Monthly Archives: February 2009

Love me some salad.

What do you think, when you are walking down the grocery aisle, full of fruits and vegetables, and see, organic?

Oooh, “ORGANIC”!

fresh! unsullied by mans filthy chemicals! farted on by the highest power!

You know what I think?

This delicious salad is about to crunch for all the wrong fucking reasons.

Look people, I don’t enjoy a mouthful of DDT anymore than you do, but when I chop up a head of romaine and I see corpses floating in my oil and vinegar, well, that’s where I have to draw the line.

If I wanted to eat bugs I would ride down to jones beach during high summer full speed with my mouth wide open, kapish?

The earth don’t need no saving you god damn hippy sons of bitches.

I want my fruit pretty and my lettuce pest free.

Thank you.

-Tobas

Live it, Love it, Spray it.

Manifesto.

Sometimes when I am very, very tired, I drift away differently.
My thoughts become a flowing, swirling, lovely place.
And where it comes together is a warm place,
That reminds me of curling under the most comfy blanket,
On the coldest day of vacation.

I long to feel so in between,
On those mornings I cannot stand, when the sun shines,
And those birds just sing and sing,

How many more bitter little sentences must I spew,
To bring myself to swallow as many as I am due,
I think little by little is all it took,
So little by little I will take,

Do what is right and you will make it,
Make what and why?
All of your toil and all of your triumph, and all of your joy,
Pain, pride, laughter and cries,
Time reveals truth and ironic reward,
All the same we wither and die,

Trotsky and Lenin were prophets of living,
Abhorrent is the penalty that we pay,
Kill if you must, save if you save,
Communism wins out at the finish,
We die anyway, just the same.

Keep it Locked.

Due to overwhelming response and quite simply, my rediscovered passion for using the written word to be a crude, opinionated ass, I have decided to increase my blog output.

I have so far settled on once a week. Of course, this does not mean it will not be more than that.  I never know exactly when something catches my fancy and has to be thrust through my fucked up reality filter. For the moment, I have a show to prepare for, which basically means I get to listen to the same four songs, over, and over, and over, etc.

Good thing I like these tunes.

I also have a long, detailed story about my prom(s) experiences, which honestly, I am unsure about finishing.  I would feel dishonest leaving out the third time around, however, I am being a gigantic bag of pussy about it. I don’t like that feeling, which likely means I’ll be finishing it sometime after the weekend and hanging myself early next week.

So yeah.  Compelling stuff ahead.  Stay tuned.

The Curious Case of Stinky Snatcher.

“I dunno, if your snatch stinks, you fucking know it.”

And with that brilliant observation, a blog entry was born.

Let me start by saying. Ladies, I am sure there are many of you out there, who upon getting a bit too close to a mans unwashed crotch, tasted that breakfast burrito you had that morning all over again. Yes indeed, a mans swamp crotch is no laughing matter.

However, offensive odor in a females punaner is just about the worst thing a man will ever have to try and rid his flesh of.

I kid you not. It actually sticks to you, and lingers sometimes for days, depending on its initial strength. I remember, the very first time this phenomenon revealed itself to me. It actually came as a result of the very first time I put my finger in a girls happy place. I recalled that the other guys would often ask to smell the finger of the individual claiming to have invaded that sacred territory. So, being young and curious, I did exactly that. The keen, slightly sweaty, slightly fishy odor slammed into my fifteen year old nostrils with gale force. I paused mid-stride walking into my house, and just stared at my hand for a moment. I remember immediately recalling a scene from a porn I had watched at some house party a few months before (that was some house party, but that’s another story entirely). A man was giving a female oral sex for quite a long time (or so it seemed to me, little did I know how long a woman would actually want that done for in reality). I thought, my god, how could he stand that?

It is rather surprising that my ignorance of the fact that they did not ALL smell that way did not immediately turn me into a cross-dressing cock smoker (some would say that is exactly what it did…). I went to the bathroom, and squeezed as much soap as I could onto my hands, and scrubbed with all my might. Thinking my ordeal complete, I went about the task of making lunch. It took one bite of my BLT to realize there was nothing wrong with the mayo.

Fast forward to breakfast. There was nothing wrong with my apple turnover either.

Lunch. Cheese doodles.

You get the idea.

This went on for almost THREE days. Hand washing, steel wool, sandpaper. Nothing, and I mean NOTHING could rid me of that lingering dockside love.

This happened to me several times more throughout my life. And each time, I left it at one and done, no matter how offended the other party was. Was it better to say, “look here love, every time I put my hands in your fun hole I spend the next couple of days pulling up snappers, but I still got an empty icebox, catch my drift?” Perhaps. It was more honest, that much is for sure. However, I simply did not have the heart to relay this crucial piece of information and took my lumps, and sometimes, undeserved bad reputation. It is a definite “deal-breaker” in terms of any sort of physical relationship, or relationship at all. Everyone has a bad day here and there, but I’m talking about the chronic offenders.

