You know who you are. You're as pathetic as me.


This weekend, I had one of the best times of recent memory. Possibly one of those special ones that I'll remember every detail of for life. I spent the weekend with a friend who goes college in a nearby city. Yes, three funfilled days and two sensual nights in the palace of the Pudding Dude and his compatriots. Oh, it was good. Almost perfect, considering we went to *cLuBs* in the nights. We went late and stayed late, it was disgusting. I think I hated everyone there. Just from looking at them and watching their ritualistic little behaviours, I think I can say I hate them. Their music is pointless and numbs the brain rather than stimulates it. Because they want to think less. Other than that? Plastic clothes wearing plastic people, all of them looking to flaunt the bodies that the grace of God and two fingers down their bulemic throats have given them. Thanks, but no thanks. I realized I can never be interested in a person who frequents places like those, at least. There would just be no significant conversation between us. "Does my hair colour look natural to you?" "Eww, you only wash your hair once a day?" So yes, some good did come out of it. But anyways... back to the good parts. Well, I said it was fun, but I didn't say how much I laughed. I didn't realize it until today, but I haven't had an uncontrollable laughing spell in far too long, and especially a groundless one. I laughed so hard this weekend I thought I'd need CPR from a large breasted, naked whore to revive me. Okay, maybe I was just hoping for that. I was choking! I hurt my sickened, virused throat laughing that weekend, and feel so much better now because of it. Yes, pleasure from pain, kiddies. In many cases, that it what has to happen. In this case, the pain was physical, but the pleasure I felt... like stickin' my soul in the gentle cycle of a washin' machine. I got cleansed this weekend, sailor. Did it have to do with a chick? In part, in part... but it was not the usual fawning over a girl as you would expect. No no, big chief... it was the ridicule and systematic dismantling of a beautiful and manipulative girl (aren't all the beautiful ones just like that?) that truly added to my experience of being wrung out. Like a little Bounty in the mix or something. What happened, was the first night, well, the girl I've been interested in for a while, who has been leading me around by the nose, spent a fair bit of the evening *with* the Pudding Dude. Huh. Well, alot more than with me anyhow. That pissed me off. I mean, that bummed me right the hell out, amigo. She didn't say a word to me as she walked by me to the room of a guy who simply wanted to squeeze her tits and grab her ass. I didn't like that. I especially didn't like the fact that it was the Pudding Dude. I went up there later to see what was going on, and she was under a blanket on his couch while he was on the floor in front of it. Huh. I went outside, and lit up a cigar to relieve some of what I was feeling (that was another funny thing about the weekend, my short passion for cigars). Then some others and I went out for coffee. It was like 5 in the morning by that time. We came back, and I simply let the Dude have it in a way that was hidden with a guise of "playful" insults. I really meant what I said though. Then I did anyway. So the next day, I felt less resentful and just more hopeless. Well, no, not really, I just forgot about it all with the other stuff going on. It came to the evening, and lo and behold, the girl had found ANOTHER person to leech onto for that night too! That was a killer feeling, let me tell you.

But...

I talked to the Pudding Dude. He told me about what went on the last night. How he was talking about myself and the girl to the girl a little. And I realized, so maybe I shouldn't be mad at the Dude. Actually, I shouldn't be at all. He wants to rail her, but she's hot, and thats understandable. And if she actually did him, then she'd do anyone anyway, so why shouldn't he be the one to jizz in her throat anyway? Hmmn. So she had found another sleaze that night, one that my friends and hers had told her was scum, but oh well. I saw them go into a space between the housing complexes at the college while on the Pudding Dude's porch playing bongos and harmonica to his guitar. So we went over there, and broke into song singing about the girl. And about what she was doing. And about what she'd do for a quarter and so forth. THAT was fun. To see various others around me enjoying the night at HER expense was nothing short of magical. And to think that maybe she heard it too, that was the sweetest plum in the orchard, my interestless reader. Ahh, I love that Dude. Without his guitar skill and my quick insultive wit in verse to other songs, I'd still feel bad right now about the little time I spent with the Madam this weekend. But I have given up on this one. This was a heart I was never meant to win in the first place I suppose. And do you know why?

She goes to clubs.

Back, ungrateful bitches!

You know the song "Lightning Crashes"? Well, we changed that one fairly well I think. Here's the part of it I remember belting out at five in the morning, with numerous people screaming at us to "shut the blue fuck up":

"the angel opens her legs...
paaaaassssty white thighs,
as she shows another guy a surprise..."

Ahh, I'm such an ass. Boo hoo, see me cry about it.

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