Queefs Of Morality

oh what, does the term "queef" offend you, my tenacious little word junkies?

if it does: get fucked and KYMFS.

if it doesn't: strap in for some adult ADHD super goodness.

as i'm sure you know by now, i'm a sick witted, cynical fucking asshole with a sense of humor that can be best described as "fucked".

given that tid-bit of info you can probably come to the conclusion that my favorite show to watch (sober or drunk) is HOUSE. what a delightful load of overtly intelligent "fuckery" that program is. i soon hope to own all DVD sets....simply because i like to relive the fucked-up -ness of that brilliant cunt Hugh Laurie, who plays an american cripple quite well.

i was watching the episode that involved the cancer researcher who was super old and had lungs full of fluid and refused to be treated because, as he said, "we don't choose our birth and we can't choose our death".

what a sad, emo driven fucking cock stroking bastard he was indeed....anyway...

there came a moment where it was brought to light that he himself had done several messed up medical things, no restricted to, injecting babies with radiation to find new methods of diagnosis and medical protocal. he stated something to the effect of, "patient compliance and choice has pushed back research time and time again".

i motherfucking agree....and sadly it comes, at personal dismay, with great undertone of fucked-up-ness the likes i wished i would never see or admit to.

we all know the nazi's were eternally damned souls from the get go. point blank, period, no sequel.

...HOWEVER...

give their beyond evil and vile practices, we can now know and study things in a medical sense that was unknown before their tiny mustaches were even realized.

these scientists, vaguely putting it, had MILLIONS of potential case study VICTIMS to test and try and prod...all for the sake of keep sweedish people alive.

...get it? blond hair and blue eyes...vikings...Eric Northman?...

to say that this episode of HOUSE was eye-opeing is an understatement in the least.

i have a new appreciation for seemingly pathetic TV dramas.

that is all for now word junkies:

"Friday Night HOUSE Party" continues on Oxygen Network.

Terminally Yours,

Dax.

When Keeping It Real Goes Awesome

it's been awhile word junkies, settle in and enjoy the following.

we have all had a "Wal-Mart" moment sometime in life. it could a daily, weekly, monthly or annually moment that stops your brain dead in its tracks and screams the question:

"what in the name of FUCK was THAT?!"

today was yet another "Wal-Mart" moment day.

allow me to explain.

when i was attending one of the local high schools, that ruined the collective intelligence of today, i became aquainted with a female that, no doubt today, would be considered a "Jersey Shore Whore".

- freakishly orange leather skin

- a dangerous drinking problem

- the attitude of a purest, religious fanatic

- a vagina that mutated from the Ebola virus

well, needless to say i saw her today, at Wal-Mart, and immediately recognizing her, i burst out into extreme decibles of laughter that would've deafened several redneck crackwhores upon contact. thats saying something...considering all the whoring and crackheading.

well, i noticed her face and the glazed look of terror on her face, and it became all too clear that SHE recognized ME as well.

this is where "keeping it real" goes awesome.

when you "keep it real" at any given time in your life, you run the risk of being automaticly recognized at any given point in time, until you take an eternal dirt nap.

in high school i let this sorry ass trick know, on several different days, that she was nothing more than a bleach blonde, easy to replace, gooch sweat slurping, over privileged skank that was filled up like a sperm bank.

facts are facts and that is that. the truth hurts, invest in band-aids and antibiotics.

well i have been found guilty of "keeping it real" and i plead:

FUCK YOU BITCH! KEEPING IT REAL IS THE SHIT AND I LOVE IT LIKE WHOA!

if, from this day forward, you are plagued with the debate of "keep it real or republican that shit" just remember that both will keep your name alive but "keeping it real" will do the first and add "fear and/or respect".

so, until next time....which could be fucking whenever, i say this to you my work junkies:

"keeping it real is only as real as the real shit you speak to the fuckwad masses 'bleet' around you."

Realisticly Yours,

Dax.

Epic Vacation: Secrets Unveiled

HOLY SHIT....HE LIVES!!!!

yes indeed word junkies, i am still alive. i know, you lost a bet...

go fuck yourself...twice...with a razorblade strap-on.

i have been uninspired, as you can tell, thus i haven't been blogging for shit, this is the way of the world and it's nothing to fear or be worried about. sometimes it's just that simple.

