tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-53376724429120328962024-03-14T00:12:14.014-04:00Angel Trumpets & Devil TrombonesAngel Trumpets & Devil Trombones: The Blog Centering On One Man's Indulgence In Everything WEIRDSentientZombiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14874513991524094660noreply@blogger.comBlogger11125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5337672442912032896.post-59999691582201231722013-04-02T21:04:00.000-04:002013-04-02T23:57:16.176-04:00A Short Story: Silence Will Satisfy<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I sat in amazement that night as I watched her pump what must have been about $400 worth of white into her system. Mia had always been a bit eccentric about her drug use, but that particular evening it seemed as if she was racing towards her last breath. With a frenzied look in her eyes seething with lust and desire and a malevolently devilish smile blazing across her face, she snorted up two monstrous lines in anticipation of Death's arrival. I haven't an idea as to which of my many chemical imbalances caused me to aid in her attempt, nor which entity granted me the patience to sit idly by and allow the destruction of this woman that I had and loved...for so little time. Yet, I continued onward, feeding her sacred poison on a cursed spoon. It was as if we both knew that her accelerated life was reaching its inevitable conclusion. I had somehow agreed to accept it, and she had decided to embrace it. Death, to her, was to be a tranquil lover who promised the peace that eluded her in life, seducing her with eternal sleep.<br />
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I had known Mia for just a few dark, fuck-filled months. She was the epitome of all things orgasmically evil and deliciously twisted in the world. If the authors of the Bible has seen fit to label something as a sure-fire way to earn passage into the lowest bowels of Hell, one could rest assured that Mia indulged in it to the fullest. She had an insatiable thirst for all the wretched joys of humanity.<br />
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When I first met Mia, she was dancing at a fetish club on the lower east side. She was wearing a tight, little, patent leather skirt accompanied by knee-high black leather boots with electrical tape criss-crossed over her nipples - carnality at first sight. Mia had this certain dementia about her that enticed me like no other woman had before; it drew me to her. How such a ravishing woman could be so demonic in character and so scornful in passion had always weighed heavily on my heart.<br />
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The night we met, she came home with me. She never left. We fed off of each other. Our perversions, our vices, our fantasies: they all intermeshed to create a beautifully horrible relationship that always straddled the fine line between marriage and murder. Great mounds of white powder, exquisite portions of flesh, endless amounts of alcohol, eye-crossing orgasmic indecencies, and everyday mortal sins filled every moment I faced with Mia at my side. <br />
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I knew that Mia was, and always had been, extremely unhappy. She was seemingly incapable of finding solace and peace in the grip of society's restraints. <br />
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Line after line, she inhaled with fury and determination, summoning the pace of death to quicken. The end was rapidly approaching. "Come with me," she said, grabbing my hand. We went into the bedroom. And despite our warped and frenzied minds, we made love - actual love - for the first time that night (night of all nights). A single tear and an enchanting smile adorned her face as we both climaxed in a rolling shudder and rumble. The minimal amount of light granted to us by the moon allowed me to see a hint of tenderness in her eyes that she had never before let shine in my world. She kissed me, gently took my shoulders, rolled me off of her, and arose from the bed. Naked, she stopped at the bedroom door. She turned, taking one last glance at me as I sat up among the ravaged silk sheets. Never once breaking eye contact, she made her way through the doorway and pushed the door gently until it met its frame. I stayed there in bed for what seemed like an ever-expanding and never-ending stretch of time, alone with my thoughts. Finally, I rose to my feet and slowly got dressed. Dreading the silence that now commanded the apartment, I swung open the door and stepped out into the living room. <br />
