Memory Lane

Internet, man, I found an ancient-ass laptop filled with ancient-ass pictures. Check out my past! (So gnarly. So radical. So…1989.)

This is my bookcase from my room in Ontario. I glued googly eyes to it, slid a dissection pin between them, and drew a mosquito around it. That drop of blood, that’s made of nail polish. It never came off. Ask my mother.

This is a bush from that same house. It has another bush growing through it. It isn’t there any more, but for years, it was the silliest thing on the block. I don’t know why Mother let it grow so long. I don’t know what’s out there now, but it’s definitely not that.

These are some boots I had, back in the day. They didn’t fit properly. Also, I couldn’t walk in them. As boots went, they were useless.

This was me at three, twelve, seventeen, nineteen, and twenty-one. The fashion police were all over me for, what’s that, now? Eighteen years. Assuming I started dressing badly at three, and knocked it off at twenty-two. Which I didn’t. I’m not sure why I’m blonde in that first shot. Maybe that’s not me. (I’m not blonde at nineteen, either. That’s a rather obvious wig. Like I said. Fashion police.)

This is me serenading a giant rat. It’s not a trick of perspective. That IS a six-pound rat. Or it was. She’s been gone a while now. Anyway, I wanted to be an opera star, but this is how I sing.

And this last one’s not a picture, but a text file: me telling some poor dude on the Internet what a blowjob feels like. I used to be kind of a troll.

Dude: think i wud like bein sucked,tho cnt begin 2 imagine how it feels

Me: It feels something like shoving your dick repeatedly into a beer mug that has a wet sponge in it. Or so I’ve been told.

PS – No-one ever told me that. I was just being a dick.

PPS – My website used to be the number one Google result for “handjob stories.” Not THIS site, obviously. My other site, with my art on it. It never had any handjob stories, but it did say “handjob” a lot.

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