Baked Alaska
As I sit in front of my typewriter, an IBM Selectric that I use because I love to watch the round ball roll in front of me, I think about what kind of virtual reality I should create for you in this blog. Many thoughts roll around my brain at this moment.
I can either write about the various retards running for President, not to help people but to seek power. Or I could write about the various pussies I have licked and launched into supreme ejaculation.
I know my average reader is a pathetic creature who is isolated from friends and family and other than masturbation; your genitals are rusting away. You are a lonely hunk of flesh whose life is over and only the flickering words on your computer screen give you some sense of the larger world you once lived in.
I would much rather write about eating pussy and the 7000 women I have been with but to be frank, there are times when social responsibility insists that I comment on who should win for president. We have the fish- like smell of Hillary Clinton or the nappy-headed-nature of Barack Obama. We also have a cadre of various republicans who are all puppets of their well-heeled backers. Come to think of it, none of these candidates are worth any more brain power.
The problem with modern life today is that we are no longer connected to each other. In the village of yore there was a context to which we lived. We knew our neighbors and our merchants. Today everyone is anonymous and a stranger because of the Internet.
Last night I had a meal with my best friend and his girlfriend and I realized pleasure is Baked Alaska, wonderful pasta and being around other people. The maitre d remembered me even though I haven’t been there in five years. That made me feel good. He told me to not regret anything but sometimes it’s hard. Eating at such a fine upscale restaurant like Bice in Manhattan reminded me of the good life and how much I miss it. I used to eat there once a week with a large group of friends and sycophants. I almost wish I never lived so high on the hog because now I have so much more to mourn and miss. It’s almost a shame I used to have so much money and pussy.
I can either write about the various retards running for President, not to help people but to seek power. Or I could write about the various pussies I have licked and launched into supreme ejaculation.
I know my average reader is a pathetic creature who is isolated from friends and family and other than masturbation; your genitals are rusting away. You are a lonely hunk of flesh whose life is over and only the flickering words on your computer screen give you some sense of the larger world you once lived in.
I would much rather write about eating pussy and the 7000 women I have been with but to be frank, there are times when social responsibility insists that I comment on who should win for president. We have the fish- like smell of Hillary Clinton or the nappy-headed-nature of Barack Obama. We also have a cadre of various republicans who are all puppets of their well-heeled backers. Come to think of it, none of these candidates are worth any more brain power.
The problem with modern life today is that we are no longer connected to each other. In the village of yore there was a context to which we lived. We knew our neighbors and our merchants. Today everyone is anonymous and a stranger because of the Internet.
Last night I had a meal with my best friend and his girlfriend and I realized pleasure is Baked Alaska, wonderful pasta and being around other people. The maitre d remembered me even though I haven’t been there in five years. That made me feel good. He told me to not regret anything but sometimes it’s hard. Eating at such a fine upscale restaurant like Bice in Manhattan reminded me of the good life and how much I miss it. I used to eat there once a week with a large group of friends and sycophants. I almost wish I never lived so high on the hog because now I have so much more to mourn and miss. It’s almost a shame I used to have so much money and pussy.
posted by Al Goldstein @ 12:42 PM
11 comments
11 Comments:
"It’s almost a shame I used to have so much money and pussy."
I wonder how many people actually read this blog?
Al thinks it's all jerkoffs. But they go for quick thrill visuals and not literary smut. No, some of us who read Al just miss what porn was when he was on top. That's all.
Al, you probably know it already but in case you don't, Linnea Quigley is going to have her own blog in January 2008. She already has her own website:
http://www.linneaquigley.net/
She still looks mighty fine. You were a lucky guy.
As for moving to Florida, it's a good idea or maybe seeing what Linnea has to say about moving to California. Hang in there Al. You give good blog!
Al, I loved the Selectric too! It had a nice rat-a-tat sound rather than the wussy clickity-clack of the contraption I'm typing this on. But after the ball spins round and round, how do you get the words on the blog? You mail them in?
Al, did you taste any diarreah in LQ's bunghole? Would you be her scat receptacle if she asked you?
"I love to watch the round ball roll in front of me
That's the queerest thing i've seen all day.
Mitch Haase
"I know my average reader is a pathetic creature..."
And you wonder why you can't keep friends?
cum and get a slice of this sweet pussy al.
al,
why are cops such morons?
hey al, what does shit taste like?
i once took a shit in an ibm selectric. after i unloaded, i would take some of the harder shit, form it into a sphere and replace the print ball with it. it was a hell of a lot of fun.
we'd get some of the colored selectrics like red or green and see who could shit on it the best so that no one could see what color it was.
these were damn good times, the best times of my life. one time i took a selectric to a machine shop and hired them to remove the entire back end, including the platen and attach it to the end of a gynecologist's exam table, in between the stirrups. the bitches would line up their bean where the platen used to be. we'd start typing and that shit ball would start banging on their clit. we'd be all jacked up on coke and do it every weekend until one of the bitches got popped for shoplifting and she sung about the whole thing. my friend the coke dealer went to jail and the whole thing was over. was not as much fun without him or his coke.
the lesson here is to only extend limited trust to any woman, whether it be wife, mother or whore. they are all depraved animals who will fuck over anyone in a heartbeat, especially each other.
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