this one time, at band camp...
there was this girl i was friends with my sophomore year named sara. freshman year we were in earth science together, as well as accelerated english and accelerated algebra, but i didn't get to know her til i joined the band in 10th grade.
we had so many laughs together, like when she was using her tongue to get her lips as big as technotronic's FELLY. i could tell you the story of "do you mind? i'm VERY thristy," but i don't wanna. anyway, once my accident happened, head-injury and all, i guess i was (like i did all my other friends) pushing her away with my new identity. one thing she said to me my senior year, keeps hitting home as i look at my life now.
"you're not serious about anything anymore, everything's a big joke to you"
can you tell by the nature of this website? by the things i say, by the things i do. i'm not naive to be telling you stuff like sticking soapy handles of razors up my butt to clean it, i'd be dumb to expect you to like my style and want to get to know me because of it. when i was in nashville in '98, i told steve that i stick a finger up my butt in the shower and then sniff it to make sure my butt is clean, well i knew steve a while before saying it so i guess that's not the same as telling it online to a bunch of strangers.
but when i say that i like the scent of my armpits, my feet and my balls, it's not like i don't think of what others' would imply about the state of my sanity or my mental health (especially coupled with my brain-trauma), i know that some things are best left unsaid, but fuck i've been doing this blog since 1999, i invented the blog, and when i write i just write what's on my mind. the only think i am hesitant about talking about is my marketing campaign where i sent threatening emails to dozens of people in the aol member directory, mentioning my website. it's like "open line friday," but everyday.
i write about being slapped in the face by a poo scent as i was eating someone's ass, i don't think i ever said that the memory of that day rears its ugly head whenever i am googly-eyed over any perfect specimen of manhood. holy cow, i write about sticking soapy things up my butt in the shower relentlessly until i get a complete sense of clean, do you think i am trusting the world with intimate details of my personal life because i don't want people to be frightened to approach me in public?
i don't care about upholding an image, we're all human, when i'm googly-eyed over that perfect specimen of manhood, i picture him on the toilet bowl doing his best to push out that log that just won't budge...and then i don't feel so googly-eyed. now let me go shower because my armpits are moist. you can continue reading on this subject in the 'dylanne frank' directory under "wouldya call me a freak".