Charles Bukowski
So you want to be a writer.
if it doesn't come bursting out of you
in spite of everything,
don't do it.
unless it comes unasked out of your
heart and your mind and your mouth
and your gut,
don't do it.
if you have to sit for hours
staring at your computer screen
or hunched over your
typewriter
searching for words,
don't do it.
if you're doing it for money or
fame,
don't do it.
if you're doing it because you want
women in your bed,
don't do it.
if you have to sit there and
rewrite it again and again,
don't do it.
if it's hard work just thinking about doing it,
don't do it.
if you're trying to write like somebody
else,
forget about it.
if you have to wait for it to roar out of
you,
then wait patiently.
if it never does roar out of you,
do something else.
if you first have to read it to your wife
or your girlfriend or your boyfriend
or your parents or to anybody at all,
you're not ready.
don't be like so many writers,
don't be like so many thousands of
people who call themselves writers,
don't be dull and boring and
pretentious, don't be consumed with self-
love.
the libraries of the world have
yawned themselves to
sleep
over your kind.
don't add to that.
don't do it.
unless it comes out of
your soul like a rocket,
unless being still would
drive you to madness or
suicide or murder,
don't do it.
unless the sun inside you is
burning your gut,
don't do it.
when it is truly time,
and if you have been chosen,
it will do it by
itself and it will keep on doing it
until you die or it dies in you.
there is no other way.
and there never was.
Friday, March 11, 2011
Layout for Prose Poetry
Know that you won't have to worry about rules of form. Rhyme schemes, meter, stanza and line breaks don't apply.
Consider the structure of prose. Prose poems take the shape of paragraphs and contain sentences and sentences fragments.
Think about a time where you were struck by a particular image, how you came upon that image, how that image made you feel and what went through your mind when you saw it.
Write about that experience. Pay particular attention to describing the image and your emotions in detail. Use poetic devices like consonance, assonance, simile, metaphor, repetition and symbol. You can tell a story in your poem, but it comes second to the language (or how you tell the story).
Don't worry about correct punctuation right now. You may be writing a prose poem, but you still want to keep the effects of poetry. Sometimes correct punctuation can hurt the rhythm you've established. Your prose poem can contain sentence fragments and very long sentences.
Read over your prose poem. Take note of the language you've used. See if you can add more detail. Take note of the story or the thoughts you've expressed. See if anything needs to be added or revised.
See if you have an epiphany. Not all poems need epiphanies, but some really benefit from them. See if the poem's train of thought naturally leads to an epiphany or a closing thought or image to leave with the reader.
Consider the structure of prose. Prose poems take the shape of paragraphs and contain sentences and sentences fragments.
Think about a time where you were struck by a particular image, how you came upon that image, how that image made you feel and what went through your mind when you saw it.
Write about that experience. Pay particular attention to describing the image and your emotions in detail. Use poetic devices like consonance, assonance, simile, metaphor, repetition and symbol. You can tell a story in your poem, but it comes second to the language (or how you tell the story).
Don't worry about correct punctuation right now. You may be writing a prose poem, but you still want to keep the effects of poetry. Sometimes correct punctuation can hurt the rhythm you've established. Your prose poem can contain sentence fragments and very long sentences.
Read over your prose poem. Take note of the language you've used. See if you can add more detail. Take note of the story or the thoughts you've expressed. See if anything needs to be added or revised.
See if you have an epiphany. Not all poems need epiphanies, but some really benefit from them. See if the poem's train of thought naturally leads to an epiphany or a closing thought or image to leave with the reader.
Pantoum Poem
All the Wild Horses
Standing and watching
a part of the world pass
enjoying the beauties
of each peaceful day.
A part of the world passes
as we stand side by side
each peaceful day
so full of beauty and comfort.
As we stand side by side
eating the grain
so full of beauty and comfort
our minds and hearts at ease
Eating the grain
standing and watching
our minds and hearts at ease
enjoy the beauty.
Diamante Poem
It sure is beautiful here, isn't it? Look how drastically different this is; cold and warm at the same time. This is my entry for today.
Winter
Rainy, Cold
Skiing, Skating, Sledding
Mountains, Wind, Breeze, Ocean
Swimming, Surfing, Scuba Diving
Sunny, Hot
Summer
Tanka poem
Thunderclouds building
Gathering strength as they grow
Releasing themselves
Pouring life-giving torrents
Cleansing the world in shower
Who is a Poet?
A poet is somebody who feels, and who expresses his feelings through words.
This may sound easy. It isn’t.
A lot of people think or believe or know they feel—but that’s
thinking or believing or knowing; not feeling. And poetry is
feeling—not knowing or believing or thinking.
