wtf is this shit

i’m a gay (ex)-satanist who drinks blood, posts pictures of his butt on the internet, and smokes the devil’s lettuce

It's not that Lucy doesn't like spending time with her Dad with her younger siblings around because she does but one, Pru has absolutely no off button and you can only play-wrestle so much in a day before you have to do other things. Two, Avery's four. What the hell are you supposed to talk to a four year old about? Three, sometimes she just wants to hang out one on one with him. Four, and most importantly, they literally suck the life out of people.

people think there’s something actually called campbell’s alphabet soup but that doesn’t exist and never did. as a society, we made up a soup name. they’ve got tomato a to z’s. don’t have those a lot in this household. my kid’s afraid of the color red. when i make spaghetti, i just give him noodles and butter and a lil bit of dried parsley. he doesn’t like alfredo. i did like the cheese and pepper thing, you know what i’m talking about, but he decided that pepper is too spicy. tried doing veggie pasta with a bit of broccoli and stuff but he would not take the bait. i basically spend 90% of my life trying to get children to eat vegetables. do you know how hard this is. the only thing i can get him to consistently eat is grapes and fruit gummies and chips. like wtf dude, you cannot just eat chips, you gotta eat some leafs every once and awhile, man was not put on this earth to eat chips alone. honestly the only reason i’m eating human food at this point is so i can leave my plate out and hope he steals off of it when i’m not looking, which is maybe training a preschooler to be a food thief but like whatever man, you gotta do what you gotta do with little kids, they’re like little drunk people that rely on you. his pediatrician says he’s healthy, so i guess i’m doing something right.

anyway.

they got a vegetable soup with alphabet letters in it but it’s not actually called alphabet soup. that’s not on the label.  it also sucks. i think there was a chicken alphabet but idk if it’s still around. canned meat kinda grosses me out. you know it’s got a lot of shit in it to make it shelf-stable. don’t get me wrong, i have eaten my fair share of hot dogs and tuna in a can and spam in my life, but generally speaking, i don’t buy a lot of meat anyway. kind of the ‘living off the land’ type. i got a root cellar and everything. if i can’t hunt or fish it, don’t really wanna eat it (also brisket is expensive lol) but you can’t hunt dinosaur shaped chicken nuggies in the wild. anyway, if i buy meat, it’s not meat in a can. unless it’s spam. my first for-realsies boyfriend (idk leonard or whatever, makes me sound like a dick for not remembering, but i was like 20 and suuuuper depressed, this being before i learned my current rabbit styles) taught me how to make the breakfast of kings, which is frying up some garlic rice and then you fry up spam and however many fried eggs you want. pretty dope if i say so myself. terrible for your cholesterol. i mean, i don’t give a shit about stuff like that though, i figure the stuff i eat is probably the least damaging thing i’ve done to my body tbh. before i got into nsfw enterprises, i was in the wrestling scene and let me tell you something. no shit that all that shit is scripted out and who wins has been decided on beforehand, like, did you think the undertaker really has magic powers, no, he’s a republican, but even still, that does not mean that you don’t get hurt for realsies sometimes. like. yeah, obviously you learn how to take moves and sell them so they look like they’ve knocked the wind out of you but really you’re fine, like, i can fuckin sell, i was good at that (for the record, i was a heel, butcher jack was one mean son of a bitch, butcher jack still is but that character sure as hell ain’t a wrasslin persona anymore unless you use very specific definitions of wrestling lololol) but i was a little dummy and i was in the shady as fuck backyard hardcore scene and let me tell you what. i got scars from barbed wire. i got a scar from a flaming table. i got scars from glass. shit hurted. career was brief but glorious but also i really like having money to pay rent, so i took my career in a different direction that requires about the same amount of clothing lololol. sometimes i think about the career i could’ve had, like, damn i could’ve been kenny alpha, but there’s no point in dwelling on uncertain possibilities. you gotta drive forth into tomorrow.

anyway, enough about wrestling, we’re talking about soup.

growing up, money was tight because my mom was like a lunch lady or something, i really do not remember, and my dad was in the army, idk what rank, we don’t talk, and more importantly, i have a metric fuckton of brothers and exactly one sister because my ma wanted a daughter real bad so she could dress her up and kept going until she finally got one but guess what ma, you could’ve dressed me up. she grew up to be real boyish based off of social media postings, so i guess ma never got what she really wanted. point is, you can’t have that many kids and have any money unless you’re a millionaire and/or commit tax fraud, which usually goes hand in hand. idk i only know one millionaire and i’m pretty sure he’s not committing tax fraud and it’s like whoa, i literally cannot conceive of how you live, you have a fucking candy room just for candy, wild. he keeps offering me jobs but idk, mixing friendship and work historically ends poorly. i do some modeling work for him sometimes though but like for t-shirts and shit, don’t get the wrong idea here. incidentally, if you need a male model (or like male adjacent, i do not even know how to define my gender, all the muscles and shit is just a form of drag, i am not masc, i am a rabbit), hit me up & we can discuss pricing. my availability is pretty much whenever.

