August 2011: ‘Please don’t,’ she screamed in his ear, ‘stop.’

by maddrunkgenius

‘Arent you glad your mother didnt abort you?’
‘Well, some days.’

——The thought of a trillion dead potential children, in socks, condoms & some vaginas barren (biological & chemical) does warm my heart so.
——Like sons expiring starving on Normandy’s beaches, like daughters ravaged to death on grassy plains, so my not-legacies wither & get ate up by some bacteria or whatnot.
——Say ‘la vee.’

  • WAS NOT A POST-EJACULATORY EPIPHANY*

I am consistently amazed by all the things one woman can ruin for a man.

  •  ‘Please don’t,’ she screamed in his ear, ‘stop.’

Newborns are gross and stupid. Common & abhorrent.

Being drunk ain’t substitute for attractiveness, wit or courage, but try to convince me of that right now.

Sometimes when I jack off, I fake an orgasm so I can finish up & go to sleep.

‘Let’s play hide & go seek.’
‘OK. 1–2–3…’ *peek* ‘456789’

  • It’s such a terrible thing, but it’s no more terrible than 10,000 things people do, & 10 million they yearn for.
  • You can’t tell anyone that, of course. But you can try, drunk.

I’m really going to miss Avalon’s flip flops. More than I can say.

  • I can’t get them back. But I keep expecting I’ll turn around & find them to slip on again. I don’t know why. I have a Wishful Thinking in me that refuses to stop looking at The World As I’d Prefer, and I keep confusing it with The World As Is.
  • ‘Nothing will get its way anyhow.’
  • Yes. Shut the fuck up already, Jesus Christ. [Sep 2011]

Anything is better than nothing.
Nothing will get its way in the end, anyhow.

WHAT A SAD SAD FACE I HAVE

Oh lord how the unspeakables DO give me shudders, all the right way down to my tippy-toes, even tipsy.

  • I don’t think most people realize what I mean by the unspeakables.
  • He: What do you mean?
  • Don’t worry. She knows.

Alas, there is nothing.

Oh dear, oh dear. What a frightful BORE I am, overstaying cordial welcomes.

You terrible thing! You hateful thing. You hungry need, wendigo.

I fucking hate that she looks like her. And that it bothers me.

——I hate that I am upset I was unsatisfactory.
——I hate that I don’t know what specifically to fix, but I got kicked out.
——I hate that life is a continuous series of events culminating in nothing.
——But I like this drunk girl with her legs on a stool who don’t realize I can tell her panties are lime green.  : D hey to you too, doll

What is this place that we are?

——I said, ‘Sweety, everything is an inside joke.’ And she said, ‘No, that’s just what I call your penis mid-coitus.’
——And I laughed because she didn’t know I had syphilis. And she laughed because I didn’t know we were both HIV-positive.

‘An affront to Liberty’ is such a silly phrase. Occasionally, some politician or judge will wipe his bloody dick on Liberty’s Teddy bear, but that’s all.

This is the place where good things come to die.

——(Every million thousand things of miserable forlorn.)
——Oy! What dejection! Oy! What unquestioning loyalty to the camp of the half-full and small-end egg-breaking has wrought!
——There is never going to be any more than this! There is nothing better to hope for except hallucination, which if it come, may it ravage the brain wholesale & make believe 10 minutes is an eternity.
——Oy! The eggs are gone! Not even six — not even half-dozen is enough.

I guess I miss the conversation.

  • Her: Which conversation is that, [@MadDrunkGenius]?
  • Oh, it was just a general cryptic forlorn, you know.

WHY IN GOD’S NAME DO I CARE WHAT SHE THINKS OF JOHN C. FREMONT

Note: Even when you mean it as a compliment, no one appreciates it when you tell them you would TOTALLY beat off into their sister’s face.

——I think watching ‘Hoarders’ is the first time I’ve said, ‘Oh thank God, that really was all for the best.’
——Also, I feel about 1000x better about my apartment.

‘The Eagles score again on a 56-yard run to make it Abilene High 77, El Paso Hanks 13 with 1:40 left in the game. If this keeps up, Hanks players are going to need to request a SANE, yikes.”

‘Too much of a muchness.’ Goddamn it, Moon.

Balls like Papa Smurf. Ouch.

My sweet Lord! How lovely tastes your blood even removed from sacrament!