Almost anybody can learn to think or believe or know, but not a single
human being can be taught to feel. Why? Because whenever you think
or you believe or you know, you’re a lot of other people: but the
moment you feel, you’re nobody-but-yourself.
To be nobody-but-yourself—in a world which is doing its best, night
and day, to make you everybody else—means to fight the hardest
battle which any human being can fight; and never stop fighting.
As for expressing nobody-but-yourself in words, that means working
just a little harder than anybody who isn’t a poet can possible
imagine. Why? Because nothing is quite as easy as using words like
somebody else. We all of us do exactly this nearly all of the
time—and whenever we do it, we are not poets.
If, at the end of your first ten or fifteen years of fighting and
working and feeling, you find you’ve written one line of one poem,
you’ll be very lucky indeed.
And so my advice to all young people who wish to become poets is: do
something easy, like learning how to blow up the world—unless you’re
not only willing, but glad, to feel and work and fight till you die.
Does this sound dismal? It isn’t. It’s the most wonderful life on earth. Or so I feel.
What is Poetry
What is Poetry? A poem may appear to mean very different things to different readers, and all of these meanings may be different from what the author thought he meant. For instance, the author may have been writing some peculiar personal experience, which he saw quite unrelated to anything outside; yet for the reader the poem may become the expression of a general situation, as well as of some private experience of his own. The reader's interpretation may differ from the author's and be equally valid-- it may even be better. There may be much more in a poem than the author was aware of. The different interpretations may all be partial formulations of one thing; the ambiguities may be due to the fact that the poem means more, not less, than ordinary speech can communicate. T.S. Eliot
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Going Out With a Bang.
Lying on that fold out couch in the lower level of her family's tri-level home was something, actually, the only thing that the two of us could depend on every Friday night.
It never mattered if we wanted to be someplace else, or with somebody else, Friday nights were reserved for our "little sessions", as we jokingly named them.
She used to say that lying her head on my chest helped her to think. That somehow, hearing my ticker beat helped her to navigate through the thoughts and ideas that were crashing in her mind and to build a better realization of her own being.
(At times, I thought she was crazy. How could lying on a couch with me, sometimes without either of us saying a single word the entire night, help her in any way?)
But I guess I would consider myself crazy as well, because I'd tell her that having her beautiful bronze Puerto Rican cheek resting on my chest, with her toned left arm draped over my stomach and her left leg resting atop my left, helped me to visualize the songs that I was trying to write back then.
She and I met our freshman year in college. She was twenty, I, twenty-four. We both started our stints at college late, and both for the same reason; we both knew if we started at 18, we would have partied too hard and failed out.
We began our Friday night sessions a month after meeting and they continued until the week after graduation.
Those Friday nights, though I wouldn't change any of 'em for the world, were extremely hard for me at times. I had the sexiest girl I had ever met lying with me, with an extremely intoxicating aroma of whatever perfume it was that she used to wear. So many times I wanted to grab her to kiss her and profess my love. But, I never did. Nor will I ever get the chance to.
She moved to New York City the week after we graduated to take a job at a magazine. We had one last Friday together after we walked the aisle to grab our diplomas. She used to joke and call them, "the $100,000 pieces of paper that tell people we can tell a story".
That last Friday on the couch in her parents house was so different than the rest.
Usually as we lay on the couch we'd have conversations that covered everything from the war, the Cubs, story/song ideas, family, sex and whatever else might have came to mind.
But that Friday, that one last, magnificent Friday, the entire time we were on the couch, neither her, or I, spoke more than three words. I believe we didn't talk because we both knew that our time together would be coming to an end and neither wanted the goodbye to be more depressing than it was already going to be.
So we just cuddled up next to each other on that couch in her parent's big-empty house on Gracie Grove Street, listening to the beautiful music being played by the rain bouncing off the slab of concrete out the back door and the rolling thunder above.
And while I watched her eyes begin to shove tears down her face, I too, began to cry as I kissed her forehead. She pulled her head off of my chest and looked into my eyes with a smile as she got off from our comfortable cushion and walked back into her bedroom.
Minutes later, I heard the acoustic guitar being played from the speakers of her stereo and could hear her little bare feet dancing across the wooden floor behind me.
As I raised my head to see what she was doing, I was amazed. She stood before me, in the light of a few candles, and from time to time, the lightning that burst through the windows, with nothing on beside her black panties and her straight black hair covering her beautiful breasts. She stood motionless, one hand down toward her left hip, the other, touching her toned stomach. She looked so smooth, so sexy, so confident in what she was doing.
