“What you looking at?  Slag!”

“What the fuck are you looking at you slaaag?’


I love the word slag.  It fills me with joy.

We live in timid times.  Nobody wants to offend anybody.  Yet, everybody seems so angry.   We all need to live more robustly.   I loathe lots of things..but I should not be defined by my anger.

Some fluffy queen left comments for me yesterday.  He had that part of his brain missing that determines’rational thought‘ or ‘over view’ or ‘context’.  He felt ‘sensitive’ and marveled at my well-documented insanity.   He thought I might be ‘obsessed’ and accused me of ‘cyber-bullying’.

Ho Hum.

I could hear through the written word his rasping voice…his terror of living in the light.   As ‘Ryan’ defends fellow tribe member JB I want to drink a glass of neat whiskey.

I want to drive fast up the PCH in a red sports car to escape his whimsy.  I want to call hookers and tell them that I will only pay them if they remain mute.  If they keep their fucking mouths shut.  If they said one word…I would not pay them.

Of course, I don’t have a red sports car and I am not interested in any kind of hooker..even a mute one.  Ever.

Like the cancer in my balls the cancer in my head is JB.  I am plagued with him.  His flapping gait like some kind of untreated Victorian cripple.  His wide eyes, open mouth, the face he affected of child-like-innocence that had indeed sucked a thousand cocks…just before he choked down mine.

I think I should give Ryan JB’s address and have them meet.    They could be very happy together.

Last night I cooked dinner for a friend.

This morning I have more research to do.

Last night I watched the last Chilean miner pulled out of his tomb and into the light.  I cried but wanted to cry more.