When you live in a crack whore shack in the Piney Woods of East Texas and don't own a car, you don't get out much. The obvious solution is MySpace. I have been creating and deleting profiles at MySpace left and right up all night high on ghetto life or drunk on cheap wine/champagne/Mexican beer since 2005 or 2006. I've confessed my burning love to complete strangers. I've heard on the MySpace grapevine that marriages have broken up because of MySpace. I believe it. Luckily for me, all my MySpace infatuations have been unrequited.
Here is a map of my MySpace mindfuck:
Oh my god! I never believed in soul mates until now. This dude just wrote a poem about me. He is states away pining for me all dangerous hair wackadoodle doo lounging on a dirty Gulf of Mexico beach in my Sponge Bob Square Pants pajamas! I will be on my second divorce in no time. Most men run to the hills screaming when they see a sexually peaking welfare baby mama on their trail but this dude surely doth dig my flavor! He be all up in my Kool-Aid swooning over my ass sex poems my taste in music (add "The Right Stuff" by New Kids on the Block to show him how ironic you are...no, he'll think you really groove to that shit...replace "The Right Stuff" with "Come To Daddy" by the Aphex Twins...that's cool, right???) my photographs of debris from the sea and my bloody maxi pad and my dollar store toys...basically, my command of the English language and my seize the day lust for life. Wait. There are a lot of females commenting on his blogs...lots of sexually peaking or sexual innuendo speaking chicas locas up in this bitch! I am going to have to up the ante. I'll play hard to get. I will remove him from my top friends. That should put a tear in his beer. I'll dumb it down. I'll leave the same comment on every blog he writes: wOw...you slay me, dude. LOLZ. <3 xoxo I'll post a profile picture an old boyfriend took of me when I was a nubile nineteen all tabula rasa fine. Oh, fuck this. I'm going to send a friend request to Gallon of Milk. "I wanna slurp you up, you bad boy you. Burp." Whatever happened to General Tso's Chicken? He was really hot. His mad Chinese culinary knowledge skills gave me heartburn and palpitations. Wow, Henry Rollins accepted my friend request, like, instantaneously! Maybe he'll publish my next collection of poetry for me! Henry Rollins is my soul mate. He spoke to me so directly from the pages of Black Coffee Blues. It's like he was licking my cunt with ardor from a thousand miles away. |
