Talking with Noah

Dear Reader(s?),

When I think about my life, I often wonder – What If I Was Born As … And then I fill in the ellipsis with whatever I choose.  Just today as I lay in my bed, as I had lain so many times before – Naked and covered in soft cream – I thought to myself…”Who AM I?  I really do Wonder…What I Was Born As A Fat Lady?  First of all – Okay wise crack, obviously I don’t mean I was born a fully grown fat lady, but a girl who became one.  If I had been, I decide, I would have worn those animal striped body suits some fat people wear.  I would always have my hair up and I would be a performer.  Because honestly you can revert the negative side effects of Fattism by being an outrageous performer.  Of course, if this didn’t work I would have had to die.  AS I sit contemplating this, I think…

What If I Was Born As…Foods?  I think, perhaps that’s a silly question.  DO Foods really get born?  I wonder, not knowing, and decides of courses they do.  Now next time you question if somethings ever been borns just slap yourself – of course it has…All Things Been Borns.  That is my Mantra.  So moving on – I think, what if I was foods and people wanted to eat me?  Would I want to be delicious delicate cheesecake that was desirable to the masses?  Or would I want to be some sort of revolting Grape Leaf wrapped around old rotten olives and pig ass hair that only freaks in Greece would ever put into their mouths?  I think to myself that I would not like either option, because if yous are delicious and yummy cheesecake, surely you will be eaten, right?  And while I do find mouths sexy, I would not like being inside someone bottom.  And I do not want to become poop.  And If I Was Foods, then I would eventually become Poops, after I was eaten.  If I managed to be a rolled up Grape Leaf somewhere sane people lived, who regarded me as décor and not foods, I would be happy.  I would however not like the smell of myself, the taste of myself, the texture of myself, Or Anything About Myself.  SO all in all, Please Don’t Make Me Into Foods. 

I know many of you (all one of you) are probably thinking I am using my time poorly.  I am not.  I have little to do, so most of my time is best spent on mundane meaningless rituals.  This is of course how I like it to be.  I don’t need my life spent using up my Morality Minutes on useless conversations with Boring people.  I would rather be coated in grease sliding down a 50 mile long mirror in the middle of the desert.  Although, I would fear it getting hot!  What If I Was Burns?  I do not want to be burns.  If I Was Born As Burns, I would kill myself.  I would end it all.  I would refuse to continue my life and I would peel from the carapace I’d been chosen to irritate. 

If I Was Born As Noah Tourjee, I would be the most beautiful queen of the Universe and I would enjoy my life and everything in it until I was the gigantic owner of the Planets.  As it turns out, my luck is very strong.  I may have forgotten to talk about anything actually going on in my life in this entry, but you have my word, that I will make up for it by sharing all the juicy juicy gossip with you when I have decided I am capable of writing another quality blog.  Please, everyone….Send me money.  Please.  I am poor and I can not even afford to splel wurds coarrictlee.  Good BAI!

Love You For All Time,

Noah

Dear Reader(s?),

Have you ever tasted the sweet nectars of success.  When you squeeze it so even the pit release you these juices.  I have.  Because I am very smart, so I usually succeed in life.  For instance -I have a job doing review for gay porn.  And I am getting a job working at a 24 hour salon – with any luck, as my interview is tomorrow.  But I am confident it will all work out, because I know that no one in their right mind would choose to have me plagued with unnecessary unhappiness.  This is why I choose to celebrate my life by showering myself in luxury.  Like, my fabulous phone.  Which I got back in the mail.  And beautiful people, and friends.  Like Alta.

She has pneumonia and was IN THE HOSPITAL. Covered in plastic like some crazy experiment.  She is however on the road to recovery.  And wherever you are Alta (I know where you are) if you read this – here you are now given a poem…                            

You may be ill right now,

But you will recover.

And the Winds of Ivory

That coat your marble chin

Will seep into you

And revive.

You’ve fallen ill from being a Diamond shoved in with stones.

When I think about my problems, Miss HappyFatGreek (Some names may have been changed to protect the identity of the characters) comes 2 mind.  I work with her.  She is a stupid bitch.  Her thighs extend a hood 9 inches out from where her torso reaches, and even the torso is fat.  She yells retarded greek words at the computers in our office.  And will complain about someone on the phone saying “Get off my PHOONE you tired hag of a woman.” And when no one near her responds.. “You tirrrrred hhaaaaag of a woman, GET OFF MY PHOOONE.”  Which is when one of the insane old people who work there will timidly and socially retardedly manage to say “O-O-oooh is sum1 givin u a hard time?” And they will laugh because she is so funny.  But she isn’t funny, shes fat and retarded.  She wears a Beret every day.  Every, single, day.  That’s so fucking stupid.  It’s a fucking beret, who wears a god damn beret.  OH and she tells everyone on the phones she is a “Researcher”.  No, Colon Clot, you’re not a Researcher.  You are a poor white trash retard who works at a Call Center for 10 bucks an hour making phone calls you never see the results of.  You are not qualified to do anything.  Oh except doing voice-overs, which you claim to have done.  Apparently you are an actress. SHUT UP.  You are so fucking ugly, who would hire you to fucking be in their production?  You would probably eat everything.  The donuts, the coffee, the scripts, the curtains, the audience. Then you’d ramble on in greek waiting for one of the sad 56 year old women with burnt blonde hair who sway back and forth all day at our work stuttering about how they went to an interview to do high-end retail and the woman who interv iewd her was a BEE EYE TEE SEE H in heels, to laugh at your hilarious joke.

B-I-T-C-H in heels?  Whats wrong, you can’t say the word bitch?  Does it make you too uncomfortable.  Did you somehow not manage to fucking get over it in the 68 years you’ve been so miserable.  I feel bad, because OBVIOUSLY no high end retail is ever going to higher you, you look poor, you act crazy, your hair is like those crunchy noodles at asian restaurants because u probably bleach it yourself, and your makeup is INSANE.  That interview must have been so embaressing.  I do actually feel bad being mean about this lady, since shes so sad.  I just….get irritated.

I drink about a Gallon of milk a day.  Is that bizarre?

Love Noah

Dear Reader(s?),

You can not control everything, And when you’ve gotten so worried.  Just stop it already!

Read this Inspirational Poem, and feel rejuvenated with Glee.

Young Does are dotted in sugar

Sweetly pausing to pray

In their golden forests

In the golden sun

Under that halo

The gem restored me

I was a shimmering necklace