The Beyonce Infatuation

When I was little, watching TV and such, it was inevitable to stare at the mainstream right in the eye and take things in. I learned of Destiny's Child at an early enough age where I could be pulled into the music, terrible I know. But if anything stuck with me, it was the girls.

Now Beyonce may be on today's title, and she's gorgeous and all, but my preference was Kelly Rowland. I mean, just look at her. What is there not to like? Flawless copper skin tone, beautiful smile (when it's genuine) and that misty look. I could just bask in it as she sings herself a soothing jazz standard. I'll make a cup'a and light the candles. Her and me were meant to be. Kelly, if you read this, I won't deny your affections.

She's also got a solid nose.

That's a D4 analysis right there. The elf nose bulb is usually more common for fairer skinned beings. It's usually a wonderful addition to a woman, but she's got it on a fairly wide nostril base. The result is a nose that looks different depending on the angle. I mean come on, was I not supposed to feast my eyes when she came up? Solid 8/10 nose right there.

Beyonce has a real pretty nose too. It's just more common. Maybe a 7/10, but the rest of her face really has a lot to do with it. Beyonce was second place for me, but a clear first for many. A few days ago, a friend made it clear that he was one of those many. While overall I used to find her attractive, I don't anymore. It's not the age or the music. She'll age gracefully, she's a very talented human being, and I would very much enjoy a lover with her vocal possibilities. No, the reason she's not that attractive to me anymore is because of Jay-Z.

As I told my friend, I saw his face. Bewilderment. He just stared and turned his face into a big old wrinkly mess— think Mother Theresa's ass. I knew what he was thinking. "Bro, come on. He's an ugly mofo, if she'll get with him she'll get with anybody. We're clear winners, all we have to do is show some charisma.." so before he even opened his mouth I went on with my reasons. I didn't need to mention the fact that he's a lyrical genius and that hence, his wow factor is significantly increased. I didn't have to mention the fact that he's got more money than I even want to make. I didn't even mention the fact that he's probably a socially friendly, all-around cool guy when he steps away from the mic.

Here's my problem. Imagine the guy. Imagine those thick lips, the bulging fish eyes, the relatively smaller-than-average scalp. Now try and forget the fact that he's a highly respected world famous rapper. Now place him in a room with a blonde bimbo and a shaky cameraman who's way too fucking obnoxious to have a job other than right there at that moment. He's probably gonna say something like "Oh honey, you're not ready for this" followed by some stupid chuckle. It's during that chuckle that he realizes he's not even funny; his world shattering. This is besides the point.

Jay-Z is that one awkward black guy in the porno with the giant horse cock. He fits the criteria. It's between the look, the slur, and the seemingly slow attitude. Jay's that one stud us males think we want to be until we can't fit into any cavity. You can disagree if you like. You also know that by doing so you'll only be lying to yourself.

You're not seeing this picture of Jay Z's monster cock because you're not reading this on ilikenoses.blogspot.com
But why does it matter? Because I can't compete. To be with someone as long as Beyonce's been with Jay here? I'm not worried about the gaping open black hole between her legs, I'm worried about my performance. I wouldn't want to have to picture that fuckin' boa while I'm doing the deed. Not that I should be, but the gaping black hole wouldn't give me another option. It will create the thought.

Is Beyonce beautiful? Absolutely. But to be married to this guy for as long as she has been means that even if they did become unhappy at some point, and even if I did get the chance, there'd be no way for me to feel comfortable. That's assuming I'd get the chance to compete after being sucked into another universe.

As for my friend, I think he'll keep his infatuations with Mila Kunis. Sorry bro.


How to make your Blogger/GoDaddy link work without "www."

To better understand the emotion behind this post, I recommend hearing Chariots of Fire by Vangelis in the background.

I've spent over a year trying to study and understand how to properly edit zone files on GoDaddy. Mainly because you couldn't reach my site (www.d4am.net) by typing in "d4am.net", but also because I like learning. At least I thought I did for 3 months, until I realized nothing worked. The months that followed showed nothing but the pain and agony of basic code ripping my insides apart as I gave up, tried over, and repeated everything all over again. Always hopeful that one day, maybe, Google would answer my question.

I've found the answer.

All this time I thought, gee, if other people can get it to work, I can too. I can just, make a switch here (and ruin my site for a few precious hours) or make an adjustment there (and clench onto my heart as I try to put everything back exactly how it was.) The trick seemed to be not to use GoDaddy at all.

If you could feel my eye twitching, the sigh of relief, and the release of what seems to be soothing endorphins, you might just understand what finding insomnia over a web address might be. You might decide that yes, some geniuses with the time and the patience really did study all this A Host and CNAME donkey-dung, but me, I prefer the easy way.

This is how you do it.