...HOWEVER...

it suddenly dawned on me that i do have something to say that may or may not be semi-prophetic in this current day and age.

Nas was right:

hip hop has died and in a big way.

(wait a fucking second, cracker, what do you know about hip hop?!)

first of all: HIP HOP isn't bound by color

and

secondly: HIP HOP isn't bound by names, sects, names or cd sales

well, simple ass dickheads, i know that the truest phrase about hip hop rings in my ears:

"Rapping is something you do, Hip Hop is something you live."

while i am NOT: a rapper, MC, lyricist, freestyle artist, dope mixtape sessionist, beat-killer or fire spitting motherfucker...i AM a believer in the aforementioned idea that "rapping" isn't  the same as "hip hop". i know that due to BET, MTV, various radio stations and mass media we have come to associate the two as the same thing...

...well it's not...plain and motherfucking simple...

much like Goth, Punk, Metal, Alternative and Classical: it's a state of mind and not a marketable culture that is fueled by money and worldly good. Hip Hop is a sense of being, a way of life and a goal that can be reached by simply giving a HUGE middle finger to the currency bound sons of bitches that push your hands to buy a cd simple because it's the "Newest Edition of Hip Hop".

Hip Hop has no "newsest edition".

Hip Hop has no "fresh tracks on iTunes"

Hip Hop has no "video countdown"

if any of you are lost at the lexiconal shit i have just spewed into your face holes, which i'm quite sure ALL of you are, i would suggest (and by suggest i mean FUCKING COMMAND) that you take the time to learn about and learn from KRS-One.

Knowledge Reigns Supreme Over Nearly Everyone

see the "six degrees of seperation" there? yes?...no?...maybe?!

this has been my mindstate since just before "Thanksgiving".

do yourself a favor:

become a follower of Hip Hop in a real sense.

say "FUCK YOU!" to anyone who goes by "Lil' ___"

tell any "Rapper" on MTV, BET, Fuse, etc to eat a dick and choke on the "skeet" that will soon  be glopped into their throats.

fuck the bullshit.

fuck the mixtapes.

fuck the tweets, status updates and notifications.

Hip Hop is a state of mind, a true culture and a way of life.

Hip Hop isn't a money machine built to lie to us and steal our money...

...if it was, Hip Hop would occupy the white house...

so, just as a reminder:

KRS-One is the Philosipher and will lead you to enlightenment.

end of fucking story.

Love Hip Hop Via Me,

Dax

From Hiatus To Hilarious: Oh! The Stupidity!!!

word junkies: idiots are making the news and it irritates me...allow me to explain...

i have become fed up with this Occupy Wall Street (OWS) movement in the same manner that Jim Jones becam fed up with sanity and fear of getting caught being a fucking wack-job. not a day goes by without some mention of the movement that is taking the world by storm and headed for a huge change in the economic system that we have all come to know and loathe.

NEWS FLASH: nothing is going to change and i have all the answers as to why.

if you have a Facebook account, which i'm ABSOLUTELY sure most of you do, there are countless posts, streams, pictures, videos and mentions of the OWS bullshit that is going on everywhere. LITERALLY EVERYWHERE! it all started in the americas and has spread around the world, like a bad case of the high school herpes. this shit has gone atomic in the way that it has spread.

here is my beef with the whole ordeal and it's supporters:

#1. you can not erradicate corruption no matter how hard you try. unless you implode the planet, killing every last motherfucking person, corrption will find a way to thrive. corruption is like a cockroach queen: not always popping out a million eggs, but that bitch is lurking in the shadows.

#2. you can not expect to take down a system that you have never been without. raise your hand if you've lived in a world that hasn't been in some shape, form or fashion, integrated into the system that is Wall Street. trick question: none of you has lived as such and you wouldn't know how to do it. you are bound to technology and the economy, just like everyone else and if you try to go cold turkey, i can assure you, you will be a statistic in a murder/suicide in the very near future. call my fucking bluff, i dare you.

#3. if you are "occupying" at the moment and you have Facebook'ed, Tweeted, Blogged or made any use of any social networking or internet tool, you have already failed in your mission to change Wall Street and you should go the fuck home ASAHP (as soon as humanly possible). you are still helping out your enemy and doing so in a big motherfucking way.

