thundercuntluvah

Guy on Bus: What are you going to do today Napoleon?
ND: I don't know. Whatever I want to, GOSH!
Today I thought about painting pieces of paper blue like smurfs and making a video of me throwing them at people. Then I realized that I had far too much to do and I am missing my other half because she recently started Beauty School. No more late night drunken brawls which lead to sex. Not really brawls, more like boob twisting-- at which she could be champion. She could possibly win an Ultimate Fighting Championship due to her boob twisting skills alone. It is enough to make Andre the Giant grovel for mercy.
So, instead of being bored tonight I decided to paint my fingernails black again -- which seems to be frowned upon by the mathematical community, or so I would assume from the blaring sneers that I receive from most in my mathematical classes. It's ok though. I would happily mash my black-painted fingers into their eye sockets out of boredom alone.
I did, however, have a half-hearted thought of taking a pregnancy test. I know the results would be negative due to the fact that I have a dong hanging between my legs, but I would like to see for myself. Perhaps I have been pregnant for years and that is why I eat so much corn. Or maybe it is because corn reminds me of yellow martian heads without eyes and I like the feeling of mashing martian heads between my teeth. Either/or, it is really here nor there. However your mom is here and that makes me smile. Note the happy face in her mouth. I love it.
I should resign myself to studying for the LSAT (Law School Admissions Test), but I sit here like poop on a log, memorizing combinatoric theorems and wishing that my ass was on fire. I'll study tomorrow perhaps, or the next day. Soon I will study and conquer Spain, just as Napoleon -- the real Napoleon-- did. Except I am taller and I have less ego. You will recognize me when I am a lawyer. Just look for the courtroom that resembles a Jerry Springer set. Yes, I am here to protect rednecks because Dale Earnhardt was the Intimidator, or Intindateher as most honky, white trash rednecks say when their kentucky waterfalls flap in the wind and their nascar flags blossom from porches like perennial flowers that bloom every Sunday. I, too, would like to be known as the Intindateher in the courtroom. Perhaps oneday they will hang flags in my honor as I crash into a wall and spill my guts on the asphalt. There is no glory in accidents.
Damn, she is the awesomest thing ever. See those eyes, that neck, those lips, that nose. Yes, they are all perfect. The part you can't see is the mind, but that is perfect too. I don't know what perfect is, but is looks nice in sentences, so it shall stay and slither in its unachievable definition. Love, longing. It all becomes obvious when every 2n+1 thought is about her. What is 2n+1? It is every odd number. Try for yourself. 2(0)+1=1, 2(1)+1=3, and so on throughout the chain of life and uncertainty, only this is mathematical, so it is certain, like a vagina on Richard Simmons. She is every odd numbered thought. Sounds a bit amiss, but so am I during the many late night study sessions that I consume. Stupid thing is, I wish she was here, but the Hair Force forbids late night romps. I wish you all were here to share in my stupidity. It drives the masses to Calabasas. Did I mention she got two swallows tattoed on her hips and one carries my name on the ribbon? Sounds crazy, huh? Well, it's not when eternity has been written. I wish all of you had something this wonderful. It makes life livable and me happy. So happy that I could punch a Fraggle in the face and live harmoniously. Contentment, in a senseless sense. And now I leave you with a great poem, besides the greatest one that I received tonight....but I cant share that one...
Not easy to state the change you made.
If I'm alive now, then I was dead,
Though, like a stone, unbothered by it,
Staying put according to habit.
You didn't just toe me an inch, no--
Nor leave me to set my small bald eye
Skyward again, without hope, of course,
Of apprehending blueness, or stars.

That wasn't it. I slept, say: a snake
Masked among black rocks as a black rock
In the white hiatus of winter--
Like my neighbors, taking no pleasure
In the million perfectly-chiseled
Cheeks alighting each moment to melt
My cheek of basalt. They turned to tears,
Angels weeping over dull natures,
But didn't convince me. Those tears froze.
Each dead head had a visor of ice.

And I slept on like a bent finger.
The first thing I saw was sheer air
And the locked drops rising in a dew
Limpid as spirits. Many stones lay
Dense and expressionless round about.
I didn't know what to make of it.
I shone, mica-scaled, and unfolded
To pour myself out like a fluid
Among bird feet and the stems of plants.
I wasn't fooled. I knew you at once.

Tree and stone glittered, without shadows.
My finger-length grew lucent as glass.
I started to bud like a March twig:
An arm and a leg, an arm, a leg.
From stone to cloud, so I ascended.
Now I resemble a sort of god
Floating through the air in my soul-shift
Pure as a pane of ice. It's a gift.