Dr. Nick Riviera dies! Dr. Nick Riviera dies! Dr. Nick Riviera dies! Dr. Nick Riviera dies! Dr. Nick Riviera dies! Dr. Nick Riviera dies! Dr. Nick Riviera dies! Dr. Nick Riviera dies! Dr. Nick Riviera dies! Dr. Nick Riviera dies! Dr. Nick Riviera dies! Dr. Nick Riviera dies! Dr. Nick Riviera dies! Dr. Nick Riviera dies! Dr. Nick Riviera dies! Dr. Nick Riviera dies! Dr. Nick Riviera dies! Dr. Nick Riviera dies! Dr. Nick Riviera dies! Dr. Nick Riviera dies! Dr. Nick Riviera dies! Dr. Nick Riviera dies! Dr. Nick Riviera dies! Dr. Nick Riviera dies! Dr. Nick Riviera dies!
There, I have ruined your movie going experience. Now all you have to look forward to is a brief glimpse of Bart's genitals.
The Tron story was apparently an April Fool's joke, that I, in my highly unstable ineptitude, fell for. Which is pretty awesome, when you think about it. But I apologize if I motivated any of you to rush and destroy your copies of the film; however, it's really your own fault and I accept no responsibility and will compensate you nothing for your loss.
I have contacted the Office of Homeland Security in regard to this abuse of their name for the sake of this April silliness, which I'm fairly sure is highly legal. Let that be a lesson to all of you who may or may not be contemplating making a fool of me. I am not a fascist, but I have no qualms about using the mechanisms of fascism to enact vindication upon those who plot against me.
I will now be resigning from my post and entering into rehab because of this incident as well as my rampant anti-semitism and obsession with pornographic materials. Thank you for your support through this troubling period.
If you're one of the few people in this country actually geeky enough to own a copy of the movie Tron, then you may be interested to know that the Office of Homeland Security has determined it to be a national security threat and seem to be attempting to confiscate all copies of the film from Disney and certain retailers. (They're claiming to want the copies only to examine them, but you would really only need one copy for that I think.)
"Reports are emerging from members of the movie industry that the Department of Homeland Security has designated the 1982 film TRON as "sensitive", and ordered Walt Disney Studios to turn over all copies of the film in its posession. Retailers are also receiving notices to remove all copies of the film from stock shelves and turn them over to Federal officials. The reports have industry insiders bewildered and outraged.
......official concern reportedly centers around a portion of the movie's live-action sequence which was filmed at Shiva, a nuclear fusion research facility created at the Lawrence Livermore National Laboratory. Constructed in 1977 for research into generating fusion energy, Shiva used a battery of enormous lasers to smash tiny pellets of deuterium and tritium. It was hoped the resulting compression and shockwave would illustrate how to trigger fusion in the materials.
The facility was dismantled in 1981 after experiments were completed and its successor, Shiva/Nova, was built. However, as a government funded nuclear research program, it is subject to comprehensive national security guidelines, and it is this point that seems to have gotten the film into trouble.
"They said the [Shiva] scenes contained sensitive nuclear information," said a Disney employee tasked with locating copies of the film in the studio's archives. "I mean, the film's been out for 25 years. All of a sudden, there's something wrong with it? It's silly."
The film is reportedly being sequestered via a National Security Letter, a result of the PATRIOT Act that permits Homeland Security to demand information and records without judicial oversight. The PATRIOT Act provides harsh criminal penalties for failing to comply with the letter, or even for disclosing to anyone that such a letter was received.
I wanted to emphasize that last part, since I think it's important for all Americans to know. If you ever do recieve a National Security Letter remember that you are breaking the law if you tell anyone about it...such as your family, or a civil liberties group, or the media, or a lawyer.
But wasn't the latest version of the Patriot Act signed about a year ago supposed to incorporate stricter oversight, and provide better protection of American civil liberties? No, not really. Drawing your attention to yet another article (forgive the TL;DR motiff):
"The bill contained several oversight provisions intended to make sure the FBI did not abuse the special terrorism-related powers to search homes and secretly seize papers. The provisions require Justice Department officials to keep closer track of how often the FBI uses the new powers and in what type of situations. Under the law, the administration would have to provide the information to Congress by certain dates.
Bush signed the bill with fanfare at a White House ceremony March 9, calling it ''a piece of legislation that's vital to win the war on terror and to protect the American people." But after the reporters and guests had left, the White House quietly issued a ''signing statement," an official document in which a president lays out his interpretation of a new law.
In the statement, Bush said that he did not consider himself bound to tell Congress how the Patriot Act powers were being used and that, despite the law's requirements, he could withhold the information if he decided that disclosure would ''impair foreign relations, national security, the deliberative process of the executive, or the performance of the executive's constitutional duties."
