Tobas Writes Your Life.

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Please mister won’t you spare a moment?

I have nothing left to give,

Please mister won’t you give a minute,

Time is money left to live,

Find me a hole that I can crawl in,

Doesn’t have to be so big,

Let me know when the light goes down,

Make my blindness go away,

Let me know when darkness rules,

Finally have a home to stay.

So alone in this small world,

Shrinking slowly onto me,

One by one, the small lights leave me,

Darkness stays a friend to me,

One, my things that once defined me,

Two, my seeds I hold so dear,

Three, my oath that held me tightly,

Four, my mate who fled in fear,

Five, my dreams that fed me visions,

Six, my love that strangled me,

Seven, my breath that clamps my throat shut,

Eight, my lungs now failing me,

Nine, my health and life in shambles,

Ten, my will abandons me.

Lesson learned, easy to see,

Count your blessings,

Leave me be.

No redeeming virtue. No discernible class or breeding. Not even semi-legitimate Hollywood pedigree.

As if the lack of those were not bad enough, there is not even a video record of graphic sexual activity for the public to froth over. Yet somehow, the pint-sized, adobe smurf we have come to know as ‘Snooki’, has managed to become a celebrity.  Highly paid, and widely recognized, this gum snapping, squirrel cheeked model of slightly below average, is a perfect example of ‘good’.

That meaning, there is no ‘good’. ‘Good’, is relative to what you value, because ‘Snooki’, is ‘good’ at being an obnoxious, dis-colored, caricature for all the things that will doom civilization as we know it. And that to me, is no ‘good’ at all. But I digress. Perhaps there is something to be learned here, maybe, by knowing what makes a ‘Snooki’, we can know ourselves a little better.

So with that in mind, I present, What’s IN IT Mr. Wonka…Snooki edition.

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First, toss in 3/4 of a cup of colorful fruity Pebbles.

Look, flat out. Pebbles was a little cunt. Outside of Bugs Bunny pretending to be a baby in order to not get popped, there was no bigger swaddled annoyance than this monstrous infant Lucille Ball. And just like Pebbles, our dear Snooki has had way too much milk for her own good. By ‘milk’, I mean attention of course. We Americans love visceral idiots, because our ‘user friendly’ technology has made it possible for so many to avoid meaningful interaction, regardless of their intellectual level. So therefore, the baseline of ’stupid’ has shifted dramatically. ‘Bam Bam’ indeed.

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Next, dice several thousand carrots, and mix them with some hops and barley.

Well, now that isn’t very clever is it? No, it isn’t. And it isn’t meant to be. Take your fucking carrots, mix them with the hops and barley, and hope that shit ferments long enough so you can stomach the inevitable moment when you see this walking testament to primal function, and realize, this is me. ME. I am human, SHE is human, and as much as I’d like to believe otherwise, this is true, and it makes me sad on a cosmic level.

Or if you wish to simplify matters, the bitch is orange. What the fuck.

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Finally, you take a face full of Ms. Swan. Frankly, Bobby Lee isn’t funny. Neither is the Ms. Swan character from MADtv. However, dip the fucker in peach cobbler with the sketch get-up on, and Staten Island would register seismic activity from the stampede of shiny, impeccably groomed, marble mouthed males who would happily smash their thick skulls together aggressively in order to be noticed, and hopefully mated with.

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beat thoroughly in a familiar, transparent bowl for several years. bake with a cauterizing rod near your frontal lobe at the highest heat setting, and voila!!…we ALL have a ‘Snooki’!!

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Live it, Love it. (but…god…why…)

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~T

How I wish my words could waver,
tremble you like others do.
I’d write of things that sadness brings,
..or hope, and love, and other fruit.

How I wish you knew, that I shake the same,
just looking at you.

My eyes may look bright,
but that is your light.
Caught and reflected,
my blessed perspective.

Don’t be sad. They say.
Depression hurts,
Don’t hurt.
Try these pills, it’ll go away.

So…what’s wrong?
I’ll talk to you, but you’ll talk to me instead,
Sort through things inside your head,
Everything, but your need.
What it really is, that you want from me.

…but why should you deserve that kind of sympathy?

Sadness, pain, and doubt,
to carry these things is the easy way out.

Knowing the hurt that you cannot see,
but letting yourself be,
..that is happy.

But that is so much harder than it seems,
because we want it to be.
Don’t you see?
Listen to ME.

I could never listen, to lamentation, when it echoed my situation.
Love lost, or unrequited.
Even in song,
that heartbreak,
I could never take.

In that way, it was as if I had never seen you,
I could not have imagined this to be true.
Here and there, I would watch you come and go,
Sadly singing inside, say it aint so.

Every haunting note from Dido,
added melancholy idle.

And Gavin Degraw loving his girl,
well, it sorta made me want to hurl.

A funny thing happened though, with a certain song.
Instead of sadness and longing, I began to sing along.
Suddenly, At Last, it seemed to me,
those songs that brought tears,
weren’t quite as sad, as I made them out to be.

So cue up some Death Cab for Cutie my cutie,
my soul met my body, made me into we.
No longer is music made sad by reflection,
my sight of the songs colored by your affection.

I wish I were a Commodore, 64,
I would say hello, 8, 1,
Is it me, you’re looking for?

