Thursday, June 30, 2005

Charcoal King and Mind Boobies.

I am so Free-Ur-Charcoal-King-ed.

Don't know what that means?

Boys and girls, allow me to enlighten your Do-Ur-Mind-Boobies asses. It's very simple. Just take the first letter of each word and put them together.


Maybe you have figured it out on your own. If you did, please feel free to tell me how big of a loser and jackass I am.

At this point, I don't know if you're still interested in knowing why I'm Free-Ur-Charcoal-King-ed, but I'm gonna tell you anyway. However, you have the right to remain silent. Anything you read can be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to have an interpreter present during any reading. If you cannot afford an interpreter, then you should be looking at porn sites.

In conclusion, I have long forgotten my point. Moving on...

I went to the gas station to get gas for my ass. My ass likes to fart, but lately he's been complaining that he's not getting enough gas. You should've seen him at the gas station. Boy, let me tell you, my ass can fart like there's no tomorrow.

Okay, seriously.

I went to the gas station for the last time. As you might not have known, I'm getting rid of my car. Long story. I'll tell you next time. So I was at the gas station, getting all choked up thinking about all the good times me and my piece-of-shit-plastic-and-aluminium-box-on-wheel been together. You have no idea how hard it is to cry and fart at the same time. Luckily I've had intense professional training in that department. So I managed to pull it off deadly and gracefully.

After the gas station, I went to Hell on Earth, aka DMV. And I was wondering...

- Is it just me, or when you see paramedics pushing a gurney in your general direction, you should've moved your fat ass to the side before said gurney bumped into said fat ass?

- Is it just me, or when you're pushing a gurney to, I don't know, say, SAVE A PERSON'S LIFE, you should be hurry instead of sauntering nonchalantly?

"Oh what? Somebody's having a seizure? But I just lit this cigaratte. Tell him to chill out for another 5 minutes, will ya? I'll be right with him. Thanks."

I've always thought it should've been like this:

"Oh shit! Somebody's having a seizure? I'm almost done dropping the kids off. Looks like I'm gonna have to take care of these dingleberries in the ambulance. Alright people, LET'S GO!"

Guess I was wrong.

- Is it just me, or when you know that your belly is bigger than a woman pregnant with triplets, you should wear a shirt that is big enough to cover the entire said belly, instead of wearing a shirt that would proudly show off your belly hairs? Just a thought.

Oh I remember now! I'm so Free-Ur-Charcoal-King-ed because I have a midterm tomorrow and I'm about 7 days behind on the reading, and instead of reading, I'm here writing about farting and dingleberries.

I love summer. It makes you not care about anything.

Tuesday, June 28, 2005

Season 2, episode 2, volume 2, issue #2.

I have a moment today.

An "oops I did it again. I played with your heart, got lost in the game. Oh baby baby...."

Sorry. I get carried away sometimes.

This is by no means that I aka The Snakehead aka (my real name) aka Dude aka Hey aka psycho endorse that slutty and used-to-be-kinda-cute-but-not-really Mrs. Federline's singing inability. For all I care, she could be making lala with that other dumb-blonde-turned-dumb-brunette in the kitchen on the floor, and they both still quack like ducks who's about to lay a shitload of eggs. Do ducks quack before laying eggs? Or is it just these two?

So, anyway...

I did have an "oops I did it again" moment today, ironically, in my kitchen. But not the floor. 'Cause they both take up a lot of room to lala. Crazy bitches.

I was making dinner. Again. I swear, I can cook. I CAN COOK! COOK CAN I!

Tonight it's linguine with beef bratwursts and broccoli and pasta sauce. No slicing or wiping required this time. Simple. Yes?


While I was draining the linguine in a huge pot (it's so big, I think they used to boil an entire hippo at one go back in the days), and I'm wearing glasses. You'll need this information in just a minute.

So the pot is tilted, water's coming out, steam's coming UP, all the way up in my face. In less than 0.5 seconds, my vision is blurred. I can't see a thing, but I can still feel the water flowing. So I keep tilting and tilting and then, bam! One of the bratwurst is out in the sink. (Yes, I boiled linguine and bratwursts in one pot. Yes, I'm lazy. Yes, I can cook. Shut up!)


For some unknown reasons that's still under investigation by the CIA, FBI and my mother, I decided to pick it up using hand, because there is not enough time to grab a fork. I am a true believer of the 3 seconds rule, regardless of the location.

Do you know that boiled bratwurst are like, really really hot? Like burning hot? Well, I don't. So all of a sudden, a bratwurst can be seen flying across the kitchen, hit the wall, and landed on where those two psycho bitches are making lala on the floor, and more profanities can be heard.

Long story short, one less bratwurst for me. Because I'm not going to eat anything that touched lala. Whatever the hell that might be.

Ladies and gentlemen, I swear to you, I really can cook.

Please believe me.

In other news, I have a midterm coming up this Friday, and I have about 300 more pages to read. I got ANOTHER ticket today. They know that I'm about to get rid of my car, so they're all coming for one last visit. Aren't they sweet? It's two and counting.

I was wondering if you think this is weird.

I live with 4 other guys. 4 other straight guys, I'm the only gay one. And in the bathroom, we have 5 shower puffs, 9 toothbrushes and 6 tubes of toothpastes. Looks like some of us have more than one mouth. It's definitely not me.

Monday, June 27, 2005

Knock, knock, knocking on heaven's door.

I almost killed myself twice yesterday.

First time, I was making lunch. Pot goes under the tab, water fills the pot, pot goes on the stove, stove is lit. Sounds good and safe, right?


Before I go any further, I need to point something out. I'm a little (that's the understatement of the week) anal. If you prefer, anal retentive. If you wish, son-of-a-bitch-with-a-stick-up-his-ass. Check out what Freud says about this:
Freud believed that conflicts with parents and delays during toilet training can cause a person to become fixated on anal control, which later manifests itself as a compulsive concern with order and cleanliness.
You see, when I was little, my mother wanted me to stand but my father insisted that I sit. I didn't know what to do so I pulled a half and half. I squated. I know, should've squated earlier. Then I won't be this anal today. It's all my fault.

So, to sum it up, I'm anal. Now let's get back to our story.

So the pot is on the stove, and I noticed that there are oil stains and spices all around it. Being the son-of-a-bitch-with-a-stick-up-his-ass that I am, I couldn't just leave it there. I couldn't even wait to clean it. I HAD TO clean it right there and then. So I took a napkin, and I wipe.

Do you know how easily can a napkin catch fire? Very easy. Too easy, in fact, to be child safe. Children should not be allowed to use napkins. They are dangerous. Do you also know how quickly can said fire spread on said napkin, when said napkin is covered in oil and spices? Yeah, me neither.

So my napkin caught fire. What did I do? I tried to blow it off. In my defense, I have no idea napkins are so flammable. And all these happened in like 2 seconds top. So I blow and I blow, and the flame got bigger and bigger. In a split second, I'm holding a flame, Human Torch from Fantastic 4-style. Except I wasn't wearing any underwear.

