cluttering the net since 2001

instead I write

Friday, Feb. 27, 2004

I think there are far worse things I could want to spend my time doing besides being a writer. Besides my alphabetic obsession is free.

Top Ten Worse Things I could be doing with my Time

1. I could be studying "penis measuring techniques". This would entall finding guinea pig's for studying. *wink*

2. I could be profecting my "rolling" technique. This would mean I would have to buy and DO drugs, neither of which my artistic self has ever done.

3. I could be taking self portraits of my own vagina for an artistic photography project. This would mean I would have to spend tons of money on a camera and film and I'm sure these pictures might just end up in the wrong hands.

4. I could be walking the streets, of course this would mean I would have a ton of money and could be spending my time doing the above things as well as the following things without much financial consideration, but then again I would be eliminating my lifespan incredibly and might just die a slow death suffering with AIDS. (the aforementioned subject is not funny even though my list is meant to be)

5. I could be painting all of the walls with my poetry. This would mean the expense of paints and far more of my time involved with moving a ladder about the room. This might also cause us to lose our security deposit due to what would not really be damage but would be considered damage to the complex owners/mgt.

6. I could be lying around masturbating for hours. This would cause no permanent damage but I would guess that bf would get less "action" if I were self satisfying that often as to replace my current obsession/interest.

7. I could go shopping nightly and spend all of my money on chocolate, candy and sugary goodies, this would not be too expensive but then again I would get a humungous ass in the process, and I quite think it's big enough already.

8. I could sit and play dominoes, yahtzee and/or bingo for hours upon hours, but then I would also want to wear plaid polyester pants and carry a plastic handled square flowered bag everywhere I went and I might become quite cranky from lack of confidence after too many weeks of game playing.

9. I could just sit and do nothing. Of course with my illness I might become very distraught and distracted by my inner sadness voice and take my own life. This would of course solve the constant emotional struggle......

10. I could do all of the above, I could write a suicide letter nightly with my blood on the walls, I could rip up magazines and paste pretty pictures onto construction paper and light candles in homage of dead people. I could kill small neighborhood animals and call myself a satan worshiper just to rid myself of the constant noises caused by same animals on a daily basis. I could drive my truck around town all night long listening to bad Top 40 radio stations for hours and then finally ending the night dropping in a sad heap on my kitchen floor while licking the wooden spoon of all the chocolate brownie batter I bought from number 7. I could dream up new scenarios for my life and move around like a nomad thus leaving bf every few months to seek self awareness. I could pray like the budists, I could study the chemical make up of a can of Chef Boyardee for small profit to be paid by the Dr. Atkins camp. I could color categorize my panties and line up all of my socks from end to end to measure how many states they might pass through before ending their thread journey. I could sit and poke myself in the eyes and try out for the crying scenes of Spanish speaking daytime television shows. I could lick my finger and put it into every socket in the house to see how curly my hair got before my eventual experiment ridden death.

I could....but instead I write.

10:21 p.m. ::
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