Bush wrote: ''The executive branch shall construe the provisions . . . that call for furnishing information to entities outside the executive branch . . . in a manner consistent with the president's constitutional authority to supervise the unitary executive branch and to withhold information . . . "
Now I have to include a little exaggerated maniacal preaching: THEY'RE TRYING TO TAKE OUR FUCKING TRON, MAN! Can we as Americans really allow them to erase from existence one of the greatest works of art ever produced by our culture?! If they want to tap phones, hack computers, steal documents, or hold prisoners indefinitely without legal representation and send them to Eastern Europe for torture, then fine! But this is going too far! This is TRON! It would be like confiscating the Mona Lisa!
But rules are rules, so if you have a copy of this movie, please contact an office of federal authority in your area and be prepared to hand it over. But don't tell anyone about it, kay?
While I may (or may not) eventually make a real post in this journal, before any such thing can occur, I feel it is important to clear up a certain controversy which has sprung up recently regarding my sex life.
I am NOT the father of Anna Nicole Smith's baby!
While it is true that we did have a "romantic" relationship, all of that "romance" took place only in the butt, thereby making conception impossible. While I cannot, of course, recall every single encounter with the upmost detail, my anal preferences are consistent enough for me to be comfortable with my conclusion. It's just how I am...it's my thing...it's how I like it, brown and greasy, with lots of sound effects.
The Coast Guard has closed the Charles River to all water traffic from the Museum of Science to the locks where the river flows into Boston Harbor because of the reports of bombs on several bridges, according to Chief Petty Officer Scott Carr.
State police bomb experts examined another suspicious item -- similar in construction to the items found at Sullivan Station and on the BU Bridge -- that was found attached to the Longfellow Bridge, which spans the Charles River from Boston to Cambridge.
Boston police are separately investigating suspicious items at Columbus and Stuart streets and near the New England Medical Center. Storrow drive was closed at 2 p.m., according to State Police. Thirty minutes later police opened one eastbound lane to traffic.
According to Boston police, traffic from Charles Street is being blocked from entering Storrow Drive while several law enforcement agencies investigate more suspicious objects.
The MBTA suspended service on the Red Line for about 15 minutes between Park and Kendall stations. By 2:35 p.m., the T resumed service on the line.
"It's a hoax -- and it's not funny," said Gov. Deval Patrick.
Turner Broadcasting, parent company of Cartoon Network, said the devices were part of a promotion for the TV show "Aqua Teen Hunger Force."
An angry Mayor Thomas Menino said a stiff penalty will be pursued against whoever was responsible for the devices.
"Aqua Teen Hunger Force" is a cartoon with a cultish following that airs as part of the Adult Swim late-night block of programs for adults on the Cartoon Network. A feature length film based on the show is slated for release March 23.
The surreal series centers on a talking milkshake (Master Shake), fries (Frylock) and a meatball (Meatwad).
The cartoon also includes two trouble-making, 1980s-graphic-like characters called "mooninites," named Ignignokt and Err -- who were pictured on the suspicious devices. They are known for making the obscene hand gesture depicted on the devices. ----------------- What's even funnier is that CNN orginally reported that the image on the devices was of Spongebob Squarepants holding up his middle-finger.
So was this just a publicity stunt? Or was this an overt act of agression on the part of Ignignokt and Err? And if so, considering the problems we are currently having in the Middle East, do we really have the resources to engage in conflict with the Mooninites? Would we and our third dimension even stand a chance?
I guess we'll just have to wait and see. In the meantime, keep an ear out for possible reports of a major U.S. city coming under attack by the Quad-laser.
Children are the new religion in the western world. At one time in our questionable history (constantly revised and repackaged by modern sensibilities and wishful thinking) the most absurd, irrational, and atrocious acts were committed in the name of God and all his derivitives such as Patriotism, Manifest Destiny, and "Civilization". But God has since fallen out of fashion...the excuse of God has become much less feasible to most aspects of the Western mind (though certainly not all). Not only do the justifications of God no longer make sense to us, but his demands no longer match our culture's more adamant desires. He has too much of a voice, at least in the form of holy books...he has a record. His expectations are written virtually in stone. The pick-and-choose revisionism of religious morality can only get us so far. But the residue remains. The need to glorify some vague, but potent ideal remains. The drive to deify some abstract concept in order to justify our own wants, ideals, and, most of all, fears is still and will always be present. And this drive has since moved away from God, and fallen onto the character of our children. And I do not mean in recent history, but for at least the past century, and it is reaching climactic points today. God is the future, God is what carries on beyond death and carries us on beyond death....Children are the future, children carry on beyond our death, children are the replacement of God in our culture's concept of immortality, and hence, the foundation for an idea's moral superiority to its competing ideas. But in reality, it is all self-centered. The children in question are merely a reflection of ourselves, just as God has always been in the past. They represent what we want to believe. What we hope for ourselves, as well as what we fear in ourselves. The most important requirement for any effective deity is its inability to talk back and refute the things which are projected on to it or denounce the very things which were done in its name.
