It all started out with a whole mutherfuckin' bunch of sex sex sex. So much that I bent my dick. I could make one billion dollars going into the details of the sex I had last night. I could describe the textures, the fluids, the body parts, the sounds, the positions, but I'm afraid I'd just end up getting too turned on and then I'd have to go look at some porn for a minute so I'll just skip it after I leave some keywords to jog my memory in the future. Ah forget it, if I do that, someone might read this and know who it was I was having sex with. She should know anyway. She was one inch away from me at the time.
Later, after the sex, I was walking downtown SF and a big convertible double decker tour bus decided to park in the street and give the SF tourists who had gathered in San Francisco's new answer to Times Square a little free show. On the convertible bus were three drag queens, Johnny Depp and Sean Penn and they were singing Sonny and Cher songs all super gay and Christina Aguilerra style like they wanted to be En Vogue or something. Two of the queens were black, one had a really enormous mouth that he would open so wide when he sang that you could see all of his rotten teeth, fillings, the back of his throat and indeed the food he recently ate boiling around in his stomach. Johnny Depp and Sean Penn were obviously just there to say "Hey look at us, we're so liberal we hang out with drag queens". What a couple of douchebags. I booed both of them as loud as I could and kept yelling at Sean Penn:
"Sean Penn, you're a pussy and you don't know how to produce tears when you cry in movies Sean Penn."
He was doing his best to ignore me but I know he heard me, everybody heard me and they were all looking at me, most with looks of disproval but many who were laughing. Sean just kept whispering into Johnny Depp's ear like he hadn't heard me but even Johnny Depp was looking straight at me so I yelled;
"Ya may as well take Sean Penn's side on this one Depp cause you're a douchebag too!"
Anyway -- two more minutes of me humiliating them and the bus slugged off.
I ended up driving a car to the next destination. As I crested the steep freeway entrance ramp on 6th south in Salt Lake City, I could see that there were big changes since the last time I was there. First of all they added a few slot car lanes where the Dukes of Hazzard replica cars could speed in fast motion at what may have been 400 miles per hour. Seemed like a good idea, giant slot cars ---- people would drive their own oversized slot cars and position them above the groove in the freeway, a rod would drop down into the groove and some electric conductor plates would then make contact with the recessed metal tracks the road and off they went flying safely down the freeway at 400 miles per hour. I got in an argument with one of my passengers over whether or not the Dukes of Hazzard car was orange or red. I said orange, he said red, he was an idiot. I'm glad that dude disappeared shortly thereafter. The second big change to the on ramp was that it was no longer an on ramp but instead the driveway leading up to a great big fancy victorian filled with black people.
As we entered a black gentleman quickly surmised that we were lost or something.
"Can I help you?"
"Yeah, we were looking for a party at such and such.."
"Ok, back through that door and down the block"
Walking down that particular block meant walking right through all the connected victorians. We walked through messy bedrooms, opulent living rooms, cold kitchens, breezy patios and discombobulated back yards... it was strange that they didn't have sidewalks like most neighborhoods. I didn't mind though, I'm always interested in interiors more than exteriors.
In one powder room there was a gigantic pituitary freak woman in a prom dress, she was at her make up table putting on make up and she appeared quite happy that we had chosen to walk through her dressing room. Her horse-like smile was gigantic and revealed at least an inch worth of gums above her undersized teeth. I made well delivered yet completely insincere comments about how she looked stunning and was sure to be the belle of the ball and she blushed such a beet red that her acne white heads were like white stars floating on a sea of red beef. Oddly, it was kinda cute to see her smile like that. It almost made me cry. Ok. It made me cry. Fuck off.
Eventually we found our destination at which a bunch of balding men were comparing hair transplant stories and my hair became the topic of conversation.
"Your hair sure looks real" Some commented.
"Yeah, because it is."
With those words the tone of the party was obviously changed, I could sense that the rest of these fellas were now uneasy with a naturally unbald man in their presence. I attempted to make jokes about how I wanted to cut my hair into a horseshoe pattern because it looks so distinquished -- you know, like Frasier on TV but that just dug my hole deeper. They weren't buying it. One man offered me a big squishy misshapen mango to eat. I declined and put it back on one of the serving trays -- which by the way, half of the serving trays were laid out on the dirty floor and balding men in their dirty socks were stepping in between the stuffed mushrooms and other appetizers -- it was rather UNappetizing to say the least.
later in the gymnasium at the punk rock concert, the tour manager told me I couldn't have my flash camera. This totally pissed me off. I always have my camera, and this one was vintage and I didn't even want to take pictures of the stupid band anyway but it was the principle of the matter. I ALWAYS brought my camera to those shows with no trouble at all. I moaned and complained and got all hot and bothered to no avail. He wasn't gonna budge. Finally I opened up my camera and removed the vile of sandy substance that created the flash.
"What's this?"
"It's what makes the flash -- take it -- there -- satisfied?"
"No you have to give me the whole camera."
"Fuck that and fuck you -- you fucking asshole fuck. Your band sucks.
and I left.
2 comments:
i love mangoes
you were in my dream once -- very angry but I can't remember anything else because it was like 4 months ago.
what does pituitary mean?
Check out my new blog. If you were chinese then you would pronounce my name "hahree"
Post a Comment