Filed under: Love Making | Tags: Inadequacy, jealousy of my friend, tug jobs, war hero, Warming Your Cockles, wisdom, wit
Thank you for defending us.
1. It’s not called ‘rape’ it’s called ’suprise sex.’
2. re: #1 – ‘[I] love it’
3. Nothing is more glorious than writing someone’s name in ‘firework glory.’
4. Telling children that your camera steals their soul is only funny when the children demand their souls back, and you laugh maniacally.
5. Everyone goes to rub and tugs because sometimes at the end of the night “you’re too drunk to really attempt that shit on your own.”
6. re: #5: “No one wants to fall asleep with their hand on their own penis.”
7. re: #6: “Not that you want to fall asleep with your hand on someone elses penis either.”
8. It’s possible to be number one. number one at sucking on your team.
9. ” I found a french fry in it and I haven’t had french fries in weeks. Okay that’s a lie.”
10. When a real man shaves his mustache it bleeds, not because he’s cut himself, but his skin is crying for once it was beautiful.
and finally in honor of the man, I’m offering you the recipe to Porch climber*.
6 beers
1 26er of Vodka
Frozen Concentrated Lemonade Mix
Two one pound bags of Ice.
Directions: Pour ice into a cooler, then pour in the beer, then the vodka, then the lemonade mix. drink. serves alot of one selfish drunk bastard.
*Why Porch Climber? because once you drink it, you get so drunk that you lock yourself out of the house and climb the porch to get in.
Filed under: Love Making | Tags: Coke Farts, Depression, Fashion, Girl Talk, midnight musings, Punk Rock, Suckle from my teet of knowledge, Vampire Weekend, Who I is
Cam whore.
People often approach me on the street and ask me if I’m in a band. I suppose this is because when people see someone in a band they are dressed in super-trendy, avant guard haute cotour, this is probably what those same people who approach me on the street to ask me if I’m in a band are trying to say: I’m very fashion forward
Thinking back on it now I’ve always sort of had people assume I’m in a band, when I was growing up a kid in the suburbs I was often asked what the name of my boy band was – perhaps due to my spiky hair sticking out of my nike visor, whilst I wore an oversized jersey and baggy, low slung faded jeans.
I remember specifically after everything changed on 9/11 people thought that I was a member of Toby Keith’s backing band because of my penchant for wearing Defiant blues, blood-stained reds and patriotic whites. (all made of denim.)
But now, I’m thinking that I want something different, I want to become a ‘new person’ with a ‘varying style’ that no one ‘can really pin down it’s influence’ – like the Olsen twins or the guys from 98 Degrees.
I’m trying to find a new clothing style, should I follow in the footsteps of The Vampire Weekends and dress like a Wes Anderson character?
In Truth: I actually adore this band.
Should I take steroids and spend a little too long in a tanning booth and accent everything with pink? Should I hide my thinning hair with a faux hawk? Should I practice Blue Steele all the time? Should I dig only songs that have enough bass that I can pump through my I-Roc Z/Probe/Mom’s Neon/Mom’s Sentra/Dad’s Miata
Most of my nightmare actually start at Mystic Tan
Should I become Punk Rock and get a full sleeve tatoo filled with meaningful symbols such as stars, starlings and a 1950s pin up model? Should I make sure to sneer at stuff and feel that everyone else is sheep, so I lose myself in cocaine and ecstacy because I want to ‘feel something that I’m not supposed to?*’
Should I wear American Apparel clothing even though it could possibly lead to a inopportune nut slip?
At a Girl Talk Concert would I have to use Tape to make sure my nut cleavage didn't fall out?
How do you explain your personal brand to your parents?
Can you remain 100% to your self by constantly changing who you are? Or is what you wear only your skin that you shed in order to be reborn as an adult
*actual quote.
Filed under: Love Making | Tags: Barrie, Meaningful, Ontario, Relevant, suprise sex, Warming Your Cockles, Who I is
I’m going to be straight up with you Gs; I want people to look back at me and say: “wow, his words really struck a chord in me, he made me realize something profound.”
People constantly approach me on the street and reaffirm my belief that my words, my ‘voice’ is one filled with meaningfulness.
When me and my boys hang when we're older it will be even more meaningful because we're all dying.
I’m sort of like a power ballad played at the climax of your favourite prime time teen soap opera. If I was a music video it would involve people looking pensively to the ground with their hands over their faces, then boom, they slowly look up with a wounded look that conveys just how meaningful that moment is to them.
