i have it. i love it. you should get it too.

as far as i remember. he believes in aliens, and free love, and country music to save the world, but i never recall him saying that oswald didnt act alone.

but he is desperately trying to get me to believe that courtney killed her golden goose with that shotgun blast.

Layne: Nah. Totally different writing … by a different hand.

me: same hand, same writing. it’s even lefty.

Layne: That heroin dose would’ve put him out way quicker than some serious Anesthesiologist dose before open-heart surgery. I don’t think you have to be a Conspiracy Freak to realize the “real” part of that note was a “I’m retiring from rock ‘n roll” note, not a suicide note.

me: you and i have both done heavy amounts of smack. i mean beer. and if we got hit by a truck and they peeled us open they would all say, “that fucker shot up more, i mean drank more beer than should kill a billygoat.” so fuck those “doctors” who 100 years ago were putting leeches on people to see if they were witches. and who still cant cure a common cold.

Layne: (Everything after his signature is obviously bogus. How many times do you sign your name to a note and then write a bunch of nonsense in giant retard font??)

me: how many times have you added a thought to something? all the time. and hello, but wasnt it mr. kurt cobain who wrote in journals all his life? didnt they publish some of those journals? didnt he add thoughts to a page all the time? ive written in huge fonts under the influence. its not that unsual. and its called genius, not retarded.

Layne: (Hadn’t Kurdt been in LA, holed up and painting, for six-odd months before this went down? The dude loved the indie world in ways I’ll never totally understand, but it was his world and he did not enjoy the designer-dress McMansion world Ms. Love brought to the mix with his money.)

me: i thought he was in LA going through rehab. they call that “painting” nowadays? now who is the revisionist? and secondly kurt loved designer dresses. almost as much as you do.

Layne: If I died tonight — even if it looked (on the slim surface) like a suicide — my wife would be the first suspect. The spouse is *always* the primary suspect. (I was a police & courts reporter for several years, ‘though anybody can learn this from a Court TV session.) And if there is money and / or a child involved, the spouse is generally the Only Suspect. C. Love made tens of millions off Kurt’s death, and she got to keep their child. (Although the drug addict psycho finally lost the child to Cobain’s family this year.)

me: Laura is an angel, how dare you! but back to Courtney, first she was white. white women always get to keep the kids. also Kurdt would have earned her way more than tens of millions. just co-writing Hole records alone she might have earned $100 million. no need to kill the golden goose. kurt was too much a pussy to get rid of courtney. he wasnt going anywhere. plus he was a poppa. thus the suicide. just like half his family did. just like he swore to us that he wasnt going to do.

Layne: Forget the motives of the site-makers — people always come up with conspiracy theories when the dead person is famous — and just take a look. And ask yourself if anything here sounds odd. Who took Kurt’s credit card and kept trying to charge it until he was found dead?

me: it’s a crime to take your spouse’s credit card? if you ask me thats the best part of getting married. next to having someone to yell at, of course.

Layne: Why did Courtney shut off his credit card?

me: cuz he was using his credit card for drugs like whitney?

Layne: Why couldn’t Courtney take the trouble to go to Seattle to find her “missing” husband?

me: i believe she was promoting the Hole record. which was quite good.

Layne: Why did the police wait a month to check the gun for prints? Why couldn’t they find Kurt’s prints?

me: because Courtney had paid them off? what are you implying? cuz cops are lazy. ask oj. ask the strokes. ask r. kelly.

Layne: Why was Courtney at an Arizona spa fucking that Smashing Pumpkins guy three weeks after Kurt’s death, while she fed stories to the press about how she was grieving at home?

me: cuz he was hot, cuz shes a ho, cuz she was sad, cuz he was going to help her write her her best single ever, cuz he’s a ho, cuz courtney if you havent noticed is what we call impulsive. and lives through this. and because the press is precisely who you should lie to, constantly.

