12.05.07
Seattle, Washington
6:42a
I love writing to myself in front of everyone.
just saying some shit out loud in private with the world watching. even if that world is comprised of immigrants from myspace and the cybergypsies who accidentally got here by searching douchebaggedness and cunthoodedness and other words that we, the searchee and the searcher, both made up simultaneously and unrelatedly, and yet so very very relatedly and relateful. and even relatifying. yes, even then, even with just a few of us here, together in my mind, I still love this voyeur into my own world as I astro-project myself into your shoes o reader, yes, even your socks and part of your pajamas, if it is, say, almost bedtime where you are, perhaps around midnight, and you happen to be wearing pajamas, which wouldn’t be hard because all I would have to do is read myself as I write and try to see what it could possibly be like to be you, getting to know me, by reading me, by seeing what the fuck it is I’m thinking, essentially, being inside me by being inside you being inside me. you. lucky you. you get to read me. which is like being inside me only temporarily. you can get out anytime. you. lucky you.
I wish I were you wishing you were me.
if you are still reading on, you are fucked. just like me. you are so very fucked. you love darkness and the simpsons. you bash corporate America but are addicted to dunkin’ doughnuts or pilates or both, what’s the difference. you love non-sequiturs.
“Did you know that 54 million people believe that evolution is a myth? We walk among these people”—Michael Torres
blogs are very webcam. I am very naked. you are very perv. only this blog is free so I don’t do anal. especially for those who haven’t donated anything to our cause. or for my dad since he is both my dad and mom and asian all at once, you know, since my mom died, and plus she couldn’t cook so he always did, not that only moms cook but mine seemed unmom for not cooking, shit, that was the equivalent of showing you my balls wasn’t it? my mom’s dead. who just blurts that shit out? me. the exhibitionist. the ball show-er. the teabaggist. my dad is probably reading this and still feeling the regret of sending me to private school.
of course, maybe private school is what fucked me up.
maybe that’s why I always refuse to wear capitalization at the beginnings of sentences sometimes.
maybe that’s why I look down on people who do coke with one dollar bills– so public school.
maybe that’s why I am secretly an elitest.
maybe that’s why I can’t keep secrets.
specifically the secret of being an elitest.
an unemployed, going broke, but still going to Amsterdam for Christmas as if that’s not so Harold and Kumar, and still thinks he’s smarter than everyone around him kind of elitest.
I think I’m so smart, I’ve even factored in the fact that I would probably have just said what I just said, you know, about thinking I’m so smart and factoring in the fact that I probably would have just said what I just said.
I’m so smart I’ve factored in that being smart isn’t enough in this war of inner chemicals, this bag o’ cells that we is be.
I’d so smart I’ve even calculated in the fact that I have to be open enough to realize that I might be deluded, and in fact, dumb as shit– I’m that smart.
I smart enough to realize that smart people sometimes are both protected by and haunted by their smartiosity, and only us smart folk can understand how haunted because only we have the powers to process the depths of our own douchebaggedness, the core of our cunthoodedness.
Yes, this is really how I speak.
I have philosophical Tourettes. I can’t swear enough. everything is fuck. fuck everything. fuck this. fuck that. you fucking fuck. and I’m not even Black or Italian.
I have recently cyber-bumped into a best friend from the 4th grade.
Michael Torres.
Michael Torres is what fucked me up.
4th grade, Punahou, Barack Obama and Kelly Preston’s school, the school where the AOL guy went, the privatest school you could go to in Hawaii, my first day there, and already I could tell Michael Torres was the guy I was supposed make fun of others with. Michael Torres was already going out with the double mint twins. Well, one of them. but when you’re dating a twin, it’s like you get extra credit. it’s a two-fer. date one get one free. not that you actually get access to both, but people perceive the value as double. no matter which twin you saw, it reminded you that Michael Torres was dating one of them, which made you think that maybe one day he could pull the switch, that maybe that was the plan, that maybe man had been to the moon after all, that maybe anything was possible. Michael Torres made everything seem double.
They became double mint twin models later, I saw them flash across the tv screen in a foggy college dorm room one day, mid bong rip and went, fuck, cough cough, the baglietto twins! cough. They looked even hotter than I remembered, I guess I didn’t remember them having breasts in the 4th grade. Well Michael Torres was already 4th grade fucking one of the–then breastless but soon to be very breastful double mint twins–Tara.
i liked Aimee, the sister. not just because me and Mike knew how cool it would have been to be best buds and also 4th grade fucking twin sisters, but because i liked her.
and by 4th grade fucking I mean holding hands in front of everyone during recess.
