The boom mic is in the cameras view. It's amateur hour. It's celebrated, it's horrendous, it's the real deal.
We sit in a tent, with multi-colored lights, next to a bar packed with the cheapest of alcohol. This family lives in the woods in a cabin with Playstations and HDTV's, satellite radio routed from the Pentium Dual Core.
Gathered 'round picnic tables, bbq into the Steve Miller Band. Throw up in your mouth, try to keep a straight face. Sitting solo, tv, Jagrmeister and the tick, tick, tick that follows.
Come down Tom have a margarita, how could I refuse, throw my back into a lawn chair, give press to generic brand aerosol bug off (that i secretly believe attracts them): watch as the crowd piles in.
She's 16, going on 17, she points out to me like a 12 year old. My tits Tom, have you seen my tits? What? Holding them over a hot tubs edge...
We have fuck parties in the woods. I understand half interested, the tequila drink mixer/father in earshot-we see who can fuck the loudest, fakings allowed, I like to bash my boyfriends face into the tents spikes.. She talks about music, she talks about myspace, she tells me i'm just like my little brother, I stare down into my Nintendo DS, and pray the family doesn't point me out, privy to some plot I never conjured. She talks about her favorite cock proportions as a I tune out, In half assed mixed drink I find God. Assume my brothers patience is a thousand fold as mine is.
She's 40 something, completely overweight, and enjoys the throw up train that's inspired by the lift of her shirt. She's had one too many, yet she's the life of the party. A over hung breast here, an overhung breast there. Her pregnant daughter watches on, infant in arms, patiently waiting until the passing of her in utero, to rock alongside the horde Coors Light in hand to Steely Dan. I'm so jealous of all of you as her exposed breast-mother's boyfriend takes a nosedive into the firepit, careening about in Nascar bliss, a shoulder hits a tree and he sleeps. I understand from chitter chatter later that he awakes to 300 pounds hovered over him, the placement of cock to cunt a 10 minute endeavor. His face burned from the pit. I understand later that a bystander actually vomited at the sight of such flesh ridden bags. I congratulate him today for his intestinal fortitude yesterday.
I sit back now, quarter of a bottle of wine to tag along with me. Showtime cable in my wake. This American Life, a must see for anyone (plz fucking watch this show, I think they have the first episode on the site, also listen to the brilliant podcast), Weeds (Louise Parker, gah), a lot better than I'dve figured. My Nintendo DS in a puddle just as I found my new fix (Age of Empires FTW).Tears across my face as my favorite distraction dies. Phone calls letting me know my World of Warcraft guild cannot function without me. Thank you for Ondemand Time Warner Cable to distract me from the madness up the road. Fuck you ancient computer for denying me my level 70 warlock.
Two days ago in a NYC bus station bar, tossing the random blurb to the kid who decided to sit next to me.
It's funny how airplane bars are considered fashionable. I couldn't imagine what they'd consider this.
Guiness please. Thanks off to the off the Ireland boat Tom, for pint a poured well.
To fuck into tent spikes and her mother at the door. Her mother reminds me how she sung singed songs Welsh to me the night before. We discussed Chaucer, she plays cultured amongst the army of trash, recites missions with said Margarita tender. The sense scurries into mixed drink resistence. Watch the crowds peel back tact, and hammer out the crassness. Their Uncle Buck(!) tells us about his first blowjob, and how it tasted like shit. Grey and caned he went on.
They stop by, they get their drink on, they eat their food. Miles of overweight women with pregnant bellies fill the stalls. 16 year old boys with tongues that muster worse thoughts then my own, I sit back bewildered. Hug a cold beer and my still alive Nintendo DS. This question probes my mind, will we survive this night?
Return home to extremely alcoholic cider and the new Tomahawk album.
Mike Patton thinks he's an Indian which kicks my face in.
Catching hope in the sober hours. More music I've missed out, new Tub Ring. oh hell yes. The Killer are in Love.
Thank god for distractions as I coax a new laptop from the dying old man, I came here to say good-bye to.
For the 2nd year in a row.
Can't seem to reconcile the post into a final sentence. Just promise a lil more tommorrow. Hit the blanket bath and pillow it up. Tonight to ya. Hello to you again.
