Happy extra days to party, get naked with strangers and eat like bastards

God bless America*

dirty*blue

pure fucking evil

I wanna Just Dance
But he took me home instead
Uh oh! There was a monster in my bed
We french kissed on a subway train
He tore my clothes right off

He ate my heart then he ate my brain
Uh oh uh oh
(I love that girl)
(Wanna talk to her, she’s hot as hell)

That boy is a monster
M-m-m-monster
(Could I love him?)

bite down harder...

Don’t be scared
I’ve done this before
Show me your teeth
Don’t want no money (want your money)

That shit’s is ugly
Just want your sex (want your sex)
Take a bit of my bad girl meat (bad girl meat)
Take a bite my me
Show me your teeth
Let me see your mean

Got no direction (no direction)
I need direction
Just got my vamp (got my vamp)

Take a bite of my bad girl meat (bad girl meat)
Take a bit of me boy
Show me your teeth
The truth is sexy
Tell me something that’ll save me
I need a man who makes me alright (man who makes me alright)
Just tell me when it’s alright
Tell me something that’ll change me

I’m gonna love you with my hands tied
Show me your teeth
Just tell me when
Show me your teeth
Open your mouth boy
Show me your teeth
Show me whatcha got
Show me your teeth teeth teeth teeth

Got no salvation (no salvation)
Got no salvation
Got nor religion (no religion)
My religion is you
Take a bite of my bad girl meat (bad girl meat)
Take a bit of me boy
Show me your teeth
I’m a tough bitch

Got my addictions (my addictions)
And I love to fix ‘em (and I love to fix ‘em)
No one’s perfect
Take a bite of my bad girl meat (bad girl meat)
Take a bit of me boy
Show me your teeth

I’d rather be sleeping*

1. I don’t know what is going on with me right now. I feel like I’m going through some bizarre physiological changes—as if my actual cells are re
arrang
ing into…
s o m e t h i n g

e l s e*

I could chalk it up to my new Patti LaBelle-inspired approach to life. Even though I still need the new shoes and new hat, it’s all been really working out so far. Ms. LaBelle is proving to be quite the effective guru.

It could also be attributed to the lack of powder in my life, or more specifically, my nose. But I’m finding myself going to bed earlier and earlier, and waking up at previously unheard of hours (it is currently 6:18AM. I’ve been rolling around my bed with my brain on fire for at least a good half hour).


I brought my computer into bed with me, which is something I never do. But here I am, in the dark, pecking away at this piece of plastic that is nothing less than an extension of myself. I don’t even need to look at the keys anymore. I just write. Which is insane to me. I mean, I just KNOW which buttons to push to make all of this come to life? Pshaw. I’m just a funny-looking kid from some hokey Midwestern town that's dealing with mad head shit. Um, like how I was picked on the bus every day during the insufferably long ride to ‘private’ school during my 4th grade year. That shit was just wrong.

And what happens when life and time and fate bring you face to face with your torturer, so many years later? It was the least likely setting ever, but oh so fucking perfect.

That same rangy bastard that would taunt, tease and torment me mercilessly on the back of the bus. The fucking piece of shit that once stood up, turned around, and shoving his ass like right onto my face ripped the most noxious, soul-scarring fart you’ve never had the misfortune to, well, eat.

I puked like a mother on the bus that day. And boy, did everyone think it was hilarious.


Now, he’s just…old. Like, an old-ass man old. He can’t be THAT much older than me. But he has those sagging, folded wrinkles all over his face, and boy, under his eyes. He even still wears that stupid hat, his bushy hair now all course and saturated with gray. But in his eyes, I could still see the evil. It was tired, defeated, toothless. But it was still there, dully judging, pointlessly cold. Watching him slowly counting the money, I was suddenly gripped with a clammy panic. Please God, just tell me that I’m not looking in a mirror…

2. "Kids are always honest
Cause they don't think they're ever gonna die"

This is not for you*

Does your public image and/or social standing know where you are right now?

Always watching...

