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humanbecoming

I'd just like to say that the name "chaingang girls 2" is a very misleading name for a television show that contains no nudity OR scissoring. Here I am getting all excited switching the channel to what I imagine is porn. Its an awful show that spotlights women in prison and their road to release. Like "lockup", but with less action and more crying. Chaingang girls 2? Change the name to "women incarcerated"- something not sexy at all. Something with a smell.

I'm just saying, if I wanted to watch fat black dykes crying about their babies- I'd watch one of my own porns.

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Aweemowep, Gizmo....
humanbecoming

so we're there. I'm the "Saturday night pictures of my cat" guy. Oh fuck....somebody touch me quick before I.

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Craft me a beat, and I'll match you with heart
humanbecoming

An angel appears- browns eyes soft, yet penetrating. And begins grasping the statics as ammo defenestrating- and to tell the truth I'm kind of thankful for the breath of fresh air, for the moment I'll just leave the glass there.

I shouldve known from the moment that she first took my hand. In this recession her obsessions are in quite high demand. But she back fisted and black listed my lack of current plans, so my confession without much question is I'ma flag this bird to land.

The storms we came to weather had me grasping at these feathers- sticks and glue. Anything to keep close to you. And even though its clear to see that to me you're heaven sent- the gods they fear unnatural ascent- and we flew- so the heat gives quick retreat to crafts anew.

Insert that Greek symbolism to mask my geek euphomisms for imperfect feelings. Love from day one that had me reeling. Such as a modern day Orpheous I beg the gods for second chances- the only difference is Ill take no second glances. I wouldn't risk losing an angel to hades dances.

With all that's been- careening from padded walls within. It's still a wonder all of my blunders haven't found me where I've been... Where I'm residing. And I guess, in retrospect,what's the point of hiding- if you're always in the place where you begin? If we both hold short straws who's to say I didn't win?

Armed with a few rudamentary tools, I begin trying to bury myself in you. Or at least dig far enough down that I'm alone. And it's ironic and somehow true, that the further I push in you. The closer I become to finding close to home.

And then that angel appears- brown eyes masked by contemplation. And the variables beneath which cloud my minds own elations. To tell the truth, I'm kind of thankful for the breath of fresh air I try to gather while I bathe in your stare. And for the moment, while it lasts, I don't care. As long as it lasts, I'm more than happy to share.

But I was careless- or clueless- either way, I touched down shoeless. And I'll be damned if I didn't land right on track. But that glass we scattered, know it bit me back. I shouldve swept before I ever even packed. The blood ill lose is equal to the heart I lack.

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Hard with a Handlebar.
humanbecoming

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Harry Potter and the B-boy battle
humanbecoming

My buddy at work and I often pass the time rap battling via text message- sometimes with themes. This is a segment from Harry Potter that got out of hand. Its mostly in order, towards the end it was just me, though- his stuff got pretty weak. It's all pretty week.

I fuck magical- applying dr scholls under myshorts- cuz herrmione's quidditch gave my wand some hog warts

Yeah well hermione turned me back- said she couldn't take the risk- cause I got balls like bludgers and a dick like a basilisk.

See-She told me fucking you was more like fucking dobbie, said your dick was 2 inches long, green, slimy, and knobby.

But I still made her cream, and emit more magical screams than when dumbldore- stumbled o'er into potters wet dreams.

Well Im not one to boast- I'm not a strutting ass braggard- but her nickname, for my dickgame, is the "sputtering haggard"

My flow is just magic, you could even call it a knack- and yours is clearly missing something like Lance Armstrong's sack. I just wave my wand, it all comes so easily. Like you in the showers, after hours- with your boy Ron Weasley.

Bitch- my rhymes are the shit- like a backed up septic tank. Yours are quiet and gay like the diary of Anne Frank. And nothing they say is ever gonna change this, I spit sicker shit than Farrah Faucett's A-niss! Yeah my flow comes quick, like a fag in prison- yours steady slow trickles out like prostate cancer pissin....

Fool you're drunk- I can tell by the way that you're fumbling. Your spitting rhymes like your girl when shes date rape mumbling.

That's my girl, man. Not cool. I'm out.

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Cash
humanbecoming

When he's here, he's on my last nerve almost constantly. The moment he's gone, I miss him completely. He is at such an amazing age right now- so much fun. It's like overnight he became this separate entity with logical thought patterns who is now capable of participating in interesting conversations. We have things in common now and share interests. He enjoys fart jokes, we freestyle battle each other, he can belt out equally well a cut from Les Miserables, jonathan coulton, traveling wilburies, the flobots, elvis, or ivan ives. Hes reading entire books to me, telling time, doing mathematic equations for fun...He isn't a baby by any means anymore, and I can tell that I'm only going to be given these next 6 or 7 years at best where I'm one of his best friends- before he begins to hate me for a good 6 or 7 years. I hope he loves me with the same intensity that I loved my father.

I know how lucky I am- to have full custody and to be entrusted with such a precious child. It has made me appreciate things I never would have, had I become the single father on the other end of that spectrum. Visiting my son and mailing checks...I couldn't fathom that now.

I'm just thankful, that's all. My new years resolution is my boy- and everything that will better him. Smoking, drinking, finances, anger management, etc- I found it easy to lump them all together when the final outcome affects Avery, and not just myself.

Tonight he's with his mother, and while I mostly kind of more or less trust her- I worry any time he's not within arms reach. Got me fucked up if I'd thought 5 years ago I'd be a momma bird the likes Walt Disney never dreamed up. Eh...goodnight sweet boy. Try not to become an asshole too quickly.

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Fooseball
humanbecoming

As it's my first post in years, I feel like I owe it to myself to pull something introspective and thought provoking out of this void. But I'm starving, and all I can think about is my own great human conflict of al pastor vs pollo. Either would solidify quickly when emmersed in liquid latex" Which is where we get the phrase, "go hard in tha paint".

I'm ready for the superbowl to be over with. I can only fake my way through so many pointspread conversations with customers. When prodded about which team ive got- I've learned to just inhale sharply through my teeth and say something like- " either way, it's gonna be an offense game- that's for sure." or "it be nice to see the saints win, but I think the horse team will take them."

I was in a house yesterday and as I reached for my phone, the owner said, "what you pullin?!" I swear from the inflection and general excited manner of speak, I thought he meant- um, "are you pulling a weapon of sorts from your pockets? And if so, with what intention?". So I said, "it's my phone". And he clicked and said, "naw, fool, I mean who you got for the superbowl?" I took another shamefully deep rooted cue and said, "saints, of course". And then we shared an awkward silence because we both knew that this conversation wouldn't go anywhere further without embarrassing myself.

Now if a customer were ever to say; "how bout that Lost, huh? Whatchu think that island represent? An that black smoke a bad motherfucker!"....who dat.

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