Hurrah.

Well shit. (who starts a post like THAT? hm!)

I do want to note that I appreciate that you all enjoyed your accolades. Spelling?

I guess this will be the last before I head to the sunny shores. Much as I planned not too, I have more clothing packed than remotely necessary. I am even, before leaving, know that I packed shit I have no intention of ever wearing, that is how greedy I am about being separated from my belongings.

I once had a, I guess you would call it a toy, odd toy, but I guess it was a toy and when I saw it I went full on freak out until it was mine. You know how kids can lose their fucking minds, then are told ok fine, and the tears instantly dry up in a way that makes you want to slap them for the fake tantrum, and yet they'd won and stare at you with the "I own you" expression in their eyes?

This thing was a coffin, and on the top it said you can't take it with you. It was a piggy bank. Being very young I thought it was very confused, and that I would take it with me. When you set a coin on the top of the coffin, a skeleton hand would appear and slide the coin in. So to me, he was taking shit with HIM... why couldn't I.

The concept of what that meant of course was well beyond my scope. Take what? Where?
I wonder often what ever happened to shit I used to own. This is why I was caught rummaging through my old room not long ago. Reference older entries. Honestly, where does our shit go? I have my pound puppy Princeton, and a couple of books, short of that all my shit from younger times is gone. And I'm talking about shit I would have never given away or parted with. I part with nothing.

I can see myself at a garage sale.... which I'd never do because of the lack of ability to part with shit.... but I can see it...

"How much?"
"It's marked."
"5 dollars? For a salt shaker?"
"That salt shaker was the at the first meal after my wedding."

"How much?"
"30."
"It's just a record....."
"Yeah but I was concieved while it played...."

"How much?"
"Bitch I said things were fucking marked! Wait.... whatcha got there? Give that back to me."
"You set it out."
"Yeah well I didn't mean to, give it."
"No."
"Please don't make me hit you with this Rainbow Brite doll."
"I'm buying it."
"No... no friend, you are not."
"Am."
/swings rainbow brite in a circle wind-up.

I mean... there is no parting me from my shit so I wonder a lot where it went. I think my mother secretly snuck it out piece by piece. She's sneaky like that. Tell me mom... where is my glow worm? My sit and spin? Which incidentally was the best toy EVER. Hours of letting a kid make themselves more stupid and watch them walk into walls from being dizzy. Shit, I'd have laughed if I were my mother too.

Alas I am off my loves, post your most loved toys, (I also dug lincoln logs and constructed something that I would whap my sister in the face with as she slept, seriously she'll tell you - top bunk having bitch)...... interact in the comments section while I am away. Think... and post...

Cooties? Jogging your memories.... post post post

-DM

-ps Mr Morgan only told my today, that the last time wewent on vacation, Simon didn't sleep for two days and cried the whole time. Fuck me.

Sorry

I didnt change settings on the linked page to the love notes. I've changed it now so you don't need to be registered. I'm not about trying to make people do that shit. Sorry, the page took an entire evening and much thought to do, my mind didn't stretch that far. Keep on Smurfin loves!Comment away...

-DM

Getting there...

We leave tomorrow morning. Ahhhh! That is a scream not a sigh of relaxation. I've been cleaning all morning (to the point that if I were a guest I'd laugh into snorting laughter and say -no way those people live here-), packing and wandering the house paraniod that I will find myself in a hotel somewhere saying "I TOTALLY needed that." People like me who are pack rats, and entirely unreasonable when they don't have precisely what they need, precisely when they need it, make horrible packers. if I could zip lock my whole house and put it in the trunk I would.

Mr. Morgan reminds me that there are in fact stores, and places to get needed wares in other cities but I don't believe him. Thus I am hoarding an obnoxious amount of shit into a tiny bag that I heard say "Not fucking gonna happen."

We fought all last night, and I am not sure how this trip will go. I have a giant bag of what I am calling "incidentals" to keep me occupied. Mr. Morgan thinks I talk too much. Um... hi? When did I ever proclaim to be quiet. That man met me on the net by .... you guessed it..... TALKING.

No matter, I have a bag of shit to keep myself quiet or to bash him over the head with. We'll see.
I drop off my dogs 11 am tomorrow morning. Cry! Dogs always have that look of "but.... how come?" when you leave them. I have told them countless times that it's their vacation too! New smells, good eats, people who don't really know your nasty behaviors and tolerate them as cute, that sort of discussion. When we pull away tomorrow all of that will be forgotten and they will consider it as punishment. Oh I hate to leave those babies.

