May 2011: God knows, there’s not enough devil in the world.

by maddrunkgenius

“Change isn’t good or bad; it just is.” — Don Draper

Only Nixon could visit China. Only Obama… (“I loosened it.” – George W. Bush)

Hello HELLO HELLoo

Oh, people.

  •  I am in a rapine mood. As usual.

Everything you need to know about me is that three hours later, I remain angry enough to literally strangle to death any other person because I said Asia and meant Europe.

Mmm their tears, sweet like honey.

Oh midcoitus whiskey pulls in I-10 hotels, oh curse Sonora to my dying breath.

I love double shots for $4!

I’m very happy but my skin hangs baggy.

——Oh ho, the surly whirley ugly world is pretty brittle, little influenced or less anyway by the events going on around in it than the hormonal/electrical surgings of mine head.
——(I read 13 [probably white-ish] people died in a bus-train wreck, and 300 in some part of African slaughter but it weren’t a bad day till I spilt milk on my pants, and couldn’t cry.)

The thing about time travel is no matter how many times you relive the past, the present stays the same (but not your future).

——’Where are we going?’ he asked.
——’Motion is good,’ was all she’d reply.

Too sober to sleep.

  • God knows, there’s not enough devil in the world.

Finally drunk, I wish I were dead, or in someone’s bed, or someone was in mine.

I don’t know if the rapture is coming, but I’ll be rolling tomorrow.

  •  Rape is rapture for half those involved or more.

Oooh. Such wonderful flesh.

Explain this. Not lust but a vessel of affection & I’m happy. All is right.

THANK YOU BASED GOD

I am so angry & tired of losing & being 1/10th as good.
We must destroy them, drive them before us and see their women lactate.

Foul, shit eating tumor of a thing; who cares whether it’s benign?

The coffee is too sweet for husbanding the sheep around.

It’s 1 a.m. I am drunk. But I have no desire to fuck anyone.
Surely these are the end times.

  • It’s 1:55 a.m. No one looks even slightly attractive. What the grey devil.

H.L. Menken’s ‘The American Language’ is having sex with my brain. And I *do* want to feel it in my cerebellum as well as the frontal lobe.

I want to drive home in the lefthand lane.

It’s still there despite my best efforts.

  • I’ve done all I can do.

I hate her. (It’s the request to a third party that killed all nice feelings.)

‘Yes, they deserved to die, and I hope they burn in hell.’

It’s probably worth remembering now & again that tho snowflakes are each individual & different, none are really remarkable or survive the thaw.

Sleep is the last frontier to conquer.

What a series of monumental fuckups.

  • He: This post speaks to me on a visceral level.