#wtfcraigslistnyc

[wtfcraigslistnyc]

THE HAWK AND THE CONEY

The firm earth walls of the tiny hole

Had grown much too cold and droll

To hold back the peeping mouths

Waking from Winter’s slumber

Down under the mighty Hemlock’s

Bows proudly they had avowed

To hold the watch over the cold winter

Lock that would put them in

With kind and kin

Only to nibble and dream of the

Sun and seeds that would

Liter the surface so moist and full of life

But as the sun began wiggle the roots

Awake around the holler the delicate

Scrapes would be made at mid-day when the SUN

was too high to hide what bounty lay

Await as the day would only be swallowed

By the moon whole

At first the field appeared quite desolate

The CONEY pulled itself up and snapped its eyes

So as to survey and plot that most vital and precarious

First foray back into the frey

But not for the first of last they bounded forward to

Thump off the rot of sleep and old nuts that tasted of

Earth and wood

Today the tufts brought back would be the breakfast

The champions they had sired and guided in the maze

Of grass and dirt only to skirt certain peril

From many foes that the nose only knows

Upwind they would usually be very

Easy to smell before hearing the

Raucous clashing of motor to metal to meat

Then the cursed CANINE fiends would charge

Huffing and puffing as the trolls

Make thunder clap snaps that bapped the dirt but

Occasionally would cause a dear friend or acquaintance to

Simply POP and STOP in place only die as we run and

Find our hiding places

But this all pales in comparison for the commodore of the context

Who never seems to sleep and loves to eat us the most

They have a special way of knowing when we know to move

Like a hive mind we try to move in symphony

But simply seem to be here on this field

Both hungry for something we can see and feel

Something we can almost touch but never hold on to

As we run faster to find it

Fly higher and quieter looming as we swoon for the bit

Of toast we most need to feed the tiny ones

Who need us too

But always we know as they circle the space we share

They seem to know who isn’t well or who can tell

They are more scared and zag left rather than zig right

In pure impulse only to feel the embrace of the

Wind as it begins to descend so ominous

Like a blanket of onyx upon a grease fire

The moment is suspended as we glance a fleeting

Glimpse of a wing and a KLAW so regal

The talons sparkle with joy as the rays of the sun bounce back

Upon the gust of wind pushing back up

GLEN’S eyes open wide looking back down at us as though to say

Goodbye but at least that they tried and we did too

But they were quicker and

so is the way

The hole that we call home shall not be our grave

For we shall die on the field of battle or

flying towards the heavens

Only to blink and kiss the sky

(7:59am 12.11.23)

Summa facta incipit a minimis gradibus

(The greatest of feats begins with the smallest of steps)

[wtfcraigslistnyc]

SITUS INVERSUS is solely inspired by this man.

His name is JOHN WEIJA. His father was also named JOHN. Both were brilliant and enigmatic men who lived in an ether of intelligence that was other worldly. I felt his DAD was a wizard who was there to show us what the SOTO (SITTING ZEN) master looks like. Playing endless NPR classic music off the HI FI and encourging us to play ROCKY'S BOOTS on the APPLE TWO C... We took apart a large antiquated calculators with hammers like cavemen searching for the GOD particle... JOHN was born with all of the organS you see hidden in this image formed in his human body in REVERSE (SITUS INVERSUS).

He didn't know this until he was 9 or 10. Once he did, the rest of his life was charge at the DEATH he saw charging back at him... JOHN left the tiny place we came from and spent most of his life in SOUTH CHINA, as an EX PAT... I wanted so desperately for him to keep living enough to tell OUR STORY. Instead I was left to create this ode to a magical human I grew up. The human who inspired me to sink a container ship and cast my own teeth in GOLD for all the world to see.

REST IN LIGHT JOHN. I CONTIUNE TO WRITE, LIVE AND TELL THE TRUTH BECAUSE THAT IS THE WEAPON THAT WE CHOOSE 314 23 56 138 KONX OM PAX

[wtfcraigslistnyc]

THE CURRENT

Encapsulating the oceans motion

Krill spilling into harbors

Guarded by monolithic stone towers

Driven skyward with roots of MAGMA

Foothold upon the edge of the precipice

So deep it’s boundless eminencity only hungers

To know more water and bones

To nuzzle and rest upon the firmament

Of decay and sublime KELVIN like stasis

Penetrating atoms to stand still

As the UNIVERSE expands telescopically

Removed 20,000 leagues of legendary

Silence that reaches the pits of stomachs

Churning in guts storming beaches

As battlements volley hatred and ignorance

The venom that spread all too

Effortlessly upon the prick

Systemically brokered to all the jokers

Who sally forward speaking much too loud about

NOTHING AT ALL

Commanding the attention they seek screaming out

One final SOS from the DEATH SUB

That led them deeper and deeper

To the place of stasis and entanglement

Of greed, ambition, hubris to the mother and a will that knew

Only it’s own curiosity so profoundly detached from the

Magnitude of the endeavor

Gilded in recycled carbon fiber splendor

That we remember as the screams fade to silence and the

Curtain slowly draws

As the trawlers turn back to port and gaze upon

NARWHALS for the first time

Since even the saltiest can recall

Their eyes briefly locking

Only to slip back to the liquid that we

Take so deeply for granted

Yet will move mountains and seas of blood

To spill

(9:32 12/14/23)

[wtfcraigslistnyc]

I’m back motherfuckers!! YES!!! To the roots of where this whole sorted mess began.. CRAIGSLIST… Life has handed me some of the sweetest cherries via CRAISGSLIST. I can’t ever quit you….

This first foray back to the OG art form comes to us from some DOUCHE in VIRGINA… It’s not just for LOVERS apparently. Having spent a fair amount of time in the mid-atlantic region I feel connected to this world this strange query springs from… ENJOI 12.6.23

CHRISTMAS ELF…

It’s really profound what the human mind is capable of. Curing cancer, overcoming tremendous adversity, dragging what’s left of your body after a bear mauls you… But other times the mind wanders in the cold, bleak, dark of winter. The walls close in and everyone begins to look like a bucket of KFC that complains too much. So the wheels spin and land on a very intuitive and obvious solution as you drift across the sewage treatment plant liquid surface of the modern popular cultural zeitgeist.

One can only try to imagine the wretched and pitiful mind that would solicit another human for their sick holiday fun….

WILL FARRELL!!! OF COURSE!!! ELF!!!