Maybe one more entry before I fly fly away.
-DM

I'm on vacation but I did something special.....

http://dmorgansloves.blogspot.com/

Click that andsee what I had to say about you......

-DM

Finally

On the very afternoon my vacation began I rolled to the boxes of mail, since we don't have the old fashioned ones in front of our homes and saw the two larger boxes already filled with keys, meaning anything large that day was not for me.

I opened my box and saw a manilla envelope. I just knew....

The Jude had come.

No stopping the grin on my face. I looked to see where it postmarked and .... in fact it was the Jude.

I played it extremely cool when I got home, discovering that Mr. Morgan had cleaned the house quite a bit, although not exactly how I personally would clean it...as in the counters looked good but what had been on them was swept onto the floor. And that my clothing was actively turning into hand me downs to fit my 3 year old neice.

But he tried and was very proud of his attempts, so I put the gun away and dropped the ass whipping stick.

I thrust the package into his hands and said "Jude says hi."

He looked at me and said, "this package has your name on it" and tried to hand it back to me, as if I didn't know how to fucking read my own name.

I simply raised my right brow that I only do when I can't believe something so completely obvious is being faltered on. Bosslady's Daughter will likely contend that it is a very condescending look but I tend to name it "are you fucking stupid?"

He opened it and said "But I already have this... thank you anyway baby."

The brow had never dropped and I tapped the signature and writing on the cover of the cd. He then said "oh shit." and I said.... "oh yeah"

I told him of how Jude and I had talked in short, but fun length, and how much I completely own all ownables. He agreed it was a spectacular move on my part and I think I saw him whap our marriage certificate to the side to prop it on his bookstand. Did I not tell you all it was a toss on who'd he'd rather fuck? I jest, but it was a good surprise. More to come before I'm to die like the "happy cows" in California.

-DM

Clarification

In reply to several emails I received this morning, Simon is fine. I had no idea that it could have appeared he was in a bad way. I am simply going on vacation and I was playing that song last night when he wiggled in (that's how we walks pretty much) and started just singing in his tiny howl and I was touched and instantly hit with a feeling of "how will I ever sleep for a week without that tiny lump nestled in the crook of my legs."

So no he's just fine, but nervous that his mother is leaving him and if he looks like he is dead in he photo below, that's just how he looks when anyone aproaches his belly.

-DM

To My Simon.....





All my bags are packed, I'm ready to go
I'm standin' here outside your door
I hate to wake you up to say goodbye

But the dawn is breakin', it's early morn
The taxi's waitin', he's blowin' his horn
Already I'm so lonesome I could die

So kiss me and smile for me
Tell me that you'll wait for me
Hold me like you'll never let me go

'Cause I'm leaving on a jet plane
I don't know when I'll be back again
Oh, babe, I hate to go

Every place I go, I think of you
Every song I sing, I sing for you

Now the time has come to leave you
One more time, oh, let me kiss you
And close your eyes and I'll be on my way

-DM

Beaking Out

Over the next couple of days I am going to be slamming this blog with entries so that while I am on vacation you all don’t have withdrawals or anything. Shit to keep you busy while I am away.

So I was thinking about chickens earlier, and couldn’t remember if I ever shared this story.

I used to like chickens, a very long time ago. I still like them at present, but dead and on a plate covered in sauce to mock their feathery way of walking so proud.

When I was about 8 years old my mother handed me an empty platter and told me to scattle my ass next door and return it to a neighbor. I went.

The wind picked up, the dust rolled, maybe even a stray lofty roll of sagebrush flew by….. and there she was.

Watching me, watching her. We were gaze locked for a good while.

I thought to run, but remembered the platter and that going home to my mother saying a chicken…. Not a rooster…. A fucking bitch ass hen had chased me away, well the ridicule would have been rough.

Every step forward I took, the hen matched it. When I froze, she froze. We were having quite the battle. Every now and then she’d scratch into the dirt with those chicken-y claws as if she may charge at anytime much how a gunslinger fingers his holster to play the mind games.

I ran to the door, rang the bell, slapped the platter onto the porch and bolted like fuck because I faintly heard the sound of dirt being scrambled and feet slipping around trying to gather speed.

The chicken got me. This was an attack chicken and I still have a scar from where she pecked me good and hard in the shin and instead of punting that asshole I ran screaming Mama!

