Sunday, January 31, 2010
This was a comment verbatim for a video on youtube for the Haiti benefit:
"Lady Gaga, Justin Timberlake, Janet Jackson, Ciara etc... are all CLONES! They are in Rebellion against The Lord Jesus. They are worshipping the flesh and its evils instead of Loving, Serving and Worshiping the Lord Jesus Christ. WE ALL NEED TO be Reconciled to God the Father Through JESUS!
Many false paths, some say they are Christian. Mormon, J.W., Catholic, these are all EVIL Cults and Apostate. Jesus said" I am the Way and the Truth and the Life. No one comes unto the Father Except by me."
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Life marvels me sometimes. Sometimes I backtrack my life and think about the events that would or wouldn’t have happened had they not be provoked by something else that happened. Confusing? I know, but listen. I just got a brand new Nintendo Wii. It was free. I wouldn’t have gotten it had I not been a member of the Ellen show’s audience. I was in the audience because my friend was performing on the show. I would not have met that friend if I didn’t go to college in Albany, NY. I would not have gone to college in Albany if my HS girlfriend and I didn’t break up. We would not have broken up if I could play guitar. I didn’t play guitar because I love pop-tarts. I love pop-tarts because they’re good.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
With that said. The worst place to wait in line is a water park, waiting to go down a slide. You're standing around barefoot, kinda smelly, wet, covered in other people's urine and such. The lazy river is fun. I get it, but you're likely to get Aids. No, I mean HIV (that's the first stage).
So my own personal hell is waiting on one of those uphill/stairs situations that lead to the entrance of a slide, standing in puddles of summer moisture, waiting for a slide they will never let me on...and everyone, including the chicks are hairy.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
TimQMills: The Oil Change by Roz Fishman
TimQMills: you better be
PervySlick00: Your Mom has such an unstable neutron to proton ratio, she undergoes Beta-Positive decay even when her Xenon concentration is in equilibrium!!!
TimQMills: these are really funny
TimQMills: i like that bit
PervySlick00: China's Sideburns By Stonewall Jackson
TimQMills: everyhting about that is funny
PervySlick00: Supper for Charlette By Dorris Barnese
TimQMills: Dorris Barnese
PervySlick00: Wooden Trees By Ming Rae
TimQMills: oh my God
TimQMills: these are your best yet
PervySlick00: That Star's Mine By T.J. Fife
TimQMills: these are unreal
TimQMills: i wish we had a list of every title weve ever done
TimQMills: TH Fife
TimQMills: Barnese is my favorite
TimQMills signed off at 2:25:45 PM.
TimQMills signed on at 2:26:18 PM.
TimQMills: Weather Permitting by Leon Lush
PervySlick00: thats a good name
PervySlick00: you gotta take things people say every day
PervySlick00: that everybody knows
PervySlick00: and throw it at em
TimQMills: you shut YOUR mouth mister!
PervySlick00: Marshal Naithe's Love Seat
TimQMills: oooooh nice twist!
TimQMills: Borrowed Apples by Sean Shift
TimQMills: So is the Son by Emily Corn
PervySlick00: Society of Executioners by Tomas Santiago
PervySlick00: So is the son
PervySlick00: Play on words action
TimQMills: Again and Again by Ronny Klump
PervySlick00: Do onto Others by Josh Wink
TimQMills: Gasping for Air by Basil Fistenpumper
PervySlick00: She's out There By Brian Van Crendle
TimQMills: First We Drink by Elaine Goonz
PervySlick00: W O W
PervySlick00: you may need a comma in there after first
TimQMills: good call
PervySlick00: and thats a done deal
PervySlick00: I would read that book based simply on the title
TimQMills: man i love doing this
TimQMills: we're so stupid
PervySlick00: me too
PervySlick00: we are
TimQMills: we shouldve kept them
PervySlick00: we actually are really smart, and funny, but we throw it out at the end of the workday
TimQMills: where does yours go back to?
PervySlick00: I have this whole convo
Sandwiches: Because they bring things together; friends, family, meat, cheese, bread, and chips.
Beer: Because you give me two beers and I'm...alright.
Breasts: Because every pair is different and you never know what you're gonna get. It's like going to a new town or planet each time you un-cup a pair. I just like hanging out w/ them. Fair enough?
Toilets: I like bathrooms, clean bathrooms. I like using them. Thinking in them. and going #2 in them. If you don't like going #2 than you're a ZERO and you can unsubscribe from this blog. FYI: I text on the toilet, and so can you. YAY!
