Feet like a dead Vietcong Soldier


feetNote to self:  refrain from scrubbing tubs, tables, walls, floors, sinks and buckets over the course of two to three days of delirious stopping and starting under the red hot sun while wearing cotton socks and Nike Running Shoes unless you want to be forcibly and very involuntarily awakened from said delirium purely due to the shock both visual and olfactory of your feet when you finally do have to remove the socks and shoes in order to make it to a prearranged appointment.   That sounds like an affectation to me.  Let’s strike it from the record and move on.  Well, lets talk about it a little first.  I’m sitting in the bathroom on my laptop typing this and I’m still trying to come to grips with how closely the smell inside this small enclosed bathroom resembles  the unforgettable horror stench that permeated my nostrils that day in 2002 at my penthouse in Downtown Long Beach when I allowed a homeless African American drug addict named Kevin to get cleaned up in my bathroom.  The pad smelled like death for days after and I’m starting to panic, hoping that nobody else gets a whiff of the sour, C02 poisoned air  in here and realizes that I, Anthony Mandich am responsible their singed nostrils.  My feet smelled like rained on rotten trash when I peeled off my shoes and socks a few hours ago.  The shoes that are still sitting on the tiled floor not three feet from where I am typing away at this story.

I’m afraid that it will be impossible to wear those shoes again without subjecting myself to an olfactory experience forged in Hell by Satan’s demons.   Fucking gross.  Now matter how engrossed  in my work I am, in the future, once the feet get wet and I am wearing socks and Nikes, they need to be taken off and disinfected immediately.  The alternative is bad enough that if John Monceaux, my cousin and the man who owns this house that I call home, happens to walk anywhere near this bathroom before I remove the offending shoes from  the house, I will be homeless once again.

With that being said, I am going to sign off of this post and correctly rectify the situation voluntarily.  Thanks for reading.

 

Just got stabbed in neck by Barbie


My daughter just gave me a hug from Barbie a second ago.  Unfortunately Barbie has some hard plastic limbs and she inadvertently stabbed me in the neck.  There is quite a lot of blood pouring out of my carotid artery as I type.  Hopefully I can stem the flow a little bit, buying me at least enough time to write a proper entry here.  Its been a minute.  Its hard as fuck to concentrate on this shit though because my same three year old kid is sitting here asking me if the socks that she just picked up off of the floor are from Frozen.  She is also asking me if I can find her shoes.  She is also going through all of the drawers of clothes that I just put away yesterday when I cleaned up this fucking nightmare room.  Her purpose in tearing through the drawers is ostensibly to find proper attire for Barbie.  You see, we are getting ready to go to the store together to find buy some Pullups because she is still having issues with potty training and can’t really be trusted to be completely diaper free just yet.  Her biggest issue seems to be not taking a shit in her panties everyday.  Luckily for me the shits she is taking are pretty firm in consistency and don’t really cause that much of a mess which is a good thing.  It kind of keeps my sanity intact for one more day if you know what  I mean.  If you know what I mean really then I feel sorry for you because nobody should ever really have to relate with my nutty life.  Now I have the adorable little child standing next to me going through my little sketch pad and asking me about every single thing that I have ever drawn in there and asking me who each person is.  The problem is she is not satisfied with answers like, “oh its a little man” or “its a little doggie”.  Then she wants me to draw an itsy bitsy spider for her.  She loves that little itsy bitsy fucking spider so much that I have to draw her another one.  Now I’m starting to lose my focus if you know what I mean.  Of course! We just fucking went through that whole thing I forgot.  I’m ignoring her so she is getting more desperate for my attention, telling me that she needs to go into the shower, which she just got out of.  I ignore that so she starts pushing me and saying daddy a few dozen different ways.  Stone face so she starts really pushing me and calling me by my Christian name which happens to be Anthony.

