Kevin's Random Thoughts
Monday, July 26, 2004
Someone just tell me what to do...
My friend Ken (who is an inspiration to me in more ways than even *I* realise) once told me his goal in life was to marry a rich, older woman. Then he wouldn't need a job and just spend his days working out and being a sex toy. That's life. I'd go to the gym a Helluva lot more often if I didn't work. And sex is nifty.
But back to my point, someone just tell me what to do with my life. I'm tired of trying to figure it out. Nothing seems to work, and I quit easy (as I'll demonstrate later on). Someone decide for me, and make sure I get laid while I'm at it.
I talk about sex a lot. I used to be very conservative with sex talk. I used to only swear when I was mad, too. Fuck, I'm horny.
[Haiku]
I see you are here.
I don't care if you are queer.
Just get me a beer.
[/Haiku]
So I did it. I drank last night for the first time in sex weeks. Regrets? Nope. Was it a Helluvalottafun? Not really, but it wasn't bad. I didn't do anything perticularly stupid. I didn't do anything perticular of note, either. I was let down, though. There are certain people I only usually see within the bar setting. I ran into them, but the fact they haven't seen me in six weeks really didn't seem to faze them. It was "Hey" as usual.
I had (a) crazy dream(s) last night. I'm at strip club with combination of people I know in real life, and people my mind made up for the sake of the dream. There was a huge, black stripper that would let me fuck her for $20. I (not so politely) refused. So one of the guys I was with paid her the $20 for me. She was trying to get all over me and I was fighting her off. Then we left the club. Some little Eminem wannabe bitch then came out screaming at me for trying to fuck his girlfriend (the fat stripper). He threw a punch at me, but I moved and then tried to talk him down. I told him she was doing it for money, which he thought was ok as long we paid the full amount, which was $60. Someone said I only paid $50 to get him going again, so the guy who paid the original $20 gave the dude another $20 so he would leave us alone. Then we left.
So I started walking home. I've had a lot of dreams where I walk home on the Salisbury Rd. It's a recurring dream, actually. So I'm walking home and along the way I see the store my Uncle Barry used to own (but sold like 12 years ago. It's also on the old Trans Canada in Lepreau.) There was a huge dirt pile behind the store, so I climbed up it and onto the roof. From the there I was many cop cards driving by or pulling into the parking lot, talking to each other, then driving off. Finally, one spotted me on the roof and a half dozen cops pulled their guns on me and ordered me to jump down. It looked really high, but when I jumped it was like just a step. Then the cops threw me inside the abandoned store and stripped me naked. Then some female (does that matter?) cop put on a rubber glove and gave me a cavity search for drugs. Instead she said she found gun powder, which I vehemently protested. Then my parents came with clothes for me. Then all the guys from the strip club showed up. Then they left.
I think I had another dream after, but the only thing I can remember is I started shitting ground beef, which was caused by the earlier cavity search.
Wow, this post had nothing to do with wrestling, which was my original intention. Stream of consciousness rocks! But I'm tried of typing now.
I need an answer.
My friend Ken (who is an inspiration to me in more ways than even *I* realise) once told me his goal in life was to marry a rich, older woman. Then he wouldn't need a job and just spend his days working out and being a sex toy. That's life. I'd go to the gym a Helluva lot more often if I didn't work. And sex is nifty.
But back to my point, someone just tell me what to do with my life. I'm tired of trying to figure it out. Nothing seems to work, and I quit easy (as I'll demonstrate later on). Someone decide for me, and make sure I get laid while I'm at it.
I talk about sex a lot. I used to be very conservative with sex talk. I used to only swear when I was mad, too. Fuck, I'm horny.
[Haiku]
I see you are here.
I don't care if you are queer.
Just get me a beer.
[/Haiku]
So I did it. I drank last night for the first time in sex weeks. Regrets? Nope. Was it a Helluvalottafun? Not really, but it wasn't bad. I didn't do anything perticularly stupid. I didn't do anything perticular of note, either. I was let down, though. There are certain people I only usually see within the bar setting. I ran into them, but the fact they haven't seen me in six weeks really didn't seem to faze them. It was "Hey" as usual.
I had (a) crazy dream(s) last night. I'm at strip club with combination of people I know in real life, and people my mind made up for the sake of the dream. There was a huge, black stripper that would let me fuck her for $20. I (not so politely) refused. So one of the guys I was with paid her the $20 for me. She was trying to get all over me and I was fighting her off. Then we left the club. Some little Eminem wannabe bitch then came out screaming at me for trying to fuck his girlfriend (the fat stripper). He threw a punch at me, but I moved and then tried to talk him down. I told him she was doing it for money, which he thought was ok as long we paid the full amount, which was $60. Someone said I only paid $50 to get him going again, so the guy who paid the original $20 gave the dude another $20 so he would leave us alone. Then we left.
So I started walking home. I've had a lot of dreams where I walk home on the Salisbury Rd. It's a recurring dream, actually. So I'm walking home and along the way I see the store my Uncle Barry used to own (but sold like 12 years ago. It's also on the old Trans Canada in Lepreau.) There was a huge dirt pile behind the store, so I climbed up it and onto the roof. From the there I was many cop cards driving by or pulling into the parking lot, talking to each other, then driving off. Finally, one spotted me on the roof and a half dozen cops pulled their guns on me and ordered me to jump down. It looked really high, but when I jumped it was like just a step. Then the cops threw me inside the abandoned store and stripped me naked. Then some female (does that matter?) cop put on a rubber glove and gave me a cavity search for drugs. Instead she said she found gun powder, which I vehemently protested. Then my parents came with clothes for me. Then all the guys from the strip club showed up. Then they left.
I think I had another dream after, but the only thing I can remember is I started shitting ground beef, which was caused by the earlier cavity search.
Wow, this post had nothing to do with wrestling, which was my original intention. Stream of consciousness rocks! But I'm tried of typing now.
I need an answer.
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