Coffee Rhetoric: sucio
Showing posts with label sucio. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sucio. Show all posts

April 23, 2011

Pedestrian Tales: You Don't Measure Up Sir

As often as I find myself in interesting and sometimes compromising situations on the bus (some man gave me his number the other day, and said he "sees" me "a lot" downtown and insisted we should have lunch. Even though I disagreed, I feigned like I was entering his number in my phone anyway) or in a taxi (I've been driven around by some colorful and seemingly unstable Yellow Cab drivers)- I often stumble into random and somewhat awkward scenarios while walking the streets and minding my own business. This past week was no different. I usually roll my eyes behind my of dark shades, purse my lips irritatingly, and ignore the foolatry I'm being propositioned or antagonized with and keep pushing forward or I cross the street and simply  re-route my progress. Every now and again however, I like to deviate from my usual mask of disdain and loathing for much of man-kind and play along... sort of like I did in this Pedestrian Tale... 
It was a particularly windy spring day, late afternoon... post-work rush hour as I took quick, hard-stomping strides towards Webster Bank at City Place, anxious to get some cash so I could hit up the noodle bar at The Market at Hartford 21. A lanky, not up to par, younger looking man appeared out of nowhere, and started walking alongside me. "I like your bag. That's nice," he said, side-eyeing me up and down. "Yup, thanks" I answered dryly. I walked at a clip and he managed to keep pace. I was almost at the bank and wanted him to veer off and leave me the hell alone. "I like your shades too... they