I forgot I was even writing this.  Its like 4 hours later and we went to Walmart together (Daddy and Daughter) and got boisterous for a little while.  We were both just amazed at “how cute” every single product that had a tie into the Frozen movie was.  That’s what Audrey said literally about every single thing she recognized from that blasted movie that fucking Walmart had stocked on their shelves, in special displays all over the fucking store, next to the elevators, escalators, entrances and exits, restrooms, dressing rooms you name it. I actually was amazed…she just thought each thing was so cute and of course she wanted one of everything in the store.  She was cracking me up so I did get her a couple of things and using my mind manipulation techniques I was even able to convince her that her Pampers Pull Ups were a special treat.  What we settled on for her were a pair of shoes with lighted heels and special pics of Frozen princesses Elsa and Anna.  I was considering shoplifting the fucking things to see if I still had it but ultimately decided to leave well enough alone and even though the shoes were safely on baby girl’s feet and the upc price tag safely ensconced in the box containing my new mma hand wraps, when I was paying at the register I made a point out of making sure that the semi attractive cashier (Debbie I think) rang the shoes up.  They were $15.87 by the way.  We also got her a mini basketball which she picked out.  It was neck and neck between  the mini basketball and oddly enough a football (no soccer but football like the NFL football).  She had never previously shown any interest in or knowledge of the fact that football even existed prior to tonight as far as I know so I was kinda tripping on the interest in the football to begin with.

In case you were really fascinated by our shopping trip and you want to know what I purchased for myself, too fucking bad.  The only reason I am still working on this article is because I am getting ready to go running in a few minutes but first I need my piece of shit phone to charge up enough that I can listen to my fucking Spotify punk rock motivational crap and have my Runtastic app remain open on and running for my entire run so I don’t get cheated out of mileage and times like always happens because something stupid like not having a properly charged phone battery rears up hisses and fucks up my mojo for that day.  It never fails to happen when I am on a personal best pace on a day with heavy mileage being run, a day I would be able to use as bragging evidence via a screen shot that I use whenever some body that is not dead and also knows me but hasn’t spoken to me for one reason or another for six months invariably gets to chatting and asks me the innocuous sounding “so what have you been up to”? and I use that as my opening to bore the tears out of another apathetic winner from my past, present, or future.   Anyways yeah not having a fully charged phone can really come back to bite a guy in the ass in these circumstances.

I’m wearing a really homosexual looking Adidas athletic suit thing right now which is not very flattering especially with the pooch belly I still have even after running 1,367 miles since October 6th of last year.  I think it might even be unwashed in fact I’m pretty sure it is.  And its not mine.  I found it in the barn at my cousins house in Los Angeles and I’m reasonably certain that it belonged to my cousin Dayna’s soon to be ex husband.  He is a cross fit guru allegedly ranked number two in the USA at one point.  Anyways my cousin John gave me permission to keep the ugly stinky article of clothing and the funny thing is I don’t think he really had/has the authority to be giving away another man’s homosexually slanted gay pirate muscle suit thing.  But he did.  And I accepted it because I wanted it and I really don’t know why.  Maybe I enjoy dressing like a gay.  I’m pretty sure I do in certain aspects but that’s not a subject to get into right now.

I’m well aware that I am coming across as a mental defective and I’m really not one I don’t think but I have to admit being somewhat enamored with the whole stream of consciousness that can come pouring out of my fingertips almost without even trying at certain times.  Real talk for a second and I just made this mental connection that the reason for my sauciness tonight is that I have been power watching past episodes of Shameless on Netflix and Showtime on Demand for the past few days and if you watch Shameless you know that basically every character is larger than life, smartasstic horny drug taking hedonist sado masochistic and kind of bad overall yet they fascinate me.  Lip is especially cool and I want to fuck Fiona badly.

In case anyone cared or didn’t know I have relocated out of the Temecula Elsinore Casino Meth Capitalistic Inland Empire Bro Prison White Trash Desperado Probation Parole Headquarters to the lovely confines of Los Angeles which has all of that and more but is infinitely more interesting, diverse, busy and I have to think educated in a certain way that is part money and culture but also street smart mixed with school smart mixed with mostly transplanted out of towners from all over the world melting pot with history and millions of stories waiting to be wrenched from the surroundings where they lie.  Temecula in particular has nowhere near the historical appeal of someplace like Hollywood and I would be lying if I didn’t admit to being very happy that I am out here.  I don’t have any sort of permanent thing going on here but I am working towards having something that makes sense to a higher percentage of those with their crazy lives somewhat in control.