So long story short, I managed to burn myself a little before throwing said flaming napkin (I'm not implying that he's gay. He might be, seeing how he's so flimsy and all) in the sink and turn on the tab. The end.

Second time, I was making dinner. Mushrooms taken out of the fridge, mushroom goes on the chopping block, this guy grabs a (very sharp) knife, mushrooms being sliced. Simple enough, right?

Again, wrong.

So I was slicing the mushrooms, and all of a sudden, blood is e-v-e-r-y-w-h-e-r-e. On the mushrooms, the knife, the chopping block, the counter, everywhere. And the tip of my left middle finger was dangling by a vein, barely hanging onto the rest of the finger. Okay, that's the OVERSTATEMENT of the century. But I did cut my finger. Deep.

But this guy didn't freak out. Bloody finger goes under the tab, running water rinses the blood. And I saw this piece of skin that almost completely got sliced off. Almost, but not quite. So what did I do?




Ladies and gentlemen, never do that. Just don't.

Long story short, I ended up losing half a gallon of blood, passed out in the kitchen, and wake up with a huge band-aid on my finger. Okay, that's the OVERSTATEMENT of the century, vol.2. But it did hurt like a mother fucking son of a bitchy bastard.

Perhaps I can't cook.

Sunday, June 26, 2005

Dominatranny Cartman wishes you...

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Live from the Streets of San Francisco!

Please drink responsibly.

(Do you like the hair cut? He got it just for today! Tomorrow he'll glue his hair back. But don't look at his nipples for too long though, otherwise he'll use his nails to scratch your eyes out. Considered yourself warned.)

Saturday, June 25, 2005

Hey, teacher, leave those kids alone!

Today is the ultimate lazy day, complete with the ultimate lazy gloomy weather and ultimate lazy itinerary for the day, which consists only of going to the pool and studying, and one of them is procrastinatable until Thursday night. So my day pretty much didn't start until 4 pm. Nice, huh?

To achieve the ultimate lazy day, you have to start with the night before, where you'll need to get as high as a kite, preferrably higher than a kite. Keep the alcohol intake to a minumum level because nothing kills an ultimate lazy day like a hangover, unless you're immune to that. How do you know if you're high enough? Go look at yourself in the mirror. If you can focus and see your own eyes, you're not high enough. Go take a few more hits. If you can't see anything but a blurry son of a bitch starring right back at ya, you're good. Once you're sufficiently blazed out of your mind, watch Pink Floyd The Wall, which is like THE number 1 best-of-the-best movie to watch while your mind is going a light year a minute.

I have absolutely no idea what the movie is about. All I remember was the awesomeness that is Pink Floyd, and that's about it. There's a scene where the camera is very slowly zooming out on a guy's hand. For some reason, I mistook the knuckle for the elbow. And when I finally saw the ring on the finger, I was hella trippin' out, fool! Seriously. It was fucking awesome.

This morning my alarm woke me up at 11 am. Yes, I need alarm to wake me up before noon. Like you don't. Anyway, I went to my car and found a ticket and cobwebs on my wiper. The cobwebs tell me to drive my car more frequently, and the ticket tells me to get a front plate. I've been driving this shitty car without front plate for 2.5 years and I get a ticket telling me to get one a week before I sell the car. Fucking ay. It better be a fix-it-ticket or I'll go postal on those retards at DMV, total apeshit-style, complete with "hasta la-vista, baby" right before I blow their fucking heads off.

In other news, I am strangely infatuated with the cum stain on my No Brand extra-firm pillow from Target (meet all my pillows here). It's about the size of a quarter, and I'm not exactly sure it is mine because I don't remember raping that pillow. Even so, I'm still infatuated with it. I usually read him a story every night before we go to bed together. Right now we're reading American Dream by Neil Gaiman. Last night I stopped reading at the part where a hooker swallowed a man through her vagina because Mr. Cum Stain was visibly shaken by it. Poor baby. He didn't go to sleep until 4 am. After that he kept tossing and turning the whole night.

I wonder if this relationship between me and Mr. Cum Stain is normal.

I also wonder if that is why I'm still single.

Friday, June 24, 2005

Fire alarm, sign language and fishy fingers.

"Did the fire alarm went off?", my lab co-inhabitant asked as she came in.

"No." I was just about to start another experiment. "Why? What's wrong?"

"You sure? There's no fire drill or something?" She's wandering around the lab as if she's looking for smoke signals.

"Yeah, I'm sure. I was here the whole time, and the lights didn't go off, the alarms didn't go off. What happened?" I'm getting a little worried.

"There was a fire in the basement. The alarm went off there. The elevator is not working anymore. And the water pipes burst and there's water everywhere. The ceiling cracked and it was falling down."

"This is the day I die." I remember thinking to myself.

"Well," she continued, "I'm exaggerating a little, but it's true. There's water everywhere. And the alarm did go off. In the other building."

"Damn. I thought I was going to die." I was relieved.



I'm still here.

Did you know that sign languages are really fascinating to watch? There's a disabled kid in my class, and he has an interpreter sitting up front telling him what the professor said via sign language. Do you know how hard it is to focus on the mundane lecture on red blood cells when the lady's fingers move so fast they look like they are about to be snapped off? Do you also know that this is made even harder when said lady is wearing a bright orange shirt?

"The hemoglobin and oxygen..." Hey look at that, it looks like a chicken. FOCUS! "bind together in the lungs with a pH of 7.6..." Why is she doing a grinding motion? Ooo, she's nasty. I bet she likes to be spanked. FOCUS, damn it! "The pH in the tissue is about 7.2..." How big do you think her boobs are? FOCUS ON THE LECTURE, YOU BLOODY PERVERT!!!

Yeah, umm.


hi again.

I have a question.

Does anybody know what fishy fingers mean? In addition to that, why would anybody google fishy fingers? In addition to in addition to that, why would me be one of the results? I doubt my version of fishy fingers is what that crazy bastard/psycho bitch is looking for anyway.

Google is so messed up.

Thursday, June 23, 2005

Somebody just did something at somewhere. Didn't you hear about it?

I hate the internet. It will one day be my downfall.

I'm supposed to be studying for a quiz right now. Why would a chemical engineer need to know about protein and amino acid is just beyond me. Maybe one day I'll be able to NOT do anything with it. And we all know that you have to be very prepared for that, right? I mean, you definitely HAVE TO know about the things that you will never use in your entire life.

You're a doctor? Good. But do you know how to make a clay pot? No? Geez, are you sure you're a certified doctor? Where did you go to med school? Tijuana? Oh I'm sorry. It's Cancun. My bad.

You're a fashion designer? Great. I need to cut that dog's testicles out. Help me. Hey, HEY! Wake up! Can you believe this guy is a fashion designer? That mother fucker just fainted. Goddamn it!