Condiments: Because I like dipping THINGS in other STUFF.
Romance: Because it's real and walking around waiting for you. It's the only bit of or fine nation we can still tap into. Hold a door, wink at someone, and be nice to chicks...And if you're a shitty girl...STOP IT.
Sunday, January 24, 2010
They are actually re-making that game show from the 70's. I was in the pilot and I won. Who knows if it will ever air? Here is the questions they asked me in order to get on the show:
THE DATING GAME
Where are you originally from (city/state)?
East Islip, NY
What special skill do you have that might surprise people why you are a "catch?"
I wouldn’t say that skills would make me a catch. Characteristics would. I’m a genuinely genuine person. I care about everyone and give just about everyone a fair shake, except guys with too much hair gel on their head. That is not forgivable.
How do you find your dates--online services, friends, pickups in bars, grocery store?
I really don’t date that much. I guess I pick people up socially, mostly through someone else I know. I think online dating is ok but not for me. I’m a romantic. I believe in the power of meeting someone randomly and the excitement of having them change your life for the better, and vice versa. You can’t get that excitement in an online compatibility test. Where is the excitement in that? Go out there and find em. Loser.
Where's the oddest place you ever asked someone out, or were asked out?
In third grade I got a girl to go under my teachers desk with me and I asked her to be my girlfriend. He name was Barbara. She said yes. Two weeks later she broke up with me on the playground and I cried in front of everyone. In many ways I’m still on that playground crying.
If you were to be married, how would you make your ceremony unique?
First, let me say that a woman’s wedding day is something she ponders, thinks, and wishes about from an early age. I want to take that into account and write all the wishes she has in her head down on a piece of paper, and make as many of those things come true as possible. You get one day. You get one bride. Yes, I truly believe that, and you get to look at that smile on her face all day long.
If you've got two tickets to paradise, you'll pack your bags and leave tonight--where is paradise? Disney World.
In the style of a breaking news headline, describe your worst date ever.
I have said it before and I’ll say it again. I have had no bad dates, just good dates that turn into bad relationships.
I have a special camera that snaps photos of what people are thinking. If I took your picture while you were looking in the mirror, what would I see?
That my friend is probably the most amazing question in the world. I look at my reflection all-day-long. Why? It’s not because I’m vein. It’s because I used to be obese. I’m just checking to see that I’m not fat anymore. That the sandwich I ate didn't write my double chin and ask it to come back to town.
I mean, in a creepy rapist way
me: I can't wait
"I had an awful night Jack. You would never believe it."
"what happened dude?"
"Aw. I probably shouldn't tell you, its horrible."
"Seriously dude, what happened last night, tell me, I'm interested."
"I had a dream that I was sucking my own dick. I woke up sweating and
hyperventilating, and my whole day has been weird since."
"Marvin. There are some things you should just keep to yourself."
I work in a restaurant. Within the four walls of this establishment
there are many interesting people and events that take place. For
instance that dialogue that I just told you about. I'm Matty, a
bartender. This busboy Marvin who convinces me relentlessly that he is
of the same persuasion as me. (I like boobs) But I know the truth.
He's gay, and I think he made that story up to see how I would react.
If we could open up a sexually explicit dialogue between the two of us
and that would transform over time into an actual working together
late night cock twisting session. I'm not into that though so I
instantly dismiss his awkward statement and look at my reflection in
the mirror. Had I indulged with him he would have probably been
interesting. It probably would have been fun to record some of these
conversations and play them back for my other co-workers.
Vodka, gin, rum, tequila. That is how the bottles in a speed rack
should be placed in order for a bartender to make drinks. Those are
your four essential alcohols. With them you can move mountains and
kill people. With them you can make an entire room smile, and get your
best friend laid. Vodka is the universal and easy selection. It will
get you drunk, dumb drunk. Gin, It's sharp like a cheddar and makes
people talk faster. Rum, makes everybody the same thing, a mumbling
pirate, and tequila, well tequila, makes babies. There are other booze
selections that have there own effects and purposes, but those four
are the bill of rights for alcolhol, the Bible even. You can mix them
all together even in one drink, pour some coke and sour mix on it and
it is called a Long Island Ice Tea, but my first boss and bartender
teacher would call them "The leg Spreader."
