Symbolic Stuff Nobody Gives a Crap About

My ghost date for dinner may have been the victim of a hotel fire!

A retarded man just walked past me, stopped, and said to the bartender where I'm eating "If there's a fire, call dad and have him help you get the dogs out who are trapped in the room." Good advice. :cool:
 
Does anyone else think it's weird a Viv dies and VH randomly shows up trolling newbies with BJ gifs? Jaochim and Boaz, the pillars:

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She stepped through the solo(man's) temple to say hello from the afterlife through an old troll. Her "dementia" was likely quite lucid to me if I was sitting next to her her final days. :p
 
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My neighbor is getting married Saturday to her longterm boyfriend Ben. She's doing the whole thing by herself. She just got a rent raise and I felt bad and sent the carpet cleaner over to spruce up her carpet before the wedding since there will likely be visitors this weekend. She called me over and thanked me, she was on the floor scotch taping table assignments to a poster board like a 4th grade children's science project. I've had people pay me thousands of dollars just to design that board and she's taking care of business with her son's markers and crayons. She lamented not having anyone to make sure the florist and cake people get things where they need to get at the reception, literally ALL her friends and family will be at the wedding. So I volunteered. :o She has NOBODY! I don't mind playing wedding director while she gets her hair done and reporting back to her, poor girl. She started crying when I said I could do it, it's not a big deal. It is to her though. You never know what little thing you do how huge the impact can be on a hurried soul. Be nice to everyone. Unless they're opportunistic douchebags, then walk away. :p
 
42 is roughly the glyph for Jupiter.

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In honor of Jackie Robinson Day. :D



(The trailer is better than the movie, I mean the movie's alright but it's no Money Ball.)
 
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My signs in a nutshell.

Pretty much everyday I see, "Help me. Please help me. I am stuck. I am unhappy. I have made poor decisions that I daily rationalize in a loop."

But this voice rarely feels peace other than post coitus blissout, self-helped or otherwise. Then it's almost always back to, "Help me. I'm stuck. Please help me...etc. in metaphor/simile/parable/green/bird/you name it.

I'm realizing this parallel could be applicable to a number of situations and circumstances, it's a universal first, second and third world problem.

I gotta go set up a wedding now. The bride is nervous and happy as a clam in high tide, surrounded by friends and family and confiding in ME. She's black. The groom is Mexican. Their baby is going to be a model. And I'm the only wedo in attendance.
 
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There is something bugging the f*** out of me and I don't know if it's celestial or artificial.

I love the band Built to Spill. I love Doug Martsch's voice, his energy, his style, his lyrics, his lowkey presence. He's a man obviously touched by a muse and following his work is haunting and wonderful. Also following his tours can be haunting and wonderful too since the muse is amused by him, if he's in a town she probably lingers too so there's good "reading" to be had. When he's local I catch all his shows. THis past week I attended a number of them and mapped my vacation out accordingly. It worked out since I had college friends to visit and catch up with and the towns he played were gorgeous, the venues small, the mood mellow. BTS shows are always mellow. It's usually 80% plaid-shirted, NHS-glassed dudes zenning out to the wall of sound and their bored girlfriends. I've been to over 30 BTS shows in the past 20 years, I have a good feel for the mood.

This last tour was different. :straightface: THere were dumdum girls SCREAMING and jumping up and down in front. Doug likes to watch the opening band with the crowd. THere were girls running up to him and shaking his hand. At the last show I went to, this chick JUMPED ON STAGE AND HUGGED HIM LIKE IT WAS A f***EN MORRISSEY SHOW.

Morrissey exudes idolatry and sex appeal. Doug Martsch plays his guitar in his tshirt and New Balance and jeans and calls it a day, he's not even close to inviting sex appeal to the picture, likely because HE'S A MARRIED MAN with a grown son! But WTF is up with this surge of zombie screaming fangirls? They RUIN the show. In the bathroom one of them came up to me and said manically "DID YOU KNOW DOUG IS IN THE AUDIENCE? HE'S IN THE AUDIENCE RIGHT NOW. HE's WEARING PLAID. I CAN'T BELIEVE I TOUCHED THE MAN WHO WROTE TRACES."

Calm the f*** down!

Are they real? Are they Moz stalking shills? Are they a horrible projection unknowingly cursed to poor Doug by an honest, shy fan with a f***ed up magical brain who feels HORRIBLE about it? It was never like this before. I can't stop being bothered by it. What if I ruin crowds?
 
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THread Killer. Message Board Clearer. Crowd Ruiner. :straightface: But I can get people to vote! Yay! WHO GIVES A f***! :mad:

#feverthoughts
 
Evan's first love was a foreign exchange student from Denmark named Karen Fano. Karen left Evan for his best friend, Jeff Neumeyer, cousin of Julie Newmar. Karen eventually left Jeff for a Danish man and had a bunch of kids and a lovely life. Always my failures and successes were measured up to Karen's. She was a Sylvia Plath expert.
 
Channel your inner sea lion when you want to make a point. :cool:

"Sea lions do not make good pets, Wallerstein said. They bite with 10 times the strength of dogs, and their mouths are dirtier and more bacteria-ridden than any other mammal, Wallerstein said. Keeping a sea lion carries a penalty of up to a year in prison and fine of up to $10,000, Wallerstein said."
 
I have some zombie vampire drain ptsd while in a weakend state hopped up on a speedball of DayQuil and weed. So I'm going to just poop in the golden nugget til I figure out what to do next.
 
Im having a himroid moment poofing out my butthole making nuggets that Barney would bag up and take with us if he had some thumbs. No thumbs. Just floppy paws.

Omg I'm gross.

If I got my shit together I could be home in bed by 2,3,4,5,6:12. Or I could sleep in the car bc I gotta go home.

Sometimes my impulsive behavior upon reflection is dumb. I want be home now I'm sick hemmroidraging at the nugs. I ate at sugars. Du oars. Dinars. Dupats.

Anyway my waitress was a bitch. I'm watching so much fighting. Just sitting here eating my chocolate meringue hearing "I don't know what to say."
 
Bobbi Christina wants to die. She's begging me to let her die. It's creepy cuz im not in charge of that but I can hear the middle between what we hear and death, people asleep and in comas and stuff. She wants to die.
 
Wanna feel held and loved? Be a La Quinta pillow in your mind. And go to sleep in its bosom while it doesn't drip snot on you and snore. Out lika light mofos.
 
So I've been trying to clean up what was purposefully dirty to throw off the trail of people who'd pick up the scent? What a waste of time. Thanks.

Or its a trick . I don't know or care anymore tbh. lol
 
Options. lol

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I'm really tired. Brain and body, gotta sleep.
 
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