It just occurred to me that I don't write enough random shit, and when you're a self-professed fan of David Lynch, that just isn't good enough. Mind you, you can't just cover a page full of surrealist neuroses pregnant with pseudo-mystical Freudian meaning. That's just not on, besides which, I do believe that Mr Lynch has admitted at one point that some of his stuff doesn't even have meaning. That's right. Those people who watch his films and say it's random bullshit really do know what bullshit looks and smells like, whereas we fools are so delusional, we can't even taste the shit that sits heavily in our mouths and don't even notice the flies that buzz around our lips, hoping to nestle inside the moist warmth.
Anyway, cock stew. That's what I promised isn't it? In my version of this journal on a certain other site, this is where I went into a discussion about Australia and echidna penises. But you've already had that one here. I've already uploaded a video where an echidna gets off from being manhandled by a human and accidentally smacks itself in the eye with its own four-headed monstrosity. Go look at my previous journal entries to see it. That animal's dick is quite frankly amazing, though I'm unsure as to how a cock whore would go about giving it a blow job. In fact, would you need to? It looked as if it could lick its own dick quite easily if it wanted to do so. But would you do it? Would you lick it like a bull's penis?
Yes, bull's penis stew is a very rare delicacy. It takes a very good chef to prepare it such that you don't know what part of the penis you're getting. I'm paraphrasing there, but that's the main jist. And who knows maybe those dinner party guests became really horny afterwards and screwed like bovines afterwards. It's not an image I care to think about, but that's okay because I don't. However, I'm sure some of you do have that image in your minds now, merely because I've mentioned it. Quite frankly, it must suck to have such an imagination, mustn't it?
Perhaps that is the advantage of lacking in imagination, like I do. I have difficulties imagining things, sometimes. It's why some horror movies don't really affect me. Dark Water (the original Japanese version) didn't scare me much. What scares me are jump scares, things where monsters go boo or someone is unexpectedly impaled or ripped apart. If there's an underlying threat, gently boiling away underneath the surface, I fail to see it. The stuff fails to make an impact on me, which does beg the question of why I'm a fan of David Lynch's work. He may be a master at portraying menace even in daylight scenes, showing us the seedy, evil underbelly of normalcy. But I just walk away from his movies, unfazed, unaware of both the art and the bullshit.
I might be Wolf O'Donnell. It has been a pleasure mindlessly ranting at you.
