Saturday, October 12, 2013
Your Saturday Existentialism
Somewhere, deep in the American soul, there lies a rot.
A spiritual malaise.
A malignant vortex draining the spirit of harmony into a pit of existential despair.
This.
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- In memoriam: bcs
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Looks more like a fatigue than a malaise. I wonder how much she charges.
that’s one nasty snatch!
I guess RevChad cleaned up all of his (ahem) “page edits.”
.
(cough)
He locked me out Wheezer. Now I know to look to see if the cookie jar is open. But I don’t think that will happen again. If only it has been late at night when I’m totally smashed there would have been an Asspalooza.
I have seen the belly of the beast and life has changed forever. DB1 lives a perverse and enviable life.
For his birthday someone treated David Lee Roth to a haircut.
I’m not sure if it was a dream, but I seem to recall the entire site falling completely down into an apocalyptic rabbit hole. In this paranormal vision, the reverend Chad Kroeger took full control of the Mother Ship and deftly guided it directly into a black hole of old golden retrievers, Aunt Marian’s meaty thighs and the promise of orgiastic, Vegas-Hooker three ways. It was both compelling and disturbing in its all-encompassing ass-pearian awesomeness.
.
Then I woke up, sweaty and shaken.
Wheezer saw it too! Can I get a witness?
X
Who wants to see my smelly old dog? Everyone
Laughed my ass off.
I liked^ it. I even found ‘Sockk’s dream foursome partners in Rev’s Chive link: two pears and a horse.
I always miss all the fun!
Who drives to a whorehouse in a golf cart?
I thought this douche was trapped in the Ecuadorian basement in London?
Sometimes in the early morning dew of fall I venture outside onest more shirtless. The dog needs relief and I puff a doob from the fresh field of Special Kush that Lenny is harvesting as I wander into my mind and think of HER as the wisp of smoke I just blew out recycles itself through my olfactory system which recognizes that smell. The smell of youth and exploration; the scent of the middle east blends with memories of Love’s Baby Soft on the necks of 13 year-old-virgins splayed out before me at the end of grade 8 preparing for the great adventure of high-school and teen life.
.
A young Lethario ready to burst forth and spread his rare gifts to the world. Ready to thrust his 14 year old rod into the future and lay waste to the excesses of industrial small town urbanity and shake it to it’s core while he uses HER. She smiles one day like Phoebe Cates at him and he is smitten. A glam-rock early 80’s couple. Golden times. But SHE is already leaving.
.
Times of revelry and action. Like the Watchmen movie in fast motion the years role on and the old man misses HER.
.
His children disappoint him. His rod not quite as strong as it was before he left HER. Youth fleets by him briefly as he brings the old dog back inside as he looks down as his black diabetic foot while the smell of 70’s weed and pre-teen perfume elude him as SHE retreats further into the past and he mourns for HER. SHE left him over a decade ago, his youth. It’s all mixed up man. I hate getting old. Fuck.
.
Please let that be a tactical nuke going off in the background to erradicate this Vlad Putin wannabe and poor man’s Cusack cousin. And what did I miss while watching football and drinking yesterday?
Hell, Rev. getting old beats the alternative.
The unseasonably cool weather caused Fauxhawk Joe to put his Camo hoodie on over his fishnet T-shirt and LeXXXi to snuggle close at the first annual Bucket of Balls to Beat Breast Cancer Long Drive Competition. LeXXXI was a ball girl and would polish your shaft for $5. Joe came last.