laughing with a mouth full of blood
anna, 23, n.carolina
i often see people quoteing me on twiter and tumblr, and it always makes me feel coll. i like being quotable, i think one of poetry’s importent roles is to create memorable lines that capture important ideas, like mantras, or anthems . writers like @postcrunk and @santinodela impress me for how their 140 characters can tell us so much about how to live !! and i’m proud to have done that prety well with some of my own lines: “make something beautiful before you are dead,” “stop pretending it’s boring to be alive,” etc
but i actualy get the most excited when people quote my other lines.. my realy fucked up ones haha —my lines about mutilating my own dick, and stuf like that. maybe it’s werid to you, but i feel a deep conection with the people who appreciate this fucked up humor. one of my all-time favorite frends to text message has been jamey strathman because , well, this stuff haha :)
for me the folowing quotes have been the source of such deep and intense laughter, while editing my videos or remembering them months later. how often do you laugh so hard it hurts your face ? you can’t fake that kind of hard laughter . i think it’s such a real & amazing response to have to art. it’s so visceral , often on the same level as crying
most of these quote’s are taken from my older videos, early 2012 especialy. i noticed after a while that many of my folowers dont like the dick-mutilation jokes, haha , (go firgure! ), so i starting burying them later in my videos, i said them less often or removd them all together . but i think that choice has made me enjoy my work less . real talk i think i used to get more excited makin videos
so realy this post is in honor of doing what you love as an artist , even if “success” is callin u to do somthing different. i dont think i’ll go back to sayin things about dead kids , because i realized those might be triggering for som people.. if so, sory for including them here ! but mostly i think this is a very importent list for me to make. i have to embrace who i am
so on that note, here is the top 38 most fucked up steve roggenbuck quotes, with the video links after. haha ok :) enjoy
- "if you’re a dad, just come over and fuck my armpit" (x)
- "i’m over here suckin’ my own dick for money. i’m gona suck my own dick for $500. i get paid $500 a day to suck my own dick. i don’t even gotta leave my own home because i get paid to suck my own dick. i actually feel the most alive when i’m watchin’ a football game on tv. and then i whip my own dick out and just start suckin’ my own cock. i go to car dealerships, start suckin’ my own dick inside the cars" (x)
- "frickin’ pierce my dick and shoot windex into the holes" (x)
- "literally just fuck my dad with a bag of checkers" (x)
- "shove a potato chip bag in my penis hole" (x)
- "i wanna spread that little poop canoe deep in my buttcheeks. i wanna push that little poop canoe" (x)
- "jab the ball point pen into my nut sack, tear a hole. a hole has been ripped—in my nutsack" (x)
- "just wipe your poop right into my hair… [i’m] drying a casement of poop around my head" (x)
- "what else are you gonna pop my dad’s dick with? cinderblock? a vice? a hammer? rubber mallet to pop my dad’s dick. rubber mallet to pop ross perot’s penis… pop ross perot’s dick. slice my dick vein." (x)
- "i’m suckin dead kids’ body parts through straws" (x)
- "cut my dick foreskin with toenail clippers" (x)
- "i wanna get my dick stuck in a whisk" (x)
- "pizza party with a dead kid" (x)
- "i love kids of age 9 to 11" (x)
- "you ever seen anything like this? a guy suckin his own dick??" (x)
- "my hoodie’s made of dead alien rat nutsacks" (x)
- "does anybody even know what the legal limit of dead kids that you can have? i’m gonna be honest i’ve got about 17 dead kids" (x)
- "and then i put hair polisher inside of my dick" (x)
- "i import about 3 cockboys every month, ‘cause my cockboys keep gettin killed. my cockboys keep gettin into accidents. i dont kno what hapens to these cockboys (x)
- "i truly sucked drake’s dick" (x)
- "you’ve been tickin’ your family off by puttin’ spermicide in their hair care products, haven’t you?" (x)
- "i’m ready for justin bieber’s 4-inch penis. i’ve been ready" (x)
- "fuckin’, my dad’s got skidmarks on his dick from fartin’ on his own dick" (x)
- "you got deported from new york state because you were an illegal hinduist cockblock, is this correct?" (x)
- "shove it deep in my grandpa’s hole" (x)
- "sidewalk chalk is about the thickness of a dog’s cock" (x)
- "you really wish to see me indulge on my own dick?" (x)
- "i’m gonna put my dick into a juice press" (x)
- "i actually do clog my asshole intentionally" (x)
- "i live to suck dingo cock. i live to suck the cock of a dingo. what? yes, i truly live to suck dingo dick." (x)
- "jam a toothpick in my peen" (x)
- "yeah if i had to name a cereal after my asshole i’d name it ‘fucked up lifestyle’" (x)
- "you were saying something about sucking a kangaroo’s dick?" (x)
- "i’m actually not sure if i can achieve my dreams, fill my refrigerator with dead kids fuck me every day" (x)
- "cork my hole i’m on a roll" (x)
- "mason jar of my dad’s spermicidal lube, drink that shit down" (x)
- "i want lightning to come down and strike my dick" (x)
and probably the #1 most fucked up qoute i have ever said:
- "i told jacques derrida, ‘you get up on this fucking chair, and i will stick this flathead screwdriver so far up your asshole…’ it was a flathead screwdriver, so it didn’t even have the rounded point of the phillips. i was using the phillips later on him" (x)
ok nice.. very nice work steve rogenbuck.. ok keep it comming we are proud of you !!!