Hopefully it will all work out for me and little Audrey out here near Tinseltown.  Who knows maybe I can get her a part in some sitcom or some shit.  She is a little charming actress fake crier extraodinaire already so we shall see.  Along those lines, Ed Harris and his wife (I think) are filming some kind of something at the property where I currently reside.  I’m not going to be more specific than the greater Los Angeles Area and its not because I don’t want any of you to know where I am  but out of respect for the people who are nice enough to let my daughter and myself sleep here temporarily.  Its nice to have a bloody roof over my head and to know my daughter is safe.

I’ve lost my focus here obviously so I am going to cut this post now and if you are lucky I may just publish it in the next five minutes so one or two of you can read along and send some good vibes and thoughts my way.  Any girls that want to fuck, I’m down as of right now.  Private message me and I will give you my cell  phone number. If I have a girlfriend down the road shortly and she is reading this let me take a quick moment to apologize.  I’m sorry honey (whoever you are) I’m just lonely and often really horny. So yeah.  I have gotten with a few very hot little mamas since arriving in Los Angeles. I’m not going to out them on this forum but trust me we are talking about some primo female flesh.  Just counting my blessings.

Steve Jacobson, Josh Erlenmeyer, Elijah Brown, Kris Cass, Steve Bultsma and others have promised to meet up with me out here in Los Angeles and thus far have not made the attempt.  I can understand why for Steve and Elijah who both think I will be an over the top distraction for important women in their lives.  Josh will eventually get in touch and Kris Cass and Stevie will too.  Faith in humanity and faith in friends.  You gotta have that shit if you are going to have a happy life.  I gotta go running now.  I have four miles of warm ups and warm downs with 8 sprints of a half mile thrown in the middle.  45 seconds of rest after each sprint is not nearly enough so I really gotta go motherfuckers.

Thank God (that’s what you are probably muttering to yourself under your breath if you made it this far)

I dedicate this post to the memory of Charles McEldowney.  I love you Charlie.  Hopefully I can hump your girl Mia too.  That would be lovely. 

Liza Rowe and Nikki Knightly are fine ass ladiesHollywood-Sign-Wallpaper

 

 

 

A Horse with No Name


When I was 14 years old I received a horse for Christmas from my parents. I had been riding horses as much as possible since I turned 11. There was a horse in Mexico named El Bayo that I used to rent and ride whenever possible. His name was pronounced like caballo which is Spanish for horse. I made a little song in Spanish about him and it went like this: Tengo un caballo, su nombre es el Bayo. El Bayo was a bay gelding with a white mark on his forehead and four white hoofs. I would pay $5 USD to the skinny cowboys that ran the little horseback riding outfit that was located pretty close to the area where my Aunty Monica would take all the kids every summer on vacation. We would often stay for the whole summer almost. It was rad. I would get so black it was amazing. My cousins Glenn, Mikey, Donna, Richard, Mark, Joey, Nelson, Rachel, Charlene, Cindy Lou, Timmy, Mitchell, my sister Natalie, and various others would be down there getting pretty crazy. Anyways, El Bayo’s owners put up with me for some reason even though I was a very annoying kid. I learned a lot of Spanish from them and I really loved El Bayo. He was very fast and I used to run him on the beach all the time it was seriously totally cool.

Riding El Bayo part of the year wasn’t enough after a while so I started pestering my parents to get me a horse of my own. Since we lived in the boondocks on Compton Avenue in Corona, it was actually legal for us to own a horse if we wanted one so that was a plus in my eyes. I pretty much hated everything else about living in that house at 18430 Compton Avenue so I figured that having a horse would in some way make up for the unhappiness that pervaded my existence. Somehow I managed to stay on the reasonably good side of my dad that year although it was a challenge. I just walked on eggshells and kept my mouth shut for the most part and on Christmas Day with a bunch of relatives on hand to witness it, I put the snaffle bit on my horse with no name, and the bareback pad and I took him across the street from our house which was just a a big old field and took him for a ride.