#4. given the above, (see #3.), when you update something from a mobile device or laptop, you leave a signature of the product you're using (updated from Facebook for iPhone/iPad/Android/Blackberry/etc.). that product is being displayed, advertised and promoted by YOUR VERY OWN status update, thus promoting Wall Street further and making you look like a complete dumbfuck. that product has a NYSE (New York Stock Exchange) code and is tracked by Wall Street and several other companies and used to help give more money (your money) to Wall Street, based on sheer advertisement and display numbers. you can't change a system unless you refuse to use said system.

if you have ANY name brand...

phone

laptop

wireless service

internet

clothing

food

beverage

etc.

...in or on your person while you're "occupying", all you're REALLY doing is wasting your own time ADVERTISING all the companies that are a part of Wall Street and filtering YOUR TAX DOLLARS into the same "corrupt" system that you're trying to change you are taking 1 step forward and 1 million QWERTY keyboard steps back.

you have just FAILED your own cause. how does it feel to fail so easily?

#5. if you ask each "occupier" individually, what their goal is by "occupying" Wall Street, i can almost promise you that you will NOT get a 100% accurate and collective answer that will justify the very act of "occupying" Wall Street. you say that you want to end the "economic corruption" of Wall Street and "bring about change" in the world that you live in.


well i have some seriously prophetic news for you all:

everyone who is "occupying" Wall Street is corrupt in their own way.


if you don't believe me then you have more mental issues than David Koresh, Hitler and Kim Jong Il combined.

we are all human and humans:

lie

cheat

steal

destroy

twist

coerse

coax

manipulate

and reinvent everything they get their hands on.

this is the way of our existance. we are vile, evil creatures hellbent on our own satisfaction at the expense of others'.

 

if you don't agree, then you're:

lying to yourself

twisting your own agenda

manipulating your understanding

and reinventing what it is to be HUMAN.

yes, it sucks that this is how we are as a whole, but it's better to realize it now before it's too late.

so, in closing:

this whole Occupy Wall Street (OWS) movement was a great idea on paper, just like Communism, Christianity, Commerce, The Honor System and Trust.

sadly, all of the above are subject to human:

greed

corruption

manipulation

and reinvention

 

everything you know is already ruined before it begins and it always will be...until the Mayans come back in their spaceships and blow this motherfucking planet apart next year...after which it won't even matter because nothing will around to contradict, except maybe corruption.

 

so stop "occupying" Wall Street and start "occupying" your own brain-cells. think about how you can survive without Wall Street, THEN stop investing in anything and anyone who is a part of it. without the funding that we, the tax payers and expert bail-out team, have been shoveling into it's open mouth, Wall Street will starve to death in a quick and violent way. then we can all "occupy" the rotting carcass and piss in Wall Street's skull...

...just because it would be fun to give Wall Street a golden shower. it's part gold and part shower. that is a win win situation...

 

until next time word junkies...occupy sense and start weening off the tech shit, or we'll never be free of the economy and it's gaping anus controllers.

Occupying My Motherfucking Self Since 1985,

Dax.

Tears For Corrin: Part 3: Slivers Of Sunshine

without fail, it will happen again, just as it has every year. Corrin is growing older with me but trapped in the body of a child, she grows older in intellect and knowledge, also, she grows more bitter and jealous of this world that she can only minutely participate in. every time i see her bored expression it sends chills down my spine, i can feel her breaking down and becoming less enthralled with being merely a glimmer in the corner of one's eye.

Corrin haunts the soil steps behind me, following her strongest connection to what she once was and never will be again. misery has set in on her like a plague and i feel it spreading into me and out into the world.

i have become a conduit for her emotional outbursts of rage and disgust, loneliness and longing, her every emotion that she can no longer show on her own.



autumn has settled into the view of the world and that fated day comes closer, and with it, my annual test of her boiling point. "when is this day going to be over?! shouldn't i have been long gone by now?! see, there is no fucking God, i'm all the proof anyone could ever fucking need!" we were once friends and she was amazingly excited about life, as it seemed. now, she is the eternal child who longs for adulthood without ever getting to see it from her own point of view. she watches and scoffs at everything and everyone. spiteful comments spew out of her mouth from every direction: "for the love of fucking Christ, is he seriously taking this long to ring up your shit? does he have Polio?!"


