its hillarious to me. like- okay. you wanna know what i am about? of course you do. my fucking life is a weirdo success. you should fucking latch on my my mojo & pull it as often as you can. but, here is the thing. i've got this...stuff. i mean, j. crew as you seem to be, oh boys n; girls? these are the generals of the war. here is the state of the universe.
thing is? alone.
alone to me means 2/3 of something.
no fucking revolutionary will be able to fix that.
i fell down here 65 million years ago. i'm m.
so eventually the morning comes, & you look over what you've ejaculated. scan the print-babble that wine coaxed out of you through honest means. & there is some predictable stuff there. me talking about race without context? i still think its funny. my trying to laquer context on? so half-wrought. i stand by my overall mojo: race is imaginary, gender is real, so lets talk about chicks. right. thats all that about the mundane shit. but when i see myself breaking up almost in tears over the whole 2/3 thing? all i want to do is clone myself twice so i can go pick myself off the ground. shower him with tinsel & at least work on holding it together. so rael, hurry up & be born! if your jesus, i'll fucking kill you. if you ain't, don't bogart the clone tubes, homie.
The packing last Thursday went well, thanks to ingenuity, hard work and a genetically-perfect Boy Scout specimen friend. that last part is me!
okay, i guess my plan was to stay home today, since apparently jenny n' me are going to rock shakespeare & co. on sunday. the big premise of staying home today is finally doing fucking laundry, since i am literally out of fucking clothes. i mean, besides pants. i'm on the team that says you can wear the same pair of jeans about a million times in a row. fun fact- the reason i do it is because of some girl named lisa foster! whatever that girls story was! like- i had that friend-crush thing on her? i mean, i wanted to hang out with her a whole lot. sometimes she'd get mad at me because i had a crush-crush on katie s. & she probably thought i was creepy, because uh, i'm creepy? also, the friend-crush thing is creepy, even though i get it all the time. anyhow, one time i said something shitty to lisa foster & she said something mean to me about katie, except my being an asshole was on accident, & she was totally right about katie. so i should've listened to her! if i could get in a time machine, i'd be all "yo, little mordicai! that girl is like a lame version of paltrow from the royal tenebaums!" & lil' me would be "word up? big me, take me home with you & clone yourself (since you are from the future) & the lonely won't seem so big." then i'd sadly tell him "it don't work that way, sluggo. sorry." then i'd get in my time machine & go meet a dinosaur.
so i have no clean socks (not even dress socks! i wore those, too!), boxers with no elastic, & um, not a single fucking shirt (button up shirts have been worn at least twice, once with a wife-beater underneath, once without). so i need to get my clothes washed, but i'm not good for any-fucking-thing today. you know how in ghostbusters, new york city is all getting its ass kicked by ghosts once that small-dicked guy opens the containment unit? thats what it is like for me. except insead of slimer, i get lisa foster, which is a pretty awesome trade. not to diss slimer, but lisa foster was pretty okay. i heard she was getting it on with that one weird hot androgynous guy, i think. so good for her. i guess.
okay! fuck you mister mordicai! hahahah. you son of a fucking bitch. fucking staggering around the apartment with your hands clasped being a sad elf boy. you & your fucking widow's peak! shooting moon-eyes at the laundry & the dirty dishes. i fucking solved your puzzle! i put the key in the pad-lock & turned it. i fucking purchased a lawn gnome, metaphorically speaking. whats my secret? all the art deco beatnik occultists wanna know. well, i'll tell yah. the god-damn gilmore girls. man, i like those fucking girls. i put it in for the backround chatter & now i'm better. all fucking better. or not. but its okay. because there is chatterlicious-ness going down. putting me in some kind of orbit. spontanously clapping my hands with little provocation. oh, & i read the third volume of y: the last man. oh, & the other day i decided that gath ennis needs to fucking grow a new plot from his cancer-brain. seriously, i get it, garth. you don't like god. maybe you tell yourself that hellblazer is about the devil & the preacher is about god? but its the same fucking diffrence, the way you tell it. ps. garth ole boy? watch out for lorelai gilmore. she'll eat your face & make you like it. rory isn't a bit of a slouch either!