You're a lawyer? Awesome. I need a favor. Can you screw me? Like totally screw me over? Yeah? Cool, thanks.

So, besides lawyers who seem to put just about everything they know to use, we, the non-lawyers are just wasting our times with proteins and amino acids.

In the time to procrastinate studying, I've managed to
  • write this post
  • watch porn
  • jack off (for the 3rd time today. Impressive, huh?)
  • sell a porn on eBay
  • talk on the phone
  • read 506 different blogs
  • try to add this shitty blog to TTLB ecosystem, but failed 'cause some asshat already registered with my URL. Fucking ay.
  • talk to my roommates
  • walk around the house
  • check my email for the 47596th times
  • scratch my balls
  • read about Oprah and Hermes. Really, WHO THE HELL GIVE A FUCK??!! And while we're at it, can somebody please tell me what's the big deal about Birkin? It looks like a piece of shit to me.
  • zone off for the 503rd time in an hour
  • search for pictures of Josh Wald. I'm so in love. So in love. So so in love. So so so in love. So so so so..... okay, you get the point.
  • thinking about making a booty call. Pros: I'm not sure, but I think maybe, just MAYBE, sex is involved somewhere in there. Cons: Gotta wake up at 7.45 am tomorrow; gotta finish up studying. Final verdict: a unanimous NO BOOTY CALL. I hate my juries.
I have to go now.

Fired and fried. Cut and drown.

"Snakehead, what is this?"
"Why are you keep getting crap while other people keep getting good result?"
"Look at this. You're getting a consistent 15% errors. Some even 20%!"

If everything goes well, I'll probably have the following conversation either tomorrow or Monday.

"Snakehead, what is this?"
"It's 20% error. Again. Now look at this one. It's 25%!"
"What the hell is wrong with you?"
"You know what? I don't need you here anymore. You're F-I-R-E-D (insert Donald Trump signature creepy ass hand-gesture)!"

And if that is not good enough, I managed to paper-cut myself opening a letter. Not so much as a letter, but more like my credit card statement. Yeah, I couldn't wait to find out how much in debt I am.

"Oh look! Ending balance of $3,049,953. What a magnificent number. I should be able to pay it off by the year 3064. Hmm... what's this?"

Dear motherfucker,

If you don't pay your bills on time, again, I will hunt you down and kick your ass. On second thought, scratch that. I will hunt you down, tie you to a tree, paper-cut your entire body, and slowly shower you with sea water.

Your poor credit card company.

Isn't it nice to receive a heart-warming personal letter written in blood from time to time?

If this day can get any better, I might be able to drown myself in the pool later.

Oddly enough, I'm still in pretty good mood, as the font implied. If you don't know what I'm talking about, that means you're stupid* and haven't been keeping up with my shitty blog long enough. This should solve the mystery.

This is what I look like today, just replace the frown with a smile.
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* No, not you. I'm talking about that guy over there. See, over there, right next to what's-his-name at what-ca-ma-call-it.

Wednesday, June 22, 2005

I was 5 and he was 6, we rode on horses made of sticks. He wore black and I wore white, he would always win the fight - bang bang.

I got nothing today.

So I'll just pull out my The Angelic Snakehead's Total Unrequested Live and call it a night.

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If we could shrink the earth's population to a village of precisely 100 people, with all the existing human ratios remaining the same, it would look something like the following:

# of Asians: 57
# of Europeans: 21
# of Western Hemispherians, both north and south: 14
# of Africans: 8
# of females: 52
# of males: 48
# of non-whites: 70
# of whites: 30
# of non-Christians: 70
# of Christians: 30
# of heterosexuals: 89
# of homosexuals: 11
# of people that would possess 59% of the entire world's wealth: 6
# of people that would live in substandard housing: 80
# of people that would be unable to read: 70
# of people that would suffer from malnutrition: 50
# of people that would be near death: 1
# of infant that would be near birth: 1
# of people that would have a college education: 1
# of people that would own a computer: 1

Tuesday, June 21, 2005

Introducing The Angelic Snakehead's Total Unrequested Live!

Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, fags and hags, chicken and cows, tits and asses, dicks and balls,

I present to you The Angelic Snakehead's Total Unrequested Live!

The Snakehead's Total Unrequested Live will feature jokes/news/articles/craps NOT written by me. Which really are worth reading.

I figure I should at least reward those who accidentally stumbled here something worth their time, since I'm not funny and suck fat ass big time and all.

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How do you know when Asians are moving into the neighborhood?

The Mexicans start buying car insurance!

Oh Reid? Reid is passed out on the bed.

So I'm watching straight porn.


Title of the porn?

My Friend's HOT MOM. (this link is NOT work/school/children/gay bathhouse/cafe safe)

That's right.


Because it's cheap. For 2 bucks, you can beat your salami all the way from here to Zurich.

Because I'm frustrated with my fucking idiotic template that I've just spent 4 hours on and achieved nothing. And we all know the best way to get rid of stress is to watch hot moms faking orgasm, right? I mean, that's what my friend's mom told me.

Because before today, I have no idea that guys are SO into their "friend's" mom. Wow, what an eye-opening experience.

Because if you haven't checked it out, you really should. It's fucking HILARIOUS!

Take this for example:

*Knock knock*

"Mrs. Starr? Wait. Wait..."
"Nicky, what you doing here?"
"Err... Does Reid live here?"
"Umm.. He does."
"What, you're his mom?"
"That's weird. I have no idea you lives here."
"Oh and I thought you were just looking for me." (fake laughs)
"Oh actually no. I stop by to get some software he borrows from me. Can I take a look in there?"
"Okay, cool."

(Mom opens door. Dude walks in. Small talks. Dude's friend Reid passed out hugging a bottle of vodka on the bed.)

"Is he gonna wake up?"
"Um he'll probably pass out for another 2 hours anyways."

(Mom and dude walks to the computer desk.)

"Yeah that's it right here."
"Yeah Okay. Well thanks."
"Well I haven't seeing you for a while. How are you doing?"
"Umm... Still not studying. Still busy fucking my buddies' moms. Barely getting by, if that's okay." (fake laughs)
"Still not studying? Well it's really good to see you."
"It's good to see your tits too."
"Well you wanna hang out for a while?"
"I really should get going..."
"C'mon, hang out with me. My husband's asleep. He won't wake up."
"Well, if he won't wake up then I guess so."

(Mom pulls dude's pants down.)

"I don't know if I should be fucking you here. What if your husband wakes up?"
"Oh he won't be back for another hour."

(Mom's already too busy choking herself with salami while staring at the camera to respond. 5 minutes later, actions are running at full speed when something makes a noise.)

"It's my phone. Hang on."

(Dude hangs on. Mom nonchalantly jump down from the kitchen counter and walks over to the computer desk and answer the phone. For a second there, I thought I was watching One Night in Paris. Talk about deja vu.)

