it is the perineum, the endearing patch of flesh between the man's scrotum and anus (women have one too, between vagina and anus, though 'choad,' a playful pejorative, has become more associated with men); 'taint' is the more female word of the said area, though choad and taint are technically gender neutral; it is still undecided as to whether taint/choad is an erogenous zone, given the eerie-'kinda nice'-but-weird feeling of having one's taint/choad coaxed by an earnest amateur's tongue

you can't be. your life will be worse than other men who have hair on their head, in terms of your built-in 'scalp cock block,' and the icepick landing of every rain drop from the laughing man above. welcome to my hell, i'll buy you a drink

idk what 'based god' is, but i like the idea of god b/c it seems to help people in times of great tribulation; the athiestic 'rational' argument against him does not interest me b/c that arguement -- at least for rational people such as myself -- is obvious; i find the capacity of our delusion towards him is, oddly, that which may prove this existence, his secret formula, like an effigy placebo; but, for the records, i am not concerned with god, but do welcome his possibility

i find that image depressing

if a rare beautiful unicorn is spotted at a creek, his 14" equestrian dong blinking with gold light from the water's reflection of the setting bob rossian sun, somewhere in CGI-land, its horn a spiraled chalice from which insatiable nymph muses drink the thick musky sauce of barn yard devotions, it is not its fault for existing in tangent to the depraved sentience of its loyal followers

women have this odd radar that can sense when a dude doesn't 'give a fuck' if he's successful with a woman, which in turn they find attractive; if a guy is trying to be successful, she will cock block him just out of principle, slanty bishop takes pawn in the game of sex chess -- hey you dont wanna be a pawn, or a choadlike stiff king who can't dance, nor a queen cuz then u gay, no, you wanna be rook, some hard knockin straight up bro who moves fwd simply and half a brain and pounds ass ok? -- basically, just focus on yourself, be chill, be nice, be happy, god damn those bitches, and if they want you then great and if they don't who cares they are retarded

the best time in life is 25-29; everything before 25 is you learning how to finally live properly, full of cheap beer, dishes in the sink, friends who should be unfriended, and roommates who should be euthanized; everything after 30 is a slow comfortable low tempo nauseating hell i can't really explain right now; please, when you 'hit' 25, live it fucking up man for 5 years, that is all you have; i envy you that you have someone (me) to tell you this

you can judge everything by its outside. if you see an orange rind autonomously hugging something, it is most likely an orange inside. the outside's job is to accurately represent the inside. inside a DVD case of 'meet the fockers' i would be extremely angry to discover 'dr. doolittle.' if a person feels they are an exception to this rule, they seem really self-involved and annoying and i don't want to know them. these people usually dress like goths or hippies.

that i inspire you to not be me is both saddening for me and hopeful for you. i am glad to have laid down the path not to be taken. if i knew how to not be me, i would do it, so sorry i don't have any advice. i wish i was 16 and not wanting to be like someone like me. seems like you have a great future. when you turn 18, come over, i'll show you the deep side of me, which may involve the deep side of you, which you can hence not be

no i don't, nor have i; my drinking was chronic, but always in control. i use the past tense because i don't drink at home alone anymore (i used to go thru a 750 ml bottle of scotch a week, or a bottle of wine a night), though i will drink with friends at dinners or bars. i did go to CoDA, co-dependents anonymous, but got bored with people complaining all the time. now i can recognize my codependent tendencies, and am slowly getting over them. it's ok to blast me, but chill u didn't.

don't worry about all the references you don't get or 'what the fuck is going on' just go with the flow and let the sounds and images just happen; the linguistics are organic, they move, breathe, even walk around. just enjoy the phonetics in your mouth, move your lips to the words, it's like jazz or musical cadence (he'll alliterate t's like 'til the top stood a tally cat in went the trolly' or something and turns out a blind man is tapping with a walking stick behind bloom, point being: form informs the content); chapter 17, the penultimate 'ithaca', is perhaps the best piece of writing (50-70pgs. or so) i've ever read, when his micro day becomes macro...oh, you will see...u shall...and ever be changed...oh and the last chapter in bed with his wife molly falling asleep...omg...infidelity, empathy, love, orgasm, god, yes...yes...yes!!!!!

i have not read him, though i was told i 'have to' read 'crash' and so he/that is on my reading list; however, i usually don't like two kinds of writers: 1) english dudes with blazers and nice offices/dens to write in, who aren't gay (i like gay or gayish waugh and e.m forster), like ballard, amis, and banville; just feels kinda boring to me; 2) men who write sci-fi-ish dystopian books in not just a didactic, but sensational way, like palahniuk or something snowboarder agro bros who smoke pot would read, and i feel ballard is both 1 and 2.

well i'm pretty strange, so come over. i promise not to get to know you

if determinism, there's nothing i can do; if free will, then i can do something. if i do something and it's the former, i will have simply wasted my energy; if i do nothing and it's the latter, i will have wasted my life. therefore, i do something

i'm srry i don't usually read that really old stuff; i think i read spinoza once, and the earlier philosophers, like pascal and kant, and goethe, but just remember being not really into it. like they were stuff in their own 'deal' back then. like imagine people reading our tweets 220 years from now. annoying! i like old paintings, but i feel you are asking about writing.

i'm confused. idk your gender and the gender of your GBF. i'm sorry but this makes a difference, it simply does, so let's say straight= - and gay= + ok so here we go: -m♥+m means you yourself are actually gay, so it's perfect, like take him camping and brokeback mtn. his pooper; -m♥+f is okay cuz it's probably just a lesbo phase, or she's bi; -f♥+m is sweet cuz u2 can watch city in the city 2gether and get pillows at restoration hardware, but give up on any romance;-f♥+f means u dyke too so s'all good. i hope u find ♥

the one where i was a different person, my hands less pensive with empty palms, and full with the bounty of a soft ass, whose cheeks were spread as wide as her smile, a smile that opens into a hole, a hole to end my universe of pain in

i would let her do anything to me, and encourage the advanced stages of her itinerary at the point of our meeting; likewise, i would hope that she would let me do anything to her; thus, we would be two consenting adults, with nominal age difference, doing unto each other what we would want done unto ourselves (which may involve good balancing skills); and should she write a thinly veiled fictional account of our engagements, i would offer it be called 'larry david' or 'jeremy irons'; and i would not edit the scene where i sing to her like lou reed over two chords as if sound itself might end, my bed bath & beyond sheets beyond laundering, her glistening dollops slowing crusting under the moon's glare, bangs moved to the side as i commemorate every atom of this satanic child, from her forehead, to nose, to chin...down the path towards her fervent darkness still swollen from my better effigy, forever blind inside the human mess of fuck soup

ducks, for being soooo cute alive (their waddling asses!) and being the main constituent of 'peking duck'; it's like everything jimmy loves in one

play [insert any band who's received positive (+8.5) pitchfork review] really loud and pretend i'm in the band, including groupie scenarios; eat until i was so full i didn't feel like eating anymore and could not perceive how lonely i was; indulge in suicide ideation, see a basho haiku in my mind; stop playing those hipster a-holes and play leonard cohen; wank to soft porn, like just a pretty face sans $hot looking at me, smiling with acceptance; floss in mirror and imagine collecting floss into a noose to not hang myself, but just put around my neck like a minty necklace, fresh