Shaved kitty

even the losers

"You know it was a good Saturday night when you wake up on Sunday morning with a hot, naked Chinese girl in yr bed."

life is just like jr high school forever and ever amen*

A week earlier, I’d pretty much lost my shit, and in front of a lot of people.

Since what’s the point of having a full-bore meltdown if it isn’t public?

I ask you.

I guess I’m just soft. But when I saw her (shudder) flirting—with guys—some of which I like, know...

Well. Suddenly, the bottle of Jim Beam in my hand made perfect sense.

The shittier part is that it ruined what had been a fanfuckingtastic night and was on par to being one of those watch-the-sunrise epic mornings that you talk about in quiet, reverential tones many years from right now.

I’d already seen a sweet show with friends. That’s right, the lone motherfucking ranger went out with other people. A pretty old friend at this point, and his kind of staggeringly awesome girlfriend.

We hung out, and drank and chatted and laughed and even made small talk with the two Latinas in front of us that knew like every single factoid about the Strokes imaginable. Good. Times.

Onward to the birthday party. And it all goes to hell in a purple basket.


First, it was hot up in there. Then, the (shudder) flirting. At least I got to have my moment with the birthday girl, as lovely as ever. Sigh. 

I let the whiskey take over. I was restless. I couldn’t leave, but I couldn’t stay. I did laps. I tried to talk to people. A friend asked me if I was OK. “Because you don’t look OK.”

Awesome. Getting better all the time.

I try to leave, but just drink more and go back inside. I run into (REDACTED). Oh, great. This is beyond perfect. The one (REDACTED) always gave me shit about. 

“You want to fuck her. I know you do. Don’t deny it. Do you think she’s pretty? Do you think she’s hot? I fucking hate that cunt. She’s so stupid. Did I tell about the time she…”

I’m looking at a pretty girl. She smiles and touches my arm. I calm down just a little. We actually talk, and somewhere in there make a date. Like, a date.

Dazed, I stumble towards the door. Only one person between me and an early morning spent driving aimlessly around L.A., drunk out of my fucking mind, smoking the remnants of the night’s joint. (REDACTED). But of course.

I tell her I’m leaving. She gives me a hug and a strangely hard kiss on the cheek.

I make it to the bottom of the stairs without falling, crying or crashing into anyone jammed onto the staircase leading to sweet, blessed freedom.

Well. Two out of three ain’t bad.

Kissy face

I want to smother this face with kisses until it's all happy and laughing and kissing me back. That would be a fantastic day.

She's a dream

Be my Muffy.

It's Called a Heart

There's something beating here inside my body
And it's called a heart
You know how easy it is to tear it apart
If I lend it to you, would you keep it safe for me
I'll lend it to you, will you treat it tenderly
There's something beating here inside my body
And it's called a heart

There's a sun shining in the sky
But that's not the reason why I'm feeling warm inside
The answer isn't classified- it's my heart
From the moment I started
I tried to be good about it
Yes I've tried my best
And more or less, I spoke from my heart

There's a lot to be learned
And you learn when your heart gets burned

There's something beating here inside my body
And it's called a heart
You know how easy it is to tear it apart
If I lend it to you, would you keep it safe for me
I'll lend it to you, will you treat it tenderly
There's something beating here inside my body
And it's called a heart

Hearts can never be owned
Hearts only come on loan
If I want it back
I will take it back
I'll take my heart

But I will try my best
And more or less
I will speak from my heart
Yes, I will speak from my heart
Speak from my heart

There's a lot to be learned
And you learn when your heart gets burned

There's something beating here inside my body
And it's called a heart
You know how easy it is to tear it apart
If I lend it to you, would you keep it safe for me
I'll lend it to you, will you treat it tenderly
There's something beating here inside my body
And it's called a heart

The difference is now

What if?


I didn't numb myself with cocaine.

I didn't blame the world/my family/my circumstance/etc for my problems.

I let people get to know me and made/cultivated real friends.

I learned how to love and forgot how to hate.

I didn't have to turn to Kristina Rose to achieve sexual satisfaction, but a real, live woman. So many xtra points if the actual woman is Kristina Rose, obvs (well, a boy can dream, damn it).

