Archive | August 2013

The Marshall Plan: Hopes For Eminem

The Marshall Plan: Hopes For Eminem


Chicken – A battle rap


Chicken why’d you cross the road?


To get to the other side of traffic.

I’m sick of being a chicken and I wanna become a classic.

Like fuck being like all white meat I’m doing something drastic.

And fuck being regular this world won’t get the best of me,

 I had to be unique cause Colonel already had an original recipe.

So did I cross the road?

Like I’m on the other side sight seeing? Screaming “No chicken is like me!”

And “ Hell ya I got beef with beef tell the other white meat to come fight me!”

Tell History to re-write me until I get my name’s fame reversed

And make sure you tell the egg I fucked his mother and she definitely came first.

And Imma talk shit until your socks itch and your feet are filled with my pox, bitch.

I’m hot shit.

Got Hot chicks! Yeah, legs and thighs by the buckets.

Hella Gold chains for tough chicks with McNuggets.

Can’t touch this.

You think I’m jokin’ when I rubb-her?

You just choken under cover.

I know what your thinkin.

Like chiken you been drinken.

Go rinse off in the sink an’ get wasted.

Shit faced and basted.

Got your memory erased en shit.

I’m takin’ hits. Broiled, breaded and baked as shit!

bitch I’ll break your breast bone and take your wish!

Yeah I’m absurd.

Haven’t ya heard?

Abusrd Bird is the word!

Turn a hot two piece into thirds.

That’s right I’m a technical Fowl

Make two of me, you’ll get kicked the hell out.

I’m done clucking it’s time to get physical now.

Night Driving

There’s something about driving at night. The warmth of the heater…. Wait, back up. There’s something about riding in a car at night. The heater on, but only turned to the lowest setting. Being comfortable in your seat and feeling completely safe, knowing where you’re going but not being worried about when you will get there. That’s what He enjoyed the most.

He remembered being 10 years old, riding in the back seat of his parent’s truck. A brand new dog bed for their black Labrador, who was undoubtedly waiting for them at the front door of their home, sat between him and his younger brother. He was “sleeping” on it, well day dreaming…. at night. Anyway it was nice, he was safe, everyone he loved was OK, and he knew he would get where he was going even though he didn’t know when, and his dog would be there.

That feeling isn’t hard to recreate, and he felt it tonight. Driving, well, riding in the car at night. This time it was with a girl. She was cute, that’s not right, well it is right but let’s explore further. They had driven together at night before, that’s what they did together. She worked across the street from him, and to be more specific he could see into the windows of a few rooms at a retirement home where she worked. He also knew her from high school, but not well enough.

On one of these drives they discussed what it meant to be attractive. He considered there to be four options when describing how someone can appear attractive. She was interested. He told her that there were four ways of being attractive. They are: Beautiful, Pretty, Hot, and Cute. He explained that in his mind neither was any more or less complimentary than the others. Also none were capable of being derogatory, perhaps Sexy is a better word than Hot. He also explained that they can all be applied to one person in varying amounts depending on the situation. What he didn’t explain is where she fell on this scale.

He thought she was cute, with a hidden dash of Sexy and right behind that a touch of Beautiful. Now this isn’t to say she wasn’t beautiful. She had dark hair, dimples, and the ability to laugh genuinely at everything he said, as long as he said it correctly.

He laughed and she laughed, and they talked about things that are only spoken about between two people. He would tell her things and She would explain things back to him. They both looked forward to these… things. Sometimes the drives would end close to sunrise. He would get out of the car say goodbye and walk inside. She would drive away.

Even at this point he would want to kiss her, but he was torn inside. If he could kiss her than their relationship wouldn’t be the way it was. He would walk into his room, early in the morning, crawl into bed. Then He would look at his door, a small daydream, hope, maybe even a wish. An image of Her walking back in the door. He would ask what was wrong and She would tell him that she just couldn’t hide it any more. He would hug her and look at her, and they would both understand. Than they would kiss, a first kiss. Not for either of them, but together a first kiss. It wouldn’t feel right because it wouldn’t feel like any other kiss. It would be a first kiss but it would feel as if they had been kissing for decades. A first kiss would have the power of a lifetime behind it, and the feel that can only come from truly listening and knowing someone, from seeing them and knowing that a kiss will never come.

