Jason Rimbaud

I guess you could say that, maybe it's time to write another Blog.

So I guess I was quick on the draw when I said I hate the letter "M"...because I no longer hate the letter "M". Let the usual craziness resume... J

I hate the letter "M" and all that entails. J

It's no longer illegal in America Cole, so if you wanted, you could enjoy the marvelous affects of wormwood. And I wouldn't believe all the horror stories about people going crazy and or nuts. I'm sure if you were to drink a whole bottle or so maybe zaniness would occur.That being said, I remember writing this piece but I don't remember posting it online. And I know I woke up on the wrong end of my bed with all my clothes off but one sock and one shoe (not on the same foot) That being said, at least I had taken the time to clean up the supper dishes so the house was clean this morning.So I wouldn't recommend drinking half a bottle of that stuff unless you like waking up naked with your feet resting comfortably on the pillow.J

The other day I was walking to the B.A.R.T. (Bay Area Rapid Transit), which is another name for the local Subway system, it was late, sometime around 11:PM, when I was approached by three youths, they couldn't have been older than twenty. Even though I was listening to my I-Pod, I am aware of my surrounding, and when they stopped in front of me, barring my way to walk, I took out one of the ear buds, and looked at them blankly. The tallest one, which still didn't come up to my shoulder, told me in his broken accent, "This is my block, if you want to continue then we have to do a pocket check." Now I'm not completely hip with all the new lingo that is floating around the world, but being as I have spent some time on the streets in my youth, I immediately knew that this young youth was basically saying that since I was on his block, then he was going to take everything that was in my pockets. On Saturday, I was witnessed to another crime. This time it was a crack-head looking dude that was hanging around my restaurant's patio. Being that I am rather cynical, the moment I laid eyes on this dirty man, I knew that he was up to no good. I watched him for a few minutes, I first thought that he was going to try and steal something off our patio, maybe drinks from a table, or cash after someone paid for their check. I guess if you've been in the restaurant business as long as I have, then over time you start to develop a keen instinct when something isn't quite right. I'm not sure what it is, but just from the body language, I can usually tell when a guest is going to try and skip out on his check, or when a skittish looking crack-head is going to try something shady. This time, instead of the crack-head fucking me over, he walked over to the bike-rack that is located right in front of my restaurant, and after producing a pair of chain-cutters, he cuts the bike lock and then quickly jumps on the bike and pedals away. Two moments later, the dude who's bicycles the crack-head just stolen, walked outside of my restaurant. Now I don't know why those people who have a love of bicycling insist on wearing spandex. It's like something inside them drives them to wear the tightest garments known to humans, a way to showcase the goods so to speak. I like nothing better than to see a guy's goods. But should I really be able to tell what religion a particular human adheres too? Because no one looks good in spandex...not even Lance Armstrong. There comes a time when the garments you wear outshine the sport you have taken up to pursue. Cycling is one of those sports. And while I'm speaking on the subject of spandex, why is it those of us humans that are weight challenged are most of the ones that abuse spandex. Not even when I was at my best, spandex was never an option. Fuck all, I love riding my bike, but I have never once in all my life, thought I would be a better cyclist by wearing those stupid outfits. Do I really need to see if a cyclist has hemorrhoids or not? I don't think so. So the dude that just had his bicycle stolen, who was abusing spandex by the way, took off running after the crack-head who was pedaling his stolen transportation as fast as his half-failed lungs could propel him. I would probably make a considerable wager that by the time that very hour had elapse, crack-head had sold that bike and was already high from the profits. But try explaining that concept to spandex wearing wacko, especially after getting the privilege of watching him run down Embarcadero. In a way, it was very entertaining. He was circumcised by the way...so maybe spandex might be good for something. At least I knew I shouldn't be shouting out Jewish slurs toward him. Not sure if any of you are familiar with Absinthe or the sordid history of this wonderful green liqueur. But my hero, Arthur Rimbaud, and his older French lover, drank this almost exclusively. And a few months ago, I found out that this once outlawed drink was now available in America. Apparently, the powers that be have decided that the terror campaign that was once waged against this wonderful drink was a boatload of shit, they have now agreed that it's a harmless spirit that is no worse than a bottle of Vodka. As I type this, I am now drinking this particular beverage, and I must say, I am quite addicted already. It's more than a homage to my favorite poet and mentor, though I must admit I was first intrigued by this drink because of my love of Arthur Rimbaud, but as I sampled this intoxicating adult beverage, I am now completely encapsulated under it's spell. It's 68% alcohol, and a wonderful green color. Which is why Arthur Rimbaud and his contemporaries called this magical drink, the green fairy. They even went as far as to name this drink the poet's third eye. Now I haven't written poetry in quite a while but I understand why it's nickname is the third eye. As I am now drinking this wonderful beverage, and have been for a few hours, I feel so inspired. Is this inspiration due to Absinthe, is it due to my connection to Arthur Rimbaud, or is it due to my own misgivings and a desperate need to have a connection with a poet that completely saved my life in my teens? It really doesn't matter, I have given up writing poetry in any way. Matter of fact, I haven't written a new poetry piece in quite some time. I have two pieces that I have written and re-written a dozen times trying to get it right, that one day I will post online and will be the last two pieces of poetry that I will ever write. Even two years ago when I first started these pieces, I knew that they would be the last two pieces of poetry I would ever write. Maybe I am scared, maybe that's why I haven't been "able" to complete these pieces even after two years. Or maybe the reason I started writing poetry is obsolete now and I can't let go of the past. Either way, I am two pieces away of being Jason Rimbaud, the poet. Not that Absinthe has any bearing on this decision. I am simply following this train of thought to it's bitter end. I am so close to never writing poetry again and in a way it scares the living shit out of me. For so many years, Jason Rimbaud had been mainly known for his poetry. Yeah I've written a Blog that a few people have found amusing over the years, but I can pretty much assure that when asked who the hell is Jason Rimbaud, most people, if they even heard of me, would say he's that poet that has written a lot of pieces a few years ago. What have I written lately? So I was in the middle of a block and three thugs were demanding that I give them a pocket check. Being that I am not a silly little fag and that I am pretty much a fag that is accused of being straight by even those that know me truly well, I did what was completely in my nature. I took out my ear-bud, looked them over one by one, and said in my most centered voice, "It's going to take more than the three of you." I then put the ear-bud back inside my ear and promptly ignored the three fuck-heads that were standing in front of me. After a few moments, they retreated to either bother someone else or make their way back to their home. It really doesn't matter what they did, because in the end, bullies are nothing more than beings that feed off of fear, if you show them no fear, then they have no power. Make of this what you will...I have already made of this situation what I will...the rest is up to you. Jason

Maybe I should fill you all in on the other three days of vacation...hmm...for now it's off to the bar. Wish me luck.J