"Hello? Oh Reid, how are you? So you're gonna come home now? Oh, your father is passed out in bed. Yeah, why don't you pick up some bologna on your way home? Okay, bye."

(Mom and dude pick up where they left off.)

I was laughing my ass off. Porns are funny. At least the straight ones.

Monday, June 20, 2005

Introducing Grilled Threesome Burrito King, also known as Mambo No.6.

I just spent $80 on groceries.

I don't know why I need to tell you that.

It's the most I've spent on groceries just for myself. I'm eating too much. I'm turning into... what's the opposite of aneroxic?

I don't know why you need to know that as well.

I started summer school today. The word summer shouldn't be in there. Because this class is at 8.30 in the morning, 5 days a week. Where's the summer? This morning my sleepy ass somehow managed to hauled itself to class only 5 minutes late, and zone off right the second I sat down. I'm so going to get my round, delicious, cute bubble butt kicked in this class.

I still don't know why I'm telling you this. It's not like you care. Much.

By the way, can people get any weirder?

The answer is always YES.

I posted my previous post about me dying very soon because there's a giant earthquake coming on Craigslist's Missed Connections because, you know, me and threesome are missing each other everyday.

I got a response that I have to share with the two of you who are reading this.

Hello kind friend.

I feel your anguish and confusion* as the times haven't been so clear** to us in this recent period***. I understand your strive for maximizing happiness and pleasure and I applaud your endeavors. The best of luck to you! I would love to hear how everything works out for you-my guess is it will, wonderfully.

Tomorrow I am unable to participate in the threesome but I would love to share with you my newest source of excitement. It began with two friends, one who wanted to grill, one who wanted to get burritos. I found myself caught in the middle, unsure who to side with. Then the brightest idea of my life came to mind...****

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That's right--I bbq'd a burrito!

yours truly,
The Grilled Threesome Burrito King, aka Mambo No.6*****

Did you know that when people put up a post about threesome on Craigslist, they are secretly hoping to hear about grilled burrito? Because you know, grilled burrito and threesome go hand in hand. I don't know about you, but I usually grill a burrito right before I have a threesome.

* Who say anything about me being anguish and confused? I didn't.
** I know. It's been pretty cloudy this couple days.
*** What recent period? The last time I had a period was in my past life, where I was a bar maid in La Fiesta de Taco Tavern in the middle east. We specialized in taco-flavored kisses.
**** Since when does threesome = grill + burritos + excitement?
***** Of course he didn't call himself that. I call him that.

I want to have a threesome before I die.

I don't care with who.

I don't care if you're a girl or a guy or a hermaphrodite. Just as long as you have a dick or a pussy or both.

I don't care if you're fat or thin, rich or poor. Just as long as you're rich and thin.

I don't care if you're a virgin or a whore, inexperienced or a slut. Just as long as we all do something that would be considered a threesome, i.e mouth touches penis, penis touches pussy, pussy touches tongue, tongue touches asshole, asshole touches penis.

I don't care if you're straight or gay or bisexual or asexual or omnisexual. Just as long as you know the actual meaning of the word "fuck", because that's what we'll be doing. Well, at least for 3 minutes.

There's another earthquake in California today. That's 3 in less than a week. I know a big one is coming, and we're all gonna die. But I at least want to have a threesome before I die, Goddamn it!

So email me. I won't be checking my email until tomorrow afternoon because I'll be out, spending my last $5000 on Hugo Boss suits and Gucci loafers. I want to look good in heaven, you know what I'm saying?

Sunday, June 19, 2005

Meet the idiot. That's me, by the way.

What's a blog for?
  • a place where you tell strangers how much tequila you drink in one night and hence, showing them how cool you are because, you know, YOU DRANK A BUNCH OF TEQUILA.
  • a place where you tell strangers about your sex life. Every single details of it, including what kind of panties you're wearing, and how his elephant testicles are hanging down to his knees, and how wet you are, and how he couldn't get it up, and how you start a fire by rubbing his dick and how you almost burn down his place.
  • a place where you bitch about life.
  • a place where you tell strangers how many hot chicks and how many skanky hoes you banged, hence showing off how cool you are because, you know, YOU HAVE A LOT OF SEX.
  • and then there's a place like this, which makes you feel good and comfy because you can literally feel the love just by reading what's on there.

So what is this blog for?

I don't know.

I do know I want to write about me today. Without the walls and the facade and the armor and the fake smile.

Snakehead: "Small Tail, I'm a horrible person."

Small Tail: "Why? What makes you say so."

Snakehead: "Because there is this guy who has feelings for me, but I don't have feelings for him, but I still hang out with him and use him to make me feel better about myself. I'm leading him on."

Small Tail: "Really?"

Snakehead: "Sometimes I feel so lonely."

Small Tail: "Why? 'Cause you feel better when you know there is someone around you, someone who likes you?"

Snakehead: "Yeah."

Small Tail: "Hmm..."

Snakehead: "I feel like no one appreciates me."

Small Tail: "But he doesn't even stand a chance?"

Snakehead: "No."

Small Tail: "Maybe you should give him one."

Snakehead: "I can't."

Small Tail: "Why? He's not your type?"

Snakehead: "He's too old for me."

Small Tail: "How old?"

Snakehead: "Too old."

Small Tail: "So what's your plan? Just to lead him on and feel guilty at the same time? It's not very nice to play with other people's feelings."

Snakehead: "I'm such a horrible person."

Small Tail: "Maybe you should let him know he stand no chance."

Snakehead: "Then what do I do when i feel lonely? I'm very selfish, aren't I?"

Small Tail: "Yeah you can't be so selfish, just lead him on 'cause you're lonely."

Snakehead: "I met this one guy who seems perfect, and he likes me, and he thinks I'm cute. Perfect, right? No. He just graduated and now he wants to 'put his career first', so he's not gonna date for a while. I'm telling you, I'll end up alone when I'm 60."

Small Tail: "No, you'll find someone eventually, when you least expect him to appear, when the time is correct, when the fate arrives. All these unhappy experiences happening now is just leading you and make you learn so that you'll appreciate the right person at the right time."

(There's more to the conversation, but I have to stop here. I can't write anymore. Know what they say about writing your feelings down and it'll make you feel better? Well, that feeling is all gone and I feel like a complete jackass drama queen now. Which is why I have to stop. Otherwise I'm gonna have to grab a ladle and bitch slap myself until I look like a monkey's red ass.

Small Tail is a real person. She's not my imaginary friend. My imaginary friend is Tonto Goldstein. He's half Jewish and half Native American. He is good at pinching pennies and my nipples. I will never let Small Tail pinch my nipples. Except when I drink a bunch of tequila in one night. I know. I'm cool.)

Saturday, June 18, 2005

Come pet llama.

It'll be $2.50 per pet. So pet accordingly. All funds are donated to the following charities.

