It's your boy w.g. to the 3rd degree, the one and only giving up an update from my mindspace about what's happenin' in the epicenter of the universe. All I can say is that I'm really feeling this thing called "life." You know, as of late everything's flying my way. Joined AA, became a born-again christian (fuck the haters), reconciled with my Dad, various other shit including jobs and video games.
The lord works in mysterious ways, you dig? Just weeks ago I was broke and suffering but have been blessed with a job as a security officer hitting up the rough streets of my local mall on a segway. Not quite my dream of becoming a cop but the thugs are just as plenty and harsh out in this battlefield. Just weeks ago I was sobbing in my bed with a loaded airsoft rifle under my pillow which I would cry into on the days I could find sleep. Longing for a bitch to make me whole.
The lord works in mysterious ways. Pancake weekend at my new local church and I met some aspiring nun bitch who likes to get kinky at work. She still lives with her strict repressive parents so I can only get her mind-boggling dome-piece when the confessional is empty. I thought maybe it's sacrilege but she says it's okay if you do 12 hailmarys after. Anyway I don't think the lord would be a hater for a brother trying to find some action.
Not all is golden in god's paradise. Some punk called me a retard for wearing a helmet on my segway at work. No biggie. I had my boys break his car window and throw some excrement inside. This is what the bible knows as "karma," no repentance required. Anyway, your boy crazy ledger the epicenter is out this piece as I got hash to burn, cash to earn, and ass to... fukk it you get the idea.
W.G.
Lord's vessel/Agent of Chaos
7.12.09
1.12.09
Looking for love on Craigslist #4
Need a classy lass that wants to sleep next to a loving bigot. - 25
Hello, hot and friendly succulent dames inhabiting the cyber world.
Is this post about me? No, I'd say it's about you. You've been scouring Craigslist perhaps for dumps and giggles or out of a genuine interest in finding your dream significant other. Well scour no longer, cunt. I'm a bit of a blunt motherfucker, so you'll have to excuse my French. Don't mind it, I'm cultured and familiar with New Wave French cinema. My nosebleeds and seizures are at a minimum as of late, so that makes up for my social shortcomings.
Man, ever been with a man that has seizures? It ain't nothing like being with a rich man or a man with a libido, but it's the next best thing. Always I overhear bitches talking about wanting a spontaneous man and it doesn't get more erratic than this. In order to keep etiquette or whatnot I try to minimize its effect over my body by standing as still as possible. It looks like I'm struggling not to break into a chicken dance. My foaming mouth makes for a humorous conversation piece with colleagues afterward.
My heavy smoking means foam ain't the only odd thing exiting my mouth on the regular. That's right, I cough up blood, but your snatch does too and us men aren't any less willing to fuck you so this shouldn't be a problem. It's whatever.
Look, I'll treat you nice, alright? I won't call your Mother a whore on Thanksgiving, I'm not that dude. I will only do so when provoked, like when she tells me to put on a jacket to fend off seasonal illness (I abide by no one's rules). I generally have absolutely no problem with people provided they're not greeks, gays, or persist that the Holocaust happened.
It's the 2009s, you can't expect a brother to act all congenial at the expense of not keeping it real. Yet people bad mouth me as intolerant. If they're so smart and idealistic and tolerant, why won't they let me be? I mean, what the fuck is the problem with being a bigot? Hating on bigots is like saying rainbows should exclude the color blue. Embrace every facet of life I say.
But yes, back to you. Ahh, you. You're still reading. That means you must be my Queen. My Fairuza Balk in American History X willing to let me carve a swastika in her back while I'm hitting that ultra-wet hate-snatch doggystyle. I want us to know true romance. I want you to experience fun events such as bowling and walking. Even we can eat out sometimes. Anything on BK's dollar menu will be yours to treasure (under 5 items, please). Nothing will be spared for you.
Cold nights with us will become warm. You'll cozy up to me as your man and rightful owner. I will grab your hips and caress your tender ribs and your ivory Aryan gut-stomach. I will take you by shoving my wand into your beartrap before creating a storm inside you so virile and vile and vulgar our alpha male son will be born instantly. He will exit your womb himself holding a machete and severing his own umbilical cord. Surrendering to his Oedipus impulses, he will stab me in the heart as I whimper, "I love you, Son," in a dying breath. Because of this we'll have to mate at hospitals.
Yet as the perfect alpha male son, he will proceed to rape you with such lust that he too will instantly create a son twice as superior to him. That son will kill him and fuck you again creating another son instantly. The cycle continues almost infinitely until your vagina can no longer birth such large men and a doctor complains about all the muscular dead Fathers in the room with machetes in their hearts creating a safety hazard.