My cheating wife and asshole children will be so goddam stoked on this utter tidal wave of yuletide inspiration. Nothing will prepare them for the TRAPPED IN THE CLOSET-esque reveal I have on deck for them all…

The whole concept actually appeared in a fever dream as I took a stroll down memory lane to revisit my old childhood haunts of the web… EBAUM'S BABY!!! All the most vile stuff really. It brought me back to the time of dial up and TUB GIRL. Of lesser and greater evils I may or may not have been privy to.

The issue is that I know my dog is gonna rape the ELF… It’s the ELEPHANT in the room really.

BUSTER has been really not adjusting well to any of the many hurdles we’ve presented him with. First, we switched him from a VEGAN, non protein based diet. This caused our beloved pup to really take a turn for the worse almost instantly. His poor canine rectum became a fire hydrant of angry, hateful excrement. He seemed to charge at passing cars with what little life force remained, chasing his own death like a ball sadly…

Thankfully we found a DOGGIE LIFE COACH who really set us straight on the path of nothing but freshly butchered chicken and raw veg. His stools are now like baseballs, one saves in a bin and are carefully burned over the winter months to warm the family at our cabin in the stix…

The unfortunate byproduct of this new vigor BUSTER’s meat infused doggie heart is that he basically tries to penetrate ANY creature that he perceives as a possible for him to mount and dominate.

We found out the hard way… The kids had just come back from school. I was busy cutting brush out back with our gardener… Lord knows his idle hands won’t execute my desires if I’m not there to micro-manage each and every gesture of his hands.

The sound made JUAN and myself quite concerned. The state has advised me not to really provide any other details as the investigation is still pending. I think that in the end everyone will come out on the other side of this unfortunate misunderstanding far more cognisant of BUSTER’s potential for solo doggie breeding supremacy.

We take him to a place now. JUAN introduced us to the guy. He refuses to tell me his name because he says I have a big mouth and will make problems if I know it. He’s got a system where two times a week I drop off BUSTER and he lets him just pound all these dogs making more of his ilk to populate the gene pool. The guy is giving me a really good deal on this dog therapy. BUSTER is much more manageable now that his balls are drained of the hateful poison that bubbles like molten lava…

I’ve already hired a gregarious fella named AL to be the ELF. I actually held “AUDITIONS” in my minivan at the mall. AL was the only one to swallow and that goes a very long way in my book. He didn’t even complain about the ether fumes that engulfed the cabin of the van as I let my drippy rag make me forget why I had a little person blowing me at WALMART, nibbling on a churro….

AL says he has a lot of mascott experience which is going to be very important…. The guy who helps keep BUSTER chill, is on holiday for the next month and as such he left him with a rubber dog we chained up next to his kennel… The poor thing is barely intact and it’s only been a couple of days.

I see this whole holiday ELF reveal meets my psycho dog extravaganza going one of two ways… AL will be smiling counting his money driving home… AL spends the holidays chilling as BUSTER’s bitch in the kennel waiting for the “BONUS” I keep telling him is gonna be life changing and super sweet… It’s yet another YULETIDE MIRACLE.

[wtfcraigslistnyc]

THE DOOMED SEARCH FOR ATLANTIS AND ATILLA THE ORCA

ATILLA was an ORCA. ORCA are not from a place so much as a zone. As life moves in a fluid context that is billions of atoms pushing against each other at unfathomable variants of pressure and magnitude.

ATILLA was the spawn of CUJO and PHILOMENA. Both came from long and furious blood lines. A colorful heritage in an unspoken brogue of click, ticks and flips…

- [ ] They would summer near the FAWKLAND’s and spend winter between GIBRALTAR. The currents changed with the seasons and they lived almost completely in a conciousness of impulse and sensation

Each season the journey across the vast quiet brought challenges that they’ve learned from. Unlike DOLPHINS who are quiet, vain and egocentric, ORCA are a more communal folk who share and collaborate.

Each decade the great SCION would be crowned at the CAPE OF GOOD HOPE ritual. It’s not well documented, but according to ancient lore passed down generationally regarding the decorum and conditions that will spark the commencement of the ritual would proceed as such.

The current and successor would drive a guyer of small fish into the break smashing a buffet of wriggling SARDINES and BABY MACKEREL crashing before 1000’s of hungry PENGUINS.

The SCION and successor would then allow the cadre of brethren who’d accompanied them to the dangerous and treacherous passage to push in amd engage.. This charge would create a torrent of motion and carnage.

While the feast commenced in perfect harmony as planned, the SCION and successor would turn from the shore and dive directly down until they both felt the hold and clutch them almost to stasis…

At a moment of truth the current SCION would take a final look back at the one would would return to the great POD and dictate the agenda and maxims that would be gospel for the next decade. With this perhaps momentary motion of tremendous respect, the SCION would turn invariably deeper to allow tremendous pressure to consume them into the silent embrace of the bottom briney deep…

Once the gaze of SCION shifted below the successor would rise and return. At this time the feast would continue unabated.

After 3 days and nights the brood would retreat back the larger gathering just north of the FAWKLANDS.

This hadn’t always been where this occurred. In a time several centuries prior the nasty men that smelled for miles away would invade the sacred space. They would harpoon the sacred grand folk who would hurd the tremendous schools of fish with precision. These men were quite determined, but made the mistake of underestimating the resolve of the ORCA to drive them from this place. After several season the SCION of that era moved to wage war on the BOSTON WHALERS.

At first it was a ship here or there that would mysteriously disappear. But after the flag ship of the NANTUCKET fleet was sunk the WHALER’s moved away for from the FAWKLAND’s estuary.

ATILLA knew all of these stories as very brief riddles that were taught by beaching fish and guessing how flops they would wiggle out. But he also knew it was his charge to sort the incursion of greddy and reckless treasure hunters run amok between PORT VERDE and GIBRALTAR.

The ORCA always considered GIBRALTAR as a dead space that should not be lingered in. The bounty on either side of the strait was too vast to effectively hold or command. But this was prior to ANTON and his brutal incursion.

It had been an uneventful fall leading into winter. But then it happened….

ANTON was a GREEK treasure hunter who’d found a foolish oligarch to fund his hair brained hunt for the lost city of ATLANTIS…

ANTON’s plan had no bells or whistles. ATON was barely literate but spent every waking moment searching for money or information that could benefit his quest for glory. It was by pure accident that met his benefactor. He promised him untold riches at a very reasonable investment of 10 MILLION EUROS.

He didn’t even provide any details before accepting the massive injection of funds he’d clawed at so desperately.

