ugh... i overdid it... "because it was a friday"...
i figured i could replica the sorts of
bogus nights out being the culprit colt
and poor boy in a club of early to mid 20 girls
looking for sugar daddies... never again...
i overdid the measure: it was supposed to
be 3x 8.5% ciders and half a liter of whiskey...
and when that happens -
i walk around like sleepwalker / zombie...
silent as the grave but with a flare of wild
fantasy! i'll do stupid shit like...
but a bedroom clock into the fridge...
apparently cooling an object that
reads time slows down in a fridge...
i was grieved upon waking that i, simply didn't remember
something so banal... i made my protests...
and no, not the usual drunkard's amnesia
of saving grace and conscience -
why would i even remember such banal antics
the next morning?
it's a fucking clock in a fridge...
what has that to do with me? nothing!
you should ask the silent-as-a-tomb zombie
come 3am...
but i'll admit... i was a little pissed off
when i opened the paper...
the times is worth the seven days prior
in the single edition of the sunday times...
saturday is a hit & miss experience...
but... on the odd occasion...
it does offer a belgian waffle scenario...
an interview with...
em... Mr.... Mr...
Brazilian...
no, really the maverick poker player multi-millionaire...
guns, girls, gambling and misogyny -
whatever the hell that means...
king of instagram...
26.7 million followers, ex navy-seal...
2 heart attacks aged 25...
dan Bilzerian... fuck it... Mr Brazilian...
like me: owns a cat and has a beard fetish...
believe me... after growing my hair long
as a pact / altar sacrifice to a poster of slayer
to jeff hanneman... i said: i'll do it for you jeff...
highschool... chewbacka...
why don't you grow a mullet... etc etc.,
blah blah... yawn...
i was laughing last when 14 year old girls
came up to me and asked me what
shampoo i was using... herbal essences
was the reply... after i tied my hair into
a french braid and the movie blow came out...
more girls walked around with french braids...
i'll admit... no school experience is as gratifying
as a catholic school experience of having
to wear uniforms...
the whole high school culture disappears
as you age... you have no fashion
deposit points of discussion...
apart from the days you'd come in your
own clothing for charity...
red converse sneakers...
light blue 1980s jeans...
a gap blue, red, grey, white fine chequered shirt...
the maths t-teacher called me
a lumberjack...
the next uniform free day?
pornstar t-shirt... same jeans...
imagine walking the whole in a catholic school
with the words: MASTURBATION IS NOT
A CRIME printed on a t-shirt...
all of a sudden the girls in my year started
to ask me what radio station i was listening to,
whether it was X-Fm... radio?
i was on my way to a fine fine collection
of records...
why would anyone gloat in this sort of bollocks?
boundaries had to be tested...
i love this pockets of memory
that somehow suddenly appear and refresh my
stuffed mind...
i can't say i was a popular kid -
our group sort of gathered from all walks of oddities -
in a heavily irish part of out london -
we had an egyptian, a pakistani,
rasheed and shane from the caribbean -
akshay the indian,
an englishman ian -
graham "mr. bean" ridley...
jamie the lithuanian,
me the polack...
and while the "pop" kids huddled with
all the girls we were found playing cards -
poker texas 3 'old me...
shitface or some other bullshit name for
a game...
two acts of bullying on my part...
throwing a tangerine at a guys head
for a bet whether i could hit him...
and roughing up a kid,
for... i heard a girl would do sexual favors
for him if he ate a bit of dog shit
from the pavement...
good on 'im he's happily married and
aims at a career in a call-center...
school without uniforms would have
been exhausting...
the joy of ironing your shirts for the week to
come on a sunday evening...
fuck me... school was so much fun that
i remember the morning a week
after buying a MOJO magazine showcasing
the top 50 prog rock albums...
6am (1.5h trip to school, 9am sharp)...
jethro tull... my god... the flute section...
the sky was awash with something
j. m. w. tuner would have painted:
but less foggy - a vivid battle of hues...
clementines, peaches, oranges,
strawberries... nectarines...
apples, pears, shy blueberries bursting
apricots and... signatures of escapist lavendar...
tinges of grey fucking azure...
it took three gradations of grey:
one in the mouth one in the floral
deposit of later lucifer making a head-first
plunge "oopsie" through: to quench
the thirst of all prior cock-fuck to come before...
and... not forgetting Howlin' Wolf's reference
to being the: "backdoor" man... anal...
for every 72 virgins a muslim martyrs recieves...
a 3 piston make-shift device awaits
the christian woman...
how much i admire a society that
treats men as first...
the further east you go: the more chances
of spotting one such example...
out of spite?
i've done two things out of spite...
i visited a monk community in the south
of france... the Taizé Community and i've been to
a brothel...
i suggest all incels should have this right
of passage...
(a) see what a celibate community looks like
and (b) just get it over and done with...
as a circumcised man to any uncircumcised man?
i never fucked to gratify myself -
hence the foreskin -
i could please myself all the while -
but during intercourse? it was always
a scenario where i would be disembodied -
i'd be somewhere else during sex...
sex with foreskin isn't exactly...
what you'd call the platonic escapade...
it pleases one party than the other...
i can please myself...
sure... no scented candles, no sex toys...
no web cam income from jerking off...
but after the "deed"... a shower, a proper scrub
and listening to some depeche mode...
just another hole that something is gagging
to be set loose... so here's to another genocide
into toilet paper, flushed down the toilet...
and here's to tomorrow morning:
poaching a paultry abortion...
my my: i've perfected poaching eggs
to the point where i don't soft-boil them in
their shells... i always miss about a minute added
to fully boil the egg-white...
just the tip covering the yoke...
where does Mr. Brazilian fit into all of this?
well... this morning i looked at the article:
15 minutes of fame according andy warhol -
or an interview slot in either the sunday
or the saturday editions of a newspaper..
i looked at the pictures...
wasn't i supposed to be green with envy?
i looked closer for a while, left it...
then cooked the most pristine shrimp
pappardelle... eh... somewhat this that and the other...
the pictures looked pretty...
i was stricken with envy...
but wait a minute...
i could replicat them if i drank less...
albeit... oh hun... but with mandible beauties
akin to bulgarian prostitutes...
beauty that comes with the allure
associated with boutiques,
used books and all manner of antique...
counter instagram posed beauty
the wives of stepford types with silicon
revisions and all that etc.,
i always tended to feed myself
a taste for beauty that worked alongside
the feats of sculptors...
let's face it...
the medieval painters didn't favor to represent
the beauty of their days...
the sculptors hit the mark spot on...
they sculpted in the same way
they might have fucked -
the artists of the day?
all the beauties of the day
appear... em... em...
inbred?!
so i first came across the pcitures
of Mr. Brazilian... Dan Bilzerian...
sorry, i hate gambling...
i gamble... out of respect...
the grand national... once a year...
i betted this year...
i didn't bet on the winner...
but i made a bet
that ensured me i'd win...
if the bet was focusing on the number of horses
that didn't make it to the end of the race...
broke a leg...
concusioned one jockey or two...
i managed to find 17...
obviously i didn't win anything...
but i did manage to spot 17 horses that didn't
make it...