friends : one thing i woud love — if you wana collect youre favorite lines of mine, favorite videos, favorite tweets, etc, in a list like this !! i would love to see what YOU apreciate most, from what ive done.. i would reblog or link to almost any of them you make, just tag “steve roggenbuck” if you do, and i will see it. anyway thank u so much :) i love u frends , we are in earth curently. this is wierd but we’re together
“When I was seventeen and preparing to leave for university, my mother’s only brother saw fit to give me some advice.
“Just don’t be an idiot, kid,” he told me, “and don’t ever forget that boys and girls can never just be friends.”
I laughed and answered, “I’m not too worried. And I don’t really think all guys are like that.”
When I was eighteen and the third annual advent of the common cold was rolling through residence like a pestilent fog, a friend texted me asking if there was anything he could do to help.
I told him that if he could bring me up some vitamin water that would be great, if it wasn’t too much trouble.
That semester I learned that human skin cells replace themselves every three to five weeks. I hoped that in a month, maybe I’d stop feeling the echoes of his touch; maybe my new skin would feel cleaner.
It didn’t. But I stood by what I said. Not all guys are like that.
When I was nineteen and my roommate decided the only way to celebrate the end of midterms was to get wasted at a club, I humoured her.
Four drinks, countless leers and five hands up my skirt later, I informed her I was ready to leave.
“I get why you’re upset,” she told me on the walk home, “but you have to tolerate that sort of thing if you want to have any fun. And really, not all guys are like that.”
(Age nineteen also saw me propositioned for casual sex by no fewer than three different male friends, and while I still believe that guys and girls can indeed be just friends, I was beginning to see my uncle’s point.)
When I was twenty and a stranger that started chatting to me in my usual cafe asked if he could walk with me (since we were going the same way and all), I accepted.
Before we’d even made it three blocks he was pulling me into an alleyway and trying to put his hands up my shirt. “You were staring,” he laughed when I asked what the fuck he was doing (I wasn’t), “I’m just taking pity.”
But not all guys are like that.
I am twenty one and a few days ago a friend and I were walking down the street. A car drove by with the windows down, and a young man stuck his head out and whistled as they passed. I ignored it, carrying on with the conversation.
My friend did not. “Did you know those people?” He asked.
“Not at all,” I answered.
Later when we sat down to eat he got this thoughtful look on his face. When I asked what was wrong he said, “You know not all guys do that kind of thing, right? We’re not all like that.”
As if he were imparting some great profound truth I’d never realized before. My entire life has been turned around, because now I’ve been enlightened: not all guys are like that.
No. Not all guys are. But enough are. Enough that I am uncomfortable when a man sits next to me on the bus. Enough that I will cross to the other side of the street if I see a pack of guys coming my way. Enough that even fleeting eye contact with a male stranger makes my insides crawl with unease. Enough that I cannot feel safe alone in a room with some of my male friends, even ones I’ve known for years. Enough that when I go out past dark for chips or milk or toilet paper, I carry a knife, I wear a coat that obscures my figure, I mimic a man’s gait. Enough that three years later I keep the story of that day to myself, when the only thing that saved me from being raped was a right hook to the jaw and a threat to scream in a crowded dorm, because I know what the response will be.
I live my life with the everburning anxiety that someone is going to put their hands on me regardless of my feelings on the matter, and I’m not going to be able to stop them. I live with the knowledge that statistically one in three women have experienced a sexual assault, but even a number like that can’t be trusted when we are harassed into silence. I live with the learned instinct, the ingrained compulsion to keep my mouth shut to jeers and catcalls, to swallow my anger at lewd suggestions and crude gestures, to put up my walls against insults and threats. I live in an environment that necessitates armouring myself against it just to get through a day peacefully, and I now view that as normal. I have adapted to extreme circumstances and am told to treat it as baseline. I carry this fear close to my heart, rooted into my bones, and I do so to keep myself unharmed.
So you can tell me that not all guys are like that, and you’d even be right, but that isn’t the issue anymore. My problem is not that I’m unaware of the fact that some guys are perfectly civil, decent, kind—my problem is simply this:
In a world where this cynical overcaution is the only thing that ensures my safety, I’m no longer willing to take the risk.”
maybe my new skin would feel cleaner