The last few weeks have flown by. I feel like a fucking weed caught in the current. Yeah I'm moving but nothing major. I'm just rocking back and forth, biding my time...I'm a fucking piece of kelp. With more money in the bank because, Not Going Out + Working On Sunday = $, which in turn = Less Drinking = Not Being Such A Fat Lard Ass Whale Neck. Ok thats over...
I bought the Perfect Pushup. Rotates your arms 180 degrees...like in a punch. Developed by a ex-Navy seal. LOL. So after he retired from life saving missions of espionage around the globe this man decided to become an inventor. "Hey after we get back from Bagdhad, I'm gonna put a uncomfortable handle on a rotating disc and help 10000 americans tighten up their pecs." Infomercial products pwn. My chest after intermediate level pushups feel like I can crush baby bunnies and slipped them under my nipples. Firm yet they still give a little. Well in actuality its not the Perfect Pushup. Its the Push Up Pro. So yeah, I bought a replica of a major TV Infomercial product. I'mma leave for work soon, so I'll get off now. Bang out another set of "intermediate pushups" (the girl ones/on my knees) and ponder how much I'm saving while the rest of the world is out enjoying life.
FYDS,
-DB
Sunday, July 27, 2008
Sunday, July 13, 2008
It was all good just a week ago...
I find strength in friendship. Funny, that for someone who fights with empty rooms that I delegate such a task to another. I give someone else the benefit of importance. A bullet point of weakness? I don't fucking know...the problem with ADD is that while I start off with a concise idea and plan to write a coherent entry, that shit never happens. I started writing this blog and ended up adding a notch to my "greatest hot dog spot on earth" list.
3 "All the way" dogs with 2 cups of water from the solid 8.5 rated establishment in clifton, nj called Hot Grill Texas Weiners. I wouldn't recognize weiners as hotdogs but the seasonings and spice in this weiner was as close to a hot dog as you could get. You want to know something I noticed? I am showing great restraint in my writing. My friends are reading this blog now and because I use the bullshit that happens daily, they are putting pieces together. I am beginning to hate this shit!
I'm starting to get back into "gay bitchass lonely mode". I mean the sex isn't the problem. I mean I need the sex, but its the other shit too. I have plenty of friends. Friends for movies. Friends for food. Friends for drinking. But now. I want my girlfriend friend. No gay shit. Even the nigga from 300 had his bitch waiting at home like...."he better come back for this pussy."
Well maybe I'm para-phrasing but whatever. I guess me being an idiot and/or drinking and/or opening an old drawer and finding pictures of much happier times. (My guess it was all three)
I just don't get it. I mean it's not the dick. Shit, I know it's not the dick...I dont wanna brag (i do) but even back in college most of the girls I slept with hated me. I mean hated hated me. Yet they still came a knocking. (came, ha, sorry I couldnt help it LOLOL) And yes, yes I might have gained a few (used loosely) pounds. But I'm still the same dude. All I know is when Deville wanted them puppies for that coat, it was either yay or nay and I nayed! Same with Mufasa. Same with Benny Blanco. (Double NAY!) Same with letting Ali run with the torch. I did look at the Vanessa Hudgens pictures, so what?!? If curiousity killed the cat, than it killed the cat. I ain't trying to ride. I 'm content. Yet something is making me livid. Maybe its that there is always something wrong. Rarely with me. On my end. You pick up what I'm putting down? I like you. You like me?.......You like me?........holy fuck, just answer the question....."I can't."
FYDS,
-DB
3 "All the way" dogs with 2 cups of water from the solid 8.5 rated establishment in clifton, nj called Hot Grill Texas Weiners. I wouldn't recognize weiners as hotdogs but the seasonings and spice in this weiner was as close to a hot dog as you could get. You want to know something I noticed? I am showing great restraint in my writing. My friends are reading this blog now and because I use the bullshit that happens daily, they are putting pieces together. I am beginning to hate this shit!