The last son born splits you right in two before the final son stabs his Dad and the doctor in the heart. He then buries you, and your tombstone he has engraved with the following: "To my greatest of Mothers... wish I would've got to fuck her." He leaves you fresh roses and tears daily. He then spends the remainder of his life studying Freud and slaying the alien/dragon hybrid lifeforms that recently invaded Earth, much to the satisfaction of the American people.
If sleeping with me sounds appealing, please send an email. Make sure to put "want to be with you" as the subject so I know you're not a robot.
Forever yours,
Sam
Hello, hot and friendly succulent dames inhabiting the cyber world.
Is this post about me? No, I'd say it's about you. You've been scouring Craigslist perhaps for dumps and giggles or out of a genuine interest in finding your dream significant other. Well scour no longer, cunt. I'm a bit of a blunt motherfucker, so you'll have to excuse my French. Don't mind it, I'm cultured and familiar with New Wave French cinema. My nosebleeds and seizures are at a minimum as of late, so that makes up for my social shortcomings.
Man, ever been with a man that has seizures? It ain't nothing like being with a rich man or a man with a libido, but it's the next best thing. Always I overhear bitches talking about wanting a spontaneous man and it doesn't get more erratic than this. In order to keep etiquette or whatnot I try to minimize its effect over my body by standing as still as possible. It looks like I'm struggling not to break into a chicken dance. My foaming mouth makes for a humorous conversation piece with colleagues afterward.
My heavy smoking means foam ain't the only odd thing exiting my mouth on the regular. That's right, I cough up blood, but your snatch does too and us men aren't any less willing to fuck you so this shouldn't be a problem. It's whatever.
Look, I'll treat you nice, alright? I won't call your Mother a whore on Thanksgiving, I'm not that dude. I will only do so when provoked, like when she tells me to put on a jacket to fend off seasonal illness (I abide by no one's rules). I generally have absolutely no problem with people provided they're not greeks, gays, or persist that the Holocaust happened.
It's the 2009s, you can't expect a brother to act all congenial at the expense of not keeping it real. Yet people bad mouth me as intolerant. If they're so smart and idealistic and tolerant, why won't they let me be? I mean, what the fuck is the problem with being a bigot? Hating on bigots is like saying rainbows should exclude the color blue. Embrace every facet of life I say.
But yes, back to you. Ahh, you. You're still reading. That means you must be my Queen. My Fairuza Balk in American History X willing to let me carve a swastika in her back while I'm hitting that ultra-wet hate-snatch doggystyle. I want us to know true romance. I want you to experience fun events such as bowling and walking. Even we can eat out sometimes. Anything on BK's dollar menu will be yours to treasure (under 5 items, please). Nothing will be spared for you.
Cold nights with us will become warm. You'll cozy up to me as your man and rightful owner. I will grab your hips and caress your tender ribs and your ivory Aryan gut-stomach. I will take you by shoving my wand into your beartrap before creating a storm inside you so virile and vile and vulgar our alpha male son will be born instantly. He will exit your womb himself holding a machete and severing his own umbilical cord. Surrendering to his Oedipus impulses, he will stab me in the heart as I whimper, "I love you, Son," in a dying breath. Because of this we'll have to mate at hospitals.
Yet as the perfect alpha male son, he will proceed to rape you with such lust that he too will instantly create a son twice as superior to him. That son will kill him and fuck you again creating another son instantly. The cycle continues almost infinitely until your vagina can no longer birth such large men and a doctor complains about all the muscular dead Fathers in the room with machetes in their hearts creating a safety hazard.
The last son born splits you right in two before the final son stabs his Dad and the doctor in the heart. He then buries you, and your tombstone he has engraved with the following: "To my greatest of Mothers... wish I would've got to fuck her." He leaves you fresh roses and tears daily. He then spends the remainder of his life studying Freud and slaying the alien/dragon hybrid lifeforms that recently invaded Earth, much to the satisfaction of the American people.
If sleeping with me sounds appealing, please send an email. Make sure to put "want to be with you" as the subject so I know you're not a robot.
Forever yours,
Sam
29.11.09
27.11.09
Perverse haiku.
