adolescently moronic dribblings

Brace yourself..

i have some news..

If you're of the incontinent variety,
and as one mustn't descriminate in this day and age
i'm going to come to the obvious assumption that you clearly are,
i suggest you go strap on a fresh adult nappy, 'cos thing
are about to get nutty, scatty, an you're more than likely
going to be spraying sweetcorn any moment out of
your batty..

I know that sometimes i give the delectable impression that
my life is a beautifully Utopian, regal existence,
a life baron of any concept of struggle or hardship..

Perhaps i am guilty of mis-using these ape-like Turkish
hands and abusing my rather bog-standard skills with a pen,
pad and overtly limited use of a clearly stunted vocabulary,
but please, do not get the wrong idea about me..

My intent is never to mis-lead, disguise, seduce,
patronise or piss on the reader of my pre-pubescent
adolescently moronic dribblings..

I just get carried away on a stream of verbal diarria sometimes..

In reality i do actually have problems.

Want to know one of these problems?

No?

Ok.

Well i shall let knowledge reluctantly be born,
whether you're interested or not..

One of my problems is that the toilet paper in
here is too weak an breaks when you wipe your ass with it,
it's led to me spending countless hours washing shit off my hands
and a rather peanutal stain on the palm of my right hand..

Another one of Timothy Guvercin's woe's?

I expect too much from people.

Example?

OK..

It is obvious that i am not cut from the cloth of man
that derives his education and pleasure from reading books..

But like any other animal that can lick its own shitty asshole,
one has adapted to the surroundings i find myself festering inside
day after day, month after month..

Since coming in to pergatory,
i started, or attempted, to read.

At first i could only manage reading a sentence or two
before my blood pressure started to skyrocket, my balls would
rapidly expand and quake then i'd black out, only to awaken,
naked, penis in hand, covered in pure shit.

It wasn't cool.

But like anything, practice makes perfect,
and in no time i was reading whole pages and finishing
childrens books in less than a month and change..

I am truly blessed in this life..

Back in England,
there are about a handful of people who still find amusement
in watching me fumble my way through life and occasionally
join me for a couple of laps, one of them is a very pretty girl,
she has made attempts over the years
to coax my level of intelligence above the mental age of sperm.

Hi Gabby x

It clearly didn't work, but still,
it's the effort you put in, not the outcome that's important..

Anyways the point is,
she sent me some really sick David Icke books.

I read them, thoroughly
enjoyed them, an that was that,
Timothy and his limited attention span moved on..

One day manz' cotching on my jaes,
mind my own business..

"That's the reason the motherfuckin' grave yard is full, cos n****rs don'
be mindin' their fuckin' business"



I sense someone approaching..

This is no joke,
one thing you seem to learn and become acutely aware of
is your immediate surroundings and what type of energy is
in the air, whether people are beefing, joking, you can tell
this shit from a mile off after a while..

I can be facing the fucking wall an without hearing
a peep i know if someone is approaching an have a
good idea of what their intentions are..

Dudes that done time are probably agreeing with me right now,
people that havn't are probably coming to the assumption that i'm talking shit,
and i probably don't give a flying fuck either way..those that know, know!

So i glance over.. an see this blob slumped in the doorway..

His face screams stupidity.

Poor Hygiene.

Most of all, it screams an over-abundance of saliva, phlegm and mucus.

This dude is known for being a fucking pervert,
he has a photo album full of cut-outs from celebrity magazines,
the shit is, like, exhibit A for his future stalking charges,
it's sooooo fucking creepy..

The man can do pullups with one hand.

How?

Chronic masterbator.

Seriously.

Now despite all his good points i have listed,
Timothy was somewhat dubious about lending out his almost
prestine David Icke publication to such a clown-cake bozo motherfucking bum,
but as he seemed genuinely interested, i flung it into his sticky hands,
and in a cloud of pubic hair, sperm vapours and morbid body odour,
my man slimed off into the sunset..

A few weeks passed..

I'm standing with a rag-tag collection of 'homies',
doing my best to look as 'down' as possible.

This basically consists of the following..

-Substituting the word "son" for every other word

-Making lots of big, overly accentuated hand gestures

-Excessive hand shakes and high fives

-Wearing ones head gear tilted to the side on a slant

-Making the assumption that every female wants you to stick your tongue
up their asshole (probably true) an have you whack them in the back of the head with your
sneaker while you fuck them doggystyle (probably untrue)

"Hit 'em with that Turkish bone son!"

The list of moronic characteristics are endless,
i'll get back to it another day though..

Anyways..

I'm standing there, faking the funk,
an this dude creeps over to me and without warning,
attempts what i can only translate as a pathetic try
at human communication.

Slowly i see the sores around his mouth cracking as
he prys open his scurvy clad jaws, there's blood, puss
an pre-cum spraying all over the place..

At first it sees like he has one motive.

Which is to foul himself in public.

He succeeds.

Then crumples his crusty finger into some kind of hand gesture,
i think he is asking me to escort him to his living quarters..

It's dark, dingy and i am hit with an over-powering
stench of utter stupidity and incompetance..

He hands me a crumpled up pile of paper and cardboard..

----------------

"BOOK!"

....

"I spilled tea on it"

"Dude, you fucking ruined this shit"

"I know"

"So what are you planning on doing about it?"

"What you mean"

"I lent YOU this, YOU fucked it up"

"I know"

"So what are gonna do about it?"

"What you expect me to do? It's your book"

"I gave it to you to look after, look at the fucking state of it, it's ruined"

"Yeah but it's your book"

....

"Ok, you know what, don' worry about it mate.."

*I proceed to take my leave*

"YOU NOT GONNA LET ME FINISH IT?"

....

"No. You fucking ruined it dude"

"WHAT!? HOW YOU GONNA DO ME LIKE THAT!? THAS' FUCKED UP SON!"

---------------------

Who should really be to blame for the book being destroyed in this situation?

I knew who i was dealing with,
all the signs and symbols of idiocy where on the wall,
i just chose to ignore them and expect this blob to do what i would
do in this situation.

This was wrong of me.

It makes no sense for me to get mad at the outcome.

Example..

If you can see with your own eyes that i am completely incompetant at basketball,
yet i tell you that i'm the fucking shit an you should hire me for your team, when i go
out there an ultra flop it, fucking up the whole game an making you look like a complete
and utter retard, who should you really be annoyed with?

This is a very simple lesson but a profound lesson that applies
to many instances in my life and many decision i have made,
i'm sure it would do me good to remember this for
future reference..

"Life is flawed yet with tremendous potential for joy and fulfillment. Everything
is workable. Until we learn this, time and time again we will be burned by our
unrealistic expectations" - Lama Surya Das

Word..