All conflicts and atrocities, from minor to significant, thrown behind various guises....Gods, morals, politics, science, philosophy....beat with the same idealistic motive. Utopian aspirations. A dream of a perfect world. A world without pain, death, loss, poverty, suffering, etc.... And these dreams guide us into inflicting pain, loss, poverty, and death upon one another, thereby making the dream impossible. Every war is fought with the ambition of creating a lasting peace and eliminating any future need for war. The dream of a world without war is the cause of war.
I don't know what I'm trying to say. I'm incapable, as of late, to complete a thought into a tangible whole. Just fragments....short spurts and coughs of what might be insightful or just might be drivel. Only retrospect can tell. Only the future can judge the value of the past while the present is simply too preoccupied with being to notice or quantify anything.
Thinking is easy. Transcribing those thoughts into writing is not. It's unnerving. Get on with it.
A shard unidentifiable from the main body:
Dystheists and maltheists speculate that god and the devil are one and the same....I say they're onto something.
Pain begins life and pain ends it. Everything we gain in between is given only to increase the level of pain we feel when it is taken away. The illusion feeds the illusion. Disillusionment is death....a dismemberment of the imaginary body that has placed so much investment in the false certainty of the illusion's permanence. Every thread gets yanked until the whole fabric is undone, and we are left in shredded pieces, dangling in a torrent we do not understand. There is no hope for an end. We only waste ourselves, our energy, and our time trying desperately to weave it all back to some tangible form; and that decimated form is what we define as happiness and success....that broken shell decorated in luxury and sycophantic envy. We call it wealth. We call it celebrity. We call it power. Sometimes, we even call it philanthropy. All of it meaningless complications to supplement the loss of very simple things. The simplest thing: Love. Dignity: A love of self.
There's something in there. Perhaps I'll see it later.
Because the people demand it, these are clips featuring your favorite cartoon characters in questionable circumstances, doing and saying questionable things, that will not likely be repeated in any sort of syndication or re-release, because, from our present-day sensibilities, they're kinda fucked-up.
First and on the front page is the one and only Donald Duck in his misadventures in Nazi Germany, brought to you by Disney. In this cartoon, you will get to see Donald Duck in a Nazi uniform, giving the Nazi salute, and saying "Heil Hitler" over and over again. Though it's not what you think...it's actually an anti-Nazi cartoon...and giving away the suspenseful ending, it's all just a bad dream and he wakes up in America happy as can be. Also, take note of the vicious Japanese stereotype and the flamboyantly homosexual Mussonlini at the beginning (he takes trombone slide-bar-thingy in the butt in an obviously suggestive manner). In my opinion, this cartoon is funny, once you get over all the swastikas.
The rest are below the cut...the worst of which star none other than Bugs Bunny, who I believe was a member of the Klu Klux Klan for a short while before he found Jesus or something. I thought about just posting links, but the idea of possibly messing with people's Virtual Memory delights since I'm full of delicious maliciousness, or malicious deliciousness....I'm not sure how that would go....but anyway, it probably won't.
So anyway, go grab yourself a big bowl of sweet sweet Nazi-O's and settle yourself down for the Goddamn-That's-Racist! Cartoon Hour, hosted by Uncle Rutuger.
You're a bunch of hypocritical, reactionary morons. I hereby renounce my citizenship and declare myself a Martian. You're the tail that wags the dog and the tongue that licks its crotch. If your political party could save you, it would have by now. If your religion could save you, it would have by now. You're all too horny to think straight. I understand. But your failed sex lives are not the world's problem. It's your own fault for creating such high expectations while simultaneously trying to repress them. You want to have your cake and purge it too, (making the sweet into bitter) so you shouldn't be surprised when you choke.
I suppose I will start updating this again on more than a quarterly annual basis. Though I probably still won't be very user friendly because I've got problems. Mind pulverizing problems. I'll be fine though. Hopefully, this is all temporary. Shitfully, not perhaps, but who can predict these matters. Hazza! I say, HAZZA to it all!
