.
Again people tried to kill me.This time using a huge albino crocodile.
Fucking losers. These bitches had me in the passenger seat of their car and were driving around. Some how we ended up in a fucking Sea-World and this car of theirs pulls up next to the crocodile pool and the door comes the fuck off on the passenger side. They pull that part of the car over the crocodile pit and throw chum into the water. The biggest crock I've ever seen in my life, and I've never seen a fucking albino crock or any crock for that matter in my life, comes up out of the water, snout first.
I shit myself and climb up the side of the car to the roof, just as the big animal drives his nose into the passenger side of the vehicle, mouth open. Now the big fuck was halfway in and halfway out of the fucking vehicle, laying across the front seats. I reach in over its head and pull the car out of park and into neutral, and it snapped at me, but too slow. My whole arm was in and out of there, through the driver's side window.
The big bitch crawled up through the driver's side window, snapping its long mouth. I ran to the back of the car, planted my back against it and pushed with my legs with all of my might, sending the car down the road and over a decline which quickly turned into a slope.
The car sped faster and faster until it reached the end of the street, far below and slammed through the entire front of a house at the end of the street with a great crash, but it did not explode.
That's all I remembered of it.
In all of my dreams someone is trying to kill me. Is it little wonder that I prefer to stay by myself, so that the majority of mankind cannot reach me to kill me, unless they use heavy artillery, in which who can survive that? Surely not me. I wake up again too early to start the day. I had just closed my eyes for a second and they're open again. I don't know what to make of this, but I'm going to make something good out of it.
I work all day on my two novels. That's right, I'm working on two novels at the same time, and I'm blogging the shit out of this blog. I'm wearing my readers out. You'll just have to give up on me, because I can't write hard or fast enough. Once I put down one thing I'm picking up something else. I'm pumping hard. Things are going to start falling apart, and I don't mean me.
Nothing can stay at this pace. Nothing. Unless it's me. I can do this and do this eight times over. If you can believe me, I'm holding back. I'm dragging my feet, trying to go slower. I feel unspeakable. I feel unstoppable. I feel invincible. I feel all powerful. I feel God-like. I feel super-luminary. I feel indestructible. I feel fast. I feel like I'm flying. I can't slow down and my whole frame is on fire. Like I said. I'm going to burn you guys out.
Shit I'm now on IRC, bullshitting away, and found a new pack of friends. Writers of erotica. Now get this, they make a living selling hardcore erotica to the Canadian book and magazine markets. Can you believe that? They hook me up into their editorial conduit. Names, contact information, publishers and groups. Shit, if I can write fucking erotica I would be able to make a fucking living like I want to....writing. What's wrong with that? Unfortunately I don't know the first thing about erotica. Nothing. I know about straight up fucking though.
I can write about two people busting out the fucking toys and tearing into each other like two coal miners trapped a thousand feet under a mountain, but fuck if I can make it SENSUOUS. What the fuck is that word supposed to mean anyway? Sensual. Sexy? What the fuck is sexy? Is sexy sex? Women go and buy Victoria Secret, and put it on and walk into a room. A man sees that shit and what do you think goes through his mind? Gee, that looks sensuous. Fuck NO! Like one beautiful woman told me when she walked her gorgeous ass into the room with lingerie on, "Men are all the same. They want you in it, and then they can't wait to get you out of it." You're fucking right!
That shit becomes like static on your favorite radio station. You make a big fucking move! Right away. I'm in fuck mode when I see that, not stare at how good it looks on her mode. That shit is glittery wrapping on a big fucking Christmas present. So, is that what I'm going to write about? Fuck mode? I can do that, but will that sell books? That's the question. Fuck mode selling books. I have to figure out this shit out.
I have to....this could be my biggest break ever. And being that I feel the way that I do, my welfare days just might be over, forever!!! Hang on world. Here I come.
HobobobSource URL: http://idontwanttobeanythingotherthanme.blogspot.com/2011/01/monkey-gone-to-heaven.html
Visit i dont want tobe anything other than me for Daily Updated Hairstyles Collection
Again people tried to kill me.This time using a huge albino crocodile.
