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Archive for May, 2009|Monthly archive page

300 make up post: Probiscuous Girl, rough draft

In by Lara on May 31, 2009 at 8:35 pm

Am I throwing you off?

Nope

Didn’t think so.

How you doin’ young mozzie

The blood that you pumpin’ really drives me crazy

You don’t have to run away like that

I’m a life-sucking insect not a goddamn bat

If you looking for a girl that’ll drink you right

If you lookin’ for her at dusk with a light

Were you the one who buzzed by my eye?

Guess I’ll find out by the end of the night

You expect to just slip it in me?

Well just a heads up, my ex is a bee

All I can do is try, gimme one try

What’s the problem I don’t see no deet on your thigh

I be the first to admit it, I’m curious about you, you seem so innocent

You wanna get in my skin, get lost in it

Boy I’m tired of chasing, let me suck for a minute

Chorus:

Probiscuous girl

You nose what you want

I’m all alone

And you’re sucking my blood

Probiscuous boy

You best be feeding me more

Make my blood sugar spike

What you waiting for?

Probiscuous girl

You nose what you want

I’m all alone

And you’re sucking my blood

Probiscuous boy

You best be feeding me more

Make my blood sugar spike

What you waiting for?

Verse 2:

Blood is red

Hey you’re kinda cute

That other guy’s is dead

‘cuz I sucked his juice

My antennae are going berserk

Where you at, we gotta make this work

Come chill with me in my stagnant pool

You know I’ll be there to wipe up your proboscis drool

They call me daddy

Long legs, in fact

Yo don’t fly away

Damn, that’s super whack

I’m a big girl I can satisfy myself

But if I get hungry I’ma need your help

Pay attention to me I’m not flyin’ to be stealth

I want you on my skin

So does everybody else.

Baby we can we take it slow

Pump in pump out, you know how it goes

If you with it girl I can take you down low

I’ma get a red koolaid blood sugar high

Chorus:

Probiscuous girl

You nose what you want

I’m all alone

And you’re sucking my blood

Probiscuous boy

You best be feeding me more

Make my blood sugar spike

What you waiting for?

Don’t be mad, don’t get mean

Hey Don’t get mad, don’t be mean

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Ironic

In by Lara on May 31, 2009 at 8:31 pm

Two weeks ago, David’s mother collapsed at Jean’s house. They took her to the hospital and found that she was extremely anemic and had some other complications. She hadn’t told anyone of any feelings of tiredness, weakness, or pain. She hated going to the doctor, or seeing anyone other than family, really. Honestly, she wasn’t a brightest ray of sunshine. She was self-absorbed, hypocritical, vapid, and losing her little sense of lucidity. She had spent her entire life trying to look twenty years younger than her real age, and ironically, she may die twenty years younger than she should.

Grave (sic)

In by Wyatt on May 30, 2009 at 7:30 pm

Peter craved things. He when he became thirsty, he didn’t just want water, he craved it. When he was tired, he didn’t just want sleep, he craved his bed. When he listened to music he didn’t just choose tunes based on his mood, he chose them based on his cravings.

A craving comes from a deep recess inside our reptilian brains. A craving takes something that we might otherwise merely want, and makes it something we need.

It treats all things as objects of desire. When Peter met Melinda, she was an object. Far from masochistic; he simply needed her.

Profiteroles

In by Lara on May 28, 2009 at 1:14 am

Heat the milk and the butter, watching the tiny bubbles tickle the sides of the pans. Quick! Add the flour and stir like crazy. Mmm smell that hot butter. Then, this is the complicated part. Take that beautiful ball of dough off the heat and get a powerful whisk out. Crack out your eggs all at once, and whisk! Whisk, man, whisk! Make those eggs disappear! Stab the yolks, meld the bright and pale together. It will be goopy. Pipe those babies out and bake. Careful, they’ll toy with your emotions. Rise and fall. Poof and collapse. Fickle, delicious things.

