the act of recycling.

no, i'm not talking about the 12 bottles of water you go through a week, or you know, PAPER, i'm talking about well, (past lovers). don't look so surprised you mindless monkey; i've come to appreciate this wonderful technique i call 'reusing.' it's a simple philosophy. you 're-use' those whom you've previously slept with, whether they were simple hook-ups, simple relationships, serious, invisible relationships, or, ok...i think you understand where i'm heading here.and this form of recycling can take place anywhere, as long as it involves the process of using people while pretending they're in actuality, new people, in order to prevent a waste of potentially 'use'ful people.comprende?

think about it-when you 're-use' you're one less ass-cheek of being called a whore, because hooking up with past lovers does NOT increase your number.no, it does not.let's dissect the basics here:

1) saves energy: you're wasted, you're horny, you're happy and you're looking so fly.what's more USEful than running into an old fling?you omit the greeting, the shaking hands, the exchanging numbers, the i don't give a shit what your name is, nonsense.kind of like recycling. statistics show a paper mill uses 40 percent less energy to make paper from recycled paper than it does to make paper from fresh lumber.this my friends, is good.

2) saves money: not that i'm assuming you would ever BUY sex, sigh, 're-using' usually comes with a) free bar tabs, b) free rides, (take your dirty mind out of the gutter) c) cell phone minutes, text messages,..i can go on.with pre-existing lovers, there really isn't a need for much communication.

3) saves trees: i'll let you ponder about this one.

i mean, who has relationships these days anyway? by using the technique i presented above, ex lovers are able to rekindle what they once lost: shit. you broke his heart because he cheated on you? aw, sweet.look at you now bambi-bending over backwards wearing limited elbow pads.you don't look so upset today. and for those of you who actually have 'true' love, please share with the rest of my lonely circle of friends here where you found this 'thing' you call real. is there a relationship land us pathetic souls have not surrendered to? tell me.indulge me.facilitate my wandering mind.because as much as i'd like to find it, for right now my main concern is making the earth a better, safer place; recycling has become my new hobby; recycling has become my 'real' friend.

live your life son...enjoy the irresponsibility, you filthy vixen. 

a dissertation: hanging out vs. dating.

subject a meets subject b; aside from the immediate attractions, you know, the wit, the personality, the small, whitish structures found and placed perfectly in the jaws, the luscious lips, the silky hair, the perfect, ridiculously-good looking ASS-ets, the perfect wallet, WHAT ELSE DO HUMAN BEINGS NEED? i mean, really? 

lets take the spider monkey for example. with its disproportionate limbs and long, prehensile tail, who wouldn't skip a beat for this hot simianus? however, in this species, 'monkey see monkey do' is literal. monkey puss sees and inserts into 'makak zozo,' aka monkey dick. the female chooses her mate. there's no dating involved; there isn't even any hanging out. this woman knows what she wants and she goes out to get it without hesitation. and if ass is on her mind, this bitch uses a technique known as anogenital sniffing in order to see her mates readiness for copulation. (i'd jump on your back too.)

on the other hand, humans use a little more complication. in the end of every situation and every relationship, the jerks get JERKed off, and the women get a LACK of emotional intelligence. let's define: women tend to look deeper into the act of  co-i-tus  n. sexual union between a male and a female involving the insertion of the penis into the vagina. in a biological sense, after ejaculation the male's job is to naturally revert back as the aggressive hunter, whilst the females hypothalamus releases endorphins to nurture the seeded offspring. zzzz. fcku biology.males approach sex from a surface level: get in and get OUT.

and before you know it, we, as the wonderful idiots that we are, just naturally fall. this is my conclusion: women like people and men do NOT. men like objects, aka things, aka hi-fi systems, computers, riding with 200 on their dash'. men like rock-band. women like love, and the feeling of being loved and wanted. yet for a man, the physical act is just that: physical. you give him a time, a place, a condom, a comfortable bed (or not), and he WILL make things happen. the sexual conjunction is an end to itself, but for women we always "EXPECT" more.you fcku us, you leave us, and we don't receive a phone call, yet you still manage to text us how much you miss us once we leave.for every slim shady who's been accused of this act, please STAND up.

for all you retarted morons out there, (men), you splurge on honesty. "ive never lied to you..." zzz. before you proclaim that you're currently married, but practically separated, how about stating that you're just in this to have fun? oh, because you won't get laid if you actually tell the entire truth? it's quite charming how 'beautiful' and 'amazing' us women are before you sleep with us. if i could accumulate the numerous compliments i've received before engaging in sexual activities, i could write an effen book on how FCKING AMAZING I AM. bad luck bimbo? perhaps.

charlotte once screamed, 'did the last four-and-a-half hours mean anything to you?' (men: all together, "NO.") On a lighter note, doris lessing writes on the subject of sexual freedom in her book, 'the golden notebook': "free, we say, yet the truth is they (men) get erections when they're with a woman they don't give a damn about, but we (women) don't have an orgasm unless we love him. what's free about that?"  and then we have carrie bradshaw who once asked, "in an age where women enjoy the same money and successes as men, why shouldn't women be able to enjoy sex like a man?well, let me explain...women can't read maps, and men don't listen.