I've been on vacation for the last five days and I must say, I haven't done anything of importance. Okay, that's not really true, I have done things. Yet none of these things were things I had been needing to do. On Sunday, while on the train going home to start my five day vacation, I wrote this in my notes section of my handy dandy I-Phone...'Starting tomorrow, I'll be having five days off work, not really sure what I'll be doing or where I'll be going but it's time to find a warm hole and stick my dick inside it.' Lofty ideals huh...don't judge me, it's not my fault. I blame television. On Monday, I had a plan to go to San Jose to get Hot Wings from my favorite place, Smoke Eaters. I would like to take this time to admit to a problem...nay an addiction that I have been struggling with for ten years. The taste of a really spicy Hot Wing sauce is like nectar of the gods to me. This is a straight up addiction no fly by night flirtation. So much so am I addicted to this sauce, I could probably mainline the sauce on a daily basis. I even go as far as to dip my finger in the sauce and lick it off while I drink beer. I guess I love the way it burns my mouth and lips. Though I must admit, the next day, while doing certain daily activities it burns like I'm stuck inside the seventh level of hell. So I had this idea to go to San Jose and get Hot Wings from Smoke Eaters and then go back home with a case of beer and maybe a new video game and veg out in front of my big screen high definition TV. So on the way, I stop off at the local GameStop to see if there is a new game that might stir my interest. And boy, did I find more than I bargained for... Splinter Cell, the latest one, I was very interested in purchasing so I sauntered up to the counter to this delicious geek that was standing there in all his nerdy glory and asked if this game was satisfying. Apparently, he loved the game because he started talking a mile and minute, his hands wavering in weird motions and he was practically bouncing off the walls. He was a typical looking geek, long hair, scruffy beard that couldn't grow in all the way, dressed like a fashion reject from a bad eighties movie with a Spiderman T-Shirt that was two sizes too small for his lanky frame. I'll say it, sex on wheels. It's four o-clock in the afternoon, I'm on vacation, and I'm randy as goat. While he's going on and on about this game, I couldn't help but to laugh. I say, "You seem pretty excited about this game." "I am." "I usually don't get this excited outside of sex, how about you?" I say/asked, flashing him my most seductive smile. For a moment, he looks at me, then he smiles shyly and looks around before saying, "I get even more excited about sex." "What time do you get off?" "Five o-clock." "Fancy an after work blow job?" I ask bluntly. After all, I only have five days and I don't have time to beat around the bush. Plus I really wanted to eat my Hot Wings from my favorite place in San Jose and drink some beer. It was so cute, he looked down at his feet and turned his head, not bothering to look me in the eye. He mumbles, "I'm not gay." "It's okay, my mouth is gay enough for the both of us." Geek always taste better when it's straight geek. On Tuesday, I had to do laundry and wanted to give the apartment a good cleaning over. Wolfie had been on my ass lately about the streaks and dust on the TV so for a few hours, I lost myself in the mundane chores of keeping house. About seven o-clock, I worked up a mighty thirst so I showered quickly and headed off to the bar to find myself a dumpster. Figuring I would make this vacation's theme, Straight Week, I decided to only try and seduce straight boys. For the last few weeks, there is this little hottie straightie that hangs out at my local neighborhood straight bar, and we have been giving each other the eye. Or to be truthful, I have been giving him the eye and he's been giving me the eye when he thinks I'm not looking. That night I decide that I'm not just going to look from afar, I decide that he's going to be my dumpster for the night. Turns out his name is Brad and he wasn't completely straight. He goes to some college, he's getting his undergrad in some subject. I know, when he was talking I really was paying attention. As he sat on the stool beside me, I couldn't help but notice his bulge, it was so enticing and mysterious. He's okay looking, probably about a "5" with no visible spots. I buy him a drink, make some dirty chit and some flirtatious chat before I say let's go back to my place. "I don't need anything else to drink." "Me neither." I say, rubbing my hand across his prominent bulge. Undergrad students who try to be straight tastes better than your average gay undergrad. Must be something about their pheromones. Sometime last week, I was riding on the train on my way to work when I noticed this young couple sitting a few seats away from me. I would guess they were around sixteen or seventeen and they were making out pretty heavily like only kids can do in public. The girl was cute, curvy and had red hair. The boy was your typical EMO, dressed in black and wearing skinny jeans that couldn't be any tighter unless he just painted them on. But what stood out about this couple, after fifteen minutes of heavy petting, the boy was in a very aroused state. You have to love skinny jeans. The boy looked to be embarrassed about his predicament, trying to place his arm in his lap, his hands, anything so as his erection wouldn't be seen by either the passengers or even his make out partner. I believe the girl was oblivious as to his state and as I watched this for a few minutes, I couldn't help but to laugh. Here was this boy trying hard to hide his cock and yet he still wanted to make out with his girlfriend who's hands had started to roam about his body. As my stop was approaching, I folded up the paper I had been reading and as I walked past them to exit the train, I dropped the paper in his lap and smiled at him. He quickly placed it in the proper place and gave me a look that said he was more than grateful for my act of generosity. I walked off the train feeling like I had done my good deed for the month. On the way home, the very same day, I watched two people fucking on the train. It was surreal, I was on one end of the train car and they were on the other end. They saw me but they didn't care that I was watching. She was sitting on his lap and from the moans they were making, they were having a ball. So I did what any person would do in my situation, I took a picture. So much for my belief in Karma. Whatever good I did with the boy by giving him a paper, it didn't come back to me in the least. The topper to this little tale, she suddenly jumped off his lap and then her head disappeared and the guy almost screamed out in ecstasy. So I started clapping. They didn't even have the shame to look embarrassed. I guess I lost my Bay Area Rapid Transit cherry.

You might not have dug the grand canyon, but maybe you were there when it was only a ditch.... Higher priorities than an I-Phone...sacreligious DesHigher grade of twink than a two...bless you sirJ