And when I stood at the side of the couch, and walked to her to ask what she was doing, before a single word escaped my mouth, she placed her middle and index fingers against my lips and shook her head, ever so slowly, from left to right.
(What was going on? Was the woman that I wanted for the last four years, the woman that I've never tried to do anything with for fear of losing the best friendship that I've ever had with a female, trying to tell me that she wanted me as bad as I wanted her? Was this to be the ending chapter of us? To go out with a bang?)
And as I stood in front of my angel, she lowered her fingers from my lips and pulled my shirt over my head, throwing it to the floor. She placed her tiny, delicate hands on my chest and slowly pushed me back down onto the couch/bed.
She looked directly into my eyes, a half smile forming with her gorgeous set of pouty kissers and began to unfasten my belt. From there, her fingers undid the button and unzipped my faded blue Levi’s. She slowly pulled them down, licking my stomach as she played with the top of the denim. She rested back on her knees and pulled my pants down past my thighs, my ankles, and let them fall to the floor.
I was a bit shocked, I had no idea that she wanted to do what it seemed we were about to do. I lie naked on the couch, with an absolute beauty on her knees before me. She slowly crept up our cushioned pad, stopping at my waist. She lowered her head and put me into her mouth.
Slowly, up and down, faster, in and out. She licked the head. She wrapped her hand around me, stroking up and down in unison with her lips. A little twist here, another there. Her long black hair tickled my stomach as it landed on my skin. With her other hand, she cupped the twins down below as she put her lips against my torso and me into her throat.
She took me out of her mouth and began to crawl up towards me. She placed a knee on both sides of my head and lowered the shaved spot down to my face.
My tongue licked her up, and then back down, in circles, zig-zags, faster, slower, plunging it into her, out of her. She leaned back and I could see her pulling her right nipple. As she did this, her left hand was behind her, stroking me. Her stomach began to pulsate. I could feel the moisture increase and warm up. She was getting close.
But before she got there, she scooted back down my body and put me into her. She squatted over me and slid up and down, ever so slowly. Her left hand on my chest, her right tickling her clit. She never looked so radiant. She moved up and down at the same tempo of the music on the stereo. It was timed perfectly.
She took me out of her and turned around on me. She raised her beautiful bum and put me back into the pleasantly plumb spot I desired.
Up, down, slow, fast, an almost rolling motion that I'd never experienced before and still, to this day, haven’t yet again. Her hands were on my shins and I could see the beautiful tattoo of angel wings across her back. Her black hair draped over her shoulders, onto her 36B chest. Her back was arcing, she was getting close.
She pulled away from me and backed into my face. She put me into her mouth to lick her. With my tongue tickling, I put a finger inside of her...then another. I could hear her moaning as she bobbed up and down. Her muzzled moans sounded sexier than anything I had ever heard before.
She pulled away from my face again and crawled onto her knees. I just stayed lying there. She looked back at me with a smile, and curled her finger up to me, telling me to come to her. I raised up from lying down and came up behind her.
I was aching by then. She had almost made my cum four different times by that point. I put my hands on her body and plunged into her anticipating area. She gasped for air as she reached back grabbing the backs of my thighs, pulling me deeper and harder into her. Her face went down into a pillow, her back was so arched you could have poured a gallon of water onto her perfect body and there wouldn’t have been a drop of it spilled.
She let out the loudest of her moans then. I could feel her pulsating much harder. I knew she was cumming. And I too, was just about to. I felt it coming on and began to slip out of her.
“Cum in me.”
Those were the only words that either of us said to that point. And though I knew better to cum in any of my partners, I couldn’t help myself. Just hearing her sexy voice saying those three words, made me cum so much harder.
We stayed lying on the couch for the rest of the night, without clothes and without words.
There were much prettier noises then our words would have made being played by the rain on the concrete slab out her back door anyway.
It never mattered if we wanted to be someplace else, or with somebody else, Friday nights were reserved for our "little sessions", as we jokingly named them.
She used to say that lying her head on my chest helped her to think. That somehow, hearing my ticker beat helped her to navigate through the thoughts and ideas that were crashing in her mind and to build a better realization of her own being.
(At times, I thought she was crazy. How could lying on a couch with me, sometimes without either of us saying a single word the entire night, help her in any way?)
But I guess I would consider myself crazy as well, because I'd tell her that having her beautiful bronze Puerto Rican cheek resting on my chest, with her toned left arm draped over my stomach and her left leg resting atop my left, helped me to visualize the songs that I was trying to write back then.
She and I met our freshman year in college. She was twenty, I, twenty-four. We both started our stints at college late, and both for the same reason; we both knew if we started at 18, we would have partied too hard and failed out.