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Mia's body lay motionless on the floor. She had snuffed out the voices that resided within her that made life so unbearable. All the anguish she had endured, all the pain she had suffered, was now over. I, on the other hand, was now forced to deal with not only my own demons, but with those I had inherited from my tormented lover. I sat down on the black leather couch next to the lifeless body of my companion, my Mia. I set myself up two honorable lines - even by her standards. I took them in deeply and lay back unto the couch with my eyes fixed on the opposing, naked wall. I was numb...in every possible way, I was numb. Much like an orchestra warming up, it was faint at first. Indistinguishable sounds coalesced only to ring through crisp and clean. My own voices had begun to speak to me. Each with their own emphasis and tone, they sang of but one defining thing. "You need silence."SentientZombiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14874513991524094660noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5337672442912032896.post-39237679110993839552013-03-26T20:32:00.000-04:002013-03-26T20:32:14.770-04:00Children Are Creepy<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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This is so profoundly disturbing, I felt the need to share it with all of you. (Please know: These are real drawings, drawn by a real child.)<br />
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<b>Oooooooooookay.</b></div>
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<b>Smart move, little girl.</b></div>
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<b>Mrs. Monroe, you have done fucked up.</b></div>
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<b>People are afraid of you, bitch!</b></div>
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<b>A properly timed snack time can save your life.</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghHJVyqTQjtXZLhza_Ttw9nedztYmsOxM8kttQzej7El97eyPAQX02-Ul18x9VO4jEY-BgVGkVk4ptxsG7IfOW49B_Zcydy-my0JyKmCZ3JaBI78aIcp3dpLOJBaBIXDrwc_qvKz-ZXv_7/s1600/tumblr_mczw96QMbB1rwuvuco6_500.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghHJVyqTQjtXZLhza_Ttw9nedztYmsOxM8kttQzej7El97eyPAQX02-Ul18x9VO4jEY-BgVGkVk4ptxsG7IfOW49B_Zcydy-my0JyKmCZ3JaBI78aIcp3dpLOJBaBIXDrwc_qvKz-ZXv_7/s400/tumblr_mczw96QMbB1rwuvuco6_500.png" width="310" /></a></div>
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<b>Oh, daddy....what the fuck have you done?</b></div>
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<b>Mom, you better never run out of that pudding!</b></div>
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<b>Write all you want...that motherfucker is never coming back.</b></div>
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<b>This girl needs some corporeal, non-murderous friends ASAP!!!</b></div>
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<b>They're fucking dead! Get the hell out of there!!!</b></div>
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The moral of the story, I believe, is obvious. Be nice to little kids with imaginary friends. And whatever you do, don't ever piss off Lisa!</div>
SentientZombiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14874513991524094660noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5337672442912032896.post-68015828530942844282013-03-19T17:36:00.000-04:002013-03-22T12:05:37.054-04:00The Benefits Of Being Ugly<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Society definitely has its long-standing and well-entrenched standards of what being attractive means. Despite some characteristics that garner our focus shifting from decade to decade, there are some that have always been pervasive and will continue to be well into the future. Things like above-average height, signs of fertility, well-defined musculature and even a palpable aura of happiness have always been key factors in attracting the largest number of possible mates. The benefits of possessing such qualities or features are obvious and undeniable. However, for those of you out there that were dealt a raw hand and cannot claim any of these advantages, there is no need to worry. The Alpha Betas might have popularity on lock in youth, but the nerds always triumph in the end. Just ask Bill Gates. So, I'll be highlighting a few reasons you should thank the universe for your ugly self.<br />
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<a name='more'></a>The first thing I would like to address, which is of particular significance to me, is height. When I was a kid, my physician predicted I would reach a height of 6'1". Bullshit! Thanks to the early administering of Ritalin, my growth was stunted. I never made it passed 5'9". If I had reached the predicted height of 6'1", I could have expected to earn more money throughout my life, been afforded more opportunities and slept with way more women. But here's the upside. Study after study, research after research has found that tall people die first. It's a fact. Shorter people lead longer lives. Ha! So, attractive women of the world, lower your standards, literally, and you may just find a partner that won't die on you. <br />
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As if a longer than average lifespan wasn't enough, ugliness also breeds success. Face it. It wasn't exactly raining women for the nerdy guys in your high school computer club. As a result, aside from the hundreds of hours spent masturbating, they invested their time in studying. They were plotting their revenge and inevitable comeuppance. And most of the time, they are successful. For proof, just go to your high school reunion. Looks will fade, but the success and cash generated by your software company going public can last a lifetime. <br />
