plastic ass implants

fragment thoughts (part of an email i sent to sandra)... i really should unplug and pack up and go get something to eat, get another pack of smokes, and more weed.

i'm sick of sitting in this starfucks, seeing women walk in here, and i swear to logic, that they have butt cheek implants.

i'll repeat that. these women in los angeles are getting butt cheek implants. that should be illegal. fuck all men, and fuck monogamy, i just want to touch. you fake creatures concerned with perfection make me feel like a criminal. butt cheek implants?

then, i walked out of the starfucks to have a cigarette, and saw this girl getting into her car. way too perfect of an ass, and i seriously, honestly, just wanted to say, 'is that thing real', but i have no confidence. i fear that i'll get the same reaction out of every clone. fear. i want to wear a tshirt that says 'i like to be sexually harassed'.

i had an idea i posted on fetlife, i started a group on there called 'the green ribbon society', that if people were okay with being touched by random strangers, they could wear a green ribbon on their clothes, on the part of the body they wanted to be touched on. no one joined the group. i have zero friends on fetlife. i had more friends on facebook than i had on fetlife.

i know nerds to exist in this world. where the fuck do i find them?
i know metalheads exist in this world. where the fuck do i find them?
i know openminded people live in this world. where the fuck are they?

what social network. what website. what forum. what social meeting area. where can i post an ad saying i'm looking for unemployed people because they're actually fun and worth spending time with? do single women still exist? is there one woman on this planet who's still single, or have you all chosen the wrong cloned ken doll?

i would love to find the one single woman in this town... who i could bet money... that she WOULDN'T fuck the big black guy before she'd fuck me. that girl. where is she.

if i see one more woman walk into this starfucks with butt implants...
if i see one more petite white woman holding hands with a big black homie asshole...
if i see one more girl strung out on meth because it's what her boyfriend's doing...
if i hear one more lady say 'i have to ask my boyfriend'...

am i doomed to be this alone in such an agonizing... jesus... i just lost that thought. why is that shit legal!

it's like you're wearing fish hooks and snagging every eyeball you walk past. and it's legal. weed is demonized, meth is rampant, and butt cheek implants...!

fake tits weren't bad enough? we can't learn from dolly parton's mistake? is that dolly parton, or a fuckin' blow up doll! they replaced dolly parton with that advertisement thing from the mall, what the fuck is going on here, is that really just the spirit of jerry springer stuffed into another corpse? i guarantee you, if you let me close enough to smell it, i can give you your answer. but then i'm stuck wasting my time sniffing jerry springer instead of touching those curves that i've never gotten to feel in thirty seven years of your excuse for my life. all i've ever wanted to do was touch. because men before me have fucked that up and caused women's paranoia to fly out of control... i can't just touch.

i watch naked news, and hear them talking about 'going down to hedonism ii'. boy, i'd love to be there, i'd rock that place.

then, i get there, and i don't rock that place. i find out i'm actually boring and vanilla compared to all these ultrasluts who have enjoyed a much more experienced life than i have. but if you paid money for all that sex, i don't consider it authentic, genuine experience, i consider it nothing more than a product in your bellies, but since i'm not the majority, and i have no one backing me up on this theory... you're right, i don't rock. i'll be over here in this corner, since it's reminiscent of the last corner. enjoy being 'in'.

those people need to go. i know i'm not the only one who thinks so, i've seen so many movies where those 'top shelf rich people' are made to look like fake plastic halloween creatures lost in a masquerade of mirrors and lies. my friend who works at this seven eleven, jesse, was telling me just last night, about how he and his lady were invited to a party at someone's house up in the hills, and they're all sitting around... someone gets this question going, saying 'who's the first person in this world you would shit on', and people answer in a circle, and jesse and his lady are sitting there at this dinner table, being a part of this event, and he said that he couldn't stop thinking in his head, 'fake, fake, fake, fake, fake, fake, fake, fake, fake, fake, fake, fake, fake, fake...'. the laughter. the masks. the smell of plastic. who are those people, and why must they act that way. what are they getting out of this experience. would i be too analytic in that moment, is that why they won't let me in? as if i wanted to go in there.

your alcohol.
your leashed dogs.
your credit cards.

god, i hate it all.

is it really that bad to want to touch?

i just want to let my fingertips study the curvature, the texture, the squeeze, something i've been curious about since i could remember, and i've gone through thirty seven years of 'i know i'm not going to be able to touch that, so i won't even ask'. finding out that the right people do exist out there, but they're all on some fuckin' island in the bermudas fucking the snot out of eachother, and paying no mind to those who can't be there. dear lord, have i ever been that selfish?

