The copulation of cats is harrowing, they are unbearably fond of the moon.

I am looking at floral cushions to make myself feel less like shit. It's not working.

I am drinking flat Diet Coke. Why? Sometimes even I myself wonder. So exhausted I can't sleep, what an ass-rape that is. Had to go to uni for assessment of pornography, I hate the stupid lard-asses that are my group. The one they call Sylvia might even be, for all intents and purposes, an actual pork dumpling. Her lumpish demeanor and dough-like ( Read more... )

Have been slobbing around the house all day in my pink pajamas, eating rice noodles and singing Ace of Base ("The Sign"). Could things get any lower? Well maybe. But that doesn't change the fact that I still feel pretty much like a loser. And bitches from uni keep haranguing me because we have this porn assignment due Monday, and they were totally ( Read more... )

Burlesque again last night, all you liars who said you were going to come DIDN'T. Of course. Because you are liars. And you lie. LIARS! But I'm totally over it ( Read more... )

YES! The internet was dead but I invigorated it! All alone, by myself, with no help from you or you or you. I feel so manly and in awe of my own power. Now I have been offered a job by a telemarketing company that pays $20 an hour but then also recieved a "maybe, we'll call you later (if we feel like it)" from Tree of Life, which probably will pay ( Read more... )

I've been thinking a lot lately about doing my own burlesque show. Especially after seeing the Voodoo Trash Dolls last Friday. And yes, I did fall flat on my face whilst scrambling on stage to grope Bunny Girl's ass, but it was all part of the bawdy fun. I should hope. Well. It's not my fault. Mat pushed me. I was tipsy. Shut up. Anyway ( Read more... )

You go to google and type in quotations "______ needs" inserting your name in the blank. And then you post them. Like a fag ( Read more... )

Dear Random Males of the World ( Read more... )

Alas. Alack. Angst.

I was so happy, positively brimming, in fact, with an effervescent, effulgent and, indeed, ebullient lust for life, or jouissance, as one might say, if one were a pompous, pretentious, pseudo-intellectual art-fag. And you know you are. And you smell like one too ( Read more... )