Confessions (Untitled Blah vol. II)

I’ve come to a few realizations…I like to think we all do, but I dunno probably not cuz people get complacent and don’t wanna change a gawddamn thing about anything they’re doing.
but maybe, maybe some people do and they realize that that’s healthy. It’s healthy to grow and change because if you don’t then you’re just staying static and that’s bad.

Know what happens when water stays static? Fuckin’ mosquitoes. Don’t be a cesspool. Be open-fuckin’ minded about shit. Weird thing, maybe a bit uncharacteristic, but, uh, this is actually incredibly relevant to everything I’m about to come forward with and that was not originally my intention, but here it goes anyway.

So, I’m surrounded by millennials (my generation) they’re stupid and they suck…k that wasn’t it.

Here it actually is.  I’m an asshole. I’ve said this before, but yeah, I’m sayin’ it again, know why? Cuz I’m an asshole. And, like, I’m totally ok with that. Lemme tell you why, buckle down, shit’s about to get real.

So, I’m about 50 percent asshole, the other 50 percent is comprised of what makes me an awesome person (my karaoke voice, my shameless-yet-moderately-endearing-goofiness, my ability to make staring into space relatively attractive). Of course, the only proof I have that these attributes are acceptable in social situations is that no one has punched me in the face for no reason…yet.

I’ve shared this sentiment with a couple people whose opinions I value and the response is the same “Oh you’re not an asshole. You’re just–” Imma stop you there, yes, I am

The thing is, I’m not the asshole you don’t like…catch that? Meaning, I’m the quirky, goofy, mess of a human being that you enjoy having around because my inherent snarkiness makes you smile and you don’t know why. I’ve begun to know why, and I have my mother to thank for the example she set.

I’ve stopped caring what people think about me and I’ve just been me. What you see is what you get. It’s incredibly liberating and I wish I had the opportunities to express this more often, to, like, actual people, in, like actual, real-life. I could go on about my personal manifesto, but I would be getting too preachy. What I REALLY wanted to say and the reason for the title of this portion of my interwebbal (it’s a word now) amphigory (actual word, look it up, it’s one of my favorites and completely relevant)…

Is that, in the past, especially when I was growing up and learning how to conduct myself as a man, I’ve been a DICK. Which is not an asshole. I’ve been a stupid boy to the girls in my life, to the friends in my life, to the gays in my life. I’ve never been a bully. I despise bullies. But I haven’t been especially considerate of my actions in the past.

I’m sorry. An apology might not be warranted, but I’m sorry either way. If anyone I’ve wronged is out there and wants to talk with me about it, I currently find myself in a very humble and docile state and would make for fantastic conversation.

I will HENCEFORTH be an advocate against the shittiness of people being shitty to each other.
I’ve found that I LOVE calling people out for being shitty even if it’s not exactly in a way that they understand. If I know I can get away with it, I’m condescending as fuck, especially if I know someone can’t handle grating sarcasm. And I do this on purpose. That’s how you can tell I’m not having fun. This is why I’m an asshole. Best part about that?
I’m YOUR asshole.
Ya, not better. I’m working on it.
Only thing I want you to think about after I leave you here is all the “nice guys” there are out there, and think about how they act towards their people…hmm??
Don’t think too hard.
Imma do a little research, and next time we’ll talk about the mutherfucker who wrote the “How to approach a woman wearing headphones” article.
until then.

Cheers, beautiful people,






Feelings. Have some. It’s healthy.

Lemme tell you beautiful people something. If you never read another thing of mine, read this, I’m fairly positive that this is the most worthwhile piece of…you know, whatever, that I have to say. Ready…deep breath…

It’s ok to have feelings…ok…Imma say it oooonnee moorree tiiiimmee, you know, just in case that shit didn’t quite resonate with ya.

IT”S O’FUCKING-KAY TO HAVE MUTHAFUCKIN” FEELINGS…(I feel like that was a clan in the early highlands; clan O’Fucking [as I try not to laugh hysterically in the middle of a crowded coffee shop…I kinda feel like I look like I’m have an asthma one panic])
Feelings, experience that shit. It’s not good to keep it bottled up. It’s not.