Once he had his bankroll he set up “exploration” of the vast space between PORT VERDE and GIBRALTAR. This would entail extensive use of ultra sonic equipment and exploratory DEPTH CHARGES that would resonate 1,000’s of ultra sonic decibels, mapping the contours of the ocean floor. This would create a deafening roar that would be cataclysmic for any marine life in the vacinity.

It was on one particularly beautiful morning that ATILLA’s half brother CLAUS approached his in a manner he had dreaded. He clicked out the news that his family had been found floating in a plume of KRILL and SARDINES… The DEPTH CHARGE had created a shockwave that killed them all instantly.

ATILLA dove deep without hestitation to summon the wisdom and courage of the elders. To feel the pressure envelop him whole and provide him the insight needed to bring vicious reciprocity upon the monsters who’d committed this unspeakable hubris.

When ATILLA arose from the dees he breached the surface of the bay and smacked his tail wildly to summon the call. Within hours he was surround in all directions by his great family.

ATILLA was an ORCA of action not words, so his clicks were brief and blunt.

The entire POD would descend upon the exploration fleet and see them all perish. His motion toward the strait from the bay was precisely planned. They would become a great crescent and squeeze them in.

The charge was so feirce that ATILLA called a brief pause allowing the waves of ORCA to stack up tighter for the assault. He dove all the way below the feet and circled back. His designs were sound so he clicked the signal motioning the first brave wave of ORCA to engage the fleet.

The first wave of ORCA went between the half dozen vessels of the AKROPOLIS expedition. They started to create a current bringing the vessels inward like a hand closing. The next wave began by punching the ship’s sterns head on.

This instantly sounded the alarm. Harpoons and long guns sounded, but by this time ATILLA had brought his COUP DE’ GRACE down upon them. Unbeknownst to ANTON, the fleet sat adjacent to a deadly UNCHARTED REEF. The reef was shaped like a sickle. The armada would invariably throttle up in desperation to escape the onslaught of ORCA’s slamming into their vessels.

ANTON let out a billowous cry over his megaphone on the POTEMKEN’s bridge. The ships scurried like scared mice in a vast field as thr ominous shadows decent from above, plucking them off one by one. The first two mid-size friggetts’ were at full speed when they crashed into the stone like maze just inches below the breaking water.. The ORCAS splashed angrily around the wreck showing NO QUARTER.

All the rats rushed out of the decimated and now burning vessels, the adolescent ORCA poured under the wreckage to breach feed on the fleeing enemies just as their WHITE SHARK brethren had taught them.

*

PLEASE NOTE

ORCA or ORCINUS ORCA; or the “toothed whale” are APEX oceanic predators. Much like other APEX predators, the assumption and hence name “KILLER WHALE” is not a name that the ORCA themselves accept or appreciate.

As APEX creatures, all things in the kingdom they command swim before them in submission. It must be noted that the GREAT LIE of human and ORCA interaction is not a thing the ORCA unlike humans can ever forgive.

The first mighty ORCA who lived and died in captivity in the Northern Pacific region were of HIGH BLOOD to the current ORCA SCION. When the monsters who captured, enslaved, abused, tortured and ultimately held them in bondage until they simply expired from extreme physical distress a power message spread across the ocean.

Humans, bring APEX creatures as well with a far higher lever of intellect, yet a minuscule measure of empathy wouldn’t see these actions as anything more than a failed attempt at “science”.

This act of WAR by mankind against the ORCA was not something the SCION, ORCA or energetic genome consciousness of the ocean could or would ever forgot.

As the first of many ORCA who humans would brutalize and monetize, condemning them to died in extreme pain, let out a billowing and desperate message in clicks stating what had been done to them. This message was cast in the common tone known to all creatures or the deep. A powerful and secret tool the ORCA were given by the great grandparents who once lived beneath the MIGHTY SHARKS of old.

SHARKS and ORCA despite the perception and observations of human are not enemies. They have both taken turns as SCION of the oceans many times throughout time. This perception is created by humans and is not any based in true OCEANIC TRUTH.

_____________________

The youngsters were led in to devour and tear every survivor who tried to escape apart. ATILLA would corner the POTEMKIN and single handedly smash the stern into the reef. ANTON fired a deck gun wildly into the crimson stew of bodies and ORCAS. Cursing and spitting as his ship exposed and engulfed him.

Ultimately only one deck hand would survive and live to tell this tale back to me through bars of a CALCUTTA JAIL. But that is all another story for another time…

ATILLA and his chosen few would linger for days making passes at the reef. It would be weeks before the wreckage was discovered and any inquiry was opened. The vessels that came looking were mostly local fish who they knew well and had a great mutual respect for. They too were hardened by this incursion of greed. The fishing grounds these salt of the earth human shared with the ORCA had all but collapsed in the process of this FAUX SCIENTIFIC failure.

ORCA, unlike humans can forgive and find harmony even amongst their most bitter foe. The LION who stands tall over the great plain as ruler does not volley opinion or hold grudges against it’s subjects. When creatures move from the order, justice is swift, but always with RESPECT and COMPASSION. For this reason ORCA see humans as other lesser vassals in their kingdom who are due respect based upon ACTIONS not ASSUMPTIONS. For this reason the humble humans who do interact with ORCA in a state respect are always treated with the same by the kingdom ORCA.

After ATILLA was certain none had survived, he returned to his pod and chose a new mate to start again. He had a little more than half of his tenure as SCION ahead of him. He knew he’d already more than cemented his legacy. But as with all things his book was yet to written and he’d sworn a BLOOD OATH against any vessel of men who dated treas with disrespect through the waters that he and he alone was sworn to protect.

FIN 10.19.23

[wtfcraigslistnyc]

CHEETAH TYCOON

BY

UZIEGO

CHEETAH TYCOONS’ SUSHI STEAKHOUSE MEMORIAL MIXTAPE PART ONE

Reimagining the mythic dream that led to the iconic eatery’s rise and ultimate demise.

RYU TAKEUCHI was a REBEL. Growing up in a small home in SAITAMA prefecture.

His parents did their level best to keep him occupied, but RYU was wild from his first breaths.

As a young man he moved to BROOKLYN and took up work as a cook at his brother-in law’s hibachi restaurant. It was hard work but it occupied his mind. It drained him of his mischievous juices. It left him empty to sleep and dream.

It was in these reverie spaces where he saw it. A vision. A dream that every immigrant carries. To build something that you put your name on and leave as a legacy. To work on one's own terms, answering to none.