I'm addicted to youtube now...well, I've been addicted to youtube for the past two days...I'm not sure if that's long enough to qualify as a full-fledged addiction, but pity me anyway because I deserve it. Nobody's life is hard except mine, and that is in no way self-centered. And while everyone else's problems are self-induced, I am a purely, 100% victim of circumstance. Yuh-huh.
Anyway: Below is the greatest song you've ever heard in your entire life....Minnie's Yoo Hoo with Mickey Mouse. It will make you smile. If it doesn't, then you have no soul.
YOO HOO! It's scary how some things can kick so much ass.
Below the cut is the second greatest song you've ever heard in your entire life, which explains the true method to attaining the love and respect of a woman.
If you die in the game, you die for real! If you die in the game, you die for real! If you die in the game, you die for real! If you die in the game, you die for real! If you die in the game, you die for real! If you die in the game, you die for real! If you die in the game, you die for real! If you die in the game, you die for real! If you die in the game, you die for real! If you die in the game, you die for real! If you die in the game, you die for real! If you die in the game, you die for real! If you die in the game, you die for real! If you die in the game, you die for real! If you die in the game, you die for real! If you die in the game, you die for real! If you die in the game, you die for real! If you die in the game, you die for real! If you die in the game, you die for real! If you die in the game, you die for real! If you die in the game, you die for real! If you die in the game, you die for real! If you die in the game, you die for real! If you die in the game, you die for real! If you die in the game, you die for real! If you die in the game, you die for real! If you die in the game, you die for real! If you die in the game, you die for real! If you die in the game, you die for real! If you die in the game, you die for real! If you die in the game, you die for real! If you die in the game, you die for real! If you die in the game, you die for real! If you die in the game, you die for real! If you die in the game, you die for real! If you die in the game, you die for real! If you die in the game, you die for real! If you die in the game, you die for real! If you die in the game, you die for real! If you die in the game, you die for real! If you die in the game, you die for real! If you die in the game, you die for real! If you die in the game, you die for real! If you die in the game, you die for real! If you die in the game, you die for real! If you die in the game, you die for real! If you die in the game, you die for real! If you die in the game, you die for real! If you die in the game, you die for real! If you die in the game, you die for real! If you die in the game, you die for real! If you die in the game, you die for real! If you die in the game, you die for real! If you die in the game, you die for real! If you die in the game, you die for real! If you die in the game, you die for real! If you die in the game, you die for real! If you die in the game, you die for real! If you die in the game, you die for real! If you die in the game, you die for real!
Now you know my hell. That is the most irritating tagline in the history of lines designed for tagging. If you can summarize a movie's entire plot with one stupid sentence....well, that's not a good thing.
When does wasting your time become wasting your life? When does indulgence become addiction? Where's the line and why do you bother?
I don't enjoy words like I used to...like I did not too long ago. I don't know what to do about it. Where's my free association martyr plague? Where's my genital slave? Where's my master? No one's telling me what to do so I don't know what to do. Nobody can make me do anything and that's the problem. I'm my own person, in charge of my own destiny, and that's just not a good idea. How many times do I have to prove that I'm not the best person for this job before someone steps in and takes charge? This is a whole new method of suicide. Consumed by another's authority.
This is where you stop reading and think about what you've done.
Why did you do this to yourself? Why did you let it get so rotten before you noticed there was even a wound? You sit in the same spaces everyday...the same chairs, the same spot on the bus, the same crater on the same couch...everyday, and yet you can't figure out why you're so bored. You eat the same food until you lose your sense of taste. You've walked the same lines so often that it wouldn't even matter if you went blind....you've stopped really looking anyway. You would settle for a disaster, a cataclysm, a bomb to explode you out of the routine just so long as it is by the hands of someone else because you couldn't stand being guilty of yet another trespass. You're guilty enough and you know it. And what else can you do but not cry?
Not crying becomes an important part of your day. You know what I mean. You think about not crying and you think about why you aren't crying and you think that you should cry and you're going to cry just as soon as you have time and as soon as you know you won't be interrupted because you've got a lot of crying to do that it's gonna be like an event....it's gonna be THAT moment. It's gonna be THAT moment that you know you'll look back on in the future and think to yourself, "That's when I hit rock bottom...that's when I was at my lowest.......that's when it all changed." Because that's what you want. That's the kind of cry you are planning. The kind of cry that gets the attention of salvation. The kind of cry that changes everything. Honest and unrelenting. It will be the fork in the road, it will be that moment. You've heard about it from so many others. From rehab patients. From celebrities. From heros. From preachers. From relatives and friends. You know it exists.
You're going to let it all out this time and then you will be free of it. The weight will be gone. The lungs cleared. The eyes swollen and burning and you know you'll look beautiful. You'll look broken. Old. Exhausted. Finally, you'll look like you feel. The crest will match the core, no illusions or dilution. You will flood the real you out into the open.
