Sarah:Well I guess I have a few bones to pick with the current one. I don’t know that I know enough about all the horrible presidents to make a claim. I would say that this one’s unnecessary body count is as high as anyone I can think of.
Gothamist:Do you think he’s the worst president in history?
Sarah:He might be. He might be. Anyone can be incompetent and some people are just born that way. But just the sheer audacity with which he blunders through his incompetence and the language surrounding it. To decimate the Clean Air Act and call it the Clear Skies Initiative, that kind of thing. Just the audacity of this guy is what makes his incompetence amplify into bigger blunders. Because I’m personally incompetent about a lot of things but I think I have enough self-awareness not to brag about my mistakes and inadequacies.
Damn. I want to give head to that woman so much, the mention of her name makes me drool like one of Pavlov's dogs.
My hitstats have started to drop, so I guess it's time once again for me to talk about sex and post pornographic pictures. Ah...good times.
Everyone has a fantasy. It's one of those things in life that keeps us all alive, quietly and steadfastly fueling the last remaining shreds of our self-preservation instinct. For some of us, the only thing that gives us the courage to face yet another day of war, famine, religious fascism, and downright global stupidity, is that distant minutiae of a chance that I might someday get to fuck Christina Ricci and give head to Sarah Vowell at the same time. It may very well be the only thing to get me through this election cycle.
My fantasies are many. They are varied, ever evolving, and often interchangeable. This is probably due to a long life of creativity, minor deviance, issues of inadequacy, and general sexual disappointment.
In my 11th grade English class, while studying The Grapes of Wrath, my teacher (who was rumored to have been an adult film actress some two decades before) told us to write out a list of our personal life goals. Not lofty Miss America type goals like "solve world hunger" or "get pandas to start fucking again," rather the realistic "no matter what direction I go in my life, I want to do this one thing before I die" kinda stuff. "Stand on the North Pole," or "shake hands with a president" kinda stuff.
It was an interesting project, which I'm sure would have made Grapes of Wrath make more sense to me, had I bothered to ever listen to a word my teachers said. But it was treated with the usual grain-of-salt attitude that any high school assignment, no matter how well meaning, is treated. For example, my class had roughly 16 boys and 10 girls, all aged 16 and 17. Not a single one of us listed "get arrested for 'public indecency' with a celebrity." Obviously, we weren't really thinking this out honestly.
This assignment, however, has been in my thoughts over the last few months. I've met a lot of new people over the last year-and-a-half, both Chinese and otherwise, and I have come to an infuriating pattern with very near all of them. None of them have any damn goals. They all have the usual "finish school, get a job, get a family" goals (for the women it's just "get a family"). But beyond that, nothing. They have no real desires, passions, dreams...they literally want nothing outside of what the Magical Talking Picturebox tells them to want. Those that already have the education, job, and family, usually spend all their free time getting very drunk and laying face-down in the street wondering why they're not happy yet. These people don't even have the Christina Ricci/Sarah Vowell thing to keep them going.
So I've been spinning my Man-E-Faces head to my Reverend Face to preach about the importance of having a goddamn reason to live. It's easy for me to talk; I've got that whole "media empire" and "becoming a living god" thing I'm working on. But I have a hard time convincing these people to consider something as simple as "visiting Europe" as something to aim for in any stage in life.
It's forced me to put a lot of thought into my own goals in life. I've got the big ones that I've mentioned many a time before, but what else? What sort of small aims should I have? What sort of moments do I wish to come upon in my path of life before at actually reach my living god status?
Now, where do I draw the line between "goal" and "fantasy." When I make my list of everything I want to do before I die, should I include "solve the mystery of time travel and have sex with Lindsay Lohan circa 2004" on the same page as "raise an albino kitten?"
It's a process, I'm sure. Partly because, as is my trouble with most things in my day-to-day life, I don't really know what I want. When I said before that my fantasies are "ever evolving" that's kind of a nice way of saying "I am so emotionally dysfunctional, that I even get bored of my fantasies and have to think of new ones."