Layne: Why did Courtney hire electricians to do work on the greenhouse right after Kurt “killed himself” in that structure?

me: who did you expect her to call, Trading Spaces?

Layne: Why did she later claim (to Rolling Stone) that there was a “real” suicide note left under her pillow in the Seattle house, even though the house had been searched?

me: she told everyone that, including the cops. the cops read it. it was personal. it probably said stuff that we wouldnt want to read like, “im killing myself because deep down theres a woman inside of me struggling to get out which is why i married a man and why i wrote better songs for you than i wrote for my own band.” in which case, THANK YOU COURTNEY!

Layne: Why did she greet the 10-year anniversary of Kurt’s death with a frenzy of planted news stories about her — topless on Letterman, maybe arrested, always making sure any Kurt publicity helps her worthless PR campaign?

me: because courtney love first and formost is a punk rocker. then she is a saleswoman. then she is an earner. she had a record to huck. her first true solo one. and it sucks. so radio play alone isnt enough. what would have been truly suspicious would have been if she just sat around and not done a thing with her music career. then i would believe she killed her man for the money.

pinch the tail + how appalling + flagrant + blog bandit

whenever i go over there i put magic marker on his hair to make it look more like it is now. she thinks hes dreamy. i call him unfrozen caveman and she throws things at me. i mean it in nice ways. she knows. i think she likes throwing things at me.

the subway just hung out at the vermont sunset station today for five minutes for no apparent reason. just enough time for him to miss the transfer train going to wilshire western. as mayor of la i promise that i will insist that the subway drivers have to radio each other when the get to a transfer station so that when the good citizens of this town who are helping out cut down on traffic congestion and smog and helping the enviornment wont have to see the train leave the station just as theyre running down the stairs.

hey bro we’re running a little late

how come

cuz i hung out at the vermont sunset station for no good reason.

ok, when will you be here?

20 seconds.

ok, i’ll wait for your slow ass.

coo.

what i want to be is the mayor of isla vista. what i want is to be anywhere than here. what i want is to be one of those guys who drives one of those flatbed trucks that has a huge billboard on it that says drink cherry pepsi.

i could do that job.

what i want to do is be in connecticut tonight as the womens basketball team wins another title for uconn and report to you how theyre burning down their campus.

if i had any job in the world it would be to drive around and report the news of america to you.

yesterday i woulda been in cincy for the cubs opener and i woulda driven all night to make it to uconn for the game today.

then id double back and make it to wrigley for the cubs home opener.

nobody could do that job the way i could.

not drudge cuz hes a sellout towelboy, not wil wheaton cuz he cant whrite, and not those fuckers who gave the la times all those pulitzers. if the times was that good they wouldnt need a staff of a thousand to cold call los angelinos each day 5 times a day to beg them to subscribe.

i let them call me.

i was hoping bunnie metrosexual was going to be at the tsar show. i was hoping splink was going to be at the tsar show. i was hoping lots of people were going to be there but they werent and you know what, it was still fun.

but i still want to travel the country and write about it to you.

mist + aaron’s baseball blog + sk smith

lets start with how i did everything wrong today. i shouldnt have even gone to work.

it was opening day. all my childhood i begged and faught with my mother to get this day off. now that im an adult and i could have very simply called in “sick” i didnt because im loyal and a great employee even when i get paid chicken feed. but the man upstairs, i know that he cares, he helped the cubbies win. and now we only have 161 more wins until i can feel totally comfortable.

i shouldnta gone into work because i was distracted by the game. i have a hard time concentrating at my job and watching the cubs on tv. my job is super hard. i need to focus at all times.

i was also distracted by the anniversary of kurts death. i wanted to write something really great and powerful and insightful and killer because i have an unusual relationship to nirvana since i was on college radio when bleach came out, i was the arts and entertainment editor when nevermind came out, i played “teen spirit” on the radio before it was even released, i saw their last concert in LA, and i lived with two total nirvana nuts who played the records non stop for weeks after he died. not only was i paying attention to popular music during the time of grunge, my eyes and ears were wide open as was my heart and i was writing it all down. if there was a target market i was it, if they were selling kool-aid i was drinking it and telling all my friends to swim in it with me.

