B. McGILLICUDDY
I have a penchant for women who are brilliant and emotionally inaccessible I think:
'is that a go?'
'no, but it's not a "do not go" either. it's more of an "i am very confused about everything right now, so you have to choose"'
'i have to choose? do not pass go. do not collect $100'
'it's actually $200 dollars. if you could wire me half of that, i would be there tomorrow. seriously. that was a joke. i shouldn't joke. i should get on a plane or something'
'it's $200? i need to refine my monopoly memories. would you hate me if i told you i was staying single and alone? no, i don't think getting on a plane would be a good thing. it's not something you should get involved with. i'd just play with you. and be mean'
'i need to come home. play all you want, it's a game after all. i will hate you as often as a tiger has the opportunity to hate a lioness. rawr'
'i'm very serious. i'll just say it. there is no chance'
'good to know. it's been fun. la paz and bon chance'
Feels like I fucked up something good somehow. Damn
B. McGILLICUDDY
5/27/2009
you can only degrade me if you're sexy
ORACULAR SPECTACULAR
(amongst many other aliases)
it has been a lloooooong fucking time since i have posted anything, but whatevs.
i'm alive.
yyyaaay?
anyway, back to my point.
i have just recently seen the video for every girl.
a vulgar song by everyone's (secret) favorite rapper* and some random guys
[including that guy who was in the wheelchair from degrassi.]
and the song states that they want to fuck every girl in the world.
which i can appreciate, cuz you know...
guys are like that.
but the guys in this video are just plain ol' UGLY.
and we knew lil wayne was ugly, he's been ugly since 2000 or so...
but i had hopes that maybe i, or any of my friends, would actually find at least one of these dudes cute enough to not mind if they fucked one of my friends.
but they are not.
and for that reason, i cannot genuinely enjoy the song.
it's like...
imagine that there is a cute little 2 yr old who likes to shout, "fuck you."
versus an ugly 5 year old who does the same...
you are gonna look @ the 2 year old and say, "awwww, he said fuck me. hooow cuuute!!"
but the 5 year old, you are definitely going to at least think, if not say, "what the hell did that ugly fucker just say to me?"
so, yeah.
if you're not sexy...
please don't degrade me.
cuz i won't like your songs.
*that is, unless you hate rap... yeah, right... you idolize him... admit it
alright world, twas nice talkin to ya,
ORACULAR SPECTACULAR
AN EXCERPT FROM THE MANUSCRIPT OF MY (W.I.P.) SCIENCE FICTION NOVEL
B. McGILLICUDDY
(7) NEW CHAPTER
‘How’s the girl?’
‘Celeste?’
‘What?’
‘That’s her name. Celeste.’
‘You named her?’
‘Yeah. Well, sort of.’
‘Explain.’
‘She’s a seraph. That’s a reference to Judaic angels. Angels come from Heaven, or Caelum in Latin. Celeste. Like celestial. It was her idea, I just sug-gested...’
‘I get it. Okay. How is she?’
‘Just dandy.’
‘Great.’
They’ve just had sex, a concept that is completely foreign to your author, however I will do my best anyway to make this chapter as pornographic as possible. I think that this conversation would be considered ‘post-coital’ in aes-thetic. It is bland and the subject matter is lacking a certain nuance or complexity or something. In other words, it’s ‘awkward’, which isn’t conversationally unusual for Jimmy and Kayleigh, but at the moment they are particularly aware of the dreaded adjective’s presence.
In the downtime until the first cache location is released, they are inevitably in the throes of a certain passionate reig-niting of ‘the old flame’, despite the fact that Jimmy should probably be continu-ing his training. He feels unusually overly prepared, and all the schedules and routines have left him restless. So, since Kayleigh shacked up with him, the distraction has been somewhat irresistible. But once again, things are getting ‘awkward’.
‘Do you want to go the café and get a bite?’ Jimmy inquires.
‘Not particularly. I think I’ll just zone for a while.’
‘Great. So we get back together and the first thing you want to do is avoid me.’
‘Don’t be such a woman.’
‘Don’t be such a man.’
‘Shut up.’
‘Wow, our arguments are always so intricate. So complex. I think that’s why I love you.’
‘You’re full of shit. You don’t love me. You like the idea of me. You love your animals. You know, I think I finally get that.’
Jimmy is silent.
‘I knew it. I knew you were distracted somehow, towards the end, last time. It was this goddamned NuWars shit wasn’t it?’ Jimmy stays silent. ‘Fuck! You didn’t give a shit about me at all to begin with! Why the fuck did I even come back to you? You’re just a self-absorbed cunt of a person.’ She grabs the sense-switch from the night table and is about to zone when Jimmy grabs her arm.
‘This is a sham,’ He says, ‘I can’t see us together in a year. Our lives are taking completely different directions. Do you remember saying these things?’
‘...No.’
‘Well, you did. That was long before we were over, it may have been a confes-sion or a fleeting insecurity on your part, but it hit me pretty hard. That’s why I started pulling away, because I thought you wanted me to.’
Kayleigh stares at him for a moment, her guilt slowly building into shame. Her shame slowly starts building into tears. She thrusts at Jimmy and pecks him on the cheek, turns and lumps the blanket over her as she shuffles deep into fetal position, her back to Jimmy.
An hour passes and all the while Jimmy tries to search her mind for an in-let, but nothing. She will not speak and his head is overly-occupied with what she may be thinking. Where are you? He asks her with his mind. How could you possibly get so far away from me? How could you leave me here alone?
‘I don’t think I’m going to compete anymore.’ She finally says.
‘What?’
She rolls over and looks toward him, avoiding his eyes. ‘I’m finished, with MagWars. I’m done, I’m just...fed up.’
‘But what about your team? You’re in the final round of the...’
‘I’ve been to the championship games before. Plenty of times. More than any other player. I don’t have anymore stake in it. I’m giving it up.’
‘But...’
‘Don’t say anything else. You can’t convince me otherwise.’
‘Are you going to tell Hanley?’
‘...Could you tell him for me?’
‘...Sure.’
‘I want to feel you inside of me, Jimmy. Hold me.’
He cuddles up next to her and she puts her arm around his back, caressing the back of his thigh. He puts both of his arms around her waist, his legs in parallel arches to hers, and they lay naked sending billions of each other’s nerves firing, pouring into them a complete feeling of calm.
Jimmy knows this is her way of saying ‘I’m sorry’, but the fact that she can’t articulate it is a sign to him that on some level she’s indifferent about every-thing that they’ve become, and that her thoughts are elsewhere, with him being her only escape from the painful flutter of her own constant trauma.
She turns to him and tries to looks him in the eyes. He leans up and over her, doing the same. At first she can see that he’s searching her more than he is seeing her, which makes her uneasy. But she slowly perceives a sort of gentle resignation in his stare that starts arousing in her a gloomy lust for this beautiful thing, whatever he is. She can’t find it in herself to tell him where her in-securities really lie. She can’t bring it up from the seething, murky swamp of her conflicted heart. She wants to tell him, but she’s afraid. She’s too afraid to do anything but fuck him again, because if she doesn’t she’s going to cry.
He begins pressing his lips against her neck and rubbing her thigh, gently but forming a firm cusp over the curve of her muscular legs as he slides his hand up and down in a fan-like motion. He con-tinues finding new places to kiss as his fingers move to her hip and waist up until he’s caressing her breast. He’s already impeccably enthralled by the essence of the woman and in his mind she is an indefinable mass of everything he has ever wanted, and despised living without. This was the same woman he had seen from Fourth York and who had captured his imagination. The girl who exemplified the concept of perfection to him and whom he had worked his way around his phobia of rejection, of space, of leaving his home, and of losing himself in something despicable and becoming synonymous with it, to travel to Earth for the chance to see her perform her acts of grace and domination in real life, on the MagWars arena floor. And now he is inside of her, exciting her, AND doing his damnedest to comfort her in this hard-knock life they’re now joined in.
Steadily an ecstasy gripped and unified them both. And they were happy. Happy.
Usually porn of the written persua-sion has some euphemism for genitalia and some more words you can tug to. But this version of the manuscript just has this sappy ‘I wish we were in love’ segment. That’s as much as I could put out (no pun intended).
After about five hours or so of Jimmy and Kayleigh being intimate with each other they get to bypass anymore awkward because Jove chimes in over the apartment’s P.A. system.
‘Jimmy. Jimmy. The first cache loca-tion has been received and is now being decoded.’
‘Be there in a minute, Jove!’ He strains to say, finishing Kayleigh off for the umpteenth time.
‘Are you gonna cum?’ She asks him.
‘I, uh...already have...four...times. Ahhh.’ He grunts. ‘I think that’s enough for one sesh.’ He pulls out, hurriedly kisses her forehead and begins rushing to get his clothes on. Kayleigh, her mind now without the preoccupation of con-cern, lies back, noticing the sense-switch on the nightstand and grabs it.
‘You’re taking me with you...wherever it is you’re going, right?’
Jimmy slows his movement for a moment, looking up at her. ‘Do you want to go?’
‘I want to go.’
‘Alright then.’
She slips on the sense-switch and zones. Jimmy finishes dressing and looks at the girl, her naked body stretched out in complete comfort over his bed. His cheeks arch into a reserved smile with a tinge of uncertainty and he leaves.
Terminal enters the menagerie and asks, ‘Jove, how much longer till you’ve got the coordinates decoded?’
‘Approximately eight minutes.’
Terminal runs the usual rounds. Eve-rything seems to be in shape. He finds Giuseppe.
‘Where’s Francois? I need an update on Fury. We’re going to need to do a fly-over for this trip no doubt.
‘I haven’t seen him all evening.’
‘And where’s the girl? Celeste?’
Giuseppe shrugs. Terminal walks to the sparring arena and the doors open to a little surprise. In the corner Celeste, lying on her back, has her legs wrapped around Francois’s waist and her arms in-tertwined with his, pulling him into her.
‘Terminal! Help!’ Francois yells.
Celeste immediately pulls herself away and takes a defensive stance.
‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing!? Were...you...raping him?’
‘No, no, no, no, Termie,’ Francois says, ‘I may have been giving in some-what begrudgingly, but I assure you, it was consensual.’
‘I don’t know what to say about this, Frank.’
‘Celeste said she wanted to have sex with me. I obliged. She’s into some pretty violent things, you know.’
‘She’s very young Frank.’
‘But not inexperienced, mon ami.’
‘Okay well...Celeste? I’m not freaking out. But could you please rape Frank somewhere a little more discrete next time. And Frank, we’ve got work to do. Let’s go!’
Francois pulls up his pants and hobbles out of the arena.
‘Some other time, I suppose, mon amour!’
‘Don’t call me that!’ She yells back at him.
‘As you wish.’
B. McGillicuddy
(7) NEW CHAPTER
‘How’s the girl?’
‘Celeste?’
‘What?’
‘That’s her name. Celeste.’
‘You named her?’
‘Yeah. Well, sort of.’
‘Explain.’
‘She’s a seraph. That’s a reference to Judaic angels. Angels come from Heaven, or Caelum in Latin. Celeste. Like celestial. It was her idea, I just sug-gested...’
‘I get it. Okay. How is she?’
‘Just dandy.’
‘Great.’
They’ve just had sex, a concept that is completely foreign to your author, however I will do my best anyway to make this chapter as pornographic as possible. I think that this conversation would be considered ‘post-coital’ in aes-thetic. It is bland and the subject matter is lacking a certain nuance or complexity or something. In other words, it’s ‘awkward’, which isn’t conversationally unusual for Jimmy and Kayleigh, but at the moment they are particularly aware of the dreaded adjective’s presence.
In the downtime until the first cache location is released, they are inevitably in the throes of a certain passionate reig-niting of ‘the old flame’, despite the fact that Jimmy should probably be continu-ing his training. He feels unusually overly prepared, and all the schedules and routines have left him restless. So, since Kayleigh shacked up with him, the distraction has been somewhat irresistible. But once again, things are getting ‘awkward’.
‘Do you want to go the café and get a bite?’ Jimmy inquires.
‘Not particularly. I think I’ll just zone for a while.’
‘Great. So we get back together and the first thing you want to do is avoid me.’
‘Don’t be such a woman.’
‘Don’t be such a man.’
‘Shut up.’
‘Wow, our arguments are always so intricate. So complex. I think that’s why I love you.’
‘You’re full of shit. You don’t love me. You like the idea of me. You love your animals. You know, I think I finally get that.’
Jimmy is silent.
‘I knew it. I knew you were distracted somehow, towards the end, last time. It was this goddamned NuWars shit wasn’t it?’ Jimmy stays silent. ‘Fuck! You didn’t give a shit about me at all to begin with! Why the fuck did I even come back to you? You’re just a self-absorbed cunt of a person.’ She grabs the sense-switch from the night table and is about to zone when Jimmy grabs her arm.
‘This is a sham,’ He says, ‘I can’t see us together in a year. Our lives are taking completely different directions. Do you remember saying these things?’
‘...No.’
‘Well, you did. That was long before we were over, it may have been a confes-sion or a fleeting insecurity on your part, but it hit me pretty hard. That’s why I started pulling away, because I thought you wanted me to.’
Kayleigh stares at him for a moment, her guilt slowly building into shame. Her shame slowly starts building into tears. She thrusts at Jimmy and pecks him on the cheek, turns and lumps the blanket over her as she shuffles deep into fetal position, her back to Jimmy.
An hour passes and all the while Jimmy tries to search her mind for an in-let, but nothing. She will not speak and his head is overly-occupied with what she may be thinking. Where are you? He asks her with his mind. How could you possibly get so far away from me? How could you leave me here alone?
‘I don’t think I’m going to compete anymore.’ She finally says.
‘What?’
She rolls over and looks toward him, avoiding his eyes. ‘I’m finished, with MagWars. I’m done, I’m just...fed up.’
‘But what about your team? You’re in the final round of the...’
‘I’ve been to the championship games before. Plenty of times. More than any other player. I don’t have anymore stake in it. I’m giving it up.’
‘But...’
‘Don’t say anything else. You can’t convince me otherwise.’
‘Are you going to tell Hanley?’
‘...Could you tell him for me?’
‘...Sure.’
‘I want to feel you inside of me, Jimmy. Hold me.’
He cuddles up next to her and she puts her arm around his back, caressing the back of his thigh. He puts both of his arms around her waist, his legs in parallel arches to hers, and they lay naked sending billions of each other’s nerves firing, pouring into them a complete feeling of calm.
