8.09.2003
If ever there was cause to update my journal...
Wow! I have just got to tell everyone about this!!! I just got back from a trip to NEW JERSEY!!! There were rides and taffy and funnel cake and sand and LOTS f water...SEA WATER!!!!!AND IT WAS SUPER!!!!!........and that's it.....nothing else.......yup....nothing out of the ordinary else.........just as normal as normal can be.........yep..........uh........mm hmm........nothing else to be said...........uh........ah............aaaaarrrrrrrRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGHHHHHH!!!!!!!! THE MODEL JUST BURST IN AND TOLD ME SHE JUST GAVE HER FIRST BLOW JOB IN A TAXI CAB AND THAT SHE CAME HOME A FEW DAYS AGO TO MY OTHER ROOMMATE AND TWO FRIENDS OF HERS NAKED AND HAVING A THREESOME!!!!!!.......but that's it....nothing else. Ahem. Uh, th-thank you.
7.29.2003
I ate the whole bag.
Yesterday a fifty-two pound bag of rye berries (the key ingredient for shrooms) was accidentally delivered to my apartment and, since it was signed for by one of my roommate (because she didn't read the fucking CONTRACTUAL AGREEMENT!!!!) it is now ours. What the bloody fuck is going on? I'm at a loss. I'm ordering some crab rangoon. If any of you haven't had this, find a chinese place near you that has them and try some, they're awesome. Mmmm...
7.25.2003
ahem...
flounce1 (flouns)
n.
A strip of decorative, usually gathered or pleated material attached by one edge, as on a garment or curtain.
tr.v. flounced, flounc·ing, flounc·es
To trim with a strip or strips of gathered or pleated material.
[Alteration of frounce, from Middle English, pleat, from Old French fronce, of Germanic origin. See sker-2 in Indo-European Roots.]
flounce2 (flouns)
intr.v. flounced, flounc·ing, flounc·es
1. To move in a lively or bouncy manner: The children flounced around the room in their costumes.
2. To move with exaggerated or affected motions: flounced petulantly out of the house.
3. To move clumsily; flounder.
Okay, I wanted to start with a definition. The key to this entry is the word and action "flounce" (specifically the third meaning of the second definition, in fact disregard the strip of fabric thing). As I mentioned before, I think, I am now living in an apartment on the
Upper East Side of Manhattan. I am living with two girls, one of which is the subject and reason of this update.
Her name is Flouncy the Tart, let's say. She is/was an actress/model. At this moment, she is flouncing around the apartment deciding what clothes she's going to bring to Neverland. For those that don't know, Neverland is Mr. Michael Jackson's private home/amusement park. How she got the invite? Well, she says that some guy who got the invitation just couldn't go and gave it to her. My thoughts on how she got it? She went to bed with this guy and she took so much of his stain into her system (mouth, vagina and anus) that he felt she had earned a door prize. But I'm looking at the small picture, let me let you in on the big picture of why I am slandering this actress/model/anal feind...(here comes the laundry list) She's never here, when she is she's complaining that the place is a mess because it hasn't been cleaned since the last time she made the fucking mess, she owns a cat who is never fed by her because she's never here, she brags about things that just aren't true, she's a starfucker, literally, she does massive amounts of drugs (coke, E, pot, who KNOWS what the fuck else), she's an idiot (although I can blame that on breeding), she's British, she's messy, she's dirty, she's a whore, she is utterly helpless, she slurs her words terribly (making the whole British race sillier in my mind), she bursts into the apartment (once every week) to make a mess, change her clothes, do a line, SPEAK IN BABY TALK TO HER FUCKING CAT ALTHOUGH NOT GIVING IT ANY FOOD OR ATTENTION, FLOUNCE around muttering that her life is SOOOOO tough because she can't find her other $900 pair of shoes because the first $900 pair of shoes is TOO last week to be seen where she's going (which is usually to bed with someone famous so she can feel important), she has over her friends (as vacant as the library in her hometown) and they ALL flounce around the fucking place making a mess, doing drugs, talking on their cell phones, LEAVING MY GODDAMN DVD'S ALL OVER THE PLACE, she finishes food that isn't hers, she doesn't buy food that anyone else wants then offers it freely, she uses a WHOLE ROLL OF TOILET PAPER every time she goes into the bathroom, SHE ATE MY SALT AND VINEGAR PRINGLES AND DRANK MY FUCKING VANILLA COKE! and finally...she shaved her pubic hair OVER THE BATHROOM SINK, DIDN'T CLEAN IT OUT, THEN FUCKING LEFT HER RAZOR IN THE CUP I KEEP MY TOOTHBRUSH IN!!!!!!! One of the very worst things she has ever done, however was convince me that she doesn't like this lifestyle she's leading. Little did I know that as she was saying this, she was ready to head out for a week or two of casual sex with dirty stars, drug use and flouncing. One of these days, she's going to be in company worse than usual and then she's probably going to be raped or killed or just allowed to flounce in front of a bullet train on a weekend jaunt to Tokyo or something. The novelty of living with an actress/model has worn off. If anyone would be interested in killing her and moving in, just let me know. Rent's good.
n.
