a huge cloud of shit is hanging over me, and its making it hard to distinguish myself. where's the peace of mind, that piece that made it easy?

conversation: a delve into the power of the spoken word
and its subsequent amusement factor. (aka i have a migraine)

"ello?"
"dude! what the hell? is everything okay?"
"haha!"
"what? *pause*...
... nice..really nice. make me go insane all through class wondering what's so important you called four times, texted me the morse code for fuckin sos, and left a voicemail that said 'we really have to talk.' just so it can be nothing more than you being a fucker."
"we do have to talk."
"seriously, is everything okay?"
"i have a bone to pick with you, my love."
"me?! what the shit did i do?!"
"it seems my girlfriend has picked up a new addiction, and i can only really point the finger to one person regarding that addiction."
"alright..i'm thinking here..thinking....thinking...oh, yea, i'm not addicted to anything, nor do i really talk to your woman."
"it seems dalia was spotted on 56th and broadway at four pm today walking out of none other than the manolo blahnik store. not addicted to anything my fucking ass...you ruined her!"
"your girlfriend bought shoes..with her own money, and your pissed? at me?"
"people don't just fall into the blahnik man! i saw you progress into that shit...steady, but surely...you can't throw my girlfriend into designer haven and think she'll survive!"
"are you stoned? drunk? did you start up some kind of addiction i should know about?"
"she wasn't like that before! she was simple and designer free!"
"designer free my ass! she was wearing dkny jeans when i met her!"
"damnit e! you corrupted her!"
"oh please....she's from long island."
"doesn't matter! she never owned a pair of insanely expensive shoes until you came along!"
"so it's my fault i showed her the light?!"
"yea, and put a mark on her bank account!"
"well then maybe you should take that finger of blame and shove it up your own goddamn ass, 'cause as i recall you were the one who told us to go shopping while you were at work...and it doesn't take much thought to realize my ass is hitting up broadway, sitting in a leather chair at the blahnik store, and trying on shoes to my fuckin hearts orgasmic delight. all i did was lead her to the water, she drank herself."
"yea, true. anyway i was calling to ask if you wanted in on the the mike-talee wedding date."
"wait, what?"
"bets. on the date they'll finally do it...or, if you're a morbid asshole, when they'll just say fuck it and wait."
"you guys are taking bets on their wedding? dude! that's so fucked up."
"what? why is that fucked up?"
"uhh 'cause they're our friends and they're having serious issues involving this wedding..and instead of being supportive, giving a shit, and trying to help out..you guys are sitting back and making it into a money making scheme..you fuckers! anyway, i'll take the third week of august, if it isn't taken."
"they don't say 'jewed-over' for nothing sweet thang! nope, third week is open. s'all you baby girl. i can't write your actual name though..so you get the codename."
"codename?! what the fuck for?! won't e know the codename anyway?"
"you talk to mike about this shit...you got the inside scoop because you're a chick and he can talk about fucking cake designs and color schemes with you, not us...therefore you weren't even allowed to be in the pool, but i just rock the fuckin house like no other and figure i'd let you in on it. nope, e won't know the codename...only you would."
"huh?"
"what did you name the skeleton in anatomy?"
"pubert! hah! so, you think i'm going to win, come into town, and take you out to the turkish place you can't seem to find huh?"
"pretty much. i can't fuckin find that shithole!"
"yea, it's really hard to find a shithole when it's on a fucking island you won't go to..you just don't want to go to staten island. you want me to drag you. just go to masal on emmons ave."
"not as good, besides..no poached apples. so how's aladdin?"
"still on his fucking magic carpet ride, and don't ask about my 'date' tonight...if it goes half as bad as i think it will, i'll be rather okay with things."
"that bad huh?"
"oh yea. at least he's 6'5''. that your call waiting?"
"yea, it's e. let me three way"
"bitches my bitches, what it is in da houseeeeee?"
"you fuckin wigger."
"'is it wigger when i look peurto rican? sup ho? 'sup foo?"
"e has a date"
"e's not going there."
"the retard?"
"uch..YES! the retard."
"hah, lord have mercy on that boy's soul. you're a cunt normally, let alone with a migraine? go easy on him tiger, and remember..he's a complete fucking moron."
"fuck that. rip his balls off, i love when you're angst ridden..cracks me up."
" yea, sooner or later it will be your balls jake. he seems like he's not even interested at all, he's just going out with me to prove me wrong. anyway, i should probably go to my next edition of 'shitty date', seeing as i was supposed to be there six minutes ago. shoot me."
"weighing the options in the car eh?"
"if you walk in, you may at least get hammered for free"
"just the persuasion i need e. alright, i'm going in! i'll let you know how it goes...oh, and i have to ask...were you seriously listening to enrique iglesias when you picked up jake?"
"what? of course not!"
"enrique? oh dude, c'mon. couldn't you find some elton john to homo it up to..or maybe some george michael?"
"not "faith" or "freedom" though, i like those songs"
"classics."
"no, no enrique."
"liar."
"no clue why people think you're such a fucking challenge..you're just an incorrigible cunt about things."
"e, i'll leave you to the emasculating honors of enrique."
"i love it when you're helpful."
"bastards."
"yea, go find your fucking her, you cock ninja! bye boys. much love!"
"addddioooooooooossssss" (sung like the word valamoooos from that one enrique song)
"oh it's hunting season on his homo ass. later e. if it blows, i want a play by play of you telling him off."

_________________________

this picture blows.

i look like some kind of alien who had one too many collogen injections, but...my word is my word, and i said i would let someone choose my hnt pic...and he chose.

yup, he forewent tit shots for this horridness. accordingly, his street address is available for strategic ass kicking purposes upon request.

happy hnt y'all!