The Pen and The Wind

When I saw her I fell in love,
She was an angel sent from above,
I did everything from small to grand,
All to simply win her hand.

When I won her love I was overjoyed,
And to her every whim was I employed,
And life was the best have her with me,
I finally felt like my soul was free.

But then I found she was a bore,
Her looks did fade and she started to snore,
Turns out love does not come from the dick,
And messy divorce is love’s vengeful trick. 

‘Twas the night of Saturnalia, and all through the house,
Not a creature was sober, not even a mouse.
Our clothing was thrown on the floor without care,
In the hopes that orgasms would soon be there.

The partygoes were collapsed on our our beds,
While hallucinations and delirium danced through their heads. 
With my fuck buddy all topless and I without pants,
We were settling in for a long carnal dance.

When then outside we heard such a clatter,
We thought it was the police coming to investigate our matter.
We began hiding the weed in a flash,
And out the window did some of the stoned guests dash.

Out on the lawn soaked with spilled booze,
And above the drunks with nothing to lose,
What to my intoxicated eyes should appear,
But a leopard drawn sleigh, with a hammered man in the rear.

With a driver so intoxicated and blameless,
I knew instantly it was Dionysus.
Down the road, swerving all about he came,
And shouted out the leopards by name.

“On Wine, on Burbon, on Schnaps and Tequlia,
“On Fucking, on Sodomy, on Karma and Sutra!
“To down to the liver, and up against the wall,
“Now dash away, dash away, dash away all!”

He pulled into the yard, and into the bushes did crash,
And came through the front door in a dash.
The party did roar when they saw he’d arrived,
For a party without him is surely deprived.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to work,
Giving us booze, condoms, and ever other party perk,
And with a wave of his joyus hand,
Did arousal boil up in to to levels so grand.

And when intoxication and horniness reached fever pitch,
He left so we could all sate our itch.
But I heard him exclaim as he drove off into the night,
“Happy Festival to all, and be sure to wrap it up tight!”  

• Do not waste your time on people who do not benefit you (such as giving you pettings or treats). 
• Take pleasure in the simple things in life (bits of string and dingly-balls for instance).
• Assert authority everywhere you go. 
• Sometimes you must outwardly show those you love how much they mean to you (try offering your tummy to rub, or giving them a dead bird). 
• Yoga and stretching are key to harmony of body and mind. (The goal is to get so good, you do it in your sleep)
• Rest is crucial to the spirit, so get plenty of it. (Especially in a nice sunny patch)

What if you had a condition where every time you orgasmed, you had to let out a raging barbarian war cry? You had to scream at the top of your lungs a deep, bellowing shout that would rattle the bones of your enemies. Imagine how that’d make your sex life, hell, even just masturbating would be a lot more interesting.

How would any of your partners even respond to that? Would they be scarred for life?

These are the kinds of things I think about that kept me out of Princeton. 

1. Find a hammer. It is key to have this later on in the process. 
2. Fill yourself up with as much hormonal angst as possible. You’re going to need enough to be boiling and making you almost a psychotic sociopath.
3. Now, look at a lot of porn, but don’t masturbate. You’re adding unrealistic pent up lust to the equation, it’s key for these bestsellers. 
4. Now get absolutely shitfaced drunk. Just short of vomiting, but enough to give you a killer hangover. 
5. Remember the hammer? Good. Give yourself a couple of solid whacks to the head, you’re shooting for a fairly serious concussion. 
6. Your cognitive processes should be impaired enough to write an absolutely horrible plot with very flat and bland characters. The pent up angst will make them whiny enough to give a very flat “depth” to the characters, and the pent up lust will add a nice level of misogyny and some poorly rendered sex scenes. This is key in attracting a female audience. They love lusting after angsty, sociopathic, misogynistic, pretty boys, the bestseller and movie numbers don’t lie. 
7. Crap out about 200-250 pages.
8. Call 911, get rushed to the hospital.
9. When you get released, call up an English major or someone with an I.Q. that’s average to above average.
10. If they start convulsing both in rage and the sheer horror of your works, you did it right. 
11. Call a publisher.
12. Profit.

I’m pretty sure this is how I’m going to die.

It wasn’t enough that I was late to an intereview, or that my sister’s car broke down and I had to take a bus, but did this really have to happen, after all I’ve been through?

My hands are starting to go numb from desperately clutching onto the sharp irregular edges which were the only places I could grab in desperation. My grip is starting to slip, and my feet are sliding downward. It wouldn’t have been so bad if the bus driver had noticed by now, but I think the combination of her sunglasses, ipod, and general human apathy is why she hasn’t stopped by now. Or the reason she closed the door before I was actually in and caught my shirt and began to drive off.

It also wouldn’t have been as bad if a stray corner on a stop sign hadn’t ripped off my only pair of good dress pants. But the fact that I’m in my underwear, clutching on the side of a speeding bus that hasn’t stopped for miles, and am pretty sure I’m going to die. 

I think I should take this as some sort of sign.

German legend says that asexuals have the ability to fly at night, but if you cut their hair off, they lose this ability. 

Asexuals were referred to as “The Crow People,” in South America because it was thought they hatched from crow eggs and ate children who misbehaved often. 

Asexual blood naturally lures unicorns. 

Asexuals burst into flames if they touch any type of marital aid.