“I often wish I had the strength to commit suicide, but if I did, I probably wouldn’t feel the need”

-O’Hara

‘sometimes’ he said ‘yer nothing more that a hoard of distractions’
‘yer so blue that little dutch boys’ pants have nothing on you’

i stopped to listen to that damn cat--

"hang in there, baby"

yes i'm hanging, strung up by my inadequacies
weighted down by my shroud of apathy
equal parts fascism & battery acid

i’m a byproduct of exhibitionism
an aesthetic maelstrom
& my ‘bohemian-epicurean-linguistic-
underground-artistic-
subursive-intelligentsiac-
mafioso-bourgois’ façade will not budge
& I can’t seem to decide if that’s a good thing or not

i feel so abstract and unnecessary i should blow my brains out in the Guggenheim
under the placard "boy, interrupted"

like a suicide note with wisecracks
the life I’ve been leading is a joke
a constant excuse for one-liners
a rip-roaring farce through the depths of hell
a zany, free for all comedy
that sizzles, especially when I’m
getting burnt at the communal stake

i can always hope there's blue skies up ahead
but i'm a raincloud
and parched love is always in vogue

so i’m just going to pour like there’s no tomorrow
and let the clichés flow like wine
until you let me get drunk off you again

You get three guesses.

If there is one person you can't stop thinking about, post this same exact sentence in your journal.

Another crappy letter stating old news.

Dear Jake Gyllenhaal,

If you are still going through your gay phase, or if you feel another phase coming on and just want to get it out of your system, please drop me a line. Or, better yet, if you feel the need to become a "Method" actor, let me know. (It would probably be better if you told Kristen that so she can't get too angry.) I promise I won't bite (unless you're into that sort of thing.)

Love,           
Bob             

Dear various newspaper organizations,

If I see a headline about the Spanish fighting over the Great Masturbator, I'm going to read it. Never mind that I don't particularly like Dali and the painting isn't all that great. My interest is piqued.

I'm pretty sure that if you start renaming news articles, you're going to see a bump in your circulation. I know that newspapers are dying. If this story were renamed 'Teenage girls learn to give A+ blowjobs,' there's a better chance that I might read it, and might actually learn somthing in the process. Same if this story were renamed 'American bastards try to ruin lap dances for us all' or this one 'British politicians don't like boobies.'

Sure, it may be a bit of false advertising, but if played properly, you should be fine. 18-25 year olds may be a bit quiffed that they're reading about art, not masturbation, but then again, Holy shit. They just read a news article about art. Think of it as using food coloring to trick kids into eating their vegetables. You might be using a bit of trickery, but at least they're getting their nutrition.

Maybe this is what Al Gore had in mind for his own news station. 'The news station where not only the owner is wooden'... Nah, that's pretty forced. 'We're hotter than Bill O'Reilly'

Now that's better.

Love,
Bob

schooled on a dreaded sunny day

It’s a dreaded sunny day spent
meandering past the gates of the school
yard. Staring at me through the fence
is a precocious little girl in blue-

“I have a boyfriend—” with a very lady-like expression
on her face “—and I love him and he’s
going to marry me and we’ll live in a mansion
and have a hundred babies.”

My quizzical eye is cocked. “Oh really?”

“Yes and he’s going to be an astronaut
and a fireman and he’s going to save a lot
of lives and I’m going to be president and a movie
star and we’re going to be rich and famous celebrities.”

“A fireman and an astronaut?
Your boyfriend must be very smart.”
“He is very-very smart. He got
a gold star on his dinosaur report.”

“You know, I used to have a boy—”
stumble-cough-pause “a, uh....friend
like that too but not anymore...I—”
“Was she your girlfriend?-gasp!-Did you kiss her
on the lips?” “Uh—”

To think I used to dread the recess bell.

She bid me adieu. “You look awful
sad, mister—you should stop by
for lunch we’re having pizza and I—
ooh--can you can come to our wedding?” She asks.
“Maybe. But you should probably get to class”

I watched her queue, childish goose-step to
the metal detectors to daydream through
math or science or spelling or whatnot.

I crossed the street and turned the block,
a drop of sweat after each step it’s so hot
It’s the end of May, cusping on a heat wave

so now it’s a dreaded wedding day; still all I want
is to be wanted more than anything in the world.

Mom! Morrissey called me the quarry! Make him stop it!

Señor Morrissey? If you don't want people to think you're gay, you probably shouldn't pose for your album cover in a maroon pinstripe suit, with a pink and white striped shirt and a lavender tie against a pink silk backdrop. It doesn't matter that you're holding a gun-- I mean, holy Velvet Mafia, Batman!

Your new album isn't bad, but damn your backing band sucks. It sounds like a bad eighties rock opera or something.

(In a terrible attempt to copy Vividblurry's devotion to Britney)

1. America Is Not The World America, you've bought that hamburger. Morrissey, you know where to shove that hamburger.
2. Irish Blood, English Heart Let me guess, you're still mad at the Queen. How quaint.
3. I Have Forgiven Jesus Good kids, regardless of the weather, do not go around mooning Jesus. And why is Thursday pathetic? They're not all that bad of a band.
4. Come Back To Camden Go back to the studio and get fire whoever wrote the backing track to this song.
5. I'm Not Sorry Who do you think you are, George Bush?
6. The World Is Full Of Crashing Bores This song makes you a crashing bore, by the way, Morrissey. The chorus reminds me of a vocal warm-up we used to do in elementary school.
7. How Could Anybody Possibly Know How I Feel They found out for themselves, that's how.
8. First Of The Gang To Die Poor Hector (of the Pretty Petty Thieves fame) died first, so he wasn't able to hear this song.
9. Let Me Kiss You You're a bit old for me, but ok.
10. All The Lazy Dykes Nobody cares about lazy dykes. People make care about horny dykes or about married dykes, but not about lazy dykes. As a result, nobody cares about this song.
11. I Like You Do you like me? Circle Yes or No.
12. You Know I Couldn't Last Wow. It must be terrible to be a rock star. I sympathize with you completely.