Gawad Kalinga

In by Wyatt on May 28, 2009 at 12:23 am

Authenticity in all them tip cities writhes among masses of trash domesticities.
Subtle homes among the rubble, trouble bubbles poorly huddled
Helter-skelter shelters fall and falter in stormy water.
A life of dirt is all a flirt with random mirth, inevitable death or hurt
Filthy hands rubbed “clean” on milky jeans, obscene they glean with silt and teem
With grime, disease, no ABCs, all food taken to please the hungry mouths of capital greed.
A spark of hope parks in the dark before daybreak; GK awaits.
Building more than a community, add immunity; impunity.
Remix forlorn for phoenix reborn.

I Am Almost There

In by Chris on May 27, 2009 at 9:42 pm

            This is very difficult to write when I am dizzy just sitting up and my eyes hurt, the computer screen is not healthy for me right now. There’s a delay between my mind and fingers and I keep typing the wrong word (like “write” instead of “right”). Why is grammar suddenly so difficult? Come on one hundred words, have I reached you yet? I am almost there. But I have run out of things to write, and my head feels like that of a ten year-old. Actually no, it feels like that of someone wondering if they will get better.

Frenglish

In by Lara on May 26, 2009 at 9:18 pm

“J’aime la pamplemousse.”

“Don’t speak in French. You only speak in French when you’re saying stuff you might be serious about, but may be joking about as well.”

“That’s pourquoi je say things en Français.”

“You’re crazy, you know that? Bizarre. Just bizarre.”

“Oui. It’s vraiment zarbi.”

“Are you even French?”

“Peut-être.”

“Goddamnit, Louise.”

“Oh Tomas, ne t’inquietes pas.”

“It’s Tom, or do you have yet to learn my name after three years?”

“Bof! Stop, you are tellement dramatique. Souviens-toi que je t’aime.”

“Well, I at least understand that one.”

“C’est la verité ma pamplemousse. And that’s all you need.”

Mirror, Mirror Part 2

In by Lara on May 26, 2009 at 9:10 pm

Thursday:

He looked into the mirror: “I’m ugly.” He went off to work, passed through a drive-thru coffee store, but they didn’t have any more sugar. “That’s probably better. I don’t want to be ugly and diabetic.”

Friday:

He looked into the mirror: “I’m ugly.” He went off to work, and wore his normal business clothes even though it was casual Friday. “What’s the use? I’m sure my clothes are ugly anyway.”

Saturday:

He put his glasses on. He looked into the mirror.

“Hey, I don’t look half bad!” He smiled, went for a walk and appreciated the world.

Mirror, Mirror Part 1

In by Lara on May 26, 2009 at 9:09 pm

Sunday:

He looked into the mirror. “I’m ugly.” He went to church, and prayed to God to be made more attractive.

Monday:

He looked into the mirror: “I’m ugly.” He went off to work, asked Elaine out and was rejected. “It’s probably because I’m so ugly.”

Tuesday:

He looked into the mirror: “I’m ugly.” He went off to work, and he spilled some sauce on his pants. “This will only contribute to my ugliness.”

Wednesday:

He looked into the mirror: “I’m ugly.” He went off to work, and got promoted. “It’s probably because they feel sorry for the ugly guy.”

Masquerade pt 2

In by Lara on May 26, 2009 at 8:38 pm

The carriage was cushioned and comfortable. There three other people—masked, of course, and it had only been about ten minutes when they came to an abrupt halt.

“Excuse me, this may seem silly, but do you know where this carriage is taking us?” she asked.

“To the landing dock,” replied the man to her right. His had on a very elegant boar mask.

“Are we here, then?”

“Not quite. I believe this is where we are supposed to shift.”

“Shift?”

“Yes…shift.”

Anne was thoroughly confused.

The man sighed. “Notify Boris. We have one of the guests in here by accident.”