as you might expect, we ate a lot of highly processed stuff designed by some guy in a labcoat somewhere: lots of potpies, hamburgie helper & his cousin tunie fish helper, about any tv dinner you want as long as it’s from the cheap section (i am still a connoisseur of kid cuisine, there’s just something about those brownies that just hits the spot), various mixes to put on pork chops, maccy cheese, whatnot and whatnot and whatnot. chief among this was soup. now, campbell’s soup today is like what, a buck-fifty? something like that. idk i haven’t picked any up in a long time. this being Days of Yore (the 80s/90s), it was probably like fifty cents or something. given that each can stretches to a couple people, you just need a few and you have enough to feed a big as fuck family for cheap. since my ma wanted to make sure we got our veggies in, she fed us a lot of the veggie soup with alphabet letters. a lot.

thing is, i hated that stuff. couldn’t stand it. it’s a taste thing, sure, but it was mostly a texture thing. me & my son are on the same brainwave when it comes to Bad Textures. i could not fucking deal with it. i mean, who the fuck wants to eat a mushy carrot. i would rather die than eat a mushy carrots. disgusting. gross. no. i got fed this once, maybe twice a week, each and every week, and i was always like “i am going to die if i eat this, you are poisoning me, this is awful, i am perishing,” like, i did not want to eat this shit and i still don’t because veggie soup in a can is disgraceful. i can make my own veggie soup and it’s bomb as hell, but that shit sucks.

this drove my mother bonkers. rather than see it as a sign of the eventual brainstate that psychologists love exploring (i have given psychiatrists so much of my money over the years), she saw it as a sign that i would become a wild child, which like. i did. i did do that. i don’t know why anyone was surprised by that. if you keep telling someone they’re difficult, don’t be surprised if they turn out difficult out of sheer fuckin spite. don’t know what they expected. like damn, if i keep getting accused of doing drugs & crimes, might as well become a massive stoner doing vandalism, you know what i mean? i think the only thing that surprised them was the bisexual antics (for the record, i’m gay but i did not know this in the 90s, mad respect to all my bi brethren, sorry to all the girls i got with, it was me and not you) and like i’m still pretty sure my mom thinks that any relationship i’ve ever had, man or woman, was done specifically to piss her off, haha. when i tell people i was a teenage runaway & about my parents (very catholic), they assume i ran off due to gay reasons but honestly, that was a lot lower on the list than you might think. my teenage years were a trip. by the way, protip: stay in school, make sure you got a bank account no one else can access, don’t run off with nothing in your pockets.

so she was like “[INSERT LEGAL NAME HERE] (not a deadname, just not y’all’s business), this is your favorite soup. you love this soup. eat your favorite soup. you always tell me this is your favorite.” and i was like “no, this soup is shit. it’s not my favorite.” and she was always like “no, this is your most favorite soup in the whole wide world and you’re eating it.” this would go on and sometimes i’d eat the soup just to shut her up. one day when i’m like six or whatever, still a little kid, she’s like “you can’t get up from the table unless you eat your soup” and i’m like “no fuck that, i wanna go watch ninja turtles” or whatever i watched when i was six, idk when that came out. but i’m like six, so i have to it at the table. now, i was stubborn as shit as a kid. i sat there like an entire hour or however long. i was not budging and i was not eating the soup. eventually, my mother got out the airplane spoon, the one i had when i was a toddler, and she’s like “nyoom, nyoom, better open up, just eat this bite and you can leave, there’s the airplane to give you your most favorite soup in the whole world.”

i don’t believe this. as the resident far out weirdo, i have to draw my line somewhere and it’s here. i have concrete proof that multiple dimensions are real because a groovy chick at a party confirmed it for me, as have multiple people, but i already knew about that. do i believe in astral projection? yes. my experiments into the psychedelic realm continue. remote viewing is also a yes. i knew aliens were real all along, so confirmation of their (our? do i have claim to that title? i am made of earth but i am also changed down to every molecule of my body on account of biting a dude real good.) existence was pleasant but not a shock to me because i may be dumb but i’m not a dummy. obviously ghosts and angels are real, i don’t think that was in question. i am not talking about alien ghosts, i am talking about ghost ghosts, though i guess aliens can be ghost ghosts too. i have communicated with the spirit realm, received divine messages from many different sources, cast arcane spells and hexes and things of that sort, and i take my purpose as a high priest very seriously, which is why i continue my sacred mission of getting real weird with it, so obviously i am not a stranger to things that are way far out there.

