crazy dream #01

barry osbourne, the producer of the lord of the rings movies, was in my dream last night. dunno what he was doing there, but i remember looking up at his ruddy rugged old white-bearded face talking back over his shoulder at me as he left, as i turned to the shaved pussy i was about to stick my cock into. the owner of the pussy was explaining how she had a sexually transmitted disease which had begun as separate infections in the four piercings around her mound - one through her clit, and then, completing a cross across her cunt, three others mounted with sparkly gems that just protruded from the flesh. once i came inside her i pulled out my cock and sucked it clean. then realised the implication of being able to do that and did it some more. then i woke up and fucked tricia before rushing to work.

hyper crazy critique

on the one hand, i readily acknowledge that i'm a slut. and not just when it comes to sex - i want all pleasures, all the time. if i was the man of [p]liesure i'd really like to be, perhaps i'd spend my daze tripping on a cocktail of illegal drugs, sipping on a cocktail of legal ones, immersed in audio-visual pyrotechnic entertainment, while i and a selection of delictable dishes take turns devouring each other - i guess i'm dreaming of a life-long, full-sensory orgasm.

but on the other hand, i'm very picky, critical, even snobbish. i'm not very tolerant of inadequacy or imperfection. i hold others to very high standards, which those around me must realise i don't always apply to myself. but that's easy to explain, because just like you i'm that thing we all hate: a hyopcrite. and in a kind of post-modern, self-psychoanalytical kind of way, hypocrisy is just another thing that i revel in myself, yet revile in others.

good old fashioned romance

people are often quite cynical when i tell them i'm in love. some even go as far as to suggest that i'm incapable of love. if only they knew the truth - i fall in love sometimes as often as several times a day.

i was walking to lunch with a couple of friends from work, relating how i'd met my most recent one and only true love - a radio dj i met in the park over the weekend - when a genuine miracle of nature came walking in the other direction, and turned my whole world on its head.

she was r33t petite, with perfect olive skin, and a pair of small, firm, unsupported breasts which were clearly visible through her thin cotton blouse.now i don't know who i'm in love with anymore.

no, i'm not an old-fashioned romantic. i'm much more old-fashioned than romantic. more like club her on the head and drag her back to the cave.

my old man (poem)

my old man, he played one
he played nick-nack with my mum
with a nick-nack paddy-whack give the dog a bone
baby died before it ever got home

my old man, he played two
the baby's dead, so let's just screw
with a nick-nack paddy-whack give the dog a stick
my old man can't control his dick

my old man, he played three
wasn't enough they'd just had me
with a nick-nack paddy-whack throw the dog a ball
next one's out before the last learned to crawl

my old man he played four
these kids suck - let's make more
with a nick-nack paddy-whack give the dog a bone
my old man ran crying home

wendy

ok, this girl is too much. she paints her eyes like a panda and her skin with that fudge tan from a can. she smokes more weed than i do. she takes more pills than i do. she does less work than i do. her mind is so intensely occupied thinking about herself, that she only casts her senses far enough to confirm her paranoid notions of what other people think of her, and is otherwise completely oblivious to the broader marvels of existence.

over the weekend as we strolled down the beach to find some shelter to light a j she asked me: "those clouds up there are moving really fast; is that to do with the wind?"

she just arrived in town a month ago, but has made a big impact on the social scene already. all the bar tenders know her. i think she's going for the djs next.

but in the meantime, my greedy eyes' sparkle has ensnared her. because she's moved in around the corner from me, and because my car is no longer legal to drive to work, i've been spending a bit of time with her.

oh, and it's also because i can't decide if i want to fuck her or not. you know what they say about mopeds? "they're fun to ride as long as your friends don't find out".

that said, she is a great party-play-mate, and generous.

she's planning a big party next weekend. i suspect it's gonna be one of those parties that everyone shows up to because they know something crazy's gonna happen.

tara (at)tempted

i think it was about ten days ago, tara wore this satiny pink blouse to work. i sent her an email complimenting the top, but chiding her for wearing a bra under it, since the straps were showing. she told me it would be bordering on pornographic if she didn't wera a bra with that top.

last night i was to meet her at a quiet lounge bar in town. when i walked in, a few minutes late, i spotted her sitting on a stool at the bar, legs crossed in a short skirt, the same top, and this time: no bra straps visible. i kissed her cheek and stepped back to look her up and down, but my eyes became stuck firmly on her chest - the same way her amazing breasts are. perfectly pert, nipples erect, every hidden detail magically accentuated by the delicate clinging pink fabric.

we sat there for several hours, drinking cocktails and talking about why she should break up with her boyfriend. by the time the staff turned up the lights to chase us out, we were the only two customers left, our legs entangled with each others', entangled in each others' stool legs.

she had to get home to her boyfriend and i was supposed to go to a friend's late night birthday party, so we kissed and parted, promising to do it again soon.

i started off towards the birthday party, but changed my mind at the bottom of charlie's street, and walked up the hill to appease my hard-on.

plenty of fish in the sea

when i was a teenager i came up with an extension to the rather clichéd metaphor of fish as lovers:

there are two basic approaches to catching a particular kind of fish. the first is to develop a specific technique, tailored to the fish you are after; a lure that is particularly attractive to that fish or a method of fishing that relies on specific knowledge of the behaviour of that fish to maximise the chances of catching one.

the other approach is to drag a giant drift-net throughout the world's oceans, and throw away all the fish you don't like.