Annual Essay On Springtime And Love
2002-04-04 - 2:28 p.m.

before/after
strangely non-functional guestbook

[I'm a dog in heat.  A freak without warning.  So you better watch out, because me so horny.  Oh.  Me so horny.  Oh.  Me so horny.  Oh. Oh.  Me so horny.  Me love you long time.]

'Tis spring, and young men's thoughts turn to spunk, chode, and vagina.

Oh, yes, I am as vulgar as you have ever feared. 

Love has passed my sorry ass bye, gone in favor of others, leaving me with girls that just want to fuck.

No, no, junior.  Don't fucking make love to me.  FUCK.

[you are a true vulgarian, aren't you?]

What ever happened to love?  You reach out as an 18 year old, thinking you've found it, excited that someone seems to feel the same way about you, then you realize you're just growing up together.

You grow older, start experimenting, and make completely tawdry what could have been true for the rest of your days.

Sorry, Will, it ain't better to have loved and lost.  Ignorance is motherfucking bliss, and yes, you can marry the 'up-the-butt' girl.

[you're the vulgarian, you FUCK.]

So I entered this weird mid-twenties age, something I had dreamed about as a younger child of the world. 

Crazy casual sex with someone you just met.  No obligations or complications, just two people, letting the animal in both of them roam, as we all are closer to animals than enlightenment.

And its like...you either hook-up, or you don't.  And then its awkward.

You know, that sensitive period with a girl, when you realize you know she likes it when you talk dirty and cum on her breasts, but you really have no idea what her favorite TV show is, or her stand on recreational drug use.

Or the thoughts of, "Well, why didn't he even try?"

Poor Lydia. 

Going on and on about being intimidated by me, being out of her depth, and me without a clue as to what the fuck she's talking about, coke dribbling out of my nose, pot high long gone, booze not making a dent, and her sucking on my cock in that delicate way she had, me thinking, "Baby, if you want anything to happen, you're gonna' have to get up on that thing and RIDE."

There is no infatuation.  Just people being people. 

All that dewey eyed shit is lost when the girl breaks wind in bed, and you realize you are just two drunk people screwing.

Given what's been going on in my life, I suppose this is academic.

I just wanted to write my annual essay on springtime and love.

I still believe in love, you know.