(no subject)
put it in jars...
i create fat everyday...lard and bullshit
man's greatest gift and ability is to create
face it u love to...we love to create
i create fat...nothing that people love...unless you enjoy fat
i miss peter zell
i want to play sports a lot
He followed my neck with his two little beads across the mountain ranges of caked grease and dried up crumbs. The fine little universe that harbored our encounter was the Twilight lounge, a shanty diner for truckers and rejects to the cruel comedy of capitalism. The Lounge attempted to grip flourescent light from its shit bulbs like sand falling through ones fingers, the result: a place lit about as well as a catacomb. Catacomb an appropriate nomenclature for the Darwin haters that munched on uncle sams nail clippings. Truck driver Joe begs for more toejam on his grilled cheese and a cleaner cut for his coffee. They were zombies, they were the ones stuck in the system. They follow their roads and dig my ditches, they move my things and they suck my dick. There i was sifting through their sweat, my fine leather shoes were gold skis on a lake of dirt that no mop could manage, and the mop that attempted to proved as futile as brushing hair with a leaf blower.
My locks were greased with the finest lobster droppings or pig juices or whatever they put in gel these days, the price tag dictated my happiness with my hair. His eyes moved to my tie then my crotch. If this low life bastard didnt think i noticed his little fuck-ass homo-erotic stares he was dumber than i thought he was. He smirked. "what so goddamn funny you greaseball faggot?" the statement clung to my lips similar to fat, stubby scared little seven year old to the high diving bored. He wants to jump and i want to say it but we both could get our necks broken. It remained an illadvised dream, a little smirk and nod back and i was on my way to the counter. I wanted coffee and i wanted grease, no urbanites, no vegans, no richard simmons queers, or fuckhead atkins obsessors, i was on my way to a grease filled bliss, the cheeseburger and fries. The pride of the solid south or retard country. These inbred pieces of shit, couldnt tell their ass from a hole in the ground but they could produce a damn good burger out of either hole and it was borderline sinful to enjoy anything this good.
I tapped the counter. My fingers each time struggled and toiled, veins -popping trying to pry free from the syrup that acted as quicksand. I had to keep tapping though, to maintain my image. Where im from its all about image. That fuck was now staring at my ass, and i knew i had to play it cool. Not because i wanted some, but i didnt and i had to play that i was big time, i had connectionS and i was not going to get fucked with, literally and/or figuratively. Still fucking tapping, where the hell is Flo, or jebediah, Arnie, or Floanne or joeblow or john dumbass, whoever the fuck God type casted to be the workerbee of this establishment needed to get out here. I wasnt about to stand and tap while this man's eyes enveloped my well worked out equator beneath my business fatigues.
Ah betty crawled out of the bathroom. The perfect location for her to be, just where i wanted to see her exit from. I wondered if any health inspectors dared to spearhead a seminar on how to wash hands or distinguish a kitchen from a shitter in this godforsaken town. Betty wore garb appropriate for a guerrilla revolutionary or one that must butcher the meat before serving it. Picasso fucking barfed on this bitch's apron, mustard, ketchup, Mayo, Semen, Crap, Tobassco, fish eggs, had all solidified on her breasts. I had lost count of her chins as they bounced by me, and those aforementioned boobs were oversized bowling balls testing the limits of ziploc baggies under her formally pink get up. I never felt sorry for anyone, just things, i felt sorry for those heels.
Forgive her fatass for it knows not what it does, why have u forgotten your loyal servants the cheap high heels?? why o why!!!!
Oddly enough before i was about to eat, and out of no sexual intuition, i wondered what her belly button was like... if it was there under those ample funbags. I pictured moving her hairy breasts apart like curtains from a window and finding a family of small rodents or a new species of cave dwelling creature nestled in the gaping hole that once received an ambilical cord.
I often wondered if i had a soul, if i even cared. I was almost certain that they didn't or if they did it was meaningless...A pointless opiate to make them lay railroad track when we couldnt make others.
Betty was the queen again she stood at her throne behind the counter. I waited for her to take out a pad. I underestimated the putrid culture of this cesspool, her claim to fame her envied talent was that she could remember my order and anyone and everyones order. Apparently the few billion people of the world were supposed to automatically no this from the moment they slipped into the establishment. She beated her brow at me, like i was wasting her time. I couldnt believe the audacity of this trash, but i guess there was a part of me that had to honor that she knew her trade and was about to make me a cheeseburger and some homestyle fries.
Please dont think im uncivilized a perv, pschotic, or anything, i wouldnt tell this kind of thing to anyone, but considering the current circumstances, i will let you know. i actually at that moment thought about what it would be like to piss on her. Actually piss on her. i was the slightest bit offended by her eyes glaring at me. They were glassy brown marbles, magnified under her thick shit stained enormous frames. The frames were prisoner to her head by little gem chains that stretched behind her neck. i wanted to piss on all of it i wanted to make sure to get behind the glasses. i know its gross or whatever, but i really thought about it. i mean i was fuckin pissed.