and of course i was distracted by tsar headlining the most important show of their careers.

most people dont know, but daylight savings time was supposed to happen next week, but when the powers that be found out that tsar was playing today they told everyone that today was the day to turn the clocks forward so that tsar would take the stage earlier.

hollywood crowds do not dance, they dont clap, they dont cheer and you rarely get encores. and some would say you dont fill a club up on wilshire blvd just east of fairfax on passover night, but tsar did and people danced and clapped and cheered and tsar would have gotten an encore, but they had nothing left to prove after their unrelenting and blistering set of mostly new tunes from their upcoming cd, band girls money.

excited on many levels, happy, sad, twisted, fucked in so many ways, i paid real money to eat a salad for lunch, i began drinking immediately after work had ended, i ended up eating 7 tums throughout the day, and i wound up dropping and shattering my sole digital camera in the mens room of marie calendars, karma for shitting in the handicapped stall.

i took four dumps today.

here it is 1am. i have no idea how to feel about anything. im pissed at all the fucking idiots who talked shit about my hero in metafilter, im stoked that tsar really could fill the barn called the el rey but im pissed that the crowd didnt react the way they should have which was with awe and joy, instead they just stood and stared with their jaws dropped.

im furious with gravity for taking my truly true love, my canon s45 which has an extended good guys warranty but i seriously doubt dropping it on a cement floor is covered, but as soon as it broke i thought of kurt and i thought of passover and i was all symbolic about first born male sons dying and i loved that camera like a son and i learned it fast and loved it easily.

im grateful for the famous editor who said he read my xbi story of last week when we got shot at in koreatown who said that i shouldnt bother with being a reporter or columnist that i should just focus on being what he called a writer because he suggested that editors would only ruin what good thing i have and i thought to myself that i love editors and i need editing and some of my best friends arent gay, theyre editors. but he meant it completely complimentary and i took it the same, he was saying i was good, and as often as i hear that in the comments and from the friends, it never sticks for more than a millisecond.

and im super pissed at the jagoff who deleted the fantasy league today that i joined sunday and drafted perfectly despite getting the last pick in the 12 team draft.

but the best part of the night was watching this one kid wearing a tsar shirt standing right underneath jeff singing along to all the words of all the songs from a record that hasnt even come out yet. and i know there were industry people in the house because you could see the stains in the carpet as they slithered to the free drinks, and if any of them wants to prove that they belong, they will do something about this tiny little miracle and help make it not just my favorite band, but the planet’s.

im grateful to gravity because this is the first tsar show where i actually watched completley undistracted while holding a bottle of beer amazed at how sparkling rock can be.

and i love that my ears are still ringing.

luminous dreams + five live links + melting dolls

ten years ago it ended a whole lot more than the best band of the nineties. in retrospect it ended rock as we knew it.

during the grunge era of 89-94 the “seattle sound” dominated the rock pop and alternative airwaves, as well as mtv.

rock was hot and it was not unusual to hear pearl jam, soundgarden, stone temple pilots, jane’s addiction, smashing pumpkins, bush, and nirvana every hour; but also metallica’s black album was ripping up the charts, as were hip hop groups like the beastie boys, public enemy, ll cool j, de la soul, cypress hill, and a crew from compton called nwa.

and then you had the riot grrl movement, and then you had the post-punkers like green day, bad religion, the replacements, and sonic youth. and it was all on tv and it was all over the airwaves and it was fresh and vibrant and real and popular.

it was nirvana in many many ways.

it was the musical equivalent of the renaissance, expressionism, and surrealism having a gangbang right in front of our ears.

which is how lollapalooza was created, and why it was so successful.