i muster a laugh when she curses the world, with her tiny voice, using profanity and obscenity like a seasoned professional. she comes and goes as she pleases, hidden from my ears and eyes when she's upset with the fact that i'm laughing at her, not with her. mind you, she only still looks like a child, she has aged mentally and emotionally and has no problem letting me know it. "i'm just as capable of explaining these things to you as you are to me. i'm not a goddamn child anymore, so stop laughing you fucking prick!" the more i think about how right she is, the more hilarious it becomes: she is indeed just as capable, for a dead girl.


it wasn't that long ago that i tried, to no avail, to seek her out in her own plane of existence. she stayed in the shadows, or abyss, or whatever it is and would only speak to me as if she were some infinite source of knowledge. she told me, "you should've seen your face, it was priceless! seriously though, what were you thinking?!" she pulled a prank on me in that place beyond this world and i fell for it full force. i sunk into a sense of failure and she, the eternal doll, jumped around and laughed about it for days, often with an out stretched finger pointed at me with a look of mock terror. Corrin is the devil's advocate, i'm almost 100% sure of it after that.


this year will be the 15th time that i will have to endure that wreckage, engulfed in flames, and see how she spent her final minutes in pure agony. i asked her last year if it was "under her control" or if it was just "something that happens" against both our wishes. she stared at me like i was asking her if the sky was blue. "well, i can tell you i didn't exactly get a handbook or an instruction manual. i sure as hell didn't get an orientation. this isn't beetlejuice."


the years have come and gone, she has not. this year, like all the others, she took me by my shivering hand and walked me to what is now "our" demise. the slow, agony that we now share for what i'm sure will be an eternity. Corrin's serrated smile lurks behind me, ahead of me and over me. she is the eternal child, with the mind of a woman, who longs for life even though the one she had was painful and worth ending, or so it would seem to me. the nights grow longer and the shadows and shades extend their arms out toward me, reminding me, that Corrin is there ready to pop into my life and riddle me with tired laughter, the spewing of new found atrocities of speech and her eyes that have grown so old yet still look so young and vibrant.



slivers of sunshine tip-toe through the mist of her skin, the darkness now haunting her eyes like she haunts me. Corrin watches, waits, converses and astounds me. even to this day.

Subtle Shades And Overtones

flourescent, geometric clouds hung low over our heads inside the constricting cell that we devoured within. somewhere, just outside of my sight, i could hear the daily banter of numerous voices singing songs and babbling mad tales of the dangers of teen angst bullshit. oh how the weak fall prey to their own linguistic trappings, their vernacular atrocities, poised like pit vipers ready to strike and suffocate them if only to end the starving feeling from inside.

those tiny hands spread out from across the table, decorated in ink blotches, sweat and lust. i could've died right there, staring into her devious eyes, wanting her skin on my skin.

i had to shake it off, at all cost.


the days progressed in a slow, sickening manner that worked like cancer on the soul. we ran into each other often, sizing each other up and then parting ways, it was our dance that we would never start or finish. the voice came from over my shoulder, in perfect timing with her foot steps, and soke the simple idea to me over and over again: "you must...love her..because...she needs...you to." the subtle shade of her little voice and those pitter patter of sneakers.

my heart was slowing down toward death, my mind was racing toward light speed and my blood boiled in my veins with the heat of my longing and lust for the razor winged angel that giggled and teased me with her tiny hands and devious eyes. it was grudge-fuck at first sight, with a secondary objective of needing to show this creature the bliss of being held like a delicate doll, being protected by steady hands and loved with a heavy heart.


Corrin was leading me again. she took me by the hand, showed me the devious eyes that needed to be needed and whispered again, "you must...love her...because...she needs...you to." i ignored Corrin's request and wandered off into the land of broken soil, cheerful expressions and simple desires played upon by the demons of the earth.


the overtones of despreation in my voice were lost on deaf ears and new life.

somewhere, just beyond the horizon line, i felt her crying for steady hands and a heavy heart.



Dax.

