I like the question asking why you are so bored. Why don’t you answer it? If you truly wanted to dismiss then why even publish it? Why are you so bored?
Of course you like that question. Based on your identical rudimentary syntax and arrogant abuse of the question mark, you’re the one who wrote it.
For everyone reading above a 5th grade level, it was obvious that I simply didn’t accept your original premise, but since you insist on missing the point, let me be clear — I’m not bored.
As for why I bothered publishing your question at all, well — truth is, I enjoy picking on you. You’re not too bright, which makes for an easy target. You’re pushy and presumptuous, so you kind of deserve it. Plus, you keep writing to me, so you’re literally asking for it.
So you do things not based on their merit or actual you’re actual desire just because they are illegal? Doesn’t that make you a follower? Way to follow your heart! What a rebel and a free thinker!
Really? Wow. This is your third strike. You are officially the poster girl for not getting the joke.
For those just tuning in, Melissa is referencing the closing remarks of my silly rant about the upcoming ban on clove ciggies. I should probably ignore her, but my vagina will be bleeding soon, and in my ensuing bitchiness I feel like turning this into an object lesson on sarcasm.
Melissa, you are using blatant roll-your-eyes sarcasm here because you’re too dumb to recognize the subtle tongue-in-cheek sarcasm in my writing. While I’m sure you’re too busy chewing gum and generating awkward silence to appreciate what a delicious little irony that is, I still want you to take some time to reflect on all the things flying over your head — and no, I’m not referring to airplanes. I’m referring to subtext and punch lines.
Also, proof-read your questions. The devil’s in the details, darling.
I like coke on the tip of my cock and alot of sucking and slobbering to polish it off. Any other recommendations?
Recommendations? For what — more cures for premature ejaculation? Not to burst your bubble here, Diego, but if she takes the time to spread it around the tip of your cock, she’s probably trying to numb you up to keep you from cumming too soon. Classic old-school party girl trick.
You’re really a gay man, right? You have to be. I have never encountered a more fun loving person who seems to know when to pull the reigns back, or when to slap a bitch. You seem extremely intelligent and very well spoken and you are dangerously funny. Why is it that I cannot find a bff like you, anywhere in Los Angeles?
Zen 101, Leslie — if you can’t find something, it’s probably because you’re looking for it. You might also consider examining your underlying assumption that a woman can’t be extremely intelligent, very well spoken, or dangerously funny. Still, I appreciate the compliments.
Are you addicted to coke?
Nope — sing it with me, kids: “Drug use is not the same as drug abuse!”
well, how do you feel about speed?
— sarah jane
It’s ugly, cheap, and dangerous. Long ago I realized it wasn’t a coincidence that the nights I didn’t feel safe were also the nights that people around me were doing speed.
Call me an elitist, but that shit is for bottom-barrel white trash, and I stay the fuck away from the types who do it. Sure, it will keep the party going all night long, but that comes at the terribly high price of being surrounded by tweaked-out losers who don’t know the difference between psychosis and euphoria. Plus, a meth habit will suck the soul out of a person faster than any chemical I’ve ever seen.
No, thank you.
What is the significance of that particular Britney pic?
The baby bottle. The trucker hat. The indignant posture. At the time, something about it just felt right. I remember it caused quite a bit of drug-induced laughter in the wee hours of the morning when this ridiculous blog was born into existence. I guess now I’m kinda stuck with it.
Just when you thought the world couldn’t get any more outrageously hypocritical, the authoritarian douche-tanks in DC have up and banned flavored ciggies.
For the record, this bill was sponsored by a republican from Marlboro Country, so don’t kid yourself into thinking it will have any effect on public health. All this restriction will do is frustrate pretentious euro-trash and make a few goth punks run out of safety pins.
Oh, and don’t worry black people. Newports are still legal. Despite them being a legitimate teen gateway to a pack-a-day habit, Menthols make up 28% of the market, and Philip Morris wouldn’t put up with that crap for a second.
Once again, the bullshit that stuck to the wall was that they’re protecting the kids, this time from the evil candied temptation of sweetened smoky-treats.
Nothing makes my cunt pucker more than the phrase “protecting the kids.” Fuck your kids.
Fuck every fat, stupid, overprotected little crotch trophy whose mother’s inability to parent is infringing on my god-given right to blow vanilla flavored smoke all over a cute Frenchman to mask his post-sex body odor.
Fuck anybody anywhere who thinks they have the right to tell me what should go into (or come out of) my body.
Fuck Obama for signing this piece of shit bill.
And finally, fuck clove cigarettes for being the next thing that I have no desire for whatsoever, but will soon crave for no other reason than that they are illegal.
Do you ever find that a million cigarettes and interminable hours of retarded conversation about absolutely nothing makes the next morning way worse than anything your DARE Officer said Coke would do to you?
I loved my big coke days, but it was the Nat Shermans and quantum physics conversations with avant-garde artists and sex workers that ended up making me quit.
How do you maintain?
After that Teddy Grahams vid, I think we’re the same age. Do you have super powers? What’s your secret?
— Stephen B.
