porn, super porn
a cacophony of calamity
2004-07-16 | 4:00 p.m.

I can smoke with my feet, independently of my arms, now isn't that a somewhat dubious honor? Before my dad died, he caught me twitching and swiveling my eyeball in a freakish way, and he assumed that I had an errant contact (a correct assumption, in this case). "Here," he said. "Close your eye and breathe out your nose for ten seconds." I don't really think that it works, but I still do it all of the time, I have to type fast because I'm in a hurry!

Sometimes I think that in this society, women are judged by their good qualities (eh, she can cook, and weave, and she has a big dowry, so I'll ignore the fact that she's a total bitch), while men are judged primarily by their absence of bad qualities (well, he doesn't beat me, and he doesn't throw plates at my head, so he's a keeper, for sure). Why am I mumbling like this? Oh, so if women are judged by their assets, what assets did any of my ancestral women have? They're all serpent-tongued, and THEY CANNOT COOK. first of all, my grandmother dropped by to visit today, you know, my only grandparent, the one related to satan? second of all, I'm trying to bake a cake (HAPPY BIRTHDAY SHAUN!!!!!), when I have the dna swirls of ineptitude pingponging around in my blood. whenever I cook, I picture myself in an egalitarian paradise, where I have volunteered to do all of the cooking, the complicated, clinical cooking, and I love doing it, and I have a perfect sense of which spices work well together, and when it ends up a mess, it's because it was just a stupid fantasy and actually I'm an utter failure in the kitchen, and I own two spices: salt and pepper. ramble ramble, ramble. This is all a ruse, in reality I have nothing to say.

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