to new beginnings or the same old shit...
mr. oglepants went to a bikram yoga class this morning with his betrothed and rounded out the afternoon with a big glass of wine and chain smoked the afternoon away.
if anyone, anywhere would like to post a small short story on this blog feel free...
it's fushupao@hotmail.com and the password is omnibus700. that's right dear reader whomever you are, wherever you happen to be, feel free to lend your createactivity to a good cause (be productive and not reproductive) this new year. if your blog entry is especially creative or funny i promise, here and now, to send you prize in the mail. please just email me at fushupao@hotmail.com your name, address, etc. prizes will awarded in the order of entries received and will only be limited by my own imagination and my willingness to maybe shell out ten to thirty dollars on this little experiment. prizes include a map of budapest, a half used disposable camera... what could the first thirteen pictures be of???? and/or a copy of philip roth's, the dying animal. read the book the san francisco chronicle calls "sorrowful, sexy, elegant... A distinguished addition to Roth's increasingly remarkable literary career." or just read it for the part of where the aged professor face fucks his nineteen year old student or the bit where he masturbates to beethoven... classic. why on god's green earth i decided to read more and start with this, quiet as it's kept. furlough 08' baby, woo
Monday, December 31, 2007
Sunday, November 18, 2007
ray... if anyone ever asks if you're a god... say yes!!!
slew/ bob slid up to honey pot on the bench and rubbing his scabby elbow into her side blurted out "my super power is that i can't eat peanuts. i can't even really touch them. i'll break out into hives and my throat will close up... cool huh???"
"that's not a super power numb nuts, that's called an allergic reaction" honey pot stated rolling her eyes for effect "why don't you just go drop dead and help save on oxygen for the rest of us."
bob slunk off carrying his cold dented can of corned beef hash. exit stage left
honey pot continued "he thinks he's so special, but really he's like special olympic special... short bus, you know?" thumbing her fat thumb in the direction that bob left in.
the boy whose real name was wiznick/ lunchmeat sighed deeply "and this too shall pass"
before honey pot could register what just happened lunch meat lunged across the table and grabbed a hold of honey pot's hand interlacing her plump sweaty fingers across the back of her hand with his own.
"can i ask you something... just between us prom queens???"
honey pot attempted to wring her hand free but the boy named lunch meat tightened his grip.
"are you a god???"
before she could answer the boy named lunch meat leaned over and blew his nose all over honey pot's chest. wet snot rockets... gray and gelatinous peppered the front of her shirt and bare skin.
honey pot stood up clutching her lunch tray to the front of her chest "this conversation isn't over you gross little jesus freak." and stomped out of the lunch room, her squat frame shaking as she stormed out of the now still room.
the boy named lunch meat with a self satisfied smirk leaned back and picked up the chewed apple that sat on his tray and cupping it in both hands began humming, careful so no one over heard him, what if god were one of us.
the half bitten part of the apple began turning yellow and then a shade of brown as a white moldy fuzz grew from the exposed jagged parts made from his teeth marks. a black bruise slowly spreading across the skin, beginning from the damaged part of the apple, as it time lapsed... turning into a rotten fetid lump of flesh in a matter of seconds.
"that's not a super power numb nuts, that's called an allergic reaction" honey pot stated rolling her eyes for effect "why don't you just go drop dead and help save on oxygen for the rest of us."
bob slunk off carrying his cold dented can of corned beef hash. exit stage left
honey pot continued "he thinks he's so special, but really he's like special olympic special... short bus, you know?" thumbing her fat thumb in the direction that bob left in.
the boy whose real name was wiznick/ lunchmeat sighed deeply "and this too shall pass"
before honey pot could register what just happened lunch meat lunged across the table and grabbed a hold of honey pot's hand interlacing her plump sweaty fingers across the back of her hand with his own.
"can i ask you something... just between us prom queens???"
honey pot attempted to wring her hand free but the boy named lunch meat tightened his grip.