The upsetting thing about it is, there have been a few basic motifs that run through my goals (both sexual and otherwise), and yet there are still quite a few things that may have ended up on a "before I die" list of one incarnation or another, that have never even come close to reaching "out box" status.
I have not had sex with more than one woman at a time, nor have I met Stephen Hawking. I have not gotten a blowjob whilst on board a nuclear submarine, nor have I memorized any of Shakespeare's sonnets. I have not yet given head to a woman in possession of a PhD, and I will never get the chance to shake Jim Henson's hand and tell him "Thank you."
Yep, one disappointment after another.
Maybe the "evolution" of my goals and fantasies is actually just a gradual lowering of my expectations. Maybe that's how I've been able to keep such a sharp eye on the "deification" goal, by compromising all others. I don't really need to have group sex with Rose McGowan, a pair of twin sisters, and that girl from my 9th grade Biology class; as long as I become a god someday, I'm cool. I certainly don't have a real need to be cast in a movie co-starring with Bruce Campbell and William Shatner; when I'm a god I probably won't care.
Besides, according to a not-so-recent article (thanks Fark!), I may very well live to be a thousand years old. That gives me plenty of time to achieve every twisted little fantasy my twisted little heart desires...and still become a god.
Sunday, August 26, 2007
:
You Can Always Go...Downtown
I had to take a very long walk this evening.
I didn't have any cash to my name. The only money I had was on my PayPal card, so I had to walk to the one grocery store in town that accepted MasterCard.
It was a straight shot down the closest main street to me, about 20 blocks down. As I started the trek, I griped to myself about having to walk it, rather than having the measly change needed to take a cab. Then I chastised myself for being such a wimp. In my earlier days, I would traverse the entirety of the city of Boise several times a day. Now I'm griping about less than 2 dozen blocks? When did I become such a pussy?
This town has it's own form of Hustle and Bustle, should you find yourself in the right neighborhoods at the right time. Some streets are dead quite on all but Saturday night. Some streets seem to have non-stop foot traffic every night of the week until at least 2 in the morning. This is one of those streets.
As I made my way toward the river, I noticed that the crowds of foot traffic were degenerating and slowing. Still crowds of people all over, only more and more of them seem to be standing around rather than going anywhere. Some were conversing and cavorting, other just seemed to be absentmindedly waiting for something. Others still, actually seemed to be watching the traffic go by with great interest.
It was a mildly festive mood. Everyone seemed to have that "just want to unwind before I have to go back to the factory in the morning" kind attitude. Friendly, laid back, slight hints of a desire to get into a little innocent trouble. A familiar vibe, no matter where you come from.
The women really seemed to be looking for action. Every few feet I'd catch the eye of a pretty young thing that seemed to be on the prowl for a man to take her somewhere nice and buy her a few drinks. Maybe a couple of drinks for her friends. I've recently grown out my facial hair, which has turned out to be a big hit with the Chinese girls. So, I was getting that "do you wanna be my date" look a lot as I passed them by.
Then, I saw the hooker.
She was not at all coy about it. She wore one of those tops that was made of shiny silver fabric, with a neckline that hung like an over-stretched turtleneck down past her chest, almost to her navel. Normally not a flattering look for the commonly flat-chested girls of Southern China, but this one actually had something to show off, much to my delight. Her denim shorts were cut so short they were practically bikini bottoms, and were so tight that I could clearly see that she was not wearing underwear. The coup-de-gras was sticking halfway out of her denim shorts pockets; a clearly visible packet of the world famous Little Blue Pill, Viagra. Everything about this girl said, in a very clear voice, "Me love you long time."
As I neared her part of the sidewalk, giving her an up-and-down, taking in everything I described, she saw me and gave me an up-and-down in return. After sizing each other up, our eyes met, and she gave me a sly grin and a flash of her eyes that I could only interpret as meaning "Hello, Lunch."
I return her look with as shy of a smile as I can muster, and walk on by. Deeply contemplating whether or not I would be doing so if I actually had any cash on me. It's easy to have morale when you don't have the money for sin. Would I really be that stand-up of a guy if I had money to burn?