after the pictures of Mr. Brazilian
i read the x-rays...
my... what's it called..
what's it called... my tolerance became
exponential...
so you're telling me...
you're surrounding yourself
with all these frigit...
mannequin beauties...
but there's no mandible bulgarian
beauty in sight?!
a second hand book?
really? all... just... pristine...
1st comic book edition housewife
of stepford?
what is this... baiting an alpha?
if i had to live a life according
to how others perceived me,
rather than i how i perceived myself...
sex? fun without the foreskin -
i'm sure... otherwise with the foreskin
you're pleasing the opposite sex...
and that's only fun when
the opposite sex makes concessions...
otherwise this h'american
protestant pseudo-judaism
where the male is a fuck-whore...
sorry... the foreskin is what one
might ascribe a sword, having,
a sheath... i can pleasure myself...
transcendence in music...
the templars... da pacem domine...
and if i'm not expected to please anyone
beside myself..

oh sure... the photographs
of Mr. Brazilian look great...
but the x-ray of words?
not so much...
a sunday's worth of doing an atypical
englush carboot sale promenade
delves into: interesting...
well... isn't foreskin a big deal?

if female genital mutilation is such a big deal
in western societies...
surely... can't an acronym m.g.m. fit the bill?
thank god the catholic nations
of the east respect the foreskin...
i can please myself akin to the times
i take a shit and experience anal in reverse...
all the western protestant nations
seems to have forgotten -
forgotten "something"...