I let love happen instead of chasing it away.

I worked on something for me for at least one hour a day.

I just got stoned, worked hard and realized all of my dreams. For real this time.

What if? No, really. What if?

new color, new dimension, new value

When the drugs are gone, and the air is silent, it comes.

I close my eyes, get really still, and soon I can sense your presence.

Today I caught myself just standing in the foyer, looking at the desk in the living room. Six months ago, I’d wake up on any given Sunday morning to find you there, already logged onto the New York Times website, intensely studying the week’s latest marriage announcements.

You’d show me the ones you liked the best, and talk about how ours would be so much better. I would just laugh nervously and ask where you wanted to go for breakfast. You would just smile and tell me to hold on a minute. You weren’t done reading yet.

I stood there long enough until I became overwhelmed at the memory. I can’t even imagine what I would do if you were here with me now.

If I could ever find a way to coerce you back into this chair. I would wrap my arms around you and tell you that I loved you. I would kiss you gently on the cheek and tickle the back of your neck. Instead of going to some stupid restaurant, I would cook you something really good for breakfast that would be way better. Afterwards, we’d walk to the coffee shop and have a drink. Then we’d come back here and get back into bed to take a nap. When we awoke, I’d kiss you all over before we leisurely made love for the rest of the afternoon.

All the while, I’d think of the perfect way to ask you to marry me. Maybe we could go on a trip somewhere special. Or just take a ride up the coast to Ojai, maybe spend a couple of nights in Wine Country.

I would wait until the perfect moment to get down on one knee and ask you to spend the rest of your life with me. We could start our own family, go somewhere so far away from all of this nonsense. Have a yard and a porch where we could watch our love take root and grow into a dreamy magical forest we could call 'home.'

In a perfect world, you would say yes, yes, yes, a million times yes.

Just say yes…

"my love is something that niggas will take & use to their advantage"

She asked me the question in all seriousness.

"Why you gotta be this way? You know this is fucked up. Like, majorly fucked up."

I looked up at her pleading face, all wide-eyed and incredulous, waiting for a suitable answer.

Pain roiled in my stomach. I rubbed my face with my hands and sighed.

"It's called the hate that hate made. You can only endure so much venom before it starts to affect you. Pretty soon, you're craving the taste. It becomes fuel. Since none of this matters and we're all gonna die anyway, why not be like this?"

She looked at me for a long time before speaking.

"Well. You can't tell me that you're happy. At all."

I laughed a single "Ha!"

"Happy? Please. No one is happy. Even the ones that think they are. In actuality, they're all just doing everything they can to distract themselves of the truth. I've just chosen a different distraction than most."

She tried to smile. But he was unmoved, giving her a cold, blank stare that made her shiver just a little.

"So...that's it?"

He lit another cigarette and stared at his shoes. Battered old New Balance shoes he scored at some stupid party a million years ago. They reminded him of those times, when he too just ignored reality, busting ass just to stay in step with the zombie-sheep masses.

"Yeah. That's it."

based on a true story (AKA "The Break-Up Song")

The sound of some annoying song chirped from her mobile phone. At least that’s what he thought when it erupted in digital melody sometime around midnight.

Her heart sank. She already knew who it was. But she put on a show for his benefit anyway, dramatically sighing as she sat up to check the message. She held the sheet over her breasts, but he pulled it away and began sucking on her left nipple.

The message glowed ominously in the bedroom dark.

“Please let me know if you’re ever in need of a cuddle-buddy over there.”

She’d been receiving messages from her ex for weeks now. To call them ironic would be a terrible understatement.

From the moment she’d sat across from him in the Thai restaurant and shakily but resolutely informed him that enough was enough and it was time for them to take a break, she’d wanted him back.

And she tried. Phone call, emails, text messages, you name it. She barraged him on a daily basis, asking to get together. For dinner, a movie, sex.

He was kind of shell-shocked the entire time. Granted, the relationship had gone to shit, and it was mostly his fault. Between the stress of trying to maintain his precarious position at work on top of keeping a very Jewish, very marriage/baby-obsessed girlfriend even a little happy had taken a heavy toll.