Mama’s always make things ok, even if I didn’t consider at that time that she was the one who sent me into battle instead of doing it herself. Did Mama know Soldier Chicken was pacing it’s rounds and sent me as an offering? One never can say.

Since then, no use for them. Not that I ever thought them useful, birds that can’t fly and what not. I wish I’d gotten revenge on that bitch, but I was young and easily scared off, ya know, once something makes you bleed it gets new respect.

All for now. Don’t read everything I write up too fast or you’ll have no DM for the next 10 days. Must pace selves. /grins

-DM

Just the FDA

I fetched The Package.

Even the Fed Ex clerk, a very sour lady with a look on her face that made me presume she had teenage children who had not behaved the night before, commented on the package as if HIV results were inside. So I frowned back at her and grappled my package in a very snatchy way.

It was from the FDA. Alas..... the Government needs me to serve a higher calling! Elation, the moment I've been waiting for!

Not really. They want to know exactly how I lost my vision and the letter carried an eerie sense of "we know some shit you don't" tone. I am tempted to ask for a complimentary FDA nametag and labcoat, but it could be greedy. That doesn't mean that I won't however.

I replied to what they asked, not entirely sure what they were getting at because of how they phrased some things. For example.... instead of ....

"Do you really think this product lended a hand to your blindness."

They said things more akin to:

"How angry are you that they blinded you and insulted your dog"

Leading little things with a lot of initialling. I did all their little tricky questions, and I am not trying to get anything from anyone, other than if the product was fucked and wasn't labled "FUCKED" in the market isles, I would like other buyers to not be blind before their time. Be honest... call it FUCKED IN A CAN. Just be honest to the consumer, we aren't asking much. Although I wouldn't mind my $2.99 back.

I am curious what all they are up to, and not entirely certain anything will come of it - after all these are the people that deem it totally okay for ten rat turds per half cup of coffee is legal.

Anyway. So that was it. Nothing terribly fun or spy-like. It's only fair that if we live long enough, that we go blind glacefully, slowly losing crispness on the spouses we've asked to get out of our sight, and our kitchens, for the last 50 years.

-DM

Code Run Away

I got home today to a Fed Ex hangy thing on my door. My heart stopped for a moment and I fisted my chest to remind it we needed to work together in this. Could it be the Jude package? Could it?

The note said they came and didn't feel like wasting more gas, and the second attempt was on my dollar. I felt that was fair enough, but what was it? For a moment I thought oh FUCK the IRS found me, but they aren't shy enough to go all lamb under the guise of Federal Express.

I called the number, one of those asshole god damned numbers that make me wonder why I sit at my desk when clearly a fucking machine is doing it all just fine. I got angry enough even the machine told me to calm down and she was doing the best she could.

I replied that she was certainly not and that I wanted a person. She laughed and hung up. I fuck you not that recorded prompted bitch hung up on me.

I found my local phone book and dialed the number, mashing buttons until a woman named Yolanda answered. She asked how she might assist me and I flat thanked her for being a living human being with a non-mechanical voice, to which she replied that she was glad I was also human, and not starting off by bitching about things she could not help. We were on the right path.

I told her I simply wanted to know where this package was from. She was more than able to help me and didn't even fuck around in getting me what I wanted to know.

It's from a research facility in Texas. /serious mother fucking pause.

Anyone else freaked the fuck out by that?????

Research.... TEXAS??????

What.. did I tell too many GW jokes? I have no idea what this thing is and I plan to throw shit at it for bomb potential.

Research? I have always thought myself interesting but I am seriously beside myself on this one. Fed Ex isn't remotely free. My mind races of what these people have been told. Should I be ouside looking for people in radiation suits or what?

I'll let you all know tomorrow when I pick it up. I told Yolanda that gas wasn't cheap and it would be silly for the man to try again in vain. Yolanda agreed and appreciated that, telling me about her own issues with gasoline and a lot of nods took place. Yolanda needs a raise. Customer service is far and between and she felt the pain of my hoping it had been from Jude and even expressed some sorrow in my dissapointment. Yolanda I love you.

The rest of me is fucking extremely curious, nervous and intrigued about this package. To be continued.

-DM

Painted Faces in the Crowd

I have been meaning to blog a Juggalo entry for a long time, other shit kept coming up. But alas!

Am I too old to be maintaining Juggalette status? Probably. However, if you know, and you feel it, it doesn't retract however much that it seems the main crowd is teens. You get it or you don't. So that's what I am here for today, in an installment of six entries, one for each joker card.