I have actually never over my eleven-year span of making drinks for
people, or even socially used booze to lower a girls inhibitions. I
have most certainly given myself some for that purpose. I guess for me
it works better. You would look at me up and down, and based on my
stature, confidence, and behavior in public that I am a Don Juan with
the ladies. I do acquire female attention more often than not, but I
don't seek it. You would think that I had slept with half of New York
City, but I haven't. I have had one-night stands. I have gotten picked
up on a bus trip to DC. I have gotten hand jobs from cocktail
waitresses, and made love in central park. I do have a face that I
walk down the street with that I envision looks like Brad Pitt's, but
I still suck my thumb. I have a nice face and an innocent demeanor.
I love girls. I love every kind of girl. Even fat ones. They have
nothing to loose, well they do, obviously, but you get the point.
Girls from the Midwest are the only reason America is great. That's an
overstatement but they are the true apple pie of this nation, with
smiles that laser through you. Southern girls make my knee's week with
every syllable. I once had a girl from deep Texas give me a back
massage and whisper in my ear. I would do that again. I just went down
on my first Asian girl last month. Fuck yea that was fun. She was
soft. Older women are awesome. What they know just turns me on. Not
just sexually, what they know about everything, food, the seasons,
music, and pain. The more pain a girl has gone through emotionally the
more advanced they are sexually, and they most likely smoke. If a girl
smokes, she will blow you. Fact.
I have invaded groups of girlfriends and over a long span of time
either fondled or had sex with each one of them. I score cause I don't
care, and I don't care if I score. I'm gay in every sense of the word
except the fact that I don't like to touch, lick, or kiss boys or
their privates. I have the best friends in the world and I would
rather get drunk and laugh with them then go out girl hunting, but
that's usually when it happens. We are knuckleheads. We are those kids
in the middle of the room smacking each other and doing the sprinkler
dance. We are the mid twenties kids that still almost get arrested for
our pranks. We sometimes hug each other after an episode of Entourage.
We are the kids that touch the boiling water of society till it burns
our skin. We are Team Awesome. We have our own language, and we
understand the way things really work, or at least should. The world
is our cartoon and you are just characters in our half hour show. Not
even, you're the commercials.
Why am I telling you this? I just wanted to give you some insight into
how I operate. The layers of double M could be climbed for a long,
long time. Why am I telling you this? Because I want you to understand
that I am a misogynistic man. No I'm not. Like I said I love women. It
may sound negative in connotation. Trust me, it's not. The moments I
share with the opposite sex will only bring me good karma. I hope. The
truth of the matter is. I'm a sappy dude. I am one big goofy walking
romantic comedy. I love, love. Probably more than I should. I seek out
those moments on subways, in parks, and in just those glances that
purpose chances. Let's walk around and get excited about one another.
Can I make you giggle? Did you forget about your problems? Does the
past exist anymore? Can I kiss your stomach below your belly button?
Man those trees look cool. If you're smiling at me in between sips of
white wine on an outdoor patio in New York City and can't figure out
why. Then I'm doing my job.
Do you like shellfish?
the sake of being obvious that certain things just really go together.
Pepperoni and pizza, yes. Dolly Parton and braziers, yes, The Grand
Canyon and an extra pair of socks? Absolutely. So like I said I
recently saw something that blew my mind and it has to do with things
not going well together. Let me preface this by saying I like all
races of people. I do. I just think that certain races don't go well
with certain things. Without sounding too prejudice, what I'm talking
about are Asians, fat Asians. More bluntly, fat Asian girls wearing
flip-flops. My friend said he saw one once and it became the number
one thing to frighten him perpetually. WELL I SAW ONE. Fat Asian
girls wearing flip flops is just a mismatch combo. It's like if you
saw Bon Jovi wearing a FUBU jumpsuit, or if you saw Lance Armstrong
smoking crack behind a CVS. I mean I wake up and try to match or at
least fit the part. Can't these beautiful obese women find something
else to put on their feet? I give them a little credit though. For
hundreds of years their feet were bound in concubine strapping, so
flip flops are their form of revenge. That is fine, and if that is
the case. Eat Total cereal, and find a treadmill.
