Toleration and promotion of racial fetishism is repugnant
Howard received his diploma. Martha just stubbed her toe.
I was taking her to the ER on my tandem tricycle. She was bleeding profusely and asked for gauze midway. I told her I have nothing to offer her. Luckily, I signed a prenuptial agreement beforehand and threw her into a ditch on the side of the road.
Howard sang. I sang as well. He dropped pitches lower than me. We are not singers.
Following my incident with the puppy, I went to Baskin Robbins with Jeffrey. ‘Fucking bitch,’ he told me ‘she wants me to dance.’ I consoled Jeffrey
‘You don’t need to dance if you don’t want to.’
A cone at Baskin Robbins is $5.90, by the way.
We drowned in a river. Jeffrey is gone but I ate three wafers with him when we got home.
‘… got hit by a car :[’
Shut up. Are you not aware that people get hurt all the time? I spread my shabby t-shirt on the greasy kitchen counter, examining the holes – with gastroenterologist-like anxiety. Ebola is coming to my neighborhood and, to me, all humans are inherently malevolent. I’m not a misanthrope, however.
How naïve would it be, for me to walk out in the neighborhood engaging in sexual intercourse with Kenyan refugees?
Jonathan, you’re very closed-minded!
My symptoms surfaced seventeen years back. My mother said I was neurotic. My father said I was a sheep. But nonetheless, my father perpetuated my love for sheep and all animals with no backbone.
My fondest memory is when my mother took me to eat wonton noodles on her day off. During the following afternoon, it dawned on me that wontons eventually spoil.
My mother made me look for the empty vindication in people’s eyes when they walk the pedestrian crossing just before the signal goes green. She called me this morning. ‘Good morning, Jon,’ she said ‘are you having a good day?’
I decided not to reply to her that day.
The same day I woke up at 7:00am to get a pineapple bun, a chicken pie and a cold tea from a local cha chaan teng.
Lucky was recovering faster than my grandmother. Lucky is seventeen – just like me. I learned sexual feelings are not meant to be inhibited in 2005, from Lucky.
I had lunch with the landlord on Tuesday. Whatever happened during our communion did not matter, as I did not have to pay my monthly bills. I am now pregnant and writing to you from Nairobi. I am sorry I have left you to take care of the kids – I have left $20 on the kitchen counter. Make good use of the $20 and call me back when you have a mansion. ‘Haha’, funny thing is, my kids are biracial and I am Hong Kongese. Is this a tragedy or a blessing? You be the ‘judge’. I’ve been under the attempts of lynching and hangings as to ‘cure’ me from my witchly wickedness. I’ve killed myself already. You can find it in the basement. I’ve invested $20 dollars in a saxophone. You should buy the kids a saxophone. Perhaps they’ll play like Miles Davis or Dizzy Gillespie. Heck, I don’t even listen to jazz but I am a homosexual. I am sure Gillespie doesn’t even play saxophone! Okay, thanks, I know I’m a dilettante in jazz literature. How embarrassing. I went to Indonesia this summer to do animal conservation work – during the duration of my work, I went with this funny looking Asian kid, and his name was Jonathan. He tackled me into a corner-not-corner of a dilapidated and poorly maintained room where farts would occur situationally and the toilet seat would be matted in piss and anus hairs. From there predicated an intimate telling off favorable and congenial traits of each other. Is tissue a better catch for semen than your hand? I asked my mom about that and she told me masturbation is sinful. Everyone has their vices and beating my meat off every night was one of them. One of my mom’s is farting under the covers and taking a whiff after ten minutes. Interesting, right? I know. Okay, my Pop Tarts are ready. I should be having tea and some shuteye after this. I’m about to cum! Baby, tell me your Computer Processing Unit is operating properly. You’re going to make me climax! From there, an incontinent release of rice pudding swathed the sheets. How embarrassing. How can I tell my mom – my own mother! – that I like rice pudding. For the sake of fuck, I have to clean up now. Haha, mom, ur one funny guy dude…. I have tempera tantrum and I’m back earlier than Sept. 3rd, 2014
Goodbye, throw this message away in a week.
WILL BE BACK SEPT 3RD 2014
LOVE YOU ALL
1:00PM - WAKE UP
1:30PM - BREAKFAST (OR LUNCH), BROWSE INTERNET
3:00PM - SKATE
8:00PM - COLD SHOWER
8:05PM - WEAR A SWEATSHIRT
9:00PM - DINNER
9:30PM - WRITE
12:00AM - COUNTER-STRIKE
4:00AM - SLEEP
a slice of blueberry pie and a glass of iced water maam
CLASH OF CLAMS
gender neutral ways to say I love you to your mom
ocd is taking over my whole fucking life
and ive been bedridden for a long time
solitude is only healthy in moderation