Friday, April 22, 2005

Poetry for Men

Let one thing be clear. I like women. I like all women. I like them small, round, lean, tall, fat, skinny, you name it, I like it. But most of all I like fullbreasted caucasians in their sexual prime. Now that I have carefully established the conviction in the readers mind that I am indeed a heterosexual, I think it is safe for me to confess that I love D.H. Lawrence.
My first introduction, with Lawrence was a copy of "Lady Chatterly's Lover", that secretly circulated in the dorm of my school. It wasn't so much that we boys were inclined to read great literature as much as that the book was the only wanking material that we had available. Little circles had been drawn around the page numbers where the Lady gets nekkid and most of the pages stuck together. I read it and I loved it. (In so many different ways.)
Almost a decade later, I was introduced to Lawrence's poetry, more or less by accident. This little fucker did the trick:

Self Pity

I never saw a wild thing
sorry for itself.
A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough
without ever having felt sorry for itself.

Reading that at the impressionable age where a boy turns into a man feels like getting a bucket full of Testosteron thrown in your face. Whomever wrote this be it man or woman had understood what it was to be a MAN. I was pleasantly surprised that the same guy who had nurtured my infantile sexual drive was now nurturing my budding manhood. (Okay..... that definitely reads "gay".)
On a side-note, the term MAN is grossly overused nowadays. We tend to call every person with a penis over the age of 16 a man nowadays. I don't want to give a lecture about what exactly a MAN is, so here's a little list of MEN: Hemmingway, Gandhi, that tiny dude who didn't back down last week when I threatened to punch him in the face, Ali Sina, Jesus and Theo van Gogh.
A little list of boys: "Chirac, Bin Laden, 50 cents, any guy with "DJ", "MC", "VJ" or "ICE" in his name, and the muzzie that killed Theo van Gogh."
That being said..... let's have another look at that safehouse of testosterone Lawrence:

To Women, As Far As I'm Concerned

The feelings I don't have I don't have.
The feelings I don't have, I won't say I have.
The felings you say you have, you don't have.
The feelings you would like us both to have, we
neither of us have.
The feelings people ought to have, they never have.
If people say they've got feelings, you may be pretty
sure they haven't got them
So if you want either of us to feel anything at all
you'd better abandon all idea of feelings altogether.

And so in closing, a little note to the woman that is giving me crap about wether or not she is my girl: Woman what the fuck do you expect me to do?

Beau Lotterman

In my spare time, when I am not busy fighting crime, or finding a cure for herpes, I like to chat to my friend Beau Lotterman. Beau, doesn't talk back, because for some reason Beau hates me, but that's okay with me. He being a great Hollywood actor and all.
Beau introduced me to Noni, who is also a great actress, I forgot her name but she likes shoplifting. I'm not really interested in her though, people tell me she never did porn anyway. Noni also doesn't like me because I called her a bitch. Which is not a very polite thing to do.



Beau with that bitch that showed her pussy in that other film with that dude who also played in "Wall Street".


Beau's tragedy is, that although he is kind of growing old now, he never had the chance to play a real role. (He was in the mask and in this film with Harrisson Ford with that gorgeous babe and that really cool bomb.) I mean a lead. Or a role that actually requires one to open ones mouth.
All that is going to change now. I have created an online petition to the Hollywood people to give Beau a real role. Please sign it.

--->the petition<---

Have a nice day.

Thursday, April 21, 2005

The pervert next door

Hold the press! I got great news! I just found out that there are three incredibly hot babes living just behind my house. This little nugget of joy in my otherwise bland life fell in my lap as I was cleaning a chicken in my kitchen. My mind wandered, my eye drifted and BINGO!!! Three gorgeous babes, suntanning in their backyard.
God loves me!!!!!!!! Oh God! I just had another look! And it's four! Four hot beautiful females just screaming to let them satisfy my voyeuristic needs! It's a goddamn babe-convention. Order another case of wanking cream.
Oh Lord, please let them be bi-sexual nymphomaniacs who want nothing other than a bald 35 year old geezer to complement their sexual quintet.
Thank you Lord for spring and summer! With the weather improving and the sun smiling down on us, they may even take their tops off.

I just realized. If I can see them. So can that fucked-up pervert next door. Who knows what kind of evil perverted fantasies that motherfucker is spawning as we speak. I bet he already has his binoculars out. Poor girls. If only they knew. I better keep an eye on things. Check on these girls every five minutes or so. If only they knew how lucky they are to have a friendly guarddog like me as their neighbour. I'm just that kind of a guy you know. I care about people.

Tuesday, April 19, 2005

Christ! Goddammit!

A couple of days ago, the doorbell rang. When I opened the Christ was standing there. Bleeding profusely from his groin. Before I could say anything he screamed in my face: “Where the fuck are my testicles?”
“I don’t know Lord! But if I find them, I might keep them for myself.”, I stammered.
And so it happened that I invited the the greatest lover of the universe inside and gave him some strong Turkish coffee. He moaned and bitched about the state of the world for a while, but that’s ok, I would have done the same thing if they had stolen my testicles.
When finally he went silent for a moment I asked: “Do you have any idea who might have taken your eh.... ehm.....”
“My balls?”, he said between sips, “Yeah.... those goddamn Christians did.”
“Are you sure it wasn’t the muslims?”, I ventured.
“Naaah! Those ididots took my heart and my conscience and put a block of ice in place. Made me out to be some homicidal maniac.”
He looked calmer now. A little puddle of blood was already forming on my floor, and Mickey was happily lapping away at it.
“Lord.......”, I said, already knowing I was gonna regret what I was about to say: “You can have mine.”
He looked at me pensively lifting Mickey into his lap: “Are they big enough? I mean will they enable me to still do my job when absolutely everyone hates me? Will they enable me to still tell my shit when absolutely noone seems to understand? Will they be able to make me the MAN that I was? I dun think so boy.”
Trying to be the bigger man, (which I wasn’t), I decided to let that slip. Mickey grinned at me showing a snout covered with holy blood, and I decided to remain silent.
For another hour or so the Lord bitched about St. Paul not having a clue, the Apocolypse being a practical joke gone haywire, the whole bible and church thing being a big mistake, and his utter astonishment at how people are willing to kill and die for ideologies that are supposed to free a man from ideologies.
When finally he got up and mentioned he had to leave, I was struck by his small stature, the wrinkled desert face and eyes that shone with an unearthly joy.
“Before I leave, do you need me to do a miracle or something? Heal something? I know you want a bigger penis.”
“I do?”, I stammered.
“I have to visit this washerwoman in Peru and infuse her.”, he said walking towards the door. Suddenly he turned around and said sternly: “With the holy spirit boy! And don’t forget I can read your mind.”
I watched him walk away from my house when suddenly I cried out: “Lord! Can I come with you?”
“You already did!”, I heard him shout from a great distance, “See ya later!”