That ride was a ride through hell. My horse was an Appaloosa gelding and he was pretty fucking wild. Skittish and really big and powerful and scary actually. I rode him about two hundred yards one way in the field and then when I turned him around he totally bolted. It was scary as hell and when we started approaching the street and all my relatives who had gathered to witness my triumphant ride I could see that he was not going to slow down no matter how hard I pulled on the puny snaffle bit in his mouth. It didn’t have any effect at all and lo and behold I was flying off of his back and landing on my own. Seeing stars, I got up and gingerly walked into the house defeated and sad. That was the way my life went back when I was younger.

Indian Casino Dweller


I was shuffling slowly around the casino floor half asleep at 3 a.m. (3 hours ago) dead in the water and pretty pissed off at myself and the Aztec Temple machines that took somewhere around $4,000 off of me in the previous six hours. My hopes weren’t high for obtaining any money at that late hour on a slow Friday morning but then miraculously I saw a familiar face and I screamed, “Paula!!” Paula was the lady friend of this guy named Frank. Frank is a 65 year old fellow who has money. I’m not really clear on where his money comes from but he literally does have a good bit of it. I’ve heard a couple of different stories about the source of funds. One of them is that he bought a thousand or so shares of Berkshire Hathaway stock back when a share was somewhat affordable at $5,735 a share. We’re talking 1990 era.   Now a single share of Mr. Buffett’s stock is like $214,000. That would explain Franks source of cash. Another story that I heard from this chick named Lissa Giles is that Frfank invented keyless entry. That seems a bit farfetched to me but who knows. I can’t really refute it since I have not done any research on the claim and actually I don’t even know Frank’s last name. In any event 65 year old Frank and I have a little bit of history together. He is actually a really cool guy who I have sort of followed around the casino chatting up during the many periods where I have been so fucking broke and desperate that it was almost paralyzing me. When I very first met him I noticed right away that he liked young pretty girls, girls that had a bit of a hard edge to them, whether they were official hookers or just gamblers who would fuck for a bankroll or whatever, Frank liked them. He gave these little bitches hundred dollar bill after hundred dollar bill and I was immediately jaded and jealous of the fact that these chicks had pussies. They even managed to be stuck up and arrogant in that way only someone with cash can act toward someone with zero cash.   Anyway old Frank was a big fan of the dollar slots with five reels and nine lines where you could bet up to $45 a spin and the variance was fucking massive. Thousands of dollars, small fortunes for just about everyone else on the planet were literally being lost and won and lost again in a matter of 60 seconds to five minutes. If you managed to push cash out after you won a spin that paid you $1,111 instead of playing it down to nothing again 90 seconds later and being forced to stuff crisp new $100 bills in the fucking thing then you could make money. Streaks where you win several thousand are commonplace.   Just as commonplace though are the streaks where you lose several thousand. The losing streaks seem to happen quicker than the wins. They are infinitely more painful than the pleasure derived from the wins. For one thing it is painful as fuck to feed all those hundred dollar bills that look so beautiful in your new Roberto Cavalli wallet into the 12 year old slot machine and not get one thing in return so it seems like the stupidest fucking decision only a block head moron idiot suicidal piece of shit dunce would make. The wins though are not a pile of hundreds appearing in your hand. No they are just a digital number, one that causes undue concern that it doesn’t disappear, located in the top left or bottom left corner of the screen. Its absurdly simple to lose thousands of dollars that exist only in the form of that digital number on the screen because it is often hard to see the reality of that number in its real money real world counterpart either currency like 20s and 10s and fives and hundreds and fifties or in merchandise or rent paid or cars or pussy or clothing or so many other things that I desperately need on a daily basis but do not possess because I am a compulsive gambler without any financial security or nest egg whatsoever. Literally the cash I have at any one moment is the only cash that keeps me from being in abject poverty, a street bum without a penny. Good god how I do go on. Like Scarlett O Hara in Gone with the Wind I just love to hear myself talk or type. So back to Hank.

