Bad Rubbish

Where do they all go, the lost socks? A parallel universe? Behind heavy furniture into the dust traps of the world? (There, my lost True Love, Princess Lintguard lies, lovely and virtuous. Her chaste legs guard dried, powdery loins that will now never know my passion. I will never again kiss her dust-caked lips, and the Kingdom of the Dust People will know no Lord, who might sit with the Lady in the Chamber of the Cobweb Thrones, ruling beneficently, where she, heartbroken, now governs with neglect.

I want to part those dry legs. I want to bury my engorged cock amidst the pubic lint that lines her cunt. I want to lap at her dry, flaking nipples. I want to lick her dirty ass. She is everything to me, the Princess of Dust. But she is lost.)



So I’ve stumbled onto another weekend on earth. That’ll make for approximately 1827 weekends I’ve spent, variously, suckling at the Teat; (as both infant and sexually active adult—funny how you come full circle like that;) attending college football games; spending the night at the homes of my childhood friends; getting tanked; staying sober; smoking pot; renting movies; (including, but not limited to pornography, martial arts extravaganzas, foreign “art house” stuff, low budget independent features, documentaries, Hollywood blockbusters and classics, and Italian zombie flicks;) playing video, computer and/or role-playing games; attending parties; taking in live performances of various kinds of music and theater; cooking; walking dogs; camping; traveling; cleaning; sleeping in; studying; delivering newspapers; (The New York Times AND The Flint Journal;) working in a juice bar, a coffee shop, University of Michigan dorm food service, the equipment checkout facility of the School of the Art Institute’s film department; (to name just a few distinguished places of employment;) practicing the guitar; balancing the checkbook; reading; sledding; canoeing; masturbating; crusading; jihading; impaling vampires on wooden stakes; shooting lycanthropes with silver bullets; destroying the brains of the walking dead; repelling Gojira from Tokyo; doin’ the Jughead; and most importantly, competing in Quiz Bowl. Mustn’t forget that.

Whatta life it’s been! And if I achieve the average lifespan enjoyed by the inhabitants here in these glorious United States—where we not only live better, but longer than the rest of the world—and only at the expense of our immortal souls!!!—(Thanks for all that slave labor, you little brown people out there! Thanks for lettin’ us mow you down, trees! Thanks for sucking on a club, baby seals, ‘n’ wolves, ‘n’ elephants, ‘n’ stuff!) (Fuck—whatta a set of stupid, hypocritical hippie clichés!!! I'm turning into Sting or Bono or some other idiot. My apologies to anyone who’s still reading this sorry shit.)—then I’m not even halfway through my allotment of weekends!!! ‘Course, about 1/3 of ‘em will probably be spent crappin’ in my drawers and trying to hear when my aid’s already turned up to 11.

Yep. Gotta whole lot to look forward to. And with that, my ungrateful ass bids you adieu.

Next Time: Maybe: If I ever update this thing again: (Note the regularity of my recent postings:) In commemoration of my 35th birthday: I may, may, may try to talk about my 35 favorite record albums: Which may be followed by my 35 fave books: and the my 35 favorite films: Or maybe I’ll just glom into one list of my 35 favorite things that have kept me around to see my 35th birthday. Or maybe I’ll just hold forth on the plight of our noble native people here in the U.S., or of the rapidly dying oceans, or the sorry state of our public schools, or the terrible legacy of colonialism in Africa. Hey!!! I could make a list of my 35 favorite things to whine about!!! #1: My Hard Life. But that would just be too heartbreaking for anyone reading (anyone???) out there, I’m sure. Or I could record a lotta dumb adolescent fantasies of a scatological and/or sexual nature. That’d be different.

Anyway, as you can see, there are a lotta laughs on the way. Stick with me...