eggplantcurse's Xanga

Tuesday, February 14, 2006

Tue, 14 Feb 2006 12:25:54 GMT

if i were going to give the world a coke...it would definitely be today.

Thursday, January 12, 2006

Thu, 12 Jan 2006 01:12:55 GMT

So what if I think the artist I am interning with "smells nice." I think lots of things smell nice...

Playboy

Tue, 13 Dec 2005 04:28:34 GMT

The first porn magazine I ever saw was a Playboy. It was summer and I was walking over a bridge near my house when I was eleven or twelve. I stopped to look over the side and see how high the brook was. I was so hot that I was considering climbing down the bank and going for a swim.

As I looked over the side into the brook I noticed that there was something under the surface of the water. Closer inspection revealed that it was a magazine so I went down to the water to get a closer look. The magazine was fanned open by the flowing water and I could see a lot of body parts that seemed...well, interesting.

I waded into the water and crouched down to pick up the magazine for a closer look. As I lifted it, the pages ripped and it floated back to the stream bed. I tried again, with similar results. The paper had become so delicate that any attempt to lift the magazine out of the water destroyed it. So...I held it underwater and gently looked though it several times. When it was time to get home, I picked a favorite page and pressed it to a piece of flat bark and lifted it out of the water.

Sunday, December 11, 2005

Sun, 11 Dec 2005 03:08:21 GMT

Hey, here is a funny sign I found recently:

Saturday, December 10, 2005

Sat, 10 Dec 2005 14:52:11 GMT

Johnny Cash — Ballad of A Teenage Queen

(Dream on, dream on teenage queen prettiest girl we've ever seen)

There's a story in our town
Of the prettiest girl around
Golden hair and eyes of blue
How those eyes could flash at you (How those eyes could flash at you)
Boys hung 'round her by the score
But she loved the boy next door who worked at the candy store
(Dream on, dream on teenage queen prettiest girl we've ever seen)

She was tops in all they said
It never once went to her head
She had everything it seems
Not a care, this teenage queen (Not a care, this teenage queen)
Other boys could offer more
But she loved the boy next door who worked at the candy store
(Dream on, dream on teenage queen you should be a movie queen)

He would marry her next spring
Saved his money, bought a ring
Then one day a movie scout
Came to town to take her out (Came to town to take her out)
Hollywood could offer more
So she left the boy next door working at the candy store
(Dream on, dream on teenage queen see you on the movie screen)

Very soon she was a star
Pretty house and shiny car
Swimming pool and a fence around
But she missed her old home town (But she missed her old home town)
All the world was at her door
All except the boy next door who worked at the candy store
(Dream on, dream on teenage queen saddest girl we've ever seen)

Then one day the teenage star
Sold her house and all her cars
Gave up all her wealth and fame
Left it all and caught a train (Left it all and caught a train)
Do I have to tell you more
She came back to the boy next door who worked at the candy store

(Now this story has some more, you'll hear it all at the candy store)

Twiki

Sat, 10 Dec 2005 03:39:36 GMT

When I was very young...like before school age. I used to love to watch the show Buck Rogers. Like any kid, I would act out scenes from the episodes while playing in my room. Since I didn't have any toys from the show, I would make do by pretending various other toys were the Buck Rogers characters.

This wouldn't make for a very interesting anecdote if I ended it before mentioning that I would always use my penis to play the part of Twiki...

"Eeb Bee Dee Bee OK Buck!"

Middle school memory

Fri, 09 Dec 2005 15:38:29 GMT

It is a winter weekend in the 80's. I am 12. My friend Scott is staying over. We are up late playing Monopoly and listening to the radio; as usual I am "the bank." I have two twin beds in my room and we have pulled them close together. The game board is on a TV tray between the beds.

The game drags on until I finally pull ahead. I am not sure if I have ever actually truly finished a game of Monopoly. As usual this one ends when one player is far enough ahead and the other player(s)—or the projected winner for that matter—beg to quit. In this case, I am ahead and I am bored so I as to quit. Scott says "OK." I jokingly say say, "HaHa, submit to my power!" or something and throw a pillow at him.

Scott gets this strange look on his face and dives over the game board. He says, "Submit to my power!" and pushes me down on my stomach on my bed. He mounts me and dry humps me hard for a good five minutes. I am confused and shaking under his weight but I say nothing. I can feel his breath on my neck. He then gets off and we laugh and he returns to his bed.

The lights go off and we go to sleep.

This little piggy

Tue, 06 Dec 2005 02:10:00 GMT

When I was in elementary school, we used to keep pigs. Actually we had a few types of animals though we were certainly far from owning a farm as such. I understood that the pigs were food and that I couldn't get attached to them but even though I knew this, I still wanted to name them and love them. So I did, and when it was time to slaughter them I cried.

Our pigs were killed and butchered by my father. He would shoot them in the head with a rifle. I don't know if you know this but pigs are pretty tough and it often takes more than one bullet to put one down—and they never go down easy. Sometimes they squeal for quite some time before they die. I was nearby when this happened many times.

One year we had a pig with whom I developed a particularly close bond. He was a smart pig and against my mother's better judgement, this pig and I shared numerous adventures. Once this pig and I stole a woman's underwear off her clothesline and then went swimming in her pool. We actually did this several times before we were caught.

The adventures continued for the summer but inevitably, the time to slaughter the pigs came. On this particular day I was playing on my swing set when I heard the shots and then the squealing. had I been paying more attention I would have realized that the squealing was getting closer. I turned around when this fact became too obvious to ignore and saw my pig pal running towards me at full speed with my father close behind trying to grab him. He had a huge bullet hole in his forehead which was gushing so much blood that it had covered his entire body.

He ran at me and knocked me over. I fell back and he dove into my lap and continued to scream. The blood was soon all over me—all over me. By the time the pig was dead, the blood was practically gushing from the bullet hole and his mouth. My dad was desperately trying to pull the pig off me but he was really heavy and his efforts were not successful. My dad finally managed to roll the pig off of me.

What happened after that was really a blur...I remember my dad apologizing; I remember my mom putting me in the shower; I remember throwing my clothes away.

Unconditional love

Mon, 05 Dec 2005 03:39:12 GMT

This weird thing happens to me lately...

It seems that whenever I am out with a female friend, someone (always another woman) asks us if we are married. This leads to an awkward "No." which in some cases leads to the even more awkward moment when the questioner tells one of us that if we aren't married, we should think about it or that we just look so good together. It doesn't matter where we are—flea market, school lobby, trendy restaurant—coupling has been demanded of me in a wide variety of situations.

Any of the young women that have been with me when this has happened are certainly "wife material" as they say so it is all very flattering...but jeepers!

I think I must have really good and completely accidental "unconditional love" body language...

Monday, December 05, 2005

Mon, 05 Dec 2005 01:49:53 GMT

denasblue (1:48:01 AM): my life must have gotten 40% more fictional since I met you