Go to your blog's settings. You should land directly on your basic settings, and from there you should see your modified blog address. Click edit. Toggle the redirect button.

Here's a visual representation.


Well, I feel stupid. At least I did it. I pulled through, I dedicated, and I probably didn't even have to go through all those sacrifices all these months just to do it.



Give Me a Disease

I don't support heart attacks. Or diabetes. And only on an occasional basis, cancer, and only because it's pretty fucking unavoidable. We get cancer on our ice, booty munch, if you wanna avoid cancer live the vegan life up in the Himalayas and—

I'm getting carried away.

I would never buy diabetes, but I'd let you give me some. And maybe, as you give me some, we can help someone else. Someone with needs. And no, fuck feeding the poor. This is way more important than that. Fuck cancer patients, AIDS epidemics, or just people who don't have clean water either. We're talking about real needs here, we're talking about problems we can solve, problems like Mel's about 50,000 views shy of 200,000, and some 18 followers shy of 400 followers, and this shit is about as serious as the lube for your first anal experience. Try not to shit your pants over how fucking terrifyingly serious that is. Try not to shit your pants because you have a gaping wide asshole now, either.

If you go to Mel's blog here and leave a comment stating that I, D4 have sent you, she might send me a Twinkie. She obviously wants my death, I tell you. But that's nothing, because I'll make that sugary slut suck me off. Where's your cream filling now, you Twinkie bitch?

That's when all hell breaks loose and I deep fry that shit. You syphils swallowing ass-cunts don't know? Apparently deep fried Twinkies is the only sure fire way of kick starting your inevitable string of physical diseases. We all know the mental ones have already gone too far for me anyway; it's time.

So if you have any heart at all, you'll finish the job on me. Earn me another chance at winning a Twinkie. Go to this particular page on her blog, and just.. you know. Say I sent you.

You might end up getting the Twinkie for all I know.

Who am I even writing to?

Go to bed, kid.

Why don't you go to ilikenoses.blogspot.com and read the rest of my shit? Are you stupid?


Rising Sunset

To a child, a lot can be Bizarre. If you'd told me when I was 4 about the solar system, how Earth revolves around a sun, or how those pretty stars are actually suns of their own solar systems, my mind  would've blown. I would've thought you were joking.

A star is a star, it's not as big as the sun. 

There's still full grown adults out there that don't know that. But this isn't about them. No, this is about another kind of ignorance. This is beyond not knowing when to ad 'ing' to a word. This is closer to calling counter-clockwise reverse-clock-ways.

I'm prolonging this more than I have to. I just came on to moderate any comments on my music blog I might have, and I found this:


I decided against posting his name, because the following remarks are going to be quite embarrassing and this isn't a bad guy. Maybe he was tired or something.

OW, owch, fuck you, you greasy cunt smegma, you've twisted my arm. If you're so curious, here's the direct link to the comment.

Now, what do you spot? We could start at the appalling lack of periods for starters, but that's child's play. How about "the lyrics are remind me"? But again, these things happen to the best of us. Can you spot it? Have you yet? Maybe the post's title wasn't enough. Here's one last hint.

Do you not enjoy reading directly from www.ilikenoses.blogspot.com?

Now wait a damn second, buddy, I think the bizarre point here is your choice of words. You see, the planet we live on actually keeps revolving. The sun is always setting somewhere in the world, but you know, it's also rising somewhere else in the world. Normally, in reverse retarded, we call this a sunrise. It's a lot like what you're describing here, but well, less bizarre.

Is it just me? Maybe rising sunsets are perfectly bizarre here on Earth, and I'm some alien immigrant who's been trained to believe Earth is my original homeland. Maybe my thinking a sunrise is normal is as bizarre as thinking that Kim Kardashian is ridiculously attractive.

Maybe Kim Kardashian doesn't even exist on this planet.

Maybe life not so terrible here after all.



What the fuck, Damian

I've gotten used to people not reading my main blog. I mean, occasionally I'll get a stray comment from someone I've never heard from and will never will again. But for the most part the regulars stop by, skim maybe, hear the featured track and say something about it.

Enter Damian Wei. A cool little Canadian Asian with a sweet blog. Nothing too original, nothing too visibly pleasing, but it's a decent blog and I actually enjoy even the lengthiest of posts. He's cool, check out his blog.

DWei here has been a regular at my main for a long time. He's shown his occasional skimming, and even went as far as to make a comment that clearly stated he didn't hear something enough to comment about it, something about I just wish I could understand them when they sing. But see, Damian is usually very cool. I let it slide. Poke fun at it, return to daily life because it's no big deal.

But just a little while ago, Damian posted this:

I mean look at it, it's cute
The part that gets to me is my reply. Yes; me. Because once I have to go, "Hey dude, just look at the fucking page when it loads up" I realize how stupid it is that this became a comment at all. When I care about a fellow blogger's blog enough to get in contact with them, I surf the page. I check for the latest post, or any feeds they might have.