"are you a god???"
before she could answer the boy named lunch meat leaned over and blew his nose all over honey pot's chest. wet snot rockets... gray and gelatinous peppered the front of her shirt and bare skin.
honey pot stood up clutching her lunch tray to the front of her chest "this conversation isn't over you gross little jesus freak." and stomped out of the lunch room, her squat frame shaking as she stormed out of the now still room.
the boy named lunch meat with a self satisfied smirk leaned back and picked up the chewed apple that sat on his tray and cupping it in both hands began humming, careful so no one over heard him, what if god were one of us.
the half bitten part of the apple began turning yellow and then a shade of brown as a white moldy fuzz grew from the exposed jagged parts made from his teeth marks. a black bruise slowly spreading across the skin, beginning from the damaged part of the apple, as it time lapsed... turning into a rotten fetid lump of flesh in a matter of seconds.
Sunday, November 4, 2007
sigh
it's been a minute...
drinking little penguin... all wines taste the same in the end... acidic, the same going down as they do coming up...
the vomitorium. the vomit comet. wallace and vomit. that's a funny word in english. like the eskimos have twenty- seven different words for snow... vomit.
seen on a t- shirt "i'd fuck me"
drinking little penguin... all wines taste the same in the end... acidic, the same going down as they do coming up...
the vomitorium. the vomit comet. wallace and vomit. that's a funny word in english. like the eskimos have twenty- seven different words for snow... vomit.
seen on a t- shirt "i'd fuck me"
Thursday, October 18, 2007
the function of my dysfunction
lunch meat: i have the ability to know exactly what jesus would do...
honeypot: really??? okay hotshot what would jesus do with an elephant with three balls???
lunch meat: he'd walk the elephant and pitch to the rhinoceros.
i am leaving for san francisco tomorrrow... thank you jay, colin and simone for taking care of bear...
honeypot: really??? okay hotshot what would jesus do with an elephant with three balls???
lunch meat: he'd walk the elephant and pitch to the rhinoceros.
i am leaving for san francisco tomorrrow... thank you jay, colin and simone for taking care of bear...
here but for the grace of god we go...
Saturday, September 15, 2007
cry me a river, build a bridge and get over it.
"so... why do they call you lunch meat???"
honey pot asked pushing her large glasses tight around her round face. lunch meat was concentrating on the sad little chicken nuggets on his plastic cafeteria plate. the girl named honey pot sat down across from him in the lunchroom at roman polanski high school, mixing her mashed potatoes and canned corn together before scooping plastic spoonfuls into her mouth. lunch meat realizing the girl was still sitting there after several minutes shrugged his shoulders in reply. honey pot with a mouthful of instant potatoes and corn continued the one sided conversation. "i heard, that you got caught masturbating with a pile of shaved ham from a sandwich by a teacher in the bathroom. only, somehow you microwaved the meat on high and gave yourself second degree burns on your bubble yum and chicklets."
lunch meat looked up for the first time that day, "if that was really the case, and i'm not saying it is, my nickname would be blister dick or something... wouldn't it?" attempting his best at a withering look.
honeypot pointed her spork at the boy flicking dehydrated potato flakes and hissed "listen hear you dumb little kumquat. i know okay??? i know you're special... but then again so am i."
she pushed up the sleeve of a tired gray flannel she was wearing and held a limp wrist at eye level. lunch meat watched as tiny water droplets formed at the tips of her fingers before dropping onto the cold gray table between them. a dozen or so fell before honey pot continued.
"that weird solar flare... the one that turned the sky pink and that bright shade of green didn't just effect you numb nuts."
lunch meat gazed quietly around the cafeteria, several students had stopped what they were doing and stared back giving a silent nod.
honey pot continued,
"we were all outside that day. you think you're not lonely only alone? i got news for you... you needle nose, smug little piece of twit. you're not."
honey pot asked pushing her large glasses tight around her round face. lunch meat was concentrating on the sad little chicken nuggets on his plastic cafeteria plate. the girl named honey pot sat down across from him in the lunchroom at roman polanski high school, mixing her mashed potatoes and canned corn together before scooping plastic spoonfuls into her mouth. lunch meat realizing the girl was still sitting there after several minutes shrugged his shoulders in reply. honey pot with a mouthful of instant potatoes and corn continued the one sided conversation. "i heard, that you got caught masturbating with a pile of shaved ham from a sandwich by a teacher in the bathroom. only, somehow you microwaved the meat on high and gave yourself second degree burns on your bubble yum and chicklets."
lunch meat looked up for the first time that day, "if that was really the case, and i'm not saying it is, my nickname would be blister dick or something... wouldn't it?" attempting his best at a withering look.
honeypot pointed her spork at the boy flicking dehydrated potato flakes and hissed "listen hear you dumb little kumquat. i know okay??? i know you're special... but then again so am i."
she pushed up the sleeve of a tired gray flannel she was wearing and held a limp wrist at eye level. lunch meat watched as tiny water droplets formed at the tips of her fingers before dropping onto the cold gray table between them. a dozen or so fell before honey pot continued.