We began our Friday night sessions a month after meeting and they continued until the week after graduation.
Those Friday nights, though I wouldn't change any of 'em for the world, were extremely hard for me at times. I had the sexiest girl I had ever met lying with me, with an extremely intoxicating aroma of whatever perfume it was that she used to wear. So many times I wanted to grab her to kiss her and profess my love. But, I never did. Nor will I ever get the chance to.
She moved to New York City the week after we graduated to take a job at a magazine. We had one last Friday together after we walked the aisle to grab our diplomas. She used to joke and call them, "the $100,000 pieces of paper that tell people we can tell a story".
That last Friday on the couch in her parents house was so different than the rest.
Usually as we lay on the couch we'd have conversations that covered everything from the war, the Cubs, story/song ideas, family, sex and whatever else might have came to mind.
But that Friday, that one last, magnificent Friday, the entire time we were on the couch, neither her, or I, spoke more than three words. I believe we didn't talk because we both knew that our time together would be coming to an end and neither wanted the goodbye to be more depressing than it was already going to be.
So we just cuddled up next to each other on that couch in her parent's big-empty house on Gracie Grove Street, listening to the beautiful music being played by the rain bouncing off the slab of concrete out the back door and the rolling thunder above.
And while I watched her eyes begin to shove tears down her face, I too, began to cry as I kissed her forehead. She pulled her head off of my chest and looked into my eyes with a smile as she got off from our comfortable cushion and walked back into her bedroom.
Minutes later, I heard the acoustic guitar being played from the speakers of her stereo and could hear her little bare feet dancing across the wooden floor behind me.
As I raised my head to see what she was doing, I was amazed. She stood before me, in the light of a few candles, and from time to time, the lightning that burst through the windows, with nothing on beside her black panties and her straight black hair covering her beautiful breasts. She stood motionless, one hand down toward her left hip, the other, touching her toned stomach. She looked so smooth, so sexy, so confident in what she was doing.
And when I stood at the side of the couch, and walked to her to ask what she was doing, before a single word escaped my mouth, she placed her middle and index fingers against my lips and shook her head, ever so slowly, from left to right.
(What was going on? Was the woman that I wanted for the last four years, the woman that I've never tried to do anything with for fear of losing the best friendship that I've ever had with a female, trying to tell me that she wanted me as bad as I wanted her? Was this to be the ending chapter of us? To go out with a bang?)
And as I stood in front of my angel, she lowered her fingers from my lips and pulled my shirt over my head, throwing it to the floor. She placed her tiny, delicate hands on my chest and slowly pushed me back down onto the couch/bed.
She looked directly into my eyes, a half smile forming with her gorgeous set of pouty kissers and began to unfasten my belt. From there, her fingers undid the button and unzipped my faded blue Levi’s. She slowly pulled them down, licking my stomach as she played with the top of the denim. She rested back on her knees and pulled my pants down past my thighs, my ankles, and let them fall to the floor.
I was a bit shocked, I had no idea that she wanted to do what it seemed we were about to do. I lie naked on the couch, with an absolute beauty on her knees before me. She slowly crept up our cushioned pad, stopping at my waist. She lowered her head and put me into her mouth.
Slowly, up and down, faster, in and out. She licked the head. She wrapped her hand around me, stroking up and down in unison with her lips. A little twist here, another there. Her long black hair tickled my stomach as it landed on my skin. With her other hand, she cupped the twins down below as she put her lips against my torso and me into her throat.
She took me out of her mouth and began to crawl up towards me. She placed a knee on both sides of my head and lowered the shaved spot down to my face.
My tongue licked her up, and then back down, in circles, zig-zags, faster, slower, plunging it into her, out of her. She leaned back and I could see her pulling her right nipple. As she did this, her left hand was behind her, stroking me. Her stomach began to pulsate. I could feel the moisture increase and warm up. She was getting close.
But before she got there, she scooted back down my body and put me into her. She squatted over me and slid up and down, ever so slowly. Her left hand on my chest, her right tickling her clit. She never looked so radiant. She moved up and down at the same tempo of the music on the stereo. It was timed perfectly.
She took me out of her and turned around on me. She raised her beautiful bum and put me back into the pleasantly plumb spot I desired.
Up, down, slow, fast, an almost rolling motion that I'd never experienced before and still, to this day, haven’t yet again. Her hands were on my shins and I could see the beautiful tattoo of angel wings across her back. Her black hair draped over her shoulders, onto her 36B chest. Her back was arcing, she was getting close.