The beginning?well that isn?t really the right place to start this particular tale. No not there, that would take more time then I could ask any sane person to suffer through. So instead of the beginning, I think I?ll start in the middle. I?ve never had much luck with relationships. For all my slutty ways, I?ve only ever been in three long term relationships. And for those of you that might not know, I?ll define the phrase ?long term relationship?. For me, long term relationship is defined, anything that last more than a week. What? I tell the truth, even if it?s ugly. It just so happens that most of my truths are a bit dirty. Last go back for a bit and I?ll tell you another dirty truth. My first long term relationship was with a boy named, Jason. You might remember this almost straight boy that held my heart in his hand so tightly. After all, I did agree to be his best man a few years later when he got married to this chick he met in a bar. Jason was also the same boy that showed up at my apartment the night before his wedding for a final taste of the love that dare not speak its name. (For those of you that are/might be interested in knowing more about this boy, check out my Blog at Awesome Dude for an entry called, I?ll Never Wear Boxers Again.) I guess it was his way of thanking me for not telling his soon to be wife about our ?special bond? and the four years we spent together. And if I am to be speaking truths right now, I must be honest. That sacrifice of silence nearly destroyed me. Jason never knew just how much I loved him. I know this as fact, because each time we slept together, I made sure to say what we were doing, was nothing more than fun. Two close friends helping each other out. I was so worried, petrified actually, about scaring him away, never daring to show my true feelings out of fear that he would run to the hills. That fear was founded on too many fucking conversations we had over the years. Often, usually the morning after our sex was particularly passionate, he would tell me that he wasn?t gay, and that his one wish in this journey we call life was to find a wife and have a family. At first I thought, scratch that, I hoped, it was nothing but bravado mixed with self denial. So I would downplay my feelings, hoping to give him room and the time to sort out his emotions. I remember there was a time about a year into whatever we were doing, that he was dating this chick from two towns over. Every single Friday night, after he got off work, he would drive forty-five minutes to her and be gone all weekend only to return to me Sunday night. What a fucked up pair we made back then, Monday thru Thursday, we lived together, ate together, laughed together, got drunk together, and slept together. And then Friday night he would leave. And every fucking time, I would swear that when he returned, I would tell him exactly how I felt. Sadly, I never really seemed to muster the courage. This went on for about four months. And trust me; they were the longest four months of my life. It was horrible, on the surface I had everything I ever wanted, never mind the small fact that I had to keep it all a secret and ignore that in front of our friends, I got to hear about this chick and how happy he was spending each weekend with her. It was taking a toll, I started drinking heavily again and that turned into treating him like shit, basically behaving like a jealous school girl who can?t understand that her English teacher is already happily married and has no intention of leaving his wife for a spoiled little girl. For a time, I really believed that our friendship was heading towards destruction. But then it happened. It was a Friday night, and just like always, he was packing his bag, preparing for his weekend of straightness, when I walked into his bedroom and sat on the bed. After a few moments of me watching him pack, he asked if I needed something. ?I love you, you know.? That was the first time I ever said those words to someone other than my fucked up family. He closed his bag, his back towards me and replied, ?I know.? I got up and walked out of the apartment. A few hours later, after many drinks and a sloppy blowjob from some random guy from the club, I return home to an empty apartment. It was the first time I ever fucked someone for the sole purpose of trying to feel alive. No matter how much I drank or how many blowjobs I got, I couldn?t fill the emptiness that consumed me. Sometimes, even when completely hammered, our minds can suddenly have a single lucid thought that shifts everything into place and the world becomes shockingly clear. Sitting on my empty bed, clutching his pillow to my chest, and through the self-loathing and Vodka haze, I knew that I could no longer go on fooling myself. Jason and I would never be truly together and I would be better off moving on. I didn?t even care that one of us would have to move out of our apartment, all I knew is I couldn?t do it anymore. Sometime around 3 am I passed out, fully intending to end it with Jason the moment he returned Sunday night. Around 3:45, I was rudely awoken by someone shaking me. And much to my surprise, it was Jason. He crawled into bed and pulled me close. He kissed my cheek and when I tried to talk, he put his finger against my lips and told me to go back to sleep. And in the morning, we woke wrapped in each others arms. And in that moment, I was truly happy. Sadly that moment didn?t last long because Jason started whispering in my ear as he held me tight. He told me that he loved me but wasn?t in love with me. He also apologized for leading me on. He said he knew that I wanted more from him but since I never came out and said it, he chose to ignore it because being with me filled a void and he hated to be lonely. He had decided for the sake of our friendship, that we had to stop sleeping together. And it worked, for a time, but whatever it was between us, was to powerful and a few months later we started the whole thing again and it lasted another two years before I moved to a different city in a different state on the opposite end of the country to get away from him. I guess Jason knew me better than any other human on this planet and I think that night in my bed was the only time he was completely honest with me and to this fucking day, I still believe it was a load of shit. Sad, I know, but how I wish for those confusing times again. Anything would be better than the last three weeks.

I guess I'm in love with my I-Phone. There I've said it...publically and everything. With all the applications you can download, I'm surprised it's not listed as one of the worlds greatest something or other. Let's face it, it beats the shit out of the Grand Canyon. (Sorry Des) Though now that I think about it, the I-Phone should come with an ugly people spotting application for those of us that take a drink from time to time. It would've came in handy for me last night. I'm not saying the little twink that shared my bed was a two but he was definitely a two. *shudders* I was accused of not making sense the other day at work...to which I replied, "When I'm this dead sexy, I don't have to make fucking sense." There is a server at the restaurant I now call home, let's call him "D", who isn't really that good of a server. But the guests love him and he has a good heart so I keep him around. But after screwing up for the thousandth time the other night, I look over at the bartender and say, "Good thing "D" is attractive, because his smarts isn't going to take him anywhere." Why isn't Florida called, 'God's Waiting Room'? Since I got clean and sober, I'm finding it harder and harder to remain slim, I know, the drugs were killing me and my behavior was erratic at best. But at least I was thin. So what if I was bald, at least I was thin. Now, I'm still bald and at what my friends call a healthy weight...which is code for fat ass. And to make matters worse, the hair that I'm losing on top of my head is now showing up in the craziest places. Why would your ears ever need hair? For that matter, why would your back, blissfully free of hair for thirty-three years suddenly sprout what I can only describe as fur. And before you all freak out, I do a bit of manscaping to keep the Sasquatch on my back under control. But it's all a bother really. And yet instead of going to the gym, I'm sitting here typing this drivel while drinking a beer after I just ate half a pizza. Maybe I deserve this fat ass staring back at me from the mirror. I guess I really don't want to be perfect anymore. Damn-it all, I am quite happy. Maybe that's all I really need. Jason

Camy, I really liked One Voice....what a difference the finished track sounds like from the first demo I heard years back. The quality is amazing and I'd come see you perform if you were in the States. I haven't kissed a rockstar (chaste of course) in years. Fucking brilliantJason

And here it goes again...Wibby just won't stay gone...shit Jason (really happy that you're back, it's been all warm fuzzy bunny slippers for way too long)

