thoughts

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

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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

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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.

Where Is Da Luv

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Why do we place guidelines and rules on love?

Whatever happened to just going with the flow?

Baby, fuck your friends and what the group text say

Fuck society and television cuz it’s just you and me and I’m not buying you a fancy watch or a vacation ticket

I just want to break your back on the sofa, whisper lies into your ear and love you hard without ever saying I love you

Don’t play games, just do your stupid hysteria and ask me if I’m cheating every two weeks so I can make jokes and DM girls on the side but fuck it.. you love me anyway right? Bring that fucking ass over here and let me play with your hair

You don’t know how much I like our shit

We’re so fucking toxic, let’s burn the continent

It’s fun till it ain’t

We both leave

You fuck some nerds and I keep on being a scumbag and then I die by the hands of government or drugs

Miss ya (never)

(sometimes)

The Tudy Chronicles

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“As far back as I can remember, I always wanted to be a gangster”

-Henry Hill

Who doesn’t want to be a gangster? Think about it for a minute.

You got steady access to top notch cigars, your friends are all ball breaking tough guys, you rob and cheat people out of their money and you get fly bitches despite being fat.

Fugget about it!

In this day and age when the governments cheat and whack us all daily.. who doesn’t want to give it a shot themselves? They can’t have all the fun!

Imagine yourself as a 6’0 wiseguy in floral shirts or a snappy blazer. You walk down Mulberry street with your head held high on your way to shake down innocent ethnics. You lay a few beatings and pay off some witnesses with a few bucks. So much fun.

You’re feared and beloved by misguided youths. They carry your moms bags out of respect. Lovely.

You run a harem of goomars while you have a wife and son at home. Beautiful.

Sure, you have to whack some good people along the way. Some friends you love. Lot of blood on those hands.. Oof madone, but you made an oath. Family first. And it pays. You’re a good soldier. Capo soon, God willing.

I mean, yeah.. Eventually you get pinched. Do time upstate. Lose it all. Probably because some ratfuck sang about you. The same man you invited over to dinner weekly. He hugged your kids.. No big deal.

You get out. Earn again. Rebuild. Wife gone. Kids messed up on the junk.

But there’s always a promotion around the corner. Hoes still sucking you. You’re a legendary hitman. No worries. Life is tight.

If you’re lucky, you reach 55. You’re an old fuck now. That promotion to underboss never came. You’re in a rot. Feds still gunning for your ass. It’s a new world. RICO is a motherfucker.

You become an old timer and an afterthought. No earning for the family, a burden. Hookers and skifooza floozies are your hobby and only skill.

You die of cancer and on your deathbed realize you had it all. The woman you loved is gone and you were better off going legit. Your kids will suffer from your mistakes.

Being a gangster is good.

Was it worth it?

The action, violence, pussy, the cash, the clout, the fear? Being the fucking man?

Would you do it over again?

Hell fucking yeah.

Pseudo-Rich Life

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It’s 8 PM.

I’m bored and wanna go out. I anxiously approach the closet to pick out fashionable attires and open it, a gay midget jumps at me and claws my face!

I punch his tiny dick and kick him out a window. It’s a 7 story fall. I proceed and carefully pick out a fashionable attire since I am going out for some fine dining.

I put on a polo shirt, Clarks shoes and blue jeans.

Me and my homie roll out to the restaurant owned by a lame B-list TV chef. His food is good.

On the way there, I see a weesh nerd with low muscle mass and a mask.

I yell homophobic insults towards him and bully him. He flips me off timidly and runs away. We laugh.

Pull up to the spot.

Eat fine ass lamb fillets.

Smoke Cuban cigars.

Done and done. We major.

We leave at 1 AM and tip the waiter decently. He is happy.

Now it’s the AM, time to harass hot women online and ignore horny girls in the DM until they send me nudes. Can’t sleep. Still hungry.

Dean Martin time.

Got blocked twice but there’s an alluring Russian. Hm.

Foreign Digital Pussy

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I hold a strong dislike for the majority of females in my country. I find them to be highly unpleasant and uneducated, with a sizeable ego and zero manners. Their aesthetic amount to feces. Nothing good.

In other words, they’re shallow fucking cunts who look like tanned balls. Most of them.

The “men” are even worse, don’t worry.

That’s why I always had a penchant to fantasize, fuck and sext exotic pussy from other continents. As broken as they might be, it’s better than home.

So much more reliable, submissive and pretty than the locals. The masculinity crisis of the west has made it easier for big trap cigar smoking studs to engage in LDR and secure foreign fuck toys for the future (present, if vacationing).

I love the fact that a chick with big tits on the other side of the world is playing with herself to my pictures and dreaming about fucking me. She might get to do it for real if I like her.