You will never be the real you. You love the real you too much to leave it exposed and vulnerable. That's why you've shielded it beneath so many layers. You would rather annihilate it than see it damaged. Lies are armor. Your smile is bulletproof. Affection is formal. Sex is a job. It's all a means to no end. It just is. It's just life but not quite living.
Today is preparation for tomorrow and yesterday is the blueprint. As long as you still have a chance for second to last place. As long as there is still someone behind you...someone beneath you. As long as you know you're better off than at least one other person.
The niece of Osama Bin Laden has posed for provocative photographs for an American magazine.
Wafah Dufour, an aspiring musician and model, is the daughter of the al-Qaeda leader's half-brother Yeslam.
She appears stripped to ostrich feather lingerie, and in a bubble bath, in photos for American GQ magazine. US-born, she says she is an American, and distances herself from her uncle. "Everyone relates me to that man, and I have nothing to do with him," she says.
Ms Dufour, 26, took her mother's maiden name after the events of 11 September 2001.
She lived in Saudi Arabia, where Bin Laden is from, until she was 10, before moving on to Geneva and back to the US.
She says she never sees any of the extended Bin Laden clan, including her father.
"There are 400 other people related to him, but they are all in Saudi Arabia, so nobody's going to get tarred with it. I'm the only one here," she said.
Her father and Osama Bin Laden are among more than 50 children fathered by Mohammed Bin Laden, a Yemeni immigrant to Saudi Arabia, and construction magnate.
Ms Dufour was in Geneva when the 11 September 2001 attacks on the US, masterminded by her uncle, were launched.
She said: "I was freaking out, crying hysterically, watching this in horror. I was like 'Somebody's bombing my city, and I wanna go home!'"
"I was born in the States, and I want people to know I'm American, and I want people to understand that I'm like anyone in New York. For me, it's home," she said.
Why post more than one entry when you can cram them all into one easily digestable bite size capsule.
PART I: A Mediocre Mention
There’s something really awful going on in my life right now. Well, there’s a lot of awful going on in my life, but this is a new awful (a sequel to an old awful), unlike most of my awful in that this is an awful that I did not necessarily do to myself. I don’t feel like sharing it at this time…perhaps later once it has passed, but probably not. Mentioning it just to explain my detachment from things…or distraction…preoccupation. I don’t know. It’s something that hurts a lot that I would rather not deal with. Something that I’d rather let deal with itself, if such a thing were possible. I’m in a big mess here. Nothing normal ever happens to me.
I’m very good at hurting people when I don’t know that I’m hurting them. I can be quite oblivious, absent-minded, and self-centered. But when I know that I am hurting someone or that I will once I do or say what I feel needs to be said or done, that I am not so good at. Even if I know it’s for the best. Even if I know that they deserve it. Even if they have hurt me tremendously in the past and I need to tell them to stay the fuck away from me for my own sense of security. This is why I’m so apprehensive to become too close to anyone lest I start caring about them, because I know once I start caring, I’m never going to stop regardless of what they do to me. I can make myself avoid them, but if they come to me, then it’s difficult for me to turn them away.
Life is hard. -------------------------------- -------------------------------- PART II: The Light At the End of the Tunnel
“This site is maintained to bring Praise, Glory and Honor to the Lord Jesus Christ for the work He is doing in David's life and in the lives of countless others. Only Jesus Christ can change a serial killer and an avowed Satanist into a lover of people and a lover of God!”
That’s right. From hearing the voice of a dog to hearing the voice of God, David Berkowitz is back with a special message of hope and redemption for all of mankind. Jesus Christ has personally forgiven Mr. Berkowitz for being a Satanist, a murderer, and a Jew. And if he can be forgiven for those three heinous offenses, then so can you be forgiven for any number of your various sins. And remember, just because you’ve never killed anyone doesn’t mean you’re any less of a sinner than Mr. Berkowitz was before he came to Christ. The Lord makes no distinction nor does he categorize sin the way that the Laws of Men categorize crime. To The Lord there are only two kinds of people in the world: The Forgiven and The Unforgiven.
“My name is David and I want to thank you for taking the time to hear me out. I want to rap with you just a little bit as I have something very important to share.”