I would look at your blue screen,
Loading, loading, loading,
Until I see, comma you, comma me.

The menu scrolls down, and it’s Pirates! I see,
a few hours of pixels and plunder I need,
a ship full of mutinous scoundrels I feed,

….sigh…maybe I’ll find my caribbean queen…

but first, I’ll throw a fastball,
then maybe a screwball,
hit a homer with my blue team pitcher in hardball,

oh if I were fred savage, I think I could manage,
I’d find my own winnie..

but this time, it would be you,
not another pooh..

find me the master of love DnD,
and roll me a character better than me,
a higher charisma, and stamina to boot,
charm spells and potions and chests full of loot,

but I can’t save this game on a spare floppy,
I was given just this single copy.

This heart and this head make a perilous sum,
burning eyes in my mind leave nothing but one.

I think I said goodbye.
I did the right thing, and I knew it.
I let go of love forever late,
and made myself appreciate.

Imagine possibility,
not me, not me.

Lost my faith in meant to be,
Lives that thrive make no man worthy.

I laugh at your chemical bath,
Wishing all the while I took that same path.
A cynical chef feeds no one with hope,
Starvation appeals at the end of my rope.

I’m fighting to breathe when I wish not for breath,
I’m fighting to live when I wish only death,
I wish them to know that I’m doing my best,
My love for my sons is the only thing left.

The above says it all, doesn’t it? That’s right america, keep buying the music, keep going to the concerts, and keep allowing this jackass to earn a living by acting like a spoiled and impulsive six year old. What drives a man to go to such lengths to be the center of attention, at any cost? Well, my dear readers, today is, in fact, YOUR. LUCKY. DAY!! (kanye style).

Ladies and Gentlemen, TWYL presents, But What’s in it Mr. Wonka?? Kanye West edition.

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“I love you”…“No Kanye, I love you more”…“NO Kanye, I love YOU more”…“NO KANYE, I LOVE YOU THE MOST IN THE LAND AND YOU BUGGIN’ IF YOU DON’T BELEE DAT!!!!”

First, we start our mixture with a generous helping of Narcissus. Ah yes, the story of Narcissus. In short, pretty boy sees face in water, suddenly comes out of the closet, and damn that sailor in the water lookin’ mighty fine…::glug glug::…Oh, I know what you’re thinking dear reader, ‘ah ha, here’s the part where Tobas draws the comparison to Kanye, and assures us that just like Narcissus, Kanye is GOING DOWN!!!’…..sigh. Well my clever friends, you would only be half right with your foresight, about this half-pint (see what I did there?).

America LOVES Narcissus. America IS Narcissus. We may as well toss a crown on that big fat Kanye head, because our society is led by our celebrities, and Kanye West leads our celebrities…::scuffling::…(GIVE BACK THE KEYBOARD KANYE)…::more scuffling::

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Next, we add 3 seasons of Damon Wayans. Now this may come as a shock to some of the younger readers. Once upon a time, Damon Wayans was funny. No, no, no, not sitcom ‘funny’. I mean push the envelope, hurt peoples feelings funny. ACTUALLY funny. The bulk of this funny occurred from 1990-1994, when Damon was slapping white girls singing out of tune with socks and carrying a jar of piss on In Living Color.

The above photograph is of Damon playing Oswald Bates. Bates was a prisoner fond of using sophisticated vocabulary words, without having a clue as to how they should be used, to hilarious effect. But don’t take my word for it, see for yourself:

(nailed it)

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“That’s an awfully large picture Tobas”. Yes, it certainly is, but that’s the only way I can think of to accurately portray just how much douche goes into making a Kanye West. So, toss a large helping into the mix (a box of twenty should do), and stand back, because there aren’t enough feminine hygiene products on the planet to make this mixture fresh.

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Finally, you throw in some Kanye. “Wait..what?”..You heard me, to make a Kanye, you add some Kanye…::scuffle::…(Kanye, that doesn’t even make sense…GIVE BACK THE FUCKING KEYBOARD)…::grunt::…::more scuffling::

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And there you have it.

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Live it, Love i-JESUS WALKS AND WHY PEOPLE BE TRIPPIN CAUSE IM AN ARTIST AND PEOPLE DONT BE UNDERSTANDING ME AND THEY BE LIKE THAT KANYE A MONSTA AND SHIT SO I MADE EM A SONG ABOUT IT AND THEY BE BUGGIN OVER MY VIDE-

::smother::

Ah, the magic of chloroform.

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Live it, Love it (read a book)

~T

I’ll write when I feel like it.

Not when my emotions tell me.

I’m not that guy you saw in the club.

I’m not that guy mistook for a thug.

I’m not a punk, or a hipster, or both,

but honestly, are you allowed to be both,
shouldn’t it be one or the other?

I don’t have ink or colorful sleeves,

No hoops through my lips, or brows can be seen,

I may be too boring to fit in your scene,

but I never cared that much…
…or I would have done so, a long time ago..

But here’s a surprise, regarding my eyes,

Like many swank hipsters, they operate fine.

I see you, so trendy, surrounded alike,

To get in your circle I might sacrifice..

well…I like you for the same reason they do,
not because I got to know you, I just like the way you look.

Don’t get me wrong, I love your art too,

But I’d rather see what your life has tattooed,

Beauty and style are small parts of the whole,

Not even a fraction of content of soul.