"that weird solar flare... the one that turned the sky pink and that bright shade of green didn't just effect you numb nuts."
lunch meat gazed quietly around the cafeteria, several students had stopped what they were doing and stared back giving a silent nod.
honey pot continued,
"we were all outside that day. you think you're not lonely only alone? i got news for you... you needle nose, smug little piece of twit. you're not."
Friday, August 17, 2007
my onion personal ad
why you should get to know me:
because
five things i can't live without:
coffee and cigarettes, running shoes, rescue me ((the tv show.) i'm not gay but i would sleep with tommy in a hot second) and that fake taco meat stuff made out of soy- sooo good
last great book i read:
kafka on the shore- haruki murakami (it makes norwegian wood its little bitch in terms of beautifully insane weirdness)
songs that put me in the mood:
this is not a very good question because no one in their right mind answers it like the song playing in the background while taking a trip to pleasure town "oh, we're going" (it's a favorites list).
-these are just some albums i bought for the third time because i love them but continuously misplace them
nevermind- nirvana, yankee hotel foxtrot- wilco, ok computer- radiohead and the legend of johnny cash- johnny cash (a boy named sue- why have i never heard this song before??? it's so good it makes my bones ache).
five things you'll find in my bedroom:
many, many pillows (decorative), a dog named bear that likes to chew the stitching off the blanket, a girl named liz fast asleep, original artwork and several half read books
if i could be anywhere in the world right now:
driving to the airport in the early morning to make a flight... it's the anticipation that leads to all that gratification (thank you illinois lottery and bernie mac).
best lie i ever told:
Well you was doin fifty-five in a fifty-fo'
---quirky is sexy but a quark is sexier
because
five things i can't live without:
coffee and cigarettes, running shoes, rescue me ((the tv show.) i'm not gay but i would sleep with tommy in a hot second) and that fake taco meat stuff made out of soy- sooo good
last great book i read:
kafka on the shore- haruki murakami (it makes norwegian wood its little bitch in terms of beautifully insane weirdness)
songs that put me in the mood:
this is not a very good question because no one in their right mind answers it like the song playing in the background while taking a trip to pleasure town "oh, we're going" (it's a favorites list).
-these are just some albums i bought for the third time because i love them but continuously misplace them
nevermind- nirvana, yankee hotel foxtrot- wilco, ok computer- radiohead and the legend of johnny cash- johnny cash (a boy named sue- why have i never heard this song before??? it's so good it makes my bones ache).
five things you'll find in my bedroom:
many, many pillows (decorative), a dog named bear that likes to chew the stitching off the blanket, a girl named liz fast asleep, original artwork and several half read books
if i could be anywhere in the world right now:
driving to the airport in the early morning to make a flight... it's the anticipation that leads to all that gratification (thank you illinois lottery and bernie mac).
best lie i ever told:
Well you was doin fifty-five in a fifty-fo'
---quirky is sexy but a quark is sexier
16 aUg 2007
me: i wish i knew what heavy felt like.
(i said this out loud to no one in particular. i was picking something up that weighed a lot, i think it was that blue hamper thing i have that was filled with sweaty, nasty, dirty laundry and it reminded me of a scene in something about mary.)
-----liz walks into the room---
liz: you really like talking to yourself... don't you?
me: if i only said it to myself... in my head, then that would be called thinking... and really liz, who wants to do that???
(i said this out loud to no one in particular. i was picking something up that weighed a lot, i think it was that blue hamper thing i have that was filled with sweaty, nasty, dirty laundry and it reminded me of a scene in something about mary.)
-----liz walks into the room---
liz: you really like talking to yourself... don't you?
me: if i only said it to myself... in my head, then that would be called thinking... and really liz, who wants to do that???
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)