I just realized it’s been almost two years since I last made a girl cry.

That, ladies, is some straight-up bullshit.

As with most things, alcoholism looks more interesting in the movies. Now that I’ve seen it up close, turns out it’s all gangrene and amputated toes.

In retrospect, being a giant pussy who hates the taste of booze was perhaps a lucky break on my part.

I just wanna be your everything.

So you can be my nothing.

I often struggle to succinctly describe my personal cocktail of towering self-regard and bitter self-loathing. But I think I’ve come up with something:

My ego is the Death Star, adrift in a galaxy full of shifty-looking Skywalkers.

Dear Bedtime #3

Had a dream last night you were spanking me with a hairbrush. I asked if this counts as cheating on my boyfriend and you said no. I said: “keep the jeans on, that way it doesn’t count as cheating”.

Silly boyfriends. They should worry less about me getting into their girlfriends’ pants, and worry more about me getting into their girlfriends’ heads.

My dick has never once taken a woman from another man. But those things I whisper in her ear when he’s not around, the way I make her feel like a scared little girl who just can’t help herself…? That shit will absolutely ruin her for him.

Girls are programmed to overlook, excuse, and forget bad dick. Bad thoughts, on the other hand? They hold on to those forever.

Which is my way of saying, I don’t think a little denim is going to preserve your virtue. Given that you’re writing me, I suspect you’re running a quart or two low as it is.

“Good Girl”

If you’re not hearing it, you’re not being it.

Clunky Old Software Shit

Okay Xkit, you and I are officially over. You have mangled a post for the last time. and now we are sworn enemies. Have at thee!

UPDATE: I’m talking Xkit for iPad, which I damned well know is abandonware, and have bitched about before, but have persisted in using because my finicky ass prefers a full-screen activity log to the official Tumblr app’s teeny little pop-up. Time to get over it, I guess.

Cranky Old Man Shit

Fuck this weather.

Temperatures above 68 degrees Fahrenheit are for girls and swimming pools.

Would you like to play a game?

We’ll sit at the table on my patio, and you’ll tell me your life story.

Every time you say something stupid or boring, I’ll smack you upside the head. If my hand gets sore before you’re finished babbling, you win.

Honestly, I think you’ve got it in you to go pro.

Just a little something I’m exploring.