since that shotgun blast in seattle not only has rock died with no hope on the horizon of a star as big as cobain, but rap has gone top 40 with cartoon characters like outkast and boy banders like justin replacing the likes of snoop dogg, dre, and biggie in the hip hop.

radio and mtv is back in that horrible mess that nirvana exploited and rallied against, and they did it so beautifully that everyone who got it could just sit there and smile cuz it was so simple.

people try to pick kurts words apart and you cant. he revealed nothing in his words.

people try to look at the music, but thats also a mystery.

they look at the goofy bouncing bass player as the weak link, but krist was no weak link, he was ideal.

nirvana was just as punk rock wearing surgeon’s jackets and smashing guitars as they were wearing sweaters on mtvs unplugged. kurts voice was just as violent as his power chords.

what i loved about him was he seamlessly mixed metal and punk and thrash and pop together with nursery rhymey lyrics that both insulted the listener, confused the critic, and rewarded the fan.

he was everything and nothing.

he was heavy metal rock star and weezer.

he was that sad little kid in the corner and the sleeping giant awakened.

he married the right girl and the wrong woman.

he was a fish swimming upstream and headed down hill.

he was the most spectacular disaster ever documented and i was right there so close that i still cant even believe it not even now ten years later.

and its still hard to listen to that music because it has become so personal.

but it blows away everything that has come after it, it destroyed metal almost singlehandedly, and it makes the lying liars seem that much more fake.

i miss kurt cobain and nirvana more than i miss everything that ive ever missed put together.

he influences this blog far more than i could possibly explain.

one of the few bands that makes me as happy as nirvana did is tsar, who i understand is playing tonight.

ken layne + matt welch + anita rowland

Speaking from the tongue of an experienced simpletion who obviously would rather be an emascluated, infantile complain-ee. This note should be pretty easy to understand. All the warnings from the punk rock 101 courses over the years, since my first introduction to the, shall we say, ethics involved with independence and the embracement of your community has proven to be very true .

I haven’t felt the excitement of listening to as well as creating music along with reading and writing for too many years now. I feel guilty beyond words about about these things.

For example when we’re backstage and the lights go out and the manic roar of the crowd begins, it doesn’t affect me the way in which it did for Freddy Mercury, who seemed to love, relish in the love and adoration from the crowd, which is something I totally admire and envy.

The fact is, I can’t fool you, any one of you. It simply isn’t fair to you or me. The worst crime I can think of would be to rip people off by faking it and pretending as if I’m having 100% fun. Sometimes I feel as if I should have a punch-in time clock before I walk out on stage . I’ve tried everything within my power to appreciate it (and I do, God believeme I do, but it’s not enough).

I appreciate the fact that I and we have affected and entertained a lot of people. I must be one of those narcissists who only appreciate things when they’re gone. I’m too sensitive. I need to be slightly numb in order to regain the enthusiasm I once had as a child.

On our last 3 tours, I’ve had a much better appreciation for all the people I’ve known personally and as fans of our music, but I still can’t get over the frustration, the guilt and empathy I have for everyone. There’s good in all of us and I think I simply love people too much, so much that it makes me feel too fucking sad. The sad little sensitive, unappreciative, Pisces, Jesus man.

Why don’t you just enjoy it?

I dont know!

I have a goddess of a wife who sweats ambition and empathy and a daughter who reminds me too much of what I used to be, full of love and joy , kissing every person she meets because everyone is good and will do her no harm. And that terrifies me to the point where I can barely function.

I can’t stand the thought of Frances becoming the miserable, self-destructive, death rocker that I’ve become.

I have it good, very good, and I’m grateful, but since the age of seven, I’ve become hateful towards all humans in general. Only because it seems so easy for people to get along and have empathy. Only because I love and feel sorry for people too much I guess.

Thank you all from the pit of my burning, nauseous stomach for your letters and concern during the past years. I’m too much of an erratic, moody, baby!