“Ever since I was a small child, my life seemed to be filled with torment. I would often have seizures in which I would roll on the floor. Sometimes furniture would get knocked over. When these attacks came, it felt as if something was entering me. […..] Occasionally this same evil force would come upon me in the middle of the night. When this would happen I felt an urge to sneak out of the house and wander the dark streets. I roamed the neighborhood like an alley cat and would creep back into the house by climbing the fire escape. My parents would never know that I was gone. […..] In 1975, however, I met some guys at a party who were, I later found out, heavily involved in the occult. I had always been fascinated with witchcraft, satanism, and occult things since I was a child. When I was growing up I watched countless horror and satanic movies, one of which was Rosemary’s Baby. That movie in particular totally captivated my mind.
Now I was age 22 and this evil force was still reaching out to me. Everywhere I went there seemed to be a sign or a symbol pointing me to Satan. I felt as if something were trying to take control of my life. I began to read the Satanic Bible by the late Anton LaVey who founded the Church of Satan in San Francisco in 1966. I began, innocently, to practice various occult rituals and incantations.
I am utterly convinced that something satanic had entered into my mind and that, looking back at all that happened, I realize that I had been slowly deceived. I did not know that bad things were going to result from all this. Yet over the months the things that were wicked no longer seemed to be such. I was headed down the road to destruction and I did not know it. Maybe I was at a point where I just didn’t care anymore.”
If you have any residual apprehension about allowing yourself to be inspired by the words of a former serial killer sociopath, you should be assured by the fact that Mr. Berkowitz and his site receive the full endorsement of the Christian group Focus on the Family, the same organization which has long warned you about the dangers of Marilyn Manson and Harry Potter. So you know they’re reliable. -------------------------------- -------------------------------- PART III: Rest Thine Boobies On Me
Nothing to do with anything. It’s just sexy when girls play with their boobs. Even if it’s incidental, like if she’s just doing so in order to adjust them, it’s still sexy. Why? I don’t know. It just is. Perhaps because it shows how squishy they are…maybe not. If you know, then let me know and then we’ll all now and can put this behind us and move on.
(keira knightly) -------------------------------- -------------------------------- PART IV: Dangerous Hat
Finally, a few pictures of me wearing a hat that Miss Heather gave me, in which I look deliciously creepy, due more to my sickly complexion than the hat itself. I’m involved in mutinational competition for the title of Pastiest Man Alive or Most Unintentional Goth.
I enjoy eating breakfast foods late at night (like bacon, eggs, sausage, cereal, doughnuts, muffins, etc...) which I've heard you're not supposed to do. The reason, I've heard, is because your body digests it differently or something, and it converts it all to fat. I'm not sure how accurate that is because things like that aren't the slightest concern to me.
I'm very skinny. Perpetually so. It doesn't matter what I eat or how much of it I eat. I can eat anything I want however much of it I want at any time of day or night that I want, and I won't gain a pound. This one time I sat down and ate a whole cheesecake, and gained nothing. Most people would gain a lot of weight from that sort of behavoir, but not me. It must be my genes...my genes that make me perpetually beautiful no matter what I do to my body. Health is of little concern because nothing shows up on the surface. Sometimes I like to buy a dozen glazed doughnuts and eat them all at one sitting. I can do this because I've never had to worry about my weight. Food anxiety is just about as alien to me as impotence.
Sweets and stuff like that are delicious, which is why I'm happy that I can eat so much of them without having to give it a second thought. I should exercise for reasons such as energy and mood improvement, but I don't need to do it to lose weight because I don't ever have to worry about my weight. I don't do any crunches or sit-ups or anything, and yet my stomach remains flat and firm. It's SOOOO weird. Like what's up with that?
I just ate bacon, eggs, sausage, and toast about 30 minutes ago, but I could still go for some awesome glazed doughnuts right now. Why don't they have doughnut stores open at this hour? That's so unfair. Is it because they think that no one would want doughnuts at this hour? I would because I can eat them whenever I want because weight isn't something I even really think about. I don't even get why food is even an issue with people. I don't even ever bother to weigh myself because I know it will pretty much be exactly the same as it was the last time I weighed myself around 3 or 4 years ago. That's how stable my weight is.
I have a 27-28 inch waist and it's SOOOO frustrating.
Anyway, my point is: Why do people gain so much weight? I don't. It must be a lack of self-discipline or something. Learn some self-control, geeez.
Another point: Am I being an asshole? Do you hate me? Why do I feed off of negative attention? Being perfect isn't easy because you have to deal with all the jealousy that comes from imperfect people, or "commoners" as I like to call them.
I'm kidding, I'm kidding....eat eat....enjoy yourself....I'm Rick James bitch, show me your titties.
