Friday, March 27, 2009


He's my favorite

Tuesday, March 24, 2009

She saw my comb over
Her hour glass body
She had problems with drinkin' milk
and bein' ta school tardy
She'll loan you her toothbrush
She'll bartend your party

Pick a VOWEL

An international dome for the lost and found

6 days before Christmas and LAX have never seen busier days. Layed over; fucked over. I anxiously wait to descend home to good ol' Funky Town, Tx. 9 hours passed and still enough energy to step out for a smooth burning Parliament Light. Through security I find myself happily seated on a 30 step staircase designated for smoker's paradise. The cold breeze has prevented most nicotine lovers from inhaling their relaxing cigs, but not for me... for I have my black hooded FIDM sweatshirt on, and that will do me just fine. I flip up my hood and slip a white cancer stick between my lips. As I search for my fluid flame a police officer approaches the steps. In traditional cap and coat and every step higher, the pig finds interest in my stale but eager face. I grasp my lighter when his face is parallel to mine. He hasn't taken his eyes off of me. I politely speak "hello" through my locked cancer stick grasping lips. I glare into his cold stern face until I defeat him in our childish contest. Continuing with my process, I flick my Bic and he walks off without a word. In this moment I had a change of mind, layed over doesn't mean fucked over... I love the god damn airport; a place for everyone from anywhere; an international dome for the lost and found. 
I spot a FIDM student down below and seriously consider bursting into cheers, but on second thought... I'm just not that crazy...