I was in a bar earlier tonight and this black guy I have never met before comes over and says, I quote, "For a white boy, you have mad flavor." I'm not really sure what "mad flavor" is, but I gots it. So why would this stranger come over and say things I don't really understand? I guess I should start at the beginning. Well, not that far back, I don't think even my loyal reader would stick around to read this Blog Entry if I started at the beginning. So lets start from a beginning. I got pulled over the other night on the , way home from work. Apparently my left brake light was shorted out and where its not really illegal it does give the police a good reason to pull someone over at one AM in the morning so they can check and see if that someone has been drinking before getting behind the wheel of their little car. Doesn't that make you all warm and fuzzy bunny slippers? And unfortunately for me, I reeked of booze. And before you go all high moral road on me...I was not drinking. Matter of fact I hadn't had a drink in over a week at the time of this incident. Though if I were to be in this situation as I type this, I would be hammered. But the good news, I'm not driving a car right now. And even better news, I probably couldn't find my car right now. The pig...err...I mean police officer says, "Do you know why I stopped you?" "Not really." "Your left brake light is out." Then he leans in closer to my open window and says, "Have you been drinking?" "No." The bully in blue uniform goes, "License and registration please." This is the part of the story where I tell both of my readers (I know...I'm gaining readership) that as of this moment, I currently have an expired drivers license. Don't look at me like that, it's not that I did it on purpose. I'm no criminal. It's not like I get carded anymore, so I haven't looked at my license since I got the damn thing five years ago. So I have been driving illegally since my birthday back in January. I'm such a rebel. *insert devil horn hands* After taking a look at my expired driver's license, and the kick-ass picture, the donut eating machine says, "Can you step out of the car please?" We had a really busy day at work, so busy that I had to jump behind the bar, in a suit I might add, and help the bartender sling drinks for two hours. And do you know how hard it is to sling drinks wearing a suit and tie? Pretty fucking hard, matter of fact, so hard that I ended up spilling a few drinks all over myself. Cut back to the car at one AM, not only does this pig think I'm drinking and driving, he thinks I'm a dick with no respect for the law. There goes that warm and fuzzy bunny slippers feeling. I step out of the car, quite gingerly I might add. Work has been crazy busy and I'm not as young as I once was, my feet hurt, I think I tore a back muscle hefting around a keg of beer, so stepping out of the car isn't really true. I hauled myself out of the car, a bit unsteady on my feet. Sadly this didn't help me look stone cold sober either. "I swear, I haven't been drinking." Again the officer looked into my eyes and said, "I don't believe you. You smell like you've been drinking and you don't look that steady on your feet." I am a smart ass, but even I know when to keep my big fat mouth shut. So instead of saying, 'well you're eyes look glazed does that mean you've been eating donuts' I simply let the thought die inside my head. While I'm on the subject, why does every single police officer in the world have the same haircut? It's always shaved close on the side of the head and then on top they have this really bad crew cut. Seriously, next time you seen a cop, look at the haircut, they all match. So the patrolman sends me on a series of stupid tests designed to do nothing or tell nothing either than make your heart pump harder so any alcohol that's in your stomach reaches your bloodstream faster to give the cops a higher blood alcohol content reading. I had to walk a straight line, which is very difficult when your feet have swelled up the size of melons. I had stand on one leg and count to twenty with my head tilted back, touch my nose without looking, and my personal favorite, saying the alphabet back wards. Which ironically, I have absolutely no problem doing right now drunk as hell. After about twenty minutes of this useless shit, the dick head says he has reasonable doubt that I am indeed under the influence and demands that I take a Breathalyzer test. In the meantime, while the first cop was frowning at me for my blatant disregard of the law, two more police officers show up. I'm on the side of the road, about two blocks from my house, and three cops are gathered around, all who frown when cop number one says I am driving without a license and my brake light is broken. From the look on their collective faces, I am scum. Matter of fact I am wondering when one of those crazy S.O.B.'s is going to pop a cap in my ass. You have seen the footage about that BART cop last New Year's Eve who had that black guy on the ground, three of them holding him down, and the BART cop pulls his gun and shoots him in the back. That happened not that far away from where I live in the Bay Area. Check the footage on Tube if you haven't seen it yet. I can almost feel the pleasure oozing out of the cops, they think without a doubt that I am drunk, and I'm only a Breathalyzer test away from them making a shit ton of money and probably a bonus for busting a DUI. Did you know that? Police departments have a running contest each month, where the police officer with the most DUI's get a cash bonus. And you wonder why real crime is rampant in the world? The cops are all staking out bars trying to bust little Suzy who had one shot of Yagermister and two warm draft Coors Light instead of stopping violent crime like rapists and murders. You go Barney Fife. So they give me this little tube and I blow into it. And much like I knew it would, the results show I have zero blood alcohol content. The cop looks at the machine, and then back at me, and says, "There must be a malfunction." He takes me to another police cruiser and a different machine where I repeat my blowing. I wonder if I had been drinking, and failed the machine blowing thing, I wonder if they would allow me to go to another cruiser and blow again. Anyway, the results said again, ZERO. And now they aren't happy at all. It's now after two thirty AM, catching another drunk driver is all but impossible since all the bars are now closed and everyone is safely home. All the police gather around the machine and finally admit that not only have I not been drinking but I am completely sober. And do you know what, they don't apologize for wasting my time. The cop looks at me and says, "I could make it that you lose your license for a year, enough time has passed. How would you like that? Driving is not a right, it is a privilege for those Americans that follow the rules." I really didn't know what to say to that. This cop is so mad at me that I'm not drunk, something he should be happy that I don't drink and drive, but he's in my face, his face is red and his veins are sticking out. For a moment I think I'm in the twilight zone or something. Why is he so mad at me? I wanted to scream back at him, but I didn't, because I'm intelligent. So instead, I stand there, not saying anything unless he asks me a direct question, while he writes me up a ticket for an expired drivers license and another warning fix-it ticket for my brake light, and a warning that the next time he seems me on the road, I better have a current driver's license. So what did we learn... That cops get really mad if you smell like alcohol but haven't really been drinking and that I can't pass a sobriety test while completely sober. And apparently, I'm so gay that I can't change a brake light on my car without cutting my hand and ripping out the carpet lining in my truck. Thank god for my neighbor who had pity on me and changed the light for me. So I bought him a beer at the local bar and proceeded to get so drunk, and tell my story to anyone who wanted to listen. And while at the bar, after another telling of this story which started to get more and more blown out of context, this black guy comes over and give me a hug, and says, "For a white boy, you have mad flavor."