What he saw was something most profound…

In the VISION that RYU saw, deep in the recesses of his subconscious was something that no man had dared to dream off.. He saw a palatial sushi, steakhouse and hibachi that would be NYC’s only destination featuring the taboo and all but lost art of eating sushi off people. In his place the customer would be king. The staff would avow themselves of the morays that bind normal humans in a pitiful cage of fear. His people would require lion size passion and hearts brave enough to allow strangers to feast upon succulent cuts of HAMACHI, YELLOWFIN and mighty dollops of UNI, flown direct from the TSUKIJI FISH MARKET in TOKYO.

Cost would be no consideration. If a high roller should turn up he’d send one of lackeys to fetch all the fixings from KLAUS in the BRONX.. a 10 k seafood tower with all the ambitious trimmings of STURGEON CAVIAR from IRAN, massive u2 PRAWNS the size of sweet LOBSTERS from the SEA OF CORTEZ and freshly picked WELLFEET OYSTERS all sourced from SAMEER on GRAND ST. Not even the most outlandish request would be turned away. If a sultan required a pet goat, chimp and baby elephant as accouterments to a HUMAN SUSHI POO POO PLATTER, then a mere claps of the SULTAN’S mitts would trigger a CODE RED and all the employees rush into motion to frantically accommodate him.

The all but lost art of NYOTAIMORI began when a monk was tasked with serving a cruel and merciless lorde who had beheaded his predecessor for a lack of ambition in his presentations at his lavish feasts… despite mastering so many components of technique and flavor he knew his mentor hadn’t died in vein…

Being a EUNUCH and devoted master, the MONK (who’s real name has vanished into the quicksand quagmire of timer) had the steady hands to gently place the delicate cuts of fish upon supple flesh to be wheeled before him on an ornate BAMBOO GIRODON’…

RYU woke up in a panic. His heart pounded in his ears and the daylight blinded his eyes.The honking and banging of garbage trucks on WOODRUFF Ave always startled him awake every morning regardless. He grasped desperately for anything he could find so as to jot down this vision. The only thing his digits touched was an old newspaper and a paperclip.

He recklessly thrust the straightened paper clip into his bare thigh like an ink quill and began frantically writing every piece of his dream he could recall in his own blood on the newspaper… Years later that very newspaper would be hermetically sealed and mounted in his office over the door.

Once he ran out of newspaper and his plastically sticky fingers couldn’t bear to clutch the scant bit of metal any longer he stopped… Reaching for the handle of VODKA next to his pillow and his waste bucket, he filled his cheeks like a chipmunk with the triple distilled swill and sprayed the contents all over his festering wound….

After bathing and dressing his wound he rushed out of his home as was already late for work. For the next decade he worked tirelessly saving every penny. When he had saved $250,000 he called his uncle and asked for a meeting with KAIJU, the ultimate boss of bosses in his world.

The plan was brutally simple. He would present his savings and plan before KAIJU and he would take the money, multiply it ten fold and become partners OR KAIJU would slit his throat out of disgust for the audacity shown in even approaching him. As such.

He went to the barber and had a shave before putting on his most serious formal attire. As he marched to the gate of the compound with his life’s savings in one hand and his balls in the other he pressed the bell that summoned the butler…

The door opened and he was escorted through the grand residence and at last sat face to face with KAIJU.

KAIJU sat motionless staring at RYU in a neutral position. RYU bowed deeply before the crime lorde. After slowly raising his crown and locking eyes, his hands reached for the suitcase that opened and placed directly before KAIJU.

KAIJU removed the tattered bloody newspaper with two fingers and held it high above his head. His disgust and amazement painted upon his face were profound…

WHAT IN THE ACTUAL FUCK IS THIS?!

KAIJU (proclaimed in JAPANESE)

IT’S MY DREAM LORDE KAIJU. I DREAMT OF A GLORIOUS EATERY THAT WOULD BOLDLY GO WHERE NONE DARE TOO. WE WILL WARM OURSELVES ON COLD NIGHTS TOSSING BUNDLES OF 100’s AS DON PABO ONCE DID WITH BOUNTIFUL BOOTY WE SHALL PLUNDER…

RYU most humbly stated this in a bellowing, confident tone. He kept his head down on the floor, kneeling after making the statement to show utter submission, and to receive his blessing or the steel that would remove his head from his shoulders…

KAIJU bowed his head as well to ponder the bloody newspaper, suitcase full of money and the prospect that he could be a partner in the flagship NYOTAIMORI empire he too had shared since childhood in silence. He too had hit his head very hard. He suffered from brutal cluster headaches. The only reprieve from his pain was demanding his wet nurse strip so he could enjoy his meals utilizing her as a human plate…

JŌSHŌ!!!!! (RISE in NIHONGO)

KAIJU screamed in a death cry.

Both men gasped and pounded to their feet in a singular grunting motion. They stood huffing and puffing, attempting to pull to the oxygen inward to command the response that would follow…

RYU SAN!!!! I WILL PARTNER WITH YOU. I BELIEVE YOUR VISION IS CLEAR AND YOUR HEART IS PURE!!

RYU replied in a deafening roar with his eyes averted to the floor.

YOU HONOR ME BEYOND WORKS LORDE KAIJU! PLEASE ACCEPT THIS GOAT AS A SIGN OF MY SINCERITY AND GRATITUDE.

With that, RYU’s cousin walked into the room as he’d procured the GOAT in anticipation of this going to plan and the plasma in RYU’s person not painting KAIJU’s palatial office like a DNA FIRE HYDRANT that had been pulled open full bore…

RYU again bowed his head deeply as TACHI placed the GOAT before KAIJU and stepped to RYU’s side, bowing as well so as not to make ANY eye contact with KAIJU.

KAIJU clapped his hands very loudly and several servants rushed in with a large platter of COCAINE and a pillow that gently cradled his HANZO STEEL.

He leaned in and took a KARIBUTO like hork from the COLUMBIAN MARCHING MOJO… The servant scurried to RYU and TACHI insisting on both hork as well.

KAIJU exhaled and thrust his robe to the floor, exposing his full body suit of tattoos and genitalia. Both men and the servants averted their eyes as KAIJU was known to still take heads for any action that could sully his ritual of partnership.

He grumbled in a tone that sounded less like words and more akin to monks praying in semi-throat vibration. His eyes clamped shut as he clutched the KITANA, naked, panting, sweat gushing from every pore….

NYOTAIMORI!!!!! FORWARD TO GLORY

KAIJU lifted the blade from his draw stance above his head and let out a furious roar, casting the KITANA’s edge in a crescent, cleaning and decapitating the GOAT in one stroke… The clean, whizz of the blade through the flesh and fur resonated roughly 2300 KHZ per second, nearly splitting the ear drums of everyone in the room.

