To understand the penis you have to go back to Vegas.
Vegas...Where all kinds of shit happens to good people with bad intentions.
You have to keep whatever happens here a secret.
Like secretly I lost all my money within two hours of being here on a three day trip.
Like secretly I spent most of my time eating at buffets and feeling shitty about my physique and life, pondering whether another plate of mac and cheese was really all that bad for me, wondering if I finished this mix and match plate would it leave room for deserts I could buy at wal-mart but since I was in Vegas viewed with a bit of a skewed idealistic passion.
Like secretly I stayed at the end of the strip, in a low budget hotel that smelled of funky smells that could surely only be produced by broken hopes and empty pockets, dreamers on vacation wishing the slots were kind and roulette would fall on fucking red every time, and misplaced out of their league old people who ruined the town for everyone looking for a better life, but instead found the lack of oxygen and windows was all too much, and let their wishes fall asleep softly. Secretly that was the smell of my hotel.
Like secretly I met some hooker girls and downtown hot girls and other girls in general who came into my life and had wild sex with me and changed my perspective on shit. Except secretly it was all in my head, and victim of high expectations.
Like secretly the town made me feel more dead then alive.
Like secretly I fell in love with jack and coke all over again, leaving beer behind to weep because it wasn't thought of anymore, for no other reason then I had to get drunk as fast as possible on five drinks because I had five dollars left.
Like secretly I spent the other two days following around a family that wasn't mine, watching them lose way too much money but swearing to god about this one time where it all worked out. A glitter in the eyes of anyone proclaiming the comps of a free meal in exchange for dropping multiple benjamins in a machine that decided whether you lose or not for no other reason then the cherries don't match, is enough to make you shiver.
Like secretly I spent $10 on a small bag of Doritos, $6 on a bottle of water, and over drafted my account $100 dollars on purpose to play poker next to some old joke named "the Hat" because he managed to live long enough to get a nick name from people who he sadly thought were his friends.
Like secretly I could of stayed at home, bought some chicken and beer, put on a comedy or porn, and got more action then I received in the city if sin.
Was it all secretly my fault?
That is why to understand the penis you have to go back to Vegas.
There is a penis drawn on the back of my car.
Inscribed with someones finger, in the dusty cake of various different dirt from various different states, which currently cover my car.
It's been there for about six weeks now.
A tribute to my lack of funds.
They ask me if I know it's there.
They ask me why I don't wash it.
They as me if I care.
I know it's there.....
and I care.....
I tell them that I cannot afford it.
They ask me if I cannot afford a bucket of water.
I tell them it's not the washing of the dirty car I cannot afford, lather and rinse is cheap if you know how to score resources like soap and water, which I assure you I could pull some strings and get some soap and water.
But that is not what I cannot afford.
I can't afford to have a clean car.
I can't afford to not be reminded of how currently poor I am.
The penis reminds me I need to make more money, not this week or month, but in general.
The penis is what some would say is a wake up call.
The penis will lead me to victory, to where I can return to Vegas once again, and experience things like they did in The Hangover.
86 the ruffies...
And hopefully come back and having nothing to say.
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Consider a Mercenary life.
First piece of writing that I've faved on Deviantart. hehe.
Just like ~reDs-- I usually don't read journals. For some reason this one caught my eye. Well I was originally going to answer ur poll question, but then I saw this instead and I started reading it, and knowing everything you spoke of. Cept for the hookers and hot girls... cause well (I'm a girl myself, and I don't really hook up with hookers from vegas... or well.. at least I didn't hook up with any when I was there.) lol. Anyway... this was a great blog. I'm not that great with words, so I wish I could word what I feel about this here... but... I can't. lol. Either way... just know that you have another fan. I love ur photography, and now just recently started to love ur writing... Now you've inspired me to search for more writing like urs here...Good job.
I have shoes held together with gaffer tape in place of a penis. (Which is a sentence you don't get to use to often.) I do have a some shoes which are fine but if I am going somewhere particularly respectable, I will often wear the gaffer taped ones, just to be sure that I don't forget. I'm quite good at viewing shops as art galleries: places where you admire things and never imagine owning anything.
You are my favorite writer. Everything about it makes me wish I knew you.
I honestly don't usually read the journals of the accounts I watch. Today for some reason I did. And I'm glad.