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When it comes to physicality, most of us were raised to believe fitness and strength are ideal when choosing a mate. Hundreds of years ago, it made sense to choose a partner because he was strong enough to tackle large game with his hands. Now, with local groceries all over the place, the concerns shifted to how to pay the ever-increasing grocery bill. A young girl will still usually choose the beastly bodybuilder, but if that same woman grows up and makes it to her 30s single, best believe she's looking for a nice accountant.<br />
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Now, on to all of you overly happy and cheerful people out there. Guess what? You're going to die young! The irony is delicious. In one of the longest studies ever conducted, researchers analyzed a large group of children born in the 1920s straight on through to their ultimate demise. They found that the most cheerful of the group were the first to drop off. Apparently, being optimistic also makes you more likely to cliff dive and split your skull open. Meanwhile, the broody, poetry reading types went on to live long, I'll be it more reserved, lives. <br />
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If you're ugly or just less than pretty, embrace it. Ugly people are usually funnier. The opinions of the ugly are listened to more often (as the people they talk to aren't necessarily thinking about how they can get into their pants). The ugly are more likely to marry someone who actually appreciates them for who they are. The ugly are the 99% and will one day rise up and crush the beautiful. And in the end (somewhere in our 50s, I think) we all become fairly ugly...but they'll be ready for it. <br />
<br />SentientZombiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14874513991524094660noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5337672442912032896.post-33435916767938932882013-03-05T14:14:00.000-05:002013-03-05T14:19:51.980-05:0010 Reasons To Move To Portland (If You're Weird)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I'm moving to Portland! Well, not really...but I probably should. Long before the debut of the hilarious Portlandia, I had learned of the magical safe haven for weirdos from all walks of life. For many, the idea of such a place holds a significant appeal. Living in Miami, yes, the people are inordinately sexy. But to have sex with these people you have to toe the line. You are not free to stray and be yourself, unless being yourself means being like everyone else. Granted, you're bound to find someone delicious who finds your natural weirdness ironically cool. Trust me, I live for those moments. Despite that, I find myself yearning for a place that encourages originality and embraces eccentricity. This is where Portland comes in.<br />
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There are a great many reasons for weirdos like us to move to Portland, but here are just a few.<br />
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<b>1. The World Naked Bike Ride</b> That's right! The WNBR is a clothing-optional bike ride through the streets of Portland. In Miami, we have Critical Mass. This, is Critical Ass!<br />
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<b>2. Yarn Bombing </b>Yarn bombing is a form of street art - yarn graffiti, as it were. It's commonplace to see entire tree trunks and branches, even bike racks, enveloped in knitted or crocheted yarn. <br />
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<b>3. The 24 Hour Church of Elvis </b>While the "church" has changed venues over the years, you can still walk in and get legally married, fake married and even temporarily married via coin-operated displays.<br />
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<b>4. Dressing Down</b> If you like to keep it casual, fleece and flannel are often considered formal dress in Portland. Keep it comfy, fuckers!<br />
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<b>5. Brunch!</b> Sunday brunch is actually a most important event. More people in Portland attend brunch than they do church. Praise cheeses!<br />
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<b>6. The Portland Urban Iditarod</b> A four mile course where participants in teams of five wear ridiculous costumes, pushing themed shopping carts from bar to bar. The best part, everyone wins!<br />
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<b>7. Old Guys Skate </b>Being in my thirties, I really appreciate this one. It is typical to see guys in their 30s and 40s on skateboards and longboards. No judging here!<br />
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<b>8. Creepy Bathrooms </b>Apparently, it is all too common to walk into a bathroom and be greeted by a creepy mannequin that watches you while you do your business. Deliciously disconcerting!<br />
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<b>9. The Bicycling Lobby </b>It's like the mafia, but with pedals. As a result, Portland has more miles of bike paths than any other city in America and is considered among the friendliest of cities to cycle in.<br />