A couple of years back, I was dating a girl. She was beautiful, sweet, etc. etc. However, she had a severe case of “stinky snitch”. I held on, believing this would correct itself in time. In less than a month, a case of viagra couldn’t get me going when she got frisky. That right there, was the end. Does that make me shallow? Sure. But, does that make my meals, nose picking, face scratching, etc. experience tolerable? Oh yes it does. I tried, I really did. Habitually, I would ‘caress’ her face with that hand during said activities, in hopes that her own effluvia would make her head snap up, and perhaps say, “sweet jesus, since when does the jersey turnpike run through my bedroom?” But nothing, she accepted her odor without complaint, leading me to believe that she was completely oblivious to it, and therefore beyond help.

I’m not going to debate whether or not females are self-aware of their odor. As far as I am concerned, it matters little. Girls, if you aren’t sure, give yourself a quick finger pap, and let your closest girlfriend take a whiff. Is that gross you think? Try putting that stink hole in your mouth sometime.

Together we can put an end to “stinky snitch”.

This has been a public service announcement from www.tobaswritesyourlife.com

Thank you for your time.

– Tobas

Live it, Love it, but keep that romance box fresh.

No fight this night.

So, I decided to avoid facebook, even though everyone I know, and pretty much have ever known is on there. Even though that is how I can keep in touch with MY family, particularly overseas.

I cut off my feed, to my writing website, which I PAY for, and import because it costs me, I may as well get maximum exposure for it.

I retracted any statement, which might have been offensive, and offered an apology.

Still. STILL. I have a group of people which seem to believe that I am some malicious, hateful person, who is not worthy to have a relationship with their family member.

I think I’m okay. Enough so that I should not be a question, in that sense, at the very least.

It is so hurtful, that I should be judged so harshly. I am human, and therefore prone to error. One would think that all those who are so judgmental and unforgiving would be the pinnacles of perfection, in order to create such a justified opinion.

So be it then. I have said what I want, and what I am willing to do.

I understand that if this is truly not enough, I will have to just move on.

I am worth more than an agonizing decision.

Much more.

I bleed as well.

So.

It seems, if anyone* reacts angrily, then it is alright, and chalked up to emotion and hurt.

If I, react angrily, then I am losing my mind, and terribly inappropriate.

Perhaps it may not make the most sense. But I am of the opinion that too many cooks, spoil a perfectly fine broth.

My how problems are compounded when too many try to define them.

*(bear in mind that I speak in generalities. unless specifically noted, nothing I write is in reference to anyone, or anything)

Sticky end.

Technology will be disabled for some set time. It seems I have been left with little choice.

They will eat with you, snouts red, pointed teeth tearing and pulling. The carcass of yesterday whittled down to bones cracked for marrow, and scraps only corpse flies could find sustenance in. But they say to you, ‘ware the tar! One mis-step brings those snapping jaws ever so close, whether to lend assistance, or clamp closed on fur-lined throat, as you howl alone.

I will have to wait a few days. at least.

Isabel.

What a pretty little thing you are,
Emerald eyes twinkling like stars in the sky,
Skipping along, wavy hair bouncing,
My little girl,

I saw you once upon a time,
Right before I cursed awake,
For robbing me of you in my precious sleep,
You did not even have time to wave goodbye,

Were lives lived how we wanted them,
Then surely I would smile at you in return,
We might play for days and days,
I might look upon your sharp little face,
And see someone,

I wanted you to be,
My daughter,
Take you out of my mind,
So you can be real outside,

For now I pray to sleep again,
So I can dream of you some more,
And for a while we can cry together,
Because you will never die.

The Dig.

I remember when I was a boy, the sound of loud footsteps coming up the stairs. It terrified me. Usually, it meant my mother was coming, and it did not matter how clean I thought my room was, I was getting a beating. But it was not the physical pain that I feared the worst. It was the screaming, and the crying that often accompanied it. It was all our fault. Give up control, or suffer the consequences. Even now, the sound of her voice raised in the unholy shriek she is capable of producing sends a shiver of terror up my spine. Eventually, I learned to be discrete, ‘fly under the radar’, so to speak. I would hide for hours at a time if I were sought after for punishment, once, for days even. I would dream of running away, or dying, anything to just escape the madness and wild rage that constantly swirled around this house. I hid, and ran, and cried quietly to myself, that I would never be this way. This animal, lacking any emotional self-control, unwilling to consider how it will make others feel to unleash monstrous anger or violence, despite any sense of justification for doing so.

It stayed with me. That intense fear of retribution, of being cornered and made to face that terrible crying, screaming face, and those sharp stinging slaps, and occasionally, kicks and punches.

In the entirety of my adult life, I have never spoken, nor written about these things, or how they made me feel. Recently I have had cause to revisit these moments, and I can see pretty clearly why I am the way I am for the most past. Particularly in relationships. My mother said she loves me. She still does. But she hurt me terribly, and left wounds inside me that may never heal properly. I believe this is a big part of why I will act against type, and on occasion, horrifically inappropriately. It is defiance. It is that voice that always whispered, ‘that didn’t hurt’ when I fled under the old basement stairs and hid in a dark nook to cry alone and wish it didn’t happen.

I cannot shake that. It is too deep, and too painful. It may cost me in some ways, and I can say with absolutely certainty that it has already, but I cannot, and will not, shake that. Because I know now that a person with no sense of boundaries, and zero respect for me as a child and a human being is who shaped me, and I need to never forget that.

Never. I deserved better then, and now as well.