Jimmy knows this is her way of saying ‘I’m sorry’, but the fact that she can’t articulate it is a sign to him that on some level she’s indifferent about every-thing that they’ve become, and that her thoughts are elsewhere, with him being her only escape from the painful flutter of her own constant trauma.
She turns to him and tries to looks him in the eyes. He leans up and over her, doing the same. At first she can see that he’s searching her more than he is seeing her, which makes her uneasy. But she slowly perceives a sort of gentle resignation in his stare that starts arousing in her a gloomy lust for this beautiful thing, whatever he is. She can’t find it in herself to tell him where her in-securities really lie. She can’t bring it up from the seething, murky swamp of her conflicted heart. She wants to tell him, but she’s afraid. She’s too afraid to do anything but fuck him again, because if she doesn’t she’s going to cry.
He begins pressing his lips against her neck and rubbing her thigh, gently but forming a firm cusp over the curve of her muscular legs as he slides his hand up and down in a fan-like motion. He con-tinues finding new places to kiss as his fingers move to her hip and waist up until he’s caressing her breast. He’s already impeccably enthralled by the essence of the woman and in his mind she is an indefinable mass of everything he has ever wanted, and despised living without. This was the same woman he had seen from Fourth York and who had captured his imagination. The girl who exemplified the concept of perfection to him and whom he had worked his way around his phobia of rejection, of space, of leaving his home, and of losing himself in something despicable and becoming synonymous with it, to travel to Earth for the chance to see her perform her acts of grace and domination in real life, on the MagWars arena floor. And now he is inside of her, exciting her, AND doing his damnedest to comfort her in this hard-knock life they’re now joined in.
Steadily an ecstasy gripped and unified them both. And they were happy. Happy.
Usually porn of the written persua-sion has some euphemism for genitalia and some more words you can tug to. But this version of the manuscript just has this sappy ‘I wish we were in love’ segment. That’s as much as I could put out (no pun intended).
After about five hours or so of Jimmy and Kayleigh being intimate with each other they get to bypass anymore awkward because Jove chimes in over the apartment’s P.A. system.
‘Jimmy. Jimmy. The first cache loca-tion has been received and is now being decoded.’
‘Be there in a minute, Jove!’ He strains to say, finishing Kayleigh off for the umpteenth time.
‘Are you gonna cum?’ She asks him.
‘I, uh...already have...four...times. Ahhh.’ He grunts. ‘I think that’s enough for one sesh.’ He pulls out, hurriedly kisses her forehead and begins rushing to get his clothes on. Kayleigh, her mind now without the preoccupation of con-cern, lies back, noticing the sense-switch on the nightstand and grabs it.
‘You’re taking me with you...wherever it is you’re going, right?’
Jimmy slows his movement for a moment, looking up at her. ‘Do you want to go?’
‘I want to go.’
‘Alright then.’
She slips on the sense-switch and zones. Jimmy finishes dressing and looks at the girl, her naked body stretched out in complete comfort over his bed. His cheeks arch into a reserved smile with a tinge of uncertainty and he leaves.
Terminal enters the menagerie and asks, ‘Jove, how much longer till you’ve got the coordinates decoded?’
‘Approximately eight minutes.’
Terminal runs the usual rounds. Eve-rything seems to be in shape. He finds Giuseppe.
‘Where’s Francois? I need an update on Fury. We’re going to need to do a fly-over for this trip no doubt.
‘I haven’t seen him all evening.’
‘And where’s the girl? Celeste?’
Giuseppe shrugs. Terminal walks to the sparring arena and the doors open to a little surprise. In the corner Celeste, lying on her back, has her legs wrapped around Francois’s waist and her arms in-tertwined with his, pulling him into her.
‘Terminal! Help!’ Francois yells.
Celeste immediately pulls herself away and takes a defensive stance.
‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing!? Were...you...raping him?’
‘No, no, no, no, Termie,’ Francois says, ‘I may have been giving in some-what begrudgingly, but I assure you, it was consensual.’
‘I don’t know what to say about this, Frank.’
‘Celeste said she wanted to have sex with me. I obliged. She’s into some pretty violent things, you know.’
‘She’s very young Frank.’
‘But not inexperienced, mon ami.’
‘Okay well...Celeste? I’m not freaking out. But could you please rape Frank somewhere a little more discrete next time. And Frank, we’ve got work to do. Let’s go!’
Francois pulls up his pants and hobbles out of the arena.
‘Some other time, I suppose, mon amour!’
‘Don’t call me that!’ She yells back at him.
‘As you wish.’
B. McGillicuddy
5/25/2009
THE STRANGEST FEELING
B. McGILLICUDDY
When I was ten years old I remember masturbating
I remember thinking, 'why am I masturbating?'
I remember getting an erection
And wondering 'how did this happen?' And 'how can I make this happen when I want it to happen again?'
I remember my friend, Ashton
And I remember her boobs
And I remember them looking very round in her bikini at the pool
And I remember not being able to control my erection at the pool
I remember ejaculating at night once when I thought no one knew
I remember thinking 'what is this?' 'this is stupid.' 'I want to do this again and again and again and again and again.' and 'everybody knows I do this.'
I remember being 'horny' and thinking 'what a waste of time.' 'what am I supposed to do with this?' 'no one else feels like this.' 'I am ugly and can't change that or do anything about this or ever find out how to make this go away until I am married to someone just as ugly as me.'
'Fuck' became a part of my vocabulary
I went on the internet to see pictures of 'vaginae' and 'coitus', but mostly 'pussy' and 'sex' and 'porno' and 'big dick' so I could compare
Almost every day in high school I felt like this and did these things
Every night during high school, when I should have been doing my homework
I thought things like, 'fuck!' and 'cunt!' and 'pussy!' and 'damn!' and got afraid
Because I might have said them out loud with my mother there
At the end of high school, I went on dates
Once, I went on a date in my parents car with a girl called Ebony, and we got lost
So we stopped, and she looked at me and smiled, there was no one around
I asked her, 'Do you want to fuck me?'
She said something like, 'I don't know anymore.'
I didn't have a condom. I didn't want babies. I was afraid she had fucked someone before me. I got REALLY. FUCKING. ANGRY. instead of making out with her
While I was driving, getting more lost, I realized that girls need to feel safe with me, and maybe then they will fuck me, and I thought this was strange
In college I had multiple opportunities to fuck girls
I don't think that I like fucking
I think that I like making love or something
The first time I touched a vagina, it was with my fingers
And my fingers made the girl orgasm, and I didn't feel like I needed to cum
The second time I touched a vagina, it was with my mouth
And my mouth made the girl orgasm, and I didn't feel like I needed to cum
The third time I touched a vagina, it was with my penis
It was okay I guess, I came all over her body and maybe a little on her mattress
This has happened a lot since then for some reason
I think that the strangest feeling in the world, is wanting to put my penis inside one person in particular, and not just some anonymous vagina
It feels good in my brain, but really hurts my stomach for some reason
B. McGILLICUDDY
When I was ten years old I remember masturbating
I remember thinking, 'why am I masturbating?'
I remember getting an erection
And wondering 'how did this happen?' And 'how can I make this happen when I want it to happen again?'
I remember my friend, Ashton
And I remember her boobs
And I remember them looking very round in her bikini at the pool
And I remember not being able to control my erection at the pool
I remember ejaculating at night once when I thought no one knew
I remember thinking 'what is this?' 'this is stupid.' 'I want to do this again and again and again and again and again.' and 'everybody knows I do this.'
I remember being 'horny' and thinking 'what a waste of time.' 'what am I supposed to do with this?' 'no one else feels like this.' 'I am ugly and can't change that or do anything about this or ever find out how to make this go away until I am married to someone just as ugly as me.'
'Fuck' became a part of my vocabulary
I went on the internet to see pictures of 'vaginae' and 'coitus', but mostly 'pussy' and 'sex' and 'porno' and 'big dick' so I could compare
Almost every day in high school I felt like this and did these things
Every night during high school, when I should have been doing my homework
I thought things like, 'fuck!' and 'cunt!' and 'pussy!' and 'damn!' and got afraid
Because I might have said them out loud with my mother there
At the end of high school, I went on dates
Once, I went on a date in my parents car with a girl called Ebony, and we got lost
So we stopped, and she looked at me and smiled, there was no one around
I asked her, 'Do you want to fuck me?'
She said something like, 'I don't know anymore.'
I didn't have a condom. I didn't want babies. I was afraid she had fucked someone before me. I got REALLY. FUCKING. ANGRY. instead of making out with her
While I was driving, getting more lost, I realized that girls need to feel safe with me, and maybe then they will fuck me, and I thought this was strange
In college I had multiple opportunities to fuck girls
I don't think that I like fucking
I think that I like making love or something
The first time I touched a vagina, it was with my fingers
And my fingers made the girl orgasm, and I didn't feel like I needed to cum
The second time I touched a vagina, it was with my mouth
And my mouth made the girl orgasm, and I didn't feel like I needed to cum
The third time I touched a vagina, it was with my penis
It was okay I guess, I came all over her body and maybe a little on her mattress
This has happened a lot since then for some reason
I think that the strangest feeling in the world, is wanting to put my penis inside one person in particular, and not just some anonymous vagina
It feels good in my brain, but really hurts my stomach for some reason
B. McGILLICUDDY
5/24/2009
APPLESAUCE PRANKSTERS: A ONE-SIDED FACEBOOK CONVERSATION
B. McGILLICUDDY/FLOYD
Buttercup
that picture
of christina aguilera
on our blog
is giving me a boner
5:23pmdFloyd
so hot
5:23pmButtercup
prime time for that photo shoot
5:24pmFloyd
you're really lonely
5:24pmButtercup
OMG YES I AM
I AM LIKE THE MOST LONELY I'VE EVER FELT
AND I MEAN LIKE FEEELLLLLTT
i have been alone and lonely and felt lonely while people are there before
THIS is the most lonely i have EVER FELT
it feels weird
5:24pmFloyd
you
need
5:25pmButtercup
esp since like it's there but not there when talking to you
5:25pmFloyd
attention
right now
5:25pmButtercup
i think i'm going to message that guy who hates me
he just got online
5:25pmFloyd
k go do that
5:25pmButtercup
maybe i'll poke him
FUCK NO
this is in jest
i'm too lonely to reach out to people
you know how that is
5:26pmFloyd
no
thats it.
5:28pmButtercup
damn
logged off
cunt
5:31pmFloyd
.lol
5:35pmButtercup
degas
badass painter
lost it all
got gay for van gogh
then van gogh had an affair with the ear rapist
and degas painted himself killing himself
but didn't actually do it
5:37pmFloyd
thats fucked
5:37pmButtercup
but mary cassatt heard about degas' suicide
and thought he really really did it
and got all excited
because she 'hated the twat'
and decided to burn his studio
but while she was pouring lighter fluid everywhere
degas came out of the closet and said 'what are you doing?'
and she turned, and said 'lighting your studio on fire'
and he said 'like hell' and started pouring flame-retardant where she had poured lighter flulid
and then they mudwrestled
5:40pmFloyd
k
stopped believing you
5:40pmButtercup
and an elephant stampede ran through
5:40pmFloyd
at
'degas came out of hte closet'
5:40pmButtercup
because an elephant never forgets
and degas was 'always a dick' to elephants
and degas and mary cassatt stood in the rubble
the mud caking on their ankles
5:41pmFloyd
lol
5:41pmButtercup
and watched the sunset
with their tongues intertwined a little, or as much as was possible in that century
applesauce pranksters
new band name
B. McGILLICUDDY/FLOYD
Buttercup
that picture
of christina aguilera
on our blog
is giving me a boner
5:23pmdFloyd
so hot
5:23pmButtercup
prime time for that photo shoot
5:24pmFloyd
you're really lonely
5:24pmButtercup
OMG YES I AM
I AM LIKE THE MOST LONELY I'VE EVER FELT
AND I MEAN LIKE FEEELLLLLTT
i have been alone and lonely and felt lonely while people are there before
THIS is the most lonely i have EVER FELT
it feels weird
5:24pmFloyd
you
need
5:25pmButtercup
esp since like it's there but not there when talking to you
5:25pmFloyd
attention
right now
5:25pmButtercup
i think i'm going to message that guy who hates me
he just got online
5:25pmFloyd
k go do that
5:25pmButtercup
maybe i'll poke him
FUCK NO
this is in jest
i'm too lonely to reach out to people
you know how that is
5:26pmFloyd
no
thats it.
5:28pmButtercup
damn
logged off
cunt
5:31pmFloyd
.lol
5:35pmButtercup
degas
badass painter
lost it all
got gay for van gogh
then van gogh had an affair with the ear rapist
and degas painted himself killing himself
but didn't actually do it
5:37pmFloyd
thats fucked
5:37pmButtercup
but mary cassatt heard about degas' suicide
and thought he really really did it
and got all excited
because she 'hated the twat'
and decided to burn his studio
but while she was pouring lighter fluid everywhere
degas came out of the closet and said 'what are you doing?'
and she turned, and said 'lighting your studio on fire'
and he said 'like hell' and started pouring flame-retardant where she had poured lighter flulid
and then they mudwrestled
5:40pmFloyd
k
stopped believing you
5:40pmButtercup
and an elephant stampede ran through
5:40pmFloyd
at
'degas came out of hte closet'
5:40pmButtercup
because an elephant never forgets
and degas was 'always a dick' to elephants
and degas and mary cassatt stood in the rubble
the mud caking on their ankles
5:41pmFloyd
lol
5:41pmButtercup
and watched the sunset
with their tongues intertwined a little, or as much as was possible in that century
applesauce pranksters
new band name
B. McGILLICUDDY/FLOYD
5/23/2009
WHEN WE HAND THEM TO YOU
B. McGILLICUDDY
There were three pirates who sometimes buried treasure, but not always. In the event that they were not burying treasure, they would spend it on things. Like rum. Other times they would invest it in local taverns, in order to get free rum whenever they wanted. And even other times, they would spend it on loose women or women that actually considered themselves prostitutes. One day, one of the pirates was very sleepy and had just tried mescaline for the first time, so he wasn’t at all interested in the prostitute he had leased for the evening. So he tried to send her away, but neglected to pay her, so she stayed. ‘Why are you still here?’ He asked her. ‘Because you haven’t given me my bloody money you scally-shank-wizzle.’ She replied. He checked his purse and noticed that he was low on doubloons, so he pulled out his pistol. She stood there with a look of expectation on her face. He pulled out some gun powder from a hollowed-out cow horn he had attached to his belt and poured it into the muzzle of his pistol. Then he tamped it down a little while the prostitute started shifting from her right hip to her left hip and placed her fist onto it. Her face was slowly changing to a look of disbelief. The pirate rolled a single bullet into the pistol, cocked it, aimed it at the prostitute and said, ‘Genevieve, I love you doll, but I’m going to shoot you in your heart if you don’t leave before I finish this sentence.’ Then he shot at her left bosom, but missed, because of the mescaline, the rum, his being tired, and the inaccuracy of the gun, and the bullet hit her right bosom and got lodged between her third and fourth ribs.
