Most people are other people. Their thoughts are someone else’s opinions, their lives a mimicry, their passions a quotation.
Dearest Porcelain Throne,
I know I since giving up the beer and meat diet that got me through college, our relationship hasn’t been the same. Normally when we met in the past I was bent over screaming out lines from La Marseilles from some orifice, maybe it was both come to think about it. Often when I was doing that I imagined that I was a 18th century Londoner during the height of the Gin craze with nothing but contempt for the French
The lack of fibre in those days, (the days when I was on the ass cancer diet, not when I was in the 18th century) made regularity seen a clogged, distant pipe-dream. But today I learned that not only are there 12 ways to eat a carrot 7 of which involve placid throat muscles, and a criminal lack of a retching response from the body (was a vegan place in the village) 5 out of 12 are a lot like the typical male uvula bludgeoning fellatio.
You’re cleaner and I don’t need a hose you and the floor and part of the wall with bleach the next day to make you look like the first time we met when I moved into this shit hole (did you see what I did there, it tickles me pink which is hard given I’m black) but you see I still feel I owe you an explanation.
There is this thing called oral sex, it’s very different from we share in the morning as neither of us aside from the lotion leaves that situation happy. Then again the lotion in the process becomes self actualized as my gentleman’s paraphernalia is moist and doesn’t look like I slept nude on a sack of flour. After a bit of reading on oral sex I decided since I gave up being an asshole for lent, its only fair I retool my particular brand of throat yogurt.
Supposedly eating all that meat and alcohol will predispose one towards gout – the disease of kings and make one’s (throat) yogurt overly sour like Greek yogurt but without the thickness [giggles - seriously this whole post is ridiculous].
Easter Sunday is coming up, and I promised one particular lady a chance to see a real life resurrection (I’ve been working out, so I am good for at least two) I’m providing the wood and redemption and she provided the garden (it’s a Christian thing I suppose). As I am sure you understand, no Resurrection is complete with talking to a reformed whore post rising. So for her sake ive been eating these things called fruit, and downing vegetables like a vegan who things eating like a rabbit has some saving spiritual grace, where we all know fucking like rabbits do.
In the meanwhile please enjoy these useless pictures I am putting here for no reason other then to mask the stank of the load of bullshit I just dropped above.
By the way a special thanks goes out to the author of the She Cant Be Serious Blog for inspiring me for this post. This was based on a freshly post named: Notes from the Couch after the Road