The Casino Slut

I love my man
He is so naive
I know how to impress him
I’ve done it last eve
When I win he shines
When I win he nods
I have but one talent
It is to beat the odds

I know how to do this
I understand this machine
Put enough coins in it
Eventually it will sing
I have my own bank account
Does not matter how much I spend
Huge amounts are for big gamblers
I’m the mother of all winners

There goes a twenty
There goes another
If I keep inserting money
Jackpot will hit eventually
Just one more dollar
To keep the lights flashing
Keep the wheels spinning
They will stop in my favor

(Two hours later)

“Oh my god, I got it!
Two hundred and something
Honey, come and see this!
I won the bonus thing!”
How much did you put in?
“Oh, only three tokens”
Wow, you’re so lucky!
“How can you not love me…”

Evil Girlfriend

Elementals2

I will lie to him
To make him love me
If I seduce him
He will not leave me

I will rub him sweetly
To excite his body
I will control his mind
And make him marry me

Then I will be happy
Because the man I admire
The one my friends desire
Will be mine, he-he!

The passion within him
Will be given to me
I will feel extraordinary
All the time
Until eternity

Absolutely Fabulous

Fabulous

I’m a lucky man.  The neighbor envies me.  I see it in his eyes.  He wants her.  He wants my wife.  Because she’s absolutely fabulous.

My best friend is not my wife.  My best friend is the dictionary.  So, come here pal, I need you!  Open up.  Please show me.  I want to see the word Fabulous.  I need to know who I’m married to.

Fabulous:

  1. Of or relating to fable, myth or legend.
  2. Characteristic of fables; marvelous, extraordinary, incredible.
  3. Fictional or not believable; made up.
  4. Known for telling fables or falsehoods; unreliable.
  5. Very good; outstanding, wonderful.
  6. Gay or pertaining to gay people.
  7. Camp, effeminate.
  8. Fashionable, glamorous

Yep, she’s all of these things, except number 6.  She keeps saying that she’s not gay, that she loves men.  But then she’s always hanging out with her fabulous female friends.  And she treats me like crap.

Number 5 contradicts numbers 3 and 4.  How can an unbelievable, fake and unreliable person be good?  She appears wonderful, that’s for sure.

Everyone loves her.  Well that’s what she tells me.  So it must be true.  *wink*

I wonder how long she can keep up this show?

Speaking of which…  there used to be a television sitcom by this title.  I think this is where the photo comes from.  I don’t know, I just used Google Images and typed the word fabulous and this one came up.  I thought it looked a lot like my wife.

Being absolutely fabulous is not such a bad thing.  It’s better than being an asshole who posts degrading comments about his wife on WordPress.

But I use my blog to make myself feel better.  And for some reason, I feel better now that I have expressed myself.  Isn’t blogging absolutely fabulous?

Last Toast

Skull Lovers

Sweet love of mine
I leave you behind
I’m not unkind
Just a bit blind

Yes I remember
The black wedding
The bloody ring
But… whatever

It’s too late now
You broke the vow
Look what you’ve done
I want to run

Before I go
You need to know
If you can’t grow
End of the show

I turn around
You hit the ground
Why do you bite
Aim for the light

Your love is dark
You hunt and bark
I try to fly
You scream and cry

End of the road
Go kiss a toad
I’d rather die
Than hear you lie

When Love Lies

Man Crying

My last true love almost obliterated me.

“True” love?
It could not have been true if it almost obliterated you.

Right. But I was convinced that it was true love. I married this love. I gave my life to this love. I gave my time, my efforts, my money, my body and my soul to this love. I gave my everything to this love. I never doubted that this love was not my true love. The result was near-annihilation.

You survived.

Thanks to you.

No, thanks to you!

I was near-dead, there was nothing I could do.

That is not exactly true.

What did I do?

You turned to you.

What do mean you?

Instead of turning to self-destruction, you turned to self-love.

Hmm…

Not everyone accepts self-love.

It took me many years though. Many years of agony. And even with this “self-love,” I am still hurt. I’m damaged. I’m unrecognizable. I’m socially extinguished. I’m dysfunctional. I’m disabled. I’m handicapped. I’m useless. I’m no good. I’m incapable of loving another human being again.

It’s perhaps not as bad as it seems.

Has this “self-love” made me a more loving person? Look at me now. I don’t want to see anyone. I don’t trust humans. I almost hate them. And when I look into the mirror, I see one again. I almost hate myself. This self-love is a paradox. It doesn’t seem real. Sure, I did not kill myself, but there must be more to self-love than subsisting… and waiting… to die, so I can be with you.

You’re writing aren’t you?

All the time.

Then you’re doing something valuable. Everything you write is being recorded. You have no idea the impact that you are having on the universe.

Indeed, I have no idea. Thanks. Your words are encouraging. As always.

The Liar

He lies to his wife, lies to his children, lies to his followers, lies to his friends.  No, sorry.  Not to his friends because he doesn’t have any.  The liar doesn’t have friends, he has… figurines, or pawns, or deluded admirers.

That’s right.  And he doesn’t live, he subsists within his own exquisitely well decorated prison.  He walks around, alone among others, smiling and waving, buying and selling.  He drugs his one-track mind to sleep, drugs his trimmed body to work, drugs his flaccid organ to night clubs, and the next day goes to church.  He has sex with himself while screwing the other.

The liar is popular, rich, famous and funny.  He loves his life and is afraid to die.  He can’t stand sickness, can’t tolerate unhappiness, can’t understand meditation.  He watches tv, follows the news and dresses fashionably.

The liar cheats his partner, cheats his employer and cheats himself.  He’s an expert with words, he knows exactly what to say and when to say it.  He knows when to play the hero and when to play the victim.  The liar is a player.

He succeeds in everything he does, he hardly ever gets criticised because he’s wise, slick and sly, politically correct, healthy and he supports the army.  He suffers from headaches but doesn’t tell anyone.  He goes to the dentist regularly and makes sure his teeth are white.

The liar doesn’t last forever

Because he can’t enter eternity

The liar might be your neighbour

He might be you or he might be me

What a disgusting blogpost

I feel like regurgitating my dinner

Please excuse me

Looks Good

Yuck

“Good morning, good afternoon, good evening.  How are you?  Good!  That’s good to hear.  You look good.  Did you have a good time?  It’s a good day isn’t it?  Well it was good to see you.  Goodbye!”

Why does everything have to be good all the time?  How boring.  It makes me sick.  It’s so one-sided and unbalanced.

We hide everything that doesn’t look good and pretend it doesn’t exist:  our weaknesses, our garbage and our shit.  And then we say:  All is good.  But is it?

Nothing in this world is THAT good.  Get over it, people.

“Bad morning!  How are you?  Bad, and you?  Oh, just awful.  You look bad by the way.  Well, fuck you!  I thought the same thing when I saw you.  It’s a bad day isn’t it?  Oh, absolutely!  How are the kids?  Terrible!  That’s too bad.  Oh well, it was depressing to see you!  Badbye!”