B. McGILLICUDDY
There were three pirates who sometimes buried treasure, but not always. In the event that they were not burying treasure, they would spend it on things. Like rum. Other times they would invest it in local taverns, in order to get free rum whenever they wanted. And even other times, they would spend it on loose women or women that actually considered themselves prostitutes. One day, one of the pirates was very sleepy and had just tried mescaline for the first time, so he wasn’t at all interested in the prostitute he had leased for the evening. So he tried to send her away, but neglected to pay her, so she stayed. ‘Why are you still here?’ He asked her. ‘Because you haven’t given me my bloody money you scally-shank-wizzle.’ She replied. He checked his purse and noticed that he was low on doubloons, so he pulled out his pistol. She stood there with a look of expectation on her face. He pulled out some gun powder from a hollowed-out cow horn he had attached to his belt and poured it into the muzzle of his pistol. Then he tamped it down a little while the prostitute started shifting from her right hip to her left hip and placed her fist onto it. Her face was slowly changing to a look of disbelief. The pirate rolled a single bullet into the pistol, cocked it, aimed it at the prostitute and said, ‘Genevieve, I love you doll, but I’m going to shoot you in your heart if you don’t leave before I finish this sentence.’ Then he shot at her left bosom, but missed, because of the mescaline, the rum, his being tired, and the inaccuracy of the gun, and the bullet hit her right bosom and got lodged between her third and fourth ribs.
B. McGILLICUDDY
5/20/2009
P.S. UR GONNA DIE
B. McGILLICUDDY
Hey guys, I just wanted to give you a cheerful reminder, that someday, in the near future: you're going to die.
Damn. Today someone said 'Patrick Swayze's dead', which is by all counts a vile and mean-spirited thing to say about a person who is 'alive' and 'well', especially if they're actually kind of dying.
I think it would actually be pretty sweet if this happened to someone if they weren't actually kind of dying at all, right?
What would you do if someone faked your death? Would you run with it? Would you consult your P.R. person and see what the perks and pitfalls of doing that were? Would you pull an Elvis? A Tupac? A Goku? There could be shittons of cash in having died. If you have a good attorney, you might even be able to cash in on your own life insurance! You could auction off all of your shit and have the proceeds go to you! I think I'm going to effing 'kill myself' tomorrow!
But really guys, you're all mortal.
I don't know how many of you have dealt with this little fact of the human conundrum, but you'll have to eventually. If I were a person instead of a blog contributor, and were confronted with my own mortality, I think I would pass it off as something that will probably happen some random Friday night that I wouldn't have remembered anyway. Or as something I would do quietly, in the privacy of my own home, under circumstances that were fucking awesome. Like while watching Blade Runner or Planet Earth: Oceans, or the Transformers 2 leak. And so I wouldn't worry too much about the 'after', because what the fuck ever right? Either it's something or it's nothing, and whatever it is, it's beyond me, so 'fuck it'.
I'm just really scared about dying before I lose my virginity, or dying before I find true love, or even worse, dying before I find out who my real father is/was/most likely could have been. But really, all I can say is 'damn'. Because sometimes it's just time to go before you really have 'all the answers', which is a bitch. Which is why I guess they say 'Life is a bitch'.
But no, really, I'm scared guys. Like 'willing to become a vampire at thirty as an alternative' scared.
'Bite me, Edward/Bill/Count Chocula. Bite me out of love.' - Da Gothicz
B. McGILLICUDDY
Hey guys, I just wanted to give you a cheerful reminder, that someday, in the near future: you're going to die.
Damn. Today someone said 'Patrick Swayze's dead', which is by all counts a vile and mean-spirited thing to say about a person who is 'alive' and 'well', especially if they're actually kind of dying.
I think it would actually be pretty sweet if this happened to someone if they weren't actually kind of dying at all, right?
What would you do if someone faked your death? Would you run with it? Would you consult your P.R. person and see what the perks and pitfalls of doing that were? Would you pull an Elvis? A Tupac? A Goku? There could be shittons of cash in having died. If you have a good attorney, you might even be able to cash in on your own life insurance! You could auction off all of your shit and have the proceeds go to you! I think I'm going to effing 'kill myself' tomorrow!
But really guys, you're all mortal.
I don't know how many of you have dealt with this little fact of the human conundrum, but you'll have to eventually. If I were a person instead of a blog contributor, and were confronted with my own mortality, I think I would pass it off as something that will probably happen some random Friday night that I wouldn't have remembered anyway. Or as something I would do quietly, in the privacy of my own home, under circumstances that were fucking awesome. Like while watching Blade Runner or Planet Earth: Oceans, or the Transformers 2 leak. And so I wouldn't worry too much about the 'after', because what the fuck ever right? Either it's something or it's nothing, and whatever it is, it's beyond me, so 'fuck it'.
I'm just really scared about dying before I lose my virginity, or dying before I find true love, or even worse, dying before I find out who my real father is/was/most likely could have been. But really, all I can say is 'damn'. Because sometimes it's just time to go before you really have 'all the answers', which is a bitch. Which is why I guess they say 'Life is a bitch'.
But no, really, I'm scared guys. Like 'willing to become a vampire at thirty as an alternative' scared.
'Bite me, Edward/Bill/Count Chocula. Bite me out of love.' - Da Gothicz
B. McGILLICUDDY
5/16/2009
WTF BEAUTIFUL?
B. McGILLICUDDY
I'm feeling jaunty guys. Like I kind of want to get a tattoo, but I kind of just want to smash something while smiling about it, or maybe have like 5 straight hours of goofy sex
Do you know what goofy sex is? It's by far my favorite kind
It typically involves awkward position changes, accompanied by a joke, and directly followed by orgasm-inducing thump-gushing
There is also typically nekkid chasing involved
And trying to do other things mid-coitus
Like answering the phone
And fbchatting
And braiding the broad's hair while doing her from behind
But not out of boredom, mind you
These are experience-enhancing moments that are a part of the goofy sex 'foreplay experience'
What's fucked up about goofy sex, is that you gotta know what you're doing to enjoy it. And most fucktards don't know what the fuck they're doing in bed
I don't know why I'm in this mood
I probably should have titled this 'SEX THAT IS GOOFY' or something to that effect
I am simultaneously breaking something expensive, smiling, and typing this with one hand
B. McGILLICUDDY
I'm feeling jaunty guys. Like I kind of want to get a tattoo, but I kind of just want to smash something while smiling about it, or maybe have like 5 straight hours of goofy sex
Do you know what goofy sex is? It's by far my favorite kind
It typically involves awkward position changes, accompanied by a joke, and directly followed by orgasm-inducing thump-gushing
There is also typically nekkid chasing involved
And trying to do other things mid-coitus
Like answering the phone
And fbchatting
And braiding the broad's hair while doing her from behind
But not out of boredom, mind you
These are experience-enhancing moments that are a part of the goofy sex 'foreplay experience'
What's fucked up about goofy sex, is that you gotta know what you're doing to enjoy it. And most fucktards don't know what the fuck they're doing in bed
I don't know why I'm in this mood
I probably should have titled this 'SEX THAT IS GOOFY' or something to that effect
I am simultaneously breaking something expensive, smiling, and typing this with one hand
B. McGILLICUDDY
CLUSTERFUCK
B. McGILLICUDDY
At some point in my late teens I adopted a philosophy that I believe will guide me, happily through the remainder of my human experience:
Life is a CL*STERF**K
People's brains are CLUZTERFUCKZ
This blog is a C1U5T3R_FUXXX
Society is a CLUSTAH-FOOOCK
Nature is a CLSTRFCK
Even shit that is not alive makes up a CLLLUUUSTERFUUUCCCK
The Earth-Moon system is a clUUUUUsterFucK
The Solar System is a CLUSTER-to-tha-muthahfahckin-FUCK
The Universe is a CLUSTERFUCK
Now I know there are a few details I left out, but I think that should give you a nice, general overview of how I see things. And as such, I have come to the somewhat backward conclusion that since there is too much in general, even at this very moment, for me to grasp even on an infinitesimally small level, I'm just not going to give a fuck about how insanely disorienting and confusing it is. Because it's all just a chaotic heap of shit with a few microscopic diamonds spattered through it. So dreams? Ambition? Needs? Desires? I chase them like fire chases Oxygen, but just because that's the only fucking thing I care to know how to do.
Life's TTttOOoo short to be a d0uch3b1tch aboot it,
And by short, I mean when it comes down to it, in that grand scheme everyone's trying to visualize, you're like an electron, half-assedly clinging to a sodium atom, on a single grain of sand, somewhere on the coast of California. But like, it's during a sunset and shit, and the sun is using its photons to fuckin excite your little electron ass.
SO plz FUCKING ENJOY THE fucking SHIT OUT OF IT ppl. JSUS.
B. McGILLICUDDY
At some point in my late teens I adopted a philosophy that I believe will guide me, happily through the remainder of my human experience:
Life is a CL*STERF**K
People's brains are CLUZTERFUCKZ
This blog is a C1U5T3R_FUXXX
Society is a CLUSTAH-FOOOCK
Nature is a CLSTRFCK
Even shit that is not alive makes up a CLLLUUUSTERFUUUCCCK
The Earth-Moon system is a clUUUUUsterFucK
The Solar System is a CLUSTER-to-tha-muthahfahckin-FUCK
The Universe is a CLUSTERFUCK
Now I know there are a few details I left out, but I think that should give you a nice, general overview of how I see things. And as such, I have come to the somewhat backward conclusion that since there is too much in general, even at this very moment, for me to grasp even on an infinitesimally small level, I'm just not going to give a fuck about how insanely disorienting and confusing it is. Because it's all just a chaotic heap of shit with a few microscopic diamonds spattered through it. So dreams? Ambition? Needs? Desires? I chase them like fire chases Oxygen, but just because that's the only fucking thing I care to know how to do.
Life's TTttOOoo short to be a d0uch3b1tch aboot it,
And by short, I mean when it comes down to it, in that grand scheme everyone's trying to visualize, you're like an electron, half-assedly clinging to a sodium atom, on a single grain of sand, somewhere on the coast of California. But like, it's during a sunset and shit, and the sun is using its photons to fuckin excite your little electron ass.
SO plz FUCKING ENJOY THE fucking SHIT OUT OF IT ppl. JSUS.
B. McGILLICUDDY
5/15/2009
WHAT I THINK BAD BREAK-UPS FEEL LIKE (HAPPY ENDING VERSION)
B. McGILLICUDDY
'Bad break-ups' can be put into a spectrum
A spectrum called 'the spectrum of how bad a break-up can be/the worst ways someone can hurt you personally'
This pome is what I think the 'mean' or 'average' break up goes/feels like
There is a 'distance' between your brain and their personality
You have always 'changed' when you are around them
At one time that change felt 'good' or 'confusing' or like 'I might have wet myself a little'
But now it is just bad
And not an 'I hate you' bad, because you aren't there yet
It is a 'please step away from me all the time' bad
Or an 'I am afraid I might not be able to control the volume of my voice the next time I say something in your direction' bad
And then at some point, you aren't able to control your voice, and they do step away from you all the time
And maybe that feels worse, or you think 'why are they doing that?' and 'they shouldn't do that just because I feel like I wish that they would do that'
And then you feel an 'I think that I love and maybe hate you' bad
And sometimes you see each other and for no good reason you/they don't step away and you/they are completely in control of the volume or your/their voice
And sometimes this happens repeatedly or for one very long time
And your brain wants to think that this might be 'good' or 'confusing' or that 'I might have wet myself a little'
But then your brain rejects this, and says 'no, that is not possible, that person is bad for me'
And then you think 'I hate that person'
And you very much wish you actually felt 'I hate that person'
But ultimately it feels more like 'I miss that person more than my brain is capable of handling'
And then, just in the middle of a thought very similar to 'I miss that person more than...', you notice someone who makes you feel 'good' or 'confused' or like 'I might have wet myself a little'
And your brain shuts up
And your face smiles
B. McGILLICUDDY
'Bad break-ups' can be put into a spectrum
A spectrum called 'the spectrum of how bad a break-up can be/the worst ways someone can hurt you personally'
This pome is what I think the 'mean' or 'average' break up goes/feels like
There is a 'distance' between your brain and their personality
You have always 'changed' when you are around them
At one time that change felt 'good' or 'confusing' or like 'I might have wet myself a little'
But now it is just bad
And not an 'I hate you' bad, because you aren't there yet
It is a 'please step away from me all the time' bad
Or an 'I am afraid I might not be able to control the volume of my voice the next time I say something in your direction' bad
And then at some point, you aren't able to control your voice, and they do step away from you all the time
And maybe that feels worse, or you think 'why are they doing that?' and 'they shouldn't do that just because I feel like I wish that they would do that'
And then you feel an 'I think that I love and maybe hate you' bad
And sometimes you see each other and for no good reason you/they don't step away and you/they are completely in control of the volume or your/their voice
And sometimes this happens repeatedly or for one very long time
And your brain wants to think that this might be 'good' or 'confusing' or that 'I might have wet myself a little'
But then your brain rejects this, and says 'no, that is not possible, that person is bad for me'
And then you think 'I hate that person'
And you very much wish you actually felt 'I hate that person'
But ultimately it feels more like 'I miss that person more than my brain is capable of handling'
And then, just in the middle of a thought very similar to 'I miss that person more than...', you notice someone who makes you feel 'good' or 'confused' or like 'I might have wet myself a little'
And your brain shuts up
And your face smiles
B. McGILLICUDDY
RECOGNITION
B. McGILLICUDDY
I have not been through enough trauma in my life
I have many more years to develop a refined antipathy for life/the world/whatever
I want to get passionate about something
And then say things loudly to people who are completely innocent/indifferent
And make them something like 'baffled' and 'confused' and 'traumatized'
And then they will black out, because I was so monstrous
And they will forget I was ever loud or that they were ever innocent, and will go on with their day
And I will still be passionate, and maybe, in search of acknowledgment, do something 'crazy' or 'surprising' in front of a lot of people, while screaming my name
'I'm...'