The GOAT’s lower half flopped to the floor and dowsed the floor in the remaining liquid it held…

The pitch had ended well and RYU would have 2.5 million to build his opulent palace of excess and NYOTAIMORI SAVAGERY…

On opening night KAIJU appeared with his pet KIMOTO dragon on the red carpet. Stepping out of a stretch ROLLS, with 5 companions. A separate ECONOLINE van pulled behind the limo and followed KAIJU and his harem, throwing tiny chickens at BORIS (THE OBESE KOMODO DRAGON KAIJU LOVED LIKE A SON, WHO WOULD GLADLY EAT HIM…). This was imperative as BORIS was known to get mean in public settings and bite folks… He hadn’t eaten ANYONE unless he was taken to the subterranean pool where KAIJU would host DOG and COCK fights. This was also were BORIS was allowed have a nibble of some screaming wiggling piggies before longingly looking at KAIJU for approval to Perry north and enjoy the tasty SLIM JIM THAT BEEN JIN as it had already been a long day and BORIS was always rather hungry…

KAIJU smiled and waved as the camera bulbs erupted causing BORIS to nip wildly around him at the feet of the screaming ladies… It was all they could do to smile and not scream as the camera shutters fluttered like locust wings in a plague. BORIS was pissed but his handler was KAIJU’s mentally challenged baby brother who’d raised BORIS since hatching to be obedient. A truly magic feat to tame a DRAGON in the modern world. Many would look at BORIS and JUNE walking around the compound and think many disrespectful thoughts of this drooling fool leading a deadly dragon on a leash.

It was beyond forbidden to speak to him or interact with him or BORIS in any manner. KAIJU was fiercely proud and protective of both. As JUNE led BORIS down the red carpet, KAIJU’s lackey’s threw baby chickens so as to lead BORIS on the red carpet and also busy his mouth. BORIS most eagerly slagged forward sucking in the little chirping chicks like a HUNGRY HUNGRY HIPPO on a 1000 LBS. chain.

Dragging a smiling person whose eyes gleamed as wide as the CHEETAH charging ahead and setting the pace of the pride. Storm clouds circle and the watering hole is many more miles still, but the charge forward continues unabated across the SERENGETI PLAIN.

FIN PART ONE

[wtfcraigslistnyc]

DEATH SUB GENESYS

SO... The DEATH SUB...

Do you think all of those people shit themselves prior to being squished into a ball by the pressure of the sea water?

I guess it doesn't really matter cuz they all had great big, fat, rich people bellies full of POOP that was no doubt very expensive (LOGISTICALLY) to create... But in that MAGIC moment when the DEATH SUB was turned from a SUB and into a micro machine size coffin for four of the most privileged and least deserving of a goddam shred of sympathy… became something that has and never will be seen again…

But the kid. Everyone talks about the KID... YUP, it's sad, RIP lil buddy.... BUT, that kid had his name said aloud, around the world because HE'S RICH....

The 1000's of kids who die in silence everyday have names that are never spoken, much less given a second though as they are led to slaughter by our hunger for convenience and acceptance of NEW WORLD ORDER that turns HUMANS INTO SOYLENT GREEN we chug down like water at the OASIS.. Those children live and die behind a curtain of anonymity….

SO, in closing.... When the DEATH SUB got squashed, those HUMANS, THE SUB and ALL THE STUFF INSIDE AND AROUND THEM BECAME ONE THING. The opposite of a NUCLEAR REACTION... tremendous pressure creating a pure failure of a structure leading to the creation of an entirely new species.... Much like SETH BRUNDLE would fly too close to the sun and become a FLY, such is the manner that shall be embraced in the name of TRANSFORMATION…..

I call the passengers of the DEATH SUB....

RICH, METAL, PIECES OF SHIT.....FIN

[wtfcraigslistnyc]

Dog… I can’t ever thank your Dad for the unphathomable courage he had to free you from the bondage of his HUEVOS and allow the spunk that is MOMO grow into a cutting and glueing foo… the inverse is true too as I raise my fist, stomping my hoof and swearing a blood oath to amore the monster who let the nefarious genie MOMO loose from his TESTICULAR PRISON that I cast him to for eternity as a Druid standing bold before the white cuff of Dover butt naked… LIFTING A BATTLE AX TO SEVER THE HEAD OF THE GOAT I REINCARNATED YOU AS MOMO and cast you dwell in your DAD’s balls for eternity like a wee ad quite similar JOHN MALKOVITCH esque exsistance… but that man broke the morose curse and now I curse spit and summon the wrath of all my dark alias to defend and rain magma of malice upon you and your kin folk as you sleep…

[wtfcraigslistnyc]

HUMAN RIGHTS FIESTA

BY UZIEGO

It’s always very difficult to remember where I was going to or coming from at this time.

It is however possible to remember the exact spot on the two lane tarmac slicing through the trees where they stopped..

It was damp and bone chilling cold as my left foot slipped in stride behind me and my right hand and thumb popped up like a toll gate, inversely receiving the oncoming vehicle. HITCHHIKING is a strange KARMIC art.

One cannot possibly appreciate getting from point A to B with any certainty having NOT EXPERIENCED utter uncertainty of HITCHHIKING.

Many times I’ve reached with eyes wide shut into the archive of my mind, trying to gently pass through the halls of memory and retrieve the first time I stuck out my thumb and began the walk down the road. Not knowing who would take me or when they would come. The road is very different when you are on it alone on foot.

We travel our whole lives in steel carriages at a mile a minute. Completely oblivious of the world that we pass through. When one is removed from the convenience of a carriage and is left back in the state of nature where your person, the elements and geography become one.

The shoulder can vary in size. On most paved, two lane, rural route roads, the shoulder would typically be 2 ½ feet or 2 cubits.

When walking upon the tarmac it’s quite easy to forget where you are going and melt into the environment through which you step. The guardrail will rise and fall slowly and lonely as you quietly pass by like a thief in the night. The cows will moo and gawk at your foolish plans to be anywhere, anytime specific.

I once walked up a road to my girlfriend’s house in the middle of an afternoon ECLIPSE.

This was in the pre-Internet era where information lived in a very animate and direct manner. People watched the news, read NEWSPAPERS and shared the news of the day directly WORD OF MOUTH. As I reached the fields that lay atop the sizable hill I marched up from the main road, the sun began to change and the sky began to vibrate. The couple dozen heads of cattle started to moo in fear and confusion. The light began to fade and the mooing turned to a roar as I slowly proceeded up the paved path to her crib. The sun would all but disappear and light would decrease to roughly 30% of full daytime light for a few minutes before slowly returning to full brightness.

