"Holy shit, I'm going to die."
I said to myself, staring at the mirror....
....Bleeding from an arrow wound.
But no, seriously--after watching a very interesting TED TALK, I decided I'd try looking into the mirror today and making peace with the fact that I was, in fact, doomed. Right then, an interesting thing happened. I suddenly felt overwhelmed with lightness and bliss. All of my insecurities began to melt away and I decided what I should do that day. I ended up trying to find a belated Christmas gift for someone, biking around the valley, and just generally enjoying myself. Man, mortality is awesome.
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
RANDOMNESS BITES! YUM.
HERE IS A MIRROR'S EDGE REVIEW
Yes, its several years too late. Nevertheless, here is my Mirror's Edge review.
PARKOUR PARKOUR PARKITTY PARKOUR PARKOUR. THIS GAME IS ABOUT PARKOUR.
Anyway, you play as Margaret Hsian and you run around on walls and fall to your death a lot. There are three supporting characters in the game. Douche, Woman, and Gravity. The story goes--eighteen years ago, some people protested. You ran away from home and were raised by the dude from the opening scene in Casino Royale. Also your mother is dead. And your sister is a cop. And you hate cops.
So basically, the story is incomprehensible. The main antagonist is....the city? Or....conservatives? Either way, you fight back by climbing on their shit and kicking police officers off of buildings.
My biggest gripe is also the game's biggest credit. It's first-person Parkour. So...y'know...yeah. It gives you a loose guideline for where to go by having certain structures appear BRIGHT RED. That's called 'Runner Vision'. I have it too, you guys. I did a wall flip off of an apple and then vaulted a fire engine. On Hard Mode--you don't have Runner Vision and the combat is way more difficult. I actually prefer Hard Mode, as it feels like a much purer experience.
Nonetheless--crappy dialogue and Saturday Morning Cartoon voice acting make the experience seem like something you'd brag to your sixth grade friends about. "Yeah, you still watch Naruto? Well I played MIRROR'S EDGE. They say 'SHIT' in that game." Awed applause ensues.
ALSO I WATCHED FIVE HUNDRED GAYS OF SUMMER
Which would've been a great porn parody.
But no, fo reels--it was a decent movie. I really wasn't into it at first--even despite Brendan Frye. At the outset, the film seems so horribly self-aware in its quirkiness that I have a hard time liking it. In an era of Garden States, Nick and Nora's and Junos--I really look for something approaching heart and shying away from coolness. Not to say I didn't enjoy the previous mentions, I just think Once outdoes the lot of em. There was no point during Once where I felt like the director was sort of watching the movie over my shoulder, trying to catch a glimpse of my expressions.
Like I said though, I wasn't into it at first. I have trouble relating to the main male characters with these movies sometimes because I just don't find the romantic interest that attractive/quirky/life-changing. A lot of the 'Super Quirky' stuff that takes place in those movies is less ridiculous than the things I've already done in my life. HOWEVER: I realized after a while that the message of 500 Days Of Summer was that...actually...Zooey Deschanel wasn't the greatest girl in the universe. Love is, in fact, completely and utterly blinding. Things that are relatively normal will seem stupid-amazing. It's definitely been that way for me. Frequently. I definitely dug that last half way more than the beginning.
AND ALSO HERE IS ANOTHER TOPIC
I think, for some, the standard mode of communication is 'bitching'. More often than not, when I'm observing folk (had a coffee and read the paper at Starbucks yesterday--yes I cut eye holes into it because I'm a detective) I notice a trend among many. "How's life?" or "How's it going?" opens the floodgates for "OH GAD, well the Funfetti account's been put on hold because Cooper and Woods wanna re-sign the deal, hell if I get my bonus any time soon; but does anybody listen to me? Anyway I gotta go, I'm parked at a meter. Is this half-caf?" I think this example stood out to me so much because it seemed like the most blatant example of that sort of mentality. It's probably not financially sound to produce commercials with messages like, "Don't Worry About It" or "Life Is Bigger And More Magical Than Your Problems" or "Bake Some Cookies, Man". Actually the last one could be a Pilsbury ad I guess. But yeah, seriously.