I’m like the best friend who after a crazy night of drunkeness and random make outs with randos you sit in the parking lot of McDonald’s and you talk about how “these are the nights we’ll always remember” and then we show each other our techniques on ‘finger banging’ and then describe the best tug job that we recieved from that rando who was willing to do more but stopped herself because she thought we’d respect her more, and maybe the two of us could have more than ‘meaningful tugsies in the laundry room at a mutual friend’s house party’
There have been occasions where I say something totally profound that people have asked me if they could use it as their facebook status update, or as a quote on their wall. I’m usually very flattered and allow them to do so because for me it was a throwaway comment that didn’t mean much, but to them it’s something that they’ll live the rest of their lives by.
Inspiring words take this meaningful picture to the next level
(“That Ukrainian stripper bit my penis” is a rally cry for those who feel uncomfortable in strip clubs.. you’re welcome.)
Sometimes I fear that maybe I’m not reaching enough people, because similar to Jesus I still only hang out with the same twelve dudes I grew up with, and have really only venture like 5 hours away from the safety of my Nazareth (Barrie, Ontario) Maybe that’s why I started this weblog because I want the world to understand that I’m ‘there for them’ and that ‘they can talk to me’
Also, It’d be nice to meet freaky girls who are DTF and want to try that dangerous stuff that could possibly get you arrested if you spring it on a girl who’s not prepared for it and or thinks that it’s ‘gross’ and ‘only something a crack addicted prostitute who’s done everything could ever really get her mind around.’
Sometimes I really hate you for being close minded.
Filed under: Love Making, MP3s | Tags: Animal Collective, Architecture in Helsinki, Coke Farts, El Guincho, Girl Talk, I'm a succesful deejay, Inadequacy, Jens Lekman, New Years, Party, R & B, Samantha Ronson, Suicide, TV on The Radio
So, apparently someone read – what he called “my cry for help” – and is letting me Deejay his New Year’s party in his parent’s basement. It’s gonna be crazy awesome.
Get ready BOYZ I'mma gonna make this new years the best!
I mean, I’ve already picked out what I’m going to wear – white shirt with something witty written in Helvetica, my super tight jeans, black converse sneakers that I’ve aged with steel wool and red wayfarers. I’ve been practicing what my face is going to look like as I scroll through my mac book looking for the next perfect song to blend seamlessly. Of course, I didn’t realize that it was going to be that hard to ‘perform’ and ‘be on’ as well as deejay, so I decided to preplan my ‘playlist.’
I’ve chosen a wide variety of club-bangers, party starters, power anthems, chill-out tunes and hype remixes that will give the appearance of being effortlessly hip and
relevant. But then I realized that you guys were probably just going to listen to City and Color and Dave Matthews and not reach your full party potential, so I’m giving you guys the chance to experience Pete the audio new years experience.
I go classy people, classy like Clark Gable. Here’s the playlist:
This is my arsenal as a soldier in the Barrie DEEJAY wars.
Click here to download 2.2 Hrs of Club-bangers!
Look at that list.. those kids (..and you the downloader) are totally lucky. Look at some of the placement – Use Somebody, the most ambitious power anthem that will soon grace the meaningful end scene of one of your favourite teen-based tv shows’ mid-season finale – while it begins with Animal Collective’s slow burning chanter ‘My Girl.’ I’m soo looking forward to seeing the looks on their faces as they realize that I’m shaping their musical tastes.
He actually asked me to buy him booze first, but then I said only if I could deejay his shindig. Oh, he said Yessss
I’m not getting paid for this, instead they said I could keep whatever change is left over
from the money they give me to pick them up alcohol, Though I’ll totally end up spending it on some energy drink infused with vodka; even though it gives me horrible diarrheas and makes me black out – it’s better than having coke farts
Filed under: Love Making, MP3s | Tags: Animal Collective, Jesus saves, Pills, R & B, Relevent, Suicide, Warming Your Cockles
I’ve been pretty depressed lying on a couch in tight gray track pants trying to come to terms that I’m not hip or happening and would never make it as a DJ ’cause I’m not dating a lesbian or the son of the guy who owns Mandarin. I was in the middle of deciding whether to take a bath with a toaster or eating a gun when I decided to choose a song to play over and over while I killed myself – Like Ian Curtis or the kid who played a song from BLINK 182’s (Miss U so much) meaningful period, when I saw the list of my itunes 30 recently played!
