"Act tough but your blood's exposed"
I took the bus this morning – because I am the environment’s pal. (Throat clearing and nose growing) It is not so much a newfound eco-friendliness, but rather the mode of transportation for an individual with less than $500 in her checking account. I prefer to spend my dwindling funds on booze and beauty products. My mother has told me that it is rude to discuss financial matters with those outside of your immediate family. I invite all individuals reading this blog to my dysfunctional family -- you can have the seat at the dinner table next to me. We can discuss our bank account balances and credit card debt. Apparently discussions of finance are seen as bragging -- this cannot be the case when you are not far from the coat pockets of debt collectors. Those greedy bastards are sat in waiting, with greasy fingertips and fat pockets, for me to dip into the negative. Fortunately for this warrior she has the sword of online banking and a shield of parents desperate to not have a stripper daughter.
FYI: Unlike yesterday’s shallow excuses I did attend my class this morning; and as I feared the eye jizz prophecy came true. The guy next to me called my eye “gross.” In retaliation I rubbed my hands over my eye and touched his arm with counterfeit warmth. Take that you inconsiderate frat boy. For those unaware of where I gain my college “education” – I attend CU Boulder -- a campus overpopulated with Gucci bag carrying hippies and East Coast prep kids.
I thought about all of you last night. I lay across the front seats of my car twirling the burnt ends of my hair and thinking of what you might be doing in that moment. My feet hung out the window; with a stolen Tom Petty album playing on the stock stereo. As gas prices soar beyond my means I adapt a new lifestyle. I have left therapeutic night drives into the city singing off key and too loud, for my driveway parked car; dreaming of fame, sex, and clothesless readers; that was until my twin sisters came running down the driveway to tell me I was an “ugly poop boy,” and to add insult to injury planted a dead spider under my bed. This is far worse than the occasional early mornings in my boyfriend’s bed awakening to the feel of a hard object pressed on the small of my back. That I know how to “handle” – dead spiders I do not.
To exploit my stripper infatuation one last time I present to you: My stripper song: “Peace and Love or Else” by U2.
Lay down
FYI: Unlike yesterday’s shallow excuses I did attend my class this morning; and as I feared the eye jizz prophecy came true. The guy next to me called my eye “gross.” In retaliation I rubbed my hands over my eye and touched his arm with counterfeit warmth. Take that you inconsiderate frat boy. For those unaware of where I gain my college “education” – I attend CU Boulder -- a campus overpopulated with Gucci bag carrying hippies and East Coast prep kids.
I thought about all of you last night. I lay across the front seats of my car twirling the burnt ends of my hair and thinking of what you might be doing in that moment. My feet hung out the window; with a stolen Tom Petty album playing on the stock stereo. As gas prices soar beyond my means I adapt a new lifestyle. I have left therapeutic night drives into the city singing off key and too loud, for my driveway parked car; dreaming of fame, sex, and clothesless readers; that was until my twin sisters came running down the driveway to tell me I was an “ugly poop boy,” and to add insult to injury planted a dead spider under my bed. This is far worse than the occasional early mornings in my boyfriend’s bed awakening to the feel of a hard object pressed on the small of my back. That I know how to “handle” – dead spiders I do not.
To exploit my stripper infatuation one last time I present to you: My stripper song: “Peace and Love or Else” by U2.
Lay down
Lay down
Lay your sweet lovely on the ground
Lay your love on the track
We're gonna break the monster's back
Yes we are...
Lay down your treasure
Lay it down now brother
You don't have time
For a jealous lover
As you enter this life
I pray you depart
With a wrinkled face
And a brand new heart
I don't know if I can take it
I'm not easy on my knees
Here's my heart you can break it
I need some release, release, release
We need
Love and peace
Love and peace
Lay down
Lay down your guns
All your daughters of Zion
All your Abraham sons
I don't know if I can make it
I'm not easy on my knees
Here's my heart and you can break it
I need some release, release, release
We need
Love and peace
Love and peace
Baby don't fight
We can talk this thing through
It's not a big problem
It's just me and you
You can call or I'll phone
The TV is still on
But the sound is turned down
And the troops on the ground
Are about to dig in
And I wonder where is the love?
Where is the love?
Where is the love?
Where is the love?
Love and peace
When I hear this song – which I often do while living with an ardent Bono fan – my thoughts turn to the pole. In my alter stripper reality this song is my specialty. Late at night; smoke drifts through the room, booze knocked from the table; the song echos from the speakers -- out walks a small brunette wearing a shredded tie dye shirt, braids, and tall cowboy boots.
The lyrics do not support such a fantasy, but when that guitar riff – or what I would call the dur dur dur durrr – sets in; I undergo my metamorphosis. I am the Hulk -- only scaled down in size, more flesh colored, and horny. U2 created the national anthem for my alter stripper ego Cum Drops. I don’t actually know if it is the guitar makes the summoning, but regardless of its origin, it trumpets Cum Drops; she starts to tap her foot and shake her hips. Oh Bono, if you only knew the true effects of your call for peace.
Cum Drops has a “This isn’t my war” bumper sticker on her 2008 Honda Accord.
This is my new Myspace girlfriend. She added me and then gave my computer a virus. Tough love she calls it.
When I hear this song – which I often do while living with an ardent Bono fan – my thoughts turn to the pole. In my alter stripper reality this song is my specialty. Late at night; smoke drifts through the room, booze knocked from the table; the song echos from the speakers -- out walks a small brunette wearing a shredded tie dye shirt, braids, and tall cowboy boots.
The lyrics do not support such a fantasy, but when that guitar riff – or what I would call the dur dur dur durrr – sets in; I undergo my metamorphosis. I am the Hulk -- only scaled down in size, more flesh colored, and horny. U2 created the national anthem for my alter stripper ego Cum Drops. I don’t actually know if it is the guitar makes the summoning, but regardless of its origin, it trumpets Cum Drops; she starts to tap her foot and shake her hips. Oh Bono, if you only knew the true effects of your call for peace.
Cum Drops has a “This isn’t my war” bumper sticker on her 2008 Honda Accord.
This is my new Myspace girlfriend. She added me and then gave my computer a virus. Tough love she calls it.
P.S. Two more hours till lecture and blog idea doodling.
1 comment:
You should use FireFox as a web browser, it will stop most web-based browser Viruses. Just a suggestion.a
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