Tears For Corrin

i can say, without any doubt, that i am being haunted by a little girl i once knew.

she had eyes like lime green glow sticks and hair the same color as hand rolled cigars. there wasn't anything really extraordinary about her except that fact that she was funny and she liked being my friend. we spent hours together playing in her yard, coloring in coloring-books, watching cartoons and talking about childhood nothings that seem so trivial by today's standards.

her name was Corrin and she was my first crush.

it was after she died that i found out how disturbed and emotionally troubled she was. maybe that is what drew me to her: the mental defects that sprayed out into the world in the form of hyperactivity and surrealistic chatter. her imagination was clearly what she saw all the time, a world she created and controlled, despite the numerous medications she was fed on a daily basis.

sometime, just after fall had taken the world in its hands, Corrin decided that she was done with the standardized dosage of her medications and she wanted to know what exactly would happen if she went overboard with her four course spread of pills.

Novemeber 14th, 1996 was the start date of her "new routine" of pill consumption, it would also be the last day she would see the sun rise and fall, much the same way we all see it today.

she gorged herself on anti-depressants, anti-psychotics, diabetes medication and blood thinners. shortly after he dad came home he discovered her on the floor of the kitchen puking blood and crying for someone to kill her. due to shock, or incredible fear, her dad skipped on calling the paramedics and gathered her up in his arms and rushed her to the car and headed for the nearest hospital.

along the highway, speeding toward the emergency room, he lost control of the car and hit a guardrail, sending the car into a slide that ended with a set of large trees. he was appearantly killed instantly while Corrin was left with several broken bones but still alive and suffering.

she sat in that wrecked car, strapped tightly into the front passenger seat, wishing for a quick end to her torment and pain. it would not come to her, instead the smoke started to pour out from under the hood of the car. the flames began to grow and lap at the sides of the hood, taking hold of it and pulling their way to the windshield. she sat in her dad's car, next to his bleeding and lifeless body, watching the flames grow brighter as they inched their way toward her.

she cried and screamed and cringed, but nothing would stop the assault of fire that was now consuming her body, cooking her alive inside her steel roadside tomb. when the fire crews got there she was already gone, they had to identify her by her dental records, although i'm sure no one had a doubt in their mind that the small, charred body was her's and her's alone.

the only reason i know all of this is because two years later, as i began the decent into my teenage years, she came to me in a nightmare that i will never forget, no matter how hard i try. she whispered my name and woke me from my bed, which was positioned just behind the wreckage of her dad's car. she took my hand and walked me to the rear passenger door which was wide open. she asked me to sit in the back seat, so i did, and she opened the front passenger door and sat down. she leaned her head back to her right side and spoke these words to me:

"paul, i hope you're ready to see fireworks. the show is about to begin so buckle up."

that's when the flames rose from under the hood of the car and started their climb toward the inside of the car that we now sat in. i tried so hard to open that door and get away from the horrible stench of cooking human flesh, but that door wouldn't budge a fraction of an inch. i started to scream for help, just as she had all that time ago, but no sound came out of my throat. my voice was useless in that horrid nightmare. i looked out of the car window where i was sitting and i could see Corrin standing on the highway smiling at the car as it was engulfed by the living lights of the fire.

thats when i woke up, in a cold sweat, and she was standing at the foot of my bed just staring at me with the same smile she had just a few seconds ago. she told me that she is bound to the wreckage and to the road and to me, because as it turns out, i was the only kid who wasn't freaked out by her over active imagination and her hyperactivity.

i was her only friend before she was eaten alive by fire, alone, on the side of the road.

so now i am haunted by Corrin:

my friend

my first crush

my eternal shadowy companion

my tormented ghost child

i carry around a small amount of her personality and mannerisms. somehow, as a way of coming back to play, she has attached herself to me in strange ways that i can not yet begin to explain or understand. so, to this day, i can still feel her walking around with me and beckoning me to watch cartoons with her, color in coloring-books with her, play outside in the yard with her and talk about childhood nothings with her.

Corrin is haunting me and i wouldn't have it any other way.

Dax.

