Mr. Wacy's Push

Here's the short of it, Wacy wouldn't listen to me when I told him my spirit was dead, because of him I ended up dancing with a beautiful half black/ half native american college girl from Novato and her 3 friends. Fucking Wacy quit and went to a titty bar. Don't know how that turned out. I really am unhappy about the matter. If I weren't dead inside I might have enjoyed it more.

Der Words

This liquor on my lips the blood of the German's Hart it is, my Russian is weak but the grain is strong, as we sing this cola song. I remember the nights of pleasures past and the newfound glories of stories that couldn't last. For it is my job to hurt, you and I and oftimes I am so good it makes girls cry. Not that I haven't, I surely wouldn't deny, but those days are over and now only silent night. The dream I had, the skin. the music, the pain, it's only today's arrangement of sugar that I disdain. But I still feel, I still move if only in mockery of the man whose words flourished in ample debauchery.

God forbid my actions and lack of faith, for I remain true in my trials and ways. I will not secede that which I held but if it ripped from me, this life that's been felled. I write this drunk of the fruits I have named, the German, the Russian, and the purest of grain, but that makes it no less true you see, for I am simply siempre a man of honesty.

Nadie or the Purses

My roommate Mr. Mikey brings a girl over every day. I don't know who they are, and I don't really care. But I noticed I can remember them by the purse they leave on the counter. I've become the drunk roommate. The girls don't really acknowledge me. I just am drunk and siiting abouts. It reminds me of Ai's (Thai woman) roommate who was always home when I came over and made fantastic happy time. She made me dinner once. Also we went to her restauraunt, where she was a waitress once. Those were good times. Now I'm out on my drunk ass.

I sometimes wonder if I'll ever have to deal with one of these women. I wonder if any of them care. I don't think so. But I'm stuck on the double standard. Where I felt no connection to Ai, but assumed she felt a connection to me. Well, not me, but I mean a more a general idea that women are more emotional about sex. (btw thank buddha I learned how to type, cause I'm litterally too drunk to read this)

Anyway. The only reason I can imagine that Mr. Mikey can pull these girls into bed is that once these girls come to our apartment (or lair of awesomeness as it is) is that he plays completely "understanding" completely "fascinated" by everything she says. I am litarally sitting next to Mr. Mikey and girl of the night (tonight it's an AC) while she's blabing about her roommate and he's "yes sir" ing her. Also I'm trashed. So it's a wonder of science that I can write this, listen to her babble, and listen to TV. I am like a superhero.

I'm not jealous of him. He has no standards. If I had no standards, I could fuck a girl every night. All I feel on this subject is that I need to die.



"So how did you become a lightweight then?" - My roommate about to fuck girl number whatever, purse: red aligator skin/ leather.

"I don't know, I think it's because I haven't gone drinking out much since "C' school" since then." -Girl who Mikey saw today, therefor invited to come over today. (It's hella the only reason I know she's an AC cause they clean the hall right next to us.)

Hey she's on "Blue Moon" number 2!

Did you know, stupid people make more sense when your trashed?

The Ice Bridge

So if you pour yourself a glass of 151 and Sprite, is ice the bridge? I mean the 151 is a liquid and the Sprite is a liquid, but the ice, it's as cold as the 151 but isn't toxic, just like the Sprite. Drinking while ironing, and fixing bike flats is more than just fun, it's intoxicating.