B. McGILLICUDDY
I have not been through enough trauma in my life
I have many more years to develop a refined antipathy for life/the world/whatever
I want to get passionate about something
And then say things loudly to people who are completely innocent/indifferent
And make them something like 'baffled' and 'confused' and 'traumatized'
And then they will black out, because I was so monstrous
And they will forget I was ever loud or that they were ever innocent, and will go on with their day
And I will still be passionate, and maybe, in search of acknowledgment, do something 'crazy' or 'surprising' in front of a lot of people, while screaming my name
'I'm...'
B. McGILLICUDDY
5/14/2009
FINALS/LOVE CONNECTION
B. McGILLICUDDY
A lot of our arbitrary opinions are arbitrary because we don't believe in shit and are not well-informed
But I'm curious, and curiosity can take you places
I want to apologize for RoRhet's other contributors, who are busy with other things, like papers and getting into sour relationships and things
So wish them luck
I on the other hand am working on my novel and have on my mind the concept of pre-Gen-Xers going through their midlife crises right now, and becoming hipsters
The world is odd
Anybody fall in love recently?
The comment section for this post can be where YOU blog about the RoRhet you've been spitting
Go ahead
Speak/write your love bellow.
B. McGILLICUDDY
A lot of our arbitrary opinions are arbitrary because we don't believe in shit and are not well-informed
But I'm curious, and curiosity can take you places
I want to apologize for RoRhet's other contributors, who are busy with other things, like papers and getting into sour relationships and things
So wish them luck
I on the other hand am working on my novel and have on my mind the concept of pre-Gen-Xers going through their midlife crises right now, and becoming hipsters
The world is odd
Anybody fall in love recently?
The comment section for this post can be where YOU blog about the RoRhet you've been spitting
Go ahead
Speak/write your love bellow.
B. McGILLICUDDY
5/13/2009
FAVORITE BAND SELLS OUT: LIFE OVER
B. McGILLICUDDY
I was so distraught starting to write this post, I misspelled my name. Then I misspelled every subsequent word I tried to write. Jesus Christ, I don't even drink this beer! I think that maybe I'll start to drink this beer.
GOD DAMN YOU AD EXECS.
GOD DAMN YOU SELLING OUT BEING THE NEW 'IN'.
MISS YOU 'THE DODOS'.
PRETTY UPSET 'THIS EMOFAG' BROKE THE STORY.
B. McGILLICUDDY
I was so distraught starting to write this post, I misspelled my name. Then I misspelled every subsequent word I tried to write. Jesus Christ, I don't even drink this beer! I think that maybe I'll start to drink this beer.
GOD DAMN YOU AD EXECS.
GOD DAMN YOU SELLING OUT BEING THE NEW 'IN'.
MISS YOU 'THE DODOS'.
PRETTY UPSET 'THIS EMOFAG' BROKE THE STORY.
B. McGILLICUDDY
5/12/2009
i wish i had more restraint when it came to things like this.
b. mcgillicuddy
this is a series of tweets i wrote around 4a.m. this morning.
-i'm going to tweet what i'm thinking, while i think it.
-i hate this, it's too much. everything is too right. it's coming at me from too many angles and i don't know how to process it.
-there is her and her and her and i don't have the skill or coherence to make a single good decision about anything.
-i reach out. that's what i do. i reach and am timid in my mind and wait for someone to say something, and they never do.
-i'm sorry, that's not true.
-i reach out and spend time wishing and fabricating and i am waiting for a specific signal, i never get my cue when i'm ready for it.
-and when it comes it is right after i am emotionally drained and disgusted with myself, and am not willing to say anything to anyone.
-and the irony is that's all i have to do. is say the line, then the scene is finished, and the next can begin. it's not fair to the actress.
-it's not fair to the world.
-i'm all asides and soliloquies.
-what if i just said 'i love you'? what if i said it and made sure i felt it right before?
-would i have the will to care? would i want to be alone if i didn't and it didn't work out? what mind do i have left to change?
-i am in love with her, the one, enthralled by her, the second, and fascinated by her, the third. what makes this seem so hard?
-because the nil broke me. the nil ignored me. the nil made me BELIEVE there is no love. so now i am afraid.
-i love you.
-no, that was too much. too much too soon. i always do this. i know i always do this. i am always going to do this.
-even though i mean it, there's no way she will accept.
-i am spent.
b. mcgillicuddy
P.S. I'm being gas-lit again. I don't find that romantic at all. It just makes me irrational and angry. I need live/verbal interaction.
this is a series of tweets i wrote around 4a.m. this morning.
-i'm going to tweet what i'm thinking, while i think it.
-i hate this, it's too much. everything is too right. it's coming at me from too many angles and i don't know how to process it.
-there is her and her and her and i don't have the skill or coherence to make a single good decision about anything.
-i reach out. that's what i do. i reach and am timid in my mind and wait for someone to say something, and they never do.
-i'm sorry, that's not true.
-i reach out and spend time wishing and fabricating and i am waiting for a specific signal, i never get my cue when i'm ready for it.
-and when it comes it is right after i am emotionally drained and disgusted with myself, and am not willing to say anything to anyone.
-and the irony is that's all i have to do. is say the line, then the scene is finished, and the next can begin. it's not fair to the actress.
-it's not fair to the world.
-i'm all asides and soliloquies.
-what if i just said 'i love you'? what if i said it and made sure i felt it right before?
-would i have the will to care? would i want to be alone if i didn't and it didn't work out? what mind do i have left to change?
-i am in love with her, the one, enthralled by her, the second, and fascinated by her, the third. what makes this seem so hard?
-because the nil broke me. the nil ignored me. the nil made me BELIEVE there is no love. so now i am afraid.
-i love you.
-no, that was too much. too much too soon. i always do this. i know i always do this. i am always going to do this.
-even though i mean it, there's no way she will accept.
-i am spent.
b. mcgillicuddy
P.S. I'm being gas-lit again. I don't find that romantic at all. It just makes me irrational and angry. I need live/verbal interaction.
EVERY POST THAT I WRITE ON THIS BLOG IS TOO LONG, BY BUTTERCUP McGILLICUDDY.
B. McGILLICUDDY
I think that no one reads my writing. I think that La Frere is the only 'respected' writer on this blog. I think this is untrue, because people tell me that they read this blog and can quote from it and send me emails asking if they can contribute. But I think that the reason that I think that no one reads this blog, is because people rarely comment on my or Floyd's posts unless they are me or Floyd or a La Frere worshiper with a guilty conscience. I think that the word 'worshiper' should be spelled 'worshipper', because phonetically and synesthetically it 'feels' better.
I am very depressed because I feel like there is a line in front of my eyes that is just always there and I can't do anything about it. And I close one eye to make it go away but then it doesn't and there's a line in clear sight in the open eye and one against the black of my eyelid in the other one. So there are two lines now.
If an Eagle and a Peregrine falcon became close friends and discussed philosophy together, would they have a more overarching, visually compelling metaphor for human existence than we do now? Because they can see from high up, like a mile high up. And they have both been around and are prevalent in every major society since the ancient Egyptians. So they might 'know us' better than we 'know ourselves'.
This whole blog post is being written because I am extremely sexually frustrated and it seems like sex is highly publicized in general today, the day after Mother's Day, and I would appreciate sex more if I didn't have to work so hard to get it. And porn isn't doing it for me today, but I can't figure out a better way to 'get' sex other than being a complete douchebag to an insecure girl, so I just don't try it.
The idea that I am just writing this blog post because I am sexually frustrated it false. I am a hypocrite sometimes, but I don't care, because everyone's a hypocrite. I once argued my mother into admitting that she was religious solely as a coping mechanism. I am atheist, I feel empowered, I feel sad, I feel obnoxious. I don't want anyone to read my blog posts. I don't want anyone to comment. I want everyone to. And I want one person, of all of everyone, to fall in love with my writing and tell me that I am a genius, and that I am a dumbass, and that they want to drive me crazy forever. But I am almost convinced that this will not happen.
MRY & JSUS CHRST GDMNT. I hate you all.
B. McGILLICUDDY
I think that no one reads my writing. I think that La Frere is the only 'respected' writer on this blog. I think this is untrue, because people tell me that they read this blog and can quote from it and send me emails asking if they can contribute. But I think that the reason that I think that no one reads this blog, is because people rarely comment on my or Floyd's posts unless they are me or Floyd or a La Frere worshiper with a guilty conscience. I think that the word 'worshiper' should be spelled 'worshipper', because phonetically and synesthetically it 'feels' better.
I am very depressed because I feel like there is a line in front of my eyes that is just always there and I can't do anything about it. And I close one eye to make it go away but then it doesn't and there's a line in clear sight in the open eye and one against the black of my eyelid in the other one. So there are two lines now.
If an Eagle and a Peregrine falcon became close friends and discussed philosophy together, would they have a more overarching, visually compelling metaphor for human existence than we do now? Because they can see from high up, like a mile high up. And they have both been around and are prevalent in every major society since the ancient Egyptians. So they might 'know us' better than we 'know ourselves'.
This whole blog post is being written because I am extremely sexually frustrated and it seems like sex is highly publicized in general today, the day after Mother's Day, and I would appreciate sex more if I didn't have to work so hard to get it. And porn isn't doing it for me today, but I can't figure out a better way to 'get' sex other than being a complete douchebag to an insecure girl, so I just don't try it.
The idea that I am just writing this blog post because I am sexually frustrated it false. I am a hypocrite sometimes, but I don't care, because everyone's a hypocrite. I once argued my mother into admitting that she was religious solely as a coping mechanism. I am atheist, I feel empowered, I feel sad, I feel obnoxious. I don't want anyone to read my blog posts. I don't want anyone to comment. I want everyone to. And I want one person, of all of everyone, to fall in love with my writing and tell me that I am a genius, and that I am a dumbass, and that they want to drive me crazy forever. But I am almost convinced that this will not happen.
MRY & JSUS CHRST GDMNT. I hate you all.
B. McGILLICUDDY
5/11/2009
SHITTHATiVALUE
B. McGILLICUDDY
BEAUTIFUL THINGS ON DRUGS.
THINGS THAT LOOK LIKE THEY SHOULDN'T GO TOGETHER, BUT DO.
THINGS THAT ARE HIGHLY SENSITIVE TO VIBRATIONS.
THINGS THAT RETAIN VAST AMOUNTS OF INFORMATION.
THINGS THAT ARE WITTY AND HAVE REARRANGED INHIBITION SYNAPSES.
THINGS THAT APPEAR SUBDUED BUT HAVE NO INHIBITION SYNAPSES.
THINGS THAT HAVE TROUBLE APPEARING GROTESQUE WHEN PHOTOGRAPHED.
THINGS THAT AREN'T AT ALL WHAT THEY LOOK LIKE.
THINGS THAT KNOW HOW TO HAVE FUN, ESPECIALLY IN THE FACE OF AWKWARD SITUATIONS.
THINGS YOU HAVE TO WORK HARD TO REMIND YOURSELF ARE CAPABLE OF COITUS/SODOMY.
THINGS THAT CONSCIOUSLY PUT COLORS THAT GO TOGETHER WELL TOGETHER.
THINGS THAT CAN ONLY BE TAKEN APART WITH GREAT DIFFICULTY.
THINGS THAT ARE TOO PREOCCUPIED DOING STUFF TO NOTICE HOW AWESOME THEY ARE, GENERALLY.
THINGS THAT ARE SHOCKINGLY SPONTANEOUS.
THINGS THAT MAKE YOU WANT TO DANCE.
THINGS THAT APPEAR CONFIDENT AND MAKE A LOT OF MONEY BUT DO NOT APPEAR TO SPEND IT ON THEMSELVES.
THINGS THAT THINK TOO MUCH FOR THEIR OWN GOOD, AND THEN SPEND HOURS TALKING ABOUT IT.
THINGS THAT SPECIALIZE AND ARE EXCEPTIONAL IN SUBJECTS THAT YOU WOULD NOT ASSOCIATE THEIR PERSONALITIES WITH.
THINGS THAT ARE WELL-KNOWN/LIKED/HATED BUT DO NOT APPEAR TO NOTICE.
THINGS THAT EXHIBIT POTENTIAL.
THINGS THAT APPRECIATE COMPELLING STORY ARCS.
THINGS WITH ACCENTS.
THINGS WITH WITH MEZMERISING VOICES AND ACCENTS.
THINGS THAT ARE DRIVEN DESPITE THE ODDS.
THINGS THAT ARE OVERLY ENERGETIC.
THINGS THAT KNOW STUFF IS ROYALLY FUCKED, BUT STILL STICK AROUND TO WATCH WHAT HAPPENS.
THINGS THAT HAVE SUBTLE, IDIOSYNCRATIC WAYS OF CONVEYING IDEAS.
THINGS THAT AREN'T AS GOOD AS YOU EXPECTED THEM TO BE, BUT ARE STILL DAMN GOOD.
B. McGILLICUDDY
BEAUTIFUL THINGS ON DRUGS.
THINGS THAT LOOK LIKE THEY SHOULDN'T GO TOGETHER, BUT DO.
THINGS THAT ARE HIGHLY SENSITIVE TO VIBRATIONS.
THINGS THAT RETAIN VAST AMOUNTS OF INFORMATION.
THINGS THAT ARE WITTY AND HAVE REARRANGED INHIBITION SYNAPSES.
THINGS THAT APPEAR SUBDUED BUT HAVE NO INHIBITION SYNAPSES.
THINGS THAT HAVE TROUBLE APPEARING GROTESQUE WHEN PHOTOGRAPHED.
THINGS THAT AREN'T AT ALL WHAT THEY LOOK LIKE.
THINGS THAT KNOW HOW TO HAVE FUN, ESPECIALLY IN THE FACE OF AWKWARD SITUATIONS.
THINGS YOU HAVE TO WORK HARD TO REMIND YOURSELF ARE CAPABLE OF COITUS/SODOMY.
THINGS THAT CONSCIOUSLY PUT COLORS THAT GO TOGETHER WELL TOGETHER.
THINGS THAT CAN ONLY BE TAKEN APART WITH GREAT DIFFICULTY.
