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I love spiders and I love boners so a spider that causes boners is the best. Except that the dude dies. That’s no good. But uh, boner blood is kind of a cute band name.
Swallowing a meat hook whole was a lot less sexy than I thought it would be.
Some crackhead was eating ramen powder and his face exploded. Then this girl ate a cat. It’s becoming increasingly difficult for me to spell girl with an i instead of a u. Someone make it stop.
If I ever call someone a spicy little viking outside of my own mind you have my permission to decapitate me.
God why do people always talk about just their ovaries exploding. My entire reproductive system is having violent seizures. Also I’m pretty sure you can’t fit 7 people under that car.
welp O tried t o be in order but that didn’t work right. fucking multiple windows.
The fun thing about having fat fingers is that two fingers of whiskey is a shit ton. Mmmm yeah baby doll.
P.S. I love all 29 of you. Even the totally shameless porn blogs. Cliches all over but in this moment, at least, I love you dearly. I’m one of those fine folks who is like 75% more honest in these situations so it’s not completely meaningless.
P.P.S. I just accidentally added ashes to that whiskey. It tastes nothing like my grandmother’s ashes. Maybe because there’s a lot of alcohol. But maybe also because I have so many memories behind that strangely intimate heap of grey-brown ashes that was my grandmother. Maybe I imagine her remains to be so disconnected from these hollow cigarette ashes because she meant so much to me.
And now I actively return to horndogging on TV actors because it’s too early to start crying about people I’m not sure ever cared in the first place. Whoops.
But also this connection is strange because, well, I’m sure so many will find it deviant that we did, in fact, consume a part of her. Because it’s so taboo in this whatever American culture that I’ve grown up in. But in the grander picture, in this wide world, it’s not so strange that my mother, my aunt and I would take her body into our own to preserve her in some way. Though I’m not so naive to believe that we did it for this reason, perhaps subconsciously, but it was mostly just curiosity. Wondering if scorched human remains were in any way different than the cancerous things we suck into our bodies daily. And well, I’ve read enough to know that it may not even be her that I’ve tasted. That it may be some alien figure that I’ll never know, whose life I’ll never feel beyond the tiny bag of fragments they leave behind. The dust and the eerie fragments of bone. But whatever my mother and my aunt felt as our ash-coated fingers slid into our mouths, I know I felt connected. If not so pointedly to my distant grandmother, then to everyone who has died. Everyone whose minuscule burnt remains have been mixed with others. Never the buried because they will never be free. And I’ll never be buried because when it’s over I hope it’s over forever. It hurts so deeply to think otherwise. To think there’s some afterlife where we have to keep thinking forever. God I hope there’s an end somewhere.
But fuck that seems so melodramatic. Life isn’t so bad. In fact, life is better now than it’s ever been, even if I’m less welll now than I’ve ever been. Itt’s because, I don’t know, I’m not afraid at all. Or maybe a little but now I’ve got so many to share it with. That’s enough, I think. I just hope there’s an end to everything. And I don’t understand why anyonw would wish otherwise. An end is beautiful. An end is nothing to fear. It’s inevitable.
So much for fictional horny-fodder. But I think I’m ready now. I think I’m ready to be simple. And it”s not like I don’t want it. I so desperately do.
Okay even if you don’t want this fine european dude to assfuck you as much as I want it someone please come keep me company this is more than a little bit depressing. Whatevs this is pathetic. Plastic cocks. Like 6 plastic cocks. That’s totally acceptable.
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