Tag Archives: rant

Why I would make a terrible boyfriend

Why I would make a terrible boyfriend

Women, whether they are reasonable or psychotic, often require lots of attention, gratification, validation, medication, and reassurance. They are vulnerable, emotional physical beings, but their refusal to easy access to her insecurity issues, perhaps compensating to look invunerable, makes comfort frustrating and difficult. Women are quick to criticize and I’m afraid that I’m not nearly reliable and/or thoughtful enough to come close to the minimum requirements for such maintenance and upkeep. As dear old mother always told me, ‘all women are nuts, some of them are just honest about it.’ Well, that may be true, but nuts is still nuts.

They can go from dazed and confused, zoned-out and staring at nothing to bipolar, depressed and afraid of social interactions to party lush, quick to start up a conversation with a total stranger faster than Joe Walsh’s Mazeroti. Which leads me to my next issue: They’re inconsistent. She can act like the entire universe hangs on decisions I make, but then treats my decisions as utterly worthless. She seems to want to jump into my arms and never let go, but sometimes retorts with a terse ‘don’t touch me!’ She shows up in my room wearing sexy lingerie, and then wants me to make all the moves from thereon out. She treats me like the social king of the order, the alpha male, and then the most inept and awkward man on the planet. She’s childish, but yells at me for being childish, ridicules my opinions and then gets defensive of her own even if nobody is attacking them. She causes more headaches than I’ve had in a long time, and I always have a constant headache, so that’s saying something.
She has to be right most of the time. While I do find arrogance and self-assurance more than just a little attractive, it’s clear to me that this trait is at odds with her otherwise general insecurity issues, and does not stem from a place of confident brazenness, but rather some other neurosis. And to be perfectly fair, I’m the kind of person that has to be right most of the time, and she doesn’t seem to be capable of letting me win some of the time.

Where I like to take my time and prepare for an elaborate and continual sex act, she seems quite impatient, not to say quick. I like a little romantic element, and can continue far after she seems to be interested. Her inconsistency is prevalent here as well, for while she clearly unabashedly delights in physical ecstasy wrought upon her body, post-coital her overly talkative and analytical banter resumes.

She has a boyfriend. I’ve been through all this before, and we all know where it leads; no emotional gratification, only a little physical gratification, and a whole lot of guilt. And I already have some guilt issues already associated with that.
She’s not ready for a serious commitment. The fact that she’s been cheating on her boyfriend with me is evidence of that, as well as the fact that the most solid admission of our feelings for each other we seem to be able to babble is ‘I don’t know.’

And I’m much too selfish and lazy to deal with any of that.

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Napkin

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To look at you, you  clearly must have assumed that everyone else smelled the way you do, when in fact, they don’t, it’s just you, a bath wouldn’t kill you either, though some might argue that holy water would.  Science has found that the only part of your body that God intended to smell like your asshole, is indeed, your asshole, and that your musk of sweat, barbeque sauce and spent semen vaguely masked with cheap Axe effect is not, in fact, a mating ritual aphrodisiac to the opposite sex.  And speaking of the opposite sex– Ladies, when’s the last time that you– washed out your dank-ass vagina!?

Paul Harvey News and Comment brought to you by Natural Gas! It’s totally natural

“Hello, America. This is Paul Harvey. Stand by for news! You’ve heard the news, in a moment you’re going to hear… more news. But first… the news.

Today’s news of most lasting sssignificance may be this: Now, new strategy in the Middle East: Most world leaders say no to peace in the Middle East. Psychic Selma Hayek was very critical, not sunflower oil. So says Islamic Extremist Iman O’Doderincoot. Iman has never once forgotten an anniversary. The President of these United States of America and also Missouri addressed the Congress of these United States of America and also Missouri today in a tirade that the press are calling the “State of the Union!” address, to compel them to approve another sixteeeen billion dollars in military spending? He said: There is no way… no way… no way Hezbollah’s missiles will ev-er be de-stroyed… no way. We are fighting a war that cannot be won. Cannot be won? And Congress approved his bidget without any unanimity or carousal. Wal*Mart em-ploy-ees could still veto.