Anyway, I may have a more directed post at some point. HOORAHZAH!!
In the meantime, fall in love with Pomplamoose again. Except don't marry them. Because they're a band. And I'm going to marry them first.
Love love love,
Dakotah
P.S. Are you okay?
Yes, its several years too late. Nevertheless, here is my Mirror's Edge review.
PARKOUR PARKOUR PARKITTY PARKOUR PARKOUR. THIS GAME IS ABOUT PARKOUR.
Anyway, you play as Margaret Hsian and you run around on walls and fall to your death a lot. There are three supporting characters in the game. Douche, Woman, and Gravity. The story goes--eighteen years ago, some people protested. You ran away from home and were raised by the dude from the opening scene in Casino Royale. Also your mother is dead. And your sister is a cop. And you hate cops.
So basically, the story is incomprehensible. The main antagonist is....the city? Or....conservatives? Either way, you fight back by climbing on their shit and kicking police officers off of buildings.
My biggest gripe is also the game's biggest credit. It's first-person Parkour. So...y'know...yeah. It gives you a loose guideline for where to go by having certain structures appear BRIGHT RED. That's called 'Runner Vision'. I have it too, you guys. I did a wall flip off of an apple and then vaulted a fire engine. On Hard Mode--you don't have Runner Vision and the combat is way more difficult. I actually prefer Hard Mode, as it feels like a much purer experience.
Nonetheless--crappy dialogue and Saturday Morning Cartoon voice acting make the experience seem like something you'd brag to your sixth grade friends about. "Yeah, you still watch Naruto? Well I played MIRROR'S EDGE. They say 'SHIT' in that game." Awed applause ensues.
ALSO I WATCHED FIVE HUNDRED GAYS OF SUMMER
Which would've been a great porn parody.
But no, fo reels--it was a decent movie. I really wasn't into it at first--even despite Brendan Frye. At the outset, the film seems so horribly self-aware in its quirkiness that I have a hard time liking it. In an era of Garden States, Nick and Nora's and Junos--I really look for something approaching heart and shying away from coolness. Not to say I didn't enjoy the previous mentions, I just think Once outdoes the lot of em. There was no point during Once where I felt like the director was sort of watching the movie over my shoulder, trying to catch a glimpse of my expressions.
Like I said though, I wasn't into it at first. I have trouble relating to the main male characters with these movies sometimes because I just don't find the romantic interest that attractive/quirky/life-changing. A lot of the 'Super Quirky' stuff that takes place in those movies is less ridiculous than the things I've already done in my life. HOWEVER: I realized after a while that the message of 500 Days Of Summer was that...actually...Zooey Deschanel wasn't the greatest girl in the universe. Love is, in fact, completely and utterly blinding. Things that are relatively normal will seem stupid-amazing. It's definitely been that way for me. Frequently. I definitely dug that last half way more than the beginning.
AND ALSO HERE IS ANOTHER TOPIC
I think, for some, the standard mode of communication is 'bitching'. More often than not, when I'm observing folk (had a coffee and read the paper at Starbucks yesterday--yes I cut eye holes into it because I'm a detective) I notice a trend among many. "How's life?" or "How's it going?" opens the floodgates for "OH GAD, well the Funfetti account's been put on hold because Cooper and Woods wanna re-sign the deal, hell if I get my bonus any time soon; but does anybody listen to me? Anyway I gotta go, I'm parked at a meter. Is this half-caf?" I think this example stood out to me so much because it seemed like the most blatant example of that sort of mentality. It's probably not financially sound to produce commercials with messages like, "Don't Worry About It" or "Life Is Bigger And More Magical Than Your Problems" or "Bake Some Cookies, Man". Actually the last one could be a Pilsbury ad I guess. But yeah, seriously.