Now stay with me, I’m about to change gears ready? (eerrrrttt)
Women, man, aren’t they fantastic?

Ok, here’s the deal, the Offended Straight White Guy is a bit pissed at his own half of the species and the pissed-off-ed-ness in question is growing…and growing…and it grows every fuckin’ time I hear some douche put down women, one way or another. Or not recognize a woman the way she deserves respect. There’s too much of it man, too many mutherfuckas tryin’ to “play the game” too many muthafuckas see women as less than they are. The only thing I can think to do is stand up against the muther.fuckers who think cat-calling is ok
Who think being openly creepy is ok
Who think degrading the beautiful half of the species is ok.

Fuck, dude. It’s not ok. None of any of this creepy shit is ok. None of the stoooooopid shit that stupid dudes do with/for/against/in-spite-of/in-reference-to/ with-the-best-intentions (kindly fuck yourself in the face) /towards women is ok. It’s not. It hasn’t been, and the men who think any of it is (“well you gotta admit…” NO SHUT THE FUCK UP AND SIDDOWN, I have the microphone,  and YOU WILL LISTEN TO EVERY DAMN WORD I HAVE TO SAY)
ya, they’re not ok either.

There really isn’t too much more to say on the subject without getting deep into details. I don’t do details. Also I’m trying not to take anything TOO seriously, but men being shitty to women is something I do not tolerate lightly. and it might be that EVERYONE is more fuckin’ involved with EVERYTHING and EVERYONE ELSE”S SHIT because we’re all a apart of the internet and we’re all fuckin connected now and all involved with each other n shit and the shit that other people are passionate about (politics for most of my older relatives, baseball for some of the dudes I went to college with, American football for others…all of which I give NOT A SINGLE FUCK about [go forth and lay thine eyes on my field of fucks, lo beholdeth! it is barren])

{Allow me to insert here a moderately related incident that has kinda sorta maybe something to do with what I’m gettin’ at that only just occurred yesterevening (which was a word during the Stalin regime, I believe).
I dunno how many of you saw, but for those who didn’t, the existence of my social life can be culminated through TWO sentiments 1)”Eh, I’m not missing any thing and 2) oh! well, I’ll just do both! Because sometimes I wanna do all the things. duh. Anyways, this past yesterevening (I’m liking it more and more) I attended two functions, one on top of/right after the other. I went to go see my buddy’s band play, (Brock, awesome work mate) and I went to my roommate’s birthday party.
Local music I LOVE, pretty much anything, anytime. I love going and listening to the either awesome or fuckin’ terrible shit that people create (Can’t be mad, it’s creative). AFTER aforementioned local musical soiree, I made the decision to attend a birthday party. Which was being held at a place that is totally not my style around people with whom I cannot relate. Fuckin’ clubs.
Now, I’m a dive bar, tiki lounge, karaoke night kinda guy…waiting in a line framed by vomit and cigarette smoke, to cram myself in a place boasting a guy to girl ratio of about 14 to 1, filled with bad perfume, and worse cologne, to buy 7 dollar bottles of Pacifico and witness people trying too hard to gyrate on each other calling it ‘dancing’ while they look more like a VERY bad amateur porn shot on a flip-phone camera from ’01…is not my bag.

To make matters worse, I witness (WITNESS) one of the bros in our group drunkenly smack the ass of a girl NOT in our group in front of my face. IN FRONT OF MY FACE.
Now, I’ve been on a feminist good one and I’m currently pissed off at the collective behavior of my side of the species (men, I’m talking about males). AND THIS MUTHERFUCKER pulls this shit. And you wonder why women are so wary? I don’t, not anymore. So I looked at him and said, “Yo, do you know her?” to which he shook his head. I asked her “Do you know him?” to which she shook her head. At which I scold the bro and as if I were disciplining a puppy for peeing on the rug, tell him to go away.
He got kicked out for being an asshole, cuz bouncers can do that, (not sarcastic) and we all left. That’s my story} Now for a segway that would make more sense if I wasn’t suddenly inspired to write that.
in short, very large piece of my personal, internal pie chart wishes that the internet was not a thing…but then again, how would I be able to vomit the shit in my mind on this page and post it where everyone can see it whether they choose to or not?…oh, fuck, did I actually make a point?…or like, intentionally, ironically contradict myself?  were you paying attention? you can go back…I’ll wait……

Have fun? didja catch it? K good. Glad we’re on the same communicatory (I know whatthefuck I said) level.