THINGS THAT ARE TOO PREOCCUPIED DOING STUFF TO NOTICE HOW AWESOME THEY ARE, GENERALLY.
THINGS THAT ARE SHOCKINGLY SPONTANEOUS.
THINGS THAT MAKE YOU WANT TO DANCE.
THINGS THAT APPEAR CONFIDENT AND MAKE A LOT OF MONEY BUT DO NOT APPEAR TO SPEND IT ON THEMSELVES.
THINGS THAT THINK TOO MUCH FOR THEIR OWN GOOD, AND THEN SPEND HOURS TALKING ABOUT IT.
THINGS THAT SPECIALIZE AND ARE EXCEPTIONAL IN SUBJECTS THAT YOU WOULD NOT ASSOCIATE THEIR PERSONALITIES WITH.
THINGS THAT ARE WELL-KNOWN/LIKED/HATED BUT DO NOT APPEAR TO NOTICE.
THINGS THAT EXHIBIT POTENTIAL.
THINGS THAT APPRECIATE COMPELLING STORY ARCS.
THINGS WITH ACCENTS.
THINGS WITH WITH MEZMERISING VOICES AND ACCENTS.
THINGS THAT ARE DRIVEN DESPITE THE ODDS.
THINGS THAT ARE OVERLY ENERGETIC.
THINGS THAT KNOW STUFF IS ROYALLY FUCKED, BUT STILL STICK AROUND TO WATCH WHAT HAPPENS.
THINGS THAT HAVE SUBTLE, IDIOSYNCRATIC WAYS OF CONVEYING IDEAS.
THINGS THAT AREN'T AS GOOD AS YOU EXPECTED THEM TO BE, BUT ARE STILL DAMN GOOD.
B. McGILLICUDDY
SIGNS AND WONDERS
B. McGILLICUDDY
In the sweltering hot heat of my seldom-exposed nether regions, there lies an elusive deferment button. Once pressed, my mind will instantly revert to thoughts of impending doom and revelations of sasquatch mortality. It has become a problem, because when women find it I go to a place where I don't know whether I'm actually aroused or just dicking around the dandier parts of the universe. It's useful when you've got someone to share it with though.
I'm under the impression that feminine arousal has an otherwise capricious, mountain-like progression, that lacks any certain sense of immediacy, which is difficult to clue into, because a girl could be getting fancy in her head all day long and won't know it until they're swirlier than Victorian trim and can't understand why the guy is talking about the new Star Trek movie. Then they stop talking to him for a week because of how huge of a cuntmonkey letdown he is at life, and most normal masculine responses to this go something like 'what?' or 'huh?', but I fall under the unfortunate umbrella of dudes who immediately know what and where they've fucked up, and don't have a damn clue what to do about it.
This is a picture of the inside of a woman's brain.
There's a girl who was a flower plucker and a an uncharacteristically chipper ginger once. Nowadays she's nearly the same, only sweeter, and I made a point of telling her these and other fluffy but entirely honest things. She eventually goggled at me, and it made me think, 'Jesus, what amazing freckles she has', when really she wanted me to want to slap some sense into her, or nonsense rather, and with my lips. It wasn't until immediately after my chance had passed that I thought to take it, and I would have, had I met the criteria beforehand of wooing and wooing and wooing and wooing broads, but I'm just a natural romantic who forgets these things when they matter.
But let me recount one imaginary experience I had once that's of the romau variety.
I find her and ignore the normal or otherwise romantic greeting procedures
And immediately address the topic of being 'fucking famished'
I want a meal, but something sweet and melty'll have to finish it off, I say
We walk and talk options and I point at something
She looks and is fixated, in awe for a split second
I take her hand, a surprise
When we are about to walk in, I stop and give a man directions,
All the while holding the door, letting the A.C. out
She stands in the portal, waiting, patient
It's sweet
We go in and eat, and talk logistics of stuff
We stop talking and play footsie
I won't laugh, I can't laugh, she laughs. So do I.
The dessert is too sweet, noticeably fattening even, but perfect
We ride somewhere, anywhere, home maybe
There is a sunset and I rub her thigh, wanting to hold all of her
In the heat of changing our clothes, we forget to finish and leave them off
There is so much skin, miles of skin
And every inch has these wonderful tingles all over them
And tingles turn to waves
Waves turn to chapters
Chapters turn into a story about flying to the sun
And there's the calm of space
Ant there's that skin again
And a tunnel that carries you to where you pretend there are more people than just you
And you grin in the real world's dreamscape
See, now I've gone and been romantic again. Does this even work? Is this just TOO MUCH of what feels like a good thing? I don't know. I just figure I'm dicking around in the dandier parts of the universe or something. I figured it'd be a nice joke to share though.
B. McGILLICUDDY
In the sweltering hot heat of my seldom-exposed nether regions, there lies an elusive deferment button. Once pressed, my mind will instantly revert to thoughts of impending doom and revelations of sasquatch mortality. It has become a problem, because when women find it I go to a place where I don't know whether I'm actually aroused or just dicking around the dandier parts of the universe. It's useful when you've got someone to share it with though.
I'm under the impression that feminine arousal has an otherwise capricious, mountain-like progression, that lacks any certain sense of immediacy, which is difficult to clue into, because a girl could be getting fancy in her head all day long and won't know it until they're swirlier than Victorian trim and can't understand why the guy is talking about the new Star Trek movie. Then they stop talking to him for a week because of how huge of a cuntmonkey letdown he is at life, and most normal masculine responses to this go something like 'what?' or 'huh?', but I fall under the unfortunate umbrella of dudes who immediately know what and where they've fucked up, and don't have a damn clue what to do about it.
This is a picture of the inside of a woman's brain.
There's a girl who was a flower plucker and a an uncharacteristically chipper ginger once. Nowadays she's nearly the same, only sweeter, and I made a point of telling her these and other fluffy but entirely honest things. She eventually goggled at me, and it made me think, 'Jesus, what amazing freckles she has', when really she wanted me to want to slap some sense into her, or nonsense rather, and with my lips. It wasn't until immediately after my chance had passed that I thought to take it, and I would have, had I met the criteria beforehand of wooing and wooing and wooing and wooing broads, but I'm just a natural romantic who forgets these things when they matter.
But let me recount one imaginary experience I had once that's of the romau variety.
I find her and ignore the normal or otherwise romantic greeting procedures
And immediately address the topic of being 'fucking famished'
I want a meal, but something sweet and melty'll have to finish it off, I say
We walk and talk options and I point at something
She looks and is fixated, in awe for a split second
I take her hand, a surprise
When we are about to walk in, I stop and give a man directions,
All the while holding the door, letting the A.C. out
She stands in the portal, waiting, patient
It's sweet
We go in and eat, and talk logistics of stuff
We stop talking and play footsie
I won't laugh, I can't laugh, she laughs. So do I.
The dessert is too sweet, noticeably fattening even, but perfect
We ride somewhere, anywhere, home maybe
There is a sunset and I rub her thigh, wanting to hold all of her
In the heat of changing our clothes, we forget to finish and leave them off
There is so much skin, miles of skin
And every inch has these wonderful tingles all over them
And tingles turn to waves
Waves turn to chapters
Chapters turn into a story about flying to the sun
And there's the calm of space
Ant there's that skin again
And a tunnel that carries you to where you pretend there are more people than just you
And you grin in the real world's dreamscape
See, now I've gone and been romantic again. Does this even work? Is this just TOO MUCH of what feels like a good thing? I don't know. I just figure I'm dicking around in the dandier parts of the universe or something. I figured it'd be a nice joke to share though.
B. McGILLICUDDY
5/10/2009
FUCK YOU VENUS, A MOVIE.
B. McGILLICUDDY
He wakes up early and makes up the couch he sleeps on. He makes himself coffee. He stands outside and listens to the music of the morning. There are birds and dogs and trains and things. He gives Venus a big fuck you, saying, ‘Fuck you Venus.’ He downs his coffee. He goes to his computer and gets a video call on Skype. It’s her. ‘Hey there.’ He says. ‘Hey Square(d).’ She says. They talk about body parts and fruit and making food, the discussion remains completely platonic, until she starts flirting voraciously. He is very reserved, nervous. He can’t stand to look at her. She is naked. He did not know this.
She gets a text message from her mom. She ignores it. She lives a very normal life in contrast with his. He is addicted to prescription drugs, but is supported by his parents. She goes to church every week with her boyfriend, but cannot talk to her atheist parents. She craves his attention. She needs him. He loves her. She doesn’t smoke.
She lives with a bunch of gypsy drug dealers. She does not pay rent, she just buys the most drugs and smokes everyone out with them. She doesn’t smoke weed either. She wants to be a writer, but only reads hack novels and science fiction. She is writing about a child who likes to watch Barney & Friends.
He is a chef at a local restaurant. He works with his ex-girlfriend. They do not speak. It is unspoken that they ever knew each other at all. He sees things that aren’t there because he’s on medication. Beautiful things. He lives with his parents who are afraid he is gay but are not homophobic but want biological grandchildren. They keep asking him about his ex and assuming they will get back together. They ask if he saw her at work. He says yes. They ask if he spoke with her. He says no. They remind him of something that reminds him of how close they were, something about astronomy. He cries excessively. He takes more pills.
Gypsies roam the forest in search of their marijuana plant, talking about a new videogame. They get lost because they are on shrooms. They say, ‘Damn, we’re on shrooms.’
He wants to travel the world and see her on the East Coast. But he is trapped because he is indebted and addicted to the prescription meds, which are illegal where she is.
The gypsies listen to great music. They dance the night away. She is trying to write her novel. She can’t remember being a child. She thinks back to her childhood, trying to remember the good times. All she can recall is being sexually abused. She just wants to be loved. She Skypes him. He doesn’t answer. He calls her back. She strip teases him because no one is there. His parents walk in. It isn’t awkward. They are mostly happy that he hasn’t turned gay. They say hi to the girl. They tell him that someone’s looking for him. He has to go.
Someone is chasing him. I don’t know who. He goes somewhere where there are televisions. He finds out that the drug he is addicted to is now legal where she lives. He decides to go there. Someone is still chasing him. I still don’t know who. The audience sees what kinds of drugs he takes when he loses the people who are chasing him and in a back alley takes the drugs.
It is later. I don’t know how much later. She is wearing different clothes. She takes out the garbage. She takes a long time. She runs into the neighbor. They have sex. She makes sure he wears a condom. She tells him to say ‘I love you’. He isn’t into it. She says she can’t cum unless he says it. He says it. She cums and fidgets and squeezes his cock and he cums too. He gives her all of the money in his wallet because he is ugly, and really appreciates that she had sex with him. She goes back inside. Her boyfriend is there, dancing. They say something funny to each other. It is very funny.
All of the sexual abuse scenes are animated and vividly colored. There is only one sexual abuse scene. She enjoyed it. Being sexually abused. Her roommate is a drug dealer. Her roommate is a woman. Her roommate does not have a clear sexual preference. She always playfully wants to hook up when she is stoned. The sexually abused girl doesn’t want to. She is in love with Augustus Caesar because he brought peace. She wants peace.
He video calls her from Starbucks. He is there, where she is, in the same city. They meet in the early evening. He says, ‘Let’s be together forever.’ She says, ‘Forever isn’t long enough.’ She points up at Venus and asks him, ‘That star or planet or whatever won’t last long enough. I want to be with you longer than time. I want to have been with you before anything. Do you know what star that is?’ He says he thinks it’s Mars or something. ‘Really?’ She asks, (Fade to black while she says--) ‘I always thought it was Venus.’
There are credits.
After the credits there is a flashback. She ate at his restaurant once. When he was just a waiter. He saw shiny things around her (from the drugs) and was mesmerized. This happened before to another person in the film. Maybe a lot of people. He had sex with his girlfriend in the kitchen and didn’t wash his hands. She barely even paid attention to him. She left him a standard 15% tip. But she left her purse.
This is the actual ending of the movie.
B. McGILLICUDDY
He wakes up early and makes up the couch he sleeps on. He makes himself coffee. He stands outside and listens to the music of the morning. There are birds and dogs and trains and things. He gives Venus a big fuck you, saying, ‘Fuck you Venus.’ He downs his coffee. He goes to his computer and gets a video call on Skype. It’s her. ‘Hey there.’ He says. ‘Hey Square(d).’ She says. They talk about body parts and fruit and making food, the discussion remains completely platonic, until she starts flirting voraciously. He is very reserved, nervous. He can’t stand to look at her. She is naked. He did not know this.
She gets a text message from her mom. She ignores it. She lives a very normal life in contrast with his. He is addicted to prescription drugs, but is supported by his parents. She goes to church every week with her boyfriend, but cannot talk to her atheist parents. She craves his attention. She needs him. He loves her. She doesn’t smoke.
She lives with a bunch of gypsy drug dealers. She does not pay rent, she just buys the most drugs and smokes everyone out with them. She doesn’t smoke weed either. She wants to be a writer, but only reads hack novels and science fiction. She is writing about a child who likes to watch Barney & Friends.
He is a chef at a local restaurant. He works with his ex-girlfriend. They do not speak. It is unspoken that they ever knew each other at all. He sees things that aren’t there because he’s on medication. Beautiful things. He lives with his parents who are afraid he is gay but are not homophobic but want biological grandchildren. They keep asking him about his ex and assuming they will get back together. They ask if he saw her at work. He says yes. They ask if he spoke with her. He says no. They remind him of something that reminds him of how close they were, something about astronomy. He cries excessively. He takes more pills.
Gypsies roam the forest in search of their marijuana plant, talking about a new videogame. They get lost because they are on shrooms. They say, ‘Damn, we’re on shrooms.’
He wants to travel the world and see her on the East Coast. But he is trapped because he is indebted and addicted to the prescription meds, which are illegal where she is.
The gypsies listen to great music. They dance the night away. She is trying to write her novel. She can’t remember being a child. She thinks back to her childhood, trying to remember the good times. All she can recall is being sexually abused. She just wants to be loved. She Skypes him. He doesn’t answer. He calls her back. She strip teases him because no one is there. His parents walk in. It isn’t awkward. They are mostly happy that he hasn’t turned gay. They say hi to the girl. They tell him that someone’s looking for him. He has to go.
Someone is chasing him. I don’t know who. He goes somewhere where there are televisions. He finds out that the drug he is addicted to is now legal where she lives. He decides to go there. Someone is still chasing him. I still don’t know who. The audience sees what kinds of drugs he takes when he loses the people who are chasing him and in a back alley takes the drugs.