1. The-Snakehead's-New-Laptop Charity.
2. The-Snakehead's-iPod Charity.
3. The-Snakehead's-OPRAH-FOR-PRESIDENT-2008 Charity.


Please indicate which charity you would like to donate to. I strongly recommend charity #3.

Go Oprah! I love you, Oprah! Oprah! Oprah! Oprah!

My lama glama knows how to turn his head 360 degrees without breaking his neck. He's like, awesome and whatever, ya know?

Thursday, June 16, 2005

You may not believe it, but I don't believe in miracles anymore.

Did you know that people are like, so stupid someone should stick a rusty nail into their eye sockets? I'm not kidding. Look.

Skarbakka, 34, said he started thinking about falling after watching on television as workers jumped to their deaths from the twin towers on Sept. 11, 2001.

"I was so distraught, I needed some way to find an artistic response," he told the Chicago Sun-Times. Now, he says he sees falling as a metaphor for life.
Wait. There's more.

"It was fabulous," said Darlene Schuff, 56. "I just wanted to be a part of it. It's a happening."

What the fuck is artistic about people jumping from the twin towers with a tiny hope that they might actually survive? What the fuck is happening about people jumping from the 70th floor just so they won't know what it's like to be crushed by a building? Can somebody in Chicago please find these two fuckers and stick 15 pineapples up his ass and her cunt for me, please?

Fucking ay.

Did you also know that disabled people don't need to pay for parking? I just found that out today while I was walking to my car. People, this is a total discrimination against normal, healthy, good looking people like me. What, just because they broke their toes or their pinky then they don't have to pay for parking? Ridi-fucking-culous. Tomorrow, since I'm not working, I'll be jumping from my bed to the floor, Titanic-style. Except this time, it's REALLY "You jump, I jump, Jack." Now I need to find a boy named Jack who will jump with me. Anybody know where I can get one at this time of night?

After succesfully breaking my middle finger, I will go see my pottery-making friend and get a cast for my arm, from the middle finger all the way to the shoulder, and neck if necessary, followed by bandages all over, The Mummy Returns-style. They I'll haul my ass to DMV, wait there for 2 days and get my disabled parking permit.

Haha! Total foolproof plan. Suckass, bitches!

OK, next on the agenda de blog.

Guess what I found in my lab today.

Come on, just guess.

Guess! I said guess!

Oh you know what? Let's play Pictionary! Brought to you by The Snakehead with the aid of Paint. This special feature is inspired by the multi-talented THL.
*Disclaimer: No purchase necessary. Each picture is sold separately. Neither The Snakehead nor THL is responsible for misuse of these pictures.*

Ready? Go!

2 words.

First word:
Image hosted by

No! That's not the ginger bread man. I would've drawn the white buttons. Besides, why would I find ginger bread man in my lab. Focus people, focus!

What? E.T.? E.T. my ass! That's NOT E.T.! It's a fucking baby, for Christ sake! See the white razor shaped chipped tooth sticking out of his mouth? See how he only has 5 hairs? See how he has no fingers on one hand, and a talon on the other hand? See how he has no toes? I don't know why. Don't ask. But for a baby, he does have a big dick. So he'll turn out just fine. Don't worry about him.

OK, so the first word is "baby".

Second word, this should be easy:
Image hosted by
Yes, you're right! It's a diaper! Woohoo!!

And the word we're looking for is........ Baby Diaper!! Ta da!!!!!!!

Yes, I found a baby diaper in my lab today. I have absolutely no idea what it's for. Maybe some of the people just can't leave their stations, not even to drop their kids off at the pool. So they just drop it like it's hot in a baby diaper. This person must have a tiny ass to be able to fit into that diaper.

Note to self: Look for tiny ass around the lab first thing Monday morning. Then stay the hell away from them for eternity.

Don't let the sun go down on me. Too late bitch, it already has.

I hate the rain. Hate it. HATE it. Hate hate hate hating hate it. Hate it! HAAAAATTTTEEEE it.

Did I mention I hate the rain?

Oooo... look at me, I'm so pretty I'm raining. Isn't it beautiful? Isn't it romantic? Doesn't it make you want to just curl into the bed and cry and eat Rocky Road and watch Sleepless in Seattle?

Shut up, BITCH! Nobody even likes you! So why don't you take your stupid dripping wet ass and get the fuck out of here! It's not beautiful, it's WET! And it's not the good kind of wet, but the I'm-a-chicken-and-somebody-just-dip-me-head-first-into-a-pot-of-boiling-soup-and-now-my-feathers-are-all-wet-and-flappy kind of wet. It's not romantic, it's SLIPPERY, you goddamn motherfucker! If it's romantic, you will see happy people smiling and making out in the park and humping in the subway. But what do you see? Just a bunch of people flipping you off at the bus stops. No making out. No humping. Do you see it? Do you? Do you?! Do you see my middle finger? Do you see me pointing my middle finger directly at you? Do you see me sticking my middle finger into my nose? Do you see the gigantic booger on my middle finger? That booger is excavated specifically for you.

Take that, BITCH!

I hate the rain. HATE IT!


OK, now I'm done.

I need to get laid.

So call me, K?

Wednesday, June 15, 2005

Three things. Only three. That's never going to be enough.

I stole this from Chicken, who got it from Nutshell Crack'd, who got it from Incestuous Amplification, who got it out of thin air, I think. Over on the other side, Poppy Cedes got it from Jenna is Annoyed (uh oh), who also got it out of thin air. Man, people are getting stuff out of thin air left and right. Soon we're gonna have to start learning how to breathe in water. I can teach you, if you're interested, just look for me in a restaurant near you. I look like this
Image hosted by
when I'm marinated and sauteed.

Three Things.

Three names I go by:
1. Hey
2. Little Bee-ran
3. Dude

Three screen names that I have had:
1. The Snakehead, obviously.
2. Trojan4Cock. Only one time. In a chatroom.
3. Pimpdiddyhustla. No, really.

Three things I like about myself:
1. The way I slowly lift my left cheek...... and fart.
2. My nipples. They are my G-spot. I love them.
3. This is a secret.

Three things I don't like about myself:
1. My anal-retentiveness.
2. My balls. They are not the same size. Goddamn it!
3. This is also a secret.

Three parts of my heritage:
1. Adam.
2. Ape.
3. Chimpanze.

Three things that scare me:
1. This.
2. Snakes. Every single one of them. Seeing them on TV alone makes my skin crawls.
3. Erectile Dysfunction.

Three of my everyday essentials:
1. Water.
2. Air.
3. Music. That's all I need to survive. For 2 days. Then I'm gonna have to trade one of these in for food. Probably water.

Three things I'm wearing right now:
1. T-shirt.
2. Cargo pants.
3. That's all. I don' wear underwear. My boys preferred to be free-balling.

