"Hey baby. My names Corrine. I checked out your profile and you are SOOOOOOOO hawt. If you want you can check out my page. Or you can visit my website to see naughty pics that myspace won't let me post."
Anybody who has a Myspace account has received a message like the one above. Similarly, anybody who has an e-mail account has received porno-spam. Hell, even our e-mail account here at work harbors larger penis ads and whatnot. The point being: everyone is bombarded with this shit all the time.
Being completely comfortable with my piggery, I'm perfectly willing to admit that I surf my way over to these sites on occasion- just to check out the goods. Well, while I was staring at "Corrine's" ass and willing the lump in my pants not to stir too magnificently, I began to wonder, What Would Jesus Do? Seriously.
It's common knowledge that I'm supposed to believe some dude, who was also God, lived about 2000 years ago in the Middle East. He did a bunch of stuff and then got nailed to a cross because I'm an asshole- or something like that. All of that is a bit difficult for me to swallow. But what I find absolutely impossible to swallow is the idea that Jesus, a man-god, would not also appreciate Corrine's nice ass. I find it even more impossible to believe that Jesus' little followers do not gawk at Corrine's rounded rump. Oh! but they'll claim they don't.
It's no secret that most Christians are raised to hate and fear sex. Who else could create all those wonderfully painful and embarassing chastity devices from the Middle Ages on but devout Christians? Who else would blame the fall of the American Empire on short skirts and big tits but Christians? Who else but loving, forgiving Christians would have the audacity to suggest that the "sanctity of marriage" and the "future of the family" are in jeopardy because dudes who put it in each others' butts want to get married? And who do you think the majority of people furtively stroking their respective naughty bits to Corrine's junk and other porn are? My guess: Christians.
Yes, Jeezo-boy. I know you jack off. You know how I know you jack off? Because you're a strapping young male in the prime of your life. You're horny and virile. And since you've been trained to hate women and fear sex, you're only outlet is to spank it to BangBus. While I might be the epitome of everything you are trained to think of as evil, I do have at least one thing over you. I don't have to feel guilty when I spank the monkey. I like women. I find them quite attractive and stimulating in many ways. On occasion, I even talk to them as if they were my equals. Then I spank it to the thought of doing wonderfully horrible things to them in all sorts of exotic positions. Some of them have even let me live out my fantasies in the flesh.
My point being, don't try to suggest that I'm some sort of scum for touching my dick because of Corrine's beautiful booty. And don't think for a second that I believe you don't do the same thing. Live your life. I'll live mine. If you're right, I'll be judged accordingly. If I'm right, we both just die. But at least I had some fun along the way.
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
Sunday, June 04, 2006
Prayin for the Lord
The other day I woke up, ate a bagel, got in the shower, kissed my girlfriend (who I think of as my wife) goodbye, and went to work at my office job. Am I going to start coming after thirty thrusts pretty soon? Chronic bad breath? Balding? I've already begun ripping those wet, old man froggy farts. My cock leaks sometimes after I piss. Dammit.
If I have to be stuck in this con, no matter what form in which it manifests itself- chasing animals around all day so I can kill them and eat them, or working in a goddamn office building in downtown San Francisco (actually one of the softer gigs I've ever had), it's good to take advantage of the situation as much as possible. Better to encounter a busload of scared, middle class drones with a fresh high going and Eric Dolphy piped into my ears. Maybe if I could play flute, alto sax, and bass clarinet I'd avoid the rat race too… only to die alone in Germany, the cops thinking I'm a junky because of the needles I use to shoot insulin.
These two black kids are talking so loud I hear them over my headphones. No one else on the bus says anything. "You're so retarded," says one of them, "That all you say is 'Duh…' You know how retarded people say that all the time? People ask you what time it is and all you say is 'Duh…'" She pauses. "You get it?"
Everyone on the bus groans and looks away. The kids are in their own world and all the adults wish they could be too. "Wait a minute," I say, "If you have to explain it, it's probably not that funny." They both look at me, surprised. "Just say it, you know?"
They look at each other sort of wide-eyed. Then the one who wasn't talking says, "Mister, you crazy."
"Maybe," I say, laughing, "Maybe." They can tell my laugh isn't mean and they laugh too.
In all seriousness, I'm not too worried about being a total tool. I just joined a band call Lord Nasty and the Seekers of Perversion and the first practice went very well. The singer, Lord Nasty, has been in the hospital for the past two weeks with double pneumonia, but he just had his breathing tube removed and we've got gigs scheduled for next month. Who'd have thought I'd ever be prayin for the Lord and really meaning it?
If I have to be stuck in this con, no matter what form in which it manifests itself- chasing animals around all day so I can kill them and eat them, or working in a goddamn office building in downtown San Francisco (actually one of the softer gigs I've ever had), it's good to take advantage of the situation as much as possible. Better to encounter a busload of scared, middle class drones with a fresh high going and Eric Dolphy piped into my ears. Maybe if I could play flute, alto sax, and bass clarinet I'd avoid the rat race too… only to die alone in Germany, the cops thinking I'm a junky because of the needles I use to shoot insulin.
These two black kids are talking so loud I hear them over my headphones. No one else on the bus says anything. "You're so retarded," says one of them, "That all you say is 'Duh…' You know how retarded people say that all the time? People ask you what time it is and all you say is 'Duh…'" She pauses. "You get it?"
Everyone on the bus groans and looks away. The kids are in their own world and all the adults wish they could be too. "Wait a minute," I say, "If you have to explain it, it's probably not that funny." They both look at me, surprised. "Just say it, you know?"
They look at each other sort of wide-eyed. Then the one who wasn't talking says, "Mister, you crazy."
"Maybe," I say, laughing, "Maybe." They can tell my laugh isn't mean and they laugh too.
In all seriousness, I'm not too worried about being a total tool. I just joined a band call Lord Nasty and the Seekers of Perversion and the first practice went very well. The singer, Lord Nasty, has been in the hospital for the past two weeks with double pneumonia, but he just had his breathing tube removed and we've got gigs scheduled for next month. Who'd have thought I'd ever be prayin for the Lord and really meaning it?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)