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| Monday, February 2nd, 2004 |
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Can we talk about excretion for a minute? Yeah, excretion--poop. Crap. Doo-doo. Lord help me, but I loves the shit-taking, and jesus christ, there is nothing worse than being constipated. Can I get an amen? Let's delve into this a bit futher. It's already been established that taking a crap is quite the enjoyable experience, and constipation, or the inability to take said crap, less so. Today I have been constipated--yes--ever since I woke up. Fiber does nothing for me. Nor do laxatives. The poo just sits there, clogging my intestinal tract, giving me gas. And can we just for a moment pause to think about the discomfort of gas, especially on the First Day of School? I think we should. It hurts. It bloats the belly and makes pants-wearing impossible. And it makes you bitchy. So all day now all I've wanted out of life was to get on a toilet--even an OCC toilet would do--and take the shit of a lifetime. This shit of a lifetime has not occurred. The poo still resides in me, festering, steaming, steeping in its own fecal juices, biding its time, and it's hurting me, dammit. The good thing about this, though, is that later on, when my anus has decided to stop being so retentive (ahahahaha), that shit'll be the best and I can't wait. I really can't. You know how when you haven't pooed in a long time and afterwards your butt's a little sore? I'm craving that right now, ladies and gentlemen. I'm craving it like a coke addict craves the drips. That's all I have to say on the subject of shitting/constipation/gas at this time, thank you. |
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3. getting head (standing, dress pulled up) behind the bathrooms at a park in fullerton around midnight from a black guy named dexter 2. renting a by-the-hour motel room with paul, and all the adventures in porn and pot and naked-walking therein 1. while racking lines in a nasty ghetto-ass santa ana laundromat's bathroom with a guy named caesar, seeing white powder on the dirty, piss-puddley (?) floor and LICKING IT to see if it's what i think it is |
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So yesterday sucked, it's true. It's always on the third date that I realize to what a douche I'm giving head in the woods. Whatever; it wouldn't have worked out anyway. The food was good though. So far there've been kababs, Vietnamese soup, baklava, crepes, caramel apples, and I'm sure I'd remember more if I wasn't so tired. Good food, good ___, good times. Two out of three ain't bad. Hm. Superbowl, and Chris Evans, and orange kush, and people named Ricky, and things that just aren't gonna happen (job, cleanliness, relationship, not being ______ 24/7, etc.). And, thank god, school starts tomorrow. How do I suddenly have so many people I need to call back? It's like, popularity or some shit. Oh, post-script: Stevie? Oh my fucking god. |
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