when the dark monkey whispers... always listen

jerking off and getting high and writing about it (same shit since 1985)

Had a conversation that got me thinking about the 5^th grade.  That would have been the fall of 1984 through the spring of 1985 for me.  A very formative time.  For every one I suppose.  But especially for me.  The first time I ever smoked marijuana was the summer before 5^th grade.  I’ve told that story before so I don’t want to repeat myself, but the gist is that a friend’s older sister was a pothead and she smoked a joint with us.  And I loved it.  Laughed my prepubescent balls off.  And speaking of prepubescent balls, I made another great discovery the summer after 5^th grade.  Orgasms.  It didn’t happen the first time I touched myself.  On the contrary, I touched myself for many moons before.  But the first time cum shot out of me was the summer after 5^th grade.  And it has been my favorite thing since.  I’m addicted to orgasms.  Have been since 1985.  It’s not my only addiction.  But it is the last one I would ever give up.  Smoking pot is fucking awesome too.  I’d hate to go a week without either.  Anyhow, reminiscing about that time had me remembering my first band.  There were three of us.  We used our initials and named the band S.D.S.  I played guitar, because I had one.  Sean played drums, because his brother had a set.  Steve played keyboards, because not only did he have one but he was taking piano lessons and could actually play at a 5^th grade level.  So, yea, we weren’t much of a band.  But I had notebooks full of song lyrics that I had high hopes of us playing someday.  You see, the 5^th grade was also the time I started writing lyrics for songs.  Something I continued to do regularly until I graduated from high school.  I got away from it in college, and started writing short stories.  But I still have many of those old notebooks.  I’m pretty sure I know where they are.  If I can find them I’ll start tweeting random lines periodically.  In between jerking off and getting high.  

forgiving is easy, it’s the fucking that’s hard

One time, back when I was in college, I got slapped across the face by a girl because I said the word pussy.   The slap actually came after I said it twice.  I can’t recall the reason I said it the first time during the conversation, but I said it the second time only because she told me not to say it.  She later apologized, stating she only slapped me because all of her friends were watching and they would have never let her live it down had she not.  I accepted her apology, and I was even glad I took the ball gag out of her mouth long enough to hear her say she was sorry.  And from that point forward I made cunt my go to word for that sweet little opening that I’m obsessed with located between a woman’s legs.  Man, I miss college.  hashtag=fuckedherhard

everywhere is walking distance if you have the time

I don’t like telling people to go straight to hell.  Go to hell, yes.  But sending them straight there is too quick.  I think when you tell someone to go to hell you should want them to suffer a little bit first.  Go to hell, but take the long way.  Through the ghetto.  And then the bible belt.  And maybe Siberia.  No, definitely Siberia.  But Siberia first so the warmth of hell doesn’t feel good initially.  And while we are on the subject of things you can do, don’t  go fuck yourself.  Fucking yourself is fun.  Go not fuck yourself.  Or go fuck yourself until you’re about to blow and then stop so you’re walking around with a heavy set of blue balls (or blue clit, if anatomy warrants it).  That’s what I want.  I want you walking through Siberia on your way to the ghetto in the bible belt of America with a heavy set of blue balls/clit.  And two broken hands so you can’t finish yourself off.  Yea, that just about sums it up.

freedom ain’t nothing but something to celebrate on the fourth of july

To the hamster in the cage the cat roaming around the house is free; to the cat in the house the dog running in the fenced yard is free; to the dog in the yard the cow grazing in acres of pasture is free; to the cow in the pasture the farmer able to drive to god knows where is free. The farmer looks at the hamster and says “that little fucking rat has the life… no mortgages or foreclosures or taxes or droughts or wives or kids… just quiet time alone, running in his wheel, sipping from his water bottle, nibbling on his pellets, napping whenever the hell he wants.  

it takes a long time to grow young

Spent part of the morning explaining to my son how he was never really “0”.  That the moment he was born he was already a second old.  Then seconds old.  Then minutes old.  Then hours old.  Then days, then weeks, then months, then years.  Explained to him that his first actual birthday was the day he was born, and that what people consider his first birthday is actually just the first anniversary of his birth.  And that this Sunday will be the fourth anniversary of the day he was born.  I’m pretty sure he gets it.  Not sure if it’s the way I explain it to him or that his mind is just smart enough to understand.  But either way I’ll take the credit, because it was my seed that spawned the little dude. 

My seed is pretty awesome.  You should try it.  

