Friday, January 09, 2009
Never in a million years did I ever think that I'd write anything concerning T-Pain where utter contempt and blatantly unapologetic journalistic eye-rolling wasn't involved - that being said, Ludacris' song "One More Drink" has a very special place in my heart. See, after a brief stint last year where a kind woman with a clear humanitarian streak blessed an overweight aficionado of prose with receipt-free coitus while calling me her "boyfriend", I now find myself typing this post on a keyboard that would light up like 4th of July celebration if you ever decided to put a black-light over it. What I'm saying is, I'm in the exact same place that millions of other deviant snobs destined to be alone find themselves: Scouring every corner of the Internet for dialogue driven, triple penetration pornography or seeking out women of the lowest moral fabric who happen to have political science degrees and are fluent in 80's era Hip Hop.(Its a tall order, I know, that's why I settle for garden variety smut and women who probably couldn't tell you who our Vice President for the last 8 years was) To be completely honest, because of a germaphobia that increasingly becomes Howard Hughes-ish as I proverbially dip my toe into middle age - the latter, casually getting to know virtual strangers in a biblical sense, is quickly becoming to be an impossibility now that I've recently started to research incubator bubbles.(Equipped with a glory hole no doubt) That's always been the cross that I've had to bare really, a sex addict who's consumed with an innate fear of physical contact - I've become the human embodiment of a fucking Showtime series.
That being said, as each night gets lonelier and my nether region begins to grow what appears to be ship barnacle down there - then when you add a steady diet of alcohol into the mix, I've recently considered taking women home who I'd usually give the merciless rebuke to. What was once an eagle-eyed determination, an unparalleled focus to maintain some resemblance of a sexual standard(Considering the fact that I'm an overweight asshole that is) - said impenetrable fortress of self respect becomes considerably vulnerable with each mixed drink that passes through my liver. Here is a brief list of some women who are nice enough, but individuals who I'd never consider showing my Run D.M.C bedsheets to under normal circumstances - only liquid spirits turns a usually self-respecting person into the Statue Of Liberty on some "Give us your poor, your tired, your huddled masses" shit. Alcohol is a hell of a drug.
"Black Courtney Love" - To put this as succinctly as humanly possible, I refer to her as "The Black Courtney Love" because she's the lead singer of a crappy band, has what I believe to be a serious drug problem, and lets just say that there's a cloud of suspicion hovering over the death of her first husband. I mean, despite her goth persona that makes her resemble a corpse most days, her screeching rock songs that I've deciphered as public cries for help, the colorful tales of near overdoses she cavalierly tells as if she was recalling an average Saturday night, and every 3rd conversation she initiates being about either death and rigamortis - she's an absolute catch! Usually I wouldn't be anywhere near this girl, my gut instinct tells me that being in a relationship with her would be akin to being hit with one of those prison "cocktails" filled with urine, blood, and piss that inmates throw at passing guards. But the other night, after I ran into her while imbibing in one too many drinks - I thought to myself: "How bad could it be? Making love to under her "True Blood" and Marilyn Manson poster before giving her the time honored 'Dick Cheney', I'm sure the make-up and smell of death can wash out of my clothes." Thank god a friend was there to save me.
"Margaret Thatcher": Her nickname is more of a reflection of me being a dumb fucking American than her actually resembling Margaret Thatcher - but its the first person I thought of when I thinking about an older British Lady. Maybe Dame Judy Dench would have been better?(I couldn't think of any older black British women) Anyway, she's not really that old, maybe in her late 40's - but "Margaret Thatcher" is an extremely nice woman from England who chats me up whenever she finds herself in my favorite watering hole. I genuinely like her, find the fact that she refers to the police as "The Filth" absolutely adorable, and she is well versed on everything from Music to sports. I truly find her company enjoyable. Problem is, not only am I not attracted to her, but she has a long and sordid relationship history that she has recited to me line and verse. She's looking for a man and I'm looking for S.A.D.A.B(Suck-A-D**k-and-bounce) - I couldn't do that to her, I'm still receiving Karma checks from the first 27 years of my life. I'd be lying to you if I said that I never seriously mulled over the idea of going home with her and switching my usual ritual of quoting Kool G Rap lyrics during sex with God Save the Queen - but I haven't been that smashed to actually carry that plan out. There is always tonight.