I don’t have the passion anymore, and so remember, it’s better to burn out then to fade away.

Peace, Love, Empathy

Kurt Cobain

Frances and courtney, I’ll be at your altar. Pleas keep going Courtney, for Frances. For her life, which will be so much happier without me.

I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU!

keep on keeping on. saturday my truest took me out for barbeque ribs and we faught and i suppose that was to be expected then we made up then we faught some more. this afternoon she told me that she was madder at me than i thought and i was all whoa.

sunday i went to the laker game with my old roommie. they played well but still lost. i dont understand.

shaq and malone played well. kobe was hot. you’d think that would be enough but san antone are the defending chumps so you really have to whale on them if youre going to win.

thank god for parody.

parady.

however you spell that shit.

before the game liana and i had a mexican breakfast. she told me that she would wait for my divorce and then she will have little black babies with me. i told her shes going to find a nice jewish man to settle down with and if she wants black kids so badly she should adopt them with him but she dabbed a little hot sauce on her tortilla and picked the onions out of her taquito and told me i was loco.

im totally loco.

clipper girl was at the game and waved at me. she was sitting next to her cousin in a luxury suite sipping a cosmo out of a glass through a straw. she had on her clipper jersey. dork.

the laker girls came out in an outfit that i didnt recognize. it was long yellow sweat pants and a long sleeve yellow shirt with black stripes. and then i saw the lettering on the front. it said Kill Bill and on the back it said DVD comes out April 6. it was the dumbest ad ive ever seen.

dont ho out my hos, lakers. sheesh.

outside the game a brotha was selling kobe tshirts. on the back of the shirts it said, no more white chicks.

it was nice to go to a 12:30p game, cuz we were done at 3:30p and i had time to take a little nap and wait for my wife to come home from the market. the plan was to watch 60 minutes, the simpsons and the sopranos but we just made sweet love and let the spaghetti sauce burn the pot.

afterwards we ate bannana splits for dinner.

tsar plays tonight + go + rampant intellectualism

so as to celebrate my nuptuals. last night i went out with welch, basart, and karisa. we went to the dodgers/angels game. everyone drank except karisa cuz she was driving. she actually had one bud light. know how much one plastic bottle of budweiser light goes for at dodger stadium, seven fifty.

apparently i owed basart fifty bucks. actually he refreshed my memory that last year he gave me fifty bucks for the send my ass to the world series fund and i refunded everyone who paid in paypal instantly but ken paid cash so i never got it back to him.

so he said no problem pay me back in beers at the dodger game and i was all cool, that should send me back about a six pack and a hot dog.

we looked for an atm.

there was one on the whole level.

note to self, offer to pay the dodgers 20% of all atm transactions for the 5 atms that they will allow me to have on the the blue level, and 25% of all atm transactions that they will allow me to have on the other levels.

one atm per level is as retarded as the dodger lineup that will take the field this year.

afterwards we all drank in welches backyard and listened to old tapes of him singing princes purple rain.

and when i got home i realized that somehow i suddenly owed basart $80.

good times.

i got home at 4am and my wife didnt complain at all.

on monday you can meet us all, matt, ken, karisa, and moxie, at the tsar show at the el rey.

bring your friends and we can have a friend-off to see who has the coolest chums.

welch + basart + mc brown lives a better life than you do

today, my true love and i broke up and moved away from each other.

i didnt cry. i dont know why. i know why. cuz my new pad had so many boxes and no couch and i couldnt find a place to sit down. its hard for me to cry standing up.

its weird to think that its been so long since i was with renee maria garcia (pictured) who i would torture in so many ways. sometimes i wouldnt get out of bed for an entire weekend. this was before the blog. sometimes i wouldnt do the dishes for years. this was before the breakup. sometimes i wouldnt shower for days.

comparing her three years to mine, shes winning hands down. shes got a better pad than me, a better job, she looks better, she has a fairly new car.

