Ever wonder why Dracula never had a reflection? I always thought it was what it was. He just doesn't. Plain and simple. Move along. However, a few years ago I read that the man called Dracula was actually a very ugly man. He possesed the power to change his outward appearance at any given time. This was very true. Dracula could fool everyone but himself. Every time he looked at his face in the mirror he would see his true worth. He was a dark, evil creature.
He could no longer deal with the truth. So, he had a witch cast a spell of some sort to relieve him of this discomfort and internal anxiety. Never again would he be able to view his reflection.

I drink, folks. I won't lie to ya. I wait until everything's done and then I blow my fucken brains out. I mean, every once and a while you have to fucken drink. Sometimes you have to think about the women that broke your heart and say,
"Oh, make that TWO FIFTHS OF JACK DANIELS!!!!"
I know everyone's trying to be straight now like these rock n' roll fucken pussies. Yeah, I watch MTV. They have that whole "Rock Against Drugs" campaign, which is basically just a bunch of rockers who got wasted once, slid into a school bus and killed twenty children. And within the face of license they make public service announcements. Yeah, no shit!?
I love these guys, they're like,
"Hello. Listen, don't get caught with drugs or you'll have to do a commercial just like this one."
Yeah, I think I got the message. The message is don't get caught.
Rock against drugs. Someone was high when the came up with this campaign. It's the same thing as saying, "Christians Against Christ."
Rock created drugs. What the fuck are these people talking about.

I miss my dad. There, I said it. That son of a bitch died six years ago to this very day. His name was Patrick Dundee. He was was forty-six years old. He was a CPA. A historian. A writer. A loving husband. A fighter. I was his boy. He loved me more than his own life. He told me this almost every night up until the day he died. He died in his home, in his favorite chair. This was what he wanted. My mother and sister and I never moved him. We held his wake right there in our living room. This was a typical Irish thing to do. All of my family came to pay their respects. We cried. We laughed. We drank. I took two hits of ecstasy. I couldn't deal with the pain. The sadness overtook me.
Over the past six years I've been fuckin shit up. I drink. Heavily. I've struggled with drugs. I lost many friends because of this. I can't carry a relationship. I was kicked out of St. Peter's College. My dad graduated from this school, by the way. I was recently told that my father would puke if he saw what his son has become. Maybe he would. I don't know. I just don't know.

I read Saunders little piece. Very entertaining. Very thought provoking. However, I don't have a single friend who is a "Manly Man" or even a "Girly Girl" for that matter. These fucken men, these, macho mother fuckers make me want to vomit. These jerk-offs walk around, flexing their muscles in their skin-tight armani exchange t-shirts, tight, diesel jeans with matching diesel shoes, and the most ridiculous fucken hair cuts I have ever seen in my life. These guys all seem to be obsessed with "working out" as well. Which is absolutely fantastic! I work out too! However, I don't find the need to talk about it for ours on end with my buddies. I hit the weights hard for an hour or two and forget about it. I don't watch, "The Game," either. Whatever that game may be, I am proud of the fact that I have never once said,
"Honey, I'm watching the game."
I say,
"Fuck the game, let's fuck! Come on, right here on the floor, you and me!"
I have been labeled a "fag" all of my life. Since I never took an interest in sports all that much, and I rather enjoy taking care of myself, I guess I did come across as a homosexual.
Everyone thought so. My dad thought I was a queer. I know he did. My ma has her suspicions. I know she does. My grandfather used to call me "Sweety." Trust me, it wasn't said in the loving way. I hate that mothafucker. He was always proud of the fact that he was a "man's man." He was a Marine when he was in his youth. He grew up to be a wife beating, child abusing/molesting sack a'shit. I told him once that I would slit his throat if I ever saw him again.
That pussy nearly shit his pants. Hahahaha.
I've been pulling my hair out almost all of my life trying to figure out just what a man truly is. I don't fight. I believe I'm too smart for that. I'm not a hard-ass. I'm sensitive. I hide it, thoug. I'm afraid of being stepped on one more time. You see, people mistake kindness for weakness. However, I know the difference.