Documentary of the Day:Legacy of Cool is
denim pr0na work-in-progress documentary about jeans around the world — their culture, their history, their production, and of course, the hipsters that worship them. No word on an ETA, but the finished film should be… cool.
Flying Lotus @ Coachella 2012
Orgasms like no tommorow
Chromatics - “Kill For Love”
XXYYXX - Overdone
I knew she was ready for it from the conversation we had over pierogi and wine, where she pointed out that my argyle cardigan was missing a button above my navel.
“That’s weird, I could have sworn it was there a moment ago.”
Works every time.
She said that she hadn’t noticed until now and invited me to her apartment to “fill the hole” with a button of her own. I accepted the offer, paid the drunk waitress in smiles, and mentally readied myself for the night of inevitable spit, sweat and cum.
We lay atop the sheets without saying a word for twenty minutes after we finished. After I finished. I was afraid to look if if the ejaculate that had erupted so prematurely was still on her belly or wiped away on an unfortunate article of clothing, now home to five million of my dead seed. I couldn’t help but imagine with a smile the baby that could have been; bursting through the womb with an ironic mustache and a copy of Lana Del Rey’s Born To Die grasped firmly in it’s tiny grip. Would I be a good father? My own parents weren’t anything to brag about, my father too busy with his career to pay me any attention, my mother too high on benzodiazbaprim to notice anything but her wine glass being empty. Money was never an issue though, and I was never left wanting any new apple product or retro bicycle for too long. I can only imagine their audacious assumptions; that their money can buy instant relief of guilt from their shitty parenting. Fuckin’ assholes.
After what seemed like hours of nothing but the sweet cacophony of breathing and shame induced awkward silence, she arose from her bed and starts to dress.
“I think you should probably leave now.”
“Yeah,” I sigh. I rose from the bed that I had hoped would become familiar and started to dress.
“Maybe I can see you again soon?”
My iPhone starts ringing as I slip on my Toms. Mom is calling. As always, I hit ignore. I fucking hate my parents. Fucking tools. Maybe they should buy me a penis that works. I don’t even bother to look back or say goodbye as I walk out the door, get on the floor, and everybody walk the dinosaur.