I'm starting to get back into "gay bitchass lonely mode". I mean the sex isn't the problem. I mean I need the sex, but its the other shit too. I have plenty of friends. Friends for movies. Friends for food. Friends for drinking. But now. I want my girlfriend friend. No gay shit. Even the nigga from 300 had his bitch waiting at home like...."he better come back for this pussy."
Well maybe I'm para-phrasing but whatever. I guess me being an idiot and/or drinking and/or opening an old drawer and finding pictures of much happier times. (My guess it was all three)
I just don't get it. I mean it's not the dick. Shit, I know it's not the dick...I dont wanna brag (i do) but even back in college most of the girls I slept with hated me. I mean hated hated me. Yet they still came a knocking. (came, ha, sorry I couldnt help it LOLOL) And yes, yes I might have gained a few (used loosely) pounds. But I'm still the same dude. All I know is when Deville wanted them puppies for that coat, it was either yay or nay and I nayed! Same with Mufasa. Same with Benny Blanco. (Double NAY!) Same with letting Ali run with the torch. I did look at the Vanessa Hudgens pictures, so what?!? If curiousity killed the cat, than it killed the cat. I ain't trying to ride. I 'm content. Yet something is making me livid. Maybe its that there is always something wrong. Rarely with me. On my end. You pick up what I'm putting down? I like you. You like me?.......You like me?........holy fuck, just answer the question....."I can't."
FYDS,
-DB
Thursday, July 10, 2008
the park is closed.
It's almost as if the insects wait for you. You wonder what they do while you aren't around. What they were doing before you had the idea of strolling through dimly lit paths en route to one of the 12 benches abandoned the second the sun went down. Grass parks are sort of a anomaly to me. The smells of nature and sounds of crickets engulf you. Transport you without train conductors. Closed eyes act like bus passes that is until you hear that siren. Your self-made illusion is dehydrated by the salt saturated voices of young kids being "urban". The city never smells sweet. The country is too far away to imagine making it back by the morning bell. So we make phone calls and choose travel partners to relate problems to because we might actually want to stay dangerously long on that bench. Someone has to remind you that you aren't allowed to embrace that sweetness and buzzing tranquility for too long. You might not deserve to embrace it at all. You have to sacrifice precious minutes maybe hours of productivity to sit and listen and think. Because in embracing your surroundings, in taking in that silence. You discover answers. Who am I? What do I do? How do I do it?
Here is where that partner comes in. That loser who was lucky enough to pick up the phone when you called. She might be tired. He might having similar bad luck. She might have been sitting by the phone praying that someone would call, suggesting a "walk in the park". In listening to others, people the true value and importance of their own issues. People speak of wives and husbands, partners and brothers, enemies and accomplices but they shrewdly compare to the specialness of who you might choose to share a bench with....
Or I could just be full of shit.
-Db
Here is where that partner comes in. That loser who was lucky enough to pick up the phone when you called. She might be tired. He might having similar bad luck. She might have been sitting by the phone praying that someone would call, suggesting a "walk in the park". In listening to others, people the true value and importance of their own issues. People speak of wives and husbands, partners and brothers, enemies and accomplices but they shrewdly compare to the specialness of who you might choose to share a bench with....
Or I could just be full of shit.
-Db
Finding my groove...
4th of july is gone...the weekend was pretty quiet. Just had a crazy few nights with my brother STD. Kinda miss the rain. It's so fucking hot and sunny lately, that the rain has replaced hostess cupcakes (the ones with the white swirly loop shit on top) as the item I need more off. Been reading like crazy too. Exercise and dieting have taken the traditional backseat and I sliced a piece of my finger off last night. So without further ado, here is the latest entry for the brig...
