breck-love
Member
well it has been a long long time since i have posted a thread but i currently lost my leg so i have nothing better than blog about my life. hope you enjoy this story about a girl who raped me and another story about a dirty kid who lived in my dorms ps i am currently out of school and not looking forward to join the blue collar work force so if i could teach u anything stay in school, dont read existentialism and the buddha is not meant for westerners. Well hope its kind of a good read.... ( ps this is dead true so i guess that could help)
okay story number one- titled the girl who rapped the young boy
shouldnt tell people thisi remember i got to college filled with that youthful optimism that anything could happen. In the first week i found myself being strapped down on a bed and raped by a savage young girl. jesus fucking christ i thought to myself, college is fucking crazy. Then she took out a whip and smacked me hard in the chest and i started to freak the hell out. " Ca CHA CA CA CHA CA CHA CA CHA" she screamed at me. I left the room feeling like a wounded lamb scared and psychologically damaged.( finally spelled that right. wait deja vu... weird) anyways i had coffee with this girl the next day and she told me that she was married and her husband was in iraq. She also told me that her husband would kill me if he found out i was having sex with his wife. Fuck i thought to myself, i was in utah. my parents sent me here to keep me out of trouble. I guess it just goes to show that life is what you make it and deep down if your a derelict by nature no environment can wash away the sin. I hooked up with her a few more times and then broke it off. a couple weeks later something very bad happened to my reputation and i could never wash away the stain. most of my enemies know this and have used it against me time and time again. well you are ur mistakes i suppose. ps i still have my leg and i currently blogging like mad, taking baths, and listening to cold play..... please send me your regards
Story two- the greasy kid- unedited
Grease Ball- The rebel without a causeI was going through some of my old papers and I found this one. I wrote it once for a creative writing class I flunked out of. I guess my teacher didnt understand. Its about a kid i knew named grease ball.
I hated this mother fucker caused he talked alot of shit on me but I never once layed a finger on the kid because i felt kind of sorry for him. I do remember sitting behind him in english class though and throwing pieces of paper at his greasy head. It became a sort of crude competition with me and other class mates, as you can imagine who ever got the most pieces to stick on the grease won the match. In other news he didnt bathe for so long, a thick layer of filth coated his arms. The dirt was so thick, the poor bastard thought it was pointless to shower. He smelled very bad too, like stinky feet and rotten cheese. He was a true rebel without a cause. He used his existence to exhibit a crude form of freedom from the demands of personal hygiene. I mean really, he was a strange genre of punk, the gutter garbage kind who didnt give a flying fuck what the eyes of judgement thought. Its too bad he never made any music, I bet it would have been really good. I would def have stole it online!. Well I dont know if this poor kid is a live but if not God bless the dead!
Once when i was a student with a plan, I wrote this for a lesbian teacher with curly hair, an attraction to flowers and poems about gay guys sucking straight guys dicks.( i swear, we really read a poem about this homosexual guy who seduced bi curious men. He actually came into our class one day and i asked him if he ever used acid to enhance his creativity. He smiled at me and told me poetry sounded good on the drug but from a sober prespective it was complete garbage. Well im in the mood to celebrate cause my existential mind fuck is finally over so I say " Here is to gay poets who take lsd and write poems that lesbian teachers give to rich kids in salt lake city!"
Character- nonfiction believe it or not!
A causality of bad genetics. His features were distraught and twisted. In the simplest terms he was a Gollum in the modern world. His movements were jerk and spastic and his body position was often held in a slight hunch. When he walked he looked a lot like rat, scurry his way through life, looking for any scraps left over. John Thompson was quite the character, but not in the good way. The simplest and best way to describe John would be a Gollum in the modern world.
John rarely bathed. His face was littered with blistering red pimples, and his hair was coated in thick sheet of natural grease.
He decorated himself on a daily basis, with white shirts and jeans that never knew a washing machine.
His arms were so dirty from not bathing, that the dirt from the daily grind had gathered and chemically bonded with his skin cells. The dirt was so thick; John told me that soap had no affect.
He lived in a single dorm. Anyone that walked by his dorm would be greeted with a foul and unpleasant odor of piss, sweat, and vomit.
I once went to buy drugs from him and was shocked to see a carpet of trash three inches thick across his floor, and some puke in the corner that had remained in idle, un cleaned and almost entirely forgotten. Apparently John had thrown up in one of his vodka blights and failed to take responsibly.
I grabbed my pot and got the fuck out as soon as I could.