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<b>10. Voodoo Doughnuts </b>You can't talk about Portland and not mention Voodoo Doughnuts. It's such a well established landmark in Portland that couples frequently choose to have their nuptials in the storefront. And they put bacon in doughnuts, people. That's basically food porn!<b> </b><br />
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So, start saving your pennies. Get ready to trade in your sunshine for some torrential downpour. <span style="font-size: 16px;">We're moving to Portland! Someday.</span><span style="font-size: 16px;"> </span>SentientZombiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14874513991524094660noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5337672442912032896.post-48704295816747912092013-02-26T15:45:00.000-05:002013-02-26T15:45:16.531-05:00Dance Like No One Is Watching<div style="text-align: center;">
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People all too frequently deny themselves the pleasure of cutting loose on the dance floor. They worry about looking "weird". They fear that if people see them getting down and funky that they will inevitably see them as being uncool. I feel for these people. I really do. Dancing is one of the most liberating and joyful expressions one can perform with the human body. It improves your physical condition. It betters your cognitive functions. It promotes happiness and reduces stress. It can even help get you laid, people! <br />
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It's not exactly socially challenging to dance in public when you know how. While it's easy for me to be impressed with someone who has all the right moves, what I truly love to see is horrible dancers that just don't give a shit. Living in Miami, a city that is as image conscious as they come, it's commonplace to go to a club and see everyone standing around schmoozing with drinks in their hands. It's only when they reach that perfect level of shitfacedness that they hit the floor and shake ass.<br />
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There have been many studies conducted on the benefits of dancing. And the benefits are numerous. The first that comes to the minds of many are the physical betterments that can be achieved through dance. Studies have found that dancing is a great activity for those at risk of cardiovascular disease. It helps improve heart health, strengthening the circulatory system and greatly reduces the risk of heart failure throughout life. Breathing is ameliorated, improving lung capacity and enhancing oxygen absorption in every cell of your body. Flexibility is augmented, reducing stiffness and allowing for a higher level of athleticism. Obviously, for heavier individuals, dancing is one of the best ways to reduce weight. One Italian study showed that dancing more significantly improved the overall quality of life even when compared to activities such as cycling, walking and swimming.<br />
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What one might find hardest to believe is that dancing helps your brain. The New England Journal of Medicine published a study, conducted by the Albert Einstein School of Medicine in New York City, on the effects of recreational activities on mental acuity and aging. They found that above all physical endeavors, dancing represented the strongest safeguard against diminished cognitive function in old age. Almost miraculously, they found that dancing greatly negated the chances of one ultimately suffering from Alzheimer's or dementia. In other words, if you don't want to lose your shit when you're old, dance!<br />
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For you workaholics and modern-day emos out there, dancing may just be your last great hope. Few things in life allow one to shed their burdens and enjoy the world around them the way that dancing does. It a celebration, bitches! Enjoy yourselves! Studies have found dancing greatly reduces stress and even combats depression. So, if you're feeling a little miserable in your existence, or you've become jaded and strained with your current situation or responsibilities, grab someone cute and drop it like it's hot.<br />
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Now, we get to the meat and potatoes. Arguably, the best reason to incorporate dance into your life is the social aspect of it all. We've all been at a club at some point and witnessed the following scenario: everyone just standing around as if they were at a 6th grade dance, while the ugliest dude in the room was tearing up the floor with girl after girl. There is no mystery to this phenomenon. A willingness to dance exudes confidence, it creates a presence that is both enjoyable and carefree. People gravitate towards this. Dancing enables you to make new friends. It empowers us to obtain the attention of partners who in the light of day would just be too attractive for us. <br />
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So, in the immortal words of Mystikal, "shake ya ass, show me what ya workin' wit!" <br />
