July 20, 2004

A Post for K.

K wants me to write a blog post about her because she's jealous of all my madcap hits. (I like pretending like I'm the greatest thing to hit the interweb since the penis.) Even though I would never be as uncivilized to discuss numbers, I like to pretend that I am leaving you all in my wake. Talking about stats is like discussing salary between coworkers or a 7th grade girl making sure that everyone knows that she's dating a high school boy.  Sure, it may have a purpose, but you usually can tell the big boys from the local legends.  Let's just say that I'm somewhere inbetween Toby (not enough drunken posts and nearly naked poses, I guess) and zero. 

I promised to write about her and our time hanging out yesterday once she posts pictures. Rule number 14, you know.

For those of you interested, there may or may not be a few pictures of me with a giant sex ball stretched over my head. That ought to pique interest and encourage more visitors.

I might let you know when the pictures are up--I'm not sure whether or not I approve of my face accompanying this voice. I like my anonymity, but I like it when people post pictures of themselves too. Maybe. Sometimes I like the ability to make people appear as I want them to--like how books are always better than movies. That being said, I also like pictures of cute boys, and while I may not be everyone's cup of tea, I'm bound to have a few admirers on the interweb. If you want, you can keep checking out K's journal in hopes of finding the pics. I'm sure she'll love the hits.

While I leave you to spend the day questioning whether or not my mug deserves its own place on the interweb, I'll distract you with a poem. Again, please leave compliments as I am a fragile shell of a human being with no love life.

Icy Stare

I take just one look at you and I comprehend sadism
I throw myself up on your mercy
uncontrollably without a second thought
I let you devour me in every sense of the word
time after time I beg for your cold stare
and it’s even better when you don’t give it

Here lies a most ridiculous raw youth, indulging himself in the literary graces that he once vowed to eschew. Now he just rocks out.