Done in 4-6-9.
perverse haiku
staining that kimono
making me randy in the damn pants
tonya faceless
fyne in her "slut" necklace
bras and bracelets coordinated
elvie likes dogs
drinks semen on the rocks
they're not mutually exclusive
weird-nosed woman
bird-like hotness, gorgeous
flounder cheeks and sharp beak engorges
i acting young
eskimo kissed her cunt
aw, love you, yes i do, yes i do
perverse haiku
staining that kimono
making me randy in the damn pants
tonya faceless
fyne in her "slut" necklace
bras and bracelets coordinated
elvie likes dogs
drinks semen on the rocks
they're not mutually exclusive
weird-nosed woman
bird-like hotness, gorgeous
flounder cheeks and sharp beak engorges
i acting young
eskimo kissed her cunt
aw, love you, yes i do, yes i do
22.11.09
Bad luck and a bright side.
Just this weekend I got caught and penalized by the pigs. Apparently, it's illegal to ride a lawn mower while under the influence. They would've never suspected a gosh darn thing had it not been 2am at the time, and that's why I'm pleading not guilty on my upcoming court date. For a while, I was real stressed about the whole prospect of having my squeeky clean driving record sullied. How will I be viewed by society, now? What effect will this have on my career as a hearse driver? Then I remember what my Mother always used to say, "Son, a full stomach is all you can ever ask the Lord for." So what if my life is "ruined" as they say, it's nothing that a brand new Black Jack Taco™ from Taco Bell® can't solve.
18.11.09
The Purposeless Detective
Life is rough. That's why I got in the game. I spent my time on the streets drinking from a flask and looking for purpose, even if it was trouble. You walk the crowded streets of a city and you're bound to run into something. Someone's going to hassle you, someone's going to speak to you, someone's going to sell you on something. Me, I'm not too lonely, just bored. That's why I wandered in the living painting of this city's nightlife, just another brush stroke against the bright lights and the deep shadows. I'm tired of work, but I rarely do. I schemed to make ends meet. I sought solace in the peep shows, the strip clubs, stolen cable with its porn channels. Yet eventually there's that point you get to where you sink or swim. That's when I joined my line of work.
Having a familiarity with this city's seedy underbelly has worked greatly to my advantage. I've seen things bizarre that would sound ugly on paper, but it's more funny than anything else. I've hit clubs with secret doors leading to the underground. People are drinking, doing drugs and fucking but it's all in their idea of good fun. The kinky stuff usually goes on someplace upstairs, but the freakish shit always goes down in the basement. the middle ground is for those who haven't picked a side.
I have no judgment for the drag queens, the coke heads, the submissives tied and clamped, the self-mutilating types, the lost and the bored. I'm no different. I've got the same disease just a more advanced strand. I have laws to uphold but I don't fly straight. My work is undercover. I don't waste time taking bait from the degenerates and lowlifes at the bottom. They're puppets to their vices. It's the men at the top that I want. That's my draw. The real dealers and the murderers. That's what got me this job. That's what cured my depression and erased most my angst and boredom.It's all an act from the outside, but inside, I fit right in. I don't relate to these people but I remain fascinated. I've seen snitches cut up and never heard from again but I've never been sniffed out as one. Those fallen fools go in my paperwork as part of crimes so corrupt and large they couldn't stick in court. The head at the tops' tentacles reach so far down and hold such an influence, even most the bigger crime I come across gets written down rather than reported.
But this all changed, because I was a bored motherfucker with purpose. That's the key to creating ambition. That's the motivator without interest. Give me something to do with this talent God's granted me. He gave me arms so I could grab handles and mow the lawn. He gave me creativity to put two and two together. He bestowed boredom to whip me for ever lagging behind. Like the criminals and their strings tied to every part of this town, I'm strung along, too. The lasso is wrapped around my leg but at least I know it, and I know I'll never free myself.
Dragging along, I rid this dark town of crime and disease, but I ain't any happier. What's purpose once it's gone? What's a detective to do when he's righted all the wrongs? I can't rejoice. I've been strung along by God and it's not my choice. Of course, God's always been a synonym for fate. Some said love. Some claimed love. A girl I tried to love told me that's what God was. It isn't, God is fate. And after I finished solving the last crime all that was left was contemplation's overbearing weight. Back to the basics, back to beginning. To call it pointless would be redundant.
This free time only leads to thought of free will. I've read and watched videos on the subject, but as I get deeper I'm subject to tunnel vision. I've read philosophers in all their wisdom trying to convince themselves life's worth living. Even though there's no real control and we're just pulsing vessels with souls craving gratification. It's a rigged game forced down a path and not even a frown will change that.They gave me a medal for my work. But what good's a detective without murder? As good as The Sun without Earth. As good as a mother without her kids. I'm a man without purpose. I was never smart or deserving of any authority. I never had stern ethics, a straight face or merit. Why am I writing this? I guess retelling this shitty story is therapeutic.