There is a lot of misconception about them, and I'm not posting this to try and straighten that out, since they would be the first to say listen and figure it out for yourselves.

This entry is about when we saw them in concert. This entry is Carnvial of Carnage.

It was ass cold. Beyond ass cold in November. A line half a mile long of shivering fuckers, painted up and freezing but juiced knowing it would be worth it. We'd been clutching our tickets for a month, me fondling them periodically then hopping madly.

The opening act was 2 Live Crew... BONUS! And lol if you ever saw their "Me So Horney" video with all the girlies on stage shaking mad ass, yes, they still do that and did not dissapoint.

We stood in that line for two and a half hours, most of us staying in decent moods, and some getting ansy and wanting to know what the hold up was. I was wearing a white tank top, knowing it gets hot in that sort of setting, with an iron-on patch across my tits showing clown love. I even dressed up Mr. Morgan's car ahead of time with hatchet shit and as we drove others wooted us, to which we replied in kind.

Concert rocked all that one could expect and more. There was a moment when a Juggalo got himself too excited and elbowed me hard enough to the chest that I lost wind and Mr. Morgan punched him in the back of the head because he'd done it before. He turned around ready to fight, looked up two feet (Mr. Morgan is 6'5 and adverse to his wife being hit so hard tears come to her eyes) and the thrashing Juggalo decided it would not be a winning engagement.

The Faygo showers began, and Violent Jay drank off a bottle, threw it in the air and my legs went go-go-gadget-GET-IT! I have never sprung into the air that high before or after but I snatched that bottle out of the air in nothing short of magic and stuffed it into my pants ready to slap hands or bite.


By the time it was over everyone's face paint was metling off in quite the ugly fashion and my white tank was a wet tshirt contest brown. Watch below, faygo showers and my juggs (olos assholes) are well respresented. You'll see about 20 people come out to do the faygo showers, so it made my score all the more priceless.



Rock to my Ninjas, and ps - after the concert on the way out we met 2 Live Crew and their ladies, all were very gracious even though we could tell they were tired after such a performance, but they took the time to speak with us for a few minutes. Very, very Kool Kats.

-DM

Yeah.

We have some crazy weather right now. Thunderstorms and stuff. Mr. Morgan's best friend called to alert us of it, like we aren't in the house or aware of our planet. Personally, I think Mr. Morgan's best friend cannot go ten minutes without him, and I often check to see if he is sucking my husbands balls as I perform felatio.

Sounds rough, but he doesn't like me, and thus I really can't like him. Why fake it. I tend to leave the room if he is here, or just hand over the phone when it rings. I was tempted, but have chosen not to bag on his friend out of respect, that has never been lent to me in return.

He is a good guy, just weird, and because that he said to me at my wedding party.... my fucking wedding party in my own home "Never forget I am not your friend, I am his" we just aren't ever gonna jive and play jenga.

Simon goes to work with me tomorrow. I really don't want him to come, but I cant cage him in the garage while Mr. Morgan, Senior Morgan and Delilah go on a hike. It's not that he bothers me, it's that I have to watch him non-stop, and the chase your dog all day is unappealing. "He's SO key-yout!" Ya ok. I know I've met the little guy. Why don't you come scoop his shit for a month and name it.

I'm out of sorts I think... so that's it for today.

-DM

Forever young.......

Getting sick will humble the piss out of even the meanest of the Count Oloft's. I remember crisply my lack of emapthy for anything without a tail, and it wasn't very long ago that short of having a tail - on the backside you dirty thinkin' bastids, I would approach almost anything with a simple stare. Not judging, just staring and trying to get it. Doesn't mean I didn't cry then, I did but with supreme secrecy and anger.

I write these entries about myself more often because I really need to. Not to be understood, but just to say it. Would you guess this darling cherub of a child was me?


I'm not sure it is. I see the bottom teeth and they are straight as arrows. I think the original DM died and they cloned her to get yours truly. That was a stupid move on their part. My bottom teeth have never been straight, Nor has my hair been THAT color. Who is that fucking kid they swear is me? I remember asshole haircuts, and LOOK at that hair, I've never had that much. That kid is a fucking imposter.

I visited my mother today, wandered upstairs to my old bedroom that had shrunk so much I asked my mother where the rest of it was. She ignored me as she has learned to do.
I screamed more... asking if a monster came and ate it, or if aliens stole it for research.... more silence. I imagine she was in the kitchen smoking and drinking herself stupid. I tend to have that effect.