She pulled away from me and backed into my face. She put me into her mouth to lick her. With my tongue tickling, I put a finger inside of her...then another. I could hear her moaning as she bobbed up and down. Her muzzled moans sounded sexier than anything I had ever heard before.
She pulled away from my face again and crawled onto her knees. I just stayed lying there. She looked back at me with a smile, and curled her finger up to me, telling me to come to her. I raised up from lying down and came up behind her.
I was aching by then. She had almost made my cum four different times by that point. I put my hands on her body and plunged into her anticipating area. She gasped for air as she reached back grabbing the backs of my thighs, pulling me deeper and harder into her. Her face went down into a pillow, her back was so arched you could have poured a gallon of water onto her perfect body and there wouldn’t have been a drop of it spilled.
She let out the loudest of her moans then. I could feel her pulsating much harder. I knew she was cumming. And I too, was just about to. I felt it coming on and began to slip out of her.
“Cum in me.”
Those were the only words that either of us said to that point. And though I knew better to cum in any of my partners, I couldn’t help myself. Just hearing her sexy voice saying those three words, made me cum so much harder.
We stayed lying on the couch for the rest of the night, without clothes and without words.
There were much prettier noises then our words would have made being played by the rain on the concrete slab out her back door anyway.
Friday, January 14, 2011
Just One Love Left
The smoke passing over the scars on the inside of my throat from the tracheotomy 11 years ago feels somewhat chunky tonight. Almost feels like the raised portion of flesh has grown larger over the years.
My heart is beating abnormally, as usual, but tonight, somehow it's a soothing beat that my ticker is kickin'.
But I ain't got no reason why. I haven't had a reason for a soothing beat for quite a few years.
My mind, scrambled like the eggs I had for breakfast, and just as confused as usual, for some reason, is beginning to make sense of the crazy thoughts and ideas I've manifested and I can see the life I've been livin' these past ocho ano's ain't really the exact way I envisioned the life I wanted to live. But I keep livin' it as is.
The collectors of light that are the front of my face have grown weary and they're beginning to miss things. Maybe they're missing things because I wouldn't be able to handle or accept those things if I did see them?
The noises whispering into my ears are muffled, almost scuffed by, what it seems, some sort of blockage device placed over the inner tubes. Maybe I'm just gettin' old. Maybe I don't wanna hear 'em.
But my fingers still find the places they need to be. And my hands hold my baby tightly. I don't need to see you, to know you're there, baby. Nor do I need to hear you, to know the same. If my mind were clean and stable, I would've never fallen in love with you oh so many moons ago.
You've got nothing to worry about my love. I'll place you in your case to protect you and carry you home soon enough.
Useless information that could be useful someday.
As a kid, I wanted to know the exact number of licks it took to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop. Repeatedly, I failed to find out by always biting the damn things. Now, as I near my 33rd birthday, I have concluded it takes 172.18 licks to get to the center of a Tootsie Roll Tootsie Pop.
Something which might keep me, and maybe you, from sleeping tonight and every other night for the rest of our lives: On average, a person will eat 6 roaches while sleeping throughout their life.
Hallmark makes cards for 105 different relationships: I love you cards. I miss you cards. Thank you and I’m sorry cards. But, of this entire list of cards, I have never found the one that reads, “Hey, thanks for last night, now get the hell outta my house.”
The butt muscle is the biggest muscle in the human body. The tongue muscle is the strongest.
You ever wonder why some people from Mexico try to sneak into America and live here? It could be for job opportunities or it could be for a better way of life, or, it could be because Mexico City is sinking, on average, 10 inches every year.
When you go out to eat at a Chinese restaurant, or any other type of oriental joint, you always receive a fortune cookie to enjoy at the end of the meal. I often wonder, as I devour the crumbly little things, how somebody can read my fortune without ever meeting me. I also wonder what smart Chinaman is putting all of the fortunes in the cookies. So I did some research and found that fortune cookies were invented by Charles Jung, an AMERICAN, in 1918.
This is for all the people who don’t believe humans were once apes in the jungles: a female birth control pill can, and will, work for a female ape if she takes it every day for a month.
The screwdriver was invented before the screw. What the hell did they use them for before they had screws?
Does your wife think that she is retaining water? Tell her she’s lucky she's not a jelly fish. Their bodies are made of 95% H2O.
All but one woman who I've dated can officially be called a Starfish. Starfish have no hearts.
Abraham Lincoln was born in 1808. John F. Kennedy was born in 1908. Lincoln became president in 1860. JFK became president in 1960. They were both killed on Fridays. Booth, whom shot Lincoln, was born in 1839. Oswald, whom shot JFK, was born in 1939. Lincoln's personal assistants last name was Kennedy and Kennedy's personal assistants last name was Lincoln. The names of the presidents elected after Lincoln and Kennedy were both Johnson's.