A strip of decorative, usually gathered or pleated material attached by one edge, as on a garment or curtain.
tr.v. flounced, flounc·ing, flounc·es
To trim with a strip or strips of gathered or pleated material.
[Alteration of frounce, from Middle English, pleat, from Old French fronce, of Germanic origin. See sker-2 in Indo-European Roots.]
flounce2 (flouns)
intr.v. flounced, flounc·ing, flounc·es
1. To move in a lively or bouncy manner: The children flounced around the room in their costumes.
2. To move with exaggerated or affected motions: flounced petulantly out of the house.
3. To move clumsily; flounder.
Okay, I wanted to start with a definition. The key to this entry is the word and action "flounce" (specifically the third meaning of the second definition, in fact disregard the strip of fabric thing). As I mentioned before, I think, I am now living in an apartment on the
Upper East Side of Manhattan. I am living with two girls, one of which is the subject and reason of this update.
Her name is Flouncy the Tart, let's say. She is/was an actress/model. At this moment, she is flouncing around the apartment deciding what clothes she's going to bring to Neverland. For those that don't know, Neverland is Mr. Michael Jackson's private home/amusement park. How she got the invite? Well, she says that some guy who got the invitation just couldn't go and gave it to her. My thoughts on how she got it? She went to bed with this guy and she took so much of his stain into her system (mouth, vagina and anus) that he felt she had earned a door prize. But I'm looking at the small picture, let me let you in on the big picture of why I am slandering this actress/model/anal feind...(here comes the laundry list) She's never here, when she is she's complaining that the place is a mess because it hasn't been cleaned since the last time she made the fucking mess, she owns a cat who is never fed by her because she's never here, she brags about things that just aren't true, she's a starfucker, literally, she does massive amounts of drugs (coke, E, pot, who KNOWS what the fuck else), she's an idiot (although I can blame that on breeding), she's British, she's messy, she's dirty, she's a whore, she is utterly helpless, she slurs her words terribly (making the whole British race sillier in my mind), she bursts into the apartment (once every week) to make a mess, change her clothes, do a line, SPEAK IN BABY TALK TO HER FUCKING CAT ALTHOUGH NOT GIVING IT ANY FOOD OR ATTENTION, FLOUNCE around muttering that her life is SOOOOO tough because she can't find her other $900 pair of shoes because the first $900 pair of shoes is TOO last week to be seen where she's going (which is usually to bed with someone famous so she can feel important), she has over her friends (as vacant as the library in her hometown) and they ALL flounce around the fucking place making a mess, doing drugs, talking on their cell phones, LEAVING MY GODDAMN DVD'S ALL OVER THE PLACE, she finishes food that isn't hers, she doesn't buy food that anyone else wants then offers it freely, she uses a WHOLE ROLL OF TOILET PAPER every time she goes into the bathroom, SHE ATE MY SALT AND VINEGAR PRINGLES AND DRANK MY FUCKING VANILLA COKE! and finally...she shaved her pubic hair OVER THE BATHROOM SINK, DIDN'T CLEAN IT OUT, THEN FUCKING LEFT HER RAZOR IN THE CUP I KEEP MY TOOTHBRUSH IN!!!!!!! One of the very worst things she has ever done, however was convince me that she doesn't like this lifestyle she's leading. Little did I know that as she was saying this, she was ready to head out for a week or two of casual sex with dirty stars, drug use and flouncing. One of these days, she's going to be in company worse than usual and then she's probably going to be raped or killed or just allowed to flounce in front of a bullet train on a weekend jaunt to Tokyo or something. The novelty of living with an actress/model has worn off. If anyone would be interested in killing her and moving in, just let me know. Rent's good.
7.01.2003
Guess who's not dead...