We sit in a tent, with multi-colored lights, next to a bar packed with the cheapest of alcohol. This family lives in the woods in a cabin with Playstations and HDTV's, satellite radio routed from the Pentium Dual Core.
Gathered 'round picnic tables, bbq into the Steve Miller Band. Throw up in your mouth, try to keep a straight face. Sitting solo, tv, Jagrmeister and the tick, tick, tick that follows.
Come down Tom have a margarita, how could I refuse, throw my back into a lawn chair, give press to generic brand aerosol bug off (that i secretly believe attracts them): watch as the crowd piles in.
She's 16, going on 17, she points out to me like a 12 year old. My tits Tom, have you seen my tits? What? Holding them over a hot tubs edge...
We have fuck parties in the woods. I understand half interested, the tequila drink mixer/father in earshot-we see who can fuck the loudest, fakings allowed, I like to bash my boyfriends face into the tents spikes.. She talks about music, she talks about myspace, she tells me i'm just like my little brother, I stare down into my Nintendo DS, and pray the family doesn't point me out, privy to some plot I never conjured. She talks about her favorite cock proportions as a I tune out, In half assed mixed drink I find God. Assume my brothers patience is a thousand fold as mine is.
She's 40 something, completely overweight, and enjoys the throw up train that's inspired by the lift of her shirt. She's had one too many, yet she's the life of the party. A over hung breast here, an overhung breast there. Her pregnant daughter watches on, infant in arms, patiently waiting until the passing of her in utero, to rock alongside the horde Coors Light in hand to Steely Dan. I'm so jealous of all of you as her exposed breast-mother's boyfriend takes a nosedive into the firepit, careening about in Nascar bliss, a shoulder hits a tree and he sleeps. I understand from chitter chatter later that he awakes to 300 pounds hovered over him, the placement of cock to cunt a 10 minute endeavor. His face burned from the pit. I understand later that a bystander actually vomited at the sight of such flesh ridden bags. I congratulate him today for his intestinal fortitude yesterday.
I sit back now, quarter of a bottle of wine to tag along with me. Showtime cable in my wake. This American Life, a must see for anyone (plz fucking watch this show, I think they have the first episode on the site, also listen to the brilliant podcast), Weeds (Louise Parker, gah), a lot better than I'dve figured. My Nintendo DS in a puddle just as I found my new fix (Age of Empires FTW).Tears across my face as my favorite distraction dies. Phone calls letting me know my World of Warcraft guild cannot function without me. Thank you for Ondemand Time Warner Cable to distract me from the madness up the road. Fuck you ancient computer for denying me my level 70 warlock.
Two days ago in a NYC bus station bar, tossing the random blurb to the kid who decided to sit next to me.
It's funny how airplane bars are considered fashionable. I couldn't imagine what they'd consider this.
Guiness please. Thanks off to the off the Ireland boat Tom, for pint a poured well.
To fuck into tent spikes and her mother at the door. Her mother reminds me how she sung singed songs Welsh to me the night before. We discussed Chaucer, she plays cultured amongst the army of trash, recites missions with said Margarita tender. The sense scurries into mixed drink resistence. Watch the crowds peel back tact, and hammer out the crassness. Their Uncle Buck(!) tells us about his first blowjob, and how it tasted like shit. Grey and caned he went on.
They stop by, they get their drink on, they eat their food. Miles of overweight women with pregnant bellies fill the stalls. 16 year old boys with tongues that muster worse thoughts then my own, I sit back bewildered. Hug a cold beer and my still alive Nintendo DS. This question probes my mind, will we survive this night?
Return home to extremely alcoholic cider and the new Tomahawk album.
Mike Patton thinks he's an Indian which kicks my face in.
Catching hope in the sober hours. More music I've missed out, new Tub Ring. oh hell yes. The Killer are in Love.
Thank god for distractions as I coax a new laptop from the dying old man, I came here to say good-bye to.
For the 2nd year in a row.
Can't seem to reconcile the post into a final sentence. Just promise a lil more tommorrow. Hit the blanket bath and pillow it up. Tonight to ya. Hello to you again.
but str1ppermom is all about it..I think
and yes..we are still rockin it!
he asked about you awhile ago..if you were still on here or not
and...what the fuck was u with your blog
where were you?