KingLuscious.com

Its like empty picture frames.

I looked at the wrong thing just now. I knew full well what I was getting into though. I made all the decisions. They were the wrong ones it would seem.

I read the words. Painful. Well, I didn’t read the word “painful”. What I read was painful to me. But probably not to anyone else on this planet. That makes those words uniquely mine don’t you think?

I did not write the words, but I still feel like I own them.

I wrote these words. But I don’t really want them. You can have them if you’d like. They kind of make me sick. Physically ill actually.

Imagine running through a forest while blindfolded. Sprinting as fast as your legs will carry you. Sweat streaming from your face and stinging your eyes as it soaks into the handkerchief covering them. Spindly branches lashing across your face as you narrowly miss trunk after trunk. Imagine coming out the other side unscathed.

Remembering the past is stupid. The future. That’s where its at. Who will I know? Who will I be? Most of all, will my friends still remember me.

Right here (I’m pointing to a location on my person) is where it hurts. But it spreads to here and here.

Real superheroes would probably kill more people than they do in the comics and movies. Perhaps they’d execute criminals, but also there would be a lot of collateral damage to bystanders. That would be very sad.

At some point, the fun starts right? I mean, it can’t all be like this. What would be the point? Surely there is something people have neglected to mention to me. A secret rule or guideline that becomes evident at some juncture and everything one eighties. Probably not though.

If I close my eyes and type, I don’t seem to make very many mistakes. <- See?

I could be typing this naked. Then I would have my eyes closed for sure. I’m not typing this naked though. You’ll just have to take my word for that one though. Unless that sound I heard outside was you and you’re peering through my window right now.

I need to take a shower.

My routine is broken. The days are all weird now. Night comes too late and sleep even later.

Should have zigged when I zagged. Too bad there aren’t reverse time capsules. I would bury it in one of my past yards right now for my adolescent self to find. Then we’d see what’s what.

I don’t think of doing it as often anymore. But when I do, its a lot stronger and a lot harder to ignore. Small, constant doses before. Now concentrated bursts.

I typed this with one eye closed. That isn’t very impressive though.

Get in. Get out. This ship is going under.

I should write a novel. Or a novella. I could come up with characters for it. They could engage in some sort of conflict. Not a war though. Write what you know. I don’t know anything about war. I don’t know what I know about. When I figure it out, then I’ll write my novella. Then a prequel. But that will be a graphic novella. With terrible art.

Sometimes, if I lie, or lay, down for too long and then stand up very quickly, I fall. Darkness encroaches on my vision. I ring of black constricts my sight. I become weightless. I fall. I don’t feel the impact. It is pretty neat.

Sometimes, if I lie, I get caught. Other times I don’t. I do not like getting caught, so I try to keep my lies to myself. I tell them to myself. Then I call myself on it. I’m a dick.

What is inherently bad about a dick that it is an insult to be called one. Or a pussy for that matter. Seems to me those things are fairly value neutral.

Contractions make words shorter. They also have to do with having a baby. That is weird.

On Star Trek: The Next Generation there was an android named Data. He was unable to use contractions because he was not programmed to. It may have been annoying to write for a character that couldn’t use contractions because the fans of that show are the sort who would go over all lines of dialog hoping to find a slip up. Those guys are dicks. Or pussies.

Light exhibits the properties of both a wave and a particle. It is like light is living a double life.

I’m pretty sure I don’t exhibit the properties of either a wave or a particle. Just another in a long list of reasons light is better than I am.

Anyway, one day I’m going to grow a goatee. Actually, I guess I have a goatee right now. Its just that there’s all this other hair around it. If I were to shave a goatee pattern on my face right now, it would be kind of like a sculptor chiseling a form out of marble. The goatee is already there, I just have to chip away the parts that aren’t it.

If I could choose my parents, I know exactly who I’d pick.

You pretty much only get to choose your friends. You can’t choose your family. You can’t even really choose your acquaintances because those are people you just happen into every now and again. Can’t avoid them if you don’t know where they’re going to be.

You can choose your pets I guess.

There’s still a chance. I have to think there is. The alternative is grizzly.

I think that no matter how fast I was falling, I’d want to fall a little faster.

Good night.

-kingluscious.

I am almost certain that the drugs aren’t working.

The German Luger P-08 is the most beautiful handgun ever created.

What if there existed a serum, or perhaps a compote, that, once ingested, would cause a person to fall completely in love with you. A real sort of love. The kind of love we all want but very few of us find. And the ones who do find it usually fuck it up at some point and lose it.

Even if this person hates you. Curses the very space you occupy. Wishes that instead of you being alive, you were dead. This magical elixir would dissolve those feelings. They would swirl around in a sort of hazy tornado like structure, metaphorically speaking of course. They would change from red to, what, I don’t really know what color love is. Probably a pale sort of pink. Or maybe yellow. Those are my favorite colors and it is my love potion so the physical manifestations of the various emotions involved can damn well be whatever fucking color I wish. The point is, what if you could make someone fall in love with you. Would you do it?

Your first reaction might be something along the lines of “Hells the fuck yes I’d do it.”

