daily ruzz

possible

it's possible, now that the noise of life has receeded back to dull hum that i am feeling something like... something not unlike withdrawl. i guess. i miss being around people and laughing and just not being here in front of the damn computer.

sundays suck. they always have, really.

i get the teg went home blues and can't seem to shake the anxious boredom.

i guess that's fine and well. i guess it don't matter much if it ain't.

the rest of this month is going to be insane as i welcome my 33rd birthday and the fall.

yikes.

my penis + google = ruzz

it should be noted that a google search for 'my penis' returns ruzz as result number 3.

only two other places on the web come even close
to
my
penis.

and dr. ruth can kiss my ass. number one. whatever. what's she know about peni.
wait. her's is likely bigger than mine. nevermind.

this just in

google throws ruzz up as result number 10 when searching for the word sucking.

thanks google.

here i thought no one understands me.

in three months this blog will deconstruct

well, three months or sooner, really.

I have a promo account for 121 days. So i have 121 days to break up the trotts and get mena bent over like sister cybil in the fourth grade. She be smilin saying.. oh ruzz.. here is a full year code. Harder.

because she likes it hard. you know she does.
they all do, but don't wait around for them to tell you that.

There is nothing special here. nothing special will be here.
i'm the war torn old battle commander come back for one last mission.
together we can conquer the boring hordes.

then i want to farm. like maximus. or
maybe be a longfuckinshoreman.

a stevedore?

I smothered a bird today. I didn't have the heart to crush it's tiny head.
i've done a lot of fucked up shit in my life, and some of it would make you wonder, but i'm standing there with this tiny half eaten bird in my hand --i wasn't as hungry as i thought, i guess-- and i'm feeling it's breathing slowing. it's losing its very fucking life man. it's actually dying in my hand.

you know how much time humans spend thinking about their own death?

and every time it takes a breath it's legs twitch.
twitch. breath. am i cutting off all the air? twitch.

breath.

I just wanted it to go. just go man. be well in death little bird. you weren't fast enough in this life and when you're slow you get worked. that's just the world little bird. just this big ol' world. or
nature. maybe.

anyways, i was standing there refusing this fragile wonder of nature it's air when all manner of judeo-christian guilt hopped my fence and really made a shit of things. No one expected that. not even the pope.

but i walked it off. because the bird, man, the bird was hurtin and it's just plain cruel to let it suffer. i can't quite get my noggin around the idea that sticking its head in a bucket of ice cold water is any better, but that's not for me to decide, i let the moral majority write the ticket on how to handle fallen winged beasts.

When i gave them that concession i never thought for a second it would play. and here i am with cheney going 'rah ruzz, rah, kill that dirty terrorist bird' and it's seven fuckin am in the morning. I have no socks or shirt on and twitch. breath. guilt.

that shit is just messed.
all the way.

oh, and welcome to my reunion tour. all seven of my dominant personalities agreed to get back together for one more run for our fans.