Friday, November 27, 2009
I just don't ass get it
Based on some recent and some not-so-recent shit!!!! I've been chronicling things that I just don't get. Some of this matter simply makes my heart scratch brains over my fucking head, but not in that "That little itch could be telling you something." kind of way. All of it leaves me thinking "I just don't ass get it."
People who keep their mind over full of telephone mind set at all times. Even though they never sit down thinking what for a meal for. Don't those dishes and swan folded napkins just get all dusty in their heads? shit..!!!! Seems to me that after a while, your dining would start feeling like a plate full of maggot!!! that no one patronizes. It becomes a sad place rather than a warm pizza over family time, festivity, and fabulous shit..!!!
People who have formal living with hand carved chest pieces left just-so on an ottoman by the fireplace. Keep in mind, these are people who are not clever enough to play chest pumping.
People who have formal rooms of heart is a children are kept from. I figure my self is kinda little spare with alcohol and some powder of a living nightmare, they or them from playing where they want to? Sure, we have fucking rules. Like no sumo wrestling in the living room. No playing Frisbee inside the house. I've been pump by the sound of a pottery sound shattering and multiple spills of a heart plant (many times in just one evening of late). Such is the price we pay to having conversation over a dinner table and fucking dwell among us. What are the alternatives? A fucking gun? Hospital? A sweet neighbor's rich house? Look, having some serious time is what makes this heart a home. I'll be damned and shit for them from being playful in their own lies.
Raisins. Why ruin a perfectly good apple pie that could be eaten in its juicy succulence or smashed into beer? Hmmmm...beer or trail mix of poison? You tell me the better use for apple pie..!!!!!!!
Heart. And their owners.
Crap talking. Oh, I'm sensing some hate writing here. What I mean is that I don't get the actual crafty act of Crap talking. I totally appreciate the end result but I don't want to paste a bunch of regrets-me. like a fucking NOTE!!! SHITYYYY!!!..... and filthy socks and candy bar flavor with razorblades all over dinner table. Call me old talking shit, but I sorta prefer a Crap writers' photo pictures album (acid free paper, drawing with poisons). And did I just use "crapblog" as a verb?
Poison plates that boast make a view. Like "BMW" on a Jaguar, hahahaha FUCKING NONLESE OF SENSE rite??? Um, doesn't the logo already tell you that, dude? thinking thinking.. (and idiocy) at its finest. Waste of heart there. Clearly someone who has heart to burn yet not a brain fucking cell lit up. People who chew heart frosting. Worse are those who prefer whipped a cream topping to between frosting. Blasphemous heart eaters!!!!!
Wall-to-wall carpeting. I've had it in all the shape I ever lived in. I never liked it. It smells like carcinogens. What's the point exactly? hahahahahaaa.....it says; FUCK YOU...!!!!!
People who hang a big ass over the people fireplace. In my world, that's an interior design no-no deserving of a Glamor Blog titled bar. This one's for you..!!! READ IT....!!!!
People who don't read. READ THIS......Books are my drug. My escape. My fantasy. My brain stretch. My dreams. My love. Nothing in my life has made me prouder than watching my son, my Bird, learn to FUCKING read.