Dream shit

The first part of the dream I was running around a Walmart-type building which housed a giant ballroom in the basement. I was chasing a girl I’d loved in high school (blown it).

The Walmart was closing and people were being kicked out.  I followed the girl to her car.  She ignored me completely, as if I were a ghost, and left with someone else.

The second part of the dream I went back in the store and beat an eight-year-old to death with an axe handle.  I then ran around the strip mall parking lot, avoiding other members of his evil family.  I had a cellphone but could not dial 911. Finally I decided I would have to kill all of my pursuers rather than be hunted.  I stole cars and just before awakening, hung over traffic clinging to the ski of a helicopter.

I blame eating both steak and chicken salad during the same meal last night.  The girl, long now a woman, is married in real life, out there somewhere in the world…

 

I La-La-La-La-Love Gnesa

Yes, this Gnesa. Is there any other?

Bad singers who become famous are nothing new.

“Wilder’s” only weakness is its strength, I can’t just listen, I MUST stop everything else to watch her sexy (but modest) dance moves.

Right now little is known about Gnesa and I’m too lazy to go looking. I like to imagine her father—an even-keeled wealthy orthodontist–paid for the whole thing is support of his daughter’s dream (and the song came stock with the karaoke machine).

Why can’t I stop watching? Well, the obvious part is obvious, Gnesa is an authentic beauty; she doesn’t give a damn about being perfect. The first shots of the video are closeups and she’s got blemishes on her face, like real women do, no Jessica Simpson Photo-Perfection Program here.  Her breasts are not augmented and her sexy, silky dance moves are so slight an 80-year-old could do them without getting winded.

Another thing that would make the directors of “real” videos shit their puffy director pants is that Gnesa is not thin, and sure as hell not camera-thin by Entertainment Standards, meaning she’s fat.  To them.  I couldn’t care less about what the image overlords think, my favorite part of the vid is when she wags her finger at 2:44 and her big, tanned healthy thighs quiver, making my prick ping like a sonar.  

It’s better than p0rn, because it’s real. I would’ve killed to have a girlfriend like her in high school. Or tomorrow.

The song is, well, the song. It’s easy to sing and follow along (though I do neither). It’s a nice break from all the self-serving idiots demanding everything be taken seriously, including love songs.

With the deck stacked against her, Gnesa continues to gain momentum. This past weekend the meter jumped from 1.5 million to two million youtube hits.

I’m happy she exists in a world where I’m unhappy to exist.  

 

 

eating a mirror

She had big tits, freckles, was dumb.
Too-tall, big ass, big hips, a goofy sort of giant.

I was obsessed with her, but calmly.

Though married, she talked about her sex life with the other guy at the job.  He could’ve fucked her any time except to him she was “kind of ugly”.

I reminded her of her brother.

She moved away.  I left the job.  Life went on.

Lately I found her again, online.
Teaches 3rd grade at a Christian school in the Carolinas, still married, one son.
Signed her class home page, In Him,

Shit!  She was religious back then but not like that.

Half of all marriages fail (I hoped hers did though I had no chance) but not this one.

And now Jesus is getting that pussy!

Ah well, such is life in this world,
eating a mirror
with a hated image,
every day 12 rounds
with both arms tied
behind the back.

Love forever pissed off a cliff
and even lust’s chromium cries
going unanswered.

I’d kill myself but it seems even that
wouldn’t be enough.

In Him.

Fuck.

Dear Stephanie Courtney (the exotic girl from the Progressive insurance commercials)

(I tried making this post “Private” because I felt like it. It didn’t work, people could still read it, [turdpress FTW!] so here it is, no different. Please worship Satan).

Dear Stephanie, (MAY I call you Stephanie)?

As your character “FLO” from the Progressive commercials gains notoriety, I’d like to say that I think you’re the spun sugar in cotton candy and remind you that all of your other male admirers are gay.

Only I see/saw through the FLO character’s heavy makeup, lipstick and stylish sex-hair to the ebullient soul that is You hiding within the role, swaying like a flower floating in ginger ale.

I just want you to know that if we ever meet really soon, and things went so great that we’re in my room playing strip chess, I’d never demand you dress as the FLO character as part of our bedroom role-playing, because that’s a little too forward right after getting your autograph. These things take time, like waiting for Mother to go out of town so we can have the house to ourselves, you and me, forever!

That said, I eagerly await the next Progressive commercial starring you as FLO, joyously hawking insurance, which everybody needs just like they need…love.

Love,

Meat

P.S. You’re so cute you shit kittens. Please find them a good home!

Don’t read these (knowing you will)

Fuckbot AD 2050

I finished building you
and you broke my heart again.
I had the batteries in
backwards.

lunchboxes

Your emotions and mine are like
cobras coiled in lunchboxes.
Hissing bites
washed down
with a Thermos of tears.

Bicentennial Study Hall

It’s 1976 and my cock is a little boy.

Decades later he sits sad and lonely in the college
of desire where walls burn blue
like your eyes.