It is later. I don’t know how much later. She is wearing different clothes. She takes out the garbage. She takes a long time. She runs into the neighbor. They have sex. She makes sure he wears a condom. She tells him to say ‘I love you’. He isn’t into it. She says she can’t cum unless he says it. He says it. She cums and fidgets and squeezes his cock and he cums too. He gives her all of the money in his wallet because he is ugly, and really appreciates that she had sex with him. She goes back inside. Her boyfriend is there, dancing. They say something funny to each other. It is very funny.
All of the sexual abuse scenes are animated and vividly colored. There is only one sexual abuse scene. She enjoyed it. Being sexually abused. Her roommate is a drug dealer. Her roommate is a woman. Her roommate does not have a clear sexual preference. She always playfully wants to hook up when she is stoned. The sexually abused girl doesn’t want to. She is in love with Augustus Caesar because he brought peace. She wants peace.
He video calls her from Starbucks. He is there, where she is, in the same city. They meet in the early evening. He says, ‘Let’s be together forever.’ She says, ‘Forever isn’t long enough.’ She points up at Venus and asks him, ‘That star or planet or whatever won’t last long enough. I want to be with you longer than time. I want to have been with you before anything. Do you know what star that is?’ He says he thinks it’s Mars or something. ‘Really?’ She asks, (Fade to black while she says--) ‘I always thought it was Venus.’
There are credits.
After the credits there is a flashback. She ate at his restaurant once. When he was just a waiter. He saw shiny things around her (from the drugs) and was mesmerized. This happened before to another person in the film. Maybe a lot of people. He had sex with his girlfriend in the kitchen and didn’t wash his hands. She barely even paid attention to him. She left him a standard 15% tip. But she left her purse.
This is the actual ending of the movie.
B. McGILLICUDDY
5/08/2009
THE OCEAN FLOOR
B. McGILLICUDDY
The other day, when it was raining, I felt a strange weight on this old, under-developed noggin. And it wasn't the barometric pressure, let me tell you. I got to thinking about how desensitized I'd become to everything and everyone and how little I really cared about the world, especially since the last few months have left me convinced that the world doesn't give an inch of cock shit about me. I've found that only a select few people do care at all really. And the sad thing about it is that, we've all been hurt so many times, we're each inclined to hurt other people in our own ways out of self-defense, and are so afraid of being hurt now, that we've all got our guards up when we should just be loving each other all 'newborn litter of puppies' like.
Now I personally believe that the complexity of human communication is beautiful in all its facets, because the chemicals that are pulsing through each of our brains, simply because of the languages we speak and the things that we've seen and known, make us a different type of person than damn near every other one on the planet, not to mention all the folks in the history of it. And the fact that there are other people in this era that I can listen to, and appreciate, and fear, and love, well jesus christ goddamnit. It just feels good to have things, y'know. Especially people.
Back to when it was raining though. I got to thinking about the last person who's metaphysical knife got past the first, second, third, all the way through the tenth perimeters of my soul's defense, and about how she decided that the simplest way out was to pull a coitus interruptus and take a bit of my nervous system with her. I think it takes a damn coward to admit to loving someone and then allow their heads to just freeze up into a tundra of apathy after giving themselves away like that, in symbiosis, as someone who needs people, and who people end up needing. Jesus, that's my hurt talking now, because how else are you going to find something that's real good if you aren't willing to get hurt that bad again?
There are some really beautiful people out there though. And some of them might have been just like her once. Hell, she might be a beautiful soul now too as far as I know. But I don't reckon I've got the proper energy to go back there, to her. Saved that currency up all my life and then she had me spend it in one short go. Wish I could head back to her, but I kind of hope I wouldn't take the chance if it were given to me. I need to find me a reformed knife-wielder. The kind that let's things and people in because she knows how she'll react when the pressure's on. But the kind that's not afraid anymore. The kind that's seen that life's hard and hard-boiled and mushy in the middle every-which-way you bite into it, and that a knife is just good for hooking her a person who can get good and stabbed, not some iron-fisted doorstop of a android.
I'm the kind of guy that'll take no for an answer if he thinks it's right. But that'll fight those two damn letters, lowercase even, to the death, if they threaten what's left of my spine. Because these nerves are especially reserved for being bound to a knife-wielder's blade. For sheathing the dagger of a fiery dame who can watch me go and go and go and knows when I'm getting too far. But won't chase me until that very moment. The kind of woman who's got spirit and grace and some semblance of romance behind her silly eyes, because lord knows, she's going to need silly eyes. I want to stare her down, all the way down to the ocean floor, then float her back up for air so gentle, that her blood don't boil at all. Not one bubble of it.
Anyway, the other day it was raining and I got to thinking, what if love's a real thing?
B. McGILLICUDDY
The other day, when it was raining, I felt a strange weight on this old, under-developed noggin. And it wasn't the barometric pressure, let me tell you. I got to thinking about how desensitized I'd become to everything and everyone and how little I really cared about the world, especially since the last few months have left me convinced that the world doesn't give an inch of cock shit about me. I've found that only a select few people do care at all really. And the sad thing about it is that, we've all been hurt so many times, we're each inclined to hurt other people in our own ways out of self-defense, and are so afraid of being hurt now, that we've all got our guards up when we should just be loving each other all 'newborn litter of puppies' like.
Now I personally believe that the complexity of human communication is beautiful in all its facets, because the chemicals that are pulsing through each of our brains, simply because of the languages we speak and the things that we've seen and known, make us a different type of person than damn near every other one on the planet, not to mention all the folks in the history of it. And the fact that there are other people in this era that I can listen to, and appreciate, and fear, and love, well jesus christ goddamnit. It just feels good to have things, y'know. Especially people.
Back to when it was raining though. I got to thinking about the last person who's metaphysical knife got past the first, second, third, all the way through the tenth perimeters of my soul's defense, and about how she decided that the simplest way out was to pull a coitus interruptus and take a bit of my nervous system with her. I think it takes a damn coward to admit to loving someone and then allow their heads to just freeze up into a tundra of apathy after giving themselves away like that, in symbiosis, as someone who needs people, and who people end up needing. Jesus, that's my hurt talking now, because how else are you going to find something that's real good if you aren't willing to get hurt that bad again?
There are some really beautiful people out there though. And some of them might have been just like her once. Hell, she might be a beautiful soul now too as far as I know. But I don't reckon I've got the proper energy to go back there, to her. Saved that currency up all my life and then she had me spend it in one short go. Wish I could head back to her, but I kind of hope I wouldn't take the chance if it were given to me. I need to find me a reformed knife-wielder. The kind that let's things and people in because she knows how she'll react when the pressure's on. But the kind that's not afraid anymore. The kind that's seen that life's hard and hard-boiled and mushy in the middle every-which-way you bite into it, and that a knife is just good for hooking her a person who can get good and stabbed, not some iron-fisted doorstop of a android.
I'm the kind of guy that'll take no for an answer if he thinks it's right. But that'll fight those two damn letters, lowercase even, to the death, if they threaten what's left of my spine. Because these nerves are especially reserved for being bound to a knife-wielder's blade. For sheathing the dagger of a fiery dame who can watch me go and go and go and knows when I'm getting too far. But won't chase me until that very moment. The kind of woman who's got spirit and grace and some semblance of romance behind her silly eyes, because lord knows, she's going to need silly eyes. I want to stare her down, all the way down to the ocean floor, then float her back up for air so gentle, that her blood don't boil at all. Not one bubble of it.
Anyway, the other day it was raining and I got to thinking, what if love's a real thing?
B. McGILLICUDDY
CASUAL CSEZCKS
B. McGILLICUDDY
JESUS H. CHRIST. Women are fucking AMZNG(see Urban Dictionary's 'Crazy As A Cat On LSD').
Wait...NVM, I'll just show you.
That's a perfect audio-visual parallel for the 'logical reaction' I tend to get from most (SINGLE) women to such simple concepts as 'sex with no strings attached', 'wanna shag?', and 'baby come back!'. I thought we were living in a post-feminist era ladies, what happened to it being 'OK 2 b hornie'?
If only all girls were hot/could hold their liquor/had keut scottie acczies...Then we'd all be living in some perverted(highly subjective term here) Islamic martyr's paradise, on the British Isles no less:
Schawing! The obvious point of this post is sexually oriented though. Particularly with regards to trying to help women understand the concept of 'I AM FREAKING OUT. I NEED SOMEWHERE TO PUT THIS. WILL YOU OBLIGE, PLZ?' and understanding that in that moment, when epinephrine and testosterone are the chemical combustion engine powering the thump/gush-o-lator, it immediately becomes all about getting YOU(ladies) hot enough to allow US(bros) to sweeten YOUR day/night/regrettable drunken shenanigans, and ultimately, to get the tragic realization (and subsequent visualization) that 'OMG SHE HAS A VAGINA' out of our goddamned minds.
WHOA! Whole other chauvinistic blog post entirely...sry bout that.
But srsly, dudes who you(girls) 'like as friends' and who 'probs wouldn't get all ridic' if you let them have what they are in constant pursuit of for once, deserve a reward for their broery. And I say this because (this may or may not be from personal experience) the 'sluts' in life ARE THE AWESOMEST BROADS IN THE WORLD. The girls who'll have casual sex with a dude, lay down the rules (and pressure-points plz) straight and proper, and who won't be all hide-and-seekie or 'OH FUX ITZ HIM' later, are fucking D-O-P-E man. And, word to the dudemen, they will love you for not being a huge fucking dick about it. If everybody just treats the peeps like the peeps they are after the bed's been made, you've got a fucking(used to intensify the following noun, not to suggest perpetuating the fun for too long) friend for life!
That is, everyone, as long as you do the condom thing bro. Do the condom thing, and shit will stay snazzy.
So, for all you social butterflies with your proboscises checkin out the flowerbed's saucy-sweet nectar, and for all you classy sugardolls with (hopefully) an ounce of libido at least and an understanding that a bro will be your bro if you don't act like a hoe. Please, don't be afraid to get some well-deserved energizing out when it's necessary.
The ladies that waxed, they all know why I'm coming (not a direct quote y'all).
ENJOY, and for the Holy Orgasm's sake, 'git ur freak awn',
B. McGILLICUDDY
*UPDATE* Oh. Well, damn. http://www.prevention.com/article/spooging_saves_lives
JESUS H. CHRIST. Women are fucking AMZNG(see Urban Dictionary's 'Crazy As A Cat On LSD').
Wait...NVM, I'll just show you.
That's a perfect audio-visual parallel for the 'logical reaction' I tend to get from most (SINGLE) women to such simple concepts as 'sex with no strings attached', 'wanna shag?', and 'baby come back!'. I thought we were living in a post-feminist era ladies, what happened to it being 'OK 2 b hornie'?
If only all girls were hot/could hold their liquor/had keut scottie acczies...Then we'd all be living in some perverted(highly subjective term here) Islamic martyr's paradise, on the British Isles no less:
Schawing! The obvious point of this post is sexually oriented though. Particularly with regards to trying to help women understand the concept of 'I AM FREAKING OUT. I NEED SOMEWHERE TO PUT THIS. WILL YOU OBLIGE, PLZ?' and understanding that in that moment, when epinephrine and testosterone are the chemical combustion engine powering the thump/gush-o-lator, it immediately becomes all about getting YOU(ladies) hot enough to allow US(bros) to sweeten YOUR day/night/regrettable drunken shenanigans, and ultimately, to get the tragic realization (and subsequent visualization) that 'OMG SHE HAS A VAGINA' out of our goddamned minds.
WHOA! Whole other chauvinistic blog post entirely...sry bout that.
But srsly, dudes who you(girls) 'like as friends' and who 'probs wouldn't get all ridic' if you let them have what they are in constant pursuit of for once, deserve a reward for their broery. And I say this because (this may or may not be from personal experience) the 'sluts' in life ARE THE AWESOMEST BROADS IN THE WORLD. The girls who'll have casual sex with a dude, lay down the rules (and pressure-points plz) straight and proper, and who won't be all hide-and-seekie or 'OH FUX ITZ HIM' later, are fucking D-O-P-E man. And, word to the dudemen, they will love you for not being a huge fucking dick about it. If everybody just treats the peeps like the peeps they are after the bed's been made, you've got a fucking(used to intensify the following noun, not to suggest perpetuating the fun for too long) friend for life!
That is, everyone, as long as you do the condom thing bro. Do the condom thing, and shit will stay snazzy.
So, for all you social butterflies with your proboscises checkin out the flowerbed's saucy-sweet nectar, and for all you classy sugardolls with (hopefully) an ounce of libido at least and an understanding that a bro will be your bro if you don't act like a hoe. Please, don't be afraid to get some well-deserved energizing out when it's necessary.
The ladies that waxed, they all know why I'm coming (not a direct quote y'all).
ENJOY, and for the Holy Orgasm's sake, 'git ur freak awn',
B. McGILLICUDDY
*UPDATE* Oh. Well, damn. http://www.prevention.com/article/spooging_saves_lives
REELING BECAUSE OF THE PASHY PITS
B. McGILLICUDDY
LOVES IT when a band has the ability to WTF my head up in a way that makes me want to change the RoRhet layout. *HOTTIE W/ A BODY ALERT.*
I would say this song alone is 26.87% responsible for why when you change browser windows RoRhet's still embedded in your retinas/mind. Because this music makes me WISH I were synesthetic and maybe lived behind a dirty filtered screen. Check out the video for their hit, "Sleepyhead", between the quote marks. Easter Eggs all over this bitch.
I actually really really hate this band GUYS.
"Manners", leaked everywhere, in stores/iTunes/Amazon May 19th.
They'll also be in LA on the 29th at Echoplex and in DC at the Black Cat on June 9th if you're a post-DeadCabby. Gross.
B. McGILLICUDDY
LOVES IT when a band has the ability to WTF my head up in a way that makes me want to change the RoRhet layout. *HOTTIE W/ A BODY ALERT.*
I would say this song alone is 26.87% responsible for why when you change browser windows RoRhet's still embedded in your retinas/mind. Because this music makes me WISH I were synesthetic and maybe lived behind a dirty filtered screen. Check out the video for their hit, "Sleepyhead", between the quote marks. Easter Eggs all over this bitch.
I actually really really hate this band GUYS.
"Manners", leaked everywhere, in stores/iTunes/Amazon May 19th.
