Hippiekinkster
Posts: 5512
Joined: 11/20/2007 From: Liechtenstein Status: offline
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quote:
ORIGINAL: charmdpetKeira Like you don’t belong here? And when I say here, I mean this planet. I get this feeling a lot. Not too long ago, I had a friend tell me, something like; I need to try to think more like everyone else. I know he only said it in trying to be helpful, because he cares, and I do appreciate it. The problem is, I was already trying to do that; obviously, with little success. So I decided to just try being me. Yeah…. Any who; if you do feel like that, ever, and wouldn’t mind sharing, I would really appreciate it. Thanks k Just go ahead and be you. I mean, I'm completely socially unacceptable if I "uncensor" myself, which I do every once in a while. Anyway, not really, but yes, sometimes. I more feel a stranger in the US. I mean, these people walking in parades armed to the teeth demonstrating how peaceful they are... OK. Something like 80% are dedicated churchgoers, and supposedly believe in the message Hay-soos taught, but they still can't wrap their puny little minds around "do unto others"... They claim to believe God tasked them with a sacred duty to husband the earth, and all that live on it, while at the same time they can't burn crude fast enough. They claim to believe in "live and let live", yet they are fine with police filling up prisons (private jails, mind you) with harmless pot-smokers, while letting white-collar thieves go free. I mean, here we are, on a site that proudly proclaims "Free Speech Coalition" yet we can't talk about what newspapers talk about every day. Anyone see the irony in that? DO you, # eleven? Well, Virginia's always been a freaky place. Lots of pussy, but freaky. Especially the Fan District and the area around Falls Church. Yeah, I sort of feel like I don't belong here. I mean, used to be that I'd hook up with a kinky chick and we didn't feel the need to open a public dungeon to affirm the fact. So much of this scene is like the Weekend Warriors SF thing where stockbrokers/boys, housewives, and so on, all did their straight thing during the week, then they'd don their gay apparel and Freak. It's still gay apparrel, black leather, no arms/sleeves, chains, belts, blah blah. Like a cross between Castro Street, The Avalon Ballroom, and a crank-fueled chopper run up to the Muir Woods to blast some Jeff Airplane at the leaping gnomes over in the Cathedral jerking off over the WSJ. Ronnie and Dickie and Jimmy C all pulling their puds in the annual affirmation of American Aryan-ness. Grace, you fucked up. Nixon needed at least a thousand mics. Clitton didn't inhale, and the Smirking Chimp inhaled too much. Blake, don't give those Yankee Bush whackjobs any mushrooms. They'd miss the point. Luckenback, Texas, with Waylon, Willie, and the boys. Don't Bogart that bag of buttons, my friend. I'll be back, I have to puke. Flashing is next to internal cleanliness. Greasy fish-dicks and buttons don't mix at all. OK wait, I'm getting tuned in.... turned on.... drop some more. Tim knows. Alan knows. Alpert knows. Hollingshead knows. See you in 12 hours. (the preceeding was not meant to make sense in any way except the most superficial.)
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