In Defense Of Evil

I will post a sample chapter of my book here if this blog gets at least 100 comments asking me to.

Question?

Would you let Dracula suck your dick?

I wish this video was never out of season.

Cody looks good in a dress.

I think I should become a drag queen. Not because I wanna look like a girl or even because I particularly like the idea of being feminine.

I want to wear a dress simply to be the scariest fucking drag queen in history. I'm going to out-Divine Divine. You guys know who the fuck I'm talking about, right?

This guy (or chick--whatever):

Can you honestly say that you're not fucking terrified right now? Can you honestly cay that if (s)he was coming at you trying to bite your neck, you wouldn't piss your jeans and cry?

I need to get me a polka-dot sun dress and some cheap whore makeup. I need to then go to Burger King and shit on the counter. Oh how I will laugh as the people flee in terror.

The problem is your use of the word "new" instead of using the word "different." It's verbal slight-of-hand. Differences are easy to spot but "new" implies some sort of overhaul, a series of changes that goes further than "different." (And, no, I could never pinpoint when one became the other. But I suppose that was your point, wasn't it?)

I am different from moment to moment, but I'm the same for all intents and purposes. I have the same list of likes and dislikes, the same sense of humor, the same speech patters, sexual urges, etc.

TJ today will never be significantly different than TJ yesterday or TJ tomorrow. But, TJ 20 years ago or TJ 20-years-from-now won't bare much of a resemblance to TJ today.

If you replace a new part of your car every once in a while for 20 years until nothing is left of the old car, then it has changed and yet never ceased to be the same car.

Of my last blog, a human asked "Wouldn't it cease being you after the first change, not the last?"

Well, let me ask you a question to answer your question. If you replace a tire, do you have a new car?

now you see me . . .

This is me right now, and honestly it probably is who I'll be tomorrow. And the next day. And the next. And the next. Until one day, through a series of imperceptible changes, it's not me anymore.

Now you see me. Now you don't.

Let that marinate a while, pilgrims.