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SentientZombiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14874513991524094660noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5337672442912032896.post-91209647680759358182013-02-19T00:34:00.000-05:002013-02-21T00:42:12.797-05:00Weird Sex is Great Sex!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Anyone who would argue with the title of this post...well...they're just not doing it right. Normal sex is probably responsible for more divorces than spousal abuse, financial problems and alcoholism combined. See, normal is standard. It's routine. And the last thing you want your sex to be is routine. As I have said in previous posts, weirdness is all about the unexpected. That's why I wanted to take a moment and highlight the importance of not being afraid to get a little weird with your own sexual encounters.<br />
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Don't worry, you don't have to run out and buy a matching set of his and her furvert costumes, as pictured above (for those that aren't already aware, furry fetishists wear these for sexy time). But it is always a good idea to have an expanded arsenal when it comes to pleasing your partner - and satisfying yourself in the process. A willingness to get weird does marvels in this regard. <br />
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I care so deeply for the sex lives of my readers, that I'm willing to go out on a limb for this one. Here are a few practices, that some may refer to as strange sex acts, that I suggest you try as soon as possible.<br />
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We'll start with ponyplay. Ponyplay is a type of bondage where one person serves as "pony" and the other facilitates the role of "rider". This can be an expensive hobby, as it entails the purchase of a riding crop/whip, several leather straps and reins, a saddle, blinders (optional) and some incarnation of a mouth harness. It allows you to reduce your partner to the level of an animal, and then you treat them as such. Let's be fair people! It's nice to take turns.<br />
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For those of you with partners that can't seem to shut up during sex, you may want to try pseudonecrophilia. Don't get scared! I'm not advocating sex with dead people. In pseudonecrophilia, your partner just pretends to be dead (or asleep, if it makes you feel more comfortable). If you want to go real hardcore, have your partner take a nice long ice dip before doing the deed. Oh yeah!<br />
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Since I happen to be in Miami, I thought I should also include this next one for all of you graffiti artists with penchants for vandalism. It also happens to be my personal favorite, ladies. We are talking about salirophilia. Salirophilia involves taking pleasure in the act of debasing and defiling the object of your desires. This is the opposite of communism, as it looks horrible on paper, but in practice, it's amazing!!! You tear their clothes, smear their makeup, mess up their hair and even apply some light choking. Hardcore salirophiliacs will even cover their partner in food products, dirt, or even mud (I pass on that, you probably should, too). It's very important to remember that this is not intended to hurt, injure, maim or cripple your partner, only sully their appearance. <br />
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<i>Always be sure to discuss incorporating these practices with your partner first! Make sure they're on board, then have fun with it.</i><br />
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For those of you without a partner (probably most of my readers), I did some research for you guys and found a few things to keep you busy. I'll keep these short.<br />
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Sacofricosis: All you have to do is cut a hole in one of your pant pockets to facilitate masturbating in public. Voila!<br />
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Dendrophilia: This involves sex with trees Just get creative!<br />
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Frotteurism: You'll need a bus, metro rail or subway for this one. Be ready to do some time behind bars, because this will require rubbing against a non-consenting person on some form of public transport. Anyone who has lived in New York should be familiar with this already.<br />
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Ursusagalmatophilia: If you like the idea of fucking teddy bears, this one's for you.<br />
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Agalmatophilia: If you don't have a teddy bear, but there's a mannequin or statue handy, enjoy.<br />
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Now here is some homework for all of you. If you're bored later, have some time on your hands, and want a good laugh, google some of these for fun.<br />
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- Blumpie<br />
- The Pirate<br />
- Gorilla<br />
- Glass Bottom Boat<br />
- Cleveland Steamer<br />
- Rusty Trombone<br />
- Dirty Sanchez<br />
- The Shocker<br />
- Strawberry Milkshake<br />
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(And the funniest, and equally disturbing, one I came across in my own search)<br />
- Puppies in a Bathtub<br />
