My biodiesel penis
It's late, I'm drunk, and I'm alone. Time to write.
Unfortunately, I have not converted my penis so it'll run on biodiesel fuel. For the time being it'll run on a conventional heart pump system, engaged by stimulation from sexy women.
Raymond Carver, despite being a ravenous alcoholic, never wrote when he was drunk. You know, that's surprising to me. He was probably drunk half the time when he was writing, so I wonder when he wrote. Could he have written everyday, like good (and I mean saintly good) writers do? Or don't good writers write everyday?
Since I'm drunk I'll present myself in various poses. Well, at least one. Here:
Thank God for Photo Booth. I don't know how else I'd have pictures of myself, besides using mirrors.
The showers registering on The Weather Channel radar never materialized today, so the rest of the day was as clear and sunny as the morning. I ended up driving to Des Moines — Waukee actually — for a graduation party. My mom needed someone to go with, so I went. I drove, too; my parents Ford Freestar. It's a sweet piece of machinary, for a van. On the way there I was pushing 90, passing everyone. Someone in a Volkswagen Beetle with Kansas plates was playing leap frog with us for a while. But, for the most part, I was burning the pavement. At one point my mom turned to me and said, "You're like your dad. You have to be first."
It made me think. I guess I like being first so I can lead the pack, whether it's driving or in anything else. As long as I'm still an individual, not the caretaker for the rest of the field, I'm going to try to come out on top. At least, in my head, I'll be pushing to; in my head I always see myself pulling out in front, even when I know I'm not. It's something I get from my dad, the entire ______ side: we're dedicated to excellence, dedicated to making everyone else look like shit. I know when I'm doing it, too. A lot of the time I'm not doing anything at all. A lot of the time I'm just being myself.
Anyway, before leaving the party, I got a drink for the road: a Sprite from one of the coolers in the garage. I held it while I said goodbye to everyone, then noticed dark specks on my hand. The paint on the can was flaking. It was something I'd never seen before. Everyone looked and took notice. Leah, my cousin's wife, told me to throw it away and get another. It didn't matter to me. I drank it anyway.
It's still May 20, but I want this to be on a new day, so it'll be by itself and stand alone among all the other posts. I'm listening to Led Zeppelin right now. In high school my friend and I always listened to Led Zeppelin when we got drunk. We never listened to anything else. Phew. I'm glad we grew out of that stage. Just so you know, I'm drinking from a gigantic bottle of Beringer White Zinfandel. White Zinfandel is the nastiest wine ever, but it's good when you're drunk.
Tomorrow I'm going to have lunch with Courtney. Here's to new friends:
Oh yeah. I'm getting there.
The shirt I have on — the Durant Polka Fest shirt — is probably my favorite shirt right now. I wear it alone, wear it under a button-up shirt, wear it to bed. I wear it a lot. I like it. I've always played favorites with my clothes, probably a little too much. I wear it too much. But it's a cool shirt. I got it at Goodwill in February for a buck, just like the clock radio I bought at the garage sale when I was a kid. Of course, I've gotten a lot more use out of the shirt, and just about as much fun.
Holy shit. I always forget how awesome Led Zeppelin is.
Let me explain the title. Before signing on I saw on the scrolling list of updated blogs (on the Blogger homepage) a blog by the name of "My Biodiesel ____." I don't know what the last word was. All I needed to see was the first two, and it set my mind off. That's how it happens. It usually takes one thing — one word, one movement, one smell, one place — to set my mind off. This time it was set off in a weird direction aided by the alcohol.
Unfortunately, I have not converted my penis so it'll run on biodiesel fuel. For the time being it'll run on a conventional heart pump system, engaged by stimulation from sexy women.
Raymond Carver, despite being a ravenous alcoholic, never wrote when he was drunk. You know, that's surprising to me. He was probably drunk half the time when he was writing, so I wonder when he wrote. Could he have written everyday, like good (and I mean saintly good) writers do? Or don't good writers write everyday?
Since I'm drunk I'll present myself in various poses. Well, at least one. Here:
Thank God for Photo Booth. I don't know how else I'd have pictures of myself, besides using mirrors.
The showers registering on The Weather Channel radar never materialized today, so the rest of the day was as clear and sunny as the morning. I ended up driving to Des Moines — Waukee actually — for a graduation party. My mom needed someone to go with, so I went. I drove, too; my parents Ford Freestar. It's a sweet piece of machinary, for a van. On the way there I was pushing 90, passing everyone. Someone in a Volkswagen Beetle with Kansas plates was playing leap frog with us for a while. But, for the most part, I was burning the pavement. At one point my mom turned to me and said, "You're like your dad. You have to be first."
It made me think. I guess I like being first so I can lead the pack, whether it's driving or in anything else. As long as I'm still an individual, not the caretaker for the rest of the field, I'm going to try to come out on top. At least, in my head, I'll be pushing to; in my head I always see myself pulling out in front, even when I know I'm not. It's something I get from my dad, the entire ______ side: we're dedicated to excellence, dedicated to making everyone else look like shit. I know when I'm doing it, too. A lot of the time I'm not doing anything at all. A lot of the time I'm just being myself.
Anyway, before leaving the party, I got a drink for the road: a Sprite from one of the coolers in the garage. I held it while I said goodbye to everyone, then noticed dark specks on my hand. The paint on the can was flaking. It was something I'd never seen before. Everyone looked and took notice. Leah, my cousin's wife, told me to throw it away and get another. It didn't matter to me. I drank it anyway.
It's still May 20, but I want this to be on a new day, so it'll be by itself and stand alone among all the other posts. I'm listening to Led Zeppelin right now. In high school my friend and I always listened to Led Zeppelin when we got drunk. We never listened to anything else. Phew. I'm glad we grew out of that stage. Just so you know, I'm drinking from a gigantic bottle of Beringer White Zinfandel. White Zinfandel is the nastiest wine ever, but it's good when you're drunk.
Tomorrow I'm going to have lunch with Courtney. Here's to new friends:
Oh yeah. I'm getting there.
The shirt I have on — the Durant Polka Fest shirt — is probably my favorite shirt right now. I wear it alone, wear it under a button-up shirt, wear it to bed. I wear it a lot. I like it. I've always played favorites with my clothes, probably a little too much. I wear it too much. But it's a cool shirt. I got it at Goodwill in February for a buck, just like the clock radio I bought at the garage sale when I was a kid. Of course, I've gotten a lot more use out of the shirt, and just about as much fun.
Holy shit. I always forget how awesome Led Zeppelin is.
Let me explain the title. Before signing on I saw on the scrolling list of updated blogs (on the Blogger homepage) a blog by the name of "My Biodiesel ____." I don't know what the last word was. All I needed to see was the first two, and it set my mind off. That's how it happens. It usually takes one thing — one word, one movement, one smell, one place — to set my mind off. This time it was set off in a weird direction aided by the alcohol.
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