i can't even answer my own questions anymore. i know my mind is slipping. why can't i tell someone about it? why is there no one to tell? out of seven billion of you, not a single one of you can care about this, to step away from the herd, and say 'there's something that needs my attention, my care'. there's a herd of horses, galloping down a path, people riding them, a massive amount of migrating people, an entire community of families migrating by horse to a new location... along their path, there's a guy... waste deep in quick sand... how many times has our collective eye seen this scenerio? can we inquire back that far? can we count the times?

the herd runs past. you hear the clop clop of the horse hooves. there's always one magical lady in the group. her eye has seen this before it happened. she recognizes out of familiarity. they come around the corner, past the bushes. she stops, reaches down, pulls the man out of the muck, throws a blanket around him, gets him up onto the horse, and catches up to the pack.

is this herd really stupid enough, that they won't see me, that they'll leave me here, that they don't have that magic woman?

my mind keeps going back to that room that jesse described. the party. the fake plastic people, trying to be a part of this ancient dark moment in humanity, trying to relive it at all cost, trying to keep it going, as if it's still fun. no, i can tell you exactly what it was. i was there. a bunch of drunken buffoons around a campfire one night were joking about how stupid this shit was, and you saw it from afar, and misunderstood, and thought they were having fun that way, and in the darkness, there was no one to tell you...

fucking butt implants! goddamnit, i can't fucking think with that shit! it's worse than mister boom boom driving by every five minutes, god fuck!

i could put a porno on my computer screen, and still not be able to keep my eyes glued to it for more than two minutes, this is just stupid. why do you women have to do that shit! why do you need a fake ass? what man are you trying to attract? i can tell you right now, just tell me the position you want to be fucked in, select your speed, and i can get the job done a lot better than mister plastic ken. no credit card involved, no diamond ring necessary, no fuckin' batteries required, get on about your day.

denying men the one thing we were ever good at, and instead putting a hammer in our hands and expecting us to hit nails with it... god, was that our stupidity, or yours? which one of us should be blamed for that one?

i'm tired of feeling nothing but plastic all around me. where are the fucking hearts! i know they're here, that's why i came to cancer city, could someone please get all these clones out of my fucking way so i could see the hearts! please, is there a god there, who might have a big broom...? is there an alien race who might have a ray gun? a bug zapper? a flyswatter? anything?

why does this planet need this many fake, empty, plastic clones, and why do so many of them need fucking butt implants! hunny, i assure you, your ass was just fine before you made it look like a fucking cartoon, is that really what men are fucking these days? cartoon women? designed by a fuckin' factory assembly line? what guy would... i can't figure this out. what guy... that ass exists. so that must mean that some guy is fucking it, and i'm betting that he's hogging that ass to himself, instead of going around and saying 'guys, you gotta see this thing, look what i got!'. that's how i know, for a fact, that sharing doesn't exist anymore. sharing. no one has any idea what sharing is anymore. no, it's not ozzy osbourne's fuckin' wife. sharing. sharing. fucking sharing.

sorry, this email is probly offending the crap out of you at this point. i know this is crude shit, but it needs to be figured out by someone, so we can think of something better. i'm sick of sitting alone on the opposite end of the spectrum from that plastic ass that looks like something elmer fudd should shoot at. this is stupid.

fucking ass implants!

could we get anymore fake? plastic? is this really necessary? how invisible do i have to get in this sea of plastic before something changes?

unfortunately for you... i studied my history. and i think marilyn monroe was more beautiful than paris fuckin' hilton. betty page had more talent than mrs. butterworth.

i melted plastic once when i was a kid. in the back yard with a cigarette lighter. i couldn't find any ants, and my grandmother's magnifying glass was too small.
i melted plastic once when i was a kid. something tells me, i'm going to get to see that again, on a much grander scale, very soon. a sea of burning plastic.

i can already smell it.

i'm really going to try and gather some motivation this next week. i should have learned as a boy, i can never rely on anyone else. my family was right. to ask others for inspiration is to show your weakness.

if the world i see is so much stronger than this world now, if people need strength, then the strength coming from me... i've underestimated a lot.

fuck it, i need to eat.

god, get me out of this plastic kiddie pool. please. sometime soon. if i see one more fake ass, i'm gonna deflate the fuckin' thing.

​​'why's your ass draggin' on the ground, sweetie?'

'i don't know, but that guy's finally smiling, and the idiot on the corner finally pulled his pants up, so i guess i did something right!'.

maybe the planets have aligned again...
maybe carl sagan's coming back...
maybe we're balanced again, and everything will be okay...

this stuff was made in new york city?! get a rope!