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Scenes from my Real Life
Feb. 8th, 2015 03:46 am"Was I really that bad?" I ask these old punk rock crushes of mine after flexing down Skeets McDouchebag the 3rd from getting touchy-feely without permission on my friends, " I mean I know back then I was this nerdy fat guy..."
"What?" They laugh with earnest amusement, "We all thought you were just as hot as Sinn, Law, or Bud... seriously. But then you'd open your mouth and it'd be all - 'I've been reading Thomas Mann and I think postmodernism has failed us on a narrative level that can only be addressed by a radical rethinking of Marx'... and five minutes of that shit and our pussies would be as dry as a crab's canteen in the Sahara. I mean, really, Jack, why did you wait until we were all married or dead to be the funny guy?"
"Wait... wasn't I funny guy then?"
And they laugh knowingly amongst each other, peppering the cheeks with kisses and reassuring pats to the thigh.
Heh...so that's been haunting me all night. I mean what if my whole life I wasn't actually the 'ugly guy' surrounded by a bunch of alpha males in their prime whose shadow was where I thought I was to toil with my pale wit? What if all I needed to do was laugh more and bitch less... especially about Thomas Mann apparently? What if I had actually been in the running all along and the fault had been in the pitch not the product this whole time?
They smile so sweet as this revelation dawns on me, even as the hot ginger with the bangs squeezes my thigh and the blonde orders me another round on her tab as the third winks at me.
Gosh all graham crackers, I think blushing into my drink, I mute the stutter that would have been my response, and then laugh... yeah, but if that was true then what would I have written about if not being the creature invisible I counted myself amongst my betters, my friends, my threats by example?
"Yeah," One of them coos brushing her head into my shoulder, "What indeed would we have possibly given you to write about, our Jack of a 1,000 Opportunities Missed?"
Heh,what indeed?
10-4, as I'm fond of saying, over and out.
"What?" They laugh with earnest amusement, "We all thought you were just as hot as Sinn, Law, or Bud... seriously. But then you'd open your mouth and it'd be all - 'I've been reading Thomas Mann and I think postmodernism has failed us on a narrative level that can only be addressed by a radical rethinking of Marx'... and five minutes of that shit and our pussies would be as dry as a crab's canteen in the Sahara. I mean, really, Jack, why did you wait until we were all married or dead to be the funny guy?"
"Wait... wasn't I funny guy then?"
And they laugh knowingly amongst each other, peppering the cheeks with kisses and reassuring pats to the thigh.
Heh...so that's been haunting me all night. I mean what if my whole life I wasn't actually the 'ugly guy' surrounded by a bunch of alpha males in their prime whose shadow was where I thought I was to toil with my pale wit? What if all I needed to do was laugh more and bitch less... especially about Thomas Mann apparently? What if I had actually been in the running all along and the fault had been in the pitch not the product this whole time?
They smile so sweet as this revelation dawns on me, even as the hot ginger with the bangs squeezes my thigh and the blonde orders me another round on her tab as the third winks at me.
Gosh all graham crackers, I think blushing into my drink, I mute the stutter that would have been my response, and then laugh... yeah, but if that was true then what would I have written about if not being the creature invisible I counted myself amongst my betters, my friends, my threats by example?
"Yeah," One of them coos brushing her head into my shoulder, "What indeed would we have possibly given you to write about, our Jack of a 1,000 Opportunities Missed?"
Heh,what indeed?
10-4, as I'm fond of saying, over and out.
