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Jamais Vu: Nothing is Ever Familiar

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[25 Aug 2005|09:12pm]
Why is it that every time I get my haircut the ladies always try to rape my head with hair gel? By now they should know that I won't let that crap touch my scalp. If I were to use common sense, I'd conclude that these women are just doing their job, but my ego tells a different story. According to Sabastion (that's my ego's name. I had to name him, my ego demanded it)... anyway, my ego believes that the girls at Overpriced Haircuts are trying to turn me gay as a way of justifying why I won't sleep with any of them. They obviously want my body, I can tell by the way their nipples clean out my ears as they hover about me. But I never show any interest, and they can't handle it. Rather than simply accepting that I might not desire them, they'd instead prefer to fag me all up with hair gel until I had no choice but to suck a cock, just so they could feel better about being rejected. That's my ego's theory, and I tend to believe it. Am I a sexy hunk of man? Yes. Do men who use hair gel eventually become homosexuals? Yes. Is it easier for a woman to say "He's gay" than it is for them to say "He thinks I look like a baby seal.... after the clubbing."? Yes. All the pieces fit. End of story.
( Write)

[24 Aug 2005|09:06pm]
There are some real good times when you like to recognize that life is nothing like a line. When you lose things you thought you couldn't live without and live, has got to be the number one prize taker. You sort of stand there in your head, or that is to say your conception of yourself stands there (and, incidentally, I'd like to know where you keep yourselves, if you can stand to describe it) and looks down and away and you have a smile upon your face.

When the scent of the air's so good you stand outside and don't mind that you're at a train station, eyes closed, half-smile, you could be the winner of the Derby or the Hundred Years War, could be someone special, could be no one in particular. When even a bus ride's a victory. When you love the feel of your clothes and the textures and hollows of your face that are nothing like the sad story of a has-been but are, instead, a gentle man, or a valorous woman. A face that launched a thousand ships.

When you're beautiful even when sheathed in sweat and a smile. When you look at your finger bitten hands as a method of focusing thought. When you don't know who you turned into.
( Write)

[21 Aug 2005|12:59pm]
Most times, all goes smoothly, the bathroom and I conduct our business, wish each other a good morrow, and are on our respective ways. However, rarely, perhaps one out of a hundred times, something goes terribly, unexpectedly wrong, and I find my usually companionable wang has suddenly acquired a random powerup from the breakout 1980's classic Nintendo Game, Contra.

Normally, all men are set on the standard, "one bullet at a time," default stream.

But then, there is Machine Gun:
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Which isn't all that bad really, it just switches to a stuttering, semi-automatic annoyance of repeated small bursts that seem to defy you to sheath your weapon and be on your way, for fear of a misfire, minutes later. Possibly while doing something important and potentially embarrassing.

Worse yet, there's Fireball:
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A rotating, adapting, ever changing monster of a surprise that can occasionally lead to impossible circumstances. This one, while not responsible for the worst of damage, is the cause of the most horrendous surprises. It defies physics. Traveling seemingly through porcelain, walls, windows, and even, on one hot August 21st, through the very fabric of time.

And, though I do not speak from experience here, there's Lazer Beam:

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Typically caused by STD's, and resulting in inhumane screeching and piteous sobbing, it is best not discussed in civilized company, which, for kicks, I will pretend we are.

Next, and ultimately, comes Spread Shot:
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A whirlwind of damage, it leaves broken homes and broken lives in it's terrible, all encompassing wake. There is no fix, no panicking last minute adjustment that clumsily saves the day, for it's range is omnidirectional. Many bathrooms have been left humiliated and shamed, covered in urine.

You womenfolk have no idea the type of fear we face every morning as we whip out the ol Gila Monster and wonder, is today the day? Is today the day I get Spread Shot?

...is it?

This was possibly the most vile entry I have yet written.
(1 Notes Write)

Always say less than neccesary [14 Aug 2005|10:11pm]
When you are trying to impress people with your words, the more you say, the more common you appear, and the less in control. Even if you are saying something ordinary, it will seem original if you make it vague, or open ended. Impress and intimidate by saying less. The more you say, the more likely you are to say something foolish.
( Write)

1 [23 Jul 2005|10:28am]
Before I start writing again. Ask me five questions.

Any five that your twisted mind could so desire, no matter how personal, private, or random. I will answer them with complete honesty and I have to answer them all.
(9 Notes Write)

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