updated just incase i lose this due to inactivity. i will update from now on. i promise

i promise

Hey fellows. if you happen to come across this by accident or other wise

you may enjoy http://dollars.libsyn.com

its a podcast me and my arch blogging nemesis have created.

The book was better. Never before has this phrase have so much relevance to my current situation. Last month was me and my girlfriends two year and a half anniversary, or the "confession anniversary," as tradition would have it. I spent a few weeks actually trying to find the strategic secret to reveal, that being that my past three girlfriends all reminded me of one of my cousins. I knew if i got something out that big it would either show my commitment to this relationship, you know, full honesty and whatnot (plus she looks nothing like any of my cousins), Or, she would get upset (but couldn't leave me because of it. Such is the law of the confessionversary)

Well, she was unfazed actaully. I don't think she heard me, but she just seemed interested in getting her own secret out. After I said my secret, she ordered a Forty-Eight dollar bottle of wine, looked me in the eye and told me she was a fucking vampire, and that she had been surviving off the blood from my always chapped lips. Apparently she didn't require much, and she was stick thin anyways. And now I'm a fucking vampire, and have been, it seems, for two and a half years.
Getting back to my initial note, being a vampire is nothing at all like the stories. I'm not hyper fast or Romanian or anything, I just turn bitchy when im not drinking blood, and i get intense cramps when i eat garlic. It's different for women though I hear. The sun though, it scorches my skin, thats still there, and what I can't believe is that I didn't notice that that wasn't normal to be happening. Bullshit.

So, anyways, she looks me in the eyes, tells me shes a vampire, I'm a vampire, I remind her one one of her cousins, and when the wine she ordered arrived, she immediately informed the waiter that she never drank it. Bullshit.

taken from the thing i wrote for seebas challenge, I'm always ready!

An eight year-old Apalacian girl in a yellow sundress with white dots and a green flower applique, fair skin, though flaking, came close to suffering a heat stroke from the intensity of the midday sun. She held on for a few more moments, intent on beating her last hulahoop record of two hundred sixty seven and a half. She's been spending alot more of her time outdoors every since her father bought the blowup starwars kiddie-pool for his latest business venture. Around three, usually she'd slip into her swiming suit and hop into the tub of what seemed to be high quality fossil fuel when her dad wasn't around.

One day, after hearing her fathers bronco approach the garage, she quickly jumped out of the pool, the grease sticking to her now sunburned skin. She hobbled, with a floaty around her waist, across the yard and jumped into the bushes near the far fence. The jump was wreckless but her fall was broken by a pile of excoriated and quartered smurf corpses.

The child didn't have the mind to surmise that this was apparently the source of the high grade engine oil in the tub. Her shrill ejaculation exausted what little energy the lethargic girl had left, and she quickly collapsed at the site of smurfettes cold, distant, though ever haunting eyes, piercing through her lies (just threw that in to sound cool).

the father found out and quickly gutted the child, apparently they are filled with fossil fuels too.

WHODA THUNK IT!

oh yeah and hoola hoop. (tommorows adventure will be about the worlds saddest girl!)

Son, heres a story I never told nobody. Its about how we got all these fancy things we got here. My father was a beatin’ man. He was also a high powered stock broker who was never with the same woman two nights in a row, save for your grandmother with whom he was with for about three and then decided to marry. The first two nights hadn’t really counted, however, due to extenuating circumstances he never really described to me, but the third night was the most important. He experienced the holy trinity, as he described it, and underwent the full force of the universes ceaseless synchronicity. You see, all at one point in time, while was making your grandmother late one Thursday night, he sealed a 6 million dollar deal with Japanese steel in an awkward though amazingly lucrative phone call. But at the precise moment the final Arigato was said, he climaxed, and then finally solved the mystery answer to the brain teaser that was on last Thursday office memo. Now when three things of such magnitude all happen at the same moment, (save for a fourth mishap involving a broken condom) a man is just not the same. Now as I mentioned, he was never with a woman more than two nights in a row. After his third go round with my mother, he decided she was the gal to marry. 7 hours later he was found dead in the gutter with a bullet in the back of his throat, seen thrown from a Yakuza limo in broad day light. All of his money involved in the steel deal was sucked from his account and never found again. But anyways. Back to the money. Our money. You and me. Sonny. Sonny boy. Sonny baby

Money!

Now, you might not believe me, what with all the loose ends, like, how I said that he told me this story even though he died months before I was even born, but you gotta believe me, really. Ask your mother.

shit! gotta write two to make up!

The meat-wagon fishtailed to a halt and a swarm of indiginous natives scurried out of their war torn rubble heaps and latched onto the makeshift APC with a thousand tiny, more than needy, tendrils. The siren blared and a handful were permanently deafened, now that most only had about one ear left anyways. The latch on the top of the vehicle was thrown open and a small man in black overalls emerged covered in sausage's and other delimeats.

"HAMARCHY IN THE UKRAINE!"

and and they all pledged their allegiances to their holy provider.

The three bumps in the road were people, I'm sure.
The car was a Camry.
The reason is to be determined.
The driver was, however, most definately Ol' Frank. They say he is losing it, up there, you know, and that he shouldn't even be driving.
"Nowthy'r ghhna trida pn ths'n on me likidun smthn wrng., thulast upstndin' Merican. But I wn't giev intuthuh crucked jew poleec and especiuly the crucked jew liberal lezhbin medjh!"
I think that's what he said, burping up the whole thing, gheck i can hear the phlem damming up, and the little holes the sound is squeezing through. I'm pretty sure he is speaking to me, maybe there is another guy in the front, i hear some faint murmering and a second door slam, but I can't tell you for sure. I'm hog tied and blind folded in his back seat, and some blood is clogging my ear.
Another bump.
"That whey, chaim twurds the pulehsz"
A shot gun blast.
So there is another person! he must have gotten in the car after he Ol' Frank blindfolded me. Something is moving and poking under me, in a bag, probabaly another reporter. This man hates reporters i think, and keeps calling me a "negro zionist, homo-liberal jew-faggot media grumple"

"Thulast upstandn Mercan whul... (gasp) be...(wheeze) thulast Merican, standin"
Another deafening shotgun blast and the car swerves and meets with a wall, My body is thrown forward, further wedged into the leg space. The hump for the read wheel drive axel jams into my back and i think i broke something.
Things are still though, a hand whips my face around and tears off the blind fold. Looking up i see just the arm of the passanger. The hand wraps around my face again and pulls me up. He shot the driver point blank, with some strange thigns i didnt even know would fit in the skull evenly distributed all over the left side of the car. The passenger was a cop the whole time, I guess he just didn't notice. He wasn't even undercover.

Few weeks later I find out that the old guy had the Israeli prime minister in the bag, and some important North Korean scientistin the trunk, but that the bumps we went over were actaully just parking berms, he was doing doughnuts in the parking lot outside my office. Doesn't make a lick of sense. And in such a sensible car!