killin' whores and lace slip covers for toasters

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Some girl wrote to me and said reading my blog was like smelling someone elses farts.


No, I made that up... but it's true, in, like, other dimensions...


If everyone who came here gave me a fucking dime? I would have, like, enough money to buy a flat screen and a whore, or two (well, at least the whores could happen, should M. reverse her no prostitutes policy, which I think she will, because I will not let this go and sooner or later she will give in to me, or I will have to pretend like she did and then she forgot that she did and just go ahead and grab me some diseased quimly... wait, I hate fucking whores--they are criminal addicts, desperate people who wish they were somewhere else while you fuck -- how pathetic . . . and sadly enough, attractive after a dozen beers... luckily, when they offered me sex for a ride in my taxi, which probably happened maybe fifty times over the years, I always turned them down. . . . except once, because the woman was so insistent that she grabbed my cock and put it in her mouth before I could do anything to stop her, practically... she then proceeded to give me the worst head of my life... it was so bad . . . I will spare you the gross details... I pulled her off (a almost unheard of act by the male species, so you can imagine how bad her dry, dry mouth felt on Chuckles tender head). This embarrasses me to write, but if I don't have honesty, I am nothing but a facade on these pages... and I really hope to transcend that empty, flesh puppet using the carefully worded script described in your job description kind of being... you know? Hope you know. There is nothing worse than becoming just what society wants people to be, because the fucks in charge of a lot of the human genres of fashionable and edible and religous correct folk are often Psycho Killers -- driven sociopathic by the horrors they have to confront that become monsters eating thier brains until they can only feel self esteem and contempt.


I actually had a buddy who was addicted to whores; used to spend all his money on them. I got him to move away from his whore infested neighborhood and move in with me, when I lived in Roscoe Village, which was a mellow, graceful, and wonderfully livable neighborhood until quite recently when the young condo owners came in with their three cars and empty streets became full and starbucks appeared like magic and soon enough, the area that used to house Riverside Amusement park and was the home of tough carnies, was swallowed back into the generic sameness of the fashion magazine infected).



I have met a lot of prostutues. Cab driving just led me into the most interesting fucking situations; prostitutes proved to be the worst people I met; criminal to the point that they are always looking for a way to rip you off. I was not kidding when I wrote about that one who tried to kill me with a butcher knife--which tends to affect ones perceptions... Of course, to be fair, let me just mention that another woman comes to mind, one of those women who looks like an angel and fucking her is like having the finest champagne on the planet... not that one needs that... but she sure made hundreds of thousands of dollars as a high class hooker. She used to date an artist buddy. The whore saved up her money and went off to college... She was nice, though her ability to emphathize with other people is probably stunted all to hell...

Wait a minute, how the hell did I end up talking about whores again? This always happens... shit... I... I didn't write anything about killing whores did I ?? Did I mention naming the maggots swirling through the flesh holes in their faces and squeezing out around their eyes, pouring out her nose like living snot??? shit, did I put something in here about covering their dead faces with lace slip covers for toasters and drawing a little smily face on them so the fun can continue as long as I can stand the smell of rotting corpse (Note to self: you've downed some bongsiddy-bang today, so you have to be careful here... don't forget to take this evidence out before you publish... another Note To Self: wash the blood off your hands, it is getting the keys all sticky. . . and the cat... FOR DOGS SAKE, REMEMBER TO COME BACK AND ERASE ALL THIS STUFF!!!!... change that title about killing whores too)!!!!




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