Due to his ghastly appearance and smell, kids in dorm had nick named him grease ball, a perfectly appropriate fit I think.
The last time I ever saw grease ball was in may of freshmen year. He told me he was living Utah because he hated it. He said he had some offer to design video games, and he said if that didn't work out he would kill himself.
So off Grease ball went to pursue his dreams behind a screen, building the perfect world. He took with him his foul odor, huge ego and dirty clothes. He left behind his legacy of filth and countless stories to be shared in his name over and over again.
I have tried many times to call grease ball but I failed to ever talk to him. So it is my guess that he is either designing video games with other misfits, or in a shallow unwanted grave with the words, " Death or glory" etched in the stone above him.
Laugh: killing people in the virtual world.
Afraid: society without video games.
Angry: pretty much everyone in the world. he often called them slaves of conformity.
Ashamed; his whole state of personal hygiene
Tender; I don't really know, he was a heartless Gollum that hated everyone.
okay story number one- titled the girl who rapped the young boy
Story two- the greasy kid- unedited
I hated this mother fucker caused he talked alot of shit on me but I never once layed a finger on the kid because i felt kind of sorry for him. I do remember sitting behind him in english class though and throwing pieces of paper at his greasy head. It became a sort of crude competition with me and other class mates, as you can imagine who ever got the most pieces to stick on the grease won the match. In other news he didnt bathe for so long, a thick layer of filth coated his arms. The dirt was so thick, the poor bastard thought it was pointless to shower. He smelled very bad too, like stinky feet and rotten cheese. He was a true rebel without a cause. He used his existence to exhibit a crude form of freedom from the demands of personal hygiene. I mean really, he was a strange genre of punk, the gutter garbage kind who didnt give a flying fuck what the eyes of judgement thought. Its too bad he never made any music, I bet it would have been really good. I would def have stole it online!. Well I dont know if this poor kid is a live but if not God bless the dead!
Once when i was a student with a plan, I wrote this for a lesbian teacher with curly hair, an attraction to flowers and poems about gay guys sucking straight guys dicks.( i swear, we really read a poem about this homosexual guy who seduced bi curious men. He actually came into our class one day and i asked him if he ever used acid to enhance his creativity. He smiled at me and told me poetry sounded good on the drug but from a sober prespective it was complete garbage. Well im in the mood to celebrate cause my existential mind fuck is finally over so I say " Here is to gay poets who take lsd and write poems that lesbian teachers give to rich kids in salt lake city!"
Character- nonfiction believe it or not!
A causality of bad genetics. His features were distraught and twisted. In the simplest terms he was a Gollum in the modern world. His movements were jerk and spastic and his body position was often held in a slight hunch. When he walked he looked a lot like rat, scurry his way through life, looking for any scraps left over. John Thompson was quite the character, but not in the good way. The simplest and best way to describe John would be a Gollum in the modern world.
John rarely bathed. His face was littered with blistering red pimples, and his hair was coated in thick sheet of natural grease.
He decorated himself on a daily basis, with white shirts and jeans that never knew a washing machine.
His arms were so dirty from not bathing, that the dirt from the daily grind had gathered and chemically bonded with his skin cells. The dirt was so thick; John told me that soap had no affect.
He lived in a single dorm. Anyone that walked by his dorm would be greeted with a foul and unpleasant odor of piss, sweat, and vomit.
I once went to buy drugs from him and was shocked to see a carpet of trash three inches thick across his floor, and some puke in the corner that had remained in idle, un cleaned and almost entirely forgotten. Apparently John had thrown up in one of his vodka blights and failed to take responsibly.
I grabbed my pot and got the fuck out as soon as I could.
Due to his ghastly appearance and smell, kids in dorm had nick named him grease ball, a perfectly appropriate fit I think.
The last time I ever saw grease ball was in may of freshmen year. He told me he was living Utah because he hated it. He said he had some offer to design video games, and he said if that didn't work out he would kill himself.
So off Grease ball went to pursue his dreams behind a screen, building the perfect world. He took with him his foul odor, huge ego and dirty clothes. He left behind his legacy of filth and countless stories to be shared in his name over and over again.
I have tried many times to call grease ball but I failed to ever talk to him. So it is my guess that he is either designing video games with other misfits, or in a shallow unwanted grave with the words, " Death or glory" etched in the stone above him.
Laugh: killing people in the virtual world.
Afraid: society without video games.
Angry: pretty much everyone in the world. he often called them slaves of conformity.
Ashamed; his whole state of personal hygiene
Tender; I don't really know, he was a heartless Gollum that hated everyone.
