Thanks. You look good, too. Really good, actually. How long has it been? Mmhmm, that seems about right. Has been a while. How's the boyfriend? That's cool. Yeah, that's cool of him to say. I ran into him at Wal-Ma--yeah, I'm sure he did tell you. Anyway, what else is new?
Wow. Wow, just ... really? No, that's great. Married, huh? Seems like you might have let me know ... face-to-face. Well this doesn't really--how does this count? I mean, I fucking prompted you! You would have never told me on your own. No, you wouldn't have.
No, I don't fucking care, it just seems like, if we are friends--and you said that we'd still be friends--that it might be something worth mentioning.
Listen, get fucking snotty. It's what you do. What else would--no, argue as much as you like, it's what you do. I'm not going to argue with you. I'm gonna be the bigger man. The BIGGER man, and you can tell that to your little boyfriend.
No, look, I'm sorry. I am. I don't mean to be a dick. Don't apologi--don't fucking INTERRUPT! Listen, don't apologize. Look, why don't we get out of here. Go pay for your toilet paper, and I'll wait here for you. Turn around, lemme see that ass. Mmm. Been too long, girl.
Hell hath no fury like an obsessive fanboy (or girl) scorned. However, this stunning reenactment (using only words!!!) of this one time that I ran into this chick who had a TOTAL Melvin for a boyfriend (well, husband at that point) when she was at the gas station (and I was at the same gas station, if you can believe that luck!) and I waited for her to buy ass paper, and then we went and got a bite at Denny's, and we way came close to making out (and also, I could see some of her boobs 'cause of the shirt she was wearing) demonstrates the central component to a healthy BlogGodSexMaster/tremblingsubservientbarelyliteratepeon relationship: forgiveness!
Indeed, my ire towards you, the smellypoopypoopystupidbuttweineredsmellyrumpeating reader, is well deserved. Luckily for you, it is also well intentioned.
I don't mean to be manipulative. Plato once said (well, I mean, the cover of the book says that he said it, but then inside the book, it says that Socrates said it, so I don't even know what that means or what to believe, but whateva, I suppose?!?), "You are a beautiful boy, and I want to taste your face." As you might have guessed from the way I wrote it, Socrates or Plato or whatever gyro-eatin' yahoo it was that really said this shit wasn't just talking to himself: he managed to get someone to listen to it! Can you even believe that bullshit? That's worse than that interrupting bitch that I ran into at the--SIT THE FUCK BACK DOWN! Seriously!
Man, everyone these days is so distracted with their fucking IpLayers, and facespace, Dave'sItinerary, and all those weird porno site things where the girls pretend not to be upset while the dudes do things that I've only performed, but never dreamt of ... mmm ... have left you all unable to ... pay attention for more than three ... seconds ... mmm ... BRB, got something to do (By the way, BRB is an "acronym"--which means letters that stand for word-thingys--that stands for "Business Regarding BabymakingsoI'llreturnshortly." Seems to me that they combined a bunch of words to cheat their way into an acronym that, at best, doesn't really work, and, at worst, is a cheap attempt at a joke that only a Deceivingly Intelligent Conniving Klansman could laugh at [which, on the Internet, is acronymized as DICK--or, more commonly, simply "dick." So, all those times you thought someone had called you a dick on the Internet, it turned out that it was a pretty layered rip-job on you, and you should feel even worse than you did before. You just got netBlasted. Also, I just made up the term "netBlasted." Take that shit to the streets! Not the real streets, though. You'd way get shot. The digital streets, though? Take it there!!!!]) ... aaaaand I'm back! Whew. Way
As I was saying (or, more accurately, trying to say before SOMEONE was so uncouth as to interrupt me ... !!), Internet distractions are at an all time high. Even now, the mentally-weak amongst you (read: all of you) are probably multi-tasking to the point of distraction, never fully engaging with ... the world around ... you ... long enough to ... eh, fuck it, where the hell was I going with this? Let's check back in with Placrates!
Socrates: When human sees a god, he appears to him as a glistening, virile, taut, wet, sloppy, stubble-bearded boy. For it is in this sight, that man truly knows the essence of--
Phaedrus: Actually, I'm late for an appointment with--
Socrates: Sit down, boy! Loosen your robe as you ever-so-gently lay back against the Tree of Discourse! The day grows long, as do I, but alas, yet has my story to grow in kind, dear boy!
