Navigation
Latest Entry
My Music
Email me
Profile
Help Justin
Host

Favorites
the HTs
Eating Hair
War On Moths
Free HT pics!
Taco Bell
Muffin
Video Giveaway
Twin Towers Necklace
Pee Cannon Video
Big Cock Bible
Buttons

Older Entries
2008-10
2007
2006
2005
2004
2003
2002
2001


2002-10-30 10:17 a.m.


Doughnuts and their temptress pastry friends. They call to me. They sing to me in my sleep. They inject lustful thoughts into my veins. They force me to have painful erections every morning. It is the doughnuts that make me inject drugs into my friends' anuses. It is the doughnuts that rob me of any sense of a home in this world—and now I am a nomad for them, because of them, in spite of them. They cause me so much grief; they vandalize my sanity. Yet something about them is so compelling.

I have had a strange longing since I woke up. It is the intense longing to eat doughnuts until I am very, very sick.

I will not eat them slowly. If I ate then slowly, I would only be able to eat maybe two or three at the absolute most before I felt the dull pain in my stomach and lethargy assume control of my limbs. Instead I will eat the doughnuts as quickly as possible. That way I can pack in as many as five or six or seven before I feel nauseated for the whole day. My stomach is sensitive like that, and I hate my stomach for this. That is why it must be tricked—deceived.


I have no will, I have no strength. I am ruled by forces completely sugary and deep–fried in nature. I can not die—the doughnuts have already stolen my life from me.

Eating them rapidly and one after another allows me the joy of eating many doughnuts. Perhaps the quantity can serve as an almost–substitute for the quality one gets when enjoying each bite deliberately, slowly—not that I can remember what that even feels like. To gluttons, addicts, and abusers, restraint exists only in theory—it is as mythical as world peace and the existence of teenage girls whose self–esteem has not been thoroughly raped by the media.

I think I better go to the doughnut place and see what happens. But, I will be smart and only carry $1—enough money for no more than one deep–fried cake unit. Sure, once I got there I could flirt or panhandle for more money if I felt desperate enough. But, I probably won't.


PREVIOUS ENTRY - NEXT ENTRY