A ducks quack does not echo and nobody knows why not.
“The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog”, uses every letter in the American alphabet.
111,111,111 X 111,111,111= 12,345,678,987,654,321.
If you have 3 quarters, 4 dimes, and 4 pennies, you have $1.19. You also have the largest amount of money in coins without being able to make change for a dollar.
Reno, Nevada (in the desert)is West of Los Angeles, California (on the Pacific coast).
85% of men don’t use the slit in their underwear when using the bathroom.
Anything with a Superman logo (poster, coffee cup, figurine) can be found in every Seinfeld episode ever filmed.
Statues in parks with a person on a horse that has both front legs in the air means the person depicted on the horse died in battle; if the horse has one front leg in the air, the person died as a result of wounds received in battle; if the horse has all four legs on the ground, the person died of natural causes.
The word “samba" means “to rub navels together.”
The only difference between CBS’s “60 Minutes” and all of the other news shows on TV is that it has no theme song.
The bullet proof vest, the fire escape, windshield wipers and laser printers were all invented by women.
85% of men that die while having sex are screwing a woman other than their wife when it happens.
Fred and Wilma Flintstone were the first couple shown on television in bed together.
A rat can live longer without water than a camel can.
A female ferret, that is in heat, will die if it doesn’t find a mate.
Charlie Chaplin once was awarded 3rd place in a Charlie Chaplin look-alike contest.
Something which might keep me, and maybe you, from sleeping tonight and every other night for the rest of our lives: On average, a person will eat 6 roaches while sleeping throughout their life.
Hallmark makes cards for 105 different relationships: I love you cards. I miss you cards. Thank you and I’m sorry cards. But, of this entire list of cards, I have never found the one that reads, “Hey, thanks for last night, now get the hell outta my house.”
The butt muscle is the biggest muscle in the human body. The tongue muscle is the strongest.
You ever wonder why some people from Mexico try to sneak into America and live here? It could be for job opportunities or it could be for a better way of life, or, it could be because Mexico City is sinking, on average, 10 inches every year.
When you go out to eat at a Chinese restaurant, or any other type of oriental joint, you always receive a fortune cookie to enjoy at the end of the meal. I often wonder, as I devour the crumbly little things, how somebody can read my fortune without ever meeting me. I also wonder what smart Chinaman is putting all of the fortunes in the cookies. So I did some research and found that fortune cookies were invented by Charles Jung, an AMERICAN, in 1918.
This is for all the people who don’t believe humans were once apes in the jungles: a female birth control pill can, and will, work for a female ape if she takes it every day for a month.
The screwdriver was invented before the screw. What the hell did they use them for before they had screws?
Does your wife think that she is retaining water? Tell her she’s lucky she's not a jelly fish. Their bodies are made of 95% H2O.
All but one woman who I've dated can officially be called a Starfish. Starfish have no hearts.
Abraham Lincoln was born in 1808. John F. Kennedy was born in 1908. Lincoln became president in 1860. JFK became president in 1960. They were both killed on Fridays. Booth, whom shot Lincoln, was born in 1839. Oswald, whom shot JFK, was born in 1939. Lincoln's personal assistants last name was Kennedy and Kennedy's personal assistants last name was Lincoln. The names of the presidents elected after Lincoln and Kennedy were both Johnson's.
A ducks quack does not echo and nobody knows why not.
“The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog”, uses every letter in the American alphabet.
111,111,111 X 111,111,111= 12,345,678,987,654,321.
If you have 3 quarters, 4 dimes, and 4 pennies, you have $1.19. You also have the largest amount of money in coins without being able to make change for a dollar.
Reno, Nevada (in the desert)is West of Los Angeles, California (on the Pacific coast).
85% of men don’t use the slit in their underwear when using the bathroom.
Anything with a Superman logo (poster, coffee cup, figurine) can be found in every Seinfeld episode ever filmed.
Statues in parks with a person on a horse that has both front legs in the air means the person depicted on the horse died in battle; if the horse has one front leg in the air, the person died as a result of wounds received in battle; if the horse has all four legs on the ground, the person died of natural causes.
The word “samba" means “to rub navels together.”
The only difference between CBS’s “60 Minutes” and all of the other news shows on TV is that it has no theme song.
The bullet proof vest, the fire escape, windshield wipers and laser printers were all invented by women.
85% of men that die while having sex are screwing a woman other than their wife when it happens.
