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08:52pm 19/05/2003
 




Isn't this a delightful surprise. I proudly announce with great pleasure, that I have successfully grown chest hair. Awfully macho of me, don't you think! A single strand has risen between the deflated mounds of flesh which presently masquerade as my breasts. Here nestled in the shallow valley of my cleavage, is a follicle of strength and courage. The tiny miracle stretches roughly two inches from root to tip. Grow my little chickadee, and spread your gospel to surrounding shafts. In view of this milestone achievement, I have also decided to sprout a beard. Certainly a substantial amount of facial bristle will make me more appealing to the opposite sex. What man could resist the rugged scruffy chin of a young girl? Fortunately, a nice thick mustache has already taken shape along my upper lip. With a tad more conscious effort, and possibly a light spritz of rogaine, I could blossom into the brawny lumberjack all men dream of mounting. Just look at herCollapse ).
 
     

(+) man.. or astroman?

 
   
08:09am 16/05/2003
 
In Loving Memory of Honeybunny.</i>


courtesy of lomography.com
August 23, 1997 - May 16, 2001


May 16, 2001. Did the laundry today. Ignored the prominent signs that distinctly state no plastic or rubber in the machines, and threw my sneakers into the wash. Justified my actions by telling myself, 'aside from the rubber sole it's cloth. everythang will be alright'. But as luck would have it, I've now lost a shoelace. that's my miserable karma. I couldn't find it anywhere in the cursed laundromat. And as trifling a matter this may be, I'm really distraught over my baby's sudden disappearance. Mind you, we're not discussing any ordinary shoe string here. Honeybunny was special. Little precious was the exact same color as my sneaks, a magical brownishbluish hue. And had been aged and worn with time, like a fine wine. Oh, the roads we've walked together. Christ, I've been such a fool. You never know a good thing until it's gone. If I could send a message out to my estranged shoelace, it would be that I love you and baby I want you to come home. I went to Brunching Shuttlecocks and tried to vent on an old device called the alanis lyric generator. As much as I hate morisette or online fill in the blank gizmos. I was shocked to find the song created for me, accurately expressed my sorrow. Here's a tidbit of it.


~~~
"Will to Live"

I feel miserable
Washing machines make me ill
I feel miserable
Laundromats tear at my foundations
I feel miserable
Strings are dragging me down to the depths of misery.
I want to die.

Is it because of the lost shoelace that I feel this way?
With the black rays of misery pounding on my brain?
Or am I lost in tale of rimbaud, adrift far from home
I don't think so, I don't think so.

Rain rot the flesh from my bones
I feel miserable
Broken tvs defeat my purpose
I feel miserable
Speedqueens are doing their best to impale my soul
I want to die

Honeybunny Broke My Will to Live
I was getting better but then
Honeybunny Broke My Will to Live
~~~~ </center>

Why couldn't I take the shoestrings off before I threw it in the machine?
I've been reckless today in so many ways. I'm living as if tomorrow will never come.



archived shite from my Journal of Loathe. the expurgated diary of a fuck up.
 
     

(+) man.. or astroman?

 
   
04:36pm 21/04/2003
 

=(

 
     

(+) man.. or astroman?

 
   
02:17am 16/04/2003
 

The Holy Hand Grenade of Antioch


Monk: "And Saint Atila raised the hand grenade up on high, saying, 'Oh, Lord, bless this thy hand grenade that with it thou mayest blow thy enemies to tiny bits, in thy mercy.' And the Lord did grin, and people did feast upon the lambs, and sloths, and carp, and anchovies, and orangutans, and breakfast cereals, and fruit bats, and large--"

Brother Maynard: "Skip a bit, Brother."

Monk: "And the Lord spake, saying, 'First shalt thou take out the Holy Pin. Then, shalt thou count to three, no more, no less. Three shall be the number thou shalt count, and the number of the counting shalt be three. Four shalt thou not count, nor either count thou two, excepting that thou then proceed to three. Five is right out. Once the number three, being the third number, be reached, then lobbest thou thy Holy Hand Grenade of Antioch towards thou foe, who being naughty in my sight, shall snuff it.'"
 
