The updates + Sticky Jesus.

[kenny]

This week's digiCam project.
This week's graffiti project.

Continue on to Sticky Jesus... (The updates + Sticky Jesus.)

[kenny]

We all have to start somewhere, at the bottom is usually a good place. The air isn’t as thin as it is at the top and your blood flows more freely. I couldn’t place my nose on that taste/smell but I now know where I have smelled that before. A while back, someone had some poppies that they had harvested and they shared some of their blood. It was the poor man’s high, the taste was awful. If you could package urinal into a cigarette – you’d be getting close to imagining the flavor. Aside from tasting putrid, the effects were slight. Today it dawned on me, the shit the Mexicans try to pass off is just this – just as week, just as shitty tasting and not to be trusted by a spike. If you want to some sweet sticky Jesus, the Mexican's aren’t the route to go. I needed something that a case of Subutex couldn't help.

B.B. Kings album 'Blues on the Bayou' was playing in the background. The lights were dim and the air was smoky. She had deer like eyes, slight dimples in her cheeks and her shirt hung softly over her breasts. My focus returned to my old hands, the cigarette was wedged between two fingers, the smoke was billowing upwards and the ash above the cherry grew. I didn't really feel like smoking, I just enjoyed having that familiar appendage, it gives me some sort of sick comfort. It represents stink, a painful death and many of ruined articles of clothing - but there is something about its familiarity. Then my attention was yet again drawn away, but this time to a smell. I put my face as close to my crotch as I possibly could, was that my penis flaunting that awful scent? It had been the perpetrator once before. It had been a long drug and alcohol fueled night. I met her at a bar and there was some animalistic attraction going on. From the door to the cab, in the cab and up my back steps we were locked. We tore each other's clothes off every step of the way until we reached my back bedroom. I managed during this time to grab a condom, slip it on and we began to fuck. I started out on top, then I had her on her side and after several exchanges of positions she mounted me. She was riding me hard and she was using her Kegel muscles to milk me with each thrust upward. I remember having my wrists around her small waist and feeling her hair tickle my face when she was grinding low. I then remember he sweaty chest laying atop mine after we were finished. Her soft panting turned to a slow breathing that I found very relaxing, enough so that I was fast asleep shortly after. The next morning I awoke, the calmness was replaced by panic the moment I noticed that I had to be at work in ten minutes. I sprung up from bed and nearly fell back in to bed on top of her. Christ, I was still drunk. I attempted again, but this time a bit slower and more surefooted than before. I made my way to the bathroom and sat down on the toilette. I learned a long time ago that it's better to sit and piss than to stand and risk the chance of another bathtub concussion. Urinating felt odd, and just as I looked down I was nearly greeted with piss in my eye. I had fallen asleep with the condom on and the now dried semen had bonded the latex sheath to my penis and the seal was broken by the pressure of my pee-in-condom buildup. When it broke a stream of piss shot out and the condom plopped off. I grabbed a clean pair of boxers, slipped on some pants and a shirt and I made my way out the door. Throughout the day I kept getting a whiff of a rancid scent, I was unsure of what this was but by noon I was determined to figure out where this was coming from. I buried my head between my legs and sure as shit - it was coming from my crotch. I went to the bathroom to inspect and I gasped for air the moment I took my pants down. I was blasted with the smell of rotten cum, mixed with a hint of shared bodily fluids and piss. I tried to wash my dick off in the sink, but hand soap did nothing to remove the bulk of the smell - it only had helped slightly. But I am drifting here, I haven't had sex with anyone for months, not really because the opportunity wasn't there, but I just have had no desire for intimate interaction. I have replaced the need for all humans in general. A good opiate outweighs anything a human could ever do for another, well that and rum. So I continued sniffing around and then I discovered where the smell was originating from - my shoe. Earlier in the day I cleaned out a lawn mower bag. My lawn had gotten quite unruly when I had decided to cut it the previous week. With my trash can full from my spring cleanup I decided to wait until after the next trash pickup to empty the lawn-clipping bag. When I did there was some decaying wet grass in the bottom of the bag. It smelled like shit, but I held my breath and emptied it out. When done I had kicked the excess off the driveway and in doing so, some of the rotten grass became lodged in my shoes tread. So the point of this post is to let you know that rotten grass smells much like rotten dick. Have a great day.

[Teep]

both amusing and informative!

[stricklyrubbadub]

ahahaha.... good stuff.

A good opiate outweighs anything a human could ever do for another

if only opiates could talk and have sex i'd never leave my house again.



So the mexican black tar isn't cutting it huh? I live right by the border and oddly enough I've never come across it even though this city is awash in its counterpart -cocaine.