But if it did.


Once upon a time there was a girl named Ida.

Little Ida couldn’t hide a smile when Little Steve would make a joke.
So Ida decides to sneak and leave a note inside of Steven’s coat.
And leave and hide and wait and hope, that little Steve received the note.
But what she didn’t know: Steve was stoked to read the note.
It was  more than he had hoped to see what she had wrote.
“Do you like me? Yes or Nope?”
Steven hesitated then decided just to check em both.

To shy to say “Hi” to Ida but Steve’s excited either way
and Ida mighta tried to hide her smile, when she looked the other day.
But Steve could see it either way, and today
at recess it was tag that he would play.

And day after day went by like this,
Playing Truth or Dare just to share a kiss.
During Hide and Seek they’d go and sneak inside the slide and hide in it all squished.
Both still to shy to try and talk cause they’re just being kids.
Still kids grow up, that’s what they do, its required to exist

And grown up kids, aren’t kids no more when life becomes to Hellish.
And girls will tell all sorts of  lies to try and make Ida selfish.
But Ida couldn’t be more selfless, leavin Steven’s girlfriends hella  jealous.
And Hella jealous girlfriends aren’t healthy for Steven’s wellness.
On graduation night Steven asks Ida if there’s homework she needed help with.

Ida can’t believe it, she’s like “Steven, I tutored you.”
“And school’s almost over, there’s no homework for you to do.”
“So let’s just go to dinner and maybe watch a movie too.”
“Sounds good to me” said Steve “I’ll pick you up just past a quarter to.”
This night was different, and in it’s difference came a whole new point of view.

They forgot about the clock and sat up late and talked.
As time went by they tried to lie but couldn’t shake it off.
He held her hips and kissed her lips and face an awful lot.
Till morning came, they laid awake, a little shy, a little lost.
Ida reminded Steven that it was graduation day, and it was time for him to walk.
In fact he was really late and they didn’t have time to even talk.

Ida stayed at home, and Steven lived in the dorm. They got online to talk.
Steve’s sorry for the time they’ve lost, and Ida’s on his mind a lot,
And it’s been nice to be so close to Ida, she’s the only real friend he’s got.
But now they rarely talk.
It’s been five years, and both of them have awful jobs.
Till Ida ran into Steven at the coffee shop.

They stopped and talked just like before, they never missed a beat.
But time was short and like before grown up Steven had to leave.
And in her eyes and heart it wasn’t hard for Steve to see.
Little Ida waving bye and crying, pleading  “ You were supposed to be with me.”

My Thought Process

So, I’m starting this blog. I’m sure my thought process here is nothing special, but the following is what you’re in for if you have stumbled across this page, which would be impressive because I don’t plan on clicking the big fancy “share” button anytime soon. I also created all new accounts in the Google so that hopefully it’s somewhat difficult to figure out who I am. I’m sure I’ve slipped up somewhere. Anyway, here we go.

I basically feel worthless. I mean I’m a nice enough person, I’m somewhat intelligent and I have quite a few good relationships, but at the end of the day I haven’t created anything. I want to create something. I want to create something that is validated by the outside world “by the masses” as they say. Yeah that’s right I want some validation from other people, I validate myself plenty, suck it.

Now since what you think clearly matters to me, and this is after all The Internet, I hope my attempt at anonymity will allow any ruthless 4chaners the insight to see that I’m not trying to be whiny. I really just needed a way to archive my life and my handwriting is awful so this is the next best thing to a journal.

In actuality I don’t see the point of a journal, to me a journal is nothing until someone else finds it, and takes that very exclusive step inside your mind. I don’t need to be reminded of what’s in my head, I’m already in there.

So here you go random stumbler, you found my journal. I left it on the front doorstep but still, you found it. While I’m still afraid of what you might see, by all means I want you to see it.

Here’s to this lasting more than three days.