Anyway, I may have a more directed post at some point. HOORAHZAH!!
In the meantime, fall in love with Pomplamoose again. Except don't marry them. Because they're a band. And I'm going to marry them first.
Love love love,
Dakotah
P.S. Are you okay?
Fuckle Nuts.
There's so much going on in my brain-place that I need to get out of there. I think a morning meditation tomorrow is an absolute must. Here's the sparse and incomplete version.
Dakotah
EDIT: I just checked....turns out its in the Frakkin' DIP. Sorry guys, sorry. I grabbed the Salsa and Distant Sitar Music flavor from Trader Joe's.
- FAAAAAAAHHHH.
- A toddler saw me putting books away in the kids section and started collecting board books from the floor and handing them to me. MOST ADORABLE THING EVER. I kept saying "Thank youuu~!" in a sing-song voice, to which she replied "Dankoooo~" and giggled.
- NEEDS GETS OUTS NOW PLZ.
- Someone smelled EXACTLY like Erin tonight in the store. I actually stopped in my tracks. Don't fucking do that to me, please. It takes a bucket of restraint not to Ex-Message her. "OMG REMEMBER LAST NEW YEARS IN SF WHEN WE WERE IN LOVE LOL"
- FRAAAAAAAAGGHHHHH
- I must have mentioned 'Melody Gardot' on here before--but I mention her again. Mention mention mention.
- To everyone I've ignored--I'm sorry. I don't know what my problem is lately.
- I might actually flip the 'crazy' switch soon and go whole-hog.
- 'Whole-Hog' = Constant Full-Frontal Nudity
- Because its all of it. It's my whole hog.
- Calling a dong a 'Hog' reminds me of 'Do it for your Mama'.
- IT'S IN THE FRAKKIN' SHIP.
Dakotah
EDIT: I just checked....turns out its in the Frakkin' DIP. Sorry guys, sorry. I grabbed the Salsa and Distant Sitar Music flavor from Trader Joe's.
Sunday, December 13, 2009
THIS IS PROBABLY WHAT PARENTING IS LIKE
"Billy!"
Silence.
"BILLY!"
"What?"
"Billy, come here please."
"What?"
"I said 'come here please'!"
Sound of running feet.
"What?"
"Billy, how come your thermos is still full?"
"Oh, it's because.." Billy gets distracted by the television.
"Billy, I'm talking to you."
"Huh?"
"Why is your thermos still full? Did you not eat lunch today?"
"Yeah I did."
"Did you not see that your thermos was full?"
"What?"
"Did you not see that your thermos was full? Remember? The soup?"
"Yeah."
"Did you eat your soup?"
"I don't remember."
"You....you don't remember noon? It's two o'clock."
"No, I didn't."
"Why didn't you eat your soup? It was supposed to be your lunch."
Billy shrugs.
"Well, you'll just have to have it tomorrow then."
Billy gets distracted by the television again.
"Or tonight for dinner." Opens thermos.
Long pause.
"Billy?"
"Huh?"
"What's this?"
"Um."
"What's in here?"
Billy shrugs.
"Is this...is this pee?"
"I don't know. I guess."
"Wh...ho...why is there pee in your thermos?"
"I don't know."
"Did you pee in your thermos?"
"I guess."
"Why?"
"I dunno."
"Do you not have bathrooms in school? Do you not have sufficient bathroom breaks?"
"Yeah."
"Then why in God's name do you pee in your thermos?"
Billy gets distracted by the television.
While my little sisters haven't come up with anything this preposterous, they do have their whole lives ahead of them. Sometimes there's just....y'know....pee in a thermos. It can't be helped. Pure curiosity. And as a dude, you get that way about pee. "What if I pee in this houseplant? This guitar? This Matryoshka doll?" Every vessel appears to have a second purpose. If you're reading this and NOT a dude--please understand....imagine for a moment you can pee IN ANY DIRECTION and also you're SIX. The world begins to look a little different.
Oh hey, also re-read that dialogue but imagine Billy is in his twenties.