Moral is. Don’t be shitty. Shitty people make me wanna be mean. and while I’m pretty good at being mean, it’s not my favorite.
Until, you know, whenever,

Cheers, beautiful people,

Fuck your bad vibes, bro


Untitled Blah (Episode I)

Never in the history of calming down has anyone EVER calmed down, after being told too calm down.
Gotta be honest, this post was gonna be another “hey look I’m freakingthefuck out right now and I want you guys to know about it so that I feel like I’m not alone in my misery…”
…kinda thing
But naw, fuck that, I’m so sick of depressing shit, there’s too much of it going around. So there. That’s that. And I don’t wanna bitch about the state of the world either. Although recently I have wished, on more than one occasion, that the internet was not a thing (he says as he continues to type on his personal platform he specifically refers to as “his corner of the interwebs”)
I get it. Whatever.
Now that we’ve gotten THAT outta the way let’s rant about something sexier. Because, dammit 100 percent of what I write is supposed to elicit (not “illicit” by the way TOTALLY had to look that one up. shut up.)

So, this one time, on the internet, I wrote a rant about being an asshole and about how I know for a fact that I am one. A lotta people I tell that to don’t like that I say that about myself. It’s ok, I’m thankful for your consideration, HOWEVER, it’s true. But lemme put it in perspective.

Have you ever met that douchebag who has his own fuckin’ pity party to the tune of “ooohh weellll I don’t understand, I mean, I’m such a nice guy. I love girls, they just don’t like me.”

uuuugggggggghhhhhhh shut. the. fuck. up.
These are the same mutherfuckers sending unsolicited dick pics cuz they think THAT’s any better.
Any and Every dude, who proclaims publicly that he’s a “nice guy” usually ends up getting kicked out of the bar because he’s the creepiest of mutherfuckers.
You see the thing about a gentleman, is that he knows, explicitly when NOT to be one.
Think about THAT. Ha!
The same concept goes for those who claim to to be “alpha.” Out of context. There’s a lot that goes into that idea that I don’t really wanna cover right now. All I can say is go look up the hashtag(#) “alphaaf” on your favorite social networking feed.
Bloodyfuckinghell I hate the internet. (says the writer as he continues blabbing in his own little corner)

I should probably stop or I’m gonna bum myself out. Just for now, anyway. Oh, no, don’t fret, I’ll come up with something else even sexier to rant about next time (is sex the only thing that sells anything…ever?) That’s boring as fuck. Oh well.

Alright, I’m over it, what were we talking about? Anything? no, no not really. I’ve been thinking, though. (I know. Dangerous. I LIVE MY LIFE ON THE FUCKIN’ EDGE)…
outbursts do not aid in the thought process…ummmm. Thinking…maybe…the fuck was I thinking abou–OH YEAH so I’ve been thinking about if whether I want to narrow the direction of this blog or if I want to maintain it as the stream-of-consciousness-limitless-blab-that-it-is. And the answer is!!!…

Yes, have some.
No, that’s not quite the answer. The answer was gonna be yes, but I’m not sure if the effort of researching topics or whatthefuckever would be worth it. So for all you readers out there who actually read my beautiful, snarky garbage. I salute you. You will continue to do so, and while some of it might bring certain points up for you to ponder and other…uh…of it…will make you laugh, none of it will make any sense.
You will be afforded the opportunity to read everything that I write with my voice in mind and if, by some miracle you’re a completely random person who has, by alignment of the stars, swooped upon my material…I dunno…make it up. (I probably sound sexier in your head than I do in real life, I think my voice is goofy). Anyways, that’s all I have for now.
If you’d like to read stuff that I actually put effort into, check out my page on Wattpad which is like the Youtube for readers and writers. the name is KCWolfe30 (it’s my stage name,  I have a stage name now, stage names are cool) and drop me a line on there, or like tell me if my stuff that I think isn’t rubbish is, in fact, rubbish. I’ll be grateful.