i know what people think of me and they’re probably right. i may only be right about things by coincidence and i know that even if things weren’t real, i would believe them anyway. i know right now that i believe in things that i know aren’t real. this is the crux of my magical practices. you hold two contradictory ideas in your head at the same time and you make both of them real. when i get down into that old neon funk, i forget that. i don’t remember to remember that things also aren’t real because most things aren’t real and you can’t hang onto them. i have been on here too much when i’ve went and forgotten whats what, so sorry for that, though if you ever read anything i write, that’s on you because i, for one, never read my own word-vomit if i can help it. when i’m in my semi-right mind, most of what i say is bullshit because i have word-sounds in my head and need to get them transcribed somewhere so they can stay there and not my head so i can do other things. i need the headspace. like a computer, i am running out of memory and i need to dedicate my remaining resources to cleaning and making sure my kids don’t grow up to become shinji ikari kinnies. i guess it’s okay to say i have kids here because it’s been awhile and no one’s taken them away yet. incidentally, i don’t know how computers work. i know lights are involved. they have off buttons. they have restart buttons. i need to find my own restart button so i can boot up in safe mode and run antivirus on myself. anyway, when i’m completely off my shit, i die inside when i look back on things i’ve said and done because i will let the wolves into my own house and i don’t like being reminded of that. if you’re the wolves in my house, forward me a mailing address please. people assume i’m on a lot of drugs when i’m in a cherry-colored funk but that i’m not on a lot of drugs, that’s just the side effects of having your brain all mixed up. i am making no claims to stone cold sobriety because i probably should ease up on the weekend tequila and i smoke out the bone hurting juice. my bones hurt. it is what it is. i miss my bones not hurting all the time. i was fishblessed but i am still shaped in ways i should not be shaped, werewolf transformation incomplete, either squished down into glamour shape or stretched out into Long Shape. wrong. bad. let me tell you what, if there was onlyfans for aliens, they would not want me posting pictures of my butt on there. i mean, not every part of my inglorious transformation is bad but i have scars from getting stretched too quick and i shed all over the goddamn place and i keep hitting my head on things a lot and i don’t know about you, but i do not need another concussion.

something something words words ramble ramble insert something fake deep here

anyway, the point is that i gotta draw my line somewhere. i’m a conspiracy theorist but i don’t think i’m living in another dimension just because some people can’t remember what the logo on their undies looks like. if i have ever shifted to another universe, it’s for entirely different reasons. is it possible? maybe. i think about quantum immortality a lot. however, all evidence points to the fact that i am most likely existing in the same universe as i’ve been in since i was born. i don’t know what i was doing before i was born and i guess that’s not important because most people don’t know what they were doing before they born except a few toddlers who remember being peasants in victorian england. i think there are a few points in my life where cosmic events happened but instead of going to another universe or something, i just got weirder instead. for example, the great cataclysm of 2017 left me with advanced adhd instead of only regular adhd and i forgot how to speak for three months. shit was wild. went to so many doctors and the end diagnosis was that i was a couple thousand dollars poorer and idk have you tried not being crazy, you should try it. anyway maybe it was for the best because i had to learn sign language and then it turns out my kid doesn’t verbalize easy around other people, so my brainfunk came in handy for once. he’s starting kindergarten this year and he’s going to be so much cooler than all the other small children. i made him a baby yellow submarine shirt because he doesn’t really like baby shark that much anymore but he makes me listen to the beatles like every day almost. not complaing. i mean he could be a kiss fan instead. i don’t know what i’d do if my kid was a kiss fan. listen to kiss, i guess.

i don’t know, man. i gotta lot of ideas in my head and no way to say them properlike. i’m doing my best to say what’s right and know what’s up but it’s hard. i don’t know if becoming a fledgling is making diving the secrets of the universe easier or harder. maybe it just makes it weirder. who can really say. not me. i genuinely do not know what’s happening most of the time. i’m just dancing in the dark and aren’t we all just bruce springsteening it up on the great plane called life. actually no, only bruce springsteen is doing that. man’s on fire. i’m still figuring out what becoming a baby bird means for me but i guess everyone else is too. honestly maybe it’s not that important. i’m just long and my bones hurt all the time but i was already pretty tall and in the end, everyone’s body becomes shit. i just eat other stuff now. i am saving so much money. things happen because they’re going to happen. some guy thinks you’re a ghost dog and now you drink pig blood right out of the container. could be a lot worse. this is not a great cataclysm in my life. it is just an event that happens. right now my biggest issue is whether or not it’s still okay to think megatron is hot because what if transformers are real. this is one of those sentences where i stop for a second to think that maybe i should not share that with the world but you know what, if you’re still reading this, you’ve made an active, conscious decision to continue on with my bullshit.