Like I said I was broke as shit and I saw Paula who is Franks girlfriend. She is about 45 and good looking. Good looking enough that I would like to fuck her. I heard she used to be a hooker and I can believe that but I like hookers so that is not a disparaging remark as far as I’m concerned. Anyway she led me to Frank who was in the high limits room playing the Indian Pyramid game which was anywhere between 15-150 dollars a spin. I arrived he had $700, within 4 seconds he had $1500 and Paula was telling him to cash out because they had a 4 am breakfast appointment to purchase some meth I think or that is the impression I got. Anyhow Frank is a real asset to me in times like this because he has a sexual appetite that is very healthy; however like many other men in his age group I’m pretty sure he is erection challenged and I have the cure for that in the form of chewable sildenafil citrate (Viagra) that I buy from a friend of mine for $1.50 per pill and I turn around and sell them for a minimum of $5 each. Which is a good profit margin but an overall material total amount only if I can sell 40 pills or 60 pills and only Frank buys them in that quantity basically whenever I see him and he has some cash. That’s a $300 shot in the arm at the witching hour where I would say 99/100 people that go bankrupt at that time are dead in the water and will need to get to stepping the fuck out of the casino. A good opportunity to make yet another run at fortune and fame to be sure. One of several hundred mini opportunities I have been blessed enough and privileged enough to receive during my casino career. As often happens on Aztec Temple I was quicker than shit down to the last hundred dollars bill and down to the end of that hundred to boot. I think I had less than $18 left total when I hit the free games and then a bunch of queens and then some aces and then free games again and before I knew it I had over $1,200 in the machine which was a miracle. A real miracle. I had gathered up $2,500 earlier and very quickly got it up to $4,000 and then turbo speed lost every penny of it in two ill-advised donation sessions on a .25 Aztec Temple game and a $1 Aztec Temple game. From $4,000 (which originated out of nowhere) back to the nowhere from which it originated in honestly a 20 minutes session in the high limits room and a two hour session at the quarters by the north cashier.   Dejected rejected sad as fuck just like I explained above. So 1,200 was a miracle. Why then did I stop by and throw every single dollar I had just won (cashed out exactly $1,000 from that Aztec   Temple game) into the nickel Where’s the Gold and that other stupid game with the blue dots as the free game getters that come on the first three reels. The losing quickly got out of hand for a paltry $1,000 bankroll and I desperately sunk ten one hundred dollar b ills in either one or the other with neither of the piece of shit machines hitting even a win of $100. On where’s the gold I got the free games after spending like $500. I got two wilds and five free games which would have been hundreds of dollars of payback at any other time but this time it fucked me hard and I won like 350 nickels or some stupid ass fuck shit like that. Long story short I lost that whole grand like a fucking toxic samurai warrior and it’s so tragic that I have to laugh. That’s where I sit right this second at 7:08 a.m. on Friday April 24th, 2015. In my room at Pechanga typing this entry out on the laptop I got for $160 bucks from the same asshole named Devin who sold me a stolen Honda Accord which got confiscated by the police and nearly put me and my baby mama Clarice  in jail for a slew of felonies. This is the same Devin that I was informed yesterday started licking Clarice’s bloody pussy one night in the motel room I paid for in Valencia  for Clarice and my daughter Avondra. She said it felt good when she woke up so she went with it and let him fuck her too. There are so many aspects of that story that make me want to really hurt Devin very badly. He’s got a lot of nerve to put it mildly. I didn’t even ask Clarice what Devin was doing spending the night in the room that was in my name to begin with. Not to mention what gave him the mental green light to somehow get Clarice’s pajamas and panties off of her while she is sleeping and just start going to town on her pussy. How is that considered okay by anyone in this day and age? I don’t really think that it could have possibly gone down like that but I tell you what I’m going to find out how it went down because I’m going to go find Devin today and have a talk with him. After I have a little discussion with him, I then plan on challenging him to a bit of fisticuffs and hopefully I will prevail since I have taken so many mental MMA lessons. You know…each time I watch the UFC fight night on Fox or an old Pride Fighting Championships classic like Shogun Rua vs. Quinton Rampage Jackson; I am taking mental notes and really studying technique. Mentally only though. Not physically. I’m hoping this will be enough to get my 46 year old nonsmoking self through a street fight with a 27 year old ex-convict druggie hustler dude like Devin intact with me actually coming out on top and bloodying up his face a bit and thoroughly humiliating him as much as I can. Just a little side note that you might find interesting. Clarice has this friend named Doris who is a silly bitch to be sure but kind of hot in a way. Flabby out of shape stretchy skin but pretty face but poisoned mind big time. Toxic as fuck but yet I do kind of like her as a friend at the same time. It’s hard to explain. Anyway, Doris and Clarice have been friends for about two years and in that time Clarice has had affairs with three of Doris’s current at the time boyfriends. Mike Cook, this dude named Dreaddie and now Devin. Doris actually has a kid or two with Devin. That’s neither here nor there but suffice to say that Clarice really likes Doris’s taste in guys. So much so that she has let all of them fuck her multiple times. I don’t know if Doris is just a really good Christian friend disguised as a druggie hustler Valencia bimbo or what but good for Clarice who is getting shown what unconditional love in the form of Doris’s friendship is really all about. I sincerely admire Doris for being so cool about it. There is a lot more to all of these little topics I have brought up here. Believe that. In Clarice’s case for instance I have done a lot of things to push her towards fucking everyone who gets a sniff of her. I’ve fucked girls hooked up with guys and cheated in many different ways and my story is even uglier than Clarice’s which is pretty fucking ugly. None of that has much to do with me being broke right now except it does at the same time because I really need to give Clarice some cash today for food for Avondra and whatever else and I just had $4,000 lost it and then got it back to a healthy $1,200 and lost that and now I have nothing again but this two hour long creative writing exercise. I’m going to go ahead and post it on my blog I think. People don’t need to know all this shit about me and my life but so what if they do. I’m just a tragically underperforming actor in my own screen play but I still deserve to be heard if someone wants to listen.I find myself identifying with this more and more