In other news, I'm looking for a new job and a new place. And when I say a new place--I mean a new place ANYWHERE. I've been Craigslisting in L.A. and San Francisco, but also Chicago, Portland, Seattle, and Minneapolis. Though granted, moving to any of these spots in the Winter doesn't sound like a frolic through canolis, it definitely needs to happen. Here at home, I feel like I'm living the same way I did while I was at pretend college. That's just not doing it for me anymore. All the old comfortable stuff just feels stagnating now. Also, I'd like to curse loudly and walk around BUCK ASS NEKKED. As far as a new job goes, if I'm basically working an 'anything for money' gig--I want it to be utterly mindless. I don't give two shits about selling member(heh)ships or Nooks or whatever. I've worked retail and food service way too much--I don't want to be the type who hates people and spends the duration of their shift complaining about their shift.
Oh, we have a tree now! A..a Christmas tree, that is. We didn't just hack out a birch and throw it in the corner. Though now that I think of it....our customs are fuckin' weird.
More news as it develops. Stay tuned!
Love In The Time of Chimeras,
Dakotah
Silence.
"BILLY!"
"What?"
"Billy, come here please."
"What?"
"I said 'come here please'!"
Sound of running feet.
"What?"
"Billy, how come your thermos is still full?"
"Oh, it's because.." Billy gets distracted by the television.
"Billy, I'm talking to you."
"Huh?"
"Why is your thermos still full? Did you not eat lunch today?"
"Yeah I did."
"Did you not see that your thermos was full?"
"What?"
"Did you not see that your thermos was full? Remember? The soup?"
"Yeah."
"Did you eat your soup?"
"I don't remember."
"You....you don't remember noon? It's two o'clock."
"No, I didn't."
"Why didn't you eat your soup? It was supposed to be your lunch."
Billy shrugs.
"Well, you'll just have to have it tomorrow then."
Billy gets distracted by the television again.
"Or tonight for dinner." Opens thermos.
Long pause.
"Billy?"
"Huh?"
"What's this?"
"Um."
"What's in here?"
Billy shrugs.
"Is this...is this pee?"
"I don't know. I guess."
"Wh...ho...why is there pee in your thermos?"
"I don't know."
"Did you pee in your thermos?"
"I guess."
"Why?"
"I dunno."
"Do you not have bathrooms in school? Do you not have sufficient bathroom breaks?"
"Yeah."
"Then why in God's name do you pee in your thermos?"
Billy gets distracted by the television.
While my little sisters haven't come up with anything this preposterous, they do have their whole lives ahead of them. Sometimes there's just....y'know....pee in a thermos. It can't be helped. Pure curiosity. And as a dude, you get that way about pee. "What if I pee in this houseplant? This guitar? This Matryoshka doll?" Every vessel appears to have a second purpose. If you're reading this and NOT a dude--please understand....imagine for a moment you can pee IN ANY DIRECTION and also you're SIX. The world begins to look a little different.
Oh hey, also re-read that dialogue but imagine Billy is in his twenties.
In other news, I'm looking for a new job and a new place. And when I say a new place--I mean a new place ANYWHERE. I've been Craigslisting in L.A. and San Francisco, but also Chicago, Portland, Seattle, and Minneapolis. Though granted, moving to any of these spots in the Winter doesn't sound like a frolic through canolis, it definitely needs to happen. Here at home, I feel like I'm living the same way I did while I was at pretend college. That's just not doing it for me anymore. All the old comfortable stuff just feels stagnating now. Also, I'd like to curse loudly and walk around BUCK ASS NEKKED. As far as a new job goes, if I'm basically working an 'anything for money' gig--I want it to be utterly mindless. I don't give two shits about selling member(heh)ships or Nooks or whatever. I've worked retail and food service way too much--I don't want to be the type who hates people and spends the duration of their shift complaining about their shift.
Oh, we have a tree now! A..a Christmas tree, that is. We didn't just hack out a birch and throw it in the corner. Though now that I think of it....our customs are fuckin' weird.
