Quarante-Quatre profile picture

Quarante-Quatre

wild_indian

About Me

"i don't really remember being born. it must have been during one of my blackouts"psst.....when my body eats itself i smell like burnt rubber. i cough up two packs of smokes a day. i'd fuck anybody, but i only poop with people i really care about. actually, my friend, that was real jism, and i'm sorry. i can drink away bad memmories....but their like fuckin' roaches......make it a double..............now...don't....you...forget...about....m e...............I edited my profile with Bloody Wankers' Myspace Editor V4.4/A

My Interests

there's so much to do and so little time......

I'd like to meet:

If i ever sober up...i'm going to hate you...and you too...

Music:

there are reasons why all lonely days don't end in suicide.

Movies:

did you ever see the one with that guy?

Television:

some T.V.s have a "sweet spot", like a golf club or tennis racket. if you hit it hard with a blunt object it lets out a yell that is more felt than heard, and it releases a little blob of smoke.... like an aborted genie.

Books:

they are best read by imagining away all the spaces and making the words out of every twenty-sixth letter. it is with that approach that i found Finneagan's Wake to be a truly moving story of love and loss.

Heroes:

J.P. Morgan had a cousin who, after blasting off three fingers on his left hand, would still play the accordian at family holiday gatherings. It was in the spring of 1909 when he met his wife, with whom he had three children (a butcher, a baker, and a palsied boy), and it is generally thought that they had sex parties with the Lindberghs. Now screwing the wife of a nazi-loving american icon may not seem like much to you, but it means a lot to me.

My Blog

now this...this is a shitty blog......now all i need is a traitorous toilet....a commie toilet.

every time i look in her eyes, dead days get up and walk, they poor-me a drink, and i remember what they want me to do... whether sober and shaking or sadly submerged....sick, sick, sick.......
Posted by Quarante-Quatre on Tue, 17 Jan 2006 03:08:00 PST

East of KraKKar Street

Id you know there are still places you can go to where you will hear the chant "nig-ger, nig-ger, nig-ger?"  It's the same kind of concert where a big built "nig-ger" chanter will try r...
Posted by Quarante-Quatre on Thu, 09 Aug 2007 06:59:00 PST

my dear roseola....infantum....

.......ad infinitum....if you get out of my dreams i'll stay out of your life.  this is the kind of thing you can't just spit out.   It's written in code.  In tattoo.  In cogn...
Posted by Quarante-Quatre on Thu, 09 Aug 2007 07:57:00 PST

R.I.P. Jean.

Now it's been about six hours since Jean has died.  Jean is the grandmother i've lived with for four years or so.  It starts like this:  " you cocksucker, i hope you get a cancer i...
Posted by Quarante-Quatre on Fri, 13 Jul 2007 11:41:00 PST