Funny you should mention it, but I can’t smoke and do blow at the same time. When I do, the next morning I feel like someone scraped my sinuses with a charcoal briquette. I’ve learned my lesson there, so it’s either one or the other.
As for the quantum physics conversations with avant-garde artists and sex workers, let me ask you this: would you rather it be Oprah’s book club conversations with real estate brokers and housewives? Not to knock housewives (some of those bitches are ten times as freaky as an average sex worker), but are you really trying to suggest that the edge-dwelling deviants in this town are somehow boring? No sir, Stevie B. I’m not buying it.
Still, I respect the nature of your question. It’s not uncommon anymore to find out the girl sitting next to me at the club was born in the fucking 90s. I recognize that eventually, I’ll have to move over for that little bitch. When I do I’ll simply make a graceful shift into more private recreation. I have a few wild friends in their 40s, and I’ve seen how they do it. You get a little older, make a little money, and just move the party up the hill.
Aren’t drugs the ultimate sign of boredom? If you need them to have fun or function, isn’t that a sign you are boring? Why are you so bored? Isn’t boredom laziness or the inability to see beyond the obvious? to take exactly what is in front of you and not make anything more of it?
The inability to see beyond the obvious isn’t boredom. It’s stupidity. For example, stringing together a judgmental mess of poorly structured declarative statements masked as questions is stupid. Having to read them is boring.
Whats better than coke?
Puppy dogs and rainbows.
your tumblr makes me laugh alittle bit. the way you write and portray yourself is just like this kid i knew, he was a fat, pimply kid who in person was self concious and shy. on his myspace was photoshopped pictures of him portrayed as a hot scenester and a blog written sharply and honestly about people, drugs, and feelings. he lives in the valley and talks about his pink cigarettes and his hollywood lifestyle. and the ecstasy he takes. but the real glamourous ones dont need a whole blog and twitter to show people who they are, or find an internet outlet to brag about their “glamorous, intresting” lifestyle. I’m from L.A. as well, and it’s most definately not as interesting and superficial as you make it sound, or how others across the US think it is. I guess that’s your business, but your really not fooling anyone, especially those who actually live that lifestyle and know what it’s like.
Gabby, darling. You are such a delicious slice of passive-aggressive pie. Thank you for taking the time to write to me. Your myspace friends sound lovely, and I am delighted that you find me both interesting and superficial at the same time. Your ability to hold two competing thoughts in your head is early evidence of the capacity for original thought, and perhaps even a tiny bit of free will. I have every confidence that one day, you’ll get the joke.
If not, I sincerely hope you’re cute. Enjoy your Twilight novels!
have you ever done heroin or shot anything up? was it strange?
— james earl jones
James Earl Jones? Hilarious. Now I can’t help but hear the voice of King Jaffe Joffer every time I read this question, and it cracks me up! And no, I’ve never done heroin. The only time I use needles is for B12 injections (vitamins only, never drugs.)
I just spent a long, decadent weekend in Malibu celebrating the birthdays of four very close friends. I don’t know why I always end up surrounded by Leos, but a suspiciously large cluster of my inner-circle was born in mid-August.
One of the birthday boys made a shit ton of dot-com cash back in the day, so he and his wife have a ridiculous house at the very tip-top of Las Flores Canyon. It’s one of those rare places where you have the holy trinity of naked fun — a heated pool, a spectacular view, and total privacy.
Now, when I say very close friends, I mean very close. There are about a dozen of us, and we all have the kind of relationship that most folks could never understand. If I even tried to explain it to my workaday friends, my tongue would get tangled trying to describe the love and respect we all share, and then I’d have to suffer the indignity of watching their eyes go wide in judgement when I let it slip about the sex.
Yes, we all fuck, and it’s wonderful.
We share endless sweaty, slippery hours of blissed-out orgiastic fun, and then we all sit around the dining room table and have bacon, eggs, and bloody marys. It’s fucking great.
My vanilla friends are constantly asking me why I’m single, and my canned answer is that I’m picky. The whole truth is that I’m not willing to give up the good times I have with these friends, and it’s surprisingly difficult to find a man emotionally intelligent enough to handle it.
You’d think more guys would be self-aware enough to recognize that fresh attraction to the opposite sex is dictated by biological imperative. But no, most guys are in a constant struggle — to cheat or not to cheat — and it never occurs to them that in order to cheat, you have to accept a set of rules before you can break them.
Why accept the rules? It’s so much healthier to simply reject the underlying premise of the assumption.
Monogamy and fidelity are not the same thing.
It’s such a simple statement, but there is so much freedom in it — monogamy and fidelity are not the same thing. Being true and faithful in your relationship has no inherent connection to how many sexual partners you have. The connection is artificial.
What am I suggesting here? Well, it’s not all that prurient. Really, it’s about integrity and strength — the integrity to be totally open and honest in a relationship, and the strength to allow yourself and your partner to pursue happiness wherever it may be found.