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If I've left some out that deserve a mention, feel free to add them in the comments below.<br />
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I hope you've enjoyed these. Just remember, there's more to life than missionary and doggy style. There is a whole universe of sexual perversion out there just waiting to be enjoyed. So, get exploring!<br />
<br />SentientZombiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14874513991524094660noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5337672442912032896.post-36210513620528611992013-02-11T14:23:00.002-05:002013-02-20T22:10:52.133-05:00Where The Weirdness Shines<div id="fb-root">
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I have received a few emails from people that were unsure as to where to start in regards to shifting gears and getting on the weird train. In light of this, I felt the need to add some additional insights to encourage you to bring your own special brand of weirdness out to play. Remember, I'm not necessarily encouraging folks to hit the streets performing interpretive dances covered in nothing but vinyl body paint and bat guano. Now, if that's your thing, then by all means...enjoy. I am, however, looking to highlight how a little weirdness can bring a new level of happiness and fulfillment to your life that you may have stopped believing possible.<br />
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Most people I speak with, who express a certain level of discontent, tend to be stuck in a rut. Their life has fallen into a mind-numbing ebb and flow that could drive the most stable of us insane. Another common thread amongst these individuals is that they all have dreams, actions and endeavors that they dare not act upon. This is where the weirdness shines, people! The cornerstone of weirdness is the unexpected. Every once in a while, you have to do something outside of your comfort zone. As human beings, many things we are inclined to do we inherently deny ourselves, most commonly out of fear of what others will think or say. Throw that shit right out the window! Think back to the free-spirits you've met along the way. Did they ever seem like they were encumbered by what others thought of them? Of course not! They were having too much fun to care. They were too enthralled by their own experience to even notice.<br />
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I, myself, am neck-deep in the process of my own regression/transformation. It's not always easy, but nothing in life worth pursuing really is. This is probably the point at which you are expecting me to provide a clear and concise, easy to follow list on how to bring your weirdness to the surface (not happening). I am, however, willing to give you a few simple suggestions.<br />
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Next time you feel the urge to do or say something, but that urge is immediately followed by an inner-voice expressing doubt or hesitation, ignore that doubt, push through that hesitation. That feeling you get in the pit of your stomach is the universe's way of telling you to act - so act! <br />
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Be willing to be judged for the things you do or say. The only other alternative is being unseen and ignored, and being unseen and ignored never got anyone anywhere...expect maybe for ninjas. We should prefer to stand out like a sore thumb rather than blend seamlessly into the background.<br />
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If you are ever in a public place, are tired, and there is nowhere to sit, sit on the damn ground! Lay on the ground if want to! Little kids do not have a monopoly on floor space. Who gives a shit if people look at you funny?<br />
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Most importantly, if you feel stuck in a job or relationship that hinders your happiness, leave! Don't fall victim to living a life that was never meant for you. If you feel the need for something different in your existence, seek it out. Life is too short.<br />
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I hope this helps.<br />
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SentientZombiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14874513991524094660noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5337672442912032896.post-43608308966388876792013-02-09T11:31:00.000-05:002013-02-20T22:12:29.402-05:00The Intrinsic Value of Weirdness<div id="fb-root">