me, ive got you. and a couple cheerleaders. a pot to piss in, but who wants to piss in pot? she comes over from time to time and i ask if we could get married and this morning she called and asked if i wanted to take the day off to help her find a new apartment in hollywood. i said whats wrong with living on the beach and she said, no good coffee shops. no style, no flair, no soull. and i said, marry me. and she said, but youre already married. and i was all, as a christian the government cannot get in the way of me having two wives. its biblical. king solomon, an ancestor of david and all the way down the line to jesus and up to adam had a thousand wives.

it’s my religious right.

she was all, i didnt want to marry you when you had no wives and i want to marry you less now that you have a very very pretty wife.

they say that everyone has a soul mate.

mine gave me five years to fuck up and i fucked up each and every year.

shows to go ya.

when i first moved into laynes old place + sad picture + charlize was down with me three years ago

lots of losers are married. my problem is now i only have two more goals to complete: have a kid, and go to heaven.

and im not even sure i want that first one any more. whats the point again? to have something that looks like me? ive never liked the way i look, why would i want to stare at something that will keep staring back?

my wife is passed out on the couch. shes been on the phone all day. ive been on the phone all day. all ive wanted to do is write. not necessarilly to you, but to someone. probably to me in the past. keep banging cheerleaders. theres nothing wrong with moxie. shes awesome. she cooks well. she always looks spectacular. very loving. far more emotional than she writes. intellectual. sensual. spiritual. and she likes to watch porn and crank call people by telling them that shes watching porn and wants to talk dirty to a stranger.

i do love her.

she knows i didnt really want to get married, but it was sorta like college: now is the time to do it. grow up fucker, everyone else is.

everywhere i go i hear the who. csi, slackers, fm, am. but passion of the christ is going to be the biggest movie of all time and how come i dont find myself in any more conversations about jesus than i had last year at this time? cuz people havent yet learned how to talk about the bible or religion or books or movies. i heard two guys talk about south park the other day and you know how they did it? they ran down the plot. thats it.

theres at least two times in the bible where jesus weeps and whats up with that mr mel gibson who’s fancy movie starts off with the first time the son of God cries. the second time is when he’s being crucified and hes about to die and he wails “why hath Thou forsaken me?” which is almost at the very end of mr gibsons brutal movie.

Jesus doesnt cry when he’s being whipped or when the nails go through his hands and feet or when he gets the crown of thorns or when peter denies him three times before the cock crows.

he cries at the begining of the movie because he’s bummed that this is his last night on Earth, the show, the big time, the reason for everything, the home planet, the grand experiment, the big blue marble, the third rock, the mothership. but hes also crying because he will never get to be a man again, because hes excited and nervous about paying for every sin that was ever committed and will ever go down. hes crying because the pressure must have been unreal, hes crying because he spent thirty some years on Earth and now hes going to have to go back to being otherworldly, more otherworldly than normal. and hes crying because even though his twelve were all knuckleheads, all of them, hes going to miss them because thats what mankind is, he learned, a slovenly hurrang of mediocre non-believers who wouldnt know God if he was freestyling parables next to them.

and for you kids out there who read the new testament and wonder where the peace loving hippie jesus is with flowers in his hair being all lovey dovey jefferson airplane its in those tears the night in the woods, right before the arrest. thats when you see that God loves you. cuz he met you and he dug you and now its time to say goodbye to all our family…

and as good as the passion is they dont talk about why jesus wept or when or what it meant, and thats cool. no really. thats cool. how could they have?

people ask why you cry at weddings and most people say its cuz weddings are beautiful. and ive been to some kickass beautiful weddings in my day from the rolling hills of france to the dramatic cliffs of baja california, from the presidio in frisco to the train station in la and many other places inbetween. ive seen lovebirds and ive seen beautiful things, trust me. i dont cry. theres beauty everywhere.