It’s true. Just like your local True Value Hardware Store. When you let a True Value Hardware Store into your commercially zoned district then you’re making less room for drug-addled moms and pops peddling their ill wares. Ill! Why, with new advancements in technology, scientists are predicting that a local True Value Hardware Store could protect you from the oncoming super-hyper-mega-global-superstorm. And it’s gonna be big, too! Support your local True Value Hardware Store, the only Hardware Store that guarantees not… not to kidnap your daughter, and you’ll know you couldn’t have a better neighbor.

Numismatists will be displayed at the Denver World Fair, teeeeen nineteen-thirty-three gold double-eagle standards be-yond price, but by that date only Chicago will be above water.

This scientific development may be of the utmost crucial significance to our modern world since the first sssssslicing of bread back in 1492. Scientists, scientists have discovered the fossils of born-again robots on the moon, each resplendent with cap-sules for Ocular Nutrition and Health! Don’t believe me? Of course you do. I’m Paul fucking Harvey.

Anybody in Detroit who has been pointing laser beams at the airplanes, don’t do that. It’s not nice and several pilots have complained.

Donald Raaaaaay Bizbeeee sent bomb threats and anthrax to the FBI with his full name and return address. Donald Ray Bizbee was married yester-day to Alabama, page two. How many ninety-six-year-old college radio stations do you know with a blue-belt in karate? I know of one. Caroline Eggplant keeps her virgin bones pure with ssssssscitrical. Citrical hides its neuropeptides behind fudge, and caramel, and butter! Virgina Cootch says that the pain in her knees has only gotten worse. The horr-or. The unbearable horr-or.

She’s spunky! Yes, she’s spunky! When faced at knifepoint by grown men pretending to be cowboys, Deuteronomous Jones grabbed a carving knife four-teeeen inches long, and in her best Austral-i-an accent intoned the words, “You call that a knife? This is a knife.” That story… may or may not… be true?

Look, ma. On top of the world.

College Newspapers across America and also Missouri are printing editorial comment on noted actor Jeff Goldblum. But (chuckles) the youngsters say it’s not all their fault. (serious) It came to them in a dream..

A woman in Mesa, Arizona shot dead in the street seven times in the chest and her lifeless body ravaged by necrophiles who have already killed eleven. Was it or not… fould play? Go on to the website and tell us your story about a stand-strong woman you know.

Walgreens has more than seventeen-thousand drive-thrus! Now you can get your drugs even faster in this secure system. The makers expect to fill.. the… sky… with them. Two more reasons PauL Harvey won’t confess to murder.

And now. For what it’s worth: We’re standing around dying, to chant our feeble litanies, to think sweet thoughts, to do good deeds, the altar lights grow pale and dim, the bells hang silent in the tower- so passes with the dying hymn our little hour. We cannot remain indecisive and scorekeeping, our founding fathers denies us that ethical asylum by elbowing smallpox blankets and chiggers.. chiggers! Aglow with luminary up and down the discovery of the West across the shores and continents in nineteen-forty-eight for your Bose-wave radio. Small-town full-time policemen going by their first name and American self-righteousness: and nothing is right or wrong but thinking makes it so, and (chuckles) I don’t know, but I think we’re right. Praiseworthy weapons in silos of hope have made us what we are today, a trial by fire, not made of sugar-candy. And we grew prosperous. Yes, we greased our toenails with the sweat of slaves in 98% of all cases. They do not believe what I have just told you. But what I have just cited is true, and everybody knows it. Everybody but the United Nations, the Offices of Judicious International Immigration Revue, tomato-plants and even foreign fire crews at the National Academy of Sciences. And at the edge of this genocidal nation-state, a while butterfly flies overhead rows and rows of stallions, and snap-peas and Agalinis purpure, purple foxgloves… under scrutiny of the Federal Food and Drug Administration… for soon friends, maybe we can answer that age old question of what is right? Well, friends, right is just left going the… other… direction?…

Paul Harvey. Good day?

