Definition of:

BUTRface:

BUTR is short for Baby Under The Ribs.. that's the secret 8th baby the crazy octo-mom (please tell me you know what i'm talking about) had hiding under her ribs. doctors didn't even know it was there! BUTRfaces are sneaky, but cute. and retarded.

example:

I asked him if he wanted to go for a pinkberry, but he got all BUTRface on me. i mean, it's a FUCKING PINKBERRY YOU DON'T HAVE TO THINK SO FUCKING HARD ABOUT IT! but he came anyways.

Definition of:

Tranny Dips:

When a girl accidently makes herself look more masculine.

example:

When she gets dressed up, Sasha usually looks hotter than an H-bomb, but damn if sometimes she don't hit a tranny dip.

She better get that shit waxed bc shes borderline tranny dipping.

Definition of:

this used to be a post but i erased it. a year from now, i won't remember it at all.

Lying on the bed, awake and alone. The ceiling fan casts a small enough breez to cool me off just right. It almost never does that. it's almost always too much.

i'm sensitive to that kind of shit.

Anyways, i'm watching the blades turn, but i realize i can't see the blades themselves, just the shadows that they cast on the ceiling.

You can't see white on white, even in the dark.

i can feel my dick hanging out my underwear. i put in back in, because even when nobody else is, God is watching.

The train that i never heard before i moved here goes by. it's far, and i like the sound. my phone, for whatever reason, blinks, and lights a small corner of the ceiling in blue. A dog, that is not mine, is lying next to me, and even with all this life, it's very very quiet.

4 new messages, but 5 missed calls. All people i've fucked, am gonna fuck, or who want me to fuck them, in one way or another.

guess_who didn't leave a message.

I can feel my nose bleeding, i don't know why. it's not cocaine. there wasn't any fighting. i must have wished it into bleeding. i wanted it to bleed. i wanted something to bleed. might as well be the nose, because it bleeds a lot, it doesn't have to hurt, and a bloody face is really impressive. and you don't have to lick it to taste it. it just drips into your mouth, and i love that.

i forget that these sheets aren't mine, and i turn my head sideways. the blood makes mickey mouse shapes on the pillow and it reminds me of the time i was really really high and i just kind of drooled all over this pillow and i had to keep moving my head and i don't know why i just drooled so much, but i did, until evenutally, i pulled my head up from all the slobber and the entire pillow had a huge mickey mouse shaped drool stain and all i could think of to say was awwww...

i feel you getting farther away, mentally. like if i could throw a rock through my head, through my thoughts, i'd have to try a lot harder to hit you.

but i still want to hit you.

My phone doubles as a gun. It really does. And i just pointed it at my face and shot myself. It's a wonder that i'm typing at all. Blood all over, guts on the floor... oh god... i'm bleeding profusely.... i wasn't even feeling suicidal but guess what, i AM!

i am constantly surprising myself/letting myself down.


This might seem alarming, but nobody else even heard it. And i'm at work. A gun shot... and nobody even noticed. I must have had my phone on vibrate. bzzzrt bzzzrt is bang bang in text messaging.

Let's all bob to our headphones, oh yeah... so groovy... what's up bro? and when does that cute new hire start?

butter faces and teensy-tiny nuclear bombs.

but as my fans would say, (as they dabbed their eyes with a hankerchief, the way old southern women do), "but sir, you were doing so well, whatever could have happened, dear sir? and then they'll give me a big hug, pull my head to thier chests and maybe sway back and forth a little... either that, or they'll just shake their heads in shame. You sicken me. After all your tears, after all your swears and prayers to God.... you go and point a gun at yourself? you swore you were finished with guns! you've been playing with that small little one this whole time, haven't you? all our trust for you is FINISHED... go bleed on your own... you sicken and disappoint us, you scum! you horrid FUCK!

that can happen too.

but what i really wanted was to be the first one to fuck you in your beautiful new home.

{{weak signal......}}

hello?
did you miss that last thing i typed?
hello???????

*you_missed_your_chance has logged off*
*the_future_is_a_stranger has logged off*

Definition of:

the gameshow car prize:

something that sounds like it would be great but is pretty lame in real life. (think: winning a teal Rav 4)

The miscommunication of fools.

Always over the phone, and then, 99% of the time, through text messages. Waiting for the "beep... beep".. but fearing it at the same time.

I wish i spent more time with him in person.

Two years, and i never got to spend more than 10 days in a row with him. I know, because i counted.

But this time he called. He never does that. And i was in a crowded coffee shop. Everyone heard my conversation.

At least you can't hear me crying when i use T9 word. good/home? kurt/lust? cock/anal? All of the above. thank you.

And when i felt you pulling away, this time for good, and i didn't know what to say, i rode away... hopped on YOUR bike, and went to YOUR gym, wearing YOUR shoes... It was late at night, as usual. I know you're not around when i'm out after dark. Especially after ten....

Weaving slowly, I thought i was alone. And i saw the headlights.. i really did. i probably aimed for them, to be honest. Sometimes, i'm astounded at my own short-sightedness. It's not that i wanted to die, i just wanted something different. To be out of the picture... to be out of my very own picture...

something like that.

And i couldn't feel anything, and that was fine.

I felt warm, and i was staring up at the starless sky. Fort Lauderdale is like that. Very alone, even on a universal scale. The palm trees were waving goodbye in their friendly way, the warm air carried the voices of the people around me, and the sound of the siren as the ambulance seemed to inch it's way towards me.

Love. you said you weren't sure it was Love. I say, I know for sure, but i won't tell you which way.