They'll also be in LA on the 29th at Echoplex and in DC at the Black Cat on June 9th if you're a post-DeadCabby. Gross.
B. McGILLICUDDY
5/07/2009
FLOYD'S AN ASSFACE
B. McGILLICUDDY
me: hey bro
i think i'm going to start talking to you more often when 'you're away'
b/c that means i can say whatever the fuck i want and get away with slandering you to your face
i think ur a homofagtard and that you might have a vagina
and that you have aweful taste in 'word selection' when it comes to your writing
'jk'
how are you bro?
i missed you while you were away in italy
did you have a 'badass time'?
kella just tweeted 'I LOVE CANDY'
and it made me smile and nod knowingly a little
what do you do if you're in love with a girl you barely know
and you want to spend all of your time and shit with her, but can't for multiple reasons
i.e. living far away from each other
not corresponding on the internet well
having differing interests like dropping out vs. going to med school
and procreation
but 'have a connection'?
i meant to put scare quotes around 'send' btw
b/c it indicates that i am questioning the process of 'sending' something
if i'm not personally introducing it to its new environment
i'm really questioning the internet here
makes me wonder if i exist at all
but then again i don't really care
but i enjoy slandering you
so i'm going to call you an assface
how's that feel, assface?
Sent at 6:58 PM on Thursday
FLOYD: great thanks
gtg
enjoyed this
keep it up
think its the
'best thing you've ever wrote'
Sent at 7:33 PM on Thursday
B. McGILLICUDDY
me: hey bro
i think i'm going to start talking to you more often when 'you're away'
b/c that means i can say whatever the fuck i want and get away with slandering you to your face
i think ur a homofagtard and that you might have a vagina
and that you have aweful taste in 'word selection' when it comes to your writing
'jk'
how are you bro?
i missed you while you were away in italy
did you have a 'badass time'?
kella just tweeted 'I LOVE CANDY'
and it made me smile and nod knowingly a little
what do you do if you're in love with a girl you barely know
and you want to spend all of your time and shit with her, but can't for multiple reasons
i.e. living far away from each other
not corresponding on the internet well
having differing interests like dropping out vs. going to med school
and procreation
but 'have a connection'?
i meant to put scare quotes around 'send' btw
b/c it indicates that i am questioning the process of 'sending' something
if i'm not personally introducing it to its new environment
i'm really questioning the internet here
makes me wonder if i exist at all
but then again i don't really care
but i enjoy slandering you
so i'm going to call you an assface
how's that feel, assface?
Sent at 6:58 PM on Thursday
FLOYD: great thanks
gtg
enjoyed this
keep it up
think its the
'best thing you've ever wrote'
Sent at 7:33 PM on Thursday
B. McGILLICUDDY
FRANCIS FORD COPPOLA: A BIOGRAPHY
B. McGILLICUDDY
There is something very 'intense' about intense emotion. And I feel like even though the majority of my life has been heavily nonchalant, or maybe just depressed, there are moments where I get 'all worked up' and do 'stupid shit' and don't know where that hole in the wall/article of ripped clothing/empty tub of Ben and Jerry's came from. I feel like Francis Ford Coppola, the father of one of my favorite Second Unit Directors, Roman Coppola, is actually also the father or godfather or grandfather (I don't know where these analogies originated, so I don't know which is applicable) of conveying these types of emotions on screen. He has a new movie coming out.
B. McGILLICUDDY
There is something very 'intense' about intense emotion. And I feel like even though the majority of my life has been heavily nonchalant, or maybe just depressed, there are moments where I get 'all worked up' and do 'stupid shit' and don't know where that hole in the wall/article of ripped clothing/empty tub of Ben and Jerry's came from. I feel like Francis Ford Coppola, the father of one of my favorite Second Unit Directors, Roman Coppola, is actually also the father or godfather or grandfather (I don't know where these analogies originated, so I don't know which is applicable) of conveying these types of emotions on screen. He has a new movie coming out.
B. McGILLICUDDY
X-MEN ORIGINS: WOLVERINE: RAWR*ANGST*RAWR!!!
B. McGILLICUDDY
So, I don't know how many of you read comics, but let me tell you, I gave the fad up somewhere around middle school. And it wasn't a 'I just...grew out of it, ya know' kind of thing either. What had happened was, I realized that I'd neglected to keep up with the multiverse universes of each division of every comic house, and hadn't properly caught up with all the endless possibilities for each character's storyline/arc/plot development and wasn't really up for buying 40 years worth of back issues to recap, so I gave up.
At this point, I would honestly much prefer to spend my time on wikipedia reading ABOUT comics than actually READING THEM. Call me a cynic GUYS, but I think that the phenomenon that has manifested as the Comic Economy is primarily what's wrong with the film industry today.
Maybe Alan Moore knows what the fuck is up and is avoiding exactly what EVERYONE SHOULD AVOID: Mixing and matching comics and film. Videogames are another story.
Besides, this is a movie review, and it happens to be a movie review about 'X-Men Origins: Wolverine', a story that I am surprisingly already familiar with, and therefore know for a fact that it's a tragedy. Or at least when told RIGHT it's a tragedy. But goddamn it if Hollywood didn't feel the need to fuck it up and make it a hokey ready-made tale of 'losing one's sense of self' that's just begging for a sequel. Because (and I'm going to be honest here) this movie has no ending and was fer sher not worth the tiny budget that was spent on it.
The 'story' surrounding Wolverine and Sabertooth's background was appropriately shrouded in mystery, and the story of how Wolverine BECOMES WOLVERINE was no far cry from cliche. But you're comic fans, you know the story. But isn't it Hollywood's job to 'make it real'?
From the look of the computer graphics, the effects houses probably just got their first Green/Bluescreens in the mail and said 'OMG GUYS, LET'S MAKE A BADASS CHASE SCENE' and didn't know where to fucking start, so they half-assed it and threw it up on the screen, and that's what you, the audience, will get to see if you buy a ticket for this movie. Half-assed effects.
I livetweeted the movie from my twitter so let's suffice to say, everything you need to know, can be summed up here.
What was really off-putting though, and why this movie's worth blogging about, was the 'love story'. Essentially, Wolverine is 'Wolverine' because of some chick. And though, after watching this film, I wouldn't mind if Lynn Collins, the dame who plays Kayla Silverfox, were the sole source of all of my baby-mama drama from now till human extinction, somehow, Hollywood managed to counteract her being incredibly hot and used her as a means of ruining the middle/ending of what seemed to be a pretty good film. If you DO see it, see it because she's in it for twenty minutes or so.
And ladies, if you see it, Gambit (Taylor Kitsch) is the fucking shit, and is adorable, and performs multiple feats of deus ex machina, and absolutely outstays his welcome.
A love story with no explanation for how they fell in love, a vengence plot that ends without a shred of revenge, cameos of characters that should have been the stars of their own films. Jesus H. Christ. Will.i.am was my favorite actor, above Hugh Jackman even.
This movie tried to be a prequel AND its own 'film' AND the header for a badass sequel, three things that a movie should never try to do more than two of at a time, especially with only $100mil to do it with. I think I want my money back.
B. McGILLICUDDY
BONUS LYNN COLLINS NUDIE PIC (via allure)
So, I don't know how many of you read comics, but let me tell you, I gave the fad up somewhere around middle school. And it wasn't a 'I just...grew out of it, ya know' kind of thing either. What had happened was, I realized that I'd neglected to keep up with the multiverse universes of each division of every comic house, and hadn't properly caught up with all the endless possibilities for each character's storyline/arc/plot development and wasn't really up for buying 40 years worth of back issues to recap, so I gave up.
At this point, I would honestly much prefer to spend my time on wikipedia reading ABOUT comics than actually READING THEM. Call me a cynic GUYS, but I think that the phenomenon that has manifested as the Comic Economy is primarily what's wrong with the film industry today.
Maybe Alan Moore knows what the fuck is up and is avoiding exactly what EVERYONE SHOULD AVOID: Mixing and matching comics and film. Videogames are another story.
Besides, this is a movie review, and it happens to be a movie review about 'X-Men Origins: Wolverine', a story that I am surprisingly already familiar with, and therefore know for a fact that it's a tragedy. Or at least when told RIGHT it's a tragedy. But goddamn it if Hollywood didn't feel the need to fuck it up and make it a hokey ready-made tale of 'losing one's sense of self' that's just begging for a sequel. Because (and I'm going to be honest here) this movie has no ending and was fer sher not worth the tiny budget that was spent on it.
The 'story' surrounding Wolverine and Sabertooth's background was appropriately shrouded in mystery, and the story of how Wolverine BECOMES WOLVERINE was no far cry from cliche. But you're comic fans, you know the story. But isn't it Hollywood's job to 'make it real'?
From the look of the computer graphics, the effects houses probably just got their first Green/Bluescreens in the mail and said 'OMG GUYS, LET'S MAKE A BADASS CHASE SCENE' and didn't know where to fucking start, so they half-assed it and threw it up on the screen, and that's what you, the audience, will get to see if you buy a ticket for this movie. Half-assed effects.
I livetweeted the movie from my twitter so let's suffice to say, everything you need to know, can be summed up here.
What was really off-putting though, and why this movie's worth blogging about, was the 'love story'. Essentially, Wolverine is 'Wolverine' because of some chick. And though, after watching this film, I wouldn't mind if Lynn Collins, the dame who plays Kayla Silverfox, were the sole source of all of my baby-mama drama from now till human extinction, somehow, Hollywood managed to counteract her being incredibly hot and used her as a means of ruining the middle/ending of what seemed to be a pretty good film. If you DO see it, see it because she's in it for twenty minutes or so.
And ladies, if you see it, Gambit (Taylor Kitsch) is the fucking shit, and is adorable, and performs multiple feats of deus ex machina, and absolutely outstays his welcome.
A love story with no explanation for how they fell in love, a vengence plot that ends without a shred of revenge, cameos of characters that should have been the stars of their own films. Jesus H. Christ. Will.i.am was my favorite actor, above Hugh Jackman even.
This movie tried to be a prequel AND its own 'film' AND the header for a badass sequel, three things that a movie should never try to do more than two of at a time, especially with only $100mil to do it with. I think I want my money back.
B. McGILLICUDDY
BONUS LYNN COLLINS NUDIE PIC (via allure)
5/06/2009
NEVER FORGET, REMEMBERING THE 'NUCULAR HOLOCAUST'
B. McGILLICUDDY
GUYS, REMEMBER THE NUCLEAR HOLOCAUST!? (R.I.P. Hitler)
What happened to the 'Cold [via Russia being above the Arctic Circle sometimes] War', and the threat of all of civilization getting wiped out?
I think it might have had something to do with some president's cock being bigger than another's, and 'some asshole "world leader"' thinking it was okay to make the discussion really awkward by pulling out the 'yeah, so what if your cock's bigger, I've got a bigger nuclear device' argument, which doesn't really sound as much like an argument as it sounds like a threat.
I think that the size of a nuclear weapon kind of replaced the 'cockwars' internationally for a while, but now America's got a Black president, so there's no question which 'douchebag who runs a country' has the biggest cock. But I guess they've stopped discussing the 'grower vs. shower' debate. Gotta say I'm gonna miss it [via being 'both' + good at 'paying attention to multiple ladyparts at a time' ;-)]
Since cock/nuclear device size isn't as important as it was back in the day [from the Paleolithic Era to c.1981] what gives countries their 'relevance'/'power'? Is it still a complex metaphor regarding having 'a bigger stick'? Or is it something more 'abstract' like having more money than the other country [and is this the same as having less debt/hotter bitches]?
I'm kind of scared GUYS. I don't know if I'll be able to compete in a world that doesn't care if you're 'hung like an elephant'. It's like when all the pimps in Detroit realized their cocks were >12in. and decided to 'fuck bitches, get money, & pool our resources to get out of the ghetto, y'all'. Worried that my concept of thug life is outdated [via being non-existent].
But SRSLY GUYS, what if a country bombs us out of some preemptive 'I think Obama's going to pull out his cock' strike, like China or something? I hear their cocks are second in smallness only to Japan, which isn't that hard to believe if you've ever seen Japanese porn.
But at least the Japanese have plenty of shit to make up for their 'Gross National Cock Size' [via having had a monopoly on everything that's been cool since 199_], and besides, they don't have a real military and are kind of 'over it'.
But I'm just worried that 'politics' may become a big deal again. It seems to be 'looming over our heads'. But maybe I'm just paranoid. Maybe my conservative parents are wrong and the internet will 'unite us in a way that was not previously possible', and 'Marxism' and 'free love' will become 'real'.
I kind of hope so. I kind of hope that one day all the bitches in the world will be willing to put out in the name of 'free love' and contraception and STD prevention will make the world a perfect place, where cock size was a concern of the past [via looking in the mirror five minutes ago] and politics was a moot point [via the government not letting you talk about it].
What do YOU GUYS think? will the next world war be over water? Energy? Marijuana?
Can't wait till water is the biggest commodity in the world!!!
B. McGILLICUDDY
GUYS, REMEMBER THE NUCLEAR HOLOCAUST!? (R.I.P. Hitler)
What happened to the 'Cold [via Russia being above the Arctic Circle sometimes] War', and the threat of all of civilization getting wiped out?
I think it might have had something to do with some president's cock being bigger than another's, and 'some asshole "world leader"' thinking it was okay to make the discussion really awkward by pulling out the 'yeah, so what if your cock's bigger, I've got a bigger nuclear device' argument, which doesn't really sound as much like an argument as it sounds like a threat.
I think that the size of a nuclear weapon kind of replaced the 'cockwars' internationally for a while, but now America's got a Black president, so there's no question which 'douchebag who runs a country' has the biggest cock. But I guess they've stopped discussing the 'grower vs. shower' debate. Gotta say I'm gonna miss it [via being 'both' + good at 'paying attention to multiple ladyparts at a time' ;-)]
Since cock/nuclear device size isn't as important as it was back in the day [from the Paleolithic Era to c.1981] what gives countries their 'relevance'/'power'? Is it still a complex metaphor regarding having 'a bigger stick'? Or is it something more 'abstract' like having more money than the other country [and is this the same as having less debt/hotter bitches]?
I'm kind of scared GUYS. I don't know if I'll be able to compete in a world that doesn't care if you're 'hung like an elephant'. It's like when all the pimps in Detroit realized their cocks were >12in. and decided to 'fuck bitches, get money, & pool our resources to get out of the ghetto, y'all'. Worried that my concept of thug life is outdated [via being non-existent].