More news as it develops. Stay tuned!
Love In The Time of Chimeras,
Dakotah
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Dearest Susie Slapcuntz
I don't know what your real name is--and I don't care.
Because I loathe you.
I am posting this at work because I can't wait until I get home to let you know just how much I'd like to uppercut you fiercely in the Clooteris. As a matter of fact, I've spent the last three rounds building up my Special Meter simply to unleash the most devastating final attack ever upon your filthy vagina. I hate you so much.
Firstly--no, you're not interesting. Lots of people dye their hair black. Lots more just have it. Turns out it comes that way. Yup. Just grows. And no, you're not pretty enough to be the Homing Torpedocunt that you are. I don't care what stupid half-literate dudes you drag around with you to make you feel better about your shallow lifeless existence. And y'know what? Reading about people in horrible situations doesn't impress me. You read "Rape: A Love Story"? That's great. I'm glad you read a lot and consider yourself cultured. Fantastic! I got you a prize! It's called a 'Bronzed Go-Fuck-Yourself'. It's shaped like my middle finger, spiked, and electrified. Feel free to repeatedly thrust it vigorously into your Cavernous Crustfactory. Front and rear entrances.
Secondly--don't call me by my first name. We are not friends. If we were friends, I would have to seriously rethink my lifestyle--as it would mean I had actually gone completely insane. As a matter of fact, the day we become friends is the day I leap off of a building into a flaming helicopter. The German fucker from Indiana Jones would be proud. Anyway--back to my point--which is I hate you and you're not interesting.
Thirdly--saying things like "I'm not nice." and "Can you not find the book? Or do you just suck at your job?" isn't cute. It's not endearing. That's called "Being obtuse because none of my other qualities make me feel validated as a human being." You're a bitch. Worse yet, you're a dumb bitch. Triple worse, you're a dumb bitch that thinks she's really smart. Quadruple worse, you're a dumb bitch that thinks she's really smart, has a huge hard-on over herself, and is utterly transparent. I hate you and everything you stand for.
The next time I see you--instead of just saying "Who are you and where do you come from?" as I did today. I will leap over the Information Desk and deliver a flying kick directly to that teeming quagmire between your chubby unattractive thighs while simultaneously dropping two elbows into your big dumb face and then--deftly using my prehensile COCK--I will pull a cord that will release a trapdoor beneath you, that will drop you directly into a pit of rabid ferocious hounds--who are on fire, and also robots. You will be torn to little bitty stupid boring shreds. You are so dumb.
Get the fuck out of my store,
Dakotah (Who is better than you.)
P.S. Your life is a lie.
Because I loathe you.
I am posting this at work because I can't wait until I get home to let you know just how much I'd like to uppercut you fiercely in the Clooteris. As a matter of fact, I've spent the last three rounds building up my Special Meter simply to unleash the most devastating final attack ever upon your filthy vagina. I hate you so much.
Firstly--no, you're not interesting. Lots of people dye their hair black. Lots more just have it. Turns out it comes that way. Yup. Just grows. And no, you're not pretty enough to be the Homing Torpedocunt that you are. I don't care what stupid half-literate dudes you drag around with you to make you feel better about your shallow lifeless existence. And y'know what? Reading about people in horrible situations doesn't impress me. You read "Rape: A Love Story"? That's great. I'm glad you read a lot and consider yourself cultured. Fantastic! I got you a prize! It's called a 'Bronzed Go-Fuck-Yourself'. It's shaped like my middle finger, spiked, and electrified. Feel free to repeatedly thrust it vigorously into your Cavernous Crustfactory. Front and rear entrances.
Secondly--don't call me by my first name. We are not friends. If we were friends, I would have to seriously rethink my lifestyle--as it would mean I had actually gone completely insane. As a matter of fact, the day we become friends is the day I leap off of a building into a flaming helicopter. The German fucker from Indiana Jones would be proud. Anyway--back to my point--which is I hate you and you're not interesting.