Phaedrus: What?
Socrates: I've warned you before about the interruptions, Phaedrus. Is it not true that, shall a man receive an adolescent boy in all of his natural beauty and splendor, that the boy should sit with his mouth closed--well, periodically open, but you get the drift...should not this boy act at the behest of his elder, stopping not to rudely interrupt his chain of thought?
Phaedrus: It's just that I'm running la--
Socrates: And, should not a young boy realize that, should he wish to continue to study under the Lord of Discourse, he should act at the behest of his elder, denying neither advances most physical nor anecdotes most homoerotic? AND, should NOT a young boy realize that, with ONE trip to see a certain young wanna-be philosopher's father, he could once again be subject to the unyielding hand of the WhipLord down in the salt-n-pepper mines? And, should not a boy remember that 'tis a most beneficial set of circumstances that his father was able to ... mm, "pay" the Lord of Discourse for his service? mmm.
Phaedrus: Yes, I suppose he should.
Socrates: There's a good boy. Now, close your eyes, and open your mouth.
Phaedrus: Well, all right, I suppose. Aaahhhh--hey ... wait a tick! Is this--is this play that you're engaging me in?
Socrates: Soon, my boy, soon. You're on the right track ...
Phaedrus: I've got it!! It's false play, isn't it?
Socrates: Getting closer ... lean back ...
Phaedrus: I--I don't know.
Socrates: It's false false play, idiot--and that's a real thing! Now suck on that!!!
SCENE
So, where was I going with this? Sorry, let me finish this article I'm reading on cnn.com ... something about manipulation. My manipulation, I believe ... got it!
The above passage from the Phaedrus is generally cited to demonstrate the danger in manipulating (see, there's that word again, I'm back on track!) power structures for one's own hot, sweaty sexual benefits.
Here's the skinny: You're under my stubby, chocolate/oil/grease/hot dog runoff/malt liquor-covered thumb. I know it; hell, even you know it.
Still, this isn't right. I know you have feelings for me, and, well, I have 'em too. But the fact is, you're better than this. All that waiting around for me, checking this blog every day, refreshing the page every 3-5 seconds just to be sure that I haven't updated--hell, think of how many F5 keys you've worn out on my site alone!
I'm flattered that you care, and I love it when we're together. The feeling that comes over me when I see you submit to my every earthly, kinky desire: well, it simply can't be put into words (and I graduated sigma cum verbose from Davey Writtenfield's School of Highfalutin, Incredibly Pretentious Diction!)
But, just as Socrates should NOT have--in a move he'd famously term "dick-course"--forced himself upon and into young Phaedrus (no matter how willing the supple lad may have been--and believe me, he was willin' and ready! ;-) ), it is time for me to set you free. I'll give you a moment to collect yourself, dry your tears, and--SERIOUSLY, FUCKING HANG ON FOR ONE LAST SECOND AND LET ME FINISH MY THOUGHTS! What the FUCK with the interruptions?!
All right, get dressed though, for real. It's not happening, and it's pathetic. Hot? Sure. Morally okay? Unfortunately, no.
You don't love me, you love the idea of your idea of what I could ideally--in an ideal world, of course--be, should I be idealized.
I guess what I'm trying to say is that I need to stop using you. My power over you necessitates that you submit--and you get off on it. It's not okay, and I need to stop. But, I'm not going to.
So, get ready to hear from me quite a bit more often, from here on out! I promise.
You and me, we gonna be the real thing.
Just don't call me. Also, never stop into my work. Check in with me here at the blog, or not at all. You should also probably know that, should my friends ask about you, I'm telling 'em that you're a trampy whore who I haven't seen since the last time you slutted out at that party.
Should you decide to disregard this mandate and go ahead and call, it will no doubt go just like this:
Whew, that was a familiar routine for you, eh? And yet, it never seems any less devastating. You don't want to go through this (again!!), and while I'd love to put you through it, I'm turning over a new leaf. I can use you, but not be a dick to you.
For, should not a demagogue ensure the well being of his horrifically simplistic followers? Of course he should, no?
Ohhh, shit!! False FALSE play, bitches! Just like your other hookups, I'll be back just as soon as I'm wasted and your self-esteem is at its lowest!
Suck on that!!!
You're welcome.
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