I went to digging through shit and I broke the entire closet door it's hinges, and yes I sucked in my lips and got wide eyed "did she hear that?" look about me. She had.

WHAT ARE YOU DOING UP THERE!
I am getting into MY SHIT! I OWN THIS SHIT
THEN PAY FOR STORAGE!

I am 28... and having some of my belongings in there is a bit silly, but honestly.... and lets all admit it..... they want remnants of their kids in the house. And half of us beat pavement so fast to get away we left stuff we actually liked, then later thought man it so sucks paying my own god damned bills, when is supper ready? Oh right, when I nuke the ramen.

I was a book hider, meaning when I went into my old room the first thing I did was check books, and I found stickers, photos and one book completely hollowed out for contraband. And I grinned.
-DM


Let’s dance in style, lets dance for a while
Heaven can wait we’re only watching the skies
Hoping for the best but expecting the worst
Are you going to drop the bomb or not?

Let us die young or let us live forever
We don’t have the power but we never say never
Sitting in a sandpit, life is a short trip
The music’s for the sad men
Can you imagine when this race is won
Turn our golden faces into the sun
Praising our leaders we’re getting in tune
The music’s played by the madmenForever young,
I want to be forever young
Do you really want to live forever, forever and ever

Some are like water, some are like the heat
Some are a melody and some are the beat
Sooner or later they all will be gone
Why don’t they stay young
It’s so hard to get old without a cause
I don’t want to perish like a fading horse
Youth is like diamonds in the sunAnd dimonds are forever
So many adventures couldn’t happen today
So many songs we forgot to play
So many dreams are swinging out of the blue
We let them come true

-Alphaville.

Rodeo

Eleven days before vacation. Perhaps that would explain the level of unrest that has nestled deeply into the pit of my stomach and groin. Or bad pizza. No one knows for sure.

I am getting excited, but not too much yet. I am fairly giddy about the giraffes…. and I tell ya /looks around and draws in with a whisper/ if no one is looking I’m gonna try to ride one. All be damned, I’ve been sick and in pain all fucking year, I deserve to ride a fucking giraffe. I’ve got grapply arms, I have what it takes. I also am more than accustomed to landing hard on my ass from a good fall.

Sure, I cry a little but wouldn’t it be WORTH IT! Eee!

Still no package from Jude. I am (in all jude-love-ness) presuming he simply forgot, and I crave to be at a level of fame where I forget to break the hearts of fans. I did write him again this morning, stating that while I was embarrassed to beg, it wasn’t enough to stop me from the hope that he could still make my idea happen.

More than most people, I will guarantee that when my ideas don’t come through I get very …. facey and upset. Disappointment does not suit me well.

Simon got a haircut yesterday, but even I had enough respect for his ego not to photo it and share. I tried explaining that you have to know ugly before you understand beautiful but he just stared at me with utmost resent, hair all fucked up. So I tossed his angry ass in the pool and then it all looked the same.

-DM

Facey (verb and oddly, adjective) – the act of contorting one’s face in the most unattractive manner, a frown so deep it could stick. It is often seen on children in the cashier isle where all the candy is dangled in front of them, as if only to make them earn a beating they couldn't resist.

Crayons

Right, so I fucked my finger up last night by way of I think I looked at it funny, or I fucking breathed or moved or made some comment about jesus, who fucking knows. I've seriously no idea how it happened, all I know is I didn't smack it on anything. Perhaps my vascular system had a meeting and decided that was the day to act out.

Best of my recolection, I was just making supper and discussing the fundamentals of cold fusion and biogenetically cloning moths who could speak with an accent and carry a spiffy walking cane when it happened. I thought OW and looked at my hand to see something all but threatening a blood clot scenario.

I really dont handle these things well and Mr. Morgan is not the sympathic sort. So alas here I sit, deciding that my pirate name is Captian Black Finger. Arg!

-DM

ps - WTF is way underestimated in the photo, it's a prominent growth that can only be summed up with What.The.Fuck. Julian is Filbert's best friend.

All my friends are low riders

There is a resident living in my car and not paying rent. I've passed it off as coincidence or a hallucination for a while, but today I am sure of it, mother fucker is living up in my car with intention to stay.

To prove this intent I got the charlotte's web offering of "dis bitch is mine" written in the filthy disgusting web that was constructed in the wee 7.5 hours a day I work, right across the entire part of the viewing window that includes the spedometer and other car gauges I don't much pay attention to. My tenant had been busy.