Fred and Wilma Flintstone were the first couple shown on television in bed together.
A rat can live longer without water than a camel can.
A female ferret, that is in heat, will die if it doesn’t find a mate.
Charlie Chaplin once was awarded 3rd place in a Charlie Chaplin look-alike contest.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Some Advice For You. And You, Too.
As you go through life, remember you only get one shot at it so...
Take some chances.
Speak the truth.
Date someone totally wrong for you.
Say no.
Spend all your cash.
Fall in love.
Get to know someone completely not like you.
From time to time, be someone completely not like you.
Say I love you.
Mean it when you say it.
Laugh at a stupid joke.
Tell a stupid joke.
Cry.
Get revenge.
Apologize.
Forgive somebody. Even if they didn't ask to be forgiven.
Tell someone how much they mean to you.
Tell an asshole how you feel.
Let someone know what they're missing.
Let someone see what they're missing.
Make someone feel what they're missing.
Laugh until your stomach hurts.
And just live your life.
Take some chances.
Speak the truth.
Date someone totally wrong for you.
Say no.
Spend all your cash.
Fall in love.
Get to know someone completely not like you.
From time to time, be someone completely not like you.
Say I love you.
Mean it when you say it.
Laugh at a stupid joke.
Tell a stupid joke.
Cry.
Get revenge.
Apologize.
Forgive somebody. Even if they didn't ask to be forgiven.
Tell someone how much they mean to you.
Tell an asshole how you feel.
Let someone know what they're missing.
Let someone see what they're missing.
Make someone feel what they're missing.
Laugh until your stomach hurts.
And just live your life.
Sunday, January 9, 2011
My New Favorite Sports Reporter: Part 2
someday, maybe...today, it's not happening.
someday, maybe....
...i'll have the dedication needed to write a worthwhile story. a story to grab all who read it by the throats, twisting, turning, pulling and knocking the living shit out of all...
...from this assault, each person will tell others to be alert and to be on the look out. but the naive fools who have been warned will search, read my stories and they themselves, will be the idiots lying lifeless on floors, gasping for air, as their dogs scamper out the back doors of their suburban homes to piss on the rose bushes...
...but, wouldn't you know i just ain't ready yet. when i finally , it'll bust outta me without warning, without fear and without hesitation because it was ready for me to put it on paper, but...
today, it's not happening.
...i'll have the dedication needed to write a worthwhile story. a story to grab all who read it by the throats, twisting, turning, pulling and knocking the living shit out of all...
...from this assault, each person will tell others to be alert and to be on the look out. but the naive fools who have been warned will search, read my stories and they themselves, will be the idiots lying lifeless on floors, gasping for air, as their dogs scamper out the back doors of their suburban homes to piss on the rose bushes...
...but, wouldn't you know i just ain't ready yet. when i finally , it'll bust outta me without warning, without fear and without hesitation because it was ready for me to put it on paper, but...
today, it's not happening.
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Randoms of the day
A collection of random thoughts and ideas.
Cinderella, she seems so easy. "It takes one to know one," she smiles. And puts her hands in her back pockets, Bette Davis style.
The Sicilian Belly dancer.
If a tree falls in the woods and nobody is around to hear it, does a person still get naked to stand on their head?
Only your imagination.
babble, babble...bitch, bitch...rebel, rebel...party, party...and do not forget the violence.
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
Top 10 Big Lembowski Ideas on Life
Football. Check. Baseball. Check. Hockey. Check. Bowling. Uh.......check.
Years ago, when I wasn't too busy ruining the credibility of a sports blog I used to write for, I wanted to be a bowler. As a kid, I was decent at killin' the pins. As a teen, I was a lil' better. And now as an adult, the only thing I worry about while bowling is where I parked my car and who it is that's with my ex a couple two-tree lanes down from me. But if I were "The Dude", I wouldn't have a care in the World, now would I? To have everything in my life so understandable, with people always there to help me up when I fall and point me in the right direction wouldn't be too bad of a thing either. Perhaps this film is more than a funny movie about a Dude and his rug? Maybe the point of the film was how to live a life? And for those of you who can't, won't or don't accept the fact that bowling is a sport, well, I'll let Walter deal with you later.
These are My Top Ten moments of The Big Lebowski.
10. Every Dude
Dude, could you only imagine how, like, easy it would be, dude, to call everybody that you knew, dude? Dude, you would never have a problem remembering any dudes, or dudettes, names, dude. It would be awesome, dude.
9. The scary guy everybody wonders about.
We've all seen him. The one cat who everybody is scared to talk to because he appears to be a little different. Or a lot different. And then it's a good thing you didn't talk to him.