Forget it, it's me, I'm not dead. I'm here. Where is here you might ask? My new apartment on the upper east side. I'm all in except for a few little details. I'm living with two random chicks; Melissa (late 20's, 6'1, British, model, was in James Bond's Goldeneye) and Andrea (early 20's, less than 6'1, Jerseian, was in a Girls Gone Wild DVD Mardi Gras 2001). Yes, I know what you're thinking:...Actually, no I don't, I really have nothing. Nevermind. Sorry to be so presumptuous. God, I'm such an asshole. Eh. Uh. Done. I am a human head.
4.19.2003
I'll go get a towel...
And why am I going to get a towel? Because you just saw my picture and CAME LIKE TEENAGERS AT AN ORGY! And nw that I have a picture up, I suppose I should update my journal, eh? Fine.-->(Delivered as Paul Rudd in Wet Hot American Summer)
I am in New York City at this moment. As a Theatre major who intends to become a professional actor, I need to be in New York. At this moment, I have no job and no apartment here in the city and come May 18th (one fucking day after my graduation) my school kicks me out of my apartment here. I also still have classes and can't start a brand new job until I have nothing to do...on the 18th of May for instance. Come May 18th, I will have to return to the place that I now call home...Florida. Florida = suicide. Both for me and my career. So, that's what's been in my head recently. Thanks for asking. Peace out. Now change your pants, your fluids are getting dry and crusty.
I am in New York City at this moment. As a Theatre major who intends to become a professional actor, I need to be in New York. At this moment, I have no job and no apartment here in the city and come May 18th (one fucking day after my graduation) my school kicks me out of my apartment here. I also still have classes and can't start a brand new job until I have nothing to do...on the 18th of May for instance. Come May 18th, I will have to return to the place that I now call home...Florida. Florida = suicide. Both for me and my career. So, that's what's been in my head recently. Thanks for asking. Peace out. Now change your pants, your fluids are getting dry and crusty.
4.10.2003
What's Your Anti-Drug?
Putting my testicles on the heads on midgets is my anti-drug. What's your Anti-Drug?
4.03.2003
For Jenna
I want to take a moment to recognize my love for Jenna. I think that she is the only person who checks my web site on a regular basis AND really enjoys it AND asks me when it's going to be updated whenever we talk.
I met her in high school along with my best friends, Phil and Will. I think one of, if not the first night I met her, the 5 of us (Will, Sunir--a dark force in this universe), Jenna, Angie--a magnificent person in her own right and myself) went out to a Cuban restaurant named Don Pepe's where I talked with Jenna and Angie and learned that they both enjoyed Stephen King and watching X-Files together because they thought David Duchovny was hot. Aside from the "thinking he's hot" part, I was on the same track as them. Another early memory of Jenna involves the first time I went to Will's old house where Jenna insisted that we listen to a great song that just happened to be "Birdhouse in Your Soul" by They Might Be Giants. This was th first time I had ever heard this song and I was enamored. Then there was the night we all went to our friend Alison's house and watched a really terrible soft core on Showtime. Then there was the last time I ever saw Jenna back in the 1900's. It was the night before she would leave Florida and go to Washington University in the state of the same name. We all spent that night at her house looking at pictures and just hanging out as one does before one will leave for a very long time. And at the end of that night, Jenna gave me her copy of "Reznor Sharp" (her bootleg of Nine Inch Nails at Woodstock '94). Then we all hugged and I went home. That was in August of 1998. I still talk to Jenna on-line and such, but I haven't seen her almost five years. However, the memory remains.
Jenna used to wear this very distinct scent whose name escapes me and a friend of mine here in NYC (Sarah) has recently started wearing it, which always reminds me of Jenna and all the wonderful fun we had over the two or three years we got to know one another before she had to go.
I guess what I'm saying is that I'll always remember you and hold you in my heart and you're not getting your CD back. I look forward to seeing you again at some point, hopefully in New York since she hates Florida about as much as myself. This one's for you Jenna. Rock on.
I met her in high school along with my best friends, Phil and Will. I think one of, if not the first night I met her, the 5 of us (Will, Sunir--a dark force in this universe), Jenna, Angie--a magnificent person in her own right and myself) went out to a Cuban restaurant named Don Pepe's where I talked with Jenna and Angie and learned that they both enjoyed Stephen King and watching X-Files together because they thought David Duchovny was hot. Aside from the "thinking he's hot" part, I was on the same track as them. Another early memory of Jenna involves the first time I went to Will's old house where Jenna insisted that we listen to a great song that just happened to be "Birdhouse in Your Soul" by They Might Be Giants. This was th first time I had ever heard this song and I was enamored. Then there was the night we all went to our friend Alison's house and watched a really terrible soft core on Showtime. Then there was the last time I ever saw Jenna back in the 1900's. It was the night before she would leave Florida and go to Washington University in the state of the same name. We all spent that night at her house looking at pictures and just hanging out as one does before one will leave for a very long time. And at the end of that night, Jenna gave me her copy of "Reznor Sharp" (her bootleg of Nine Inch Nails at Woodstock '94). Then we all hugged and I went home. That was in August of 1998. I still talk to Jenna on-line and such, but I haven't seen her almost five years. However, the memory remains.
