I saw about twenty dicks today.

It's the most number of wingwangdoodles I've seen in my entire life. In the flesh, I mean, shrunk to the size of baby potato balls and nested in wiry black pubic hair.

Hundreds of penispectators go to UP Diliman every year to witness the Oblation Run only to be disappointed. They go to be disappointed year after year, but they go anyway. It isn't like Diliman dicks are going to grow any size near Goliath's. With the evolution of wingwang growth hormones and injectibles, maybe they will.

But what's the point? Wingwangdoodle size doesn't equate to happiness...

Penis talks are bullshit, so.

I saw my sister's face among the crowd of titillating acne-infested teenagers. My sister who lives next door, let's call her Sister B. Sister Beee took her college and masters degree in Diliman and she hasn't seen that much potato balls until now, like, ten years after graduation.

...

I am drunk.

...

I am in love with a poet. :p

He doesn't know I exist but who gives a shit. I should wallow in my shittiness and unrequited sex juices BUT. I'd rather leave it at that. Longing is far more important than love. Or sex. Or unrequited thingamajigger.

...

Male poets are hot, except fat ones of course. Haha wtf XD

...

Methinks I've outgrown this blog. I'd be blogging five years by January 2010. :o WTF five years. Any moment now I'll be gone. :p

Word Up

Word did you say?

« Boom Tarak Tarak :: Spontaneous Overflow of Crappery »