comedy

Did You Know There’s A New Year™ In Planet Earth®?

Leave a comment

Happy belated New Year you delightful fucks. How are you all doing?

You motivated to succeed until February pulls up on yo ass like an undercover cop car? You heartbroken again due to beautiful belligerent bitches? You making a lot of money at the expense of your humanity?

Whatever it may be, I understand ya.

The New Year is always an exciting time for many.

It’s all glammer and it feels like you just escaped the slammer of Previous Year.

You’re a free man/woman/toad.

There’s no calendar days attached to trauma and depression! You can start FRESH! Although the lingering rectal sting sensation from previous life fuck ups remains forever, the optimism is plentiful.

This isn’t a depressing post. It’s a motivate-you-to-rawdog-every-year-until-you-die post.

New Year is just a psyop. Time is possibly not even a real thing. But humans are symbolic and the idea of new™ lets us cope and ignore our blatant PTSD from living in the lamest era of humanity.

So my point is this:

Let’s go get this fucking bread

Let’s continue to do silly shit

Let’s lift weights and not get heart attacks like certain people randomly do now

Let’s just have fun because we all will die soon enough

To all the homies that remained in my life trying to make it, big love.

To all my sexy weirdo ladies, padre loves you too and I know you’re just confused. It’s never personal.

2023 is here and we STILL won’t rest and FOREVER will not sleep.

Lana Del Rey Part 2

Leave a comment

He was a troubled rebellious lad with a bad reputation and a way with words who is probably good at tying ropes, she was a run down borderline suicidal slice of potential heaven with the perfect lips for the playing on the skin flute. She was spoiled. He spoils. They fuck. She’s happy for the five minutes they got together. He’s a liar who means well. They will eventually explode into madness together. Match made in heaven.

That is the basic synopsis for almost every Lana Del Rey Mysterio song minus cocaine and without mentioning the daddy kink or Old Hollywood fetish. Kind of.

Which makes me raise the following question like Lana’s voice raises my weiner.. why are we (men) attracted to the things we know are ultimately bad for us?

I talk to girls that always bitch about their love for the toxic that ends up hurting them yet they keep going at it over and over.

But what about the guys that indulge these bitches and get their heart ruined from excessive fucking and bad breakups?

I hope those girls don’t read this.. (I hope they do because they can’t do shit about me using them as an idea xoxo)

Anyway, men have a lust for the wicked just like the chicas do. We like thinking we can take the crazy broad and change her and bring order into her world and be the big sexy hero of her life. Fucking superhero fantasy.

It’s like all those guys Lana dated before she started eating at Burger King. All allegedly cool and tough and dangerous until she realized deep down they were sweet and the illusion was killed. Doot doot dooot.

Almost as if she realized they were trying to do her good and that inner whore devil decision making side said cut it out you fuck. Can’t get that redemption arc yet.

That’s how you get a song like In My Feelings where Lana cries while masturbating and calls her ex lover a loser.

Is the poor boy really a loser? Maybe a retard, sure. Did he really think he can taste the nectar of the Pepsi Pussy and leave unharmed by drama?

Hope is a dangerous thing for a woman like Lana because she knows better but can’t do better. Fucked over by her own nature. Sad, sad, sad.

Deep down she loves the drama. And we love drama. No men is complete without being in love with a crazy cunt. It’s what makes us REAL MEN. A badge of honor. And a girl can’t live without the drama. You know this. Excitement beats boredom. And a Lana type chick is the perfect partner for a tango in a Hell of this making.

The Lanas of the world are like the mythical sirens. So beautiful yet deadly. You wanna listen, touch, kiss at the expense of your life and sanity.

Is it worth it?

Probably.

If I make “her” cry, I wanna use her tears as lube and hold her close. And then lie and be a fake and act Macho after falling in love so she never realizes that power she has over me. Then order sushi and read poetry or shoot rifles. And then fuck each other silly again. Me in my black suit. Her with the necklace and heels. Mm.

Hey man, God bless Lana Del Rey. Making good music, bringing weird girls into my life.

The Priestess of the Sad Girls. Queen of Coney Island. Motivator of Dirty Old Men.

Such grace. Such cinematic quality to each track. Art that will inspire even a monk to stimulation.

It takes a smart man to recognize her genius. She embodies the feminine spectrum to perfection.

I love her and God knows how much I like her fans.

By like her fans I mean I wanna impregnate those ladies after every conversation we end up having.

Is there a point to this?

This isn’t really about Lana Del Rey but it sure fits right?

Few© understand.

Good Morning

Leave a comment

It’s a good day to be alive. It’s yet another step in our global path to Armageddon.

The sun is shining, birds are chirping, my head and testicles are equally in pain and both sport throbbing veins.

You wake up, down some painkillers and sext a barley legal e-girl.

She calls you daddy while her dad spents countless hours tearing up every night because she’s a fucking whore.

You eat some cottage, your gut becomes inflamed and you wanna throw up. You don’t but it hurts so you smoke a gas station cigar. The Cuban one is too pricey to waste right now.

The cheap tobacco clogs your lungs slowly but surly and the horrid taste distracts you from the never-ending pain of 2020.

You post seductive muscle pics to IG and troll some stuck up communist sluts with loose pussies. It’s very fun.

You bully your little brothers because you are bored due to government not letting you leave home because the plan is to kill the spirit of the already broken youth.

Maybe you watch Netflix while daydreaming about the Golden Days of the Mafia.

You go to bed. Can’t sleep.

Rinse and repeat.

Good morning. Fuck you.