Then it hit me. All those young ladies before, each one of them giving a "hey let's have some fun together" look...
I turn and look back. Sure enough, each and every one of them was in a near-perfect line down the road, evenly spaced about 15 yards apart. Every single one of them was for sale.
I turned back to the way I was heading, and looked up the road ahead. The pattern continued; every 15 yards was a flashy-dressed lady looking for a good time. It was a ten block stretch of road that had become the Sex For Sale Mall. At least, for the time being, until the cops made them move.
Up ahead was a footbridge that spidered over the main intersection like a giant turtle shell. The footbridge was filled with people, standing around like bar patrons without a bar. Chatting, laughing, watching the traffic go by. Most of them looking like they were waiting for something. At least half of them, men and women alike, were for sale. The other half, who knows? I guess I'm not as worldly as I like to think. Is there really a sub-culture of people who just like to hang out with prostitutes on their spare time?
Places like this make me nervous sometimes. Not because I have any problem with the "seedy" culture. In fact, there are the occasional days in which I wish my life was just a bit more seedy. But, as a white guy, it can be a bit dangerous. In this town, about 98% of the white guys are still walking around with foreign cash. Most locals look at me and see a big red bullseye in the shape of a dollar sign. This is probably why the hookers I passed seemed to have a bit more desperation to their sell than one would imagine. They probably figure a guy like me could set them up for the week.
But, today I was in my trademark "child-molesting hobo" outfit. Torn jeans (very much NOT in style here), a camo-print t-shirt, an un-groomed goatee, and unwashed hair down to my nipples (long hair on a guy, also NOT in style here). One or two of the guys on the street that I had pegged for "security" actually looked a little scared of me. By local stereotypes, I looked like the guy you'd hire to kill people. If I were a little bit taller, I'd probably get job offers to do just that.
So, while going over the footbridge with the fifty-or-so crowd of hookers, pimps, drug dealers, etc etc...everyone made a clear path for me. Not even so much as a dirty look.
One girl, with an ass smaller than my last paycheck and a bustline that would make Russ Meyer's eyebrows go up, began to walk swiftly across from the other side of the footbridge to make sure that she was in my path as I made my way down the other side. Another one, that was already in my path, started giving mock-fellatio her own index finger as I approached her. It was almost as if they could smell what it is I look for in a woman.
The finger sucker, though exhibiting stellar technique, was not an attractive girl. She had obviously been trained to sell to her strengths.
The one with the tits, however, definitely shook my resolve. The MasterCard in my pocket contained about 200 yuan that was meant to be for groceries for me and my roommates. If I returned instead with no food and a story about a big-titted hooker, my girlfriend wouldn't have to kill me, my roommates would've already done it.
For a few short seconds, though, it seemed worth it.
Thankfully for all involved, my feet did not stop walking. I nearly broke my neck trying to keep looking behind me at that fantastic cleavage as I continued walking away.
So I guess it's true, I'm only morale because I don't have the money for sin. Moments like that can really make you rethink a lot of ideals that you had once taken for granted. Like...What's so bad about prostitution anyway? It's perfectly legal in some countries. I hear they're trying to make it legal in Hong Kong.
After getting home from my little urban adventure, I relayed my experience to the gang. They all got a good kick out of my naivety at not noticing they were hookers for as long as I had, and agreed that they would have killed me, had I given in to my baser desires.
Snow then told us about the well known reputation of Zhongshan; no matter how morale, upstanding, or loyally married man you are, you will eventually have sex with a prostitute if you stay in Zhongshan long enough. Apparently this is a well known fact to everyone in Guangdong Province.
Frogman and I, disagreed of course. Mostly because, the two of us had been in Zhongshan for two years. I was still able to fight the temptation, and Frogman has never even been tempted.
But as we though about it, it occurred to us that of all the other foreigners we knew, we were the only two. Literally every other foreign man (and most of the locals) we know in town either had, or have sex with prostitutes. Some of them even bring them home to meet the wives.
It creates an interesting inner conflict, moments like that. For starters, even with my own wavering fortitude, I was able to resist the urge. Therefore, I look down on the population on a whole for not having even the most minute amount of self-control.
