You know how it's 99% disgusting to throw-up? It stinks, burns, splashes everywhere, makes your eyes water, and cramps up your stomach muscles. BUT, there is the 1%. That far corner of your mind that you don't want to admit is there in the middle of your five alarm fire of hot mess. It is the part that is enjoying the vomiting process. Hopefully, my blog is that 1% .

Friday, April 2, 2010

Odd to John

I just pulled a stomach muscle while stretching and even though it hurt like a monkey, at least it proved that I do own and operate abs. I’ve been thinking a lot about my outer appearance lately. In the past, I generally took for granted my ridiculous good looks, and pitied most of the shapeless sad sacks who found themselves lucky enough to be in my company. Recently, however, I am finding myself to be a tad more self-conscious. Obviously, my grooming and hygienic habits are not the problem, (I freelance as tooth and gum poster model). My issue can be directly attributed to the fact that I am friends with John Banks. In order to make himself feel better, John carries out daily audible inventory counts of my facial beauty marks (he calls “moles”). He badgers me incessantly about the love handles I have methodically nourished and nurtured. John delves deep into the crevasses of my psyche and reels up to the surface the source of all ills that has damaged me: “fagitosis”. Outwardly, Mr. Banks gives the impression that he is a compassionate, thoughtful listener; he nods appropriately, smiles encouragingly and responds convincingly. The thing that blows his cover is his constant and unmanageable erection. I guess it’s all my fault. He has fooled me more than once but I keep coming back to the well. I never thought of myself as being so dependent on the vague whims and needs of such a selfish fuckface but I guess it is my lot in life. To be completely transparent, if I had a chance to do it all again, I wouldn’t change a thing.


  1. Tru Dat! You act as if you have never hurt me. As if my cutting remarks are not the vicious response of words thrown at me, by a middle aged man looking for any escape from his very presence....or maybe you just have huge love handles.