blood fart

That's a dick move. I mean, if some rich dude is so hard up lonely that he is willing to pay that sort of cash for what most hookers get $20 for...let him have his moment and don't be a joykill by bringing in threats of destroying his wiener. Earn your money the right way.

I would do it. It's $50 million more than I have ever gotten for a mouth hug.

For that much money, I wouldn't be sad if any dude I knew did it. Shit, I would be mad if my mom turned down this offer. It's only going to be like 3-7 minutes, just man up and get it done.

You're my BFF for a reason. Besides the fact that you let me kick you in the face and never hold it against me. Pissing off balconies on cars for lyfe.

I can give you the names of more than a few people who would disagree with you. Then again, you're kind of a creep, too. I wouldn't have it any other way.

Also, I don't know if being a creep is a pre-requisite. But I am probably the biggest fucking creep you will ever have the pleasure of meeting. I make R Kelly look wholesome.

BSM to tha grave.

Speaking of beer, yesterday after work, a group of coworkers and I went down to the beer fest. It's the second largest beer fest in the world, next to Oktoberfest in Munich. While getting off the train, we all stopped to take a pee in a parking lot adjacent to the station. Walking toward the fest, we saw a dude taking a squatting shit next to the train station. In the middle of the day with a shit ton of people around. I made eye contact with him. Then immediately started laughing. He couldn't be bothered to care that about a hundred people could see him shitting. We went to the fest and got to drinking. Ended up finding out shit about my coworkers that I didn't really want to know. Such as the dude sitting next to me at the table has a choking fetish. And likes chicks with thick necks. Got home shitfaced and proceeded to send various messages to various friends on facebook. All of which were just total bullshit. So today I had to send messages retracting things that were said in a drunken mess. They weren't half as bad as some of the shit that came out of my mouth last night though. Went to work late and super tired. It was a common theme between everyone who went out last night. Fucked around for a few hours until I couldn't take it anymore. So I made myself a cubby hole to take a nap in. Behind some huge Rubbermaid bins. And a stack of fleecy soft baby blankets. Napped for about a hour, then decided to just go home and do it properly. I don't know if I can ship glass bottles of beer legally to the states. But I will look into it. If nothing else, I can send you some cans.

Dude had be doing "Man Makers" the other day. They make burpees feel like a vacation. That's all. I'm going to get my shred on now.

REUP is in my top 10 favorite rap painters out there. He's got style and charisma.

Scott was my "adopted" brother. His family disowned him, so mine took him in. He would hop a freight half way across the country to spend the holidays with my family. He had volunteered to go to Belieze to teach people how to prevent disease and shit like that. How to not die unnecessarily. While there, he was on an anti-malaria drug. On this drug, you can't drink, take any over-the-counter drugs and definitely not any illicit drugs. He came back to the states. To my family's house. He sent me a postcard in prison saying he would be there that weekend to see me and to make sure he was on my visitors' list. The next night, he drank some methadone and died. The anti-malaria drug hadn't worked it's way through his system and he had a toxic reaction. Some dirtbag dude basically watched him die and didn't do anything. He said he heard him gasping for breath for a few minutes. And then not. Because he had stopped breathing. The dude got up and left in the morning without telling anybody. My older brother found Scott dead on his couch. That weekend I did get a visit. It was my brother and my mother. In the 2 years I had been locked up, it was my second visit. The first being on my 21st bday from my mother. She showed up with 15 minutes left in visitation. And proceeded to immediately tell me that I looked like shit and a convict. I guess the fact that she came to visit me in prison wasn't enough of a sign that I was indeed a convict. Either way. My mother and brother came to see me. We had a nice two hour visit. I remarked on a ring my mother was wearing and how it was nice. The only reason I noticed is because she never wears rings or any jewelry. She told me it was for me and I would get it when I got out. Then they told me the reason they came to see me is to tell me that Scott had died. I lost it. And spent the next week in self-induced solitary. When I went back to the dorm, I let everyone know that if they valued their front teeth, that they would stay the fuck away from me until further notice. They listened. I guess it really sunk in because I was notorious for never showing emotion. So when they saw that I was genuinely destroyed, they knew it was serious. I spent a week trying to let it sink in. It ended up taking about five years to actually sink in. Even when I got out and in my bedroom were bags of all of Scott's belongings that were left for me to sort through. Like I said, for about five years, I would still expect him to show up and walk through the front door at any time. Most people in my life that have died, it never effected me at all. Because most people I would meet, I knew when I met them, that one of us was going to die at an early age. So I never really got attached to most people. The few people I let in and really loved and valued as friends, they have all died under different circumstances. A large number of suicides, which is not surprising. Usually resulting in some sort of mental/emotional breakdown for anywhere from 2 months to a year. Usually extremely self-destructive. Now I just try to meet people that are decent people that aren't in sketchy lifestyles and hope that it is enough to keep me from having to bury anyone else. And yeah. I am from Austin. The 58. Rundberg area.

I don't really get into machines too much, unless I am just trying to kill time while waiting for dude. I do about a hour of cardio on a bike or eliptical, then dude gets there and we do circuits. Mainly, I stick with shit involving med balls and kettle bells. It's all kind of Cross Fit/ p90x/ Gym Jones shit. Shit that makes you limp around always because of doing a million variations of squats.

But seriously, I am in Germany. They don't know about Stubb's here.

I don't know where we'll be moving to. Or when. But it will be back in the states somewhere. I'm definitely planning a few super radical top secret road trips. And CA is on the list. But who knows when that will happen. I have a few friends (and when I say few, I mean less than 10) that have managed to make it through and turn their lives around. Now they have careers and families and are decent people. That shit makes me happy. For reasons that are obvious. I still haven't thought of anything to write about. I have so much other shit to think about all day. Like future adventures. And getting totally pumped in the gym. Maybe after some pizza, I will come back fully energized and talk about something alright. Today in the gym, dude had be doing some shit called Man Makers. It's a burpee on steroids. A burpee is a hardcore pushup. So basically, I am beyond hardcore at this point in life Before he even got there, I did a 20-in-20. Which is on a stationary bike. Every minute, you go up 1 level in resistance. Until you reach level 20. And feel super fucking brutal. So I did some impressive shit like that. To try to make my legs total killing machines. Then I took it down a notch and did another 25 minutes on a easy level 9 resistance. Cause I got it like that. That's about all my life is now. Work. Gym. Pizza. Cats.

And if that's the most amazing house you've ever seen in your entire life...you need to step it up a notch. Get fancy or get bent.

I guess you lack all reading comprehension if from my story, you got that I thought any of it was "cool". It was a horrible shitty experience, which led me to severe depression and end up suicidal. Being hopeless is not cool. That is why I stopped doing all that shit. Nothing about that era of my life was anything that I would ever want to do again. And if I knew someone who was 30 and had posters from magazines thumb tacked to their walls and their house was cluttered with shit, I would not think it was awesome at all. I would think it was pathetic. But if you're 22 and all you do is get wasted and lure chicks to your house, this would be an alright place to have.

Not my couch in my house.

Also, the problem I have with having a stripper pole in your living room...it leads me to believe that there has definitely been sexings had on those couches. Sitting in old semen makes my party vibe disappear fast.

It would be about a million times more baller if you took down all the posters and just gave it a new paint job.

That is a cool set-up, if you're in the 18-25 age bracket. I would feel claustrophobic fast in that place because I need clean spaces. But yeah, good job. Even though I can imagine it smelling like stale cheap body spray, old semen, old beer, and wet dogs.

I will think today while I am at work of something worth talking about. It's too early for me to get into and tales right now. But I'll come back with something that may or may not be worth reading. And as far as my age. I'm currently 30. But people never believe me. I look eternally 23.

People always say I remind them of Bukowski. I take that as a compliment. I have plenty of tales involving booze and sluts, but they still reside in my head. I was probably about 23 maybe. Maybe a little younger. I have a hard time keeping track of shit like times and dates.

I already knew this. I made a remark once about how I am more Bubbles than Julian. It was answered by a "What are you talking about"

He played a part. In getting me away from a place where it was hard for me to break free from bad habits. And moving across the world at first was hard being so isolated from everything and everyone I know. But it helped me be able to concentrate on myself and doing what I need to do to get all my flaws in check and work on them. I realized that I don't need other people to destroy me or to fix me. That it is all me and I am the one person I can rely on. But really, I just wanted something better for myself. I am never satisfied with staying the same, so I always push myself to be something better. Even now, I don't feel like I can rest of my laurels and just ride it through. I push myself hard. Sometimes too hard. He can attest to that when we go to the gym and I make him wish he was dead. I have a "Never Say Die" mentality and everything that I do, I just try to do my best. Which I have come to realize that my best is pretty fucking awesome. My life is basically the longest after school special ever.

Eh. You aren't the first person to say that in relation to my story. Which I find kind of "funny", because I still don't think I've lived enough life. I mean. Right now I live in Europe. I get to take weekend day trips to Zurich or Munich or a myriad of other awesome places. I've done shit like take my dude to Madrid for a week for his bday. Realize life long dreams of wandering through walls made of human skulls in Paris. Get lost wandering in the Czech Republic and explore abandoned factories that are creepy to the max. I go places and start planning my next trip before I even get home. But even with all of that. I don't feel as if I have done enough yet. I guess that's a good sign though. Cause probably once I hit that point where I feel like I've "done it all"...then I would stop pushing my adventure limits and life would probably cease to be amazing. I make dreams a reality. It's kind of what I do.