Cheers, beautiful people,

Just a mild case of Existential-Depressionism

Hey! I’m back, I know I know I know, you missed me…don’ lie…ya, it’s ok, I didn’t miss you either.
That’s a lie. Actually, no, it’s not a lie, it’s just not relevant, I don’t get any attention on here anyway, the words on this page are solely for your purpose. If no one ‘comments’ or ‘likes’ my words that’s ok, I’m sure some of you beautiful mutherfuckers are reading it anyway and aren’t telling me. CONVERSELY you’re telling everyone else….making me…

your dirty little secret. HA! you’re twisted.

I’m into it…weird.
But seriously, the truth is I was trying to do some complicated computer stuff using directions from the internet…cuz THAT whole situation isn’t BEGGING for something to go horribly wrong…long story short, I deleted some stuff and had to get a computer geek friend to help me. Executed a successful factory restart and here. we. are.

Back to square one. Fuck. My. Life.
eh…but I don’t wanna make it about me. Cuz there are a lot of people on this planet. Like. a LOT. and when I think about all my bullshit issues that I deal with, it’s like, I’m just a speck…a tiny little particle within a (probably) insignificant amount of time. and…it’s not that this thought depresses me. It’s just that, I start asking myself “What THEFUCK is the point?”
I know it’s not a new question, and maybe (probably) I think too much, but this is a thing that paralyzes me. It might be my twenty-something angst but I contemplate my purpose all. the fucking. time. Twenty-something angst is totally a thing, by the way. DON”T ROLL YOUR EYES AT ME. I’m Super Serious. or whatever.

Alright, I’m gonna keep the rest of this badmutherfucker short and sweet, because between the time I actually started writing it and, you know, like, now…I mean…now as in the exact moment when I’m typing these words on my little blue laptop…(thefuck is time anyway?)
I’m feel exponentially better. which is like…three “much(es)” to the layman. I’m feeling better and it might be the complete indulgement (not a word, is now, come at me) in my anxiety…such-that-to-the-point-where… (I’m aware that transition makes zero sense, stay with me, you’re doin’ great)

I guess what I’m trying to say, is that I’m trying my best not to let the things stress me out that I have no control over. Cuz that’s really what it’s all about, innit? just not letting things get to you too much.


elections, power, money, deforestation, illuminati, banks, the fact that we may or may not be utterly alone in the universe. Or the fact that humans are slowly killing the planet they live on because they, as a species, place value in the wrong shit. (I mean, if I were an alien race, I wouldn’t wanna hang out with us, pft, fuck that shit.)

All that shit (or the idea of it or whathefuckever)^^^ bums me out. But I’ve gotten to the point where I’m not gonna let the fact that it bums me out get me down. The fact that shit sucks is why we have music, and art, and stories, and alcohol, and fuckin’ pictures of you when you were thirteen and MORE pale that you are now. These are the things that make life tolerable. Ain’t about money. Nope.

Maybe I’ll never figure it out…oh well.

Upshot is, I just scored a gig  ghostwriting some erotica. The next post will be sexier. That’s a promise.
Till then,

Cheers, beautiful people,


friends don’t let friends miss leg day (an offshoot of the ‘c’mon, man’ sentiment)

Hey peeps! What’s a schedule amirite?

Alright, Imma be honest, (psh, like I’m not already…k, that’s a lie…mostly) but Imma be honest. I didn’t want to write this week…or last week. I didn’t. As I’m typing right now, I’m thinking “this is stupid” (yes, I know how to spell it, I choose not to on purpose…in case you were wondering) I’m thinking “there’s so much going on in the world, that just another dude, bitchin’ about absolutely nothing isn’t REALLY gonna change it. In fact, it might just piss some people off, and, like, not in the good way.”