I don’t know if my mood reflects the weather, or the other way around

Sometimes I feel like firestarter, like I was born the God of shitty mornings and nobody told me. I look at the sky and I say, “well, thus began his shitty day.” Now, am I affirming what the weather of Gotham is telling me I must believe, or would I have felt that way regardless, and the weather is always a coincidence, OR, is my shitty mood intertwined with the meteorological patterns like Elliot was to E.T.’s drunk ass. And ANOTHER thing, why was he called E.T. the Extraterrestrial. E.T. stands for Extraterrestrial. His full name is basically Extraterrestrial the Extraterrestrial. But I bet his real name on his home planet, (where apparently they really like flowers) is called Dong Thrustforth. Yeah. That’s a lot cooler. And more importantly, why do I keep thinking of young Drew Barrymore movies. Damn the Barrymore family!

I should not be allowed to think while riding the bus. Or showering. Or walking on Southside.

Here is what a normal art student’s mind sounds like when walking on Southside after consuming a marihuana cigarette in an empty movie theatre that has just played “Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.” Ahem… “Man, that movie blew. And by that I mean it rocked. It sucked so bad it was awesome. Like Dr. Who. But more like Starship Troopers… 2… Yeah, the book was better. Then again, the book didn’t have a musical opening… hey, what does that sign say? ‘New Dining Why Gotham Works.’ Grandma Moses, that sentence doesn’t even make sense! It’s not even a sentence. That’s just poor design and I’m not even a graphic designer. ‘New Dining’? Do they mean new Dining Establishment? Is that a fragment? No! It’s a fragment of a fragment! It’s a shell casing! Jesus H. Christ on a Criscuit Cracker with Cheese that’s stupid! And the whole sentence probably wouldn’t make much sense either… And what do they mean by Gotham Works? That’s the name of the new shopping area, so ‘Works’ is not a verb. It’s part of the proper noun. Did they mean ‘New Dining Establishments are coming to Gotham Works?’ Why would they put the word ‘why’ in there? Did they mean ‘New Dining Establishments Are Why Gotham Works… Works?’ God! Hey, who is that guy? I know that guy. He looks familiar! Pete… Paul… Pat… Patrick! I used to hang out with him! Hey dude, what’s up? You go to Polytechnic, right? We used to smoke up with Mike Philips? Yeah! Awesome, haven’t seen you in ages! Sweet pop rocks! That reminds me, I have to call my friend Paul in Arizona. I will use my new cell phone! Okay.. okay… shit I got his machine.. I will not leave a message. Hey, I know this guy, too! It’s Buddy from when I worked at the record store. Is that your girl? Cool, man, it’s been a while. No. Me either. Shit, the Photo Hut is gone! And better yet, the Groovy Emporium is displaying a bunch of PEZ dispensers! Who in their right mind would need that many PEZ? They even have a Marvin the Martian PEZ. Come end of the week, when I cash my check, if that sucka still there, he be mine. And Dave has the new Bryan Adams. Who in their right mind would need the new Bryan Adams? I’m hungry. Why isn’t the Barrel open past three? If they were open 24 hours they’d make a shit-ton of money. I’m tired.”

They’re not good ideas, but I had to get them out of my head before they rotted my insides like crack-cocaine. And if it hadn’t been for my horse I wouldn’t have spent that year in college.

There was this fat lady in the movie theatre, not that I make fun of people for that usually, but she was REALLY annoying. I mean, I didn’t even see her get through the doors but it was an astounding concept. And she TALKED through the whole movie… “Hey, this is a reference to the third book, ‘So Long and Thanks for all the Fish!'” What tipped you off? When the dolphins repeatedly sang ‘SO LONG AND THANKS FOR ALL THE MOTHER FUCKIN FISH???’ And then she says, “Wow, there’s another Douglas Adams reference.” Yo, it’s not a REFERENCE when they are optioning a MOVIE based on his BOOK! The entire thing is a reference. No, it’s an ADAPTATION. It’s an INTERPRETATION! Then she says, “You’re not supposed to be smoking that in here!” like some narc or something, so I gave her my popcorn. It was only five dollars and there was way too much of it for me to eat and then it all made sense. It wasn’t her fault that she was fat. Growing up, her parents must have just kept putting Flintstones Push-Pops in her mouth whenever she wouldn’t SHUT THE HELL UP! And why the fuck did she sit next to me in an EMPTY movie theatre? Nobody else was there!! She had the entire movie theatre to take up, and she practically DID! But why centrally locate your mass near ME, unless you want a contact buzz?

