Dear Flop House

So, I listen to this podcast called The Flop House. Their website is https://www.flophousepodcast.com. They are great peaches over there. Anyways, about six months ago, they asked for an essay on butts. This is what I sent them today.

Flophouse,

In case you forgot, in a previous episode of your podcast, you asked listeners to submit a 500 word essay on butts. I was only able to submit this just now, because of reasons that shall not be repeated here. Mainly - I’m a very lazy human person.

When you say the word “butt,” what I hear is the word “but.” But the word “but” is another way of saying that you have something to interrupt the flow of a conversation with. Like, say, you have a counter-argument to present to someone. I certainly do not think of a part of the human anatomy that acts as a refuse removal port. Certainly I do not think of Dan. Nor do I think of Steeley Dan. Nor a man with a plan. I really really don’t think of Ayatollah Kohmeni, because that would be super weird, even though he’s from Iran, and that rhymes with Dan - if you’re George Bush and you like to pronounce things wrong. George Bush was a major dick, but that’s not an ass, which he was as well, and asses are also butts.

But now we have a new president. His name is Bill. I’m assuming, I really haven’t been paying attention because of all the bad movies I’ve been watching. Movies, like The Legend of 1900. Even though it flopped - it’s actually my favorite movie ever. One of the best movies ever made in my opinion. Even though it flopped - I’m assuming. It seems like the kind of movie that would flop.I think that Hollywood has a skewed perception of reality. They seem to think that the box office is what determines a good movie. Although, some of the best movies in the world don’t do so well at the Box Office. That’s all because of the marketing. Marketing firms get hired to promote shitty movies like Battleship and Independence Day: Resurgence, while the really good movies like The Last Witch Hunter get minimal coverage. Did Graham Norton ever invite Vin Dissel to talk about that movie on his show? No, because Graham Norton was too afraid of Mark Wahlberg’s drunken behavior on his show only some months or years or days earlier.

By the way, Mark Wahlberg needs to lay off the drinky-drinks. Like Mel Gibson. What weird people they are when they’re drunk, am I right? Hi-fives all around because I’m always right.Anyways, fuck cranberries.

As I was saying before I rudely interrupted myself - my name is Guylaen O’Connor, and I’m a 24 year old sis-gendered straight white male from north of seattle. Imagine Chris Pratt with seasonal depression, with black hair and bad teeth and a much more cynical attitude. Imagine, actually, the character that Chris Pratt plays in Zero Dark 30, because that’s slightly closer to the truth - even though I’m in the Army, not the navy. Who in the world would name their elite special operations unit after a hairless mammal? That’s right, the Navy. Fucking sea cucumbers. Fleet Week? More like never-on-fleek week.

Anyways, fuck the police.

Speaking of major assholes, Nicky Minaj. She’s fucking awesome. And, as she is often quoted as saying, she’s “got a big, fat ass. ass. ass. ass. ass. ass.”

I imagine her butt looks much better in person than Dan’s.

Who else is an asshole? Donald Trump, but I don’t think you’re here to read about people with major medical concerns like spewing bullshit out of their mouth. How does that even happen though? Bullshit is from bulls, right? Is there a tiny bull living in Donald Trump’s mouth that’s like the exact opposite of the babel fish from the Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy? Eating words and shitting out sonic frequencies of jumbled noises that vaguely make sense, but only if you stand on your head, shut your eyes, and pretend that nothing exists in the world?

I want to scream.

But was this 500 words?


Dip

If there were ever such a thing as true love, or soulmates, bound and quantumly entangled - even if we've never met I can imagine one thing plainly above all else:

When I dip she dip.

Beyond that, I mean... shit. No such luck in love. She's out there somewhere, and I'll always be ready to loose my virginity sometime. Damn, 25 and still a virgin.

There was a kid on this tv show who thought it was bad being 21 and still a virgin. He committed suicide because of it. Suicide? For that?

What an idiot.

I mean - I've done nearly everything EXCEPT for the actual act of inserting my penis into a vagina. I've had a BJ, gotten a handjob, I've gone down on a girl, used my first three fingers, and I've rubbed a clitorious - that's an amalgam of the words clitoris and victorious - from the innie and the outie. For someone who is still technically a virgin, these have been some intensely intimate experiences.

OK, so I haven't done everything. I've never done Anal, and I'm so terrified of contracting salmonella from getting poop on my penis that I don't think I want to. I've never inserted anything into my urethra. I've never participated in auto-erotic asphyxiation. I've never worn a leather ball gag and been slapped by a dominatrix. I've never dressed up like a furry Fox and had my dick sucked by three farm animals.

And there are plenty of things on Reddit that I've never heard of and will never do.

I've done the basics. It's just... I'm still a virgin.

I carry this brand around with me - people expect it less of me these days. They all think I've fucked someone. But I'm so fucking bad with girls - how could it be anything else?

I think - however, that I'm holding myself back. I'm holding myself back because... I'm too nice? I know that sounds selfish - but think on this: I have this idea that there are better guys out there. Guys with more money than me, and 6 pack abs, and perfect tan lines, and guys who know how to treat women - and I want people to be happy. I don't want anyone getting any less of what they deserve.

If it's a girl that I like - then she obviously deserves better than me right now.

I want to wait until I have more money. I want to wait until I have abs. I want to wait until I have a steady job - secure in my sanity. I want to wait.

But how long do I wait?