All of that, I’m thinking all of that. BUT HERE THE. FUCK. I AM. Fuck it, I’ve got nothing else to do…that’s not true, I’ve got tons to do, I just don’t find the time to do them…no…it’s not that I don’t find the time. I don’t MAKE the time…(this will have a point once I figure it out, stick with me.)…ok…ok ok ok

I gotta be honest again, I totally had this whole thing written about how I feel about guns and gun laws. Upon realizing that I have nothing good to say about it, I’m relinquishing the argument to others who care more. I’ve got this whole theory…but I’m the only one who cares about it. If you care, ask me, we’ll get coffee and talk about it.


Can we talk about the Gym Douchebag for a second? You know the dude, or chick who gets all dolled up to go workout? No?…oh you know, the weirdly tanned gym stud wearing the graphic T cut-off showing off all his tribal tattoos? (I maintain, by the way, that if I’m feeling spunky enough and I see a white dude with tribal ink that does not look traditional in any way, I’m allowed to ask him which tribe he’s from. It’s a shame that I can’t tell them that “tribe douche” is not an actual thing. I guess open rudeness is frowned upon or whathefuckever).

On more than one occasion I’ve actually had to LEAVE the gym because I was laughing. I was laughing so hard I couldn’t take anything seriously anymore. My workout was over. I’ll tell you how I happened upon this…thing.
I was looking around, judging people, (cuz that’s what you go to the gym for, right) and my shade-riddled gaze fell upon this one mutherfucker…sky-blue-and-yellow Jordans, MASSIVE basketball shorts, one of those fuckin’ sleeveless hoodies, flower-patterned-flat-brim, and a pair of those over-ear-Beats-by-Dre headphones attached to his iPhone…with which he was taking a selfie.

I can only imagine the face I was making. Something that could be described as a cross between disgust and morbid curiosity. The face you make when you smell something completely ghastly but you still want to know where it comes from. Then, like, you start laughing almost uncontrollably and you need to excuse yourself from a public setting cuz open insanity is “not encouraged,” and staring with your mouth open is “creepy” and “unbecoming.”

Before I lose my train of thought…     ….       ….   what?
Oh…before I lose my train of thought lemme tell ya what the description of the “gym douche” does not include:
People who are PASSIONATE about being fit (Bodybuilders, figure builders, crossfitters, and anyone who comes to the gym with a set agenda, who genuinely ENJOY putting together workouts/eating plans/supplement plans and the like). For those people it’s what they do. The people working out. Not the ones sitting down to do a SET OF FUCKING CURLS.

There are TONS of reasons people go to the gym. I can’t speak for other people (except for the dude whose upper-body is JACKED but his legs look like they’re in serious need of a squat set…or seven, I know for a fact he’s there for a date with the 50 pound dumbbells. c’mon man).

The reasons I  attend the gym are as follows:
1) I’m vain as fuck.
2) I REALLY don’t want to be fat (which may or may not also have to do with #1)
3) To maintain my ability to give awesome hugs

now, allow me to extrapolate on these points.

1) When I say I’m vain as fuck, there’s really no other way I can think to explain the consistent checking of myself in any and every reflective surface this world has to offer. I wouldn’t say that mine is a prominent vanity, but if “obsessed” isn’t the word to describe how I feel about how I look then I’m not sure what the word would be. This, of course, like almost everything I write, might be a tad hyperbolic. Meaning that my exaggeration has been taken to a level beyond any genuine meaning. Of course, my vain might not compare at all to other people’s vain. Maybe I care too much what I look like. But I’m not obsessed with working out so I guess it’a a good thing I’ve got killer genes (did I say that out loud?) moving on.

2) It’s true. I don’t. I correlate fatness with weakness. I don’t hate fat things or people, nor am I scared of it/them but usually what being overweight constitutes to me (feel free to tell me to fuck myself at any time) is a combination of laziness and over-indulgence. Of course, there are those who are born with a genetic predisposition or contract a medical condition and in that case, there’s only so much one can do. But nothing is keeping anyone from being active. And that’s the long and short of it.

