shaka

The only thing I hate more than the smell of my own shit, is the smell of someone elses.

But I'll bet everybody feels the same about that.

As sad as it is to say, I think I'm going to have to retire the illustrious Missy from one of my Favorite spots. I think she was the reason I got this damn membership in the first place. She's everything I'd want in a fantasy girl. A fuckin HOT bod, punk as shit dye job with eyes they write poems about and a wardrobe to boot. . . But there hasn't been a Missy sighting in almost a year. Faithfully I've trolled the groups hoping for even a glimpse of the mythical Missy in the background of some group shot. In Photoshop I'd wield the zoom tool over every distant and out of focus body wondering. . . "Is that her?" I'm beginning to wonder if Missy ever really existed at all. Is my infatuation with this beautiful woman actually a symptom of my own demise? An impending insanity? Have I created something perfect in my mind and begun a chase that would never come to an end. Now I know how these guys who hunt Bigfoot feel. They spend their life looking for proof, listening to strangers recount their personal experiences with the beast only to pray for one of their own. Inevitably these men die alone never noticing while they were alive that they smelled like bad meat and stale pee. Well I don't want to be one of those guys. . . I think it's time for me to move on with my life, to find another SG to adore. .. That is. . . If any of this is real. . .

Tap. . . Tap. . . Tap. . .

Is this thing on. . . . ?

I said. . . Is this thing on. . . ?