The sun is a thief; I want the darkness returned to me.

Sunday, November 8, 2015

No One Will Read This...

But I just called the cops on my faggot cunt upstairs neighbor, and then this cunt marches her cunt ass down to my floor and pounds on my door like she's the fucking cops. I go to see who it is, and it's this little blonde cunt, so I call the doorman right at the door, never opening it, and have an extremely loud conversation with him explaining how there's this bitch at my door and he needs to remove her. She then removes herself and good job stupid slut--as if I'm going to be intimidated by a fucking child. If you don't want me calling the cops THEN SHUT THE FUCK UP.

(The best thing I've ever written.)

Love,

Christmas Time



Thursday, October 2, 2014

My New Neighbors are Douchebags!

I will dedicate a new blog to my new neighbors who I loathe not for loudness, but just plain stupidity to the degree that is becomes obnoxiousness. May you douchebags get me a book deal and a movie option.

P.S. I will urinate on your garden.
P.P.S. This is not a cat farm. Stop letting your fucking cat roam free and visit my bedroom balcony on his daily adventures. Or perhaps he's just trying to escape from the stupidity as well. His eyes do look sad. Perhaps he knows all too well who's responsible for him.

Monday, September 15, 2014

Just Sitting

Let us occupy this general waste of time with a more personal waste of time...

They entered upon the shore in typical shipwreck fashion: life preservers, an oar, miscellaneous jetsam and flotsam--though Mary and Harold confused the two and would spend this evening's campfire dialogue debating vigorously. 

"Grab the seashells, you retard!" exclaimed Mary.



Omg, this kid they sent must have diarrhea; he keeps asking to use the bathroom, and he stays in there for 5-10 minutes at a time. Honestly, can I just have a normal interaction with blue collar people once? They always send me the gross ones. Maybe they're all gross? Bah. I'll have to thoroughly disinfect my home after her leaves. Always a joy. 

Sigh... too distraught from potential poop hands to continue writing. 




Thursday, July 3, 2014

More Writing?!

No promises, but I MAY start writing a bit this month. In case you care. In case "you" exist and are following still.

P.S. Just want to bang. Hot weather...

Monday, May 26, 2014

The Socials

They sit in the shade out from the sun and contemplate the sort of pixelated bits of banality their upbringing affords. Picnic basket at their side, more or less generic imagery, as they only packed a bottle of chardonnay, the two socialites pretend to be bored, given to ennui, but they enjoy this: The langor associated with nothingness. Behind the scene is a vacuum. Despite the trees, and grass, and birds, and wine, there's no sincerity of life between the two. They pursue nothing.