I'm a vegetarian but had to eat meat amongst the murderers. I had to kill a man and didn't seem to mind. It proved to the bosses I was cold-blooded. Had I said no, they would've known and it would've been my life. That's a fair price. It's a game of chess with these fellas. If you want to take down the king you can't fear to lose a knight, a bishop or a queen. Especially not a dame, and lost mine I did. So I took out a peon, so what? it's not like it keeps me up at night. As ugly as it sounds, an end can justify the means. Of course, I don't really mean that. But once it's started, it's started. It spirals infinitely and there's no stopping it. Like when the Bible speaks of original sin.
It just keeps going. So much so it's bleeding into a second paragraph. There's no justification for any evil but once you do it's a free-for-all. That's what I believe now. I can't claim there's such a thing as, "a little perversion." It's pollution that doesn't dissipate with care. It's part of our beings and we've got to find a way to deal with it. It fluctuates but it won't go away. It's an ugly curse and innate. That's what I believe, anyhow. These beliefs help me deal with God's fate and that idea of original sin. You can't plant a dead thing in earth and expect it to blossom.
Yet sometimes I want to cease writing words to no one and believe the lies. Like the dame that inspired me to believe roses weren't ugly and that she shit them. Even if for a moment, that feeling of growing up under God and Santa Claus returns to you, warm and enveloping. Humans are good, life's a good thing, and all these other enticing simplicities. My wandering mind and detective work freed this city of crime. I've got paychecks to spend as I wish, but instead I'm buying and eating from cans of beans and stuffing my face over the sink. I just eat to make my stomach shut up, it's not the reason I'm living. It's not my calling. If things reverted back to purity I'd probably be as insignificant as water or even less. There'd be no carnivores or herbivores, it would all regress. When it got hot I would boil and steam, and when it got cold I would freeze, but nothing more. That would be a life without perversion, murder, deceit, and erections, but who says those are bad things? Think of the humor death breathes into comedy. Think of the strange way joy is influenced by suffering.
Evil's not going to end and I don't understand these strings pulling me at my shoulders. I could move to another district and solve their crimes, but solving these didn't solve mine. I didn't learn a goddamn thing. I studied the criminals, bled, wept, killed, and tried yet I'm back at the beginning. God teases me as I sit in my messy studio working on sketches. He brought me back to old friend alcohol and cigarettes. These aren't going to kill me. A dame's as good as dead to me outside a rough exterior. These gripes and vices lead me here and shut her out. She was collateral damage in my cure. Sorry if you don't understand this, it's poorly written. That's what happens when you write selfishly.I guess I'm neglecting part of the story. The glimmering light of hope that obscures your pessimism, that dresses up your suffering under the disguise of redemption. A lass, the type of person fate sent you as bait, until you're cooking for her and buying Christmas presents. You're taking her on dates and neglecting your true love, skepticism. It's flesh and a kiss at a cost, but which? A little piece of you, but that could mean everything. It could be the last inch of you that impedes your progress toward happiness or your true being. Maybe that lack of lucidity is key, I don't know.
Those ideas went rotten and ended in my bin. Now I've got a new plot to do away with God's damning, endless noise. And fate's string that guides me through this lovely, ugly city. I'll leave my town in perversion the way I found it. How, I don't know yet. But anything beats a bored soul. And only rebellion gives you the truest illusion of control. Maybe I'll blow a hole in the prison and help free all the convicts. Or commit unthinkable crime to really stir up some shit. I'll stop hunting and become hunted. Rationality never made much sense to me, not when it leaves you on empty.
With all those bloody crime scenes, there's still nothing sinister enough. Even all the heinous stories I've heard don't impress me, in my mind I've done worse. There's no dirty alley filled with junkies, whores and worms darker than the human psyche. I want to really make the mayor proud, make his stomach turn. I've got to go all out against the innocent, not the wicked. For idling, for believing they're innocent. Using every bit of wisdom the job's given me to be proactive, long-lasting and exacting. Perhaps balance can be restored through hideous acts of rape, murder, and other depravity, and help perpetuate the inevitable. There's no cure for boredom. There's no answer that's certain.