Blink. Blink. Blink. Whoever invented the blinking cursor is a sadistic asshole. It inspires apathy with its hypnotic regular pacing. Or it antagonizes frustration where there might have once been inspiration. It taunts like an alarm. A turn signal. A warning light. Distress. A siren. It demands feelings of anticipation, eagerness, or hopelessness. The only way to stop it from blinking is to type. Otherwise, look away at the wall. You are going nowhere on this page. Just like life, maybe, but you always have those windows to clean.
Brush your teeth. Go to bed. Lay your head on your headache pillow and try not to dream of waking up early. Remember tomorrow is new to everyone but you. Do something completely unpredictable and different. Shake the routine by its throat. Kiss a stranger. Cry in public. Quit your job. Assault a co-worker. Set your car on fire. Fire a warning shot at yourself, “The next one’s goin’ to your head! Get out now!”
Enough of that. This is the internet. The text trash can. The home of Myspace.com and the former home of RateMyBoner.com. We don’t come here for quality. We don’t even come here for quantity. TL;DR. Mostly, we want short blurbs of shallow brain goo. Gratification, not satisfaction. Distraction, not intrigue.
Besides, I’m just bored at work. We’re all just “bored at work” when someone confronts us with the fact that we’re on the internet. Especially when we’re called-out on the cyber-crime of doing something else with the internet besides wanking and acting like a vacuous asshole within the safety of anonymity, at a distance from the physical assault that such behavior would usually earn you. Everyone on the internet has a job complete with internet access. Everyone on the internet never actually does work while at work. No one on the internet owns a home computer. Or if they do, they never really use it; at least not for this kind of stuff. When using their computer at home, they only do important stuff….like, I dunno….email campaigns that will change the world as we know it?
Other than that, they’re quite busy getting sex, apparently. Whenever someone on the internet says, “Get a life,” they’re referring to sex and implying that you must not get any; and, by the rule of default, since they’re making the accusation, they must get a ton of it. The deciding factor for all manner of superiorities revolves on a person’s quantity of sexual activities. You must be doing something right if someone actually lets you put your dick in them, or wants to put their dick in you…depending on your equipment and preference. Nevermind the numerous individuals we encounter on a daily basis who do, in fact, get laid, and have boyfriends/girlfriends who are far from ideal people. The most disgusting person you can think of is probably “getting some” from someone equally disgusting. Take a walk through a public park and you’ll encounter live-action demonstrations of this. The real meaning is that it really doesn’t mean anything.
It’s all absurd, and we know it. Yet, we’re all a little ashamed of our internet usage. We must always find some way to justify it to ourselves.
One cause of this almost universal internet shame is simple enough.: Porn. Only until recently, the internet was primarily associated with (and loved for) its ample amount of accessible porn. Porn for the masses. A public service to the pervert in all of us. We’re even willing to be porn and use others as porn (not me of course, I’m just bored at work.) This is still true today, however, we’re beginning to find and acknowledge the other uses offered by the internet….such as reading and writing stuff.
But, despite this, the pornographic association of the internet is fully indoctrinated in our brain. The internet is synonymous with pornography. Thus, using the internet has become synonymous with masturbating. And when people are called-out on using the internet, they respond with the same apologetic shame as if they were caught masturbating. “I don’t do this all the time! I’m just bored. I get laid, you know! Just because I’m doing this doesn’t mean that I don’t!”
You know I’m right. Why else would people constantly bring up implications and affirmations of how much ass they get? Why is using the internet associated with not getting laid? Because masturbation is too. What’s the first thing that pops into your head when someone you know in real life tells you that they were or are using the internet? That they were looking at porn. It always inspires an initial “Ew” reaction, even if it’s only fleeting.
Anyway….I’m going to go watch some porn and jerk off because I’m currently not getting laid by anyone. I could be if I wanted to…but I’ll write about her some other time. If I did it now it would look like I was bragging, so I’ll save it. Now’s not the time to bring up the ease at which hot ass comes to me. I fucked your mom and have a big dick. That’s the only reason I masturbate…because my dick is beautiful. You’d play with it too if you could. Plus I’m just bored at work. Yeah, I do that at work too, so what? My boss doesn’t care. There’s even a special room for it. We draw straws to determine who has to do the end of the day cleanup. And no, I’m not serious. I work shit jobs where computers are alien and the mops are king. I’m a loser on the internet. But I get ass. A ton of it.
A couple of years ago, I posted an entry regarding an expanded version of The Diary of Young Girl by Anne Frank in which I mentioned that a few of the added entries involved Anne’s sexuality in a rather overt tone, which would come to the surprise of anyone who is accustomed to the more traditional and sanitized little Annie that we became acquainted with in school. At the time I was too lazy to go and get the book to quote the parts that I was talking about as I am a very lazy person. This time, however, I have taken up the fifteen or so minute task and typed out these specific blasphemies for your reading pleasure, because I like you like that. Like, like you like you…like as in more than “just friends,” know what I mean? Well never mind that, we’ll discuss that later. Now you don’t have to go and find the book to see what I’m talking about…though you should do so anyway because it’s excellent. She’s much more human (and no, it’s not all sex) which makes the entire thing more heartbreaking…at least to me.
