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  • Random Thoughts Of A Rainy Day

    Song of the Day: the Doors - Summer's Almost Gone. What? It can't always be about NKOTBSB or whatever the fuck they're called.

    And we're off:

     

    Everytime I hear someone say they're going to tap that, I think of maple syrup. And Vermont. And the movie Seven.

     

    If you use the phrase 'piece of cake' around me, you'd best have cake. Or pie. I'm just saying.

     

    You're not really in a relationship until you see your partner's profile on Ashley Madison. And how discreet can it really be, if everybody knows about it? Which reminds me, I have to change my status to 'in a relationship' because I technically am. But not really. I knew this was cathartic.

     

    I don't get homophobia. At all. Let me break it down in its simplest form for those of y'all of a troglodyte bent: every other guy that smokes pole is one less guy you have to compete with for pussy. Add it all up and it spells DUH! I wish every guy was gay. I heartily encourage homosexuality.

    And, of course, lesbianism. It's a cool visual. Female bisexuality goes without saying.

     

    Hookers give you the strangest looks when you ask if you can be Facebook friends. They do, however, giggle when you break up with them during The Girlfriend Experience (Movie of the Day) and, oh my, the makeup sex. And, it's cute to see a jaded whore giggle like a schoolgirl. Or maybe that's just me. It usually is.

     

    Cops get kind of pissy when you run them off the road and attempt a citizen's arrest when you see them lane change without signalling (a personal pet peeve, of which there are a few). And then...it's Rodney King redux.

     

    Deleting her numbers from your phone is a good idea. Unless, like me, you're blessed or, shall we say, cursed with a near photographic memory. Then you wish you were Ben Affleck in Paycheck. And not just because he ends up with (and on the eighth day, god (or whoever) created) Uma Thurman and a pile of cash moneys, either. Well, mostly.

     

    I'm such a non-conformist that I never learned to tie my shoes the way everybody else does. Fuck that noise, not how I roll. Nope, for me it's 2 loops and the world be damned.

    Aw, who'm I kidding, I have a girl that does that for me. Doesn't everybody?

     

    I just finished this book on bad boyfriend stories (so as to learn from the mistakes of others), and I'm oh so very glad that none of my exes (one of whom does, in fact, live in Texas, thank you Mr. Strait) is a writer. I do, however, like to think that each of them (nope, not nearly as many as you'd think) has a nasty nickname by which she remembers me.

    I kinda like the thought of being known as the Antichrist. You know, for those of them that still tune in on occasion.

     

    I've got my own little spin on the Premiums Vs. Discounts theory, so as to quite simply explain it to the, you know, quite simple:

    When it comes to the womenfolks, son, there are 2 flavors. There are Camerons (read Diaz - relatively self-explanatory, even if she does need implants) and Camryns (Mannheim - also pretty straightforward). Camerons are for (gasp) relationships or better things. Camryns are the ones you get to buy you things, wash your car, clean your house, all the little things you don't have time for because you're busy with your Cameron.

    Hope this helps.

     

    Enjoy your Hump Day, y'all, research has it that folks are most likely to end a date in sex on Wednesdays. What? Some folks worry about reality shows and news and such. I worry about the important things. You're welcome.

    Namaste.

  • Freaks Of Nature

    So, the other day, whilst pawn shopping (I'm still struggling with the notion of having free time), I picked up the above CD from the lovely and talented (and sadly defunct) Swedish womenfolks of Drain STH for a measly 3 bones. Well worth it, too. If you haven't heard them, check out Simon Says, I Wish, or their cover of Motorhead's Ace of Spades. No, no link. What, do you want me to listen to it for you, too? Shiftless bastids.

     

    Anyhow, the point of today's little diatribe (and yes, I'm pretty sure there is one):

    My first thought was that, what with them being attractive Swedish folk and all, um, no, y'all so ain't freaks.

    But then, a horrible notion struck me the usual sharp blow to the base of my spine, what if attractive, slim, talented women really ARE freaks of nature? What if homely, dumpy chicks really are AVERAGE? And then the drinking ensued.

    Because if that's true, I'm going to need the local monastery's hotline on my speed dial. I guess that's why the attractive and slender are referred to as premiums, because we're an endangered species. The fat chicks are taking over.

    Sigh. I just died a little bit inside. That being said, I've been asked on occasion what my ''type'' is:

    1) attractive features

    2) petite, thin, slender or athletic frame

    3) C or D cup size

    4) open to new experiences

    5) a very giving nature and the need to see things through to their conclusion

    6) her own career/a good salary

    7) sane

    Interpret each however thou wilt. Bottom line is, I might as well be looking for the unicorn in a roomful of haystacks and needles. Or however that particular cliche goes.

     

    My last GF had 1), 3), 4) a very, very, VERY enthusiastic 5), 6) and 7). 7) is why she left, obviously, and 5) is why I claimed her as my GF way too soon, damn near immediately after 5). I miss that about her.

    And the search continues. Namaste.

  • So You Think You Have Cancer

    Another wild Friday night here in the Manor. I have these large, red, slightly painful growths in my armpit. but I only noticed them yesterday, and I'm all about ignore it and it'll go away as well as the ever popular doctors are for pussies. I'm torn. My first thought was cancer. My second and the prevailing one at the moment was at least they're not on my face. My adolescence and young adulthood were ruined by horrible acne. However, the oil in my skin has ensured that I look at least a decade younger than my 39.

    I've been spending money of late, booking trips to see bands I've always wanted to. It's like my body and soul KNOW. There's no point in planning for a future I'm not going to see. I am, however, going to see Iggy and the Stooges in Vegas next month. Journey/Foreigner/Night Ranger in Seattle in October. The Eagles in Vegas in November. And, as of last night, Duran Duran on September 30th. Tomorrow, if things go well, it'll be Bush on September 29th. And then I'm spending x-mas in Palm Springs with my parents. Considering I've never really travelled anywhere other than Vegas, the next few months should be interesting.

     

    Which brings me to a confession. I still hope to see Morrissey (come back to Las Vegas, please!) perform live. I've been reading a biography of him the past couple of days, so:

    My Favorite Morrissey songs (the discography of Smithdom is a topic for another day):

    1) Everyday Is Like Sunday - this song has got me through some tough times (yeah, I know wah wah wah, I'm too attractive, I'm too intelligent, I'm too witty, that's why I'm all alone - nobody gives a fuck, not even me) a few years ago, and the town described in an odd way reminds me of the one horse variety in which I grew up. So to speak.

    2) The Last Of The Famous International Playboys - even though I consider it the man's definitive work, it's still number 2. If you only hear one Morrissey song in your life (you poor bastard), make it this one. And watch the Krays while you're at it, as a reference point. Again, I'm full service and all about the obscure references.

    3) Suedehead - yeah, I know, you're reading this and mouthing the phrase how gay is there in reference to me, but believe me when I say I don't dress that well. At least not today. It's a reading and watching Quantum Leap day. And yes, I still think of this one every time I hear the London Suede sing whatever song of theirs contains the phrase 'we kissed in his room to a popular tune.' Maybe it was The Drowners. Whatever. Apparently it's about James Dean.

    4) The More You Ignore Me, The Closer I Get - someone I once felt very strongly for and I used to fuck to Vauxhall and I. What? I'm a one man sentimental journey. It's why I only watch cancelled TV shows. And How I Met Your Mother. That shit's funny as hell.

    5) Moon River - boy can croon like nobody's business, old school style.

     

    Enjoy your weekend, y'all. Be good and be safe. Don't do anything Sid Vicious wouldn't have done.