I understand the desire to lick ones own nuts...though a dog? That's just fucked up...Jason

So since I first posted this piece back in 2006, I have changed more than a few things. Not only have I taken Des's advice but I have had two new parts and have changed the name to Stages of Heaven. And seeing as I haven't been posting anything on these forums in a very long time, I figured I could give everyone the entire piece in all of its raw and ugliness. So here is the piece, I hope you enjoy it. Stages of Heaven By: Jason Rimbaud Edge of Heaven I awake to the sound of rain Drumming on the roof of my red convertible A bottle of Vodka rings in my head And the blonde that gave me this nightmare Lying beside me on the seat My eyes focus on the bottle of pills Lying on the floor next to the accelerator Ironically placed for an empty bottle once containing ?E? The euphoria of the drug had disappeared with the morning My mouth is dry My lips cracked and coated with some unknown substance Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand The memory of the previous night comes crashing back The sex was rough and sweaty Violence mixed with lust that could only be fulfilled By the emptying of ones essence into a willing receptacle I awake to the sound of rain Drumming on the roof of my red convertible The droplets rolling down the window Matching the imaginary tears that fall down my cheeks A pack of cigarettes rests on the dashboard I grab one And draw the dark harsh smoke deep into my lungs Glancing over at the blonde sleeping beside me My eyes run over the contour of his lithe body Already I can see the beginnings of several bruises Purple mixed with yellow against the pale skin of his back In his sleep he moves slightly I imagine him dreaming about the pleasures Pleasures I introduced to him last night I awake to the sound of rain Drumming on the roof of my red convertible The drumming matching the shallow heartbeat Of the blonde lying beside me I shove his legs off my lap And casually touch the end of my cigarette against his bare leg Gentle Almost caressing I use just the tip This touch causes him to moan And move a bit further away from me Images of us floats across my subconscious Images that will cause him intense self-loathing Flexing my arms above my head I stretch Wincing as pain shoots up my left arm Looking at my arm I see deep scratches Starting from my wrist and ending just below my armpit Another memento from my endless night's searching I awake to the sound of rain Drumming on the roof of my red convertible I awaken and remembered everything Conversation from the Edge of Heaven Shaking the blonde, I say, 'Wake up, it's time for you to go.' But there is no reply Barely even a grunt I smile and my face twists with disgust I punch him hard in the ribs And repeat, 'Get up! You have to go.' Groaning, he opens his eyes slowly I stare into his eyes eagerly Relishing the change I see Last night they were perfect blue orbs Today they are glazed and bloodshot He asks, 'Where am I?' 'The edge of heaven.' My grin now feral and harsh 'Now get the fuck out of my car.' For a moment he stares up at me Confusion showing on his face in a range of emotion I find him and his emotions quite pathetic Reaching over his body I open the car door The rain rushes inside the car Falling across his naked flesh With one swift motion I push him from the car He lands in the soft mud His once pale body now blackened from the filth And the bruises of our night of lust 'My clothes,' He stammers out Already shivering from the wind and rain Looking around the interior of my car I spy my used boxers on the seat beside me Grabbing them I throw them at his head 'Here.' And then I press the accelerator to the floor The powerful V-8 engine caused the car to lurch forward The car door slams shut As I speed away into the morning storm Leaving the boy crying and naked in the mud Rain falls upon his battered body And I wonder briefly how he'll make it home But by the time I light another cigarette The boy is forgotten Fading into another blurred memory In my long search to escape the edge of heaven Crazed Nights on the Edge of Heaven I arrive at the club shortly after one AM My blonde hair is loose about my shoulders I had decided on a pair of faded brown leather pants A sleeveless fitted T and my favorite pair of boots I look something like a hunter searching for prey As the bouncer eyes me up with a mischievous grin I pay the twenty dollar cover charge I dazzle him with a smile and enter the club laughing It will take more than a nice body to get my attention For tonight I am looking for something epic The club is dark giving off a fa?ade of beauty and mystery Rows upon rows of black lights litter the walls And flashing lights and revolving strobes Cause a never ending flashbulb affect that assaults the senses And leaves one with an euphoric high long after the sun rises Returning several smiles I casually stalk through the throng Relishing the stares I receive by the many drunken inhabitants I move gracefully eyeing up several promising candidates With a smile that could only be described as feral I wait for the twink behind the bar to notice me Catching the bartender?s eye I smile and nod my head A smile that I know will get me moved to the front of the line As he walks by again he makes sure to smile back at me And he thrusts his cotton covered ass out for me to stare at I grin and oblige him by giving it a thorough examination He screams out to be heard over the music, ?What?ll be sweetie?? Grinning, I answer loudly, ?Any imported beer you have.? ?None of that domestic shit for you,? He says, flirting with me He doesn?t know just how true that statement really is I was looking for something truly exotic this night I turn my attention back to the mass of dancing flesh before me Taunt bodies glistening under the lights to the pulsing beat of the music Out there in that sea of bodies was the lucky boy The one that would accompany me to the back room of the club And beg me to ravish his body only to leave them wanting more This obsession of dancing is one I never truly understood I come to these clubs for one thing and one thing only To find some poor unsuspecting boy and use him as a cum dumpster And out of the hundreds of boys on the dance floor Only two caught my attention and sent my imagination rolling One was a barely twenty something with a body built for fucking Narrow waist, toned muscular back with long legs His brown hair, gelled and pushed forward, was damp with sweat The only clothing to adorn his form was a pair of faded blue jeans And stamped across his ass was a red star that reminded me of a bull?s eye The other was a fellow blonde, his hair short and plastered down He also wore blue jeans but had a long sleeve white shirt as well I could see through the wet material to the tone body underneath Blondie?s muscles were straining to keep up the furious pace he set The intensity on his face makes me ponder how far he?d go to please me Both twink?s would make the perfect bottom for me this night And I wanted them both though for different reasons The blonde looked more experienced moving around the floor With a kind of confidence that only comes with sexual prowess I feel like a kid in a candy store that must choose only one item But Red Star looked to be shyer under the lights Like this was something new but he was willing to experience it all I gulp down another swallow of beer and watch both intently Both were dancing with two average looking boys And I notice that neither seems overly interested in their partners I down the rest of my beer and hand off the bottle to some old queen I grab his crotch and give it a small squeeze as a way of payment And ignore his smile as I walk across the dance floor I make my decision and keep my eyes intent on my prey I choose Red Star, I guess I like the nervous look that creeps into his eyes Hoping my instincts are right, I walk over to where he?s dancing I step between the two boys, my hand running down Red Star?s chest Stopping just shy of his faded blue jeans and look at his face I catch my breath as I stare into the bluest eyes I?ve ever seen Without realizing it we start moving together to the pulsing music Up close Red Star is even sexier then I had first expected He has high cheekbones and a narrow nose with thin lips That looks absolutely soft yet firm at the same time My hand creeps up to his neck and I pull him close He returns my lustful gaze with a nervous smile Red Star?s arms snake around my waist as he gains confidence He pushes himself tighter against me and I feel the heat from his body I can smell traces of cologne on his body mixed with sweat A fragrance that is all male and intoxicatingly innocent I continue my probing stare into those endless pools of blue By now a thin layer of sweat covers my body I feel it dripping down my chin and rolling down my chest Tickling my stomach before being absorbed into my leather pants Red Star?s hands finds my ass and pulls me closer to his sweaty form His other hand rakes across my back as we gyrate to the music I know I made the right choice when I saw the unbridled lust in his eyes With every thrust of my hips I could feel his cock grinding into me With every rake across my back he is urging me to take him I had him right where I want him I only had to show him So I show surprise when he leans in and presses his lips against mine I have been kissed by numerous boys and know each one has a different style Some kiss hard, their mouths open wide, almost engulfing mine While others are gentle, as if they are politely asking me for access But this kiss was different, like maybe it was his first time kissing a boy Like he is trying it out, comparing this sensation to other experiences Blushing deeply Red Star presses his lips hard into mine again This time with the same urgency I feel in his caress I grab Red Star?s hand and drag him towards the stairs This leads down into the backroom of the club I am surprised when he comes along willingly, almost urgently As we descend into the semi-darkness of the backroom I can see men all around us in various states of undress Some of these men were sucking and some were even fucking But all were moaning in pleasure as they searched for quick release I notice Red Star?s eyes widen at the sight of so many men having sex He grabs my hand tighter and continues walking further into this orgy Finding an empty space against the wall I push him against it I devour his mouth hungrily, invading the space with my tongue I caress his chest roughly, pinching his nipples until they are red I continue to kiss him even as I lose myself in the impending release Turning him around I press his face into the wall Even as I bite and suck on the flesh of his neck I fumble with the button of his pants as he reaches for my cock Ripping down his pants I grin when the whiter flesh comes into view I growl loudly at the sight before me and lust takes over With one hand I stroke his cock as my other hand opens my pants Without bothering to waste time by pulling them all the way down I pull out my cock and press it against his trembling flesh Rubbing along his crack I tease him, waiting for him to beg All rational thought burns away in the aftermath of his scream Biting his neck hard enough to leave marks on his tanned skin I slam myself deep inside him not stopping until I can go no further Crying out in pain mixed with pleasure he pushes back against me His hands and arms holding himself upright away from the wall With every thrust he clenches down causing me to push wildly into him By now both of us are grunting as we lose ourselves in the moment My shirt clings to my back as I concentrate on the vice around my cock Leaning my head on Red Star?s back I reach around and grab him Finding the natural rhythm of our bodies I know it won?t be much longer He is the ultimate bottom, wriggling around as I jab into him Clenching his muscles tightly each time I withdrawal He meets each of my thrusts with wild abandonment I feel something wet on my hand as Red Star yells out His seed exploding all over the wall before us Bringing my hand to his lips he cleans them as I fuck him Feeling the familiar tightening I push inside him as far as I can And moan as the sensation shoots from my groin and into his body Resting my head against his back I try to recover my breath He turns his head around and tries to kiss me again But I push his head away even as I hear clapping around us I look around and notice several guys had gathered around us watching I could tell some of them are hoping for their turn of our frenzied fucking Grabbing a shirt out of the hands of one of the bystanders I pull out and wipe my cock off on the shirt before zipping up Giving the shirt back I make my way up the stairs and out to the street The memory of Red Star fades as I open the door and speed away into the night By the time I arrive back home I will have forgotten the entire encounter My mind already focusing on the next twink, the next anonymous fuck He?ll be another blurry memory to go along with the memory of ?him? Just a usual night in a string of nights that makes up my life