 

where Is waldo

I think my love is somewhere..

Somewhere straddling his horse In the Sahara desert, Dancing to the harmonious sounds Of my broken heart. My mind remains rested on toilet seats that snuggle odorless, pasty portions of leftover cocaine snoozing in another woman’s nostril. My head, smothered in makeup, inconceivable hair ironed to perfection glistens with radiant light, beams of scarlet and gold.Left eye lies diminutive, dresses in flamboyant attire dancing to the earsplitting music gesturing to foreign, pestering harassment. My thoughts, sprinting in a three inch oval fills with piercing voices louder than a three bathroom stall that stares into a big black woman sitting on a little black stool selling me aspirin,While gangs of women pile at the sink,obsessing over beauty waiting for the big black woman to dry their hands. I imagine his aroma Dirty dancing, hips entwining Arms gliding over the pelvic bone That tickles my knees. His coffee stained tresses wrap around His aviators..Peeking into my attention without intention

I want this world,

Awakening with faces down, smiles sleeping. My soul remaining on third base, Confused weeds taking naps in my hair, Goaded ants gnawing my rump. A white finger lies wrapped inside my nostril discolored and inquisitive, (Parenthesis) hugging my hips Like elliptical backbends Bowing to his feet. I wave to my invisible audience, Inhaling their sarcasm, Throwing their sagacity to Second base

Do you think I think  I think I know

The meaning of devotion, affection, inescapable love.While my soul remains on third base, Wishing on stars impersonating American airlines.Pitcher pitching my heart at bat.Batter striking. Claws slowly clasping into his palm Licking away the redness, Swallowing his pride, And spitting me out. I think my love is somewhere

Beloved Merman

Clasping your hand, I remember gently kissing the years that ran through your fingers as I watched the sand drip from the crevices and stick to the toes that resemble our children.i remember the nights we would lie here by the water counting the grains of salt that would wash away the I love you waving to us with bliss.i remember thirty years of passion.thirty years of your laughter tickling my earlobes, whispering your enigma clasping your hand.i remember the way we used to dream of sitting on the rainbow,pushing one another in puddles of rain sliding down startling poles of thunder

but

i don’t remember catching you...on your way down.i don’t remember allowing rebellious sand to capture your whispering laughter detained in my ear.i don’t remember going back to that ocean that once took you away,who invited you to dinner,replenished you with water,strangled you with large ropes of salt leaving me your wedding ring washed upon the shore that i don't remember ever going back to.

virgin for sale.

τoo much hypε αround virignity?naτalie dylan τhinks so, with a $3.8 million bid for hers.the 'transaction,' planned to take place at the bunny ranch in carson city,has owner dennis hof kindly offering to upfront the entire auction.could it be due to ebay's unfortunate dismissal?aw,poor little pu$$y...(cat.)

well spoon thumbs up for natalie d(ick)lan, because i didn't get shit for my virginity.not a handshake,no. not a thank you please come back soon card...no. not a hand-crafted plaque with my initials engraved in a pretty little fancy princess font...no. ηot α damn thing...(and god knows i waited a long time.) and for all you orthodox, conservative mother effers' out there protesting that miss natalie is indeed demeaning herself, stop lyin' to yo bad-self, because i'd be damned if you wouldn't trade your AMAZING first time for millions of dollars.plus, she's seeking other qualities than money for her first time lover poobear."im looking for intelligence and an overall nice person,"stated miss natalie.bullshit bitch, you're looking for ass in all the right places.

some have also confessed that yes, not only is natalie acting like a complete whore, but that she should wait and give her precious flower to someone who is going to be meaningful in her life. zzzz.zzzz.zzzz.wake my ass up when you snap back to reality.how many of you morons actually speak to the man/woman who you lost your virginity to?and if you're married to them,well 1)you're an idiot, and 2)i'll be damned AGAIN if you wouldn't trade that "ONE" penis for a 3.8 million dollar lump sum. (how LIMP are you now??????) 