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Where would we be without the occasional explosion of weird propelling us forward? This world tends to be thoroughly shitty at times, but if it weren't for the intermittent and delicious weirdness slapping me in the face from time to time, I'd surely kill myself. Think about it. This would be one boring-ass place if it wasn't for the sublimely weird. Fashion would be nonexistent. Everyone would look like they stepped out of a damn Gap ad. There would be beige everywhere! High school kids would have no one to make fun of to cover up their own insecurities. Unicycles would never have been invented. Ballroom dancing would be the only dancing. Quantum physics would be easy to understand and make sense to everyone! There would be no great literature, or even good literature for that matter. All movies would go straight to video! We would still be using smoke signals and mailing hand-written letters due to there never being any Bill Gates or Steve Jobs - those guys are/were crazy weird. Art would only be found on designer paper towel rolls and ugly wallpaper. Performance art wouldn't even exist. Evolution itself would be stifled and grind to a halt, because let's face it...mutants are weird. Merriam-Webster even defines the term weird as relating to the supernatural. So, forget about religion, too. Few things are as weird as the belief in an afterlife, that we die and float up to a magical place where we fly around with our dead friends and relatives for eternity in perfect happiness and total peace - that's insanely weird!</div>
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<span style="text-align: left;">The point is that the vast majority of innovation and inspiration that we benefit from everyday was and continues to be born from weirdness. If it wasn't for the occasional human that decided to step out of line, all would stay the same. Nothing would ever change. </span><br />
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No matter how uptight and conservative a person may be, I refuse to believe anyone would really prefer an existence devoid of weirdness. We need the weird. It pushes us. It inspires us. It surprises us. It makes us laugh. It makes us think. It makes us dance like no one's watching (my favorite kind of dancing, by the way). Embrace the weird! Life, as we know it, depends on it.</div>
<br />SentientZombiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14874513991524094660noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5337672442912032896.post-45787015788955761282013-02-08T20:08:00.002-05:002013-02-20T22:14:53.815-05:00Only The Strong Will Be Weird<div id="fb-root">
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"Where's your will to be weird?" This question was posited by the ever-weird and totally genius Jim Morrison - a personal hero of mine and many. Certain friends of mine, as well as a few family members, have questioned my desire to be weird. Now mind you, the people that are most likely to question such an inclination are usually the weirdest ones of all. These people go to exorbitant lengths to be seen as normal. In our society, to be normal means one must typically go against the grain of their very nature. See, people have certain preconceptions of what it means for someone (or something) to be weird.<br />
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Weirdness carries a certain stigma. It makes the people pretending to be normal uncomfortable. This dynamic can be observed just about anywhere one can look. It's easily spotted in the bible-thumper who gets furious about same-sex marriage, as if just by witnessing someone willing to do what comes naturally, they themselves will lose control and fuck the nearest farm animal that captures their eye. You can catch a glimpse of it when a suited businessman labels a passing backpacker as being homeless in jest, because considering the joyous freedom of that individual in contrast to their own reality would just make them miserable. It's all just too much.<br />
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People can use the phrase "weird" to insult and degrade, but in reality, they are only hating on someone's willingness to be themselves and their own inability to do the same. Only the strong will be weird, for it takes courage to be different. Don't get me wrong. I'm not saying that there only exist a select few out there that are truly distinctive. Everyone possesses qualities that are unique to them, but only a small percentage of them are willing to display those qualities outwardly. For some it comes naturally, while for others it may take a concerted effort. Blending into a herd, following the pack or otherwise not standing out requires nothing from us. There is no achievement in being the same as everyone around you. Most, in the privacy of their own heads, indulge themselves with the belief that they are somehow special, but they take no steps to assert that in the real world. Instead, they keep their heads down, mimic their neighbors and judge the strays.<br />
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If you are one of those truly, super normal people who mistakenly stumbled upon this post and have come to see the error of your ways, we're here to help. The good folks over at <a href="http://www.wikihow.com/" target="_blank">wikiHow</a> have a great guide to get you started on your way to weirdness. Please do yourself (and everyone else) a favor, and check it out at <a href="http://www.wikihow.com/Be-Weird" target="_blank">How To Be Weird</a>. And be sure to check back here from time to time for new insights into the virtues and benefits of weirdness. We won't make you weird overnight, but we'll get you there eventually. Remember, being weird is all about doing your own thing and saying fuck-all to everything else. So, be strong. Be weird.
SentientZombiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14874513991524094660noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5337672442912032896.post-39974470031925488912013-02-06T22:55:00.000-05:002013-02-21T00:41:46.119-05:00A Most Sudden and Overwhelming Hatred of Business Apparel<div id="fb-root">
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In the hope of conjuring up a more well-defined picture of how I arrived at this point in my less than illustrious life, I felt it prudent to share a bit of my backstory. In an effort to maintain some semblance of brevity, I'll be sticking to what caused the initial "shift" for me.<br />
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For years I was on, what many would call, the right track. I had moved past the trappings of education and progressed onward to the world of professionals. Working in hotel management for only a handful of years, I clawed my way up from lowly concierge to esteemed general manager (of a hotel on Ocean Drive in Miami Beach, no less). Mind you, I was high the whole time. I used to go up to vacant guest rooms and smoke as if the world's supply of pot was quickly and tragically coming to an end. With great frequency, the front desk attendant would call me on my cell to inform me of guest complaints in regards to the wicked odor emanating through the corridor and to ask me if I wanted them to handle it. "No, don't worry about it," I'd say. "I'll deal with this personally." After finishing my bounty and enjoying a most solid and delicious nap, I would make my way back down to the lobby. As soon as I glided into the attendant's line of sight, he would unavoidably ask, "what happened with the potheads" with a giddy and juvenile smile on his face. "It's all been taken care of." And, indeed, it had been.<br />
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I kept up this balancing act for some time and was soon offered an opportunity to change industries. Leaving what had become the comfortable and easily manipulated world of hospitality, I accepted a position in commercial property management. This was the beginning of the end. I was to help manage a Class-A property on Brickell Avenue, which was, and continues to be, the veritable hub of high-end commerce in Miami. Serving as the building's tenant services coordinator, I would function as the primary point of contact for over 60 companies, comprised of over 1,200 individuals that seemingly had nothing better to do than harass me. For someone who was high all the time, 2,400 eyeballs was just <i>way too many fucking eyeballs</i>. There was little escape to be had in that environment. Daily, I would use my lunch time to drive to a nearby park in order to indulge my increasingly needed vice. I was clean-shaven, well-groomed and sporting full business attire day in and day out. As time wore on, I felt more and more like an impostor.<br />
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I started to develop the distinct impression that I was living a life meant for someone other than myself. My adolescence was filled with dreams of becoming a successful bohemian sort, and I had unwittingly become quite the opposite. Apparently, in my youth, I had set up aspirational land mines that were finally detonating, and they were exploding all around me. A most sudden and overwhelming hatred of business apparel washed over me like a tsunami. The life I had built would obviously not suffice (despite the paycheck) and was never going to be enough. So, I left that job (and the paycheck). Unbeknownst to me, I was setting off in a direction that would make my life all the more challenging. Let's face it, finding a good paycheck is hard enough, but finding your true north can seem a dubious and terrifying venture. Regardless of how this all pans out in the end, I had begun my journey back to weirdness, and there was no turning back.
SentientZombiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14874513991524094660noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5337672442912032896.post-79526306347014447472013-02-05T14:51:00.000-05:002013-02-20T22:13:22.820-05:00This Should Be...Whatever<br />
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In lieu of doing more interesting and productive things with my life, I've decided to start this blog. I'll be writing about a myriad of things that most won't give a shit about and some may truly identify with, but it's all in the name of self-improvement, exploration and maybe killing a little time in the process.<br />
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My life used to be, dare I say, impressive. It may have been chaotic, depraved even, but impressive nonetheless. It was filled with weird sex, hard drugs, strange venues, and a vast assortment of obscure music. Somewhere along the way though, my vim and vigor (or soul nuts, if you will) had been curtailed, castrated. Now, my days have become routine, filled with healthy and scheduled meals, regular exercise, dog walks and other unimpressive things.<br />
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Although I approach this whole blogging endeavor with no clear plans and little talent, it may be a good idea to use this format to promote and detail my journey back to weirdness, as well as the reasons behind it. Weirdness, to me at least, provides the power to unleash the very best in humanity: individuality, courage, eccentricity, freedom of mind and body, artistry and even humor.<span style="color: #333333; font-family: lucida grande, tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 11px; line-height: 14px;"> </span></span>I came to realize, like many of you, that I had long since forgotten vital concepts and perspectives that were so clearly understood at eighteen years of age.<br />
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Together, we will attempt to regain that lost knowledge, or lack thereof (whatever the case may be). So, we'll be chronicling my atavism, my devolution from adulthood and all of its implied shackles and pitfalls. Just because our peers insist on moving forward, it doesn't mean that they've got the right idea or that they're heading in the right direction. I mean, they may be...but fuck it. In life, we have to do what feels right. Either way, this should be...whatever.</div>
SentientZombiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14874513991524094660noreply@blogger.com0