And you know what else? There are these people who come up to me and say, “Hey, You’re Bill… Nye… heh… the Science Guy…” and then they sing the song because it rhymes so well and say “BILL NYE THE SCIENCE GUY!” I hate him! I hate his fucking face and I want to feed him PCP so he’ll slice of bits of it and feed it to his dog, because his dog needs soem fucking kosher-face nutrition. Fuck science! And fuck his first name! And fuck fostering a love of learning in the generations of tomorrow! God, people who do that “Bill Nye” shit make me wanna… wanna.. take a black plastic spork and scoop out chunks of flesh from their body. Yes. And I do not want to commit to certain parts of the body, because I like to improv. I need the flexibility, I’m an artsy Bohemian type who thrives on an open and liberal environment of creative stimulation. Sometimes I feel like a knee scoop, sometimes I feel like a nipple scoop, and sometimes… not often but sometimes… I go for the eyebrow scoop. This is handy because then the flesh grows back there but the hair doesn’t. It’s what happened to TOny Danza. He came up to me and we introduced ourselves and then HE thought it would be funny to say, “Hey, yo must be Bill… Bill Nye the Science Guy…” and then he sang it, and then he danced a little in place, and that was a knell, TOny Danza, that beckon thee to heaven or to hell. Because then, while he still reveleth in all his self-serving wit, I took my black plastic spork, stinky with the flesh of the ages, and digging claw-side first dug it deeply into the geletinous ballistic-styled gel of his eyebrow, slowly rotating the scoop until it pulled forth a quivering mass of meat and hair, and let it fall to the ground with a juicy SMAT! He was screaming and bleeding and asking, in a thick Brooklyn accent, why I would ever even THINK do that, let alone write about it in my blog, and I replied, “WHO’S THE BOSS NOW, BITCH!”

Hold me closer, TOny Danza… count the headlights on the highway….

I really fucked up his shit, yo. Auschwitz: da original ghetto.

So, Pharli and I were driving and we heard, on the radio, “The Boys Are Back in Town” by Thin Lizzy. Now, I have the sort of musical upbringing by my father that can be likened to the Jewish Kid in Chaim Potok’s “The Chosen.” But Pharli is a bit arrogant, so when he starts rambling about music I like to throw red herrings out there like the fishmonger from the Muppet Show. “Man, I love Canadian rock.” I say. “Saga, Guess Who, Rush, and Bachman Turner Overdrive.” I indicate the radio. Pharli, who agrees with me on the Canadian Rock subject, let’s not waver on that issue, says, “THis is an Irish band.” I say no. I know where this is going. We go back and forth, “This is Thin Lizzy” “No, this is BTO.” UNtil he calls the radio station. Predictable.

This is what the DJ (not from full house) heard that evening

Pharli: “Hello, I just wanna know if the song you JUST played was by Thin LIzzy, or Bachman Turner Overdrive ((background: it’s BTO, man!))
DJ: That was Thin Lizzy, man.
Pharli: I KNEW IT! ((fuck you!)) I FUCKING KNEW IT!! ((they DID that song, I know it!)) YOU EAT THE FUCKING STEAK SIRLOIN FROM MY ASSLESS CHAPS, I KNEW IT!!
DJ: What?
Pharli: Yeah, I wanna make a request. ((oh no!)) That’s right I wanna hear “Twilight ZOne” By Golden Earring. ((Fuck you, let me out of this car, man.
DJ: Okay, whatever man. What’s your name?
Pharli: Pharli. ((asshole!))
DJ: I’ll get right on that, Pharli.
Pharli: Okay now, take care.

They never played his song.

So long and thanks for all the fish.