Their rambunctious sex life (there was the now-infamous 8 times in a 24 hour period, which she’d bragged to her girls about for months) had shriveled down to cold, silent dinners punctuated with stilted, tear-filled arguments about why the fuck won’t you just marry me already, you fucking bastard?

So when she brazenly announced a ‘break’ the moment dinner arrived in the middle of that vast restaurant filled with chattering faces all around them, he kind of checked out.

In his mind, they’d turned a corner. He’d come to grips with the sexual weirdness that had taken hold of their relationship, a sad combination of personal neuroses, sex addiction and childhood trauma. Add her need for him to make it official all but drained any ounce of passion from his side of the fence.

“Oooh look! Baby. Baby. Baby. Baby…”

It had become a scary mantra whenever they got within the vicinity of a human under the age of five. Her eyes would go all glassy and blank, and she repeated the word in a dull monotone until he would finally snap and say something about it. Which, of course, would be fodder for the next round of silence and bitter arguments between not fucking at all anymore.

But he had it all figured out. The secret was getting out of his box. He'd already tried letting women in, but that was disastrous. Like a bad horror movie or something, where a poor girl is trapped in a house of horrors and ends up scarred in her death-defying escape.

If he just said fuck it and gave life a chance, anything was possible. Any kid of his would be the coolest. She was a closet freak, so sex would never have to be an issue.

This all occurred in the two weeks or so since she'd finally given up and now. He must’ve had some kind of goddamned revelation she thought to herself as the lazy nipple-sucking had now moved south and he was licking at her clitoris under the covers. Getting oral had never been a big deal for her, but it made her feel powerful that someone so important was lapping at her pussy while she deflected text messages from her ex.

She’d had some help getting over him. After that one fashion show on Wilshire she went home with (REDACTED) and his friend to their bungalow at the Chateau Marmont on the promise of cocaine and Patron.

She got so fucked up that she played dumb and had sex with both of them that night. After (REDACTED) fell asleep from some pills she couldn’t identify, she blew his friend in the living room before eventually fucking him, too.


Here she was, in the bed of a famous (REDACTED) who at the time was enthusiastically gobbing all over vagina, while the man she truly loved was trying vainly to get her attention.

“Hey, you down there.”

(REDACTED) stopped what he was doing and looked up at her from under the covers.

“Yeah?” He replied quizzically.

“Where’s the blow?”


He reached over and grabbed a mirror with a sizable pile of white powder and passed it to her. She chopped out three really fat rails.



“Wow. Is one of those for me?” He smiled at her sweetly. 



She leaned over the mirror and snorted all three of the rails in one rapid swoosh.



Looking up at him with a smile, she said “No. Now fuck me hard and fast from the back. When you’re going to come, pull out and shoot it all over my back, OK?”

He gave her a funny smile.

“Um, sure.”

She turned around and leaned forward on her knees, pushing her ass high up into the air.

“Do you want me to suck it or can you get hard?”

She looked back at him with a serious face.

His cock was already standing at full attention.

She repositioned herself and said to no one in particular, “Well, have at it then.”

I want to go to there

She may be a coin-operated girl, but her eyes are like home.

RL TLK

His name is Tony Grand. That's all I know.

The funny thing about having love for cats (no lonely old lady) is that they don’t always have the same intentions in their hearts. Dudes can manipulate that “love” just as easily as you can dish it from a genuine place.

When I got sick, I saw who my friends were. Grown ass niggas bringing me cards & balloons, complaining to the nurse about my IV not being right, sneaking me snacks, checking on my wife & son, etc. When I got home from the hospital & the other “homies” was funny styling me, I asked my wife why’d cats get brand new on me all of the sudden? Why’d they change? She said they didn’t. I did. Best believe sobriety changes a man’s existence, entirely. I wasn’t their to let them sit on my couch, hadn’t been there to feed them & supply their cigarette/alcohol/weed habits. I wasn’t there for them to use & take advantage of my kindness. I was able to see, for the first time in years, that my love is something that niggas will take & use to their advantage. The cold twist on that is, how can you get mad @ people who truly know no better? Folks who’ve never been cared for can’t reciprocate that. & don’t get me started on relatives (& I say relatives because blood relation doesn’t make you “family”).