     

man.. or astroman?

 
   
12:49am 21/01/2003
 


I'm Your Pusher...


My dad has two enormous marijuana plants growing in his livingroom. I swear on my girl scout's honor, he does. Pop won the seedlings in a bingo game.. so he claims. Well well well! I plan to harvest his medicine if you catch my drift. Buds are sprouting on one of the beautiful babes. Perhaps, I could tear the blossoms off and re-plant them. I'm not entirely sure how to cultivate hash. Whatever the case, next time I visit the old man, I'm stashing a pocket full of seeds and twigs. Within the span of one year, I hope to sow and reap a crop. A crop! Hahahaha.. oh yeah - I also plan on getting ridiculously high.

I've discussed it with Dude and we both agreed this could very well be a prosperous venture. Please consider the following: I sell the herb to little children. That simple. If we hit all the major bay area markets (playgrounds, schoolyards, after school recreational facilities).. Oh boy, we'd have an impressive cash flow.

Currently, I'm searching for distributors as well as investors. General duties of carriers/distributors include: wearing trench coats, driving tan '76 Monte Carlos, and fraternizing with the kiddies. Investors: $4500 will entitle you to a 1.8% share of all profits from any chosen block*. Are you interested? I must emphasize we need investors, plenty. Dirt and plastic pots don't come cheap. Also, my father uses little lamps over the weed. I may need light bulbs then. Bulbs are expensive.. and electricity? Fuck, that shit's like gold.

*contact me for specific details and limitations.
 
     

(+) man.. or astroman?

 
   
01:15pm 22/12/2002
 
mood: severe headache


peppernut and tinybeast live in my pants and tell secrets to me.

 
     

man.. or astroman?

 
   
12:22pm 17/09/2002
 
"Snap your fingers, here I come, now stop me if you've heard this one..."

Remember the animation Teeny Little Super Guy? A wee paper cut out lived inside a plastic dixie cup. During each episode he scurried about the kitchen saving his buddies: Dinnerware. Forks. Spoons. Other utensils. Well, Teeny was an amazing pillar of strength. That man was bad ass. On the mean motherfuckas scale, I'd rank him a 9. We could all learn a thing or two from this awe inspiring lil fellow. Lesson 1. Size is an arbitrary stature. You should judge a person based on their willingness to assist those in need, i.e. how many plates have you rescued?



Ladies and Gentlemen... the Teeny Little Super Guy.
Pops right up before your eyes. He's no bigger than your thumb.
"Snap your fingers, here I come, now stop me if you've heard this one..."

Don't look in the sky, don't look in the sea, he's inside of you and me
"Did I ever tell you about the time...?"

You can't tell a hero by his size he's just a Teeny Little Super Guy
"Oh yeah!"


 
     

(+) man.. or astroman?

 
   
05:49pm 15/09/2002
 
mood: Wurd To Ya Motha.
Behind The Music. Vanilla Ice.

We could still milk this cow. In my opinion there's a huge potential for generating new revenue. The Ice man is a classic joke that never loses it's punch. Not a single aspect of Van Winkle is un - laughable. From his hilarious downfall to his Floridian upbringings. Who can take him seriously? No One. And there in lies the key.

Let's abandon all efforts to regain his credibility. Any minuscule social dignity he may have had as an artist or a person is gone. There ain't a shred of originality in him! He's a sell out to the worst extreme. Contents of Vanilla Ice, ingredients: a pathological liar. mentally unstable. an immoral money grubber. unattractive on every forefront. awfully unsavory. distasteful.

Calories per serving: 67809.

Winkle is a failure of gargantuan proportions. A disaster unrivaled by Noah's flood. And is that a bad thing? Absolutely not! It's FUNNY as hell. These flaws, so to say, will be his empowerment. His strength. His schtick. His "charm". Fuck ups are marketable. We sell him as is, half priced and everyone will gobble the shit up. Let's do some miracle PR work. We can rebuild the boy's career.


First: Drop the wanna be limp biskit/ insane clown posse come back. We all loathe juggaloos and Fred Durst is a Fudge packer. In no time the world will rekindle it's love for pure, 100% Vanilla.
Where are those Hammer pants?