Jenna used to wear this very distinct scent whose name escapes me and a friend of mine here in NYC (Sarah) has recently started wearing it, which always reminds me of Jenna and all the wonderful fun we had over the two or three years we got to know one another before she had to go.
I guess what I'm saying is that I'll always remember you and hold you in my heart and you're not getting your CD back. I look forward to seeing you again at some point, hopefully in New York since she hates Florida about as much as myself. This one's for you Jenna. Rock on.
3.26.2003
Shakespeare is a fake.
Nothing. Just "Shakespeare is a fake." And a whore. Shakespeare is a fake and a whore.
3.25.2003
These rats.
I have these big, black rats in my head right now. Their feet and snouts are made of splintered glass and they've mistaken the various areas of my brain as rat food. They've been scurrying and stabbing around in my head for a few days now, carving bloody channels in the soft, gray substance between my ears. I'm afraid to go to a doctor because, if you were a doctor and I walked in and said, Hey, doc, what's going on. I got these rats..."? Needless to say the pain caused by these rats makes it hard to live. Yesterday I bent over to pick something up and all the rats pulled out switchblades and started running up the sides of my skull, so I left the thing on the floor where I dropped it. If I really need to get it, I'll pick it up with my feet. Tylenol, which usually does the trick is doing no such trick this time. Quite frankly, I'm in hell. Pretty soon these rats are going to start gnawing at the backs of my eyeballs and I have class in 13 minuets. Fuck.
3.10.2003
Malcontent anyone?
So it appears at this time I don't like more things/people/places than I do like. If that doesn't change, it's your fault.
People and Places and Things I Don't Like (in NO order whatsoever)
From A Buick 8 (I love Stephen King's books, but this one just sucked ass cock), this apocalyptic pall that's fallen over the world (fuck Iraq, fuck war, let's go get pizza), censorship (I had a great joke in my most recent character bio and thanks to CENSORSHIP no one will know just how clever and disdainful I was about Trojan Women's director), wastes of time (I mean, I only have a few years left, I don't want to spend them on line at the Post Office or waiting for a fat person to order the most fattening thing on the menu at some fast food joint), low-hanging things (BECAUSE I BANG MY FUCKING HEAD ON THEM!), people who get angry at my height (Wow. Go fuck yourselves. Jealous ass pug-fuglies), not having money to buy cool shit (because life is less cool without cool shit), not having a job (because without a job, I can't get money for cool shit...duh), being a lazy fuck (because...eh), Fred Durst and all the musical atrocities he has helped to create (BURN IN HELL YOU PUNK ASS BITCH MOTHERFUCKER! If I had the ability to kill one person throughout history, it would be this spot of cock grease. Never before have people SERIOUSLY worshipped such a talentless dick cheese.), the people that SERIOUSLY worship Fred Durst (What's worse than being Hitler? Being a Nazi.), music in general today (every time I turn on the radio I want to stick infected penises in my ears so I won't have to endure the shit flying over the airwaves. Yes, I said it, I'd rather have diseased semen in my ears than listen to the radio), my school's cafeteria (since when is a sub-standard chicken wrap $7? You money-grubbing bastards.), the Olsen twins (their feces is worth than my life...seriously), consequences and laws (if there were neither, we could all be who we really are underneath the social constraints and trappings that TV and school and our churches and our parents have buried us. The REAL you is a terrible person, think about it...), people who use drugs and alcohol as excuses for idiotic behavior (if you're old enough to drink or old enough to score off some greasy burn out dealer then you're fucking old enough to take responsibility for your actions, fuckhead.), these reality shows-- American Idol, Married By America, the numerous dating shows (I would gladly kill each and every asshole participating on these shows. These GODDAMN divas in the making on American Idol, these poor, desperate morons on Married by America and each and every one of the sluts-- male and female--dead in a heartbeat and I wouldn't even TRY to give a shit. Oh and lest I forget, Man vs. Beast. A Japanese man versus a bear in a hot dog eating contest? Why don't terrorists ever attack these fucks? The state of television today is just like the radio except for the Simpsons.), itchy balls (no way to do THAT politely)
People and Places and Things I Like (in NO order whatsoever)
