A BARTENDER. I DO THIS SHIT ALL THE TIME."
couldve fuckin surprised me.
by the way. its not really that hard. in fact, its fucking elementary.
C.L.I.F.F. - - - - - - - - - - - see how fuckin hard that is?
aparantly, its up there with the mcat. when i was in like 8th grade, it was CLEO. see, well, you got the first 2 letters right. you get honorable mention. at ga/fla, its was CLINT. well, congrats. you got 3 fucking letters right. and once again, its CLINT. i know i mumble, but this time, it wasn't even me who fucking said it. this was word of mouth by word of mouth. jesus christ, come the fuck on.
this bitch is crazy.
thank god i dont really know her that well. thank god HE's here, batting clean up for the team. and when i say the team, i mean ___. thank you, YOU ARE A SAVIOR. I FUCKING LOVE YOU.
did i mention the bitch was/IS crazy?
holiday is in my head. and i cant help but smile now.
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wakey wakey, eggs and bakey.
awesome. another morning and no completion. no absolution.
i swear to god im going to kill something.
but then you walk in and the strangely colored tentacles which flow through your head and outward catch my eye. they dance while i watch, amazed once again.
you pick up the guitar and play a song i have never heard before. but its familiar. the tentacles flow higher and dance as you play. the colors become much more vibrant and pulse with your rhythms.
i watch your fingers glide, they show me things ive never seen before. your melody lifts me off the bed and up against the ceiling. everythings much clearer from up here, theres so much room to actually move around now. the tentacles follow me upwards and pulsate all around me.
you say you cant stay, you have something in the oven. on the ceiling, i can barely hear you speak over the strings as you play. the tentacles begin to withdraw from me and slide downward. the colors begin to drain back to their normal shades. the pulsing calms, the melody stops, and you are gone, gone to tend to your oven. but im still on the ceiling.
god only knows how long ill be here.
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my new favorite song. for the next 5 mins anyways.
i want to go to the movies...
also, todays events will not be spoken of. ever. its getting really, really old. fuck.
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if you can tell me where this is from, well, you rock.
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its about that time.
Breaks don't come easily. You don't wake up every morning and expect to find your desires on your doorstep, right next to your paper. The same paper that still comes despite the fact that the only use you have for it is remembering what day it is. Or what month it is. Riley believed that. When he opened the door that afternoon, despite still reeking of alcohol-induced vomit, he saw it. He knew this was his break. He also knew that if he failed, he was going to die. But he wouldn't be going out alone.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
April 12th, 2005
16:31:04 - He arrives at Wal-Mart. Has a few odds and ends to pick up.
16:35:23 - Picks up a plunger. A really good, sturdy plunger.
16:42:17 - Gets a black shower curtain. Puts it into the black trash can he grabbed a few minutes ago.
16:47:18 - Glances over the shampoo aisle. He has no idea what he wants.
16:55:44 - Still looking at the shampoo aisle.
16:58:38 - While looking over a certain product, a mexican man and his extremely old, tattered wife walk in front of him with their buggy. The stop right in front of where he is looking. They don't say excuse me, or even acknowledge his presence. He doesn't know what excuse me is in the spanish language, but he knows that its beyond that now. They begin chatting at the speed of light about shampoo he can only guess, all the while still ignoring him, and the fact that they are totally blocking his view.
17:03:32 - The mexican couple are still going on about something. But, since they have been blocking his view, he can only glance over the items in their buggy which is still tottaly in his fucking way. He notices some ground beef. Cheese. Some flour tortillas. God this is so fucking stereotypical he thinks. Produce bags full of vegetables. Looks to be various peppers and tomatoes. They still haven't noticed him. Jesus, cut this guy a break please.
17:04:55 - It seems they have finally come to a decision on some shampoo. He turns around, picks a random shampoo off the opposite shelf, and then storms off to the fucking household cleaners aisle. Various slurs are mumbled under his breath. He seems on edge. Quite possibly about to snap. Other shoppers who notice the far-away look in his eyes shield their children from the handle of his plunger.
17:09:23 - He picks up the biggest bottle of Drain-O he can find. Fuck that dog and his shedding. Fuck that dog. Fuck his little doggie hair for clogging up the bathtub drain. Also fuck the fact that he already solved this draining problem weeks ago. Really fuck the fact that he got way to drunk off straight Amaretto shots and threw up Chinese all in the bathtub. Fuck the toilet for being 3 feet away. Fuck the Amaretto and fuck the Chinese. Fuck it.
17:14:32 - The self checkout voice is screaming at him. He wildly waves his plunger at it. It will not shut the fuck up.
17:17:17 - It beings pouring rain as he exits Wal-Mart. He looks up, once again realizes God hates him, and walks to his car. As he is walking, another mexican shatters a lightbulb in the parking lot. He smiles. And he doesn't smile. He just hates.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
+
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fuckin red devils.
fuck.
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