Why should I care if my man has some fun, sexual or otherwise, with another girl? Why should he care if I do the same? It would be naive and egotistical of me to think that I could satisfy every emotional and physical need of another person, and yet under the traditional monogamous paradigm, that’s exactly what is expected.
The healthiest relationships I’ve ever known are those based on unwavering mutual respect and the kind of gut-level honesty that most folks can’t handle. Add to that an intelligent, emotionally healthy habit of saying “yes” instead of “no” to your partner whenever possible, and suddenly you find yourself open to all kinds of possibilities.
It’s not for everybody, I suppose — but it’s too late for me. I can’t imagine life any other way.
New York men have higher sperm counts and better semen quality than Los Angeles men. Medical experts believe the warm weather and higher pollution in LA might be the culprit behind the lower counts.
Better weather and less chance of getting knocked up? Yeah, I’ll take Los Angeles.
And by the way, you don’t have to be a medical expert to know a little something about East Coast jizz versus West Coast jizz.
I’m willing to bet that this has less to do with environmental factors and more to do with a biological function of population density. Pack a fuck ton of men into a small area, and you’ll get a collective neurochemical and endocrinological response that jacks up levels of testosterone, corticosteroids — all kinds of aggressive, manly juices that affect their lil’ swimmers.
"It is incredibly difficult to find beautiful, talented, funny women over 35 willing to play a nagging one-dimensional twit on a painfully boring show built entirely out of middle-brow cliche and one lousy big dick joke," I think is what she was trying to say before swallowing her fucking foot.
And what the fuck, Colette? Anne Heche is neither talented nor funny. Actually, she’s kind of creepy in a sinewy, eyebrowless kind of way — so clearly you cast about as well as you write.
"Are you really as glamorous as you seem, or rather, are you some 45 year old man with back hair like a fur rug, with a fetish for the imaginary?" — cunttasteslikepie
Yeah, I’m pretty fucking glamorous. I don’t shit glitter or anything, but all this stuff is true.
"What do you do for a living? I’m so curious about you." — Lil
I’m pretty respectable by day. I work in entertainment. I can’t really go into specifics, but I’ve got pant suits and a masters degree.
"What were you like before you were such a hipster jack ass. You are the embodiment of everything I hate in poop culture. From Vice Magazine to American Apparel, from Helvetica irony to applauding celebrities on the way down. You fucking disgust me (and use a fucking serif typeface alread, the design of this sight fucking sucks moose cock)." — Billy Mayes
Signing that shit Billy Mayes? Funny, dude.
"Is coke really awesome? I smoke ALOT of weed, and that does it for me. I get FUCKED UP. but what’s with coke? I heard its just like, drinking 6 red bulls, that doesn’t sound too cool. Explain it to me. What’s the rush like?" — higher
The physical rush of cocaine is peripheral to the whole experience. It’s communal. There’s ritual to it. It’s social and decadent. The best part is that when you’re doing coke, you’re not around the kind of person who would consider drinking six red bulls to chase a high. If my goal was just to get fucked up in capital letters, I’d go huff paint in an alley.
"My boss keeps doing lines off my laptop while he’s in the middle of video conference calls with clients in Vietnam and China. If I get him clients in other countries, do you think he will share?" — M
Never do blow with your boss, and keep an eye on any asshole who needs to do coke on the job. And why the fuck are you letting him cut lines on your laptop? That’s the corporate equivalent of making you his prison bitch.
"Where/how did you get so wise? I don’t mean that ironically. In concrete terms, please."
Well, it sure as fuck wasn’t in church.
I’m not quite sure how to answer this really, because accepting the premise of the question makes me kind of a douche. Not that I’m one for false humility. I’ll happily admit that my IQ is higher than giraffe pussy, but wisdom and intelligence aren’t the same thing.
Part of my charm comes from the fact that I grew up ugly and poor in the dirty south and now I’m cute as a fucking button on the west side of paradise. That contrast alone keeps me sharp. Plus, unlike the 85% of Americans who don’t even have a passport, I’ve seen a bit of the world.
But that’s the cheap answer. The real one is a bit more fucked up.
Whatever genuine wisdom I have comes from having faced my own mortality at an age when all my friends were preoccupied with sorority rush. I was forced to contemplate the very real likelihood of my own death without the benefit of having lived a full life, and I had to acknowledge some cold, sticky truths about the meaning of it all.
At first, all I did was freak myself out. Peering into an infinite regression is some scary stuff. Eventually though, I grew comfortable with my utter insignificance in an unimaginably vast universe, and I found that I had no need or desire to supplicate myself to a higher power. We are tiny specks of talking meat on a wet little ball in the middle of nowhere, and I’m perfectly okay with that. The pursuit of happiness is enough.
It’s a difficult concept to communicate, but all the athiest soldiers and godless cancer patients out there already know what I’m talking about. There is a freedom that comes from letting go, after you’re forced to completely jettison your ego. You can’t fake it, and if you’re lucky enough to live, it always stays with you.
All right, enough heavy shit. I’m off to the pool.
Thanks for sending in your question. And to everyone else who sent in questions, I really appreciate them — even the retarded ones. (Yes, asshole. I really do cocaine.)