8.The friends who are always there for you.
We've all got these guys in our lives. The ones who'll bust your ass every chance they get, but when it really comes down to it, they'll be the guy who is standing next to you before, during and after a fight breaks out.
7. The guy who thinks he's better than you.
Come on, no matter how good we were, or still are, at anything, there will always be the one douche bag who feels he is better than you on his worst day. Cock suckers.
6. Everybody has those weird feelings
The weird feeling that somebody is watching you, or following you through the store or some other crazy shit like that.
5. The hot girl
We've all seen her. The smoking hot beauty waiting in line in front of us at the store. Or in the car next to us at the red light. And we've all wished the girl would say something along the lines of what Bunny says in the movie. But, all we get is "Are you looking at my tits, asshole?" Making us learn we should always wear sunglasses.
4. The old smart guy
And all of us have, or have had, this guy in our lives. Could have been your dad, you uncle, a buddies dad or the weird guy who lived behind your house growing up. These old cats always know what's best for us, so shut up and listen.
3. Challenges
We'll face many throughout our lives, some harder than others to deal with. Whatever the case, don't back down from a thing, especially guys like Jesus.
2. Remember the rules
Always, in life and in sport, play by the rules. Cheating ain't worth it because 20 years down the road, when you look at the pictures of you getting the state championship medal placed around your neck, you'll remember that you should have lost that championship match, but ya' didn't 'cause you're a cheating shit bag.
1. Always remember who you are
No matter how good you get at anything, remember that you didn't go it alone. There have always been people who pushed you when you stopped (Mom and Dad), those who laughed when you lost and made you so pissed you worked much harder and got much better just to beat their ass (Egglund) and convinced you to do whatever it was you loved. (You know who you are.)
Years ago, when I wasn't too busy ruining the credibility of a sports blog I used to write for, I wanted to be a bowler. As a kid, I was decent at killin' the pins. As a teen, I was a lil' better. And now as an adult, the only thing I worry about while bowling is where I parked my car and who it is that's with my ex a couple two-tree lanes down from me. But if I were "The Dude", I wouldn't have a care in the World, now would I? To have everything in my life so understandable, with people always there to help me up when I fall and point me in the right direction wouldn't be too bad of a thing either. Perhaps this film is more than a funny movie about a Dude and his rug? Maybe the point of the film was how to live a life? And for those of you who can't, won't or don't accept the fact that bowling is a sport, well, I'll let Walter deal with you later.
These are My Top Ten moments of The Big Lebowski.
10. Every Dude
Dude, could you only imagine how, like, easy it would be, dude, to call everybody that you knew, dude? Dude, you would never have a problem remembering any dudes, or dudettes, names, dude. It would be awesome, dude.
9. The scary guy everybody wonders about.
We've all seen him. The one cat who everybody is scared to talk to because he appears to be a little different. Or a lot different. And then it's a good thing you didn't talk to him.
8.The friends who are always there for you.
We've all got these guys in our lives. The ones who'll bust your ass every chance they get, but when it really comes down to it, they'll be the guy who is standing next to you before, during and after a fight breaks out.
7. The guy who thinks he's better than you.
Come on, no matter how good we were, or still are, at anything, there will always be the one douche bag who feels he is better than you on his worst day. Cock suckers.
6. Everybody has those weird feelings
The weird feeling that somebody is watching you, or following you through the store or some other crazy shit like that.
5. The hot girl
We've all seen her. The smoking hot beauty waiting in line in front of us at the store. Or in the car next to us at the red light. And we've all wished the girl would say something along the lines of what Bunny says in the movie. But, all we get is "Are you looking at my tits, asshole?" Making us learn we should always wear sunglasses.
4. The old smart guy
And all of us have, or have had, this guy in our lives. Could have been your dad, you uncle, a buddies dad or the weird guy who lived behind your house growing up. These old cats always know what's best for us, so shut up and listen.
3. Challenges
We'll face many throughout our lives, some harder than others to deal with. Whatever the case, don't back down from a thing, especially guys like Jesus.
2. Remember the rules
Always, in life and in sport, play by the rules. Cheating ain't worth it because 20 years down the road, when you look at the pictures of you getting the state championship medal placed around your neck, you'll remember that you should have lost that championship match, but ya' didn't 'cause you're a cheating shit bag.
1. Always remember who you are
No matter how good you get at anything, remember that you didn't go it alone. There have always been people who pushed you when you stopped (Mom and Dad), those who laughed when you lost and made you so pissed you worked much harder and got much better just to beat their ass (Egglund) and convinced you to do whatever it was you loved. (You know who you are.)
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