Prostitution is said to be the world's oldest profession. You figure carpentry didn't couldn't be without the invention of the hammer. With the caveman inventing the first one for chipping away ice or stone. While the claw hammer was invented by the Romans. The modern equivalent was invented in 1840 by the American blacksmith, David Maydole. Prostiution started with the barter system. (Good old barter system!) Eve really wanted Adam to eat that fucking apple. But what is the oldest hobby. Wood carving? no, you would need wood and tools for shaping. Baseball cards?...no, i think you need the game of baseball which didn't come around until the game Oina, a very similar bat-and-ball traditional game played in Romania was mentioned for the first time during the rule of King Vlaicu Voda, in 1364. With the first game being played in North America in Hoboken ,NJ. (Jersey baby! yeaaah!!) I would like you to direct your attention to the definition of hobby.
Hobby - an activity or interest pursued for pleasure or relaxation and not as a main occupation.
So the only word that comes to mind when thinking of the first hobby shared by men and women is....(dun duh dun), masterbation. Now how the hell could the first activity used for pleasure and relaxation come with such a negative connotation. Strike me but I'm pretty sure helicopter flying and i dont know fucking painting will go obselete before the old meat wacking session does. If you get the chance, check out this hilarious Mormon stance on masturbation as an addiction. Now I don't want to boast. (lies.) But I can rock out probably 10 times a day before I lose interest or my cock feels like its been through the final stretch of a week long whipping cough and strep throat run. Why wouldn't you want to feel that relaxed. Why are bathrooms put in everywhere to "relieve" yourself but there aren't many public places for you to take a few minutes to massage that little clit so you could be better prepared to handle your calamity of a boss without handling a loaded .38 into your mouth. Sure there are those porn theaters and jerk off rooms but its not the same. I want goverment engineered and sponsored "melt down centers" all over the country. Sex is nice but you need something or someone there to I dont know reciprocate, squeeze, smell...curse at? This idea started as a sentence in a conversation and has now after a week of monologues, made its way to my blog. So I hope you enjoyed it.
til next time...FYDS
-Db
Prostitution is said to be the world's oldest profession. You figure carpentry didn't couldn't be without the invention of the hammer. With the caveman inventing the first one for chipping away ice or stone. While the claw hammer was invented by the Romans. The modern equivalent was invented in 1840 by the American blacksmith, David Maydole. Prostiution started with the barter system. (Good old barter system!) Eve really wanted Adam to eat that fucking apple. But what is the oldest hobby. Wood carving? no, you would need wood and tools for shaping. Baseball cards?...no, i think you need the game of baseball which didn't come around until the game Oina, a very similar bat-and-ball traditional game played in Romania was mentioned for the first time during the rule of King Vlaicu Voda, in 1364. With the first game being played in North America in Hoboken ,NJ. (Jersey baby! yeaaah!!) I would like you to direct your attention to the definition of hobby.
Hobby - an activity or interest pursued for pleasure or relaxation and not as a main occupation.
So the only word that comes to mind when thinking of the first hobby shared by men and women is....(dun duh dun), masterbation. Now how the hell could the first activity used for pleasure and relaxation come with such a negative connotation. Strike me but I'm pretty sure helicopter flying and i dont know fucking painting will go obselete before the old meat wacking session does. If you get the chance, check out this hilarious Mormon stance on masturbation as an addiction. Now I don't want to boast. (lies.) But I can rock out probably 10 times a day before I lose interest or my cock feels like its been through the final stretch of a week long whipping cough and strep throat run. Why wouldn't you want to feel that relaxed. Why are bathrooms put in everywhere to "relieve" yourself but there aren't many public places for you to take a few minutes to massage that little clit so you could be better prepared to handle your calamity of a boss without handling a loaded .38 into your mouth. Sure there are those porn theaters and jerk off rooms but its not the same. I want goverment engineered and sponsored "melt down centers" all over the country. Sex is nice but you need something or someone there to I dont know reciprocate, squeeze, smell...curse at? This idea started as a sentence in a conversation and has now after a week of monologues, made its way to my blog. So I hope you enjoyed it.
til next time...FYDS
-Db
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