Thirdly--saying things like "I'm not nice." and "Can you not find the book? Or do you just suck at your job?" isn't cute. It's not endearing. That's called "Being obtuse because none of my other qualities make me feel validated as a human being." You're a bitch. Worse yet, you're a dumb bitch. Triple worse, you're a dumb bitch that thinks she's really smart. Quadruple worse, you're a dumb bitch that thinks she's really smart, has a huge hard-on over herself, and is utterly transparent. I hate you and everything you stand for.
The next time I see you--instead of just saying "Who are you and where do you come from?" as I did today. I will leap over the Information Desk and deliver a flying kick directly to that teeming quagmire between your chubby unattractive thighs while simultaneously dropping two elbows into your big dumb face and then--deftly using my prehensile COCK--I will pull a cord that will release a trapdoor beneath you, that will drop you directly into a pit of rabid ferocious hounds--who are on fire, and also robots. You will be torn to little bitty stupid boring shreds. You are so dumb.
Get the fuck out of my store,
Dakotah (Who is better than you.)
P.S. Your life is a lie.
Friday, December 4, 2009
"Take Take Take" or "As I Walk Through The Valley In The Shadow of Wealth"
In addition to being a White Stripes song I like (There are roughly four of them) I realize that its a philosophy that I'm quick to adhere to when I'm caught not paying attention. I'm 'bout to get all esoteric upside yo' face--so bear with me. When practicing awareness, and not like...OH HEY, THERE'S A QUESADILLA, but real--true--"Hey wow, the universe is an awesome place if your eyes are open" awareness, I have a tendency to try and figure out how I can give to people more and more. I drop all the ego crap and just start to perceive people in their own natural light. I love it when I can get into this space. It's a space of direct honesty--where you don't have to preface your sentences with anything. Where you're totally comfortable with whoever you're speaking to because you've established that you accept them.
The Dalai Lama talks about the fact that, because we all share innate humanness, we all have a way to relate to one another. It's other things that get in the way. We wear a different colored shirt than the other guy, so they are somehow different--and different is always on some form of sliding scale. Different is synonymous with 'better' or 'worse'. Oftentimes its both. For instance, I have a huge love/hate relationship with the valley. My problem is constantly associating the valley with wealthy, egotistical, utterly vapid human beings. Now right there--outright I've given it a judgment; unfairly too. Now yes, there are folks who zip around in beemers who couldn't tell you what "To be or not to be" is from, or who don't give a flying cream-filled fuck what the 'Large Hadron Collider' is...but that's no reason to declare myself better than them. However, because these folks have TEH GREENBAXX I fall into the trap of assuming they must be doing SOMETHING right. They've got a whole mess of this THING that, because of my career, I'll probably never actually see that much of. So they win. They lose the Culture Round, but damn it all do they win in the Finances Round.
So eff this noise. I guess that's my conclusion. I'd really prefer to live in a place where people walk around. In New York, you can't help but bump into people every day. Here, if you can help it, you don't bump into anybody all day. I might just start crashing through life like a pinball with Tommy at the machine, because then people (myself included) will HAVE to wake up. Looking through windshields and TVs and iPhones and Computers is starting to make the world look two dimensional. If I drop everything and go live with a Shamanistic tribe, please don't express any surprise.
"Dakotah? Oh yeah, nah he went to Africa to wear bright colors and roll around in the dirt. He probably could've just done that here--but whatever. Pass the Earth Balance."
FWAH! The world = Awesome. Getting smug about it = MASSIVE HUMAN FOLLY.
Right? Right.
Told ya' it was esoteric.
Love love love,
Dakotah
P.S. If anyone can tell me where the best Hot Wings in L.A. can be found--I will take you under my wing and teach you the ways of crimefighting.