I wanted to 4th grade fuck Aimee.
shit, I still do. but now it’d have to be with more fucking and less 4th grade.
saw a recent photo of Aimee on myspace, still hot.
maybe Jenn will pretend to be Tara, and Aimee can pretend to be Aimee, and we can have the twin sister threesome fantasy that I’ve always had ever since the olsen twins started doing coke with million dollar bills– so private school.
who doesn’t want to fuck the olsen twins with the trance version of the full house theme song blaring in the background?
Michael Torres was a fucking show off. an exhibitionist. a ball show-er. a teabaggist. we became best friends until I got kicked out in 8th grade.
Punahou 8th grade fucked me. I wasn’t ready. I felt violated.
How they didn’t see my genius is beyond my genius.
Michael Torres was a dealer. yup. Mother fucker was dealing at the tender age of 9. Dealing dirty jokes, sexual truths–even the medical kind–and every possible street lingo that was known to mankind. He taught me cum was spelled with a u. He taught me the word dingleberry. He argued with me that women could cum too, just like dudes, and I said no way, and he said his brother in law said so and I said holy shit. If Michael Torres was the dealer, his brother in law was the dirty jokelord. the unGodfather. I owe everything to that man who I only met a couple times, how many people actually get to meet face to face with the unGodfather? But Michael Torres was my immediate source of all things not supposed to. all things wrong and beautiful. and the thing that first connected us was Eddie Murphy.
Yes, Michael Torres introduced me to Eddie in the 4th mother fucking grade. everything became mother fucking mother fucking after that. Michael’s neighbor Vince, had a mother fucking mother who we wished we were mother fucking mother fucking. Huge fucking tits, and totally Japanese, like, Anime meets huge fucking tits, it was awesome. But I didn’t think about mother fucking mother fucking until Michael Torres. I didn’t think about using soap as masturbation lubricant, I didn’t think of flicking my boner backwards like a diving board against my stomach, just to hear it clap, just to have another excuse to touch my dick, or hiding my dick between my legs to pretend I had a vagina bush, I didn’t think it was ok to like Prince and still totally be into pussy–I mean the guy had a perm and purple tights–but Michael knew what was cool, what was hot, I didn’t fucking know, not in the mother fucking fourth grade for godsake, not until Michael mother fucking Torres.
Michael was the first person to make it ok for me to be fucked up in the head.
Oh my god, I just googled Aimee and realized that she almost married Steve Young, the world famous 49er, and possible best quarter back of all time, and that now she has a kid and lives in California. I’m so glad she didn’t marry me. I’m like, the opposite of the greatest football player of all time. I also dated a girl from Kaiser that went on to date Prince, I swear to God, my claim to fame is how I almost this and almost that, I almost love that.
they say by the age of 7, you can already tell the gist of a person. all this Michael Torres reminiscing has reminded me that I can’t help but think it’s true. Michael sounds as smart and as ahead of the game as anyone, just from a few emails. All my friends from the 4th grade seem to be doing what you’d think. Paul Lucken, pilot, Butch Reddy, running the entire universe, Mike Taylor, basketball coach, Wyeth Matsubara, father of the year, Willow Chang, belly dancer and singer and even other stuff, and I, I blog from the outskirts of society, still the class clown, still the guy who always gets kicked out, it’s Piaget theory, it’s classic child psychology stuff, it’s 7 year old Ryan here with a goatee and same size cock.
did I ever have a chance of becoming some one else?
Did Judas ever have a chance of not betraying Jesus when it was written years before that he would?
Would Michael Torres have been the quickest dirtiest mind around, no matter who his brother in law was?
I think yes. I think that we are who we are at mother fucking 7 and shit. and I dig that. I was a cool mother fucking 7 year old. I still am. Michael Torres has reminded me of that just by emailing me and bringing up his own name. I hope he knows how cool he is. All my friends from back then are mother fucking cool, and in the same way they were when they were 7. Yes, I can tell all of this from my computer.
a toast: to eddie Murphy for making mother fucker feel like jazz
a toast: to Aimee Baglietto for still being alive and therefore still fuckable, even if only 4th grade style
a toast: to jenn for being open to a possible threesome with a twin sister from childhood
a toast: to Michael Torres for being fucked up in the head, and still so functional, and for teaching me that women too, can shoot cum out of their twat.
a toast: to being your god dammed mother fucking 7 year old self with all your mother fucking might.
Jenn when she was mother fucking 7.
1 response so far ↓
Michael Torres // May 23, 2008 at 9:02 pm |
Wow – quite a bit of resentment. I suggest…..Get over it….Man-up so to speak. Or maybe….grow-up…