Saturday, October 16
My uncle is over to talk to my dad about some shit that I couldn't even give a fuck about. He smells like cigarettes. He smells good.

While I was eating dinner with thy mother at the once puked on by me glass dining table, she was telling me of how it really really sucked to be on your period back in the day back in the old country. The pads back then were of this really crappy grainy faux cotton and what might feel soft to your hands, feels like sandpaper rubbing against your twat. Normally she'd ride a bike to school, but once after a pad gets filled with strawberries from your strawberry ice cream that comes out of your ass, the thing gets really stiff and hard and rough, like gravel rubbing against your twat. So, while riding on the bike, to ease the pain and annoyance, you'd have to lift your ass up off of the seat every once in a while, and no one wants to do that, especially if there's a stud riding just behind you. So whenever on her period and having to go to school in the morning, she'd be like, "Forget the bike, leave it home. I'll walk." The lesson today, children, is to be thankful for Kotex and Always. Especially Kotex, man.

Even you boys should be thankful, because you wouldn't want your woman to have a grainy scratched up pussy.

Yeah, my mother and I like to talk about awesome stuff when I haven't done something stupid and angered her volatile ass.

I think it was Tuesday night, that I saw a documentary on the History Channel called Sex in the 20th Century. Damn do I miss the '70s. When the free sex revolution was in full swing and everyone had sex anytime, anywhere, with anyone. No rape. Because everyone agreed to everyone and everything that was being done to them. Then came the '80s. When AIDS started killing all the happy sex fiends off and condoms and birth control and Trojan came into play. The '80s ended it. But that was the era of hair metal. Pretty much as much sex as there was in the '70s, but only for the cool people. Fuck, who cares about AIDS. No one wants to get old. Let AIDS do the suicide for you when you reach the age of 40.

Been thinking whether I should dress for Halloween or not. I haven't in years, years as in I can't remember when the last time I did was. The Sourgirl thing was a cool idea, but no one would be my hot sexy followers. I was thinking of Tommy Lee, puffing my hair and wearing that black leather sling shot thing. But sadly there are such things that are called censorship and sexual harassment. Or I could be Axl. Puff my hair, wear all that awesome stuff he does, and wear a t-shirt that says "PUSSY" across it.


Cautions For '80s Icon Halloween Costumes


1. Ridicule from grunge fanatics
2. Horrible wedgies to constipate you for weeks (no wonder Axl was so moody)
3. Risk of a match being thrown at your Aqua Net-drenched pompadour
4. Ending up looking like a hooker
5. Ending up looking like Peg Bundy
6. Ending up looking like Bret Michaels


In case you haven't noticed, there's another change in layout. Not much, but it's a change. I fucking love the picture. Really wish I had Photoshop so I could enlarge it and it won't end up looking pixelized and fucked up.

Adobe Photoshop Version 8.0 costs fucking 600 fucking dollars. It's not fair for creative people not to have such computer programs. It's like a painter who doesn't have paint. A Jimmy Page without a guitar. A whore without another body. A Larry Flynt without a wart.


Christina N. @ 7:58 PM