he's inscrutable, like the chinese

Someone named Mark Sakamoto keeps calling me at work and I have no idea who this Mark person is or why he never leaves a stupid voicemail. So maybe you've been wondering where I've been or what I've been up to since the other whorepages died out. Maybe you don't even give a pony shit and I'm pretty sure that's the case.

Before I get into that, there is a huge gourde in the break room just waiting for someone to take it home. Random. It's big and bumpy and phallic and I can't lie and say I didn't think of how it might feel rubbing against the inside of my armpit. I'll never do it though, because I'm not really into armpit fucking with food but I have thought about it and don't lie and say you haven't. Why don't you tell me about it, liar? Share your story, you're safe here and I'm very interested. I'm also not really talking about armpits so don't tell that story.

So back to a less disgusting me. Well, that's probably not gonna be true. Ok, you know what, it really hasn't been that interesting. I'd put it in bullet formation but I can't bare to see how lame I've been in bullet points. If something comes up, I'll tell you the story. Hey, that reminds me of this past July when I was running the SF marathon and puked at mile 10. San Francisco has some crazy hills and once you run up hill #17 or something without music because your iPod was a dick I think it's actually forgiven if you yak, even though you trained for months before the race. No, it doesn't matter that you weren't able to take your fundamental pre-race shit. Puke your guts out lover, all over the dirty port-a-potty, until your eyes bulge and your teeth rot and your breath smells like you let old men shit down your throat for cash.

My goal is to get back there in the top echelon of your favorites again. I will not do this with themes but mostly by being an enormous emo douchebag. That's not even cool. I don't want to be cool. I don't want back in the circle.

I overuse commas.