Good morning, world. I was asleep by 10:00 last night, so I missed all the excitement. On purpose.
It’s a new year, but everything’s the same old same old except the calendar. 1995 would’ve been here whether I blew a kazoo and woke up with a hangover or whether I didn’t, so I didn’t.
From Pathetic Life #8
Sunday, January 1, 1995
Sometimes when I’m sitting naked at the typewriter with nothing to type, waiting for the inspiration that never comes, it’s fun to play with my bountiful belly.
My gut is so huge I can’t see my genitals without first bending way forward, then pushing my stomach way in. Gotta push it in with my hand, because there’s way too much to merely suck it in, so just now I pushed everything into me as far as it could go, took a look southward ho, and found a pimple growing under my pubes.
A more amusing diversion is sticking my hands, palms up, into the tight sweaty fold between my big fat belly and my flabby legs, then flapping my fingers like flippers on a pinball machine, which makes my blubber rise and fall in wide waves of soft billowing flesh. It’s my own Special K pinch! Two hands full, fingers to thumb, filled with fat.
Yeah, I could stand to lose a few pounds. 150 or so would put me near my chart weight, and substantially reduce my general repulsiveness. So am I at least dieting?
Not really. I’m avoiding meat, but still eating too much of everything else. Just now I had a big bowl of macaroni & cheese for breakfast, which was so good I think I’ll have another.
And no “new year’s resolutions” for me. They’re bullshit, and I do not deal in bullshit.
♦ ♦ ♦
At the store for more macaroni, I glanced at the so-called news-weeklies to gauge the falling national IQ. Have we reached bottom yet, or are we still falling?
“How the Gingrich Stole Christmas,” cries the cover of Newsweek, with a picture inspired by Dr Seuss — a pun already stale from dozens of newspaper columns and cartoons for two months since the elections. A bubble on the front cover brags, “55 pages of cartoons & pictures,” so they finally admit it — they’re feeding America a comic-book version of the news.
Time has a picture of Pope John Paul II, because he’s their Man of the Year, but — why? He’s the Pope. He claims he’s a virgin, though there are probably cum stains inside his silly hat. His biggest accomplishment in 1994 was successfully lobbying some international political meeting to ensure that poor countries don’t have access to birth control. Millions of people take Karol Józef Wojtyla seriously, and believe in the stupidity he stands for. I don’t, can’t, won’t — so am I nuts, or is it Time magazine and everyone else on Earth?
This is an entry retyped from an on-paper zine I wrote many years ago, called Pathetic Life. The opinions stated were my opinions then, but might not be my opinions now. Also, I said and did some disgusting things, so parental guidance is advised.
Leave a Reply