Member Since: September 01, 2005 Last Signed In: September 02, 2008 Profile Views: 2556 Blog Views: 2313 Where’s My Dick? The Frail Empty and Me Make Three Sheath The Shootist: Music-Videos-Photography A Man Of Many Talents! Gondwana Dr Horrible's Sing Along Blog Isaac Hayes Died She Said October 06 November 06 December 06 January 07 February 07 March 07 April 07 May 07 June 07 July 07 August 07 September 07 October 07 November 07 December 07 January 08 February 08 March 08 April 08 May 08 June 08 July 08 August 08 September 08 
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It had been a long cold winter. Finally a break in the weather came, bringing enough warmth to open the windows of my two story country home. In the early evening as my husband and I lay in bed watching the discovery channel, while enjoying the nice spring breeze, we hear a man yelling from the dirt road below us; “Where’s my dick”? My husband says to me did I hear that right? Is there a man outside yelling, where’s my dick? We turn down the already low volume on the TV and listen closely. Sure enough we hear the man yell it again. Where’s my dick? Now I am not normally the kind of person who will pick up the phone and dial 911 on a bunch of drunks living it up. I will pull up a chair and watch the drunken festivities from a safe distance. However, when you hear someone yelling, where’s my dick in a drunken voice, I think it’s safe to dial 911. 911 what’s your emergency? My neighbor is drunk and yelling where’s my dick in the middle of the street. I think you had better send someone out to help him locate it. I give the 911 operator the location and hang up the phone. Meanwhile outside the drunken festivities have picked up in pace. Now the drunk mans drunken son can be heard yelling, But Dad, you drank all my beer! I hear the son get into his truck and slam the door. He starts the truck with a roar of its throttle and slings gravel and dirt all over the place as he takes off. Only to swing his truck around in the intersection on our shared corner (we live in a corner house) and head back towards his drunken dad standing in the road. The drunken son in his truck was the bull and his father became a proud matador. Up and down and around the son and father went until the police arrived to break up the party. During the drunken festivities my husband and I realize the father is not yelling, Where’s my dick. The father is yelling, Where’s my stick! Turns out the father had been using the stick to keep the drunken son at bay because he was angry that his father had drunk the last of the beer. After the cuffs were placed on the father, son duo and the dust settled from there drunken escapade. My husband and I lay quietly listening to the once again peaceful sound of country living seep in through our open windows. In a whisper my husbands says to me where’s my dick? We both laugh softly while drifting into blissful sleep. Where’s my dick indeed……….
He dreams to be a lewd man She sits at her desk Waiting Seems she’s always waiting Waiting for the traffic to clear out Waiting for the static of a generic fuzz life To finally blow a fuse Waiting, wanting, and even believing One day he would smile at her Just a little smile She knew she was not the kind of bird He cared for She did not wear thigh high stockings Nor did she wear high-heeled shoes She was a mediocre swan at best Still she had wit She had class She had porcelain skin She had full breasts and hips She could mix and mingle With the best of them Still she was lacking that certain appeal That certain something that makes a mans confidence tremble Just at the sight of her That special something That can bring a man to his knees Just at the thought of her Her beauty was in the tongue The fine art of delegation The ability to articulate desire This was her gift She had what the fake tits and snickering high-heeled Thigh high stocking cunts were lacking Still he would never know That behind her glasses And under her skin beat the heart of a real woman No plastic tits or botox injections for her Why did he need a woman with all of those things? She has witnessed them snickering at him As he walks past on his way for lunch At the little café around the corner What do they know? They do not see him as she does They do not know the beauty of his written word They only see the shell of the man He is not wealthy He is not devastatingly handsome Yet he is attractive His ability to articulate makes him attractive His cunning ability to delegate Yes, that was the key The one she needed Desired Longed for Still he did not see her Probably never would notice her She was too real For his fake world City of love For all but her I smile as they quietly walk past my desk Thinking of all the work I still have to do.
Oh’ truth How you torture mine eye with the tip of your sword Metal gleam stings binding my focus to your point Your wit for fine balance I cannot restrain nor rebuke Truth so willing Be warned in this very hour I am at the ready to linger long in your presence Shift not the weight of your worth loan it to me with full measure Until I am blinded Deemed insane Torture me no more come for me I am willing to become your sheath Written about Jesus Christs pursuit of truth. Published 2005 The Early Days The son of a future suicide and professional motorcycle racer, (his mother wished to not be mentioned) The Shootist was born under the sand in a basement flat into the Taken from The Shootists Home Page: http://www.shootistmusic.co... Link to my Favorite Song by The Shootist called Ghetto Chicken: http://www.shootistmusic.co... Link to The Shootists Videos: http://www.shootistmusic.co... Link to The Shootists Photography: http://www.shootistmusic.co... I first found this artist while looking up CHICKEN SONGS. I am obsessed with songs about CHICKENS and MONKEYS. The Shootist does it all. From writing his own music and lyrics and recording them, to making his own videos. Some people have a tough road to walk and they dry up and blow away. Some people walk that same tough road and turn it into art. Thank God for those few brave souls who keep putting one foot in front of the other, no matter how long or rough the road becomes.... Cheers Mr Shootist! I'm glad to have met you in my google travels. Evolution it's a good thing! I love this band! I found out about them through a man who was visiting America from Chile. He was a school teacher who decided to spend his summer break traveling across america. I never grow tired of meeting our Nations visitors. I never grow tired of trying to answer there thick accented questions about my country. I have been so blessed to meet so many people from all over the world and hear there stories of what brought them here for a visit. Enjoy the videos! Link for animated Gondwana Break-up: http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/nov... I like my villians to have panache and a great singing voice. I think Dr Horrible's Sing Along Blog is bloody brilliant! I wish shows like this would show up on T.V. Unfortunately it probably will never happen. Singing Villians don't sell much dish washing liquid and laundry soap. Villians sell action figures and video games. Patrick Neal Harris is brilliant in this web musical spawned during the writers strike by Josh Whedon. I hope to see more works like this popping up in the near future! Link to Dr Horrible's Sing Along Blog: tv.msn.com/tv/dr-horrible/?GT1=28103 Read more on link. http://www.wmctv.com/Global... I loved this man and his music. I loved his humor. His strength and integrity! Rest in peace! Black Moses could rattle free the chains of any man, woman or beast! Man what a loss! She said
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