For Some Reason Lake Elsinore Is Home To A Bunch Of Pussies


I haven’t written the great American novel.  I haven’t written any novels at all.  I’m too fucking scatter brained, unfocused, lazy, tragically unprepared and apathetic to get really serious about writing a book.  Plus my girlfriend smashed my brand new HP Pavilion laptop back in September of last year.  That put a real damper on my cam4 career as well as any true aspirations of becoming a writer of note.  My blog was really cool or so I thought but after the whole Aaron Jacob Parsons situation unfolded I kind of grew lazy about blogging too.  For a guy with just a wordpress.com blog, I felt like maybe I had reached the pinnacle of my internet glory when I got over 12,000 hits in a day, and all the major sites like Liveleak, Reddit, 4chan, youtube showed the video and also had links to my post. 

I wasn’t going to beat that story with my usual fodder thats for sure.  Suddenly, “the hottest ass”, “catholic school hotties”  and “everything you ever wanted to know about anthony mandich” just didn’t seem like it was going to grab the readers by the throat and hold their interest.  It was too depressing to think about going back to 100 hits a day on a good day and I met this chick named Christina, got caught up in her life, realized how shitty and basically unlivable my own life was and just didn’t have time for blogging anymore.  There’s no money in it for me that’s for sure.  I’m not smart enough to figure out SEO techniques. Hell, I couldn’t even afford to renew krashthrills.com after the initial one year period, forcing me back to a free wordpress.com account.  Lame.

You wanna know what’s also lame?  I remember back when I was getting hot and heavy about writing posts all the time a couple of years ago how I always thought it was a shame that I was too much of a pussy to really get real about my life and say shit like it is.  I would think of the people in my life who would read with horror what life is really like on the streets when you don’t got shit and how they would be so ashamed of me if they knew the kind of life I was living.  Well it’s even worse today.  There are people, plenty of them, who are haters and who would love to have the kind of dirt on me that I wish I had the balls to provide for them.  Unfortunately I am not going to be able to do that and I apologize.  I have a job today and I am looking for a better one and I know for a fact that employers look at the internet lives of the people that they are considering hiring and they certainly don’t want to read about how their newest senior accountant just spent the last 70 hours straight at the casino playing Cleopatra Keno instead of resting up and preparing himself mentally for the KPMG audit he has to provide support for starting Monday.  That shit doesn’t fly. 

