If I farted in your mouth would you still call me father?

I've been through a lot of thinking these last couple of weeks and I've been walking every now and then for long periods of time. It helps me clear my mind of whatever it is I'm wrapping my grease filled brain around and also lose some excess chunk. Just the usual, what am I doing and what do I have in plan. Who will I date and who is even a woman. Those things. I like to let my mind wander sometimes, let it free itself and think of anything that comes to me. The other day, I was thinking about some random person I met during my walks. We barely even talked but we had some sort of connection. The moment we looked at each other, thoughts flowed rapidly as we shared the minute between souls. I was thinking about lust, love and power. What would happen if I would have talked to this woman and what could happen in the future. Nothing true mind you, but hey that's what imagination is for. She was probably thinking that I should shave and probably blow my nose, for at the time I sneezed an elephant on the ttc booth. Regardless, its times like this that I somewhat remember most. The quick times I spend just glancing at someone.


I was given some great memory thankfully, I can remember tons of things from my past and even little conversations I had with people. For instance, I remember this one time I visited my neighbor when I had cool ones and not these loud mouthed Somali bastards. Call me a dick, but they're fucking annoying and they have no sense of respect for others at night time. The other night, Mr. Dick Face Muhammad ( has to be his name, it's like their majority), just had to start honking his fat horn all over the place looking for his girlfriend, when she was just across the street. If I was slightly more awake I would have probably called the immigration services on them. Anyways, I went over to my neighbor, Allan's house. He had these three witch-like sisters, which I didn't really care for. They all smelled like oil and sounded like a dying walrus. I went up to his shitty cardboard box room, and played some playstation with him. We were having a blast until his shit sucking sister knocked on the door. She came in, towel around her hair, and nothing on her body. I just saw my friend's ghoulish sister's Venus flytrap. Not knowing what to do, I turned away and punched my friend. As her sick and twisted cackle filled the air, she grabbed her robe ( why the hell was it in his room, those sick bastards), and left. I never went over to his house after that. Usually a naked woman would give me a rocket's fury, but I was 10 and she looked like the elephant man.

The whole point of me bringing any of this up is that it's weird how we remember such subtle things, although her cheese curd ass was nothing less than horrific, it's still something someone would usually forget, considering the age. There are even times I remember promising people and to this day talk with them and tell them about said promises. Just like that random chick, all of these memories I cherish, in my sicko heart. So I say to all of you, when you walk by someone or even bump into them, take that quick second and let your imagination run free. Not like a jackass hippy, but in a way that gratifies your mind. It could even be FEAR, DUN DUN DUN. But seriously, memory is something we all take for granted mostly. This time try and use your gearbox and get a little nostalgic. Go back in time to that place you met your uncle. Remember the barn? Remember how he used that pitchfork to gently remove your clothes? Yeah? Well you're a sick fuck and you're going to jail. I love you all.