The guys I look out for now, return the favor. So, when they need me, I’m a phone call/text/email away, no doubt. & for the record, some of the coolest dudes I’ve met on years, I’ve meet online. Yes hetero.

New

To quote LL Cool J, I need love. Desperately and dramatically, like a 2year old child that’s never felt the warmth of human contact. If it doesn’t happen soon, the damage could be irreversible.

What I’m finding most interesting is that the love I have been able to get my hands on of late has all been digital. Everything from nudie pics from girls in Seattle to the kindness of a fellow Los Angeleno, my cable connection has allowed me to at least feel what Daft Punk once called “Digital Love.”

I’d compare it to “Tru Blood,” the synthetic blood-replacement drink for vampires on HBO show “True Blood.” Digital love can sustain me sure, but what fun is that. I need skin, hair and teeth. Soft shoulders for tender kisses. A warm, sloping belly to hold from behind as we sleep, crunched together like kittens.

Drugs heighten the experience. Blinding ski runs of blow, the dense jungles of herbal goodness. But without that quickening of breath or muffled cry smothered by a pillow, it all rings hollow.

I vividly remember the last time I held a woman down by throat. We weren’t even fucking at the time. It was a wild, half-naked romp that found the two of us pushing each other further and further. At first it was subtle, but soon I had her pinned to my bed by the neck, my face inches from hers, hot breath and a half-laugh, half-whimper.

“You like that. I know you like it. I know because you’re nasty just like me.”

She smiled in agreement, before striking me across the face so hard it was numb for minutes before the hot pain spread across my right cheek. The same hot pain that rocketed right to my penis, already steel-solid from the initial blow. I’m stiffening at the mere thought of it.

Glass

I don't believe it
I won't believe it
I'm not sad
I understand
That's how it goes

Take it easy
There's no time to be mad
That's their job
blood on their teeth
death on their mind

Pretty baby
please just get out of the way
Where it's safe

Eyes will follow you
Weapons can't break through
Tears will swallow you
You'll always see right through

Bulletproof glass
Bulletproof glass
Bulletproof - You aren't in any trouble now
But who knows
But who knows

Please don't deceive me
I'm just so easily fooled
There's somethings
they do not want the answers to

Don't wanna break all that up
But they keep leaving it out
what to do?

We'll just let it be
until they all need

Bulletproof glass
Bulletproof glass
Bulletproof - You aren't in any trouble now
But who knows
But who knows

(solo)

If you wanna know somebody
Might take a quick look at
The best friends
Diamonds are hers
The dog is his

You can lie to yourself
But don't lie to me
That's what they want

Dominance and loyalty
Romance and security
Stay behind

Bulletproof glass
Bulletproof glass
Ohhhh Ohhhh

Sexy B like Bonnie

Just call me Clyde.

Caption this photo

Can u tell I have been working out?

boy, i need to introduce you to my head game.

For someone like me, it was inevitable. Eventually, all things lead back to my dick.

One of these days I’m really going to dig into the genesis of my sexual deviance. Although the ones that are known are pretty fucking severe, I know there’s more.

I clearly remember being sexually attracted to girls (and women) from a very early age. By 2nd Grade I was crushing hard on teachers, girls in my class, girls on television.

So when I first started tweeting with her, it wasn’t long before I was conjuring up all sorts of sexual scenarios in my head.

Thankfully, she’s one of those brazenly liberated young women, and on an idle Sunday night decided to post of topless pictures of herself on Twitpic. Thank you, God.

After some dirty tweets, I send her a private (and extremely graphic) personal message and request. She answered both enthusiastically.

Back and forth we went. She posted more pictures. I looked at them and jerked off. I told her I was jerking off to her pics. She was happy to hear it and sent more, adding more scandalous ideas for me to ponder. It was incredibly hot. During that time, I came. Twice.

A girl made me come on Twitter.

Dr. Drew, you need me.

About last night...

All Saints Day