Second: Remix and reissue Ninja Rap.


think about it. the christ like humility he's endured.

Who could not love a heart so wounded?
 
     

man.. or astroman?

 
   
01:10am 14/09/2002
 
I doused the interior of my pinto with a can of That New Car Smell ©. After emptying the entire contents of the aerosol spray onto my backseat, driver seat, rear compartment, glove compartment, ash trays, so on..Sweet jeebus! Instantaneously, the ionic atmosphere was renewed and awakened. Oh my the difference was breath taking. Close your eyes. Inhale. Imagine yourself nestled inside a freshly manufactured bubble wrapped bmw.

As to be expected within a matter of hours, my life had an adverse chemical reaction with fate. There right under my very nose the born again auto began to rot and fester. Over the course of a single day the "freshener" morphed into the most horrid pungent odor imaginable. I would now liken this scent to.. That Old Hearse Smell.. or the Odor of Death In A Can. To put it quite frankly, my coffin goes from 0-25 in about 8 minutes.

In order to avoid suffocation, I currently drive at top speeds(35mph! clunk) with my windows rolled down completely. 1) this makes me awfully cold and nippy. Nippy. 2) surely while paused at a red light someone will take the opportunity to leap in through the back window. And proceed to rape me, right there at the intersection. 3) Potentially violent/virile pedestrians await me at every crosswalk. 4) In time I will either die of hypothermia or consumption.
 
     

man.. or astroman?

 
   
02:23am 13/08/2002
  My Worst Fear

is that one day they'll win
one day those people
who always get in my way
will all get together in one room
and have a good time
for the first time
in their lives
all my enemies
those smiling men and women
in unimaginative attire
will win the lotto
and spend it
on promotional materials
besmirching my good name
they'll have the last word
'cause i won't be there to defend myself
or ignore them
or listen to their noise
their petty envies
all my friends will be out of town
or worse
they won't speak up
they'll sit on their asses
and order another drink
my worst fear
is that one day they'll win
i'll be a 400-pound couch potato
in a room with no window
only cable tv and cheap ice cream
i'll be watching reruns of old movies
'cause by this time
i'd seen every movie ever made
even the kung fu flicks
i'll be talking to my imaginary spouse in my sleep
and wake up as marlon brando
with no tarita or tahiti to come home to
i'd be alone
and i'd like it better
than sex



~cyn.zarco
 
     

man.. or astroman?

 
   
10:32am 30/07/2002
  borrowed 4 Dada Suicides from the main library yesterday.

cleared overdue fines for previous check outs.
total cost of late fees: 50cents + shame.

conversion rate of dollars to francs. roughly 7 - 1. no?

50 cents, i told myself, is nearly the price of a good hanging (rope not included).
according to the handy budget chart below. the following options include

Price List

Electrocution.......200fr
Revolver............100fr
Poison..............100fr
Drowning.............50fr
Perfumed Death (inclusive of luxury tax)..500fr
Hanging. The suicide of the poor. (The rope is
charged at 20fr. per metre, plus 5 fr. for every
additional 10 cm.)....5fr

Ask for our special Express Burials catalogue.

All Enquiries to:
Monsieur J. Rigaut, Principal Director,
73, Boulevard Montparnasse, Paris, 75006

correspondence requesting a wish to attend a suicide shall be ignored.
 
     

man.. or astroman?

 
   
11:49pm 23/07/2002
 
mood: masculine and strong
bought a pack of undies. star wars briefs. boys' size 8.
a lil snug but they fit. three pairs in a single package.

presently the one i'm wearing glows in the dark.
that's nifty. when i turn the lights off, the words

"Star Wars" "Jedi Starfighter" magically appear.

in addition there's an easy access slit in the front.
a delightful feature if i had a penis.

 
     

man.. or astroman?

 
   
08:23pm 15/12/1984
  WE ARE AN ALIEN RACE OF COLORED WAX
AND WE HAVE COME FOR YOUR TECHNOLOGY

ALSO PLEASE BE GAY WITH US
 
     

man.. or astroman?