Kid Culture

Children have their own culture that, while it can be influenced by adults, runs in parallel to their authority, and is handed down verbally from who knows when.  What dirty rhymes and gross pranks were played at your school?  Thought I’d share one with you from my own childhood in Seattle in the 1980s.  Content warning for misogyny and dookie humor.

Ain’t yo mama pretty?
She got meatballs for her titty
She got scrambled eggs
Between her legs

I took her to a party
She turned around and farted
I asked her why she did it
She turned around and shitted

Ah, those halcyon days.  By all means, in honor of the tribe you left behind upon reaching maturity, dookie up my comments below.

The Size of the Matter

I spent most of my 20s working in fast food, and as I was pushing 30, at Jack in the Box specifically.  Fast food, like being a security guard, is work you can get without a high school diploma.  Poorly compensated, but the people who do it for a living get by living close to the ground.  We have rotating casts of roommates and romantic partners, pooling resources in endless strings of makeshift households.  We’re modern hunter-gatherers, unable to survive health problems or any of the crises that money would buy some amount of prevention.

But it’s cool.  Nobody deserves to be insecure about food, shelter, medicine, etc etc, but it’s kinda funny being a sheisty fuckup among sheisty fuckups.  Office drama doesn’t hit the same as the soap opera of a workplace where people aren’t distracted by cerebral activities.  When you aren’t worrying about TPS reports, you have all the mental freedom to live in demented fantasies and romances.  I was on the loserly end, so fantasies all the way, and that was good for me.  I couldn’t afford to do it forever, but I got to do a lot of drawing and dreaming, conceiving of creative things that might bear fruit many years later.

Fast food workers are characters.  Like, in a movie, they’d never be played by the star; they’d be played by character actors.  Stanky weirdos with funny faces, sultry sirens with scars and piercings, people on a path to homeless-flavored mental illness, druggies in between freakouts, and of course, hard-working family people with zero economic privilege, like immigrants and children of broken homes.  I guess a few of those could have described me.

So in the Jack-in-the-Box scenario I am about to unfold, I was the stanky weirdo working the front counter, while hard-working family woman was having an idle conversation with a sultry (very short and chubby) siren at the window.  It was a slow moment, all was quiet in the universe, and I could hear that chat well, tho I was not involved with it.

Siren says, “Yeah, this guy I’m with is real nice and all, but I just can’t stay with him.  His dick isn’t big enough.”  “What do you mean?,” asked family woman.  “When I have sex, it just doesn’t hit the same unless I feel full inside.”  Anyway, I must have pulled some kind of embarrassing face, because family woman felt the need to say at me that size doesn’t matter.  She even came over to me, offered some other kind of nicety.  Maybe it wasn’t my face that was the matter; maybe she just sensed my small dick energy.

I don’t think I was offended at the time.  Pretty sure I found it amusing, and I still do.  But at this point, the funniest thing about it is wondering just what made me look like I needed my vienna sausage consoled.  Also, that some people are just so quick to nurture that this is their first instinct.  And that by going out of her way to offer that comfort, she specifically let me know she thinks I’m packing a triple-A battery.

So funny.

100 Words on Metamorphosis

Got a donation with a suggested topic I don’t quite understand.  I wonder if it’s a sex thing.  Phrased, “A butterfly/artist go-lightly. ;-),” it contains evocative words.  I got evoked.  Let me answer it as impressionistically as it hits me…

A butterfly, an artist, go lightly between lives, between colors, between forms. Yea tho any given moment be as solid as a chrysalis, what lies within is the fluid that bridges one unknowable state and the next.

Know me now?  Think again.  Know me in another minute?  Keep guessing.  My love and my passion are colors of light that oscillate through bandwidths beyond your limitations.  Transmutation, alchemy, coagulation, dissolution, thesis and synthesis, these words are pathetic feints at the meaning that underlies my life.  Take my heart if you dare.

This has been a metaphor for butt stuff.  Thank you.

100 Words on the Topic of ;-)

Hey there.  Howzitgoin’?  Nice, nice.  I haven’t noticed you around here before.  You come here often?  Me?  I’m a regular.  Everybody knows my name.  It’s no big deal.  Let’s talk about you.

What do you do for a living?  Oh, that’s terribly interesting.  I know a guy who does that too, always has the wildest stories.  What’s your sign?  Yeah?  I don’t know if I believe the motions of the celestial bodies control our destinies, but sometimes it seems like there’s somethin’ to it.

Well, now that we know each other a little better, how about you and me?

No?

help me i am in hell

anybody remember that dune parody made by some upper midwest internet dorks in like 2002 or something?  the one with the dune themed “africa” cover?  i can’t find it and it’s killing me dead.

THIS IS IT

-Thanks Pierce!

Love Myself

Man I am vain in the membrane.  Sometimes I’m bugged a little when my posts don’t get attention, but I look at what I’ve done, and I think, yeah.  Love that stuff.  I’d be straightup horny on me, if I discovered me.  Like, damn, there’s somebody who agrees with me about everything, and is funny and creative.  I would read that blog’s archives.  One of my guiding philosophies regarding my own gender is “Be the big booty ho you wish to see in the world,” and I’m that too.  Maybe I should leave adoring comments on all my own blog posts.

Incidentally, I went through my dreamposting tag recently, and commented in some of them with AI images derived from the text of those posts.  Some were more interesting than others, but could be worth a look, if you’re into that sort of thing.  Anyway, thanks for reading my vanity blog, me, and I love you too.

meet great american satan!

anybody going to be near the northeast corner of the winco parking lot in federal way washington within a half hour?  you could meet great american satan, in a pitiful state, waiting for further dental treatments.  act now while supplies last!

Nightmare Blunt Rotation

This phrase is going around, and it can mean one of two things.  Is the Nightmare Blunt Rotation when your fellow tokers act creepy when high, or when fools be having them vacuum lungs?

Proposal One:
Sam Harris
Charlie Kirk
Ben Shapiro
Clarence Thomas
JK Rowling

I don’t know if Jordan Peterson should be on there because how tf would you know the difference between him on bad weed and the way he is all the time?

Proposal Two:
Kenny G
The G-slur-named robot from MST3K
Mega-Maid of Spaceballs fame
Kirby of video game fame
Raziel the Soul Reaver
Rahzel the respiratorily gifted rapper

…the discourse rages on.

 

the big NBR

I’m still running a fundraiser.  For the most recent info on that, see the post before the post before the post before this one. –goal met, fundraiser closed

Your J-Horror Messiah

I made this from a bad video capture off youtube plus photoshopping to look like an inspirational bumper sticker. It probably helps to have seen the movie Ju-on 2. If you can handle horror, it’s a terribly spooky good time. The ending is mean-spirited to the point of hilarity.

Toshio is my Co-pilot

Image from Ju-on 2 of ghost boy Toshio taking the wheel.