Three of my favorite bands or musical artists:
1. Damien Rice.
2. Weezer.
3. Sarah Mclachlan.
4. Wilco. I told you 3 is not gonna be enough.

Three physical things that attract me to the opposite sex:
1. I'm not attracted to opposite sex.
2. Except one thing.
3. Big boobies! Yeah baby! They rock! They jiggle! Especially when you bury your face in them.

Three places I want to go on vacation:
1. Heaven.
2. Earth.
3. And everywhere in between.

Three new things I want to try in the next 12 months:
1. Go to school in nothing but a thong.
2. Go to jury duty in nothing but a thong.
3. See 2 Kung-Fu Gerbils fight.

Three things I just can't do:
1. Roll my tongue.
2. Lick my elbow.
3. This.

Three things I want to do before I die:
1. Have 3 kids. Ethan, Josh and a girl whose name I haven't decide.
2. Have a front yard with white picket fences.
3. Say "I love you more than life itself" and mean every word of it.

Three celeb crushes:
1. Josh Wald. Can someone please turn the heat down? It's getting TOO HOT in here.
2. Hugh Jackman. Hugh, I love you.
3. Jude Law. Jude, I love you too. You sure you're not gay?
4. David Beckham. Dave, dump that bitchy wife of yours, OK? We can raise the kids together.
Raoul Bova. Oh baby.
Eric Hanson. I won't mind that you were a porn star. Really. Just show me that 8 inches of yours.
7. Jake Gyllenhaal. Mmmm... yummy. Like tiramisu.
8. Michael Jackson. When he takes his nose off at night. Totally hot.

Tuesday, June 14, 2005

If you want to destroy my sweater, hold this thread as I walk away. Watch me unravel, I'll soon be NEKKID!!


I really don't have anything to write today. But I'd like to hear the sound my keyboard makes when I hit the keys. Type type type... Tick tick tick. Sounds so good it brought tears to my eyes and blood to my penis. Almost.

So what should I write about? I can write about the near death experience I had today. A 7.0 magnitude earthquake struck about 300 miles away from me, and they even had a tsunami warning issued. Yeah dude, I'm THIS close to dying. But did you care? Did you even say a prayer for me? Did you even wish that I could swim like, really fast? Did you even hope that I wasn't in some tall building? Did you? Did you? I'll bet one of my testicles that none of you did.

Wow dude. My roommate's friend is walking a bike twice as long as an ordinary bike into the house. Lemme go check that shit out.

Guess what they call that kind of bike. Xtracycle. Xtra, indeed.

Yeah, you're right. I have ADD. You gotta cut me some slacks here, people. I ran out of pills this morning.

So what should I write about? I can write about my new found cyber fame. Check out this article by BBC News. Scroll it down until you see the picture of Spice Girls (don't worry about the rest of the article. It's irrelevant to me anyway). The last sentence of the paragraph right above that picture. Do you see it? Do you see my name? Do you see my name and Brad Pitt's name in the same sentence? Do you? Do you? Man, THL is gonna be so upset over this.

I know what I can write! And I'll do it with a list, because I'm feeling list-y. But it'll be an even numbered list, just to please NDC. Yeah, he has a thing with odd numbered lists. Weird, huh? I know. Ssshhh.... don't let him hear that.

1.) I laugh at people who say things like "nuclear energy is the cleanest, most enviromental friendly energy in the world" because they have absolutely no idea what they are talking about. They obviously know nothing about the reactions that go behind the word "nuclear energy". Why? Because TV and the newspapers and the magazines didn't tell them that. Why? Because all these so-called "enviromental friendly" energies produce the same green house gases at the end. That's right. We can never escape the death grip of carbon dioxide. We can run, but we can't hide. And don't even bother arguing with me unless you have a PhD in nuclear or chemical engineering. Otherwise I'm already smarter than you.

2.) What's that? I'm a cocky son of a bitch? Oh, you mean you didn't know that? What a shame. Well, welcome to The Exposed Diary of an Extinct Snakehead. I'm your host, Cocky SOB. But you can call me CS. Now sit tight, and enjoy the ride. Don't let the poles hit you in the crotch though, all right? Just cross your legs and you should be fine. And the guys, please take off your shirt. Oh, those with man-breasts, please put your shirt back on. Thank you.

3.) I think gay republicans are stupid. Probably as stupid as these midgets, if not more. Oh wait. That midgets vs. lion story is fake. Which means that gay republicans are just plain retards.

Gay republicans = {(stupid) x (idiotic) x (moronic)} to the power of infinity + 1

4.) My mom once told my brother that I have big dick. OK, that sounded very very perverted. It's not, actually. That was long long time ago, when me and my brother were still young, like younger than 10 (bare in mind that in Malaysia, kids don't think about sex until they are like, 16) or something. I remember my mom said that to him while she was giving him a bath (that's how young he was). Now shut up! My mom is not perverted! I will slap each and every one of you who thinks she is. If you're a guy then I'll slap your balls instead of your face. Like this.

5.) That big dick of mine? Yeah, it has gotten a lot bigger since then. Want to see it? I'm having an open pants on this coming Sunday at 2pm. Sorta like open house, but you get to check out what's in my pants. Cool huh.

Bummer. I really didn't want to end at odd number. But I gotta go take a shower and give my big dick a nice scrub down. Oh well, I guess NDC will just have to live with it.

Monday, June 13, 2005

I think I might be like, you know, secretly straight or something.

This worries me alot. Like last night, I was up all night in my dreams thinking about it. It might looked like I passed out in the bathroom covered in floor mat, but looks can be deceiving, especially this one.

It all started a couple months ago, when my friend Bullshiter threw a party and invited the whole town. So naturally, being the sex pervert that he is, there were some girls with HUGE titis. Like that kind of titis perfect for tits-fucking. Did I just say that? Shit. My hetero side is such a flamer.

I should point out that before this party, I was a very innocence little gay boy. Never kissed a girl, never touched any breasts, girls' or bitches', never been touched by a girl. That night changes everything. In fact, ever since then, there have been rumors going around saying that I'm just pretending to be gay so that I can get some actions.

I don't really think it's my fault at all, seeing that I'm usually the only gay guy around a bunch of straight people. Obviously I can't hit on the macho, testesterone pumping straight guys in front of their other "straight" friends, so I had to settle with making out with the girls. Boy did I do just that. I think I kissed every girl at that party, buried my face in a pair of 34Ds, basically hitting the 2nd base more times than I can remember. Bullshiter's girlfriend actually touched me (I wonder what she thinks of my package), while we were in the bathroom, along with 2 other girls. I think they were peeing. I don't remember.

Ever since that night, I have a new found fascination with big ass titis. And I started watching more and more straight porn. In fact, I now know which porn star I should be looking for. Like Cytherea. Man, that girl ejaculates like there is no tomorrow. I mean, seriously. It's like she's putting out fire or something. You can probably water your lawn with the amount of cum she squirts out. Just take her to your backyard, stick your dick in and start thrusting, and in about 3 minutes, pull out, and swing her from side to side to make sure that you covered every dry spot in the vicinity. Then take her to another corner and repeat. Boy can she squirts. And she does it over and over again. I wonder if she get dehydrated each time after having sex.