3) It’s been scientifically proven that a hug that lasts for thirty seconds or longer releases oxytonins (or some shit) whateverthefuck the bodies natural “feel-good” enhancers are…it does that. and the longer you hug…the gooder you feel…(I know what I said).

So that’s why.
But the truth is (and I might’ve already said this) it’s tough for me to actually get into the gym because of all the people who suck. Their vanity clashes with mine and it makes for this weird anxious energy. Every time I’m there I feel like I should be doing something different. Literally anything.
Which may or may not be a valid feeling, whothefuck knows?
maybe I’m just in a bad mood. Final thought, If you gotta go to the gym, don’t be a shitty person. The gym is already a shitty place to be. Til next time.

cheers, beautiful people,

You can be slutty, I kinda like it (again, the permission slip you DON”T need from the guy who’s going to give it to you anyway)

You can be slutty, I kinda like it (again, the permission slip you DON”T need from the guy who’s going to give it to you anyway)

Ladies, my loves, darlings, beautiful, strong, independent women…this one is for you…you can slap me if you see fit. Now, I know you don’t need to hear it from me, but I don’t know, maybe you do.
Be slutty. It’s ok. I’m telling you it’s ok. People will NOT have the same feelings as me. And you don’t have to go out and do the slut thing if you don’t want to. Neither am I saying that NOR am I saying that ALL females have to be slutty to express their femininity. Different things work for different women and not all ladies like feeling like that. And you never have to do anything you don’t want to do.  BUT if ever you do feel like letting down your hair, putting on your three inch wedges and little black dress, or whatever the alternative is that makes you feel awesome… I’m telling you to fuckin’ do it and don’t feel bad about it, not even a little bit, not even at all.

In today’s society that is crawling with Douchebags who crawl all over you with their eyes (I’m sorry, that’s an awful visual but it’s true) most men are hounds ESPECIALLY when it comes to someone (particularly female, but this works for dudes too, I know I’M a slut sometimes) that they deem slutty.
To them (and to almost everyone) “Sluttiness” is given to a human who (they think they know) will be sexually active without any regard of whom they are sexing with and in that endeavor choose to dress accordingly. Isn’t that it?
Slut equals someone who dresses like they wanna bang and bangs a lot…right?…rightright? ….uugghhh *facepalm*

Let me ask you this…how do you define a hipster? Some dude with a beard and a manbun, right? oh, YOU have a beard and a manbun?…well, are you a hipster? hmm? no?

deeper…deeeepppeeerrrr…think haaarrdeerrr (open your mind to me…oppeeenn your miiiinnnddd..[reference? anyone?])

*some mutherfucker in the back* {Well what’s YOU’RE definition asshole?}

Me: *pointing* “You wanna know, mutherfucker!? You gotta use the correct form of ‘your’ jackass!”

While the term “slut” might indeed pertain to someone (we’ll be particular in saying that she’s a female. What? I’m straight) who:
1) engages in sex (mutherfucking *gasp* [it’s 2016 people, get with it])
2) dresses like she (k fine, OR he) may or may not like to engage in sex
3) might act/dance/speak/walk/run/exercise/fuddlewuckin promiscuously
4) participate in anything else that someone might deem as “slutty”

Guess what…I kinda like it. And I have a theory as to why YOU (universally, I’m not calling anyone out here…yet) think/feel otherwise.
But lets start with why I FUCKIN’ DIG the SHIT out of you, strawberry-slut-cake. hashtag winky-tonguey-stickey-outey face.

I dig you because you’re doing you and you don’t give a shit what people think, or say about you (unless you bitch about it, then I have my doubts) NEVERTHELESS I dig it. You’re doing what you do, you’re flaunting what you’re given, and you’re kinda hotter when you’re being safe about it and ACTUALLY NOT banging random people who wear too much fragrance because they offered you a ride in their Bentley (that they’re going to be paying off for the next hundred and fifty years, but that’s none of my business).