Because this work of webbing was so extensive I instantly presumed something like this was chilling under a seat collecting lots of poison in it's sack with a smile.

I havent seen the nasty little free ride having bastard, but in actuality it's more likely something like this:

Which would also be total bullshit. No one likes the metro. If you drive one or ride in one you'd know why. I pass other metro drivers and trust me, they ain't smilin' as they go. I am possibly the sole fan of the metro and it's because that car makes you work to get anywhere, you don't forget how fast you are going or the steering wheel will vibrate out of your hands, there are no automatic anythings, get off your phone, and the fucker has two functions .. on and off.

Since underwear isn't a guaranteed portion to my ensemble each day, a loose spider in the car instantly turned my vagina into a venus fly trap, minus the fly, but I'm pretty sure the sound of it snapping closed and shuddering was audible.

While Mr. Morgan has no problem with them, I take massive issue and lose all ability to be rational when I find one. I go into head to toe goose bumps and begin that choking sound pointing and gargling on my own spit that if in english it would say "pleeeeeease get it before it escapes or I can never ever inhabit that area again."

I've got a can of I HATE SPIDERS SPRAY and may set it off tomorrow, ya know, for the just in case. My luck I'll probably end up kiling my stupid self, but at least I won't have a god damned hitchiker in the car being gross and leggy.

-DM

ps - The Carnival is God and may the juggalos find us!

A day in my life

I wake up, sweaty and disgusted with myself. Nausea. I think of how tired I am of waking up at 3am like clockwork with aching joints in my hands. I curl them, and uncurl them. I try to work out the pain so that I can sleep. and awake to gripping muscle spasms in my legs that make me limp for a day or two, which I hide. When they come I wish I had a bit in my mouth, I don't want to wake my slumbering husband nor the snoring small dog so very nestled between this spasm and my natural reflex to try and strech it, but it hurts so. My stomach and everything below churns and in powerful twirls,

I sometimes fall to floor and try to work out the spasms. Sometimes it works, other times it doesn't and I wish more for that bit. Simon stirs and watches me with remote interest and goes back to his deep sleep.

My alarm sings although my sleep and can only be described as a gentle sleep for hours and I sit up. I get dressed and hope anything is clean, I'm so tardy on the laundry I think to myself.
I try my makeup, one eye goes fine ... when I close the other for eyeliner and some mascera I am reminded that I am permanently blinded. I pause a moment but my eyes don't water in emotion and I wonder why I don't want to thrash.

Once at work I hope it'll just be ok. Whether it is, does not matter I just stare at the clock. The pen drops from my hand frequently in seemingly clumsiness, but it's that I can no longer hold anything for too long, and it hurts to do so although my pride bites at itself madly.
Home. Nausea. I grab the door knob and the growths on my hands immediately remind me of their presence, thier unforgiveing presence and the pain they offer to be touched. Shake it off.

I sit, pet the dogs.

Thinking how angry I am, how much I want to ..... do anything, but then I regain senses and I deal with it. I check myself for new lumps, as my doctor has asked me to. I stare at the red mark left from the drawing of blood that never reports a sudden recovery, and I just sigh.
I stare at my drawing board, a large drafting type board, and I wonder ... can I do it? I sit down and I draw. When it comes out wrong I wonder if I blame my disfugurements or my talent. I then stare to my violin and know well that venture is beyond approach. And my heart breaks clean in half.

And then I go to bed. Not in self pity, but but rather just trying to get along and hoping it's better out there.

-DM

Christ.

And here it goes again. I can't begin to explain the level of stupidity that forced me to crash my last.... and most beloved blog site. Not my best photo but a solid FUCK YOU should be ugly and intended. Can even get a pretty good look at the scar under my right eye that only shows up when severe sarcasm or malice is washing over my face. That scar says "I don't fuck around rawr!" Which is ironic since I got that scar by doing exactly that (much fucking around), with a dash of stupid, and a great deal of not looking where I was going. And yeah, I was actually surprised that I'd fallen into that pit of glass, but now I wear it like a Rambo veteran of "piss off or I will feed you to a lion then wrestle the lion to the ground and eat him up as if it was a two-for!" Lol... jesus......shut up already.

I will slowly get all the old posts up again, or won't. I don't KNOW!

Moving forward for now, so bookmark me accordingly. Now. I mean right now.

-DM