And then last night, I actually sexually harrassed Bullshiter's girlfriend. Her titis are soft, like water balloons. They are quite nice to play with, actually. Then again, all natural titis feel like that, I think. I don't know what fake titis feel like. Yet.

Incidently, a lesbian friend of mine told me today that one of the reasons she broke up with her ex was because "her nipples are too big". WTF? Now I can't stop thinking about her big ass nipples.


I need help. I need counseling or something. Is there any counseling services for secretly straight people who don't wish to be straight? I would prefer it to be free because I'm a cheap bastard. Maybe I should start with the local GLBT center.

It's something unpredictable, but in the end it's right. I hope you had that time of your life.

Mikey, can I call you Mikey? No? How about Ear-biting-quitter? Yeah? OK.

EBQ, I'm so disappointed in you. You totally ruined a good movie for me. See, last night, I went over to my buddy's place to watch The Aviator. But what's a good movie without weed and alcohols right? Right. Later when they told me you gave up around what, round 6? I was like "Noooooooooooooooooooooooo........" Then I had to drown my sorrows in cheap Vodka, expired cranberry juice and no ice cubes. I have to do all these and still pay attention to the movie. Do you have any idea how hard it is to focus on the TV screen when the whole room is spinning and you're pitching a tent in your pants by just staring at the way Leonardo touches the shiny aircraft?

By the way, I just realized that I have good friends who take good care of me. Like when I started puking and subsequently passed out on the bathroom floor, they worried that I might get cold so they covered me up with the FUCKING FLOOR MAT AND LEFT ME THERE ALL NIGHT. See how thoughtful they are? That's what friends are for, right? I bet your less thoughtful friends would've woken you up or carry you to the couch. Not mine. Mine are great.

You are a hoe.

You are characterized as being used by others, when in fact it is the other way around. You are secretive, especially around those you care most about. Even though you are always one take control of situations, people can sometimes bring down your self esteem. But don't worry. You have the opposite sex to make all of your dreams come true. Just don't be too dependent on your lover... he may be only using you to tend to his crops.

Most Compatible with: Toilet Paper, and Toenail.

Click here -- What Random Object Represents Your Inner Self?

Sunday, June 12, 2005

My roommate from.... Santa Barbara.

My roommate just came back from out of town.

Him: "Hey how's it going?"
Me: "Good. How's your asshole? Does it hurt?"
Him: "What?"
Me: "Well you disappeared for two days. So I assumed you got kidnapped by aliens and they probed you like they always do."
Him: "No. I went to Santa Barbara."

Then he walked away and went back to his room. Without even a chuckle or a snort. Another year with him in this house.


At least he pay rents on time and shares his weed and doesn't fart too much. Actually he doesn't fart at all. Weird.

Listen up, boys and girls.

Drinking is bad, boys and girls. I, for one, should not be allowed to drink at all.

Driving while drunk is very bad, boys and girls. I, for one, have only done it once. I will probably not do it again.

Calling your ex not-a-fuckbuddy-not-yet-a-boyfriend while drunk is very very bad, boys and girls. I, for one, have only done it every single time I get trashed. So far, it's either me melting down and cry because I started falling for that son of a bitch but he's still in love with his ex, or me getting all worked up inside and started yelling at him for no apparent reason. Last night, I brought up an incident that happened while King Tut was still alive. One time I was spending the night at his place. After having sex, he went to the bathroom (he always does that, and I always hated it). When he came back, he said he'll go to the living room and read. At that time, I was touched because I thought he was being so considerate and sweet as he didn't want his light to bother me. The next thing I know, I woke up with a start in the middle of the night, and I couldn't find him. I later found him on the couch, asleep. I proceed to wake him up to get him to bed to spoon, but he refused. He seemed kinda pissed that I woke him up, and I was PISSED that he didn't want to come back to bed. I was so pissed I fell right back to sleep as soon a I lied down. Yeah, I'm good like that.

Calling the guy who's probably in love with you, whom you absolutely do not and will never love back, just so you can get some loving and make yourself feel better after talking to your ex not-a-fuckbuddy-not-yet-a-boyfriend who kinda broke your heart a little bit is just downright WRONG, boys and girls. I, for one, should not have done it. I'm feeling like shit now. I'll probably get hit by a car pretty soon, and I'm definitely on my way to hell.

I'm so fucked up.

Friday, June 10, 2005


I'm feeling a little bit depressed.

The other day
The Hot Librarian wrote about how much she misses Australia, completed with breath-taking pictures (seriously. They took my breath away. It wasn't until later when I was literally suffocating myself to death that I remember to take that breath back and continue breathing like a normal human being who is not you know, extremely stupid, like me. I’m telling you, those pictures, while beautiful, are killers. If you’re not smart enough to master the techniques of breathing, I strongly recommend that you DO NOT view those pictures), because the other OTHER day, Fitz-Hume (who I think has some anger management issues. He yells at THL’s readers pretty frequently in the comment threads. Given that THL’s readers might not be very bright, what with me being one of the readers, but still, you know? Ya don’t have to yell all the time. I'm not just talking out of my ass, I have evidents. Look at this. I would've shown you more evidents but I'm too lazy to look it up. Live with it) wrote a post about his beloved Texas.

On a totally unrelated note, do you like my parenthesis? Like the italic writing in the parenthesis? I am so smart. I did that on purpose so you know when I'm babbling and when I'm not. I'm a genius! Yeah baby! My IQ is 13.6 and I fucking rock! I SAID I FUCKING R-O-C-K!! Fuck you! Don't mess with me. I'm in a
street gang. You hear me? I'm in a GANG and me and my fag brothas will kick your ass anytime we want. And according to my street gang pledge #32, both you and I have to tear each other's clothing out, throw in a few light kisses and moans while I'm in the process of kicking your ass. So DO NOT mess with me.

On second thought, mess with me. Yeah, go ahead and mess with me. PLEASE mess with me!!

ANYWAY, I was going to say that those 2 posts made me think about my home, my family, my country. And what did I find? I'm not missing them. No. I'm not missing them. I've been away from home for almost 2.5 years now, and I've never gone home since I left on December 26th, 2002. The day after Christmas. We don't celebrate Christmas because - and I quote my dad - "We're not Christians, we don't pray to Jesus. So what's the use in celebrating Christmas?" Looking back... the last few years there have been difficult, especially after my parents separated. I remember telling myself that I have to get out of that hell hole as soon as possible and as far as possible, otherwise I might've really gone nuts.