"excess" skin.. how about i cut your nose
or your ears off... you don't need that
cartilege, do you? not really!
sure... snippet-away all you want...
be the jew you're supposed to be...
but not in a secular society...
you just gave women the added
advantage of jerking off...
making money... freely...
like you were equipped with
a fucking pussy!
if i was ever equipped with
a... "missing" foreskin...
a "sword" without a "sheath"...
and they said being baptized without
permission came close to
abortion...
i didn't want to be baptized...
why would i be reading heretical gnotic
literature and avoiding confirmation?

man is supposed the most pleasure
derived from a non-sex act...
engineering, chemistry,
women can fuck all they want,
good mother or a great fuck prostitute...
protestants succumbing to the semite
practice... sure...
sow the wealth...
in a society that favors males
while circumcising them...
but not in a society that favors females...

you basically took a man's right
to jerk off, off with his head...
men were never supposed to experience
pleasure from sex...
the only pleasure was to be associated
with masturbating...
but then you cut off the foreskin...
and said: secular does it!
no limits of the woman...
to have to be contracted....

and you didn't even bother
to make the young males visit the beside projects
of a brothel and a Taizé monkish evironment?

i heard that females acknowledge the metaphor
of waspish... but having to consider
it in a female pursuit?!

i ended up pitying the "alpha" h'american males...
circumcised? oh well...
you're about as nature's worth of perfect...
picking snowflakes from a gorilla's dandruff...
protesant boy: circumcised with
hebrew overlords...
basically no religious confines for women...
please, let me!
i'll eat your ear van gogh style...
while you sacrifice your foreskin
to sake smoked salmon for a piece
of sushi! how's that?!

f.g.m. and no m.g.m.:
who took out the fun from jerkling off?
sit on the throne of thrones...
piss, take a shit, fetish over homo-erotica:
besides...
why william burroughs never
received the prize... cartesian erotica
of the chair and table...
jean-paul sartre won the prize for nausea...
why?!

thank god my phallus resembles
the Caduceaus... two protruding veins
enveloping the foreskin...
you kippah-with-this-shit!
i would have bled to death... fuck off playing
the cannibal barber!

let's get this over and done with...
first comes a visit to an open monk community,
akin to Taizé -
then a visit to a brothel...
after that? you get to do what i do...
listen to slayer -
and the rest prior to: with a minding worth
of a history known as a tomorrow -
that, diatribe.

such inhumane escapades were performed,
on the protestsant boys...
not having the sort of saudi will
to riddle the females...
with: "inhibitions"...
may these revisions rot in hell...
circumcise the females so they will
not be as so eager to whore themselves
online...

bloat welsh said day
and coming... a blown up sheep for the fireside
and a dozen eager stags that
came up with the joke: inflated sheep:
b'ah b'ah...
b'ah b'ah this...
i'd love to see more circumcised
females than the number of dead bodies
come the next h'american "nirvana"...
of one bull-shit actor
who might have said...
you baptized me...
you... circumcised me..
but you didn't attire me with
either a tonsure haircut
or a kippah...
i want my foreskin back,
i want my original sin too!
and... ha ha...
i would agree!
why settle the grief
with a tease...
give the momentum what,
it, wants...
and perhaps...
it just, it just might waver
toward a standstill worth anticipating.
mr. brazilian:
the hptographs worked just fine..
but then the x-ray wording
kicked in...
and harrison ford...
and harrison ford...
wasn't the wookie in indianna & the johnses...

personally?
i'm happy beither neither the alpha or
the beta male...
oh the joys of finishing last...
i most frankly abhor a sense of competition
without having the sort
of parameters required to
make a replica of a game...
a game...
two themes surmount
a purpose... the point of acting
and the point of sports...

which both are the motivating
duo...

me an alpha would involve
the fakery associated with
gambling -
me a beta would involve
writing an article about the alpha...
what a wonderful take
on the greek alphabet...
i still have my foreskin,
and i'm missing a kippah...
lucky me... lucly tomorrow or
whatever's worth of israel.