When I first came up with this thought experiment oh these many minutes ago, that is what I thought.

I am not so sure now.

The allure of simplicity is very strong. Having the one I pine for fall, instantly and thoroughly, in love with me would seem, on the surface, to solve many of my problems.

Something in this fantasy seemed slightly upsetting to me however, much like most of the fantasies I find myself indulging in.

What could the problem possibly be I can hear you asking yourself as you read this. My problem is this: If I feed a solution of pure love to someone and they succumb to the fragrant wizardry contained therein, then we fall into an embrace of the sort romance novelists entirely fail to capture the magic of, then the world’s most perfect kiss follows, a kiss whose mere existence is the foundation of hope itself, and the kind of sex only two people adrift in a dark moat of passion can have comes next, the kind of sex that is too filthy to describe, but at the same time draws the fuzzy handcuffs of love ever tighter comes after the kiss, and then, drunk on the happy that flows from one to another each time we look into each other’s eyes, we make vows before the state and whoever else will listen, we marry, and a life of such dizzying happiness as to anger the god’s themselves stretches out over the years, and as she lay on her death bed, she draws me in close for one last embrace and whispers in my ear that her life with me has been the stuff of dreams and she can imagine no other life that would be worth living, then one last kiss is shared as a tear rolls down her cheek and she leaves this world more contented than any that have fallen before.

The problem is she did not choose that life for herself. And that does not seem fair.

So, were I to possess some enchanted thing that would bring with it the happiest life imaginable, I would not use it.

Fair is fair.

-kingluscious.

It is a hell of a thing to hide away all your guns and then shoot yourself in the foot.

Take a one dollar bill, or, if you’re ridiculously wealthy like me, a five dollar bill.

Lie the bill down on the table in front of you so that whatever president’s head you can see is facing the correct way up. Fold the bill in half lengthwise by taking the bottom two corners of the bill and folding them up next to the top two corners.

Take this folded dollar, or fiver, and give it to a friend. Have that friend hold the bill between his or her thumb and index finger at one end. This friend should let the bill hang from his or her finger so that the bill hangs perpendicular to the floor.

Now, you place your hand at the opposite end of the bill as your friend. Open your thumb and index finger a couple inches wide and position your hand in such a way so that if you were to close your fingers together, you would pinch the bottom portion of the bill.

Without warning, your friend is to drop the bill. It will fall at roughly 9.8 meters per second squared. Once the bill has begun it’s descent, pinch your fingers together as quickly as you can in an effort to catch the falling bill between them.

In all probability, you will pinch your fingers together after the bill has already passed through them. The reaction time needed to pull this off on the first try is rather quick. You may miss repeatedly. Sometimes the bill may brush tantalizingly up against your fingers as it passes, letting you know just how close you were to having it. Though, in reality, you never really had a chance.

That is almost what it feels like.

-kingluscious.

This morning, at 1 am, I decided I should eat something and head to bed. I did not see another living person through the entirety of Christmas eve. Nothing would have been open if I had decided to leave the house to get something anyway.

What did I eat you ask? A feast.

I cooked the last of my tater tots in the oven. I cooked a total of 23 tots. The perfect amount if you ask me.

I also cooked, in the microwave simultaneously, Armour brand chili for one.

I grabbed a can of Pepsi and sat down on the couch with my Christmas eve dinner.

I took 3 bites of the chili and it was very good. However, it felt like something was missing.

I went back into the kitchen and opened the pantry. I moved a package of strawberry flavored Pop Tart brand toaster treats out of the way, and behind the tarts, was a Christmas miracle.

A brand new, unopened, box of Saltine brand salted crackers. Halle-fucking-luja.

-kingluscious.

Sure. You think you’ve got the plan all figured out. You think it’s just that easy to kill yourself and no one would be the wiser. Well, think again friend. People could be on to you right now. Without the proper plan, people can see through you like so much see through underwear.

It may seem simple on the surface. Wait until everyone goes to work. Pick out your favorite rope. Give it exactly seven twists. Hang it from your clothes rod in your closet and kick the chair out from under your feet. Done.

Wrong.

How did you get to this point? What were the weeks and months leading up to this moment like? Did you give any indication to your “loved ones” about what your plans may hold? Of course you did. You made rookie mistakes that tipped them off weeks ago. They’ve been planning interventions and holding useless prayer vigils for you for weeks.

You haven’t been unconscious for more than a few minutes before concerned friends and family rushed into your room and clambored over each other to be the one that delivered you to the hospital. The end result, of course, is that you wake up in a room full of all the poeple you hoped to surprise with your departure and they all expect some sort of explanation. Not an envious position to be in.

Well, worry not friend. I’m here to help you plan this thing to perfection. With my help, no one, not even your most trusted friends, will know what’s coming in your future and you will be able to die in peace without worrying about waking up a couple hours later amidst the accusatory stares of holier than thou assholes.

Phase 1: The Decision

This may seem like the simplest part of the procedure, but more people fuck up here than you would think.

The trick about making the decision is that you have to do it in a way that doesn’t change your behavior. Suicide Prevention 101 states that if a depressed person suddenly starts acting happy and content then they have probably made the decision to end this failed experiment called life.

So, once you’ve made the decision to end your misery, simply don’t change your behavior.

I know, the temptation to say things like “it’ll all be alright now” and “finally, my suffering will come to a compassionate end” is very strong. But these are just the things the anti-suicide communists would like you to say. It’s how they ferret out free thinkers and visionaries.

Don’t, and I can’t stress this enough, DO NOT begin giving treasured possessions to good friends. This is a gigantic indicator that someone has decided to go through the change of life. People will be looking for this specific behavior and the minute you exhibit it they will ship you off to some psychiatrist who will lie through their teeth and tell you everything will be ok.

Simply make the decision in a dark, quiet room where you and the liquor are the only ones who know what’s going on. Don’t tell anyone of your plans and don’t change your behavior at all.

If you were acting depressed before, continue acting depressed. If you were putting on a facade of happiness, or at least acceptance, keep that up. No one must be the wiser, for the next step is equally as dangerous as the decision.

The writing of the Note.

I will weigh in on this topic at a later time. Stay tuned to this particular website and I will show you how to follow through with this decision without arousing suspicion in anyone.

That is, of course, unless I mysteriously stop posting soon.

-kingluscious

Performing oral sex on a woman is difficult.

Much more so than performing it on a man. Now, before all of your gaydars, gaysonars, and scanning tunneling electron gay microscopes start throwing up red flags or sounding sirens, or however the hell technology identifies a homosexual nowadays, let me just say that I have never given oral sex to a man. None of them would ever accept it.

Anyway, the penis is about as straight forward as an organ can get. Well, except for mine which is curved awkwardly to my left (your right).

Your basic penis comes in two configurations. Erect, and flaccid. For the purposes of what I’m talking about here, we’ll ignore the flaccid penii entirely. That leaves us with an erect penis and an open mouth.

To successfully engage in oral sex with a man, one must simply open the mouth wide enough to allow some or all of the penis to enter. Once you’ve achieved penis to mouth insertion, it is only a matter of pressure applied by the tongue, rhythmic movements of the neck and head and time until the entire trying ordeal is finally over I pay the, what I hope is female, streetwalker the six dollars and continue on my way.

However, the story becomes a lot more complicated and lubricated when you reverse the roles.

In my experience, it is very difficult to take some or all of a vagina into your mouth. So, it is necessary to adopt a different procedure when attempting to pleasure a woman orally.

Unlike the penis, which holds no secrets, the vagina is a very private organ. It generally tries to remain as elusive as possible. It lies, shrouded, somewhere between a woman’s left leg and her right one. Gentle probing with a finger, or one of those plastic pincers you get at the carnival where the pinching end looks like a shark’s jaws, will suffice to bring it out of hiding.

Once located, the vagina springs the first of many traps. It discharges a defensive liquid. This highly slippery substance was designed by Charles Darwin himself to aid in the vagina’s escape. Objects, such as fingers, penii, tongues, novelty shark pincers and the like, have a hard time finding purchase on or around the vagina because there is no traction to be had.

This, like most of the vagina’s nefarious traps can be defeated using a simple and time tested mechanism. Before you attempt to have sex, oral or otherwise, with a woman, simply drug her and tie her up. This way, she will be unable to tell you no or to alert the authorities to your whereabouts.

Once a woman is bound and gagged, spread eagle of course, on your bed or in front of your fireplace, depending on exactly how romantic you wanted this “concentual” encouter to be, it is time to get down to business.

Now, respected cunnilinguists will try to tell you that a focal point of oral sex with a woman is the clitoris, or “clit”. They would say gentle pressure and rhythmic motions are good to start. Then, depending on reactions from the woman, a firmer application of pressure would be called for. Well, not to disparage my learned colleagues when it comes to the exact art of cunnilingnastics, but that is simply rubbish. The clitoris is no more real than Bigfoot, Jesus or the G-spot. In reality, the clitoris was introduced into popular culture through the writings of noted feminist authors in the 1970s. It was a propoganda tool designed to waste men’s time by making them think it was possible to enduce the female orgasm, which, like the clitoris, was found to be entirely fictional as well.

No, the proper way to engage in oral sex with a woman is to not even use your tongue at all.

Women really enjoy the feel of teeth grating against the various, nonfiction, parts of the vagina. Parts like the uterus, various tubes, that part that hangs out a little bit and that other part that, if you fold it out a little bit, looks like wings.

I don’t want to get too technical with you here, and I didn’t intend on this becoming a biology lesson, but suffice it to say you should just put your head down there and bite around a bit until she screams in ecstacy and tells you stop because she’s bleeding quite a bit.

There are other ways to pleasure a woman besides oral sex. That’s what they tell me anyway. I have never been in the same room as a woman being pleasured, so I’ll have to take their word for it.

And you’ll just have to take my word for it. But, don’t take her word for it. Women are notorious liars. Always remember that no means yes, stop means go and I’m going to call the cops means I need to be taught a lesson about knowing when to open my big mouth.

See you next time.

-kingluscious.