When you leave home, you embarked on your own journey. All these journeys are never a straight road. They might seem like a straight road, but they never are. There is always a point, a U-turn somewhere down the road. That's the point when you realized that you've been away from home for too long; that's the point when you realized that you miss home; that's the point you realized that you want to go home; and that's the point where you turn around and begin your journey home. If you're lucky, home will still be there when you get back; if you're not, you might just come home to an empty house with nothing but a bag full of memories. And when you look around, you see that everything has changed. Home is gone. Forever.

It's already been 2.5 years, and I'm still on a straight road. The U-turn is nowhere in sight.

Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever see it.

And when I do see it, will it be too late to...... go home?

Thursday, June 09, 2005

Porn, Jager, bathtub and OxiClean.

Originally I wanted to write about work 'cause I really needed to vent about my bitch-ass PHD supervisor and his lab partner whom both (I hope) has herpes, genital warts, syphilis and every other STDs unknown to mankind which are causing their penises on the verge of falling off like a banana. But then I realize

A) Nobody is reading this, and
B) Nobody knows what Polarographic Measurement of a High Dk Hydrogel means. Actually, neither do I.

So let's move on to something we can all appreciate.

My roommate watches porn at 8 in the morning and my bath tub sparkles and my head hurts. Not that any one of them has anything to do with the others.

Early this morning after puking my stomach out (I swear I saw it coming out of my mouth, along with potstickers I had for dinner), I rested my head on the toilet seat. I know it's dirty and nasty and germy and I'm probably infected with Salmonella and my dick is going to fall off, but see if you care if you're that drunk. So I was resting my head on the seat, heaving, and look over to the bathtub, and realized that

A) I've been taking showers everyday for God knows how long in a pigsty, and
B) My feet will probably fall off before my dick.

So looks like I'm turning into a feetless dickless man.


For some unknown reasons that is still under the investigation by the FBI, CIA, local authorities and my mother, I decided to clean the bathtub right there and then. And boy did I clean that fucker out. I never realized I have such potential as a bathtub cleaner, or as I like to call it -- OxiClean. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go back to aisle 5 in Target.

Note to self: Next time when you're drinking and you think you should stop. Stop. DO NOT believe your friend when he says "Take this last shot and I'll show you my dick" or "Here, have some Jager. It helps with your hangover." They are all LIES. I didn't see any dick, and my head still hurts. Bastards.

This morning I woke up to the following sound.

Ahh.. Ohh... Oh yeah... Yes.. Yes.. Oh Fuck me.. Right there... Ohh.. Ughh... Yes.. Yes.. Ahh!!

What the fuck is going on? There's no one in the house. Everybody is at work. Who the hell is watching porn? I followed the moans (which by the way, is SO TOTALLY fake it's as annoying as a bee's buzz) to my roommate's room, turned on the monitor, and I was greeted by the image of a dick going in and out of a shaved pussy. What did he forgot to turn off the porn before he left for work? Or perhaps he wanted to be greeted by a giant shaved pussy when he gets home? I will never know.

I turned it off, tried to go back to sleep, but I kept seeing a dick going in and out of a pussy whenever I closed my eyes.


It's not like you care, but I'll tell you anyway.

First of all, let me give a big shout-out to, you FUCKING FUCK FUCK FUCKITY suck. That includes all the hot, stupid, pretentious and brainless idiots who keeps a profile there. Only those profiles with hot sexy pictures of presumable themselves. Because the other faceless profiles are actually pretty damn sexy. I mean, it could be Peter Jackson riding on the back of a King Kong. With an umbrella. 'Cause he sweats a lot (Peter Jackson. Not King Kong). So he uses the umbrella to fan himself. And also to tickle King Kong's nuts when they itch. Like when geico from that insurance company told him 15 minutes can save him 15% or more on car insurance. Then my boy PJ will be like, "Yo, I don't need no mother fucking car insurance dogg. Me boy 'ere Kink Konk is my low rider."

Holy moly shit! I just went back and read that entire paragraph, and not one sentence made any sense. You wanna know why? It's not like you care anyway. So don't ask. All right I'll tell you this:

A little bit of marijuana in my life
A little bit of tequilla by my side
A little bit of salt is all I need
A little bit of lime is what I see

Where the fuck are the goddamn salt?!

By the way, I'm so totally NOT a mama's boy. I am however, a mama's GAY boy. And I AM A DYING BREED. So be nice to me and buy me something nice. I want an iPod, a Patek Philipe, an Alienware laptop, a wardrode full of Hugo Boss, DKNY, Kenneth Cole, a pair of Gucci loafer and a Brioni suit, and of course, this.

mama's boy
brought to you by Quizilla

Wednesday, June 08, 2005

Grumpy went outside to play. And it rains. Grumpy didn't have an umbrella. So Grumpy is pissed.

Q: Why is Grumpy so grumpy today?

A: Because Grumpy started working yesterday. And Grumpy didn't get his work done until 1 am. After watching the new episode of Queer As Folk and his nightly dose of Will & Grace, Grumpy finally went to bed at 2.50 am. At 5.34 am, while Grumpy is in dreamland playing hide and seek with Fabio, Michael Jackson and Ann Coulter (don't ask. I don't know why) in an ice castle while freezing his balls off, Grumpy's cell phone went off. It was fucking loud, so Grumpy had to pick it up. Turns out, it was a stupid bitch from Grumpy's dad's credit card company.

Grumpy: "Hmm...?"
Stupid Bitch: "Harlo?"
Grumpy: "Yeah."
Stupid Bitch: "HELLO?"
Grumpy: "What the fuck do you want, you stupid bitch?"*
Stupid Bitch: "Yeah hi, I'm calling from your dad's credit card company. I'm looking for Grumpy. Are you Grumpy?"
Grumpy: "Uh huh."
Stupid Bitch: "I was just wondering if you have bought something from Australia.... are you sleeping?"
Grumpy: "Yes I did. And I'm not sleeping. I'm playing hide and seek. Now fuck off."**
Stupid Bitch: "Oh sorry sir. I'm fucking off now. Bye."

Yes, I did bought something from
Aussiebum (Australian guys are HOT HOT HOT!). But guess how much was it. Ready? Are you really ready? It was........ $29.38! That stupid bitch woke me up for a fucking $29.38! Geeez.

On a related note, I started working yesterday, and I'm at work now. Research, to be exact. Specifically, doing research of the permeability of oxygen in contact lenses. Oooooooo.... Yeah, no shit. And guess what do we run the experiments with? Ready? Are you really ready? We do it with......... women stockings and panties. No shit. I don't think I can reveal any more information for the fear of getting sued. Maybe I shouldn't even tell you about the stockings and panties. Oh well, just pretend that you don't know.

* Of course I didn't say that. I'm a nice guy. Even when I'm grumpy. Even when I'm sleeping and grumpy. Even when I'm playing hide and seek while grumpy and sleeping. Even when.... you get the point.

** I might have really said that. Not too sure about that one.



Kinda miss you already.


Don't kill too many elands. They are beautiful.