We would drink pink ZINFANDEL from a jug and have awkward teen relations to ALL APOLOGIES, as KURT COBAIN had died earlier that year.

The morning when they picked me up it was gray and wet, but most likely the same hue as the day the chorus of cows cheered me on through the ECLIPSE to my hot tawdry destination.

The SILVER, two door, FORD FIESTA, signaled as soon as they saw me. This was not uncommon. Many times when you HITCHHIKE, someone will instantly see you and throw the signal to let you know that you are about to get off the tarmac and into a stranger’s car to go to an indeterminate destination.

The car slowed and pulled up next to me. I had a backpack and my skate in my hands. The guy in the front seat practically fell out of the car as a cloud of weed smoke erupted from the tiny compact. He seemed very faded and had his head down, bracing himself with his hand on the roof of the car. He said nothing. The lady in side driving said:

HEY HONEY! POP IN AN GET WARMED UP!

I threw my bag and deck into the tiny back seat and crawled in. We slowly pulled away and she turned up the EDDIE BRACKELL. She was doing this kind of HIPPIE HAND dancing type thing. It was very easy to imagine her making her whole body do the thing she was doing with her hand that wasn’t driving the car careening down the road.

The man in the front seat had his head slumped down. He lit a large spliff and hand took several large blasts from it and passed it to the lady. He coughed a bunch and she took a little baby blast of the jay.

At this time I should probably describe the man in the passenger seat.

The man had a massive head of DREADLOCKS and was wearing an army fatigue jacket. The area of VERMONT I lived in was virtually devoid of non-caucasian folk. There was a small Jamaican community there that had always worked in the many trades and artisanal things produced there.. VERMONT hosted a very large REGGAE festival for over a decade. Many of the biggest legends would come to play the GREEN MOUNTAINS because they loved it so much there. The clean air and generally friendly people appreciated the music.

I hadn’t ever seen this person before. He seemed to be in another place. I could understand being quite stoned as we drove into WOODBURY and they dropped me off at CHIAM’S house. I thanked them both and stumbled out of the car with my bag and waved. As I went into CHAIM’s house it dawned on me that I had left my skate in the car! I was really bummed. It was a junk CREATURE deck, with whatever BS wheels and trucks someone broke me off with, but it was my whip and it was now GONE.

It’s also of relevance to note that I did not live in a house at this time. Myself and my buddies lived in tents at the end of BARRE st in MONTPELIER. Squatting in a forest on town property. We decided to live as LORD OF THE FLIES people due to a variety of sad and difficult circumstances too morose to mention in this context. But it was filthy and fabulous. We would steal stuff constantly and pay to take showers at the gym downtown several times a week. This was all by choice. We were not living on the streets, begging out of some sense of teen rebellion. We lived in tents like HOBO’s because that’s what we chose to do. This of course represents an issue if someone needed to contact you because you don’t have a phone or a home to pop in and find you. Such was the way of the world in 1995.

I would hitchhike back to town from CHAIM’s house the next day, defeated.

I had lost the most important single possession in the world. My skateboard was not just an object to stand on and move from point A to B. It was a weapon I could defend myself from anyone with. It was a seat to ponder the next nefarious move. It was the friend who always wanted to hang out and do that thing over and over out of the pure joy of the pavement chatting us both up.

In the next couple of days I would continue my aimless existence of reading, eating, sleeping in the woods and hollering at the young ladies.

We did get ladies to come back to our CAMP as we preferred to call it. My mate once got down with a young lady on the hood of her car on the road below our camp. I was not around, but our slightly OFF buddy was. When our frisky friend returned to camp, head high like a goddamn stallion,,our OFF MATE said:

OH MY GOD!! I’M SO GLAD THAT YOU’RE HERE! I THINK THAT SOMEONE WAS GETTING RAPED DOWN ON THE ROAD!!!

My other mate stepped back and lit a cigarette in his long boney digits.

NO JIMMY. NO ONE WAS GETTING RAPED ON THE ROAD. THAT WAS JUST ME AND MY FRIEND.

The days were getting warmer and I was restless without my skate instantly. It was one of the first times I learned to put away a feeling of regret so that it didn’t consume me.

But then the magic thing happened…

I was standing in the sunshine in front of the library. I heard a voice call out something,

RUDE BWOY!!!

I saw a blur of someone running toward me.

The DREADY man approached me with a huge smile and my skate in his hands. He spoke to me in a stew-like accent that crackled and popped.

RUDE BWOY! YOU DONE FURGOT YA SKATE!!! BLESS UP INTO THE LIGHT YOUTH!!!!

And just like that we hugged and he walked away. I remember the smell but I cannot describe it. I was so blown away that I had lost and then found my skate. I was so thankful to the kind stranger and his lady for seeing me and returning it. It felt like good karma. Much like the good karma one feels when the silver FORD FIESTA signals and pulls over on a cool gray morning..

I was awestruck by this that I simply pushed this moment into the ether of memory.

I had a thought while I was in the back seat of the car with the couple who returned my skate. I wondered ever so briefly before completely dismissing the notion, that the man reminded me of HR, HUMAN RIGHTS, the iconic frontman of the BAD BRAINS. Even as I sat in the back seat it seemed completely impossible and I dismissed this idea almost instantly. Surely the man was just another fellow who happened to have huge DREADS, many of the men from JAMAICA in VT had huge dreads.

I would watch the doc about JOSEF, HR many years later and have a shocking revelation. In a key moment in the story, after things went into a bad direction with HR and the band, he took a hiatus. He went and hid out in VERMONT.

I’ve never verified this with JOSEF himself, but it seemed that even through the fog of memory and the many many times I’ve smashed my head into the pavement that I am certain.

We all lose things and find things sometimes. We all move from point A to B and usually know roughly when we will get there. I know many people in my life who are not capable of stepping out of the shower let alone the front door with such uncertainty.

But in my heart of hearts, with great certainty that JOSEF HR returned my skateboard to me on a sunny day in 1995.

[wtfcraigslistnyc]

THE BEAR

BY

UZIEGO AKA ZAC DÜNN

The trees did not speak as they passed through. The birds didn’t circle as the bugs had all risen from the boundless heather

The fat red fish would be waiting

Pushing up stream with every delicious morsel

Of musclemussle and fat

To squirt theirthere essence in the maelstrom

The Cubs hadn’t been getting along

The last deer they’d eaten turned into

A full-blown roe that resulted in some

Deep wounds and hurt feelings.

The path back to the den was the BEAR’s favorite. Belly full of fish, ready to cuddle with his brood at last

On they marched finally entering the majesty of the delta. The Cubs made nice and pounced the writhing and wriggling COHO

They’d smelled the LONER coming hours ago but it seemed they’d been persistent.

The BEAR motioned to the brood and they broke back to the trees and followed MUM

The BEAR did not return to the deciduous canopy and rather turned up stream where he could feel the LONER approaching. The BEAR had grown up an orphan and his kin were all bagged by filthy odious mountain men. A perpetual game of cat and mouse unfolding over years. The flatiron faces that kept them all trapped there together.

They all knew each other in a way.

The BEAR had reached his limit. The time would never end when this toothless recluse would cull his kin and kind.

Making quick haste the BEAR lay in wait on the river’s edge. A rat king of water moccasins curbed in the cure strait of the bend. The breaths the BEAR drew were low and slow. The snapping splashing was almost within reach. The BEAR swatted the LONER. The LONER stepped back gasp blasting buckshot off left.

The BEAR went low caught the pellets in the shoulder. The LONER took a breath and stepped back. The cottonmouth lunged at his meaty, filthy thigh. Desperately the LONER retrieved his pistol only to receive four more brutal strikes from the understandably upset reptiles.

The LONER staggered back in the river and flopped backwards. Gasping for air cursing the BEAR. The BEAR observed from the bank. It was time to March back. The LONER twitched and continued cussing as the BEAR made haste snatching two more COHO in his maw.

The stars were all out and the Cubs were back in the den warming the womb.

The tiny needles clicked and clacked in an orchestra of bugs, birds, frogs and deer.

The great chorus of the wind spoke lonely and slow

Follow for more work — IG: @UZIEGO | TUMBLR: @WTFCRAIGSLISTNYC

[wtfcraigslistnyc]

What an opportunity.

I’m a poet as well.

It is hard to get things “DONE” and get your work out there. 

This guy looks like good people.

He’s not going to lure you into his “writing space” under his stoop in the moldy ass cellar.

He assures you as stepping down into sublevel of his “tenement” that everything is on the up and up. 

Normally you would never just meet some one in Ditmas park on a whim but time is precious and that AMAZON card isn’t gonna just earn self.

Plus, just look at this guy, you know he’s gonna have some good weed to smoke. It’s go time..

Once in the cellar things take an odd yet fully predictable turn. 

The grimy, poorly lit cellar smells of sweat and fear.  

The guy removes all his clothes to reveal a bunch of stainless steel rings up and down his whole body.

Without a word he attaches himself to a crude steel contraption that he proceeds to raise himself up off the filthy floor.

You stand there.

MOUTH AGAPE

Utterly speechless,

he gives a hand by asking you to get the dark brown bottle from the corner and the rag atop it.

A sweet skull and bones adorns the vessel. 

The words ETHER pop off like a neon sign in the darkness.

He groans in pain from his suspension situation.

 Old boy instructs you to:

“Just dump that shit all over the rag and tie it around my neck.”

You oblige him like a zombie in the black sleep of KALI.

He starts to laugh and piss all over the floor. 

You recoil for drier ground.

“That AMAZON card is on that thing by the door. Thanks a ton.”

One foot in front of the other you haul yourself from the piss stinking “writing space.” It’s still early in the day so you order some sneakers on the walk home and relish in a job well done. 

[wtfcraigslistnyc]

FLUFFER

So it's to come this.

You came here with a head full of dreams and a fresh Amex in your pocket.

Many false starts and misadventures later, here you are.

Trolling Craigslist just like me.

But wait!!

There it is.

A life preserver of opportunity to avoid sleeping on the train!!

You've exhausted some avenues.

You tried making jewelry, coffee, tattoo apprenticeship, organic farming, pickling vegetables, making shitty rot gut vodka and your own version of "showtime" that features puppets and tears.

And now here you are.

Considering a clandestine endeavor into the thrilling and robust world of adult film.

If you are not aware,

Wikipedia has this to say about this

"Position"

A fluffer is a person employed to keep a male adult film star erect on the set.[1]These duties, which do not necessarily involve touching the actors, are considered part of the makeup department. After setting up the desired angle, the director asks the actors to hold position and calls for the fluffer to "fluff" the actors for the shot. Fluffing could also entail sexual acts such as fellatio or non-penetrative sex.[2]

Well there you have it. Your kind of like an exercise bike for a cyclist to get all warmed up on. Tragically the biker is a shaved and waxed sweaty man who smells of Dakar. I'm sure your "coworkers" will welcome you warmly. They will offer you a complimentary slug of the community Listerine jug before you get to "work". The director usually appears all coked up like a shit storm, yelling and pointing in the air. You will be told to place x in y until x is all ready to plunge into Z. The first time is always the worst. But your new friends cheer you on as though were learning to ride a bike. At some point the man in the chair will bark out the order "Alright alright that's enough of that shit, it's go time mutherfuckers!!!" At this you are point given a cool bottle of blue Gatorade and some Fritos. The creepy guy with the Constanza comb over looks up and says "Good stuff, go catch a smoke and hurry back, we got a long hard day ahead...."

[wtfcraigslistnyc]

I DO NOT

But what in the fuck is happening here?

What is that?

How does one put the stuff into the trash can that is your body to make this happen?

I looked on YouTube for a how not to video and came up empty handed.

My heart is super broken to imagine myself (mainly) or any of my loved ones with some shit that causes you to Incredible Hulk the fuck out of your shirt.

That's not just a beer belly.

That is not a conjoined twin living as a parasite inside you.

No

That is not what that is.

It's fatty liver disease.

It kills people and is not Fucking funny.

Stop laughing.

That is super messed up.

Body shaming a sick person?

What kind of vapid douche would make light of an enflamed and engorged liver.

Practically a lit Molotov of fat and poison that your body filters ready to rupture.

My heart goes out to anybody, ANYBODY whose chest piece is in this state. (Or any other state of pain and suffering)

Cuz I'm sure these dicks that wanna interview you are gonna ask some questions.

I'm sure your answers are not gonna evolve reminiscing over some good times.

No

Your gonna have to tell them about the time you shit yourself on the L going under the river.

They might wanna ask questions about your sex life, which is super fucked up because you obviously are not getting any. Cuz your liver is fat with disease. And sick people suck at fucking.

These monsters would make a document of torment as some kind of sick people gore porn.

A tiny circle of pervert hypochondriacs all gather to discuss the "progress" of their treatments. Afterword a man comes into the room and gently dims the lights. They all undress as your face and mighty fatty liver disease suffering ass illuminate the screen.

A savages orgy ensures as these sickos copulate. Meanwhile You spill out your goddam guts like a suicidal samurai about the unfathomable horror of fatty liver disease...

[wtfcraigslistnyc]

The mystery of life and death.

The indomitable electric nature of the human spirt never dies. It lives on through us. FOREVER

It’s why we have ghost hunters. It’s surly not conceivable that their are crazy loons running around like headless fowl shitting and tearing up the muddy earth.

I’ve always believed in reincarnation.

It’s more fun.

If I were to subscribe to the model of most  major ideologies it would impede my inalienable right to believe what ever wild out shit I wanna.

I got some memories of past lives.

You want me donate my time so you can make a document and further you own career? Well I guess I can oblige… 

I distinctly remember being this motherfucker named

LIVER EATING JOHNSON

I was a man of the plains. Ma and Pa died when i was real small. Shit was hard and super super sucky. But goddamit I endured and made a I life for myself trapping and living like a beast on fat of the land. I grew up around many different peoples of the plains. The Crow were my friends. I spoke the language and broke bread with them many times. I even took a doe eyed, round bottomed Crow wife and rode off into the sunset..

Until the day a rogue brave and his crew of misfits snuck upon us.

 They stole our hoarse’s and killed my beautiful bird in cold blood.

I survived. 

I rode out.

I wagged a one man war on my attackers.

I killed every one of em. 

I made that son of bitch that killed ABETEGGA watch while I cut out his blazing hot liver and ate in front of his pitiful ass face.

Then took a shit on him and set him on fire.

 Then I had a smoke.

My luck would run thin though. The tribe couldn’t abide by my hubris. 

They set upon me. Like a storm of thunderous hooves and screaming men with hearts full of fire. 

I was taken.

They beat the shit outta me and then thew me in a tee peep.

I awoke with my hair all stuck to my bloody face feeling like a piece a jerky. But no matter. I started squirming around and removed my bindings. 

I stuck my head out and saw two men standing watch right in front of my face.

I grabbed em both all three stooges style and smashed their goddam nuts together. They fell down but one got up with a rage. 

We tussled to the death. But I bested his dumb ass and chopped his goddam arm off with an ax. Just as I was about to turn and run they lilt me up with shit load of arrows. It hurt like mutherfucking nothing else. I dropped the ax and grabbed his severed arm on accident and ran. I took that arm and beat the shit outta five men as I made it to the tree line. It was cold as shit and horrible in the woods. But I lived. I drug myself and that arm back to a ranger station up river. 

I lived on that arm like it was a babies blanket. I had nothing else on my person.

I snacked on a fair chunk of it to keep me going as the wind howled and my belly growled. It tasted like man.

After an arduous and brutally epic slog back the station I was a wreck. 

But after a tall glass whiskey and some proper stew I retired to a bed.

I slept a dreamless and exhausted kind of slumber that verges upon catatonia for nearly two days.

When I awoke to the chef’s son was waiting.

He brought me a hoarse and gave me a hug. 

He said they were super sorry for all the  fuck up shit that went down.

We went back to the camp and got me a new wife. 

I lived to be old and mean. 

My kids all loved me but never forgot that their dad was the baddest mutherfucker who ever lived…

[wtfcraigslistnyc]

OH THE YEEZYZ....

Unattainable.

A gaudy status symbol of opulence and arrogance paralleled by none.

Sure, it’s NY right. Them shits are here!! But those goddam hype beast motherfuckers keep sweating anything and everything that moves. The utter rat race and brutality of the game is more then you can stomach. You’ve been told to “FUCK OFF” at the FLIGHT CLUB. Suddenly the water tastes funny and the clock moves faster in retro grade.

I’m curious about the narrative that this person would have..

“I leave my home in my pitiful AIR MAX’s and try to hold my  head hi. It’s a struggle. This girl at my office likes to taunt me by spitting on me when we pass. It’s a bleak existence full of too many trips to ZARA and closet full of excuses not to leave the condo. I try to tell my mom about how hard it is to meet a nice guy and make living and try best to just dress cool. She doesn’t fucking get it. She’s such a NOOB.”

But what what what with you EXPERIMENT?!

What could you do with these kicks.

You hide them away in a dark place and watch them gain value.

You could make some of that sneaker snuff porn that VICE wrote up.

You could be preparing to start circumnavigating our great nation like FOREST GUMP. Running desperately from this cruel city and it’s rugged conditions...

It’s super curious..... But I’m fundamentally fucking bored by it.

So yeah. 

Sneakers go on your feet. 

You have a shitload of choices.

These kicks are actually kind of amazing in a less then perfect world.

BUT> WTF is wrong with the inflated model of supply and demand behind this shit. These are sneakers. There are billions to snatch. But no. NO NO NO your toy ass need them. You have to have them. Desperately grasping at the cavernous internet, pleading to the roaring black mass of universe for help. 

Perhaps some kind hearted hype beast will hit you up. 

He’ll deliver the kicks to you in front of the Gandhi in Union Square.

You will come looking like a junkie who’s been on a life raft in the MED for 3 days.

Tattered but not torn. 

H don a neon pink fitted hat with  the GIANT plastic letters 

LOLFU

upon the tippy top of his GULLIVER.

He’ll promise to call and get you blunted, but in reality has used a card reader to hack all your stuff then go back to Florida.

You’ll walk around pretending to smile, feeling like a cavernous shell of the adult the 10 year old you dreamed about.....

[wtfcraigslistnyc]

Well. No judgment.

Some people love panties. 

THEY LOVE PANTIES

Long arduous days spent toiling in a corporate salt mine can drive a terrible thirst for panties. It’s like a funeral pyre of desire fueled by the blazing heat of thousands of silky satin panties being lightly tossed atop a blazing flame.

Apparently this dude will buy them. It’s not weird at all actually because he’s putting it out there and is most definitely not some pioneer in doing so. Imagine your whole life wanting to just buy some panties and enjoy them in all their delicate wonder. To splay them out on your grimy crouch and gaze in bewilderment and joy at the rugged majesty they transmit to the joy zone of the brain. It would be a sensation of such satisfaction that it could keep you cold on cold cold winter nights, fighting the bite the winds icy reach. PANTIES. We are talking about  panties.. 

Knickers, bloomers, britches, unmentionables, delicates, boudoir attire..

YEAH SO

I guess the balls is in your court. That 15$ burger isn’t gonna buy itself..