the sun never used to bother me as much as it does lately. the late afternoon glare, even through the sunglasses and the headgear, is raping my eyeballs and causing brutal headaches. boo hoo. just never noticed it so much as lately.
…..
just remembering a passage from college, and early adulthood. friends and i got into some trouble. big trouble. 25-years-in-the-buttfuckery trouble. we got out of it with fines of $5000 each, at a time when $5000 seemed like an unimaginable amount of money.
so we came up with ways to make that kind of money, and somehow we settled on taking out ads in magazines which targeted sexually frustrated middle aged women. the ads would say “LADIES!” and there would be some sentences about sexual frustrations and needs, followed by
“WE WILL
a: PISS ON YOUR FACE
b: COME IN YOUR MOUTH
c: SHIT ON YOUR HEAD”
and we would charge $5000 for this hard labor.
it was pathetic post-adolescent exhalation of anxieties over having dodged 25 years in jail. we laughed ourselves into innard-expelling orgies of bloody laughter. we were going to call it “FIVE FEET OF COCK!” with 10 average-length dudes hired to surround a woman who paid $5000 to have all this ejaculatory and excremantory attention showered upon them.
we laughed and laughed at the lunacy, the depravity, the OUTRAGE of it all. for years when any of us would call each other we might start the call by yelling “LADIES!” it was the code. the password.
and then time passed, and the $5000 fines were paid off, by which time $5000 didn’t seem like that much money.
the gag fell into memory.
until i landed on some Internet porn one day, a video showing 10 men standing around a woman, lying and writhing on the floor, waiting for come showers and piss and shit and possibly snot and vomit and plucked hemerrhoids to come raining down on her hungry body, hungry for to bathe in viscous male fluids.
the “FIVE FEET OF COCK” meme proved to be real. a little too real. it was the stuff of common porn, everyday ejaculata, plotless penetration and ephemeral evacuation.
and to think, we were ahead of our time, crafting the future of pornography as a gag. to think how successful we’d have been with backers, and underwriters, and market-savvy pornographers.
…..
going to the oppera on Saturday. it’s with the GF. we are going to see the metropolitan opera HD simulcast at the Ziegfeld Theater. i’ve never done that, and am curious as to how it compares with really being there. the Met crowd at Satyagraha was eminently respectful, church-pew silent, so much so that when i coughed a little bit in Act II i thought i’d be murdered. i remembered a Charlie Brown strip, where Lucy fucks up at the plate (she struck out) and she comes back to the dugout, glowering, with a black cloud filling her voice balloon. she sits next to Charlie Brown (the manager) whose mind-reading thought bubbles express anxiety and dismay at what to say to Lucy. he would rather say nothing but he has to clear his throat. he has to cough he has to ……
and then he clears his throat, and Lucy erupts in anger, shouting “I DIDN’T STRIKE OUT ON PURPOSE!!!”
i feared a similar fate at the opera house should i have cleared my throat.
we are seeing Faust at the Ziegfeld, which is allegedly more relaxed, and in some ways even better than being at the big house.
ok, my battery is dead.