The Darkness

The darkness approaches me
Realistically I'm
Frightened
I'm scared
I'm shit out of luck and I'm
Tired

Tired of the feeling
On the surface of my cranium
I've been skullfucked
I've been barbecued
And sauted with marinade
And roasted over a 
Fire

Fire and bombs and guns
Reign in my mind
Behind the plexiglass
Refracting my reflection
And skewing my sense of
Perception
Invoking a

Paranoid
Schizophrenic
Gang of bad guys
AND I HATE NEW YORK

Another Letter to Abriel

Abriel,

I haven’t sent you any letters in a while. I’m sorry, so very much sorry. I know what it is to have something terribly wrong happen.

To be quite honest, I was afraid to write this letter. I am not sure if you are still alive. I don’t know anything about what happened last month, other than what I see on American news broadcasts, which most of the time don’t show you the whole picture.

When I was about your age - it’s hard to believe that you’re already 10 years old - the American Twin Towers fell in New York City. There were images seared into my mind that day that I will never be able to get rid of. They will always be there. I see those images when I dream sometimes.

I can’t tell you anything that will relieve you of feelings that you are so right to have. Life must be very confusing right now.

I can only give you my advice: live to honor the memories of those who are no longer with us. Go on living a good life, to honor their memories. Be the best that you can be.

I met a man the other day. He was a strapping young gentleman full of… something that I can’t exactly describe. He told me not to worry about anything, that everything would be taken care of. That everything - no, in fact, the universe tends to unfold as it should. Or at least it will showed. If it didn’t, he added, then we would all be very confused as to the nature of our existences in bent space, and the loss of theoretical physics would therein for be bent themselves. No,  indeed the universe does tend to unfold as it should.

I got your Christmas card. It was so sweet of you to send me that card. But I don’t care for christmas cards with happy images on them, because I’m sure that is the last thing on your mind right now.

Holding up the floor

I'm staring at the ground.

I can't do it.

I'm fucked.

I need to pass this fucking test. I need to pass. I need to do this. Come on, come on you piece of shit! Do this! Do it!

I kick out my legs, and do three push ups. I collapse to the ground, spent.

Not physically... Mentally. I know that somewhere in here is the capability to do more. But right now, for some fucking reason - I'm nervous? My palms start sweating, I have trouble breathing, my muscles are tensing up. I rub my hands together and start breathing hard.

DO THESE FUCKING PUSH UPS!

I do ten more, and collapse again.

I don't get it. I'm scared. It's like i'm terrified, and I don't know why.

Sun's Sweat


Notes from the past


Who the King?

who the King?


diseased hillbilly heathens
seethin fire and brimshit
this shit
is lit
if we get hit
just bend over
and it’ll hit
you leading the charge?
well I’m calling the shots
julaladin haqqani
ain’t on me, i’m sorry
hillbilly gangsters
upon me
i’m cappin em off
n i’m the captain now
please breathe and step off

and
Ronald Regan had a dream too
Afghanistan was just a fucking track to
Henry Kissinger wrote a fucking book too
Tear down this wall was just a fucking track to
World domination is just a game to

Now I’ll show you the fuck who’s the King

Gray

I found this one hiding in my filing cabinets as I was re-shuffling my shit. From the paperweight and font, I deduce that it was written somewhere as I was on my way to College for the first time.

Robots are sociopaths:
Robots make us think of mortality in a different light.

I pawned off my XBox 360 in the middle of the first June after having flunked out of my university and trying to cope with the reality that - holy shit, I'm an adult now.

Authority Figure

I was looking at another person's blog yesterday, and I was astounded by how professional it was. It was the real deal, the bee's fucking knees.

Blogs don't exist anymore

Enraptured souls, I think that's what they called it. Ten years ago, when I was still learning what it meant to believe in something so much that you'd die for it. To believe in something so fervently that you'd kill for it too.

Found:
A Note From My Past

I received a letter from one of my buddies who's in Basic Combat Training right now.

a poem


I dream to a requiem
bare-chested


                   and sapped of my energy

VLADISLOV SARKOV

Imagine that you’ve just entered a room. 

It’s not anything magic or strange, just a fucking room. Say the DC Hilton, or some similar establishment. The Renaissance Hotel in downtown Seattle. Some place like that. And in walks… Donald Fucking Trump. What do you say? What do you do? We all know what we’ve all thought of doing from time to time. 

Found notes from a year ago

I found this note.

It's from last summer. Cheers.

here at a lost empire of trade

I haven't commented, yet, upon the place that I've found myself as of late. Not my station in life - but the actual place that I'm living.


one brain-fried slump
with a side of bleh

I haven't written anything for nearly three weeks. That's almost a fucking month. Jesus fucking fuck.

Nothing of note, that's for sure. The only substantial thing I've written in three whole weeks was a few paragraphs as a comment on someone's Medium article about podcasting. That was earlier today, though, so does it even count?

I might be cursed, but that's entirely unrelated.

I thought I might mention that for anyone who is concerned - a lot of my previous posts are partially based in fiction. Example: I have never actually been to Africa. That string of posts were to distract me from my own reality. There are a few other things I've written here that are stretched to fit a storytelling perspective.

In reality, my life seems more dull to me than it might appear to an outside observer, so in order to create an emotional connectivity, I change things around. It's the feeling expressed that is true, not necessarily the details.

ANOTHER PERFECTLY ACCEPTABLE THING

My coffee is cold. My laptop’s Sold State Drive betrays the silence with an involuntary tick as it kicks around the ideas of what it’s learned about humanity through the lens of my words over the past three months.

TYPESTATE

“Inspiration” is a double entendre - meaning both and at the same time - the genesis of thought - AND the influence of thought.

To put it another way, the creative works and people that inspire our success as writers, AND the events of reality which have seemed to somehow influence our works in some way.