Blind Date Of Nautical Bliss

"Blind Date Of Nautical Bliss"

those violet color contacts always had a strange way of making my mouth dry and my lips quiver. her eyelids would drop suddenly, like a broadway curtain signaling the end of her performance, while desperately coaxing applause from me, her shocked audience. in tiny moments like that i felt almost alive, like hope was just around the corner and we could chase it down hand in hand.

in those days of quasi-bliss the sun seemed to shine a thousand times brighter, giving me migraines that were well worth weathering just for a single hour of gazing upon the siberian skin that shrouded her insides. a simple pleasure of being near was tested by the thorns of enviromental stimuli from every direction. what can i say, i've always been a little sadistic to myself when it came to affairs of the heart, especially when she was involved.

our hearts sailed the vast seas of dysfunction in search of medicated shores. when those shores were reached, landed upon and claimed by our egos, we were bathed in tones of calm, chalky comfort. we spent days frolicking amongst the numb feeling of dead nerves, auditory and visual hallucinations, and eventually the come down we wished wouldn't catch up to us again. it was when the shores ran red with emotion that the waves of our seas would become a peril worse than the fate of desolation, or even death.

as the salted spray of tidal waves crashed down around us, her driven snow skin would peel down to the sands she stood upon. she began to change into a sort of beast, the kind that was always talked about as being hellbent on the destruction of the world. those violet contacts would soak up her blood and become crimson orbs filled to their brims with unadulterated hatred and loathing. her muscles, now threadbare, turned a shade of black darker than the starless skies. this was her inner demon. as always, me being the first mate, i was left to fight off the beast bare handed. having been in only a handful of battles with this side of her siberian flesh i knew, all too well, the dangers she would be setting loose upon me.

her words became as sharp as assassins' daggers and were held by her serpent tongue, poised for an attack on the nearest body to her's. i charged toward her, not for battle but to gather up her skin. she screamed at me in a voice constructed out of obscenities and lies, spewing the tar of her lungs and the acid of her stomach. i had to make for the sea with her skin bundled up in my now sweating arms, it was my only hope for saving us both. my rubbery legs made a mad dash for the waves that sought out our bones, the same waves that brough us to this poorly supplied island of medication.

just behind me her demon was giving chase, at a sickening pace, with it's eyes boring a hole into me looking for my weakness, hungry for ammunition to use in it's assault of my heart and mind. the demon breath was filling my lungs like oil, thick and torturous oil. my feet carried me with her skin as quickly as possible to those salt waves of salvation, making enough haste to turn sand into glass. thats when it happened: the calming cool of the seas swallowed me up and drug me down into the abyss.

darkness surrounded me. cool, sweet, peaceful darkness was all around me like embryotic fluid. in those first few seconds my eyes scanned for the nearest part of the sea floor, hunting for the left overs of that calm comfort that would shake her demon free from the world above and seal it back up inside of her. to see it surrended to her skin was always a sour victory, but it was a victory none the less. with her skin bundled up in one arm, i used the other to swim closer to the bottom, closer to her temporary cure from the serrated speech of her inner demon.

we sank together to the ocean floor and i spread out her skin on the sand and corral. those empty eye holes lay staring up at me with a haunting expression i can only define as sorrowful. my hands began sifting through the sand and silt, at the bottom of the sea floor, until i pulled up two heart sized clams. i pressed them, one by one, to my lips and gave them a simple kiss in order to open them. without fail the clams awoke from sleep and offered up a pearl, the saving grace of the seas, that would tame the beast above and restore the snow skinned girl below.

i pressed the pearls into the sorrowful eye holes of her discarded skin, leaned down to the skin of her face and placed a small kiss on her lifeless lips. those pearls began to rotate and glow an amazing tone of azure, glowing brighter the faster the pearls spun. her skin slowly sealed itself back into the form of her siberian flesh, becoming whole again and full of life. it was then that i swam back to the surface with her, hand in hand. as our heads broke above the water we saw that the sea was again calm, almost beckoning us further out.

together we walked out of the sea, on to the beach and sat down on the sand, still hand in hand. the beast had been drawn back into her heart with the pearls, the saving graces of the seas, and sealing it up for now. she turned her head to me and spoke these words, "don't you hate it when that happens? sometimes i'm just not myself, thanks for being patient with me." i stared at the sea for a moment more before answering her. "i don't hate it, i just don't like it. we should go now sweetheart, this place has nothing more to offer you."

we stood, facing the sea, and headed for the boat. i asked what direction was next to be sailed, she chose west, so now we sail west in search of more medicated shores and tones of calm, chalky comfort.

when you sail the seas of dysfunction, where do you end up and which direction do you sail?

Dax.

Surprise!