13.11.09
Looking for love on Craigslist #3
You know, love is hard to find. This is my third attempt via the Craigslist website and I decided to go with a more honest approach. After getting some responses and replying to them, the gals stopped talking to me ;/. Here's the ad:
are you a failure that takes nothing seriously? m4w
hello females and latent homosexuals looking at the m4w section. are you a sucker for a nice smile? do you dwell over another lost day without a motivated, ambitious guy? do you yearn for someone fun to be around? does the thought of chiseled abs and a defined physique get you bothered? if so, i'm not your man.
instead, i never smile. no, my face remains smug like a man forced to eat bile. i'm a moderately lazy fuck up. i'm slightly more fun than hanging out with a chia pet, although they'll probably live longer. i've got a bodacious gut-unit that would be a joy to depraved women everywhere. i mean, let's be serious. you think you want a gym rat, but they're drab and uninteresting, and my gut allows for a good roleplay. i can the be the plumber you can't afford to pay, alright?
my mind's imaginative, romantic, bland and often immature. i'm not a pessimist that thinks life is pointless, but i don't think things get much more holy than mario kart.
ever heard that expression it's not the size of the wave it's the motion of the ocean? well, i'm horrible at both, but that won't stop my fingers from crawling over your body aimlessly like over a smashed piano or the hand from adam's family.
listen, babe. i'm also an intellectual. i watch foreign movies made decades ago and can impressively feign an understanding of them at this point.
i'm not picky. to pique my interest you must be:
a young 20-something romanian girl with a bubble butt that goes by (or is willing to be called) olga. your nose must be awkward, and you must be willing to brush your hair in the nude. you must come from a religious background, preferably repressed.
okay screw it. i'll talk to anyone who's interested. this is serious. included is a real picture of me:
are you a failure that takes nothing seriously? m4w
hello females and latent homosexuals looking at the m4w section. are you a sucker for a nice smile? do you dwell over another lost day without a motivated, ambitious guy? do you yearn for someone fun to be around? does the thought of chiseled abs and a defined physique get you bothered? if so, i'm not your man.
instead, i never smile. no, my face remains smug like a man forced to eat bile. i'm a moderately lazy fuck up. i'm slightly more fun than hanging out with a chia pet, although they'll probably live longer. i've got a bodacious gut-unit that would be a joy to depraved women everywhere. i mean, let's be serious. you think you want a gym rat, but they're drab and uninteresting, and my gut allows for a good roleplay. i can the be the plumber you can't afford to pay, alright?
my mind's imaginative, romantic, bland and often immature. i'm not a pessimist that thinks life is pointless, but i don't think things get much more holy than mario kart.
ever heard that expression it's not the size of the wave it's the motion of the ocean? well, i'm horrible at both, but that won't stop my fingers from crawling over your body aimlessly like over a smashed piano or the hand from adam's family.
listen, babe. i'm also an intellectual. i watch foreign movies made decades ago and can impressively feign an understanding of them at this point.
i'm not picky. to pique my interest you must be:
a young 20-something romanian girl with a bubble butt that goes by (or is willing to be called) olga. your nose must be awkward, and you must be willing to brush your hair in the nude. you must come from a religious background, preferably repressed.
okay screw it. i'll talk to anyone who's interested. this is serious. included is a real picture of me:
12.11.09
10.11.09
Lengua Italiano para vet nun-porn movies.
Malamar beckoned raising arizona datem nam de viet yo-yong, Malabar!
"Wuientenesence, yessirsar alphabet wrongon ratton halfon blatton de quell mar raison d'etre?"
"Plurg," set Witpetto.
"WITPETTO BONT!" degresso evon avon tron degrassi.
Wembel sendel settle saddle haddo halo half-off!? Recrumbtilted le masonia visigia de Petra Sempras. "TENNIS LEGEND!" met spoiled lemming legumes karrier kraftverk.
"Va-ha! Fa...," denim el coupo mammbrain seculto sedativo.
Religlossios yetta cayotte lengua pinche bleu bar quatum flvwers flor sug my blurdome hence janie jetta japinga tina dominga pinga. Sally Crushfingas dike letta nyc es cidade de los plagarrios y lotte eme tramo vat vos venim hedra mia loco.
"GANGAPISH!" est set lo mirada dat sut.
"Wuientenesence, yessirsar alphabet wrongon ratton halfon blatton de quell mar raison d'etre?"
"Plurg," set Witpetto.
"WITPETTO BONT!" degresso evon avon tron degrassi.
Wembel sendel settle saddle haddo halo half-off!? Recrumbtilted le masonia visigia de Petra Sempras. "TENNIS LEGEND!" met spoiled lemming legumes karrier kraftverk.
"Va-ha! Fa...," denim el coupo mammbrain seculto sedativo.
Religlossios yetta cayotte lengua pinche bleu bar quatum flvwers flor sug my blurdome hence janie jetta japinga tina dominga pinga. Sally Crushfingas dike letta nyc es cidade de los plagarrios y lotte eme tramo vat vos venim hedra mia loco.
"GANGAPISH!" est set lo mirada dat sut.
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