And sometimes someone says something to you out of the blue and it
shatters your world for that day. I'm not talking about someone
saying, "I think we need to see other people," or, "Grandma's had a
stroke." Sometimes someone can literally make you questions
everything, but mostly yourself. I love those kinds of people, those
kinds of moments. For example today I was passing a group of women on
the street in Union Square and I heard one of them say to the other,
"That was defiantly NOT Jesus!" Now I have no idea what they were
talking about, but it either meant one of them thought she saw our
lord and savior his majesty Jesus christ and was defending her vision,
or the other possibility is that they actually know someone named
Jesus. Either way I got a kick out of it. Another example is when I
was in the sauna at the gym last week an overweight man with a long
beard told me that he's never walked on dirt before. I'm pretty sure
that's impossible, but if he hasn't I think he should be given a Nobel
peace prize for avoiding sediment for that long.
In closing I would just like to state that my husband and I are trying
to conceive right now. This is my week of (possible) conception. We
have been following all the rules. I've been hanging upside down post
coitus, drinking cranberry juice and watching bob villa. Do me, no do
us a favor and say a prayer that Obama passes the health bill,
because if he does then I think these sperm can find my egg.
When I was a kid I liked going to department stores. I liked going
and seeing the new clothes. I liked hiding in the clothing racks and
having my mother try to find me. What I liked Most of all though I
liked feeling up the mannequins. Yes, I like touching the hard
plaster mold of a woman's breast, both actually. Most mannequins had
the same size breast, but every once in a while a fake person would
come around with an abnormally sized bust. I searched Macy's, J.C.
Penny's, and Sterns every Sunday to look for them, because touching
something average over and over doesn't ad up to above average. Above
average is above average. I would seek out mannequins in department
stores with the largest fake, plaster chests.
That behavior was a foreshadowing of my adolescent/young adulthood
exploits. Columbus really wanted to find India, which is the truth.
He didn't. Instead he found America. Still though he wanted to find
something pretty badly. In that sense I wanted, and still want to
find something badly, so badly that I practiced on fake people in
broad daylight as a seven year old lad.
I like big breasts, perky big breasts that have attitude. The kind of
breasts that once exposed you would expect them to say something fresh
to you like, "Grab me a freakin beer," or, "I need to be touched and
you need to shut up." That's just me, and you never know what you're
going to get.
The wondrous part about the whole thing is that they are all different
from each other. In an explorers conquest he never knows what he's
looking for will look like, or feel like. The same goes for breasts.
That is why my own personal crusades are so enticing to me. I search
for change. Just like everyone else does. Some people put new
wallpaper in their bathroom. Some people plant new kinds of bulbs
along side their driveway. Some people get divorced. These are all
things that promote some level of change. I Sirs, look for change in
the street, in a cab, on a mountain, at a funeral, in Baghdad, with my
grandparents, and on the Internet. My change manifests itself in a
new pair of cups. That is why I'm living today.
Obama talks about the same kind of change. He is a promoter of
change. The, "Change you can believe in," and I trust that. What I'm
saying is There is another kind of change you can believe in, and it
starts in a Victoria Secrets dressing room and moves it's way into the
Genovese by your apartment. That change comes Jiggling, smirking, and
wanting. That change is mammary’s.
Please trust in them.
I got a 50-dollar summons for having a $1.59 beer on the street at 7 in the morning after a long day/nights work. I deserved it. It wasn’t crack. I wasn’t carrying a weapon. I just, wanted a beer to sip on as I walked home and thought about the week I had just finished, and the week I was about to start. I was doing the Man-Walk. We all do I. I got a ticket.
I missed the court date for deep personal reasons and a warrant was issued for my arrest, two years ago, and I up until recently was a wanted man. I kept it secret, because I was embarrassed, but now that I have cleared up the issue and it’s like it never happened I could talk about it. I needed to save money for a lawyer and go turn myself in and meet a judge and explain myself, for which I did. I get out of things, it’s my thing.
For three years though I have been walking around, freaking out, dodging the police, not carrying a bag so I don’t get asked to go to one of those, “free to look in your bag tables in the subway”. I know, silly, but I had not cleared this up. I was afraid that I was never going to have the availability of opening my own bar, meeting my wife, dancing, getting a loan for a ride on lawn mower ect. Also I was afraid that the life I live/lead would be put t a stop. It has not, I’m free and clear, with no record. I am writing about it.
The moral of the story is. Hallal Hallal beering is a great thing, but drinking on the street is illegal, even if the beer is in a bag, and you’re white. It was a $750.00 beer in the end, but I have my freedom now and for a while I was scared I would not, because of a beer, because of the Man-Walk. I do the Man-Walk sitting down now. I just did it right now, and you’re reading it. Once again….Welcome to my world. It’s great. It’s interesting.
