Thank you to everyone who has and continues to support my band The Lion Faced Boy. This video is and always will be about you. To quote a great man: "Now take your lover by the hand, and do it in the butt." On a less mushy side note, how about those Blake Lively nude pics. Call me crazy, but I would have no qualms with drinking her bath-water.
Aside from the hilarity and chicanery that goes on here, I am also in a band. We also just released our new single. So, just in case you were wondering what my writing and/or verbal excrement has taken a back seat to, you now have your answer. Check us out, like us on facebook, harass us, send us nudes, and just generally spread us like herpes. Various links are located below.
P.s. More stories are coming. Don't worry your pretty little heads.
It's 1 am, on a Monday morning and has been raining for the eight hour straight. What is it about the aesthetics of rain, that seem to slow down the world and make everything ok. Even the smell and gloomy, yet illuminated mood lighting before a big storm, puts us in this trance like state, that even though we know there is a huge pile of shit headed our way, we remain calm and assured of its passing. If only all of us looked at life in the same fashion. Maybe, that would put a dent in the mass amount of people attempting to drown themselves everyday, metaphorically and other wise; while silently hoping that greater minds and the doctorate scientists, could band together once and for all and disprove the existence of a holy savior and heaven. Maybe, people would be a lot more willing to enjoy the time that they have while living. Not be afraid to fight and fuck and feel; and take chances on what they really want.
I know I would sleep a whole lot better knowing that this is it. That there is no perfect after life, riding on clouds and farting rainbows. That this is all there is, so make the best of it that you can for fuck sake. Talk about a call to motivation. Or, maybe I am just a hypocrite and as afraid as everyone else. This nonsensical prattle darting around my head, is only for some self justification, or to take away from the fact that I feel I've already signed for a one way ticket to an after life, but not one full of sunshine and wonderment. God, this inner monologue sounds ridiculous. I think one of my testicles just receded. I need to fuck something. A glass of scotch and faking love fixes everything for a couple hours or so. My own personal rain storm.