Losing My Way

O what a calamity befell our Lord Mayor, to be attacked by ruffians and left, stripped naked in his coach. Then a woman passed by and saw his nakedness, then called her friends to clothe him in the frilliest underwear and a lovely blue skirt. The Lord Mayor couldn't refuse their kind deed and soon there was the sound of much talking. Suddenly a man came. in the carriage, a merchant of some kind, who sat next to the Lord Mayor and rubbed his crotch. 'Why, it seems the wearing of women's clothing is getting you excited. Could it be that you are thinking about penis?' The merchant rubbed some more, then said, 'Your arousal at the thought of men is obvious O Lord Mayor. Perhaps you wish to see my cock.' And the merchant showed his penis, and the Lord Mayor grabbed that penis. 'Forgive me dear God, but I must put this Cock in my mouth.' And so the Lord Mayor did. 'Very good mayor. Yell out the window how much you love Cock.' And the Lord Ma

I thought she loved me/ I was so wrong/ now I don't have her loving/ all I have is this song/// It's not long enough/ to let her know how I feel/ The solo is me, all alone/ but the words aren't real//// She left me standing on the bridge/ didn't wait for the big finish//// What do I do? What can I say?/ How did I get so blue?/ I am just a fool for a day/ and tomorrow too/////

I am a coward. I wouldn't send out my review of Dostoevsky because I have so many entries about handsome men putting me in a spot where I can't say no. Never say no to his cock being in my hand....so smooth to my touch so smooth.....enticing me to bend down and lick the cock.....LICK THAT COCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! After this entry, 3 more minutes of rabhomoooooooooooothoughtttsucthat penisuntilhedecidestofukmeintheassFUCKMEINTHEASS! IwantpenispenispenisNOWWWWW

Dostoevsky's book is short, a weird hybrid of philosophy and tragedy, though the sadness is from the story of a man who never made a single human connection in his life. The man writes his notes but is so cut off from the world he doesn't even tell us his name. He has one chance at life, it seems, when Liza the whole comes to visit, but he just throws a fit and she leaves. He runs out after her to no avail: when he reaches the street, there is no sign of her. He will never see her again. At the end he says he will write no more, yet a final paragraph says he couldn't help himself, but Dostoevsky ends it with the words 'it also seems to us that this would be a good place to stop.' That's is probably the saddest ending of all, knowing that this man's life was lived with no one to care, not even himself.

I know the ae ret to the big hit movie. Sure, one can have compelling characters in a well plottedstory, or do it the easy way: have so much shit going on that the audience doesn't have time to figure out what is happening.

Down we go now, into the bowels of time, history stretched out behind us, beneath us. Like a drunk choking on his own vomit, there lies the 21st century. So many solutions making all the problems worse, the human race blindly flailed away, destroying all it touched. So much promise laid waste, all innocence victims of its desperate groping through the darkness. Lights shone brightly, bright enough to hide the stars, but all was darkness. It's a miracle anyone survived. Of course, that miracle has been well documented so I won't get into the boring details. All I care to do is to look up and ahead, as thefuture lays before us, gleaming like precious gems, there for any to grab. Despite all our present wonders, things just keep getting better and better.

Add Juneteemth to the list of phony holidays. Only the upper classclasses and public servants get the day off while the rest of us are having our activities curtailed. All because some lazy scumbags in the bad old days were too lazy to do their own work. How sad.