Literally had them call me a god.. small G. No blasphemy here. And I ain’t talking third world. I’m talking Canada and America and England.. which is foreign to me. Sigh.

Now there are decent dimes in the local economy, but it pales in comparison to the dollar. Ya dig?

Maybe if we had more artistic blue hair goths or BDSM loving Aryan blondes. A spicy brunette here and there.

It’s by no means me advocating to never touch a local, but if I do it makes me feel dead inside.

I’ll keep hustling though, ain’t no quitta bitch.

Lana Del Rey

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The ultimate role model for your run-of-the-mill hoe masquerading as an intelligent bad bitch while living a double life as an ice cream demolishing SSRI abusing semen powered machine.

When Lana said her pussy tastes like Pepsi Cola ® it was a true paradigm shift. She hit a massive spike DDT on our collective generation.

The sheer bravery of this groundbreaking statement, good God.

With her sultry voice and imaginary daddy that sells her coke, nothing was the same. She is responsible for girls giving top notch head worldwide although she probably slurps penile tissue mildly nowadays because she’s already famous and doesn’t need to seduce agents.

I actually like LDR songs because I’m a melancholy man-whore (in theory).

Although in 2021, she needs to go on Keto.. fuck it, I’d still hit.

Why is it that pretty art whores use Lana as a roaring symbol of female excellence while their tight punani is getting invaded on the lowkey by bearded RW bodybuilders?

In the current landscape of sexual dynamics, there is nothing more relatable than a sad used up pretty girl with dead eyes and unfulfilled potential who allegedly lives her best life but yearns for more. Fame can’t replace all the dick that broke your heart and your shitty dad. That’s my perspective which is the only true way to look at it. Shut up and post a seductive selfie that will make me aroused and ruin my day.

She’s an infinitely more rich version of depressed 19 year old white bitches from the Burbs.

God bless Lana Del Rey. Even though she worships Satan and whatever.

Regrets

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Regrets suck. I try my best to never live with any of them but I’d be lying if I said it’s truly the case.

We all have some regrets. Some people will regret eating that pizza that caused them to vomit all over their anime body pillow, some regret blowing the one shot they had with their crush, some regret never telling their family how much they love them while they’re still around to hear.

Like I said, we all have regrets. I think most people try to hard too ignore them. They bury their regrets deep and thus they never truly cope with it.

How do you deal with it?

You don’t, they will always be buried in your subconscious unless you start smoking copious amounts of DMT..

You just gotta suck it up, live your life to the best of your ability and keep moving.

Embrace the fact you fucked up and you suck and keep improving until you make up for that one failure that haunts you.

That’s Life © and you can’t deny it.

Sinple really! But not really.

There’s no other way.

Alright, peace out.

HAPPY MOTHERFUCKING NEW YEAR.. ugh. ❤

Kitten Ballad

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As heavy smoking wrecks havoc on my lungs, I reminisce on the potential lovers I pissed off and pissed on before I gave them the chance to wrap their pretty pink lips around my somewhat thick drum stick.

For I am God’s gift to women, the man who can do no wrong while spiraling out of control in a whirlwind of chaos and tits.

While I legitimately enjoy the prospect of no holds barred sex with the whores of Instagram, my biggest turn on is a nice and wholesome brunette who cooks me breakfast and loves me. Shocking isn’t it? I am aware.

I’m so bloody young and I’m already yearning for love. Fucking disgraceful. Where did it go wrong? Too much TV.

My biological imperative guides me to ejaculate and evacuate but even if I do that, why can’t I have both worlds?

When will the Lord give me a sexually depraved jezabel with a hint of elegance who will die for me and is mentally ill but also a good partner lacking toxic traits? Yeah, I know. Stupid.

A man can dream. Even if he does not sleep. Ever.

Groupie Love

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Ah, groupies..

A staple part of the iconic rock n’ roll mythos.

What is it that compels young nubile women to leave it all and run off with degenerate guitar playing junkies who sound good on vinyl?

It’s interesting really. They say goodbye to school and hit the road with some larger than life jerkoff that’s drowning in a sea of meaningless pussy just to be another pretty face in the harem.

They spend all day giving fellatio to the gang and rambling about their hopes and dreams to a man who pretends he gives a fuck who just wants ass.

She is in love, the rocker is her entire world. And he.. well, his ego is in love. He likes her very much, but his ego.. his ego is infatuated.

He feels so good. This girl wants his babies, obeys his every word and is a grade A lay. She will cut her wrist if he says so, goddamn.

So much power over her. He loves her. Sort of. Does he though? He writes songs about her, she fuels his creativity, he loves life when she’s around.. but what happens when she nags.. or her insecurity becomes too toxic?

He cares for her, but how much longer can the show go on? I am not a rockstar. I can sure as hell relate though.

Just a little bit. A bit too much.