and then there's the few who proclaim again how inappropriate this genius is. why? because she's selling herself? good for her! some idiot is willing to pay millions to pop miss natalie's cherry.this is strictly business;this is a business trans-accccccc-tiiiiion.stop rolling your eyes, and quit talking shit, because you have all have fallen victim to the occasional one-night stand, and i'm sure you all wished some jackass paid you for that gruesome wake-up call.nothing worse than rising next to some butter-faced beefcake, pondering which hole his beer-can cock was rammed into.(sick lambs... smart prostitute.) 

ps.im sure miss natalie's eyes will be closed during the entire 'memorable' experience.

pss.she's not even cute.i would've tripled her investment.(what an idiot.)

beat me first.

i remember the rickety hand shaken fist, the worried expression, as the voice plastered through the cement, echoing through a minute speaker…”early dismissal,” the voice stammered: just two simple words that became a redeemer, a sort of relentless sigh, as the trembling quickly faded into effortless, unnecessary air.my sister was there too, sitting in the office, as we both quickly smirked upon the acknowledgment that no one was in ‘real’ trouble.you see, life always finds a way to deceive you; to make you feel inferior without your own consent.it hands you a bunch of lemons yet doesn’t really give a shit what you do with them. and there she was, my grandmother, as she grappled us from the office, (without a struggle however) and placed us in her car, to only ride home in complete tranquility.there was not a sound heard; not a breath released.yet I somehow heard her sorrow.i somehow heard how distressed she was, and I somehow wanted to clench my fists into the jaws of whomever caused any of this for such an innocent, respected, and beautiful woman that today gave me my own womanhood.as we arrived to 1101 leisure lane, there lay a compressed umbrella.there was still not a sound heard, except for the beating.my sister and I  still managed to gasp in silence.my baba, the warrior. my baba, the hero. a woman so strong that even a few muggers couldn’t bring down.

not my baba.

you take her purse, you take her money, hell you take whatever else deemed you so damn successful that night. but no, you will never take my baba.like a ripened face that speaks so gracefully through each wrinkle, this opaque, beaten umbrella that lay so silently spoke for every woman capable of fighting for anything they deemed once worthy.

you will never have my baba...go on and try.she remains in my heart forever, and no one has managed to take that…just yet, not now, not ever. 

WHOEVER SAD BAD LUCK COMES IN THREES: LIED.

fast forward to today: im passing us1 and 22nd, and i hear a sudden boom boom pow. and there it is...what appeared to be a little toyota, smashed on its side. wow, i exhaled noisily, and as i looked to my left i found another little car flipped over on its side against a giant pole. ten minutes later i manage to cross the intersection, to what appeared to be a very illegal left. "DO IT!" screamed my sidekick, and BAM the effen' POL_IC_IA on its tiny badass biker mobile pulls my damn ass over. all i could say was 'sorry.' hell, did he know that i just missed my g+d damn trip to vegas? did he know that im suffering on a stupid antibiotic which has forced me to not only MISS MY VEGAS trip but to also not be able to socialize, because GOD forbid people enjoy my company without hoping i don't breathe their way? did he know of this viral infection? did he know that i just witnessed a severe car accident and was the SECOND, i repeat, SECOND person according to the 911 operator TO CALL 911 !!!!!!!!! did he know that i chipped a tooth yesterday in order to save others from inhaling bad breath? FCKU. thank you OCCIFER for my FCKUing violation; the second one that i just 'happened' to receive this year.does this make me a habitual traffic offender now? you couldn't wait until august could you? it's less than what, 30 days away? so now i have to suffer and attend a 12, not 4 hour traffic school course? thank you, no really, thank you. who do i have to sleep with in this damn city to save some g+d damn money? fckumylife.fckuyou.because i've already been fckued more than three times in the past THREE days. 

The Stimulus: Bad Luck comes in Threes...

never light three cigarettes with one match: hell, i stopped smoking a long time ago, (that's if you deduct all the drunken moments when i've repeatedly declared, "ugh, i'm never smoking again.") so what is it: too many black cats crossing my path, hearing too many roosters crow at night, walking under too many ladders? am i obligated to sleep with four-leaf clovers, ringing bells, and horseshoe nails? whoever said bad luck comes in threes is accurate. not only did i become extremely ill this weekend, miss my trip to vegas, but i also chipped a filling due to masticating a dozen tic-tacs at one time. ha, five hours later, i found myself cuddled in a dentist's chair, reading a woman's health magazine, as i covered my freezing toe nails with an awkwardly used blue blanket. whoever expected to spend their monday afternoon this excitingly? not me. if a z-pack, augmentin, and a bundle of tears later wasn't enough, what about missing my stimulating trip to vegas? who would of thought? do i have to bless some sort of tub of salt, some element of water, in order for the powers of purity to be reverently eulogized? someone hand me the oil of frank-in-sence, so i can dab it on my broken mirror.