but i cried at my wedding the other day for probably the same reason why jesus wept on the cross waiting for the man. cuz a chapter, a huge chapter was ending, and just like the messiah, the only next chapter worth mentioning would be the last chapter. even the good book isnt interested in its main character after the crucifixion until revelations, end times, judgement day, the night of the locust which will come like a theif when youre least expecting it. the surprise ending.

all the stuff between the wedding and the funeral seemed to be filled with all the droll menutia that the savior must have to go through between the dawn of christianity and the end of the world. and women wonder why we need our televisions so big. because we want to forget that we’re alive.

the reason the clans of past generations got married at younger ages, im learning, is because you’ll do anything when you’re young dumb and full of idealism. you’ll sign up for the army, you’ll vote republican, you’ll get tattoos, you’ll knock up your girlfriend, and you’ll even swear to stick together until you die. all fucked up things that should probably be illegal. two kinds of not giving a fuck: when you dont know any better and when youve seen it all. get your cock sucked by three girls in one night and tell me how you feel about the new blah blah blah record and i bet your interest in top fourty music vanishes like vicodin at a dallas cowboy training camp buffet table.

youre being forsaken, jesus, because you forgot that no one here gets out alive.

and nobody is here to save you.

youre God, remember. you’re waiting on you. you wanted to be malkovich. you sent your son you down to the earth to save all the you’s made in your i mage. dont freak out when one crucifixion you looks like three yous and one of them is talking shit the whole time. youre being forsaken because youre a mustardseed short of a miracle but the miracle is that youre a mustardseed short of anything since you are after all perfect and God and this is your magic moment and in forgetting your line you deliver the most human line of all which is

get me out of here im a celebrity

but mel gibson is a catholic. and catholics created a world where on one hand they say the only way to the father is through the son but on the other hand they have all these saints and all these cardinals and all these bishops and then theres the pope and theres the virgin mary and theres priests who cant have sex for some reason, and all of those people are celebrities with their own prayers like the one to st christopher that as a boy i was taught to pray to before i played basketball so apparently the only way to the father might be through the son but if you want a double double the son cant help you out as well as the middle man. and that sort of teaching should be illegal too but its snot its not only tolerated but revered and now its one of the reasons why radio station talk show hosts cant talk about fucking which might be the sole reason that people keep on keeping on in the first place cuz it sure as hell aint cuz of the promise of the american dream or to wait for the next volume of kill bill to get released.

only in america, which kicks the shit out of anywhere else, would we tolerate adults telling other adults that they cant talk about their favorite topic because kids might hear. only in america would we dumb down our entertainment and limit our right to speech because of the possibility that little us’s might get the wrong idea about cocks going into cunts. heres the wrong idea about sex: that kids hearing about it on tv or radio could get damaged or scarred or twisted or fucked up or damaged. heres what damages people (children and adults) in regards to sex: when idiots do, key word is do, hurtful shameful dumbass sex shit to people who dont want that shit done to them.

show a kid 8 hours of sex a day for 10 years and i will show you a kid who will end up normal. how can i be so sure? because most kids have more than just basic cable and most kids end up around other kids and most kids have two working ears and two working eyes and over ten years they end up seeing and hearing and talking about sex tons and most of them turn out to be you and me which are fucked up humans but probably doing ok in regards to whats ok and whats not ok about our cocks and our cunts so leave howard stern alone and do something about these fucking gasoline problems like im paying you to you fucking asswipes.

i could go on more but my wife has risen from her little cat nap and wants to get boned again, and she should get what she signed up for when she chose a black man to be her lawfully wedded husband. we only had a few deals. we would never refuse the other physical pleasure, we would never lie, and we would never bring home a fuck disease. i never thought i would be in this sort of situation where i would be so happy and so empty at exactly the same time but here it is and its pretty much what i feared id feel if the cubs won the world series without deserving it. so i hope i stop feeling like a yankee fan by morning.

caught in the blog + nay has a new layout + r.i.p. sloopy