Here’s a graphic example of her curiosity towards her own body, which is quite…well, read it:
I'd like to ask Peter whether he knows what girls look like down there. I don't think boys are as complicated as girls. You can easily see what boys look like in photographs or pictures of male nudes, but with women it's different. In women, the genitals, or whatever they're called, are hidden between their legs[....…]
[.......]Everything's pretty well arranged in us women. Until I was eleven or twelve, I didn't realize there was a second set of labia on the inside, since you couldn't see them. What's even funnier is that I thought urine came out of the clitoris[....…]
But to get back to the subject. How on earth can you explain what it all looks like without any models? Shall I try anyway? Okay, here goes!
When you're standing up, all you see from the front is hair. Between your legs there are two soft, cushiony things, also covered with hair, which press together when you're standing, so you can't see what's inside. They separate when you sit down, and they're very red and quite fleshy on the inside. In the upper part, between the outer labia, there's a fold of skin that, on second thought, looks like a kind of blister. That's the clitoris. Then come the inner labia, which are also pressed together in a kind of crease. When they open up, you can see a fleshy little mound, no bigger than the top of my thumb. The upper part has a couple of small holes in it, which is where the urine comes out. The lower part looks as if it were just skin, and yet that's where the vagina is. You can barely find it, because the folds of skin hide the opening. The hole's so small I can hardly imagine how a man could get in there, much less how a baby could come out. It's hard enough trying to get your index finger inside. That's all there is, and yet it plays such an important role!
My my, she really looked huh? The thing which strikes me as odd is I still encounter girls who at least claim to have very little knowledge of their own special parts…certainly not to the extent expressed here. A lot of girls have never even seen themselves or made any attempt to. Why? Will viewing your nether regions unleash some unfathomable curse? The curse of your overbearing Mother? Father? The Curse of the Curious Whore Child? Or are you afraid you’ll find something strange down there…like tentacles, or The Arch of the Covenant? Would finding the Arch of the Covenant in your vagina really be such a bad thing?
This sort of thing is normal…indulge in it. And she’s right. The head of the clitoris really does look like a blister.
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Was Anne a bit “bi-curious”?
[.........] Sometimes when I lie in bed at night I feel a terrible urge to touch my breasts and listen to the quiet, steady beating of my heart.
Unconsciously, I had these feelings even before I came here. Once when I was spending the night at Jacque's, I could no longer restrain my curiosity about her body, which she'd always hidden from me and which I'd never seen. I asked her whether, as proof of our friendship, we could touch each other's breasts. Jacque refused. I also had a terrible desire to kiss her, which I did. Every time I see a female nude, such as the Venus in my art history book, I go into ecstasy. Sometimes I find them so exquisite I have to struggle to hold back my tears. If only I had a girlfriend!
Is this normal behavoir for girls? As in, is this a scenario that many of you have encountered during your younger years? Older years? I have heard women speculate that men engage in this sort of behavoir as well when they are kids/teenagers. Like they play with each other’s dicks or tweak each other’s nipples or make out or something; but I personally have never had any such experience. Granted, I really didn’t hang around too many boys, so maybe I was left out of this Circle-Jerk-Of-Discovery. If any of you men have, then you should fess up to this now because I’d be very curious to hear it. Of course, this changed when I became an adult, but that’s different…we weren’t playing.
Before anyone decides that these additions are somehow criminal to Anne’s wishes; that surely, it is somehow disgraceful to her to include such personal matters that she would not have shared had she been alive to release the text herself, you should keep in mind that this is in fact what she wanted to share…part of it anyway. There are three versions of her diary: One which is the diary in its entirety…including various one or two liners that represent the usual mundane musings of any diary keeper and in which she sounds much more the teenage girl than in either of the edited versions. Then there’s the second one which was the one that Anne wanted published (after she heard on the radio that someone was looking to publish diaries and journals of those in hiding), which includes the segments quoted above. And then there’s the third, most widely read, version which was edited and put together by her father, Otto Frank. He took out these segments (for obvious reasons), as well as entries which painted her mother/his wife in negative light.
So rest assured, Anne wanted you to know about her vagina. She was proud of it. It was her Dad who was anti-vulva, and who cares what Dad’s think anyway?
Two more, though these have nothing to do with sexuality.
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ovariancyst's journal