Yes, ba-da-bum-ching, to be sure. I'm not that funny, and the album isn't that bad, but it's not a run-out-immediately-and-buy-it sort of thing, either. I'll end with a few of my favorite lyrics--those lines for which Morrissey is known; the kind that mopey kids will plaster all over their notebooks, the gorgeous "no one likes me" lines.

"I have forgiven Jesus for all the love He placed in me \ when there's no one I can turn to with this love"
"There is something I wanted to tell you \ It's so funny you'll kill yourself laughing \ But then I, I look around, And I remember that I am alone, Alone."
"Under slate grey Victorian sky \ Here you will find, despair and I"
"I'm slipping below the water line \ Reach for my hand, and the race is won \ Reject my hand and the damage is done"
"This world is full, So full of crashing bores \ And I must be one 'cos no one ever turns to me to say \ Take me in your arms and love me"
"Because you're not right in the head \ and nor am I \ and this is why I like you"
"The whispering may hurt you \ but the printed word might kill you"
"You know I couldn't last \ Every -ist and every -ism thrown my way"

Dear Motherfuckers at Stevens Point,

Please eat my (newly shorn) balls.

Despite your efforts to trap me at your crappy-ass school, with your gross incompetence in sending transcripts and shitty professors, you have failed, like the failure of a school you are.

I am now a Badger of sorts. Please don't ever associate with me again after you refund my deposits and send a finalized transcript. And this time, don't take fucking 3 months to send a piece of paper.

Seriously. Don't ever speak to me again. I don't even want to pretend to be 'just friends.' I wish you dead, and that your corpse becomes bloated and zitty.

May you rot in hell,
Bob.

While I am positively beaming at my acceptance to my first choice school, I do have a few qualms. One of which being that Stevens Point has to send another copy of my transcripts. It took them 2 and a half months and 3 tries last time, and that was with me coming into their offices and laying down some smack. They better not fuck up again.

Also, on my acceptance letter, it says that everything needs to be received by May 1. To which I make a quizzical face.


I have left a quizzical message on an answering machine to match my countenance, asking what is the dilly-o, and hopefully things will work out, and I will get into all the classes I need.

But man oh man am I pleased.

The Seven Deadly Questions. Nothing too interesting.

Everyone in their right mind is addicted to fleshbot, and, 1, being of sound mind and body, am no exception. Today, they guided me to a lovely magazine called Junk, which features mostly naked boys, artistically shot, along with a handful of articles. It's a most excellent site.

Even though you're not going to get any mostly naked pictures of me, I am going to answer the questions that the models are asked. There's no real reason for this; the questions aren't even all that interesting, except that memes will be the death of me. Sorry about this.


The Seven Deadly Questions

1. Name three guilty pleasures and three pet peeves.
Guilty pleasures: the spice girls, chicken tenders, campy mystery novels where the detective owns a cat who helps out with the investigations (you have no idea how many series that constitutes)
Pet peeves: really badly written lyrics(eg "She Hate Me," "100 Years"), poetry written by teenagers, stupid people in large groups

2. Have you ever stolen anything?
Not really. I used to work at a Subway, and occasionally an entire batch of white chocolate macadamia nut cookies would magically disappear, but that doesn't count.

3. What's one typically unsexy thing you find sexy?
A guy acting paternal around his kids is always hot.

4. Have you ever heard a rumor about yourself? Wanna start one?
I made Natalie Portman cry.

5. Who (or what...ya freak) do you masturbate to?
I love the faces guys make, especially when they are being entered or are about to cum. I think it's something about the eyes, how the guys are so into it, they can't even keep their eyes open, coupled with a gaping mouth that really does it for me.

6. What's the one thing you're most jealous of?
People with trust funds who are able to persue their dreams. Becoming a professional poet is hella unrealistic for a working stiff like me.

7. Assuming every member if your preferred gender shoots you down, who's the first member of the other gender you start hittin' on?
Allison Janney is the hottest woman on earth.

I DECLARE THIS THURSDAY, MAY 20TH, NATIONAL CARB AWARENESS DAY.

"That's right. Spread the word. This Thursday everyone--including you--will eat a gratuitous carbohydrate. No, not your daily dose of granola; we're talking a mega-cupcake, or a big black and white cookie. Thursday, we're going start a revolution and start it right. And if you have a website, please spread the word. The more people who know about it, the greater the impact we can make. Plus what else do you have to do? It's not like you have a vibrant social life. I'm just saying.

"So, in conclusion, don't do it for your country. Don't do it for your God, or your mother, or your accountant. Do it for the organ that matters most. No, not that one. Do it for your stomach. Only you can save the carbs, America. Won't you?"

(via the The Carbohydrate Manifesto)

BLOG: Boring Losers, Online Gobbledygook

"HI! My name is Iain, and my blog is so boring all I do is mock other people's blogs. It's a good thing only 3 or 4 people read my blog every day, otherwise everyone would know how egotistical and lame I really am."

::rolls eyes::

Blogging about how you think you blog better than everyone else makes you a huge cunt. Just to let you know.