The Dalai Lama talks about the fact that, because we all share innate humanness, we all have a way to relate to one another. It's other things that get in the way. We wear a different colored shirt than the other guy, so they are somehow different--and different is always on some form of sliding scale. Different is synonymous with 'better' or 'worse'. Oftentimes its both. For instance, I have a huge love/hate relationship with the valley. My problem is constantly associating the valley with wealthy, egotistical, utterly vapid human beings. Now right there--outright I've given it a judgment; unfairly too. Now yes, there are folks who zip around in beemers who couldn't tell you what "To be or not to be" is from, or who don't give a flying cream-filled fuck what the 'Large Hadron Collider' is...but that's no reason to declare myself better than them. However, because these folks have TEH GREENBAXX I fall into the trap of assuming they must be doing SOMETHING right. They've got a whole mess of this THING that, because of my career, I'll probably never actually see that much of. So they win. They lose the Culture Round, but damn it all do they win in the Finances Round.
So eff this noise. I guess that's my conclusion. I'd really prefer to live in a place where people walk around. In New York, you can't help but bump into people every day. Here, if you can help it, you don't bump into anybody all day. I might just start crashing through life like a pinball with Tommy at the machine, because then people (myself included) will HAVE to wake up. Looking through windshields and TVs and iPhones and Computers is starting to make the world look two dimensional. If I drop everything and go live with a Shamanistic tribe, please don't express any surprise.
"Dakotah? Oh yeah, nah he went to Africa to wear bright colors and roll around in the dirt. He probably could've just done that here--but whatever. Pass the Earth Balance."
FWAH! The world = Awesome. Getting smug about it = MASSIVE HUMAN FOLLY.
Right? Right.
Told ya' it was esoteric.
Love love love,
Dakotah
P.S. If anyone can tell me where the best Hot Wings in L.A. can be found--I will take you under my wing and teach you the ways of crimefighting.
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Lady Convington's Luscious Butthole
My only interactions with romance novels involve putting them back on the shelves and ordering embarrassingly large numbers of them for customers at the info desk. Walking through our romance section is like being in a room wallpapered with rippling abs and biceps. Not entirely unlike Silent Hill, actually. Adorning the HOT MAN BEEF are titles like, "Tamed By A Laird", "Seduction At Sunset" and my current favorite, "Thong On Fire". These books make up-no joke-about 40 percent of our sales.
I really REALLY want to write one that's clearly written by a (perhaps adolescent) male. Something like "Doin' It With a Viking" or "Lady Covington's Luscious Butthole". I'd replace things like,
"Nothing cooled the hot rush of desire focused between his thighs, even the near certainty that he wouldn't get Nicole into bed tonight any more than he had lured her into the shower. She wanted to wait, to play. He wanted to spread those long legs and sink into her until she didn't know anything but the taste of him, the feel of him, and the screaming ecstasy they would share."
With
"She crammed his weiner into her mouth like a hot churro from CostCo. He was mexican, so this made total sense. After a while, she spat out his wee-wee and told him to dip it in her hoo-hah. He obliged, but in Spanish. They did it with each other for like 8 days and then ordered a pizza."
I think I'm on to something. The cover of the novel will be me giving the thumbs up with one hand and holding the book with the other.
I really REALLY want to write one that's clearly written by a (perhaps adolescent) male. Something like "Doin' It With a Viking" or "Lady Covington's Luscious Butthole". I'd replace things like,
"Nothing cooled the hot rush of desire focused between his thighs, even the near certainty that he wouldn't get Nicole into bed tonight any more than he had lured her into the shower. She wanted to wait, to play. He wanted to spread those long legs and sink into her until she didn't know anything but the taste of him, the feel of him, and the screaming ecstasy they would share."
With
"She crammed his weiner into her mouth like a hot churro from CostCo. He was mexican, so this made total sense. After a while, she spat out his wee-wee and told him to dip it in her hoo-hah. He obliged, but in Spanish. They did it with each other for like 8 days and then ordered a pizza."
I think I'm on to something. The cover of the novel will be me giving the thumbs up with one hand and holding the book with the other.
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