Lay down in the deep grass and weeds.

[unburiable]

I hate when bottles grow too rapidly from being beautifully cold to sickeningly warm as a result of slow drinking, but I’m just not always into drinking so fast. Often, if I have enough cash on me, I’ll just set the half-empty warm bottle on the bar in front of me, scoot down a few seats and then hail down a different bartender to order another.

Comments

so what happened to the beer man?

[durwoodsauls]

oh, dear jesus tell me the only waste came from the pain inflicted upon your nemisis by the two bottles. shit bro, even i'd take a shot on account of some decent brews. just as long as the sonofabitch didn't run off with em afterwards. not even the most grievous of men would steal the drink off another. where's this bar? that chick sounds hot. you know ol' durwoods loving them girls that can ride some. specially the bull down at KicKers that sonofabitchss mean.

"Everybody wants something...they'll never give up."

[unburiable]

So what the fuck, right? Snake came over last night at around eleven, followed shortly by Wheels. Before either of them had arrived I’d already put in an order for a pizza with eggplant on it and settled down with a bottle of Jim Beam and a shot glass I got in New Orleans the summer I killed a man, to watch my friend David Cronenberg’s new 1979 hit film The Brood. Midway through the flick, during the scene where Frank discovers an oddly parceled collection of bones from the bodies of long-dead English pilgrims buried under the property he’s assembled a construction crew to raise his new dream home on, Snake barged through the front door like an asshole

Ovaltine, a malted milk beverage.

[foreignpetals]

Raenaroo?

Sick to my stomach like that time I was introduced to Jesus at church.

[unburiable]

Facts:

1. The Star is a trash rag.
2. I couldn’t be fazed less by it, and yet you could.

At tea this morning, while reading from a particularly delightful passage out of the novel I am writing for Harper Prism to be released next Fall, I was interrupted without warning by my secretary Belinda. Belinda is a tall, shapely woman, quite robust; demanding, powerful, seductive, prominent, efficient and above all, she shows more promise than the Book of Revelations. I shouldn’t be moved to care less of what a person such as yourself, Yorba, would think of a girl like Belinda, but as it is her sturdy make as a self-sufficient woman of the 1990s, she has a backbone in this story the likes of which could never be found running down your spine

[dxmgirl]

you're a mystery *s*

talking in circles

[dxmgirl]

was that just an attempt at insight in simply saying that you couldn't possibly have any when it comes to this, as you've so eloquently pointed out, very enigmatic young man? well, goddamn. i must say i'm impressed with how concise you managed to be, alone.

i'm willing to bet the last seventeen dollars in my checking account that you, yourself, could best be described as fucking stupid. care to take a stab at that, johnny? i bet you'll insist--no, i kid, i know you can't help it, sweetheart--on being dead wrong about this one, too.

Re: talking in circles

[dxmgirl]

I am now even more confused. I was merely showing interest. What's with the rage here?

i'm pinning this one to your coat.

[dxmgirl]

what little i feel for you could be more accurately described as benign pity than rage, but accuracy isn't exactly your thing, that's one thing you've made abundantly clear. it is true that how you go about merely showing interest, as you put it, is irritating, but only in the most typical sense, which is as as hopeless in itself as you are to pry any real emotion from me. why don't you just go outside and stare at the pretty flowers? from a purely aesthetic standpoint, there's not much to figure out there. so, there you go, that's something you can appreciate, and i promise no pointing and laughing will be involved. well, i can only speak for myself, of course, but i'd say you'd be pretty safe.

as far as your heightened state of confusion is concerned, i'm afraid i can't implant any sense into that sad hollow skull of yours, physically or otherwise...well, maybe, but that sounds kind of messy, doesn't it? but think about it--well, give it your best shot, anyway--we'd make history. hey, what are you up to this evening?

[wordsliveinlies]

That story was amazing. My favorite line was "It smells like dreams died in here." your very talented. keep on writting and ill keep on reading...

<3 ---> Summer

caithlin's a fucking whore

[durwoodsauls]

so, i've got the asses and saddler sore drunks. leave the planes alone, they'll get you no-where. middle ground is lost to those who fuckin wait, compromise is for sissies and mama's boys. get your gun and ride motherfucker. ride.

like the wind through a fucking bullet wound,
lover