Even in literature and art, no man who bothers about originality will ever be original:
whereas if you simply try to tell the truth (without caring twopence how often it has been told before)
you will, nine times out of ten, become original without ever having noticed it.

C. S. Lewis



there are no rules

Sunday, August 23, 2009

"Fuck I love my life" by Steph Taylor

Gotta love my life. I have a disciplinary hearing on Tuesday for my behaviour at the last Ravens game. I love how Robbie, Mitch and Dana ALL don’t get cuffed for their antics and I do. It was a bloody Ravens vs Cubs game for fuck’s sake. A bit of excitement and support for my own team (for which I was benched for two games for shagging in the locker rooms anyway, so I was already pissed) is completely natural. Everybody streaks. Big deal. A bit of free, live nudity never hurt anyone – people pay to see that shit. And I’d think the captain of the soccer team should have some shagging rights. But no.
And Robbie, the idiot, completely turned into such a girl when Priscilla Fanbelt told him off. Who names their kid “Priscilla” anyhow? And even more disturbing, who dates a kid called Priscilla? Robbie Thomas, that’s who. What a doosh. He answers to her every beck and call like a slipper dog – you know, those little rat-dogs that if you put a foot up its ass it becomes a slipper? Yeah. One of those. And Priscilla Fanbelt has much more than just a foot up his ass, obviously. God, I can’t stand her. The next time I find her in my apartment rearranging the spatulas, I’m going to stick a spatula up you-know-where. The real sad thing is that Alan would want nothing more than to have a perfect daughter like her. I can see the appeal, I guess. Being the absent parent of a difficult child like me has GOT to be the hardest job in the world! Doosh.
Dana says I’m “conflicted and confused”. But I told her quite adamantly that I’m almost 100% certain that I’m straight this year. For real real. Fair enough, I probably watched far too much South Park and just wanted to throw the word “bicurious” around. But still. No one can say I didn’t make an attempt to play batsman for the other team. Sigh.
Some good news though. My ass is on the front cover of The Chronicle! Ha. There is justice in this world. Imagine that baby on Alan’s breakfast tray. “Oh, good morning Mr Taylor” and WHOOPAH. Good bye lemon muesli and hello, daughter’s ass. Bit late for him to learn to change nappies though. I think I will have to frame this bad boy and stick it in my room. Worth more than a grad certificate any day. Fuck I love my life. 

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Writing is an adventure. To begin with, it is a toy and an amusement. Then it becomes a mistress, then it becomes a master, then it becomes a tyrant. The last phase is that just as you are about to be reconciled to your servitude, you kill the monster and fling him to the public.
Winston Churchill
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