“Every man has his sidewalk dance.”
I was fourteen and fat. I had a handful of friends, and they were the best friends in the world.
My twin sister, Rebecca, went to an all girls prep school, which was a great advantage to me. She knew a plethora of girls that never saw boys, and if they did, they still were not sure what to do or say around them. It worked out beautifully. In some ways, it still does.
Regardless, I was fourteen and fat, and had never been drunk before. This was before I enjoyed what looked back at me in the mirror and wanted to have sex with myself. This was before I had ever been to a house party, and this is what this story is about: my first house party.
Rebecca had a friend named Faun who was a child of two hippy parents and a product of a loose upbringing. She was the kind of girl that held your hand just to tease you- the kind of girl that knew how to walk past you and own your eyes and the room she occupied at the same time- the kind of girl who knew what to talk about when she was stoned and fourteen. My best friend, Dave, lived across the street, and had a connection with her. That's when I learned what the word vicarious meant.
"Faun's parents are going out of town, Matt. She's having some kind of party. All the girls are gonna be there and Faun wants Dave to come, and you too." That was what Rebecca said to me at four o'clock in the afternoon on Friday the 13th 1994. I told Dave. His eyes lit up, and he knew exactly what we needed to do. He was wealthy to say the least. When he asked his parents for twenty dollars he got double or triple. That night, he got double, and we walked up to Rick's Surf Shop and got two new Rip Curl T-shirts to wear to this party- our first house party.
This kind of excitement you really can't re-create post adolescence. When all you knew were your buddies. Before you understood the mystery of breasts and the proper way to French kiss, you could feel that excitement, when a Friday in ninth grade could change everything. Anything could happen. Now don't get me wrong, I like my life now. I get excited about the new season of Entourage or spanking someone new, but nothing compares to that excitement.
Dave told his parents he was sleeping at my place and vice versa. Same plan different household. It's the quintessential way to make this situation work. Rebecca got a ride there from her friend's mother, and Dave and I walked off to the next town unprepared for the night in front of us. As we approached the house, we could hear the sounds of the backyard. Music, glasses and bottles clinking and what seemed to be a lot of different voices, older voices.
Upon entering the house, we realized something. There were older people at this party, much older. . . college older. Faun had a sister, who was a junior in college, and this was during break. So, there was some chugging going on in polo shirts. Now, if I was one of these college kids and I saw me at fourteen, a chubby kid wearing glasses with red hair walking into a house party, I would like to show him a good time, and maybe even take him over the edge. Well, that's what these dudes did, and then some.
Dave ran off to greet Faun, my sister, and the rest of the girls. A tall jock-y, probable frat boy with a goatee took me under his wing and asked me a question. "You ever try a rum and coke?" To which I replied, "no." Then he asked, "ever been drunk?" to which I replied, "no." That's when he handed me a 7-11 Big Gulp cup clinking with ice and liquid and told me to drink the whole thing right in front of him. I did as he asked, and he refilled it. I thought it tasted like Disney World. It tasted like liquid Candy. It tasted good, and it made me feel funny. Not strange funny, but funny funny.
I instantly started walking differently. I remember that. I was in a basement filled with kids all doing things they were not supposed to be doing, and I liked it. I gravitated toward my sister and her friends, and there was Dave, smoking pot with Faun. She was overly flirty with him, alluding to the fact that there was a bedroom upstairs. Man her stomach looked good. Even now at twenty-seven years old, I can remember the glow of her exposed midriff. There were other girls there. I didn't care. I-felt-good. This huge cup of mine was on its third need for refilling and as I turned around to go back upstairs and acquire one, the tall frat boy and his friends were right there to replace it. "Havin fun kiddo? He would say to me. "Yea, this shit tastes like candy." I began cursing more as the drunker I got. I just felt cool. I began to feel invincible. Rum and coke, yup, it made me feel unstoppable.
That's when I fell down and puked on that basement rug like that rug needed my vomit to save its life. The basement cringed with disgust and I remember not being able to move. All I could hear was my sister and Dave arguing over who should clean it up for at least 45 minutes. I crashed. I drank too much, too fast, and for the first time.
I don't remember much about the rest of that night, only portions. The rest would be filled in for me for the next day and for the years to come. At some point, I got up from the basement and was given another drink, and convinced to chug, which of course I did. I left my friends behind and stumbled around the party. Eventually, I made my way past the people smoking pot, making out, and screaming the lyrics to Wu Tang Clan, and walked out the front door.