This really a small piece that's connected to a much larger piece. As of right now, it's about twenty pages. I know.... But I'm working on the editing part. When it's finish I'll post it here. Thanks everyone Jason

What Have You Done? By: Jason Rimbaud He was in the shadows Standing alone Was he there, was he not? I stepped up A mask covering my eyes The air was still and so was he I walked up holding my breath In truth I knew This was the moment of his death I had but one chance I grabbed his arm and pulled him close Wanting him to savor the warm night air What have you done? He screamed to the night Then over to the wall His back towards me Smaller and vulnerable than in life His hair damp with sweat And clinging to his ears and neck Our love was suppose to protect us It didn?t Our love was suppose to heal us It didn?t I had begged you not to leave me You did A finger on the hammer sounded a click His body still and red Is this what our love looks like?

It's been almost two months since I started my new bright and shiny job in San Francisco...you know the one I'm talking about. The job that was suppose to give me more time to myself, time I could use to write. Well that dream was held up and then smashed to pieces right before my very eyes. I won't make NaNo this year, matter of fact I failed miserably. Oh don't you worry you crazy kids, I'll punish myself accordingly later. I had such high hopes and plans, but life keeps fucking me up lately. I get up and go to work, barely having time to wash my body much less touch myself in dirty ways. I still know what my dick looks like, I just haven't beaten it for a while. (and it might owe me money by now) I want to tell you about the guy I caught jerking off outside my restaurant window a few weeks ago, but I can't. Because I'm working to fucking much to take the time to relay the tale. I want to tell you about the old queen that sat down at my restaurant and got so drunk he pissed himself sitting in his chair in my restaurant, but I can't, I have to go to work early tomorrow morning and just don't have the strength to tell you about. Or the guy I got arrested because he tried to walk out on a $124 check without paying. Or how I walked across the street and caught him in another bar before dragging his broke ass back to my restaurant where I called the police. Not to mention that he owed the other restaurant for the drinks he consumed on their premises before I drug him out by his ear. And then there was this guy on the train that was so hot I decided to make out with between Daly City stop and Colman street station. So hot and heavy this make out session was, by the time he got off on his stop, I was standing there with a solid rock erection showing proudly for the rest of the passengers to stare out while I tried to wipe off the stupid grin on my face. And then later on in the grocery store when I was doing my weekly shopping, and my mind drifted back to that hot make-out session with this hot guy that I popped another boner all of a sudden and when I turned around, this lovely old lady was standing there, staring at my bulging pants with a horrified look on her face. (though I'm sure she has seen a penis erect before, I don't know why she was so offended) Do you have any idea how "hard" it is to do the weekly grocery shopping with a burning erection leading the way? I bet you don't, because I'm sure I'm the only one that is afflicted with man's greatest reflex. Fuck me, I'm way to sleepy and maybe a bit drunk to tell you about my last two months. So I'm sure I'll just take more pictures to send to random friends and go to bed. Sleep tight you crazy kids, I know I'll be sleeping restlessly. Jason

Cole, sometimes I am a bit on the stupid side...especially when I'm not the one on the prowl. I can be so oblivious when someone likes me, and If I'm not attracted to them, I am downright idiotic. So sometimes I have to get hit over the head with it, but Alex was so unexpected...in a good way.Matter of fact, he just left about an hour ago...after making me breakfast. A feat I won't have him repeat either, how can someone in their upper twenties burn eggs, toast, even the fucking orange juice. Next time, I cook...Jason

So Bruin, a burrito is a traditional Mexican dish, you take a corn tortilla and stuffed it with chicken, steak, or any other meat or veggie, add onions, sour cream, avocado, maybe cheese, refried beans and then wrap it closed and eat it. I'm not a fan, especially anything from Taco Bell, which is nothing but American food disguised as Mexican. Now a beaner, a beaner is a slang term that is used as a negative towards Mexican's. It's like calling a black person a "n" word, and much like using the word "n", beaner is only acceptable if used by a mexican towards another mexican.Jason

Have you ever heard the expression dipping your pen in the company ink? If you have, then you know that?s what they call it when you sleep with someone you work with. And since most of you know about my little fling with Mark, my semi-straight co-worker who I had a year long crazy affair with, you also know I?ve been to that movie already and by the end of it all I ended up firing him for stealing from my hip up-scale restaurant. You would think I had already learned my fucking lesson. And I guess you could say I had learned my lesson?or at least I learned my lesson six months ago. But apparently I forgot that lesson a few weeks ago. And this instance happened before I got my new job, a job I start this coming Monday. Where, by the way, instead of working for 65 hours a week, I?ll be working only 40 hours a week. So a few weeks ago, a whole bunch of us from work went to Ruby Sky, San Francisco?s biggest nightclub, for an AID?s benefit. We met in the city around 4pm, figuring we?d have dinner together and hang out drinking and such until the show started. Because I?m somewhat of a snob, I choose not to stay in the Motel 6 like everyone else. I instead choose to stay at a fine boutique hotel called the Palomore, about six blocks away from the nightclub. I decided to go all out and book a large suite with a Fuji-style tub and a large stone shower with glass doors and a king size bed. I must admit, the room was pretty fucking sweet. And one of my simple joys, whenever I get a few days off, I like to go somewhere and get a nice hotel room. It?s one of my little quirks that make?s me feel all warm fuzzy bunny slippers. For some reason, all my co-workers wanted to see this room; apparently they had never stayed in a room that costs $400 dollars a night. One of my co-workers, let?s call him Alex, declared that if I didn?t hook up with anyone that night, then he wanted to come back to my room and get in the Fuji-Tub. I know me, and just how big of a slut I am, I told him it was fine to come back to my room, if I didn?t hook up with anyone at the nightclub. I forgot about the exchange, and we went to dinner. So to give you a good picture of how much is a whole bunch, we asked for a table for six, four girls and two guys. Everyone at the table knew that I was gay; the four girls were a mix of single, taken, and married. But what we didn?t know was anything about Alex. Quick back story on Alex: Alex is twenty-six, straight blond hair, not very tall but quite slender, and is extremely private. He?s worked at the hip up-scale restaurant for six months or so and this was going to be my first time hanging out with him outside of work. And the girls, though they hung out with him before, said he was fun but a bit shy and never spoke about personal issues. Once at the restaurant, we all decided to forgo ordering individual entr?e?s and instead ordered a shit-ton of starters to share. Alex and I had our eye on the steak appetizer; matter of fact, we both ordered one. I guess you could say we love to eat meat. God that was a bad horrible pun?I?m sorry. Anyhoo, we had pretty much consumed everything and all that was left was one piece of this scrumptious steak starter. Alex and I both went for the last piece, our forks stabbing into the marinated cow at the same time. For a moment we sat there, staring at each other, our arms steady and unflinching. ?My fork was here first.? Alex says. ?I?d have to argue against that.? I reply. ?A Mexican standoff, how cosmopolitan.? He says before whistling the famous opening of The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly. ?Well, I just happen to have my gun handy.? I state, grinning like the cat that ate the cannery. ?Better watch out, I?d hate for your gun to go off to soon.? This from Alex, who had leaned forward to get closer to me, his eyes sparkling. ?And that would disappoint you?? I quip, leaning forward as well. Alex shrugs, ?I?m use to disappointment. You?ve been my manager for six months.? So after dinner, we head to Ruby Sky. The place was packed, a mixture of drag queens, breeders, twink?s, over the hill queers, leather boys, bears, and of course me. As I looked around the club, I saw an open spot at the corner of the bar right next to the dance floor. I staked my spot and settled in for a night of drinking and flirting. I was pretty much the purse watcher; I stayed at the bar while everyone else danced their collective asses off. And since I always tip heavy, my drinks were made faster and quite a bit stronger than everyone else?s. Matter of fact, by the end of the night, the bartender wasn?t even charging me for drinks anymore. At the end of the night, right before the bartender gives us the last shot, he asks, ?Are you guys driving?? Alex yells out, ?After all the fucking shots you gave us and all the drinks we had, you ask us now if we?re driving?? ?Yeah, shouldn?t you have asked us that question a few hours ago?? I ask, laughing very drunkenly. We toasted the bartender and Alex and I helped the very drunk ladies out of the club and into a cab, the six of us piled in the backseat in an orgy of giggles and groping. Once we got back to their hotel, one of the girls was getting a bit sick so I carried her into the room and right into the bathroom where she spent the next several hours hugging the toilet. The other three girls were very drunk as well, and they had reached the stage of annoying. Plus they pulled out the pot pipe, and that was my cue to leave. I said my goodbye?s and walked out of the room and down the hallway and into the street where I looked for a cab. ?Hey, Jason, wait for me.? Alex says, running out of the hotel after me, his bag thrown over one shoulder. I grin and say, ?Too scared to stay in a room filled with drunken girls.? ?The drunk girls are right up my alley but I?m not a fan of pot.? Alex says, shrugging. ?And you did promise.? ?Yeah I did.? We get back to the Hotel Palomore and after a very quiet elevator ride, I open the door. We enter the room and Alex rushes right into the bathroom. I remember that I have a mini bar in the room and I yell out, ?Do you want another drink?? He pokes his head out of the bathroom and looks at me funny and asks, ?Don?t you think I?m drunk enough?? ?That?s really not up to me is it?? I say while I make myself a vodka and orange juice, not really caring how much that little bottle of vodka was probably going to cost me along with the bottle of orange juice. Alex disappears back into the bathroom and I suddenly hear water running. I walk in the bathroom and lean against the door, grinning. He reminded me of a little kid, filled with wonder and excitement. He was pressing all the buttons and making little squeals when he found out what that particular button did. He turns and looks at me with a huge grin, ?This is so fucking cool.? He?s cute, something I never thought about before. It must be the vodka because I?m not doing this again I think. But it does occur to me that Alex is the guy I hired to replace Mark. Kind of creepy? Alex takes off his shirt and puts it on the toilet seat and then drops his pants. He stands there, his arms wrapped around his body, staring as the tub fills with water. He looks at me, and asks, ?You going to get in?? Granted this tub is large enough for two comfortably, hell we could squeeze in three if there was a party. But I found it a bit strange that he would want me to join him in his soak. But I was drunk and said, ?Sure.? I take off my shirt and pants and then finish my drink. The tub is filled about half-way so I tell him I?m going out to the balcony for a smoke. Five minutes later I stumble back inside. One lamp in the bedroom is turned on, the lowest setting and all the lights in the bathroom are off. I ask, ?Why no lights?? I can see him in the tub, the water almost to his neck. He replies, ?The lights were hurting my eyes.? I shrug and climb in my side of the tub. And I must admit it felt good after a long night of drunkenness. I leaned back and enjoyed the soothing bubbles. After a few minutes, Alex says, ?I think I?m ready for another drink.? ?You decided you aren?t drunk enough?? I ask closing my eyes and letting the water take over. ?Something like that.? ?The vodka is over by the TV; make me another one as well.? He stands up to get out of the tub and his boxers damn near slide off his skinny frame, showing me a good portion of his left cheek. So I say, ?Nice ass.? He climbs out and looks at me, his boxers still down under his cheek, and says, ?You can?t really say that, you only saw half of my ass.? ?I?m assuming the other half looks pretty much like this half. I can put two and two together.? ?Not even the slightest.? He says as he turns around and pulls down the other side and tucks it under his cheeks. And I have to agree with him, his right cheek looks nothing like his left cheek. There is a tattoo that reminds me of a masquerade mask, the one that was used in the movie, The Crow. I leaned forward to get a better look in the half-light and say, ?Nice.? ?My ass or the tattoo?? I lean back and shut my eyes, and say, ?Take your pick.? ?Then I choose both.? ?So be it.? After a few minutes he returns with the drinks and climbs back inside the tub. It had been driving me crazy so I asked, ?Why the tattoo on your ass?? ?Why not?? I look at him, cocking my head to one side. He laughs and takes a drink, then he sinks down until only his mouth, nose, and eyes were above water. He then asks, ?So what happened tonight?? ?Not sure I understand the question.? ?I guess you?re just a pretty face then.? ?At least both of my cheeks match.? ?Okay, so we know you don?t have a tattoo on your ass, what about your carpet?? I open my eyes and stare at him, or what I can see of him, and ask, ?Are you asking me if my carpet matches the drapes?? He sits up and says bluntly, ?Yes, does your pubes match your hair color?? ?Um, I?m bald. So that question really doesn?t count, unless you?re asking if I shave my pubes.? He started laughing so hard his head went under the water for a moment and he quickly popped back up spitting out water. I say, ?That?ll teach you.? He glares at me and then says again, ?So what happened tonight? Why didn?t you find someone? Aren?t you supposed to be a huge slut?? ?I was actually having fun with you crazy guys, I just didn?t want to think about it.? ?Are maybe you just wanted me to come over and get into your Fuji-Tub?? ?Are you flirting with me, Alex?? I ask, suddenly very interested in our bizarre conversation. He laughs and lets his body float up to the surface and says, ?Maybe.? Even though it?s dark in the bathroom, I can still make out the nice bulging front of his boxers. He was not excited by any means; it was almost like he was showing me the goods, giving me assurance that should things get interesting between us, I would be more than satisfied with what he would be bringing to the party. I grab his floating legs and pull him close to me, my lips finding his. He kisses me back, and I know from that kiss that I wasn?t going to be disappointed. I wasn?t his first guy kiss. Several hours later, after messing up the bed a few times, he?s asleep next to me and I?m staring at the ceiling wondering what the fuck just happened. I look over and see his backpack on the chair. The same backpack where a few hours ago he pulled out condoms and lube. I start laughing, I?ve just been seduced by a younger man. I almost feel taken advantage of?but instead I go to sleep. So this happened a few weeks ago, we hadn?t a repeat performance. I still don?t know that much about Alex. But now that I no longer work for my hip up-scale restaurant, he had made the offer that he would like to get to know me a bit better. Though after what we did in that hotel room, I don?t know what else he needs to know. And if you?re wondering which one of us got to eat that delicious steak starter, we compromised and gave it to one of the girls. Though in the end, I got to eat my steak anyway.