A Memo From The Desk of The Little Dark Monkey:

Do you like to smoke weed?  Do you like to drink alcohol?  Do you like to fuck?  Do you like music?  Do you like to laugh?  Let’s start a commune.  It will be a gated community.  Check your jealousy and inhibitions at the gate.  I’ll supply the snacks.

guess I’m not bigger than Jesus

So Paul McCartney can sing about holding a 17 year old girl “tight” “through the night” but I make a speculative comment about the grooming habits of the (presumably) teenage girl working the drive-thru and I’m the pedophile?   

Stan The Man - R.I.P

Before I started posting my rambling nonsense on this tumblr page, I posted my rambling nonsense on another tumblr page. The link below is to a blog I wrote on February 15, 2011.  I thought it would be good to post again in the wake of Stan Musial’s death.

The Man & Me 

the pause is as important as the note

I’m not a mystery.  Read these pages and you’ll know more about me than you’d ever want to know.  Yet, I still have people telling me I’m mysterious.  I don’t get it.  I don’t get a lot of things.  And by a lot, I mean a shit-ton.  And by a shit-ton, I mean most things.  I don’t get most things.  Anyway, there is no mystery here.  But for those of you too whatever to read any of the past shit I’ve written let me nutshell it for you… I like music, pussy, marijuana, alcohol, orgasms, awkward situations, chocolate and variety.  Heavy on the variety.  And not necessarily in that order.  I mean variety should be sprinkled generously on all of it.  But if I had to pick a number one favorite of the bunch I would say music.  I can’t live without music.  Not that anyone ever wants to lose any of their senses, but I would go clinically insane if I went deaf.  I’d have to smoke a lot of weed, fuck a lot of snatch, drink a lot of beer, cum a lot of times, and eat a lot of fucking chocolate to make up for losing music.  And I’m sure all of that would lead to a variety of awkward situations because I wouldn’t be able to hear anyone sneaking up behind me.  But I digress.  Music.  It’s been my best friend for as long as I can remember.  I’ve gone periods without the other stuff I mentioned.  Long periods in some cases.  But I’ve never gone a day without music.  And I hope I never have to. 

A painter paints pictures on canvas.  But musicians paint their pictures on silence. 
~Leopold Stokowski

Music washes away from the soul the dust of everyday life. 
~Berthold Auerbach

Without music life would be a mistake.  
~Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche

A music bath is to the soul what a water bath is to the body. 
~Oliver Wendell Holmes

Music was my refuge.  I could crawl into the space between the notes and curl my back to loneliness. 
~Maya Angelou

Were it not for music, we might in these days say, the Beautiful is dead. 
~Benjamin Disraeli

If in the after life there is not music, we will have to import it. 
~Doménico Cieri Estrada

Music is the mediator between the spiritual and the sensual life. 
~Ludwig van Beethoven

Music is the universal language of mankind. 
~Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Music expresses that which cannot be said and on which it is impossible to be silent. 
~Victor Hugo

Music melts all the separate parts of our bodies together. 
~Anais Nin

Music produces a kind of pleasure which human nature cannot do without. 
~Confucius

Music, once admitted to the soul, becomes a sort of spirit, and never dies. 
~Edward George Bulwer-Lytton

just one of many things I don’t understand

(this pertains to twitter so if you are just a tumblr person then move along)

I love it when someone with thousands of followers, who themselves are only following a few hundred, follow me and then three days later, after I don’t follow them back, unfollow me.  Why?  Seriously.  Why?  Did you follow me just because you wanted me to follow you?  Did you not follow me because you thought you’d like to see my tweets come through your timeline?  Because that’s why I follow people.  I’ll give you a moment to think about that.  And now I will say it again  That’s why I follow people.  Because I want to see their tweets come through my timeline.  It can’t be because I tweeted something they found so disturbing or inspirational or corny or twisted that it makes them queasy.  At least not unless they didn’t take the time to read at least some of my timeline before clicking the follow button.  Or am I the only one that does that too?  Because all anyone has to do is read three days worth of my tweets to see exactly what I’m going to give them.  Don’t get me wrong, I am not upset that they unfollow.  If that is ultimately who they are I don’t want them to follow me anyway.  And if they tweeted tweets that I wanted to see come through my timeline I would have followed them back.  Unless they tweet good stuff but they retweet a bunch of crap.  Especially if they are part of the favstar crowd and are only retweeting stuff from the “people” you’re supposed to retweet being a part of the favstar crowd.  Then it doesn’t matter how good their tweets are, I’ll pass.  But it just floors me that people can be so hypocritical.  They follow 500 hundred people and have 4,000 followers.  That’s at least a couple thousand people that are following them that they are not following back.  Yet they follow me to get my attention, and then unfollow when I don’t bite on their bait.  It just makes zero sense.  But I guess that is just par for the course.