And yet, at the same time, I have to look at the truth of matter, where I ask myself why this is considered an immoral practice in weakness in the first place. After all, the only reason prostitution is looked down upon or made illegal, is because of the Judeo-Christian brainwashing that tells us that sex is bad and sex for money is double-bad.
There are those that would say that the reason it's illegal is not because of Christian Superstition, but because of the amount of abuse and even downright kidnapping and slavery that go on in the world of prostitution.
However, history has told us many a time (see: Alcohol, Pornography, Amsterdam) that when something is legal and open to the commercial market, Standards come into play. Regulations are respected. Changes are actually made.
So, here I am, once again wrestling with the fact that I'm proud of myself for still having gone one more day without paying for a blowjob, and yet wondering if that's really anything to be that proud of.
Sunday, August 05, 2007
:
Fukthis, Blomie, and Gohdye; LLC
It's over, it's done.
I hope they get syphilis and die. No, I hope they get syphilis and live for a very, very, long and painful time. No, wait. Fuck syphilis. Leprosy! They still have leprosy, right? Anybody know where I can get some?
I would personally set them aflame, were in not for my instant nausea at the smell of singed hair.
Oh sure, they want to continue doing casual business with us, but I'd rather make a German porn. After all, if I'm going to be eating shit, I might as well get paid for it, right?
Remember how I said before that I was somehow dumb enough to start up an actual relationship with not one, but two Chinese girls? And, I think I followed it up with how happy I am to be single again, since most women are inherently selfish, status-driven, gold-diggers at heart, and that Chinese women in particular are shamelessly obvious about it?
Yeah, so I got back together with Snow a couple of days ago.
It was almost like it was fated to happen. She works with the people we're partnering with here in China, and in a bid to save money on expenses moved the three of us, her, and four other employees into one house. It's a nice house, and we three americans have pretty much laid claim to the entire ground floor, but there have been a thing or two that we've needed to get accustomed to. Such as...no refrigerator, Chinese roommates that are literally afraid of western toilets and choose instead to just pee on the floor, and of course, my ex-girlfriend now lives with me.
It took her 5 months, but she finally managed to get herself back into my good graces enough to start hitting on me again...and I gave it up like the slut I am.
I'm sure this says a lot about my self-image. However, fuck my self-image. She's so eager to please now, I can almost snap my fingers for a blowjob any time of the day. Not that I'd ever stoop to doing anything that crass, but just knowing that I can does, in fact, make my dick bigger.
Vile disrespect aside, she really did make a true effort to mend things between us. And it doing a bang-up job in keeping things on the level with me now. I have no way of knowing if she's actually grown as a person, or if she's just spent the last few months figuring out how to pretend in ways that would actually fool me. Either way, it's enough to get her a second chance, and she's doing quite well with it.
You've probably noticed that I'm talking about her like an employee or intern that's on double-secret probation, rather than a girlfriend. I've noticed that too, and it bothers me too. I'm sure if I could figure out the root of this, I might have a closer look into why I'm so miserable all the time.
It's a process, I'm sure. Partly because, as is my trouble with most things in my day-to-day life, I don't really know what I want. When I said before that my fantasies are "ever evolving" that's kind of a nice way of saying "I am so emotionally dysfunctional, that I even get bored of my fantasies and have to think of new ones."
The upsetting thing about it is, there have been a few basic motifs that run through my goals (both sexual and otherwise), and yet there are still quite a few things that may have ended up on a "before I die" list of one incarnation or another, that have never even come close to reaching "out box" status.
Besides, according to a not-so-recent article (thanks Fark!), I may very well live to be a thousand years old. That gives me plenty of time to achieve every twisted little fantasy my twisted little heart desires...and still become a god.
So, while going over the footbridge with the fifty-or-so crowd of hookers, pimps, drug dealers, etc etc...everyone made a clear path for me. Not even so much as a dirty look.
There are those that would say that the reason it's illegal is not because of Christian Superstition, but because of the amount of abuse and even downright kidnapping and slavery that go on in the world of prostitution.