Fucking losers. These bitches had me in the passenger seat of their car and were driving around. Some how we ended up in a fucking Sea-World and this car of theirs pulls up next to the crocodile pool and the door comes the fuck off on the passenger side. They pull that part of the car over the crocodile pit and throw chum into the water. The biggest crock I've ever seen in my life, and I've never seen a fucking albino crock or any crock for that matter in my life, comes up out of the water, snout first.
I shit myself and climb up the side of the car to the roof, just as the big animal drives his nose into the passenger side of the vehicle, mouth open. Now the big fuck was halfway in and halfway out of the fucking vehicle, laying across the front seats. I reach in over its head and pull the car out of park and into neutral, and it snapped at me, but too slow. My whole arm was in and out of there, through the driver's side window.
The big bitch crawled up through the driver's side window, snapping its long mouth. I ran to the back of the car, planted my back against it and pushed with my legs with all of my might, sending the car down the road and over a decline which quickly turned into a slope.
The car sped faster and faster until it reached the end of the street, far below and slammed through the entire front of a house at the end of the street with a great crash, but it did not explode.
That's all I remembered of it.
In all of my dreams someone is trying to kill me. Is it little wonder that I prefer to stay by myself, so that the majority of mankind cannot reach me to kill me, unless they use heavy artillery, in which who can survive that? Surely not me. I wake up again too early to start the day. I had just closed my eyes for a second and they're open again. I don't know what to make of this, but I'm going to make something good out of it.
I work all day on my two novels. That's right, I'm working on two novels at the same time, and I'm blogging the shit out of this blog. I'm wearing my readers out. You'll just have to give up on me, because I can't write hard or fast enough. Once I put down one thing I'm picking up something else. I'm pumping hard. Things are going to start falling apart, and I don't mean me.
Nothing can stay at this pace. Nothing. Unless it's me. I can do this and do this eight times over. If you can believe me, I'm holding back. I'm dragging my feet, trying to go slower. I feel unspeakable. I feel unstoppable. I feel invincible. I feel all powerful. I feel God-like. I feel super-luminary. I feel indestructible. I feel fast. I feel like I'm flying. I can't slow down and my whole frame is on fire. Like I said. I'm going to burn you guys out.Shit I'm now on IRC, bullshitting away, and found a new pack of friends. Writers of erotica. Now get this, they make a living selling hardcore erotica to the Canadian book and magazine markets. Can you believe that? They hook me up into their editorial conduit. Names, contact information, publishers and groups. Shit, if I can write fucking erotica I would be able to make a fucking living like I want to....writing. What's wrong with that? Unfortunately I don't know the first thing about erotica. Nothing. I know about straight up fucking though.
I can write about two people busting out the fucking toys and tearing into each other like two coal miners trapped a thousand feet under a mountain, but fuck if I can make it SENSUOUS. What the fuck is that word supposed to mean anyway? Sensual. Sexy? What the fuck is sexy? Is sexy sex? Women go and buy Victoria Secret, and put it on and walk into a room. A man sees that shit and what do you think goes through his mind? Gee, that looks sensuous. Fuck NO! Like one beautiful woman told me when she walked her gorgeous ass into the room with lingerie on, "Men are all the same. They want you in it, and then they can't wait to get you out of it." You're fucking right!
That shit becomes like static on your favorite radio station. You make a big fucking move! Right away. I'm in fuck mode when I see that, not stare at how good it looks on her mode. That shit is glittery wrapping on a big fucking Christmas present. So, is that what I'm going to write about? Fuck mode? I can do that, but will that sell books? That's the question. Fuck mode selling books. I have to figure out this shit out.
I have to....this could be my biggest break ever. And being that I feel the way that I do, my welfare days just might be over, forever!!! Hang on world. Here I come.
HobobobSource URL: http://idontwanttobeanythingotherthanme.blogspot.com/2011/01/monkey-gone-to-heaven.html
Visit i dont want tobe anything other than me for Daily Updated Hairstyles Collection
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