Post the Twenty-Eighth

I've decided I want this site to be more philosophical in nature. (Bullshit.) So today on Life of a Pastry, I prove that you've been doing philosophy all this time, and you haven't even known it!

Rude Philosophy

How can I know that anything exists outside of my own mind?
When I'm having sex, how do I know I'm not just masturbating?

If there is no free will, am I still responsible for my actions?
How drunk do I have to be before I can fuck an uggo and it doesn't count?

Is there such a thing as evil thoughts?
It's cool if I fantasize about your mom, right?

How can a loving, all-powerful God create a world with evil in it?
Oh my God, why haven't you gone away?

Do we punish criminals because they deserve it, or because it benefits society?
Should I bang your girlfriend because you're an asshole, or because she'd love it?

--Pastry

Post the Nineteenth

Hey, everybody. Sorry for the late post; I was going to post this last night, but after a few drinks I became borderline-incapable of using a computer. Anyway, today on Life of a Pastry: the Isley Brothers.


Things I Think About, Part II

Have you ever heard that Isley Brothers song "It's Your Thing?"
You know, the one they play in every movie
that has some scene involving female empowerment?

"It's your thing, do what you wanna do,
I can't tell you who to sock it to."
So essentially, this song
is Ronnie Isley telling some random woman
that she has his permission to fuck whoever she wants
because her vagina is, in fact, her own.

That's nice and all, but I guess my point is,
it must be a pretty stupid movie director
who thinks that the ideal song to play
while you're empowering your female characters
is one whose fundamental message is that, given the opportunity,
Ronald Isley will not rape you.

--Pastry

Post the Sixteenth

Today on Life of a Pastry: the bizarre birthday party that never was.

A Celebration Ruined

This was going to be
the greatest birthday party ever.
My friend and I had already paid the prostitutes
to come over to our apartment
and play video games with us.

(Don't you fucking judge us,
we needed two more players,
and I'm sure it would have been
a nice break for the ladies.)

However, the whole evening went to shambles
when the two women refused to play Mario Kart,
that bastion of extreme awesomeness
and peak of all human entertainment.
(Also, who knew that prostitutes
had such discriminating tastes in video games?)

Long story short, I kicked them out of the apartment,
and my friend and I just played by ourselves instead.
We were both pretty upset, especially him.
"Why couldn't we have just played Super Smash Brothers?
After all, it's just as good,
and that way we could've had four players!"
"You seem to have forgotten," I said to him calmly,
"that I always put the Kart before the whores."

--Pastry

Post the Fourteenth

Hey, everybody. Sorry for the late post: turns out last night was more of a drinking night than I thought it would be. Anyway, today on Life of a Pastry, I talk about leather.

Leather

My girlfriend tried to convince me last night
that I should wear leather next time we have sex.
I told her I would,
but I'm worried that once I put it on,
I won't be in the mood anymore
because that tight leather suit
will force me to admit to myself
that I am not,
nor will I ever be Batman.

--Pastry

Post the Ninth

Hey everyone, thanks for your patience. Hopefully today's poem will make it all worthwhile, because today on Life of a Pastry, I talk about something every single adolescent male has worried about.

The Great Porn Mishap

So I was watching porn the other day
(as I am wont to do),
when I noticed that the lead actress
looked suspiciously like my mother.

After I zipped up my pants
and cleaned up the vomit,
I proceeded to watch the movie in full,
disgusted at the actions committed
by this woman who resembled the one that birthed me.

I still don't know if that woman was Mom,
but I know for a fact that none of those men were my Dad.
If one of them was Pops, I'd be pissed,
'cause I definitely didn't inherit
any of his more useful genes.

--Pastry

Post the Eighth

Well, it's Thursday, which means another Haiku Day on Life of a Pastry!

Two Haiku for a Date by the Pool

shriveled private parts
fucking water's way too cold
she is unimpressed

------

went to grill some food
she laughed at the cocktail franks
"left one in your pants"

--Pastry

P.S.: A friend of mine noted an error in yesterday's post. It turns out that not only do ducks not have tiny penises, but they often are known to have particularly large ones. (Good for them, I guess.) Therefore, in the poem replace "duck" with "Canuck." Because fuck the Canadians.

Post the Seventh

Hey, everyone, sorry for the late post. Anyway, I've arbitrarily decided that Wednesday is Limerick Day on Life of a Pastry! At least for now! Today's limerick is about teeth.

Teeth (And How Not To Use Them)

There once was a woman named Flo,
who gave the most terrible blow.
Her teeth did she use,
my member abused, and
"Li'l Bill" was as red as merlot.

I tried to tell her she sucked
at the beautiful art of mouth-fuck,
but she started crying
and said I was lying
and told me I'm hung like a duck.

Now you have no excuse, ladies.
You can damn me to Hell or to Hades,
but I'd rather be raped
by an ill-mannered ape
than get one more scar while you blow me.

--Pastry

Post the Fifth

Hey, everybody. Today on Life of a Pastry, I discuss what it's like being second-best.

Park Bench

I offered you thirty bucks
to give me that quickie
on the park bench last night.

But you said you were really busy
and asked if you could do two clients at once
for a significant discount.
So I said "Fuck yeah, cheap handie!"
and took your offer.

I couldn't help but feel jealous
of the other guy on that bench,
since I seem to have gotten the short end of that stick.
But I take solace in the fact that,
based on the position we were sitting in,
I was your right-hand man.

--Pastry

Post the Third

Thursday is haiku day on Life of a Pastry! These poems are inspired by the recent weather where I live.

Two Haiku for a Rainy Day

dreary, rainy day
I don't want to go outside
perfect day for porn

------

rainy day is done
I disdain my love of porn
damn you, calloused hands

--Pastry

Welcome, Plus a Poem

Well, welcome to my new blog, Life of a Pastry. Sure, the title sucks, but hopefully there'll eventually be some pretty cool stuff on here. Anyway, I figured I'd kick this whole shindig off with a little poem:

Pop Tarts and Coitus

I lay down next to her, breathing heavily,
and as the sweat rolled off my cheek I lit a cigarette.
Taking my first puff, I thought,

How long did I last? That must've been two minutes, right?
Yeah, definitely two minutes. But isn't that really short? Like, borderline shameful?
No, of course not. You could have absolutely made a couple Pop Tarts
while we were having sex just now.
At least you could have microwaved them. Not sure how long it would have taken using the toaster.
(Damn toasters can take so long, you know?)
...
Fuck, I could really go for a Pop Tart.

I looked over at her,
and she stared back at me with a look in her eyes
that obviously betrayed her profound lust for me.
Or profound confusion.
(I mix the two up a lot.)

Was I saying all that Pop Tart shit out loud? Is that why she looks so confused/lustful?
Oh God, should I ask her?
No, I shouldn't. If I was really saying all that stuff, I already look completely insane,
and if I wasn't then I'll definitely seem batshit crazy by asking.
Wow, I just logic'd the shit out of that problem.

After staring at her for a decidedly uncomfortable amount of time,
I figured I should go for my best post-sex follow-up line:
"I hope that was as good for you as it was for me."
She started to say something, but I interrupted her.
"Shut up, you'll only ruin the moment."
She turned her head to look at the ceiling,
with a look on her face that seemed to ask
just what chain of events led to this juncture in her life.

But to be honest I really didn't care,
because all I was actually thinking about as I fell asleep
was how much I wanted a God-damn Pop Tart.

--Pastry