I couldnt see that fuck's hands...i was hoping they were both visible and on the table...
to be continued...
i create fat everyday...lard and bullshit
man's greatest gift and ability is to create
face it u love to...we love to create
i create fat...nothing that people love...unless you enjoy fat
i miss peter zell
i want to play sports a lot
He followed my neck with his two little beads across the mountain ranges of caked grease and dried up crumbs. The fine little universe that harbored our encounter was the Twilight lounge, a shanty diner for truckers and rejects to the cruel comedy of capitalism. The Lounge attempted to grip flourescent light from its shit bulbs like sand falling through ones fingers, the result: a place lit about as well as a catacomb. Catacomb an appropriate nomenclature for the Darwin haters that munched on uncle sams nail clippings. Truck driver Joe begs for more toejam on his grilled cheese and a cleaner cut for his coffee. They were zombies, they were the ones stuck in the system. They follow their roads and dig my ditches, they move my things and they suck my dick. There i was sifting through their sweat, my fine leather shoes were gold skis on a lake of dirt that no mop could manage, and the mop that attempted to proved as futile as brushing hair with a leaf blower.
My locks were greased with the finest lobster droppings or pig juices or whatever they put in gel these days, the price tag dictated my happiness with my hair. His eyes moved to my tie then my crotch. If this low life bastard didnt think i noticed his little fuck-ass homo-erotic stares he was dumber than i thought he was. He smirked. "what so goddamn funny you greaseball faggot?" the statement clung to my lips similar to fat, stubby scared little seven year old to the high diving bored. He wants to jump and i want to say it but we both could get our necks broken. It remained an illadvised dream, a little smirk and nod back and i was on my way to the counter. I wanted coffee and i wanted grease, no urbanites, no vegans, no richard simmons queers, or fuckhead atkins obsessors, i was on my way to a grease filled bliss, the cheeseburger and fries. The pride of the solid south or retard country. These inbred pieces of shit, couldnt tell their ass from a hole in the ground but they could produce a damn good burger out of either hole and it was borderline sinful to enjoy anything this good.
I tapped the counter. My fingers each time struggled and toiled, veins -popping trying to pry free from the syrup that acted as quicksand. I had to keep tapping though, to maintain my image. Where im from its all about image. That fuck was now staring at my ass, and i knew i had to play it cool. Not because i wanted some, but i didnt and i had to play that i was big time, i had connectionS and i was not going to get fucked with, literally and/or figuratively. Still fucking tapping, where the hell is Flo, or jebediah, Arnie, or Floanne or joeblow or john dumbass, whoever the fuck God type casted to be the workerbee of this establishment needed to get out here. I wasnt about to stand and tap while this man's eyes enveloped my well worked out equator beneath my business fatigues.
Ah betty crawled out of the bathroom. The perfect location for her to be, just where i wanted to see her exit from. I wondered if any health inspectors dared to spearhead a seminar on how to wash hands or distinguish a kitchen from a shitter in this godforsaken town. Betty wore garb appropriate for a guerrilla revolutionary or one that must butcher the meat before serving it. Picasso fucking barfed on this bitch's apron, mustard, ketchup, Mayo, Semen, Crap, Tobassco, fish eggs, had all solidified on her breasts. I had lost count of her chins as they bounced by me, and those aforementioned boobs were oversized bowling balls testing the limits of ziploc baggies under her formally pink get up. I never felt sorry for anyone, just things, i felt sorry for those heels.
Forgive her fatass for it knows not what it does, why have u forgotten your loyal servants the cheap high heels?? why o why!!!!
Oddly enough before i was about to eat, and out of no sexual intuition, i wondered what her belly button was like... if it was there under those ample funbags. I pictured moving her hairy breasts apart like curtains from a window and finding a family of small rodents or a new species of cave dwelling creature nestled in the gaping hole that once received an ambilical cord.
I often wondered if i had a soul, if i even cared. I was almost certain that they didn't or if they did it was meaningless...A pointless opiate to make them lay railroad track when we couldnt make others.
Betty was the queen again she stood at her throne behind the counter. I waited for her to take out a pad. I underestimated the putrid culture of this cesspool, her claim to fame her envied talent was that she could remember my order and anyone and everyones order. Apparently the few billion people of the world were supposed to automatically no this from the moment they slipped into the establishment. She beated her brow at me, like i was wasting her time. I couldnt believe the audacity of this trash, but i guess there was a part of me that had to honor that she knew her trade and was about to make me a cheeseburger and some homestyle fries.
Please dont think im uncivilized a perv, pschotic, or anything, i wouldnt tell this kind of thing to anyone, but considering the current circumstances, i will let you know. i actually at that moment thought about what it would be like to piss on her. Actually piss on her. i was the slightest bit offended by her eyes glaring at me. They were glassy brown marbles, magnified under her thick shit stained enormous frames. The frames were prisoner to her head by little gem chains that stretched behind her neck. i wanted to piss on all of it i wanted to make sure to get behind the glasses. i know its gross or whatever, but i really thought about it. i mean i was fuckin pissed.
I couldnt see that fuck's hands...i was hoping they were both visible and on the table...
to be continued...