Now what happened next and from this point on I don't remember at all, but like I said was filled in for me. There was a rumor in this town of a bully. A bully named T-bone who was in his second senior year in High School, a "super senior". Rumors of his torment and rage surfaced all the time. "Did you hear what T-bone did last weekend? T-Bone has guns, that kind of stuff. Well there was a group of kids in the street and the were approaching the party. I walked right up to them as some of the boys in the party tried to prevent the approaching team from entering. I listened and, remember I was a wise ass that was invincible. Well I walked up to the tallest of them all and said, "We got Doritos inside bro, but you cant have any!" Well I got beat up, bad. I know that. T-Bone destroyed me. His Boss jeans and his Timberland boots had their way with my fragile 14-year-old body. I'm pretty sure now at my age I could buy more Doritos than him, while he gets the Path Mark Brand nacho chips.
Then, the same boys that allowed me to drink that much rum and coke had some fun with Matt McManus. They thought it would be nice to duct tape me to a skateboard and roll me down the driveway/street, all the while making me squeal like a pig. You might ask why none of my friends stopped this. I still ask myself the same question. Their excuse was that they were in basement and I was upstairs.
I woke up in the sunlight, with a skateboard duct taped to my back. I felt a pain in my head that I could not relate to any other pain. It was my very first hangover mixed with the wounds of getting my ass beat. I was in the grass of Faun's front yard. My shirt was bloody and full of vomit. So I walked inside. It was silent. Random people were sleeping everywhere, and the house smelled like a soccer field after a long game. The pain I felt warranted me to look at my own reflection and what I saw was a bloody and bruised mess. I had no recollection how I acquired these injuries. I was deathly thirsty so I opened the fridge and drank a carton of orange juice not knowing that was the worst thing for my hung over system. I also ate two whole peaches. I began to feel worse. Eventually Rebecca woke up and so did Dave.
I began to walk back outside, pulling the tape off my torn shirt that was purchased just one day prior. I began to puke all over the front lawn on that Saturday morning. Death would have probably been easier for me. Simultaneously as I was puking outside I heard my sister call me back inside, because I was unaware that my mother was coming to pick her up right then and there, that's when my mom pulled into the driveway in our minivan, and I puked all over the grass again.
Instantly, my mother knew what went down. She always did, and still does. My mom knows when I've had unprotected sex, and I don't even have unprotected sex. (Unless I'm in a relationship, which I'm not, and we've both been tested, and she's on the pill) Anyways I got in the front seat. Dave and Rebecca got in the back seat. Nothing was said until my mom pulled over and began to scream at me. All I really remember, and which I actually followed through with was that she said, "If I ever catch you drinking, or doing drugs you will get kicked out of my house before you can say the words Marijuana Funhouse." And I didn't I didn't drink again until my senior prom, but that's a whole other fiasco.
The hangover didn't subside for about two days, or at least it felt like. I really never wanted to drink again. I even threw away the pot plants I was growing behind the shed in my backyard. With the absence of drinking, I became an avid pot smoker until my senior year of high school. The lesson I learned, I learned hard. It's the drinking equivalent of dealing with death in real life. I learned what "the worst that can happen to you" really was. To this day the smell of rum and coke makes me feel fourteen, vulnerable, horrendous, invincible, and amazing.
Saturday, January 23, 2010
experience new things. Live and lead a life less ordinary in your
brain, in your life, and on the page. That's been the idea all along.
Even in middle school I knew this. That trinity is three tiny corks
keeping your boat afloat. That trinity is three of the furthest
points on a buck’s head. If one of those corks pops out, or if one
point on the buck’s head falls off or breaks well, then you get the
And man--you gotta fall in love. Live your life. Make babies. Go
dancing. Get drunk. Have sex. Eat. Different things. Laugh.
Travel. Masturbate. Shower. Explore. Work out. Chase sunsets.
Rollerblade. Talk weird. Dress up. Be a manager. Instant message.
Upgrade. Cry. Be silly. Paint. Make phone calls. Drive past the
house you grew up in. Give yourself the finger. Count stars.
Neglect something. Talk to an elderly person. Identify with a movie.
Purchase sporting goods. Grab your tits. Get pulled over. Pasta.
Be hung-over. Dirty talk. Make the call. Put it away. Stop again.
Listen to the rain on a Sunday. Flirt.
You have three outlets: