You Know What I Could Use Right Now?
09.16.05 (10:28 pm) [edit]1.) A good rimjob.
OK, that's my intro, and I'm sticking to it. Unfortunately, so would YOU.
I have two readers left. Let's proceed.
2.) Jenny, Jenny, who can I turn to? Well, waitresses, biker chicks, and my left hand. That's who. Fuck you, Tommy Tutone. Fuck you in your wrinkled '80s asshole.
Amanda. Sweet, delicious Amanda.
I've got a fucking Boston song in my head. Boston. Courtesy of Tom Scholz. The man who can make 9 million guitars sound like they are coming through a straw.
And I'm probably going to pick up my guitar and LEARN that song, because I am a fucking whore and I want to get laid, that's why. Not that I expect it to work, but a boy can dream, can't he?
I went back to Steak & Shake Tuesday. After two days in a row of chili five-ways for lunch, I'm going to have to eat nothing but vegetables for the rest of the week to make up for the damage I'm doing to my colon.
And don't suggest "why don't you order something else?" It's against my religion to have anything else at Steak & Shake, and I've sinned against my Master maybe once in twelve years. L.A. might see something in this, since he's the one who introduced me to the beautiful world of chili five-ways back in Muncie all those years ago. (Before I moved to Cincinnati, which is supposedly the "chili capital of the world", but as Ron White would say, some Mexican kid with a goat and an onion could probably kick their ass.)
Anyway, I went back. And Amanda, who I would gladly devote my tongue to, met me right as I came to the door, pointed out the table for me, and yelled to the kitchen "I need a five-way!" She's a great waitress. I'd like her even if she looked like Keith Richards on a bad hair day. She always takes care of me.
I needed to go there. I had lunch packed and in the car, but I spent most of the day with the same two really hateful sentences going through my head over and over again (see a recent post about gee-I-wonder-who) and I needed to get that shit out of my head and feel like a decent human being again.
(Note: It's been a few more days: Gee-I-Wonder-Who and I had a talk. It was very nice and productive and took the edge off quite nicely.)
So I decided (it took almost an hour of mentally fighting with myself to do so) to go see Amanda. And funnily enough, I was a total chickenshit. She was VERY nice, more so than normal. And no, I'm not imagining this, more than to anyone else there. She went out of her way to be cool to me. Frankly. I think she was trying to make my weenie wet. And I know she was thinking about what I said to her yesterday, but even after all that, I couldn't think of ANYTHING to say to her. I sat there eating lunch, reading my Lovecraft book, totally ball-less. NOTHING to say or do but smile and say "Yeah, sure" when she asked me if I wanted another Coke.
It's as plain as fucking day by now that I want her to ride me like a cowgirl at at a Texas amusement park, but I didn't say shit to her. Whaddafuck?
(A few days later. Drunk. Dirtry little dreams of Amanda in my skull. I had a daydream at work today of throwing her up on the bar and moistening her hoo-hoo in front of God and eveybody. She screama "I need a five-way up here...oh fuck it, I need a towel!" ) I'm so obsessed with the thought of doing evil, sinful, delicious things with this woman, even the havarti cheese I'm eating tastes like furburger right now. Yes, now that Bll Hicks is gone, *I* am Goat-Boy! You'd think there'd be lines of women with carrots in hand, "Hello, Goat-Boy..."
Just seeing her was enough to made the day better, but I have no idea where my balls went. It's as obvious as all hell that I want to do things to her you wouldn't normally do to a farm animal, but I locked up anyway. I gave her my best "you're cute as hell, my face is your pussy's throne" smile. But that was about all I could do. Maybe I'm trying to keep from moving too fast, but mostly I think I'm still feeling the sting of a recent divorce, and for all my talk of munching pussy like a homeless guy at a buffet, I'm silll scared to death of getting involved with anyone. Which is fucking stupid, but look at who you're reading.
I'm not about to pretend that my intentions are anything but depraved at this point. I want to get my dick wet. Period. As arrogant as it might sound to say so, I happen to think I think I deserve it. But there's always things still lurking in my head. Thinking about how I've fucked up before. Thinking about my friend who just found out that his girlfriend is pregnant. I'm 35 now. Which is just young enough to feel like I still have a shot at having some fun, but old enough to think "Holy mother of fuck, I don't need a lot of extraneous shit in my life." If I have any regrets from recent years, it's letting myself being talked out of having myself snipped. Puts one hell of a damper on your cock, don't it?
3.) Jean-Luc Ponty has an album I'm listening to right now called Civilized Evil with a track called Forms Of Life that sound like it belongs on Tony Banks' first solo album. Kinda ironic, given a couple of fine people who've been reading this blog lately, eh?
4.) I'm trying to be more like Jesus tonight. Which is to say, I'm trying to be nothing like a Republican. Peace, forgiveness, humility. Not very GOP, is it? Not saying I'm actually pulling it off, but I'm TRYING. Which is far more than I can say for damn near every "Christian" I know.
5.) I finally got to see Real Time With Bill Maher again tonight. I admire him for his patience with idiotic Republicans. I also felt strong a wave of sadness seeimg George Carlin, who is lookimg a lot older these days. It breaks my heart knowing that I'll probably live to see the death of one of the greatest, most original minds in comedy. I'd give anything to walk up to him and say "Thank you. For being more honest and more insightful than nearly anyone I've ever encountered, for giving me hours of laughter, and for not only staying true to yourself, but for stiil pushing the envelope at an age when most people are sitting on their asses watching bad television. And while most people are stupid enough to think of you as merely cynical, *I* know that you have shown more true humanity than most. Thank you George. I love you, and I'll never forget the impact you've made on my life. Shit, piss, fuck, cunt, cocksucker, motherfucker, and tits. And tits doesn't even belong on the list. I love you, George. You're my hero. If I can do anything at all to in a small way carry on your work, I'll know that I've been useful in this stupid, hypocritical, bullshit world."
I'm about to cry a little. Shit, I love George Carlin. I want to be more like him when I grow up. It really pisses me off that so few people understand where his newer material is coming from. Dammit, George you need to be with us longer. Please do so.
(Further note: The above is a few days old. I saw the newest Real Time a couple hours ago. Bill was brilliant. His final New Rule is oen of the most perceptive things he's ever written. Watching PJ O'Rourke was painful. I love the guy. I disagree with much of what he says, but he's a brilliant writer, an incredibly funny writer. His book The Bachelor's Home Companion is incredible, and it helped me survive my first few weeks at my new place. There's something to laugh your ass off to in every paragraph. Unfortunately, if you put him in a room with a few people who actually have compassion and decency, he comes off like a constipated man trying to pass a Volkswagon through his asshole. It was a great show, though.)
6.) Being honest with myself - something that isn't very fashionable in this Republican age, but I'm trying - I realize that tonight I've eaten more, drank more, and hated more in the past week than I have in a month. And I'm not happy with myself about that. But I'm letting go of the hate again, which is good, because I thought it had gone, and I don't need it coming back.
7.) No poofters!
8.) On the basis of the cover of the new Guitar World Acoustic, I'd like to shove my face up Sheryl Crow's snatch and play Meet The Clitoris. I know that as a Kevin Gilbert fan I'm supposed to think of her as a rotten whore, but damn, I wish she was MY rotten whore. Holy fuck. Those eyes make my penis harder than Dick Cheney in a roomful of war potesters.
Dougie