Submitted for the approval of the midnite society I call this: "The Playlist that made me realize that I'm still hip and relevant."
That’s when I realized I was hip and happening and that if I so choose I could totally just put my iTunes on shuffle and I would be an amazing DJ!
Thank you Lord!
Filed under: Ballsack, Comic Books, Love Making | Tags: Amazonian Women, Bondage, Coke Farts, Comic Books, I'm gonna be on A & E's Intervention!, Inadequacy, Jack Kirby, Mister Miracle, People are staring at me whilst I write this, Ultra-Violence
We dress like this for work every other day to keep things FRESH.
I work at a comic book store that’s super amazing because they let me sleep in the backroom when I’m too messed off of my anti-depressants to venture outside for fear of pooping my pants, but also because I get to read comics all day long and learn about what would happen to me if my really rich parents were to have been killed by a mugger after watching Antonio Banderes’ Mask of Zorro, or if I was a super powered immigrant from a war torn planet (Poland maybe?) raised by kindly white bread american folks, who would urge me to hide my ethnic powers except when I wear a very flamboyant costume.
Any way, there’s a lot to like about comics, mostly it’s the way that they make me feel like there are heroes in this world who wear capes (unlike my cousin Reggie who wears a cape to the beach because he’s ashamed of his Bacne) and that sometimes having a black and white view of the world is a good thing.
I think a lot about Batman, probably more than I or any person should. I know everything about him – everything, Hell Grant Morrison’s Batman run has been completely readeable and understandeable to me. But the truth is he is not my favourite super hero. Nope, not even close.
No my favourite Superhero is Mister Miracle: Super Escape Artist.
That’s right. Perhaps the craziest thing that Jack Kirby ever created. (which when taking into account that this guy created most of the Marvel Universe, something called Devil Dinosaur, Kamandi the Last boy and my personally favourite: OMAC.)
Okay, so here’s the deal with Scott Free (aka Mister Miracle) – He’s the son of a New God, who traded him to another New G
.....for real ...this is an actual panel.
od (an evil one named Darkseid) so that there planets could have a shakey if not totally reasonable peace agreement. Scott was raised in a Dicken’s like Orphanage called the Armaghetto and was brutally beaten up every day. He then escaped to earth (thereby triggering an end to the cease fire) and became a Super Escape Artist using the skills and equipment he picked up on his freaky torture planet. Oh, and his father-figure is a Dwarf named Oberon and he’s married to a Butchy Amazonian chick named Big Barda who wields something crazy phallic known to her as the ‘Mega-rod’ …and she’s the leader of an elite group of lesbian commando’s known as “The Female Furies.”
The best part is? I’m totally not even close to being jokey or sarcastic.
God I love comics.
So yeah, I’m totally into Mr. Miracle ’cause he’s insanely crazy and each issue basically follows the same story progression; we start with him about to practice a crazy escape that means sure death, something happens, everyone stands around for a few panels being angry that he died then he reveals that he didn’t – he escaped using crazy machinery that Kirby draws the shit out of, then he’s kidnapped by some reject from his old planet who has a crazy named like Vermin Vundabar, Doktor Bedlam, Kanto, Madame Evil Eyez, Supreme Magnificence, etc.. and instead of shooting him in the face and ending it, they put him in an escape proof trap.. which he escapes and yeah, that’s the ending.
It’s awesome.
mISS u!!!?!?!!!?!!?!?!
Every panel is draw with a crazy amount of energy that if Hipsters could bottle it, it would could replace the vancancy left by the banning of Sparks and Coke (Coke Farts are making the Girl Talk concerts a lot less fun for me to go too.. for real.)
Filed under: Ballsack, Love Making | Tags: Christmas Time is Here again, midnight musings
Christmas is pretty much the most special time of year. It’s the one time that people touch me without slapping cuffs on me or pushing me up against a cold wall in a dark alley and making me feel like the first couple minutes of a Law & Order SVU episode.
I’m really glad that I get to spend Christmas with my family this year as before they wouldn’t let me in because they ‘weren’t ready to forgive me.’ But this year since I passed my blood and urine tests and I’m specially monitored by a nice court-ordered Jewish fellow who doesn’t mind spending the day amongst – what he called - ‘goys’ – I’m treated to awesome comments like: “Yes, it is quite cold” and “That’s great that you got rid of that horrible cyst removed from your eyelid.”