...junkies...?

i have a pair of questions that have been itching the back of my brain case for a little while now and i would like to propose them to you all and see what your feed-back is on the matter. let me set this one up for you...

i have...shall we say..."indecent" photography of a person, who has been featured here once before. now, these files have been hidden away and stored safely for whatever reason i had at the time. also keep in mind that the person in these "indecent" photographs is:

#1. a legal adult (age 18 +)

#2. willingly sent these photo's without payment of ANY kind

#3. probably not reading this

in the grand scheme of being bored out of my insanity, i decided to clean up around the computing station and re-discovered the "naughty bits" that were sealed in the vault.

here are my questions:

#1. would it be viable to sell these photographs, to one of those web-sites that buys pictures and videos of ex-girlfriends, for some quick cash and to simply get them off my own hands?

#2. do i have to pay royalties, a percentage or any other legal fee to the person in aforementioned pictures if they happen to be prowling the net for "diddle bits" and they see their own semi-nude body, for sale, in JPEG format?

i know: fucking random.

(that's just how i roll for the most part)

so, feel free to comment and i will be sure to lend you my least deaf ear.

enjoi that word junkies, enjoi.

Will Blackmail Your Ex's For Money,

Dax.

Ahh, Autumn: The Season of Brew-tality

wordius junki-us, welcome back to the slums of literacy.

this is the time of year that just "does it" for me.

(wow, i wasn't aware of the magnitude of your seasonal sexuality, but continue)

yes indeed, autumn is THAT season for me. the cooling air, the dying trees skeeting their dead leaves onto the streets and yards, pumpkin spice candles and latte's, the subtle reminder that christians can steal anything and trademark it to be "less heathenly". oh, the simple joys of autumn.

with all of that spiffy and delightful ridiculousness comes the bitter cold of winter just around the corner. it's a sick, sad twist to the whole fall thing, but fuck it: nothing is forever these days. also, there are several things i long for, or things that i think should happen, before the year comes to an end and the Mayans return: pissed off like a motherfucker and looking for vengence.

A Few Favorite, Random and Rude Things:

#1. i would like to see a giant s'more materialize, lure in heavy-set gluttons from all walks of life and make a final stand against all those ignorant bastards who know they have diabetes, yet refuse to be proactive because "there aren't any definate signs presenting themselves". the sugary goodness of fate, amputating your limbs, is another sign of the Apocolypse to come.

#2. a certain somone, without whom none of this would be nearly as funny, should be awoken by the lights of dawn peeking in past the mini-blinds only to discover the floors drenched in piss and blood. the amonia stench and crimson squishery of the carpets will prolong the secondary discovery of numerous, miniature decapitated jesus' clawing their way out of her uterus and climbing down her legs, all the while screaming out of their bleedy neck stumps:
"we represent the lollipop guild, the lollipop guild, the lollipop guild".

(a million lords a'screamin', a vag thats steady bleedin', 5! more heavy flow days!)

#3. a herd (yes, a herd) of barely legal, midget porn-stars: riding miniture clydesdales (2 bodies per pony) into a large church while proclaiming that they are INDEED the "Four Horsemen of The Apocolypse" and demand to see the most powerful wizard in OZ, (i.e.: Jesus), so that they can sit down and have Young Republican styled talks about the "outcome of souls now that there are BOTH a geo-political and economic crisis" currently wrecking the world....like a fat dick in a tight pussy.

#4. a 12 pack of "Sam Adams: Oktoberfest" in my possession ASAP.

(this one is more likely to happen than all the rest, so someone, make this happen)

#5. less halloween costumes made for children that are clearly geared toward adults. add to that, less costumes made for adults that are clearly made from the same amount of material that the childrens' costumes are made of.

(you're not supposed to taunt the rapists, it makes them MORE violent)

#6. the masses begin to understand the difference between "the belief in god" and "the belief in the belief in god". it makes sense if you're willing to understand the concept and come to grips with it. otherwise, you're going to continue to plague yourself with useless bullshit that:

has not

is not

and will not

come to fruition, no matter how fucking delusional you are. no amount of paxil, prozac or xanax will make your unicorn speckled, daydream dogma a reality.

that is my little list of "Yes, Please's!" that i psychoticly look forward to every year, around this time, in the wonderful land of Autumn. enjoi the evening word junkies.

Fall-ing For The Winter of Your Eyes,

Dax.