Here's the problem.

Why aren't you reading this post at its respectful blog? ilikenoses.blogspot.com motherfucker.
Seriously. It's the first thing you should see.
Not only is there an explanation to my absence right underneath the header, but there's a Twitter and Facebook link just above that. Both of those accounts also have the given information. I made it as clear as possible to those who care that hey, I have to take a little break, but I'll be back.

The comment was probably left so I would return to his blog when it updates, in traditional blogger you scratch my back I scratch yours fashion. I don't really flow that way anymore. So Damian and any other bloggers I follow, the reason I do and comment is because you write something interesting. If I don't like something or if I have nothing to say, I won't unless you're Fran or Ray.


Aw hell no fucker, you got to the end of the post and you STILL haven't clocked in to the actual blog? Fuck you, cunt.
See? He's alright.



Why aren't you reading the actual post at www.ilikenoses.blogspot.com huh bitch? Fuck your mama.
Image Source

This post might read better with Tell Him by The Exciters playing. Here's a link if you're interested.

Do you remember that young couple you passed by at the park a while ago? Or, well maybe you don't. They kinda just blend in with everything else, don't they? They were cute, and who really cares if they're buried into their faces. Eskimo kisses are adorable, let the young ones do what they do while it lasts. When was the last time you held someone at a bench, just because? Enjoying the beautiful day, existing within a bubble of happiness.

They're probably having some really in depth conversation about a topic they won't remember in 2 days. She's probably saying something like "Macy's being real mean at work lately, she reminds me of all the adults on that one movie we just saw... What was it again?"

Which is probably followed by "Oh, you mean The Santa Clause? Wait, how does that even work? I was too drunk that night to remember what they were like.." and it goes on and eventually they look dead into each others eyes, slowly lean and do that cute thing you probably haven't done in a long time. Hey look, there you are, passing by. You were kinda far, it's no wonder you didn't notice. You should be glad though, you didn't wanna witness this.

It was intimate; a gentle parting of lips. That initial moment they had there, within the middle of the rest of the world, right before she sunk her tongue in an attempt to meet his. But she didn't. She'd been with him for 6 months and this was just not how he kissed. For starters, he never had his eyes spread open in fear during these ever intimate moments. And no, there was no serial killer with an ax standing behind her. He did realize, however, that he no longer had a tongue.

He shoved her off of the bench. A rude gesture to which she stood up and gave him a well deserved slap. Her hand then quickly made way to her chin, where she dusted off an inch long spider. And then picked one out from of under her lip. By now, her eyes were as wide as his.

And he was just, you know, laying face-down at the bench. Trying to empty the cavity of hundreds of carnivorous spiders who'd rapidly devoured his tongue. The same spiders that made his throat seem like it had moving hives. The same spiders who had nested in his stomach for months, and finally found their way back out to light.

Hey, the link is ilikenoses.blogspot.com so hurry and get there before I finish up inside your MOM. Maturity, bitch!
Sources here and here



I saw a centipede in person for the first time a few days ago. It was about 4 in the morning. I had just finished writing, I was in bed, the lights were off, and I felt something tickle my thigh. Usually when I feel that, it's the fan hitting my leg hair and all is well. But that night my legs were under the covers.

I lifted the covers, but before I could even lay sight on my legs there it was. All wiggly and fast, speeding up my shirt, working its way to my mouth. Maybe it was the silent yelp, or my legs kicking around, but the centipede decided it was time to head in another direction.

It crawled under my bed, where the boogeyman hides. It stopped being so quick, it was just there. At first I figured it should be harmless. It's lost; that centipede isn't even supposed to be indoors. I set myself back onto my pillow, and curiosity took over.

What if this centipede had evolved mentally? What if it decided to seek revenge, crawl into my mouth, refuge in my intestines, and breed? My every following shit would be infested with tiny centipede babies, scraping the edges of my colon with it's wiggling leg-claw-things.

Image Source
It took me a second to realize it'd probably die in my stomach before any of that happened. Unless it really did evolve, and its outer shell became impenetrable by those acids lining and eating away at my stomach. If corn can do it, why can't an arthropod?

It was at this point that I figured I'd check underneath the bed, just in case it was still there. It was. I saw it; laying there. Wiggling its little claw things at the wall, pretending it was trying to climb it. I knew it was actually etching a blueprint of my body, trying to take it over. To appropriate my soul.

And then I squashed it with my slipper. The bottom half. It was stuck to the ground, but it was still alive. Left to die slowly after thinking such cruel thoughts over me, a poor random nobody in this world. I watched it die from the edge of my bed afterwards, just to be sure.

Paul - 1  Centipede - 0