But SRSLY GUYS, what if a country bombs us out of some preemptive 'I think Obama's going to pull out his cock' strike, like China or something? I hear their cocks are second in smallness only to Japan, which isn't that hard to believe if you've ever seen Japanese porn.
But at least the Japanese have plenty of shit to make up for their 'Gross National Cock Size' [via having had a monopoly on everything that's been cool since 199_], and besides, they don't have a real military and are kind of 'over it'.
But I'm just worried that 'politics' may become a big deal again. It seems to be 'looming over our heads'. But maybe I'm just paranoid. Maybe my conservative parents are wrong and the internet will 'unite us in a way that was not previously possible', and 'Marxism' and 'free love' will become 'real'.
I kind of hope so. I kind of hope that one day all the bitches in the world will be willing to put out in the name of 'free love' and contraception and STD prevention will make the world a perfect place, where cock size was a concern of the past [via looking in the mirror five minutes ago] and politics was a moot point [via the government not letting you talk about it].
What do YOU GUYS think? will the next world war be over water? Energy? Marijuana?
Can't wait till water is the biggest commodity in the world!!!
B. McGILLICUDDY
HEY, REMEMBER ME GUYZ? YEAH, ME NEITHER...
B. McGILLICUDDY
I'M SAD GUYZ. It's been a while since I've been IN LOVE with anyone, including myself. I realized today that without COFFEE/CIGARETTES I'm pretty much USELESS, and that the women in my life (excluding LA FRERE, who is my bro/lover/fashion accessory) are pretty much either IDEAS in a the sense that they're just ONLINE PERSONALITIES, or are INACCESSIBLE in the sense that they just want me for MY BOD and wouldn't really function properly within the contexts of a RELATIONSHIP.
I'm not even sure if I want a RELATIONSHIP really GUYZ. Shit.
Here's some GOOD MUSIC TAO LIN DISCOVERED by way of TWITTER. I think it's contributing to me feeling LIKE Shit.
'"Nobody knows me neither" LA STRATA' - Hop Along, Queen Ansleis
Have you ever felt like your mother only knows you in the context of THAT THING that formed in her UTERUS? Or what was RUNNING AROUND and PISSING HER OFF between the ages 0-25? I kind of feel like she DOESN'T GET ME Nao. I'm a DIFFERENT person than I was in HER TUMMY. Now I'm INDEPENDENT and not A PART OF ANYTHING Really. Really SUCKS. Miss the womb GUYZ.
I'm afraid that If I get into a RELATIONSHIP now that I'll just be trying to JUMP BACK UP THE WOMB by BEING CONNECTED to some dame as best as I can, i.e. SEX/CONVERSATION/NON-VERBAL COMMUNICATION. Feel like I can't just like a dame for WHO SHE IS, because there are so many EXPECTATIONS on her part, and she wants to LOOK SEXY for me, even though I'll have sex with her whether she LOOKS SEXY or NOT. Shit. I maybe a BAD PERSON. I don't know how though.
I just want to have something to LIVE FOR GUYZ. Because LIVING FOR MYSELF is kind of like LIVING FOR THIS BLOG, which just sounds STUPID when you say it out loud. But like, when you have a dame that's REALLY PRETTY, and doesn't mind you BEING IN HER VAGINA/HEAD/BANK ACCOUNT from time-to-time, it kind of makes it all WORTH WHILE, and frees up the my head for OTHER THINGS, like GIVING A FUCK ABOUT SHIT.
What about YOU, ANONYMOUS? Do you miss your MOM'S VAGINA? Do you wish you could be in a MEANINGFUL/FULFILLING RELATIONSHIP? Are you in one? Could you give me POINTERS?
Should I add PROVOCATIVE PICTURES to my posts, like LA FRERE?
THAT'S PRETTY FUCKED UP.
Glad my DAD WASN'T A BRO/TOOL/DOUCHEBAG like this dame's BF. My DAD's a COOL DAD.
I <3 VAGINA. Don't know why though, GUYZ. Don't know why I LIKE TO COME.
B. McGILLICUDDY
I'M SAD GUYZ. It's been a while since I've been IN LOVE with anyone, including myself. I realized today that without COFFEE/CIGARETTES I'm pretty much USELESS, and that the women in my life (excluding LA FRERE, who is my bro/lover/fashion accessory) are pretty much either IDEAS in a the sense that they're just ONLINE PERSONALITIES, or are INACCESSIBLE in the sense that they just want me for MY BOD and wouldn't really function properly within the contexts of a RELATIONSHIP.
I'm not even sure if I want a RELATIONSHIP really GUYZ. Shit.
Here's some GOOD MUSIC TAO LIN DISCOVERED by way of TWITTER. I think it's contributing to me feeling LIKE Shit.
'"Nobody knows me neither" LA STRATA' - Hop Along, Queen Ansleis
Have you ever felt like your mother only knows you in the context of THAT THING that formed in her UTERUS? Or what was RUNNING AROUND and PISSING HER OFF between the ages 0-25? I kind of feel like she DOESN'T GET ME Nao. I'm a DIFFERENT person than I was in HER TUMMY. Now I'm INDEPENDENT and not A PART OF ANYTHING Really. Really SUCKS. Miss the womb GUYZ.
I'm afraid that If I get into a RELATIONSHIP now that I'll just be trying to JUMP BACK UP THE WOMB by BEING CONNECTED to some dame as best as I can, i.e. SEX/CONVERSATION/NON-VERBAL COMMUNICATION. Feel like I can't just like a dame for WHO SHE IS, because there are so many EXPECTATIONS on her part, and she wants to LOOK SEXY for me, even though I'll have sex with her whether she LOOKS SEXY or NOT. Shit. I maybe a BAD PERSON. I don't know how though.
I just want to have something to LIVE FOR GUYZ. Because LIVING FOR MYSELF is kind of like LIVING FOR THIS BLOG, which just sounds STUPID when you say it out loud. But like, when you have a dame that's REALLY PRETTY, and doesn't mind you BEING IN HER VAGINA/HEAD/BANK ACCOUNT from time-to-time, it kind of makes it all WORTH WHILE, and frees up the my head for OTHER THINGS, like GIVING A FUCK ABOUT SHIT.
What about YOU, ANONYMOUS? Do you miss your MOM'S VAGINA? Do you wish you could be in a MEANINGFUL/FULFILLING RELATIONSHIP? Are you in one? Could you give me POINTERS?
Should I add PROVOCATIVE PICTURES to my posts, like LA FRERE?
THAT'S PRETTY FUCKED UP.
Glad my DAD WASN'T A BRO/TOOL/DOUCHEBAG like this dame's BF. My DAD's a COOL DAD.
I <3 VAGINA. Don't know why though, GUYZ. Don't know why I LIKE TO COME.
B. McGILLICUDDY
5/05/2009
@yera14
B. McGILLICUDDY
'@__' is a gimmick where Buttercup McGillicuddy says something interesting in 140 characters about a girl who a) he has/had a crush on and b) has a twitter account. This edition is about Kristy Escolero.
@yera14 you are maybe the only woman in my life to get me blackout and for me not to try and make face with. i think this 'means something'.
My crush on you currently measures in at 5 on the Richter Scale. You 'r0ck my s0x'!
B. McGILLICUDDY
'@__' is a gimmick where Buttercup McGillicuddy says something interesting in 140 characters about a girl who a) he has/had a crush on and b) has a twitter account. This edition is about Kristy Escolero.
@yera14 you are maybe the only woman in my life to get me blackout and for me not to try and make face with. i think this 'means something'.
My crush on you currently measures in at 5 on the Richter Scale. You 'r0ck my s0x'!
B. McGILLICUDDY
THE EFFECTS OF BEING INEBRIATED
B. McGILLICUDDY
Alcohol makes you want to have sex, guys. I don't know why this is. There are probably hundreds of thousands of 'chemicals' 'involved' in the process, and I'm not sure if they 'make you hornier' or free up your 'inhibitions', but somehow people always end up sticking 'genitals' or other 'appendages' or sometimes even 'objects' places where, supposedly, without alcohol, people wouldn't dare go unless there was money involved. Odd. I guess even if you're not drunk and are alone with someone for an extended period of time, eventually there'll be some thump-gushing, but it tends to be 'awkward' or something. I don't know why everyone expects the 'conditions to be perfect' for sex, but I guess it's fortunate that alcohol 'makes the conditions right' or 'conditions your brain to ignore how awkward you are', which is good, I think. I like sex, all the time, no matter the 'circumstances', even if I don't 'cum' with the girl, or at all, so the fact that alcohol makes it the 'obvious conclusion' to one-on-one interaction is great.
Here's a list of other things I didn't realize I liked to do until I realized I liked alcohol:
Fighting (for no good reason)
Swearing
Smoking cigarettes
NOT smoking weed (after drinking a lot)
Doing gay shit
Breaking things
Hurting myself
Hurting douchebags who hit on the girl I'm talking to (which is like fighting but isn't for 'no good reason')
Damn. Another blogger blogged about this earlier today and I didn't even realize until just now. Damn. Don't want to post this anymore.
B. McGILLICUDDY
Alcohol makes you want to have sex, guys. I don't know why this is. There are probably hundreds of thousands of 'chemicals' 'involved' in the process, and I'm not sure if they 'make you hornier' or free up your 'inhibitions', but somehow people always end up sticking 'genitals' or other 'appendages' or sometimes even 'objects' places where, supposedly, without alcohol, people wouldn't dare go unless there was money involved. Odd. I guess even if you're not drunk and are alone with someone for an extended period of time, eventually there'll be some thump-gushing, but it tends to be 'awkward' or something. I don't know why everyone expects the 'conditions to be perfect' for sex, but I guess it's fortunate that alcohol 'makes the conditions right' or 'conditions your brain to ignore how awkward you are', which is good, I think. I like sex, all the time, no matter the 'circumstances', even if I don't 'cum' with the girl, or at all, so the fact that alcohol makes it the 'obvious conclusion' to one-on-one interaction is great.
Here's a list of other things I didn't realize I liked to do until I realized I liked alcohol:
Fighting (for no good reason)
Swearing
Smoking cigarettes
NOT smoking weed (after drinking a lot)
Doing gay shit
Breaking things
Hurting myself
Hurting douchebags who hit on the girl I'm talking to (which is like fighting but isn't for 'no good reason')
Damn. Another blogger blogged about this earlier today and I didn't even realize until just now. Damn. Don't want to post this anymore.
B. McGILLICUDDY
5/04/2009
LATEX CONDOM
B. McGILLICUDDY
You are a catalyst
For frictitious engagement
Lessening, removing that messy middle
Between affection, adoration, commitment
There are real children in Africa
Who won't die because of you
There are hypothetical children in India
Who, on your account
Won't ever have to worry about dying at all
You are like a relational preservative
Birthed from sap and seed
Synthesized that I might come
And leave in guilty peace
B. McGILLICUDDY
You are a catalyst
For frictitious engagement
Lessening, removing that messy middle
Between affection, adoration, commitment
There are real children in Africa
Who won't die because of you
There are hypothetical children in India
Who, on your account
Won't ever have to worry about dying at all
You are like a relational preservative
Birthed from sap and seed
Synthesized that I might come
And leave in guilty peace
B. McGILLICUDDY
5/01/2009
K.C. PRESENTS "SAME WORD DYSTROPHY"
B. McGILLICUDDY
On occasion I like to display work from other writers who are talented and too goddamned afraid to show anyone their work. I have a friend on the West Coast who was introduced to me as a writer, but this is both my and your first time seeing her writing...and I've known her for more than a year. I met her at a cook-out, then a house party, then a warehouse electro blastspot in LA. I didn't know she would be at any of them. And then we had coffee and made love with our words in LB. This prose-poem is about a boy she described as 'mad', in the British sense.
Without further ado.
"SAME WORD DYSTROPHY
By K.C.
Back to the West with that ever-present aching in my heart, missing you and your 1.23 decency and the fact that you are not the kind to speak.
But what we ultimately share is inevitable, the glimpses of madness from a distance
As we saunter into the big vacations and the lonely synthesized sunsets
And we may never see each other again, because what I see as discrete you see as evident, and because I know no other form of obtaining you, I am going to suck you into some web that also entangles me and makes us ultimately separated.
We are simultaneously stuck.
And I am in agony over you.
The tubs that we never spent together
And the nights that we shared staring rather scandalously into the other
...
And I will eternally resent you as I rest my head upon said pillow, to evade the fact that it actually said something, and departed from the discretion that you appreciated once. And now you have left and I have left and it is up to no one to make us see each other again. So goodnight, no dreams for you, no waves of admiration or hurt, nothing for you but my own volition."
We were both quite drunk when this was written. The ellipsis signifies when I thought she was flirting with me and neglected to gather the words before FBchat stole them. She said that this story wasn't sexual. Spiritual maybe?
B. McGILLICUDDY
On occasion I like to display work from other writers who are talented and too goddamned afraid to show anyone their work. I have a friend on the West Coast who was introduced to me as a writer, but this is both my and your first time seeing her writing...and I've known her for more than a year. I met her at a cook-out, then a house party, then a warehouse electro blastspot in LA. I didn't know she would be at any of them. And then we had coffee and made love with our words in LB. This prose-poem is about a boy she described as 'mad', in the British sense.
Without further ado.
"SAME WORD DYSTROPHY
By K.C.
Back to the West with that ever-present aching in my heart, missing you and your 1.23 decency and the fact that you are not the kind to speak.
But what we ultimately share is inevitable, the glimpses of madness from a distance
As we saunter into the big vacations and the lonely synthesized sunsets
And we may never see each other again, because what I see as discrete you see as evident, and because I know no other form of obtaining you, I am going to suck you into some web that also entangles me and makes us ultimately separated.
We are simultaneously stuck.
And I am in agony over you.
The tubs that we never spent together
And the nights that we shared staring rather scandalously into the other
...
And I will eternally resent you as I rest my head upon said pillow, to evade the fact that it actually said something, and departed from the discretion that you appreciated once. And now you have left and I have left and it is up to no one to make us see each other again. So goodnight, no dreams for you, no waves of admiration or hurt, nothing for you but my own volition."
We were both quite drunk when this was written. The ellipsis signifies when I thought she was flirting with me and neglected to gather the words before FBchat stole them. She said that this story wasn't sexual. Spiritual maybe?
B. McGILLICUDDY
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)