Friday, August 3, 2012
Everyday I read NYTimes, CNN and Yahoo for whatever's up. By Friday, I'm bored to death. My equivalent of the Post, which I vow never to read, is Vice. Once a week I poop my way over to Vice.com for news 15 year-old's beat off too.
Girls drinking their piss and brushing their teeth like old Pompei. Little boys preparing for cryogenic sleep because they've got no friends now, and still won't when they wake up in 100 years. On the home page of Vice this time I see a heroin addict. She's peering out from behind a dumpster like an alley cat that just got caught licking the cum off a homeless mans pants. She must be a heroin addict, and figures, her fucking name is "Cat". She makes the lead singer of The Working Title look thick. She's got that skittle hole-of-a-mouth with open sore cracks at its curves, and mouth pimples scattered about like an Occupy tent community. Red bumps on a girl's lips in her late twenties means no shower after Ring Pop dinner or falling asleep with stranger's load on face.