I wanna tell you why Lake Elsinore is home to a bunch of pussies anyway.  And I will.  But it’s 1:41 p.m. and my lunch hour is over.  I have packing slips I need to match up with invoices and checks to write and spreadsheets to update before 4:00 p.m. when my real day begins.

 

 

 

ciara and anthony are trolls for LIFE


me and my kid are two peas in the pod and i’m not sure that that (double negative?) is that  good of a thing.  cuz i’m a bad kid and i’m learning tonight that ciara’s pretty bad too.  we were sitting here, where we are now in front of this computer while ciara pulled out her laptop and set it on a chair right next to me and we started doing what we do. but the thing is i didn’t quite know what it was that ciara did before  tonight.  so let me tell you about it okay.  ever heard of some site called omegle.com?  yeah me neither until tonight.  its this site where you go on there and you are automatically talking live to a stranger.  okay well first of all that should be setting red flags all over the fucking place which it was.  i had visions of cho mo’s talking to my kid trying to sway her their way which i’m happy to say i don’t have to worry about anymore.  why cuz my kids the troll.  my fifteen year old straight a student daughter is an internet meme.  lol.  check out this little snippet of conversation between ciara and murilo on omegle.  which she had no shame in writing right in front of me.Image

isn’t that lovely.  my daughter is now a papi’ to a proud bouncing little 18 year old man named murilo.  strange strange world we live in where father daughter bonding comes in such a unique little package.  ummm i mean i even had to steal one of her little tumblr blog posts check this out.  isn’t it endearing and heart warming?  the story of a ten year old’s unrequited love.  really charming and almost chicken soup for the soul.  the soul of the devil.

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now we are wrapping up the bonding experience for the night.  this time i think we are going to go without the cinnamon challenge which we undertook a few weeks ago.  hey if you want to relate to your kids these days you gotta dig deep dude.  these kids are crazy.

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she wanted me to put a different picture in there but i like that one with the dogs.  okay this is my first post on my new domain which is krashthrills.com ……i lost the wordpress that used to be in my name.  kinda rolls off the tongue right.  okay so i gotta give a shout out to ciara alabama mandich and her blog which is vellvetdaze.tumblr.com

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Fucking Horny.


 

got such a yearning for some completely ethereal woman goddess to  come steal my soul and force me to worship her.  its like this ache that is more than sexual.  i mean obviously although i have tried to talk to myself into believing that one of the many girls from my past was meant to be my destiny none of them actually were.  that makes me super sad in a way but also really relieved and happy in a way too.  maybe it was all my fault in each and every doomed relationship but so be it man.  whatever the case may have been i was obviously not content enough to conform to the unspoken boundaries that i know and they knew i was confined to. no matter what the reason was for my deliberate hard headed stubborn  way of living the bottom line remains the same.

my destiny woman, if she even exists which i doubt, but i hope, will be a woman who i can throw my whole being into and  who i never have to even care if we are at home or out living in the forest by ourselves or in a big city because she so fully captivates me and i her that the rest of the world ceases to exist in any meaningful way.  the one.  everybody talks about the one.  do they even know what they are saying what they are hoping for what they are dreaming about.

i have had wondrous nights of incredible leave this planet kind of lust filled sexual frenzy tongue in mouth until lips are chapped can’t get enough of her or her of me.  hundreds of those nights with probably a hundred girls.  why couldn’t i sustain that zest that passion that look at her always and be horny in my heart and in my pants?

just give me my soulmate make it clear to me that she is my soulmate and let me fend for myself with her.  i don’t want riches i don’t want fame (well yeah i do unless i get her) just give me the woman of my dreams who is searching for the man of her dreams and when she dreams she sees my face and touches my lips and i hers.  give her to me while i still have time to enjoy her.  i want to experience that great love that rare as fuck love the kind that you don’t talk about cuz its so fucking amazing you don’t even have time to brag or boast all you have time to do is stare at her and miss her when she is gone its not an obsession but you can’t live (happily) without being by her side where a weekend away is pretty traumatic.

i will trade it all for her.

woman if you are out there look for anthony mandich and find him before it is too late.  universe if it is someone i know now let me know.