this is the electric version

maybe I’ve been avoiding writing or something.
always with the “or somethings”. its stupid.

as. So many things are. but thats not what we’re here to talk about it is it, diary? no. its not. Because if we attempted to discuss THAT we’d be here until, you no, something happened that would make us stop. like an earthquake. or hunger.

at work I accomplish the most menial of tasks. I ticket items mostly. Take out the trash. Sweep. I could BE at work or NOT BE at work and it would really make no difference in the goings on of that place. An autistic child could surely do what I do for a living and maybe even put more pep into it. But I dont care. Cause why measure your worth based on your day job, right? Right.

Today I went to the grocery store. Yes, that’s right. How generic. I went there for items to prepare a dip to bring with us on our trip to Lake Canyon tomorrow to celebrate “easter” though we are not at celebrating “easter” or the resurrection of fucking jesus christ or whateverthefuck, we are going because everyone has the day off and I hear theres going to be pina coladas. I agreed to make this dip in hopes of feeling not completely worthless since the girlfriend and sous chef Radames are taking care of all food needs. but fuck. they are chefs. and their dip would probably be better than mine anyway.

so then. I’m at the store right and I get this hot flash and then there are sirens and the next thing I remember I am in this dark cave running from this giant fiery creature and I am like “frodo run!”

no, really the grocery store makes me crazy especially since its the day before easter so everyone is like “oohhh we love god” and shit. and they will stand their cart in front of me in the center of the aisle why they search for that specific brand they’ve been loyal to since their daughter married that nigger who knew all that stuff ’bout cookin’.

if I dont make sense its cause you dont makes sense. get it?

In the parking lot I saw a bumper sticker that said “ABORTION: THE ULTIMATE CHILD ABUSE”. and I thought, I should get pregnant just to abort and then save the aborted fetuses and leave them on the prolifer’s cars and homes. my women in society teacher calls that an “original form of activism”.

so I bought some stuff for this avocado onion dip thing that ended up sort of watery and bland. but hey. the point is I made a dip. and if it was a good dip maybe I’d be proud. but really I’m just a bitter, self indulgent fuckup so feeling proud only happens with each flip of my bushy tail. there is sense where none lies like a rug for four hours and its only divisible by eight.

the dishwasher is loud.

prolifer is kinda like the word proliferate do not allow prolifers to proliferate

there is a house around here in front of it sits a car sporting a bumpersticker with an image of a restroomsign man and restroomsign woman and between them is a plus sign so its like man + woman = marriage. funny thing is that they have a retarded son aaand maybe if marriage wasnt so confined thered be fewer retarded, bastard children. just a thought maybe

I still think your job is a good one. menial or not. funny about the autistic child putting more pep into it, though. So was the dishwasher comment. funny, I mean. You go on outings with friends and eat good food. You have the good life. Davo

heylo. im leaving a note, cuz i find u awesome, and im also deathly bored. so, byebye, and go kill some religious yuppies while ur out drinking pina coladas and celebrating out lord’s reseruction (ugh, cant spell for shyt) ~much love puppy <333

it’s good that you got a bad cracjerjack. don’t eat cracker jack if you can avoid it, it will ruin your life. eat well and ye shall be eaten well. but it’s a wise child that blows nobody good. yea, amen. Davo PS is that a picture of you amongst the food on your diary contents? It’s exactly how I imagined you.

I used to write stories to masturbate to, too. I remember when I discovered that you could give things a sort of semi-pseudo-quasi-reality just by writing them. I think writing erotica can a very intense form of self-foreplay. Im sure some of the stories would look silly to me now, but they worked at the time. If I could draw, I guess I would have drawn pictures, too, but I couldnt Davo

Id love to see an erotic story written only for yourself, that would be like pure essence of erotica. which brings up a whole interesting genre… things written for nobody but yourself. I wonder how much that is done? Im not just talking about autoerotication, I know people who have said they wrote letters never intended to be sent. I should mention that in an entry, see what people say. Davo

didn’t you talk about graham crackers recently? I just read that Graham invented them to reduce sexual desire. It’s apparently true: http://www.straightdope.com/classics/a2_053.html Odd. Davo

You know, I’m always tempted to do that same sort of thing whenever I get into conversations with people who are all like SAVE THE BABIES. I want to tell them, “Actually, I’ve had an abortion before. Several. I like to get pregnant and then terminate it just for fun. Man, talk about a pickup of an otherwise boring Sunday afternoon!”