HOW I WISH I WAS MADE YOURS

Anger, misery, you'll suffer unto me.
~Hetfield

I sometimes wonder how it could have been...not that I long for it. God knows I'm happy right where I am now. Its just that I wonder. I am after all curious.

How do you treat them now? The trash that you used to call your boyfriends? Its the only way I can call them, like trash. Like the toilet paper you use to wipe their cum off your unquenched center.

Until one of them, got in deeper the rest, and not all the toilet paper in the world could get his seed out of you. It had to come out, sentient, on its own. And one before him learned the same trick: "promise you better" and he too got in as deep, again planted a seed.

It too became sentient.

You should have killed yourself then. You should have ended it all. You known it would never be better again. Their lies will hold, and you will forever be the fool.

Just like me. I couldn't save you, so I saved someone else. I should have killed you then myself then. If you couldn't be mine alive, then I can fuck you dead!

But I keep wondering why when I offered you forever then, the best of forever at that, you declined. We could have been also happy. But no, I was a turtle and they were full throttle intoxication bottled in flesh tubes unwrapped in latex. They were better and I damned.

How I wish I was made yours so I could have shown you better. In fact its funny, because what they promised and never gave was what I gave you everyday and scorned.

Its the giver not the gift. Immortality from the devil is different from immortality from heaven. But the prices are usually the same. In our case we're both damned now, me for wishing and loving and hoping, and you for being blind and shallow.

Blind men don't drown, the shallowest pools scare them, so they do not venture into the depths. I saw but kept what I saw within me, never telling you. So I dove for it, and was lost in the sea of love, when I should have been on the shore helping you drown deeper with me. I was impatient and went to take it and bring it back to you, someone fucked you in the ass and made you suck his cock clean afterwards while I was away. And you liked it more than the forever of worship offered.

Some people's priorities are just skewed.

Being a god is so hard, you want to destroy them all, you want to save them all, you want to fuck them all, you want to preserve them all.

COWBOY BADASS IN BLACK

I believe I am a cowboy. In local colloquialism, a "koboy."

But according to astrology.com my past lives were mostly lived in medieval Europe. So I was a medieval cowboy. Okay, there were no cowboys then, guess I was a cowherder then. At worst I was a milkmaid, immune to small pox and harassed by the local boys.

My friend Aivie keeps insisting that I could not have been a lord of the land, or nobility because I am just too crass for that station in life. Okay...

Listening to Sympathy for the Devil by the Stones and remembering Tom Cruise in Interview with a Vampire, makes me think yeah. I don't have the mettle to be a member of nobility or the ruling class during my past lives. Nope.

I am never going to allow myself to have been a pansy dressed like a fop and all those frilly things. If I did, I'd invent a time machine so I can go back in time and kick my own teeth in!

I am a cowboy, fine! Not in Texas or Montana, I guess in Ireland then, or Scotland, or Shetland. But I am a cowboy! Salt of the land! Wearing the same set of dirty clothes throughout my whole life. Horrible dental hygeine and that, but I will not be a silly frilly-ass noble piece o crap. No sir.

No lace for me, unless its around that country lass' britches, and its rubbing me just right as I shag the wench for all her worth. Or its on that princess' sleeve as she asks her shepherd boy if this is the right way to hold a field staff.

I'm a cowboy. Ride 'em hard, ride 'em fast!

I STARE AT YOUR NAME ON YM

I stare at your name at YM and wish to double click it.
I know i shouldn't annoy you.

You don't want to see me or hear of me.
Why should you want to chat.

Everytime we do i fall flat on my face,
I am a miserable wretch, anguished.

It haunts my thoughts, that little yellow smiley
It says c'mon i dare you!

Miserable wretch.
Horrid little yellow smiley.

LOSING MY LINGO

I never thought that writing a column in the vernacular would cause a horrid deterioration of my writing and speaking skills in english. I mean, I'm supposed to be multilingual. That means I can write and speak in my two languages easy, with the use of one not causing a loss of ability with the other. The sad truth is that it is.

The same way that typing in the internet and in Microsoft Word deteriorates the use of the shift key. How many net users type their I like this: i when one should always refer to oneself in the capital, after all, one should speak and think highly of oneself! I tend to forget this, since I have been using Word since its early inceptions in Windows 3.11 version, which a lot of you kiddies might have never even seen.

Oh but truly I am aghast at this development. My father-in-law thus gave me great exercise, to stop this degradation. He told me, "After you write your column, translate it from the vernacular to english, or write something in english also. You might someday find your daughters speaking better in english than you."

Point taken. In fact, the best sample was the faux pas that I recently did when I heartily blurted out to my gaming group: "They said I was being fired because my tenses was bad." To which Corinna and Alma (Corinna under her breath, and Alma at the top of her lungs) retorted: "Were!"

Oh the shame. The shame.