"Kelly from 'Breakin'": My mother is one strange bird. I mean, more times than not she ends phone conversations with "Bye Stonehenge" or "Bye Crop-circles" - solely because I made the mistake of telling her that I've never been with a white woman. It's not a race thing at all, I'm sure there are plenty of melanin challenged chicks worth enduring incessant public teeth sucking from black women - its just that the white women who have historically liked me look as if they were raised in Chernobyl, or West Virginia for gods sake. No thanks. Also, I like my white people "white". People who suddenly try to take on a black persona never fully understand that doing so is utterly insulting - speaking in broken English and engaging in other stereotypes is a window into how you really feel about black people. That being said, a woman who goes to a bar that I frequent falls into the aforementioned category, hence the "Kelly from Breakin'" moniker. Even though she sounds like Buckwild from "Flava of Love", adores every single rap act that I absolutely loathe, and once committed the cardinal sin of telling a black person(me) that they "sounded white" - the liquor made me momentarily forget her criminal history as I wrote my address on a napkin for her the other night. I was about to give it to her too, until she returned from what I thought was the bathroom. I jokingly said, "Damn girl, you smell like cock - what have you been doing??!" - she then aggressively wiped her mouth while asking "You can really smell it?" Eww. I really have to stop drinking.
I know that the title is crass, but if writing incendiary human waste disguised as journalism can routinely land me on the "Today" show whenever I want, with Matt Lauer feigning outrage despite the fact that he's fully versed on my history of saying reprehensible things - why the fuck not? Seriously, is it me or does this pre-opt transvestite simply write the same fucking book over and over again or what? If it isn't some poorly written screed about how liberals are destroying civilization as we know it, its a bouquet of tortured logic that makes any casual observer with an I.Q above room temperature feel as if they are on the business end of a practical joke.(You can look at this Al Franken clip to get a glimpse of how poorly researched her books are, and the out of context comments she stubbornly stands by.) Despite Ann's education, she represents the same brand of Anti-Intellectualism that mercilessly got its ass handed to it on November 4th. She's Sarah Palin making sure to give a sufficient amount of eye-winks and "You betcha's" during the Vice Presidential debate for all the functioning illiterate masses who prefer masturbatory material over a qualified public servant. She's Larry the Cable guy, a comedian who once had no southern accent to speak of - who suddenly takes one on along with a stereotypical redneck persona just to siphon millions of dollars out the pockets of the multitude of dopes out there. She's "Lipstick on a pig", "Drill Baby Drill", and all the other failed tactics used to capture the inbred vote. Some people give me the "Evil Genius" theory about Ann Coulter, that I shouldn't get all worked up about the skeletal one - alluding to the fact that she knows what she's peddling is crap, like she's a "performer" akin to a professional wrestler. Fair enough. But you could be "kidding" while shouting "Fire!" in a crowded theater, it still doesn't take away from the harm that may ensue. But really, if she is just bullshitting us, at least make an effort for realism - Sean Hannity has a greater chance of being assassinated than Barack Obama? Jesus Christ Ann, will you at least try?
Schadenfreude:Satisfaction or pleasure felt at someone else's misfortune.
I love that fucking word, it seems to be a running motif in my life. An extremely bad person meets their untimely demise, I don't exactly celebrate, but I hardly get broken up over some asshole being snatched from the mortal coil. Finding the myspace pages of women who once broke my heart and seeing that they currently look like a fucking tornado hit them isn't the worst thing in the world. From now until the inauguration I'm going to post video's like this one, of some random fuckery someone perpetrated during the election(Like this video of Barbara West clumsily asking Joe Buden a slew of gotcha questions. The utter seriousness in which she asks the most ridiculous questions is whats really funny), and say to myself, to quote Biz Markie - "Damn it feels good to see people up on it!" Take that motherfucker!