Merry Christmas friends of friends.
Filed under: Love Making | Tags: Abortions, Lily Allen, nips, nude, Warming Your Cockles
Lilly Allen is totally my dream girl
I want to date Lily Allen, I’ve probably told you this before because I’ll tell anyone who listens that she’s the right kind of ‘fucked-up‘ – the kind of girl who would totally snort coke all night and then get mad at me for not doing it and then sleep with my best friend to get back at me, even though i wasn’t angry at all… she’s so perfect.
I want her to have my miscarriage. Seriously, she’s totally the girl for me; if we dated people would constantly be awkward around me and feel bad because they totally saw on TMZ that she got finger banged by the dude from Twilight, they won’t tell me though, ’cause they’ll see how happy I am just being with her, listening to her write pseudo-cheerful songs about getting herpes and me believing that she actually got it from a toilet seat.
We’re going to be together forever.
Stalk U
Man, abortions are actually very pretty...
_
I really appreciate that you guys take your time out to read my thoughts. I know that pretty much everything I write is super-meaningful like a Death Cab For Cutie song or a power ballad in the 80s with orchestral swells and the fact that so many of you, including some rando who wants me to go to his birthday party, are so over come with emotion when you read my notes really, honestly, truly, makes me get a huge boner in my pants.
I know you want to know all about me, but if I was a lady i’d totally be the one who plays hard to get – y’know? I’d reveal little things, dish out small details that you’d hold onto like it autographed picture of Estelle Geddy. (that shit went up in price when she died, like oil during the war on terrors1 )
So for instance, enjoy this story.
When I was in University I had the most lethal case of the Unrequited Loves (located above Urinary tract disorder in the Big Books of Diseases that legit Doctors have behind them) for this girl with blond hair and what I can only vaguely remember as being darkish eyes.. any ways, the only reason I think I liked her is because she totally looked like a Femme Fatale and every time I saw her she totally rocked a “I’m Going To Take Over The Planet In An Evil Way” look that totally does it for me. (Memo to all the girls who totally want me as their loser live-in boyfriend who holds them back.)
Any way we totally bonded one night over a shared love of R.L Stein’s Goosebump series. We stayed up all night, drank cheap wine until 4 am. We ended up M.Oing for a bit then we made vigorous yet tender love. As she drifted off to sleep, I quietly left the bed, put on my BDG skinny jeans, tied up my cons and then, she awoke as I opened the door, I put my index finger to her lips and mouthed: “I loved you.” Then I refiled through her fridge, stole some money from her roommate’s purse and peed in the back of her toilet2.
…as I left I took her paper to read on the bus.
But I’m pretty sure she got the last laugh, as I still haven’t got rid of my yeast infection.
1See: here’s another one. I’m topical and super political, I attend rallies and suffer from white guilt all the time.
I’m a really sensitive guy. People can usually find me crying tears for the plight of humanity. I really ‘get’ what people are going through, because I totally emphasize with them – you know?
I often find myself being the center to ‘Magnolia’ type situations that happen all around me. Sometimes in the middle of the six degrees of misery porn that happens all around me, I try to be that eye in the hurricane of humorlessness.
This is why I invented Emotional Waffles.
Because I’m a really good person that birds braid my long thick hair in the morning while anthropomorphic chipmunks help me squeeze into my skinny jeans – I try to share a little bit of joy with those less fortunate. This means, that I take the bad stuff and turn it into something better.
Emotional Waffles are filled with not just the main ingredients you need to make waffles, but also tears and bitterness. (we also add vanilla, ’cause no one likes bitter tasting waffles.) we then eat the waffles and feel better about ourselves. (except of course whoever got dumped; ’cause they’re still alone.)
Emotional Waffles are quite good. here is the recipe.
1 3/4 cup flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
2 cups of virgin’s tears
1/2 teaspoon salt
a pinch of the hair of the individual who dumped you
1 tablespoon sugar
3 eggs
1 3/4 cup of ballsack sweat.
7 tablespoons vegetable oil
1 1/2 cupsof Ugandan breast milk
mix the dry ingredients seperate then combine. let batter sit while you smoke cigarettes, listen to BOYZ II MEN and drink bourbon straight and play Russian Roulette and musical chairs to Monica’s hit jam: “Just one of those days”
You’re welcome world..
xoxo
Your boy,
Pete
