eyecandy addiction distractions

sitting in starfucks, there was this absolutely gorgeous brunette, thick wavy long hair, absolutely gorgeous face, incredible body, old west style jeans, little vest, cute little orange imac. overheard her on the phone with someone saying she wrote two new songs yesterday. but she listens to the wrong type of music. pop, i assume by her neck movements, although it was cute. but she was one of those, that when a particular type of guy sees her, she's not just a ten, she's the one. guys know, when you see her, your heart leaps out of your chest in her direction, and you have to hold it back, which of course starts leading other things in that direction. but one of those top of the line, high class ladies, that you can't take your eyes off of, and watching her walk away is... just as heartbreaking the first time as it is the last time.

i picture my wife in her little pink heartbreaker panties.

anyway, i wanted to play it smooth, and write something on a piece of paper, and leave it for her just before walking out the door for a smoke... i didn't get the chance, i hesitate too long, and she got up and left before i could muster the courage. but this is what i wanted to write. since i didn't get to give it to her, i figured i'd post it here. for myself. (like anyone else would care, not even other men can be honest about their feelings anymore, they've been so bred out of us, as we've been conditioned to think rather morbidly about... well... shut up, mouth.

i wanted to write down...

you are absolutely, ridiculously, stunningly gorgeous.
like in a way that shouldn't be legal.
you're so far out of my league, that i'm ahead of my time.
but i'd still love to write some music with you sometime.

and then leave my email, incase she was brave enough to not be a total snob. but judging by her hair alone...

i don't think she even used pantene or any of the store shit, i bet she used horse shampoo or some shit.

i miss my hair.

...
anyway, i'm watching 'a million ways to die in the west', and i love that doc brown makes a cameo.

i've started writing sandra on a daily basis, just to have someone to write on a daily basis, which has been much needed for too long now. writing to myself just doesn't do it. i've been begging people this whole traveling year, and even traveling, you'd think i could at least develop a long distance pen pal or something, but fucking no one gives a shit, no one cares. i also love watching neil patrick harris shit into a hat. but aside from that. i've handed my email address out to so many people on this trip. i've met so many people, shared my story with them.

only to attract zero hearts. not even half an eye. this is too sad, why does this world have to be this shitty before i make any changes, and i have to make them all myself before anything gets any better. i'm forced to keep watching these dumb, bald, scumfuck doofus goober loser moron guys with your hot little side sluts on your arms with zero chance of... i miss the days of bull vs bull. the dual to the death for the lady. i actually miss when it wasn't violence, but a guy could just walk up to a lady, speak a little poetry, and win her away from the cornhole she's standing with, did that ever actually exist, or was that just on my planet. when did actual chivalry exist on this planet, if ever. cause all you douchebags that looked more like neil patrick harris in 'a million ways to die in the west', and not the fella who's ahead of his time, good god...

i can't sit in this starfucks anymore, i can't even focus with these women around me, they're too fucking hot. everytime one walks out the door, another walks in, i can't fucking think. i can't touch a single one of them. i fucking hate this planet. i hate those bumperstickers that say 'i'd rather be surfing' or whatever. i'd rather be on the digital purple beaches of arcturus, why couldn't i have been born there. i love this fuckin' movie.

what the fuck was i saying. god, you're a douchebag. if i could unload and speak my mind freely to every person i see... i would be free. and you would be educated. that'll never happen. anyway. but all you fuckin' mustache havin' douchebags, prancing around showing off your wallets like it makes you better than me, you ruined it for the last six thousand years, i'm not even counting your whole bible catastrophe for the last two thousand, you fucks really fucked everything up good, i wish i could tell you that your mamas ain't proud of you, but most of you are long dead. thanks for fucking up future generations. not only do i wish i could throw my voice into the future, i wish i could throw it back into the past and tell you fucks how bad you fucked up, show you what the fuck you did wrong.

my voice isn't even that godly, i'd rather hear michio kaku say it. i would pick george carlin, but he's dead, too. hopefully, when anything finally happens, michio will still be alive by then, and won't have blown himself up in a chemistry experiment, or shot dark matter at himself in sweden, at that collider thing. wherever the fuck he is.

anyway. i guess that's all i had to say for now, i can't keep my mind... there it goes again. and ho! there's another one. time to shut the mouth. jesus lord, hunny, that thing ain't street legal, come on, you're torturing me, cover yourself in a blanket or get the fuck out of here, goddamn. you could drive a matchbox car around that track. fuck, my brain is sliced like a bundt cake. what are you making these fuckin' things out of, man? are you factory producing these women with old marilyn monroe dna or what. this ain't right, there's gotta be a machine to blame behind those curtains.