Prince (he's lovesexy), They Might Be Giants (they make me feel smarter than a lot of people), being damn tall (aside from the occasional blows to the head provided by low-hanging things, it's awesome. I can intimidate 90% of the world- the other 9% are big, black men and then there's that one percent consisting of random white people that I cannot intimidate/ intimidate me, these people include BUT ARE NOT LIMITED TO: Christopher Walken, Willem DaFoe, John Malkovich, Crispin Hellion Glover and a few others), pizza (it's bread, cheese and tomato sauce, but how awesome is it?), Christina (cause she just rubbed my head and made my leg twitch), Resident Evil/Silent Hill type video games (because it's so hard to be frightened in life without worrying about real bodily harm), acting (because I bore myself sometimes), Nine Inch Nails (because they make music today suck in comparison), Marilyn Manson (because people really think he's the anti-christ), ejaculation (such a release), James Bond (because you know that by the end of the movie he will have had sex with AT LEAST three different women), Cake (their lead singer seems to really loathe all their fans, but his fans still exist...do we hate ourselves or what?), Depeche Mode on heroin (Songs of Faith and Devotion is an amazing album...thanks to Dave Gahan was chasing the dragon), gay priests (you gotta love the paradox they embody), the G.I. Joe psa's over at Lumpen.com (very seldom do I cry with laughter), New York City (especially in juxtaposition with, oh...I don't know...Longwood, Florida), Moxy Fruvous (for having THE DORKIEST FANS I HAVE EVER SEEN. These fucking Fruheads must NEVER get ass unless they rely on their respective household pets), The Simpsons (because it's all that is good and right in the world), large, open-ended lists that can be continued whenever...(because...well...)
Oh yeah baby, sex me up
There we go. My journal no longer looks like something the fucking Olsen twins would write their secret crushes in...
"Dear Diary, Today Comet licked us and it made us feel weird...but good...Like when Uncle Jesse does it...or Dave...or Daddy...or Cousin Balki...or Steve Urkel...or the rest of the TGIF Family...please help us, we're constantly being molested by older, untalented actors....someone kill us."
"Dear Diary, Today Comet licked us and it made us feel weird...but good...Like when Uncle Jesse does it...or Dave...or Daddy...or Cousin Balki...or Steve Urkel...or the rest of the TGIF Family...please help us, we're constantly being molested by older, untalented actors....someone kill us."
That's fucking talent...
Wow, my girlfriend is really fucking talented. Let's see...what can I do...uh...well...I can't find an apartment in the city...I can't find a job that I want to do AND that will have me...uh....I...can...bore people with my journal? And...uh...hm. Oh wait! I know! I CAN SUCK MY OWN DICK! HA! TAKE THAT, ROSS PEROT!
3.09.2003
WHAT THE SHIT
All right. This is the LAST first entry I am making. My original entry (I Have A Journal) WAS deleted, but then apparently posted. I commented on the fact that it was deleted in the third entry (third in position, not in chronological order) and then I saw that the original first entry WAS NOT deleted so I made a third comment (which appears second for some fucking stupid reason I can never begin to comprehend) on that fact. There. So this is it. I will NEVER shop at this store again. But still, FUCK THE PO-LEESE!
What a terrible foot to get off on
Ok...this is messing with my head. Although the first entry (I Have A Journal) WAS deleted...I checked my Journal (which looks very 8th grade chic...) and it appeared to NOT have been deleted. Uh...well...FUCK THE PO-LEESE!
What a terrible foot to get off on
FUCK YOU INTERNET! I had my first fucking entry all typed up and ready to rock but the WHORES that control this fascist regime fucked it completely up. Well, if I never post again, it'll be because of you, you slut bags!
I have a journal
Event? What does that mean? Am I supposed to have a reason for writing this? Well EAT ME! You can't make me have a reason for ANYTHING! Ha. Sucka. Okay...so this will probably go the way of my fucking web site that get approximately 4 hits per ever so why am I bothering? Oh yes, because it sounded really cool at the time. Meh. I suppose I don't really need a journal for purgative purposes since anything I need to talk about I talk to friends and anything I wouldn't tell my close friends I am certainly not going to put on the Internet. Granted, the concept of the Internet is wonderful: This sea of anonimity that one can just cast off their personal and emotional falderal into, but, come on, we've all seen the Matrix. God I'm even boring myself.
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