So a few days ago, I was on my way home from my hip up-scale restaurant, and I get this frantic call from my friend Daniel. Apparently he was trashed out of his mind and had reached the stage of hungry and didn?t want to drive anywhere. So after a few minutes of his begging and pleading, I agreed to stop at the Taco Bell drive-thru and pick him up some munchies. Yeah I know, I?m cool like this. Since he didn?t give me a wish list, I figured I would get him a few different things and let him choose his poison. I pulled up to the speaker and the order taking guy blurts out, ?Sooner or later they all make a run to the border.? This struck me as funny and I say with a hint of a giggle, ?It?s not for me.? Order taking guy replies, ?That?s what they all say.? ?But unlike those losers, I?m not lying,? I insist. Order taking guy says, ?Come on, tell me what you want for forth meal. You know you want it.? I give in and say, ?I?ll take a number one and a number two.? Order taking guys says, ?That?s one number one and one number two. Anything else?? ?And two burritos to go.? Order taking guys says quickly, ?And two beaner?s to go.? For a split second I wondered if I heard him correctly, did he just say two beaner?s to go. And at a Mexican restaurant, and he had a Mexican accent as well. But I couldn?t let him have the last laugh, so I fired back, ?Only if they?re hard working beaner's.? Order taking guy starts laughing and tells me to pull up to the second window. And once there, he leans out?he?s a Mexican youth probably around twenty or so?and tells me I was the only person to not only catch on to his joke but fired back with a comeback. Apparently he had been working for twelve hours and was bored out of his mind. So for making him laugh, he threw in the ?beaner's? for free. But I might be an asshole, because I charged Daniel for the two value meals and the two free burritos. What? Don?t judge me. Jason

I think this video is fall down on the ground and piss yourself funny. Though now that I think about it, why would anyone want to do such a disgusting thing. Oh well, it's another one of those weird slang terms. Anyway, I did find this amusing, but what makes me laugh even harder, is there are a group of people who believe that this is going to happen in the next few years. Brave new world...I wish I could find the link, there is a short story written by Bruin, I think, called I-Plug, kind of hits on this topic but in a creepy way. It's a great story though, brilliantly written. Anyway, Jason

Cole, that was actually pretty hysterical...the brunet boy made it though, his little smirks and crazy meeeooo were perfect. Jason and Des, naughty...very naughty

Right back at ya Des. I love hugs.Looking back, I realize just how offensive this Blog entry was, but as Des stated, I wasn't attacking other people's belief, I was merely stating how religion has affected my life. And in my anger, I probably did offend anyone who is still reading this out-dated Blog. But I also channeled my anger in a constructive way as opposed to going up to random strangers in the street and try and get them to change to my way of thinking. I don't think I would make a very good missionary. :winkI have Christian friends. *spoken with my tongue firmly planted in my cheek*So please, if this Blog entry isn't your cup of tea, I understand. Most of the time I can't force myself to read half the shit I write. And Des, seeing as I will be starting a brand new job on Monday, one that lets me work on 40 hours a week as opposed to the one I have right now where I was working 70 hours a week, you'll be seeing a lot more of my rambling Blog's in the coming weeks.Jason