But your hotness isn’t about the sex you do or do not have, or act like you have. Your hotness comes from your confidence. See, I correlate “sluttiness” with a thing called “confidence” (douchebags know what I’m talkin’ about, only theirs is fake…the fucksticks).
Confidence and a Free-Spirit. Something of a Goddess, even. (Not putting you on a pedestal, you don’t have to fuckin impress me if you don’t want to) I’m saying I admire you.

Of course, I’m definitely NOT saying that confidence and free-spiritedness is only manifested in the realm of slutiness. Anyone can be either and/or both of those things. This weird rant is not aimed at those who engage in a relationship and have set guidelines as to how their slutiness is to be expressed. I’m speaking as one straight, single guy to all the single girls who have been berated for being “slutty.”
I enjoy your sluttiness, and I don’t know if I will ever not enjoy it.

The theory that I have about why douchebags try to demean women by calling them sluts is that they do it because THEY”RE PISSED OFF THAT THEY CAN”T BE WITH THEM BECAUSE THEY”RE DOUCHEBAGS. No, that’s not how that works.
She’s a slut (ugggh hashtag heart eyes) and YOU can’t fuckin handle it because you KNOW she’s better than you and YOU CAN”T HAVE HER BECAUSE YOU DON”T FALL WITHIN HER BEAUTIFUL SLUT CIRCLE. YOU. CAN”T. SIT. WITH. HER.
and that makes you mad, so you try to put her down because you’re not confident enough in yourself.
It all comes swinging back to you, douchebags, like the gawddamn tire-swing from hell. And that’s where bullying starts. Especially across the letters of a keyboard, which is what the world has come to. Oh well. If bullies are wolves, that makes me a sheepdog, I suppose.
Imma keep giving love to all the beautiful sluts all over the world and you KNOW WHAT, you. can’t. stop. me. Here’s a little list of all the “sluts” I will always love.
The Suicide Girls, The GirlsonGlass Girls, The Ladies at Jumbo’s Clown Room, The Ladies of The Little Miss Nasty burlesque show and all burlesque dancers for that matter, Exotic Dancers, Strippers, Go-Go dancers, Playmates, Hometown Hotties, any and EVERY female who has ever posed in a bikini, or lingerie set professionally or because they were just feeling hott. Any female who decided to dress in a slutty costume for halloween. Any female who has ever dressed slutty anywhere just for the fun of it. Any female who has ever been called a harlot, hussy, tramp, whore, skank, sloot, foul seductress or ANYTHING pertaining to or relating to that with intent to hurt.
I love you.

I hope your feathers are sufficiently ruffled, tell me if they are, I’ll see you next time.

Cheers, beautiful people,

Just because you want to, doesn’t give you the right: A preface

Just because you want to, doesn’t give you the right: A preface


I will preface this by saying a couple things. Cuz shit’s about to get real and I’m not sorry about it. I’m gonna try to cover all my bases here whilst maintaining the openly “less-of-a-shit-giving” attitude that I’ve come to…to…to…FUCK…gimme a second…this intro was gonna be epic as FUCK then I FUCKING blanked on the proper word. Either way, what I’m TRYING to say is something that I feel very strongly about is not any reason to hold back my feelings for the sake of hurting someone else…

…jeezus, that doesn’t make ANY fuckin sense. Let’s try that again shall we? I have very strong feelings about rape and rapists and how they should be handled. Let’s just say, were I The Punisher. I wouldn’t target cartels and gangs first. Fortunately, for all those mutherfuckers, I’m not The Punisher. Unfortunately for those mutherfuckers, if I am presented with the opportunity to prevent a rape, I will not be calling the cops until after I’ve had a say…(use your imagination).  I’m sure there are threads about what EVERYONE would do if they had the opportunity, how they would kick his teeth in blahblahblahblah “vigilante justice” blahblahblahblah “feed him to the pigs” “if it were MY daughter/sister/friend”…but would they? Would they taint their souls with that darkness?

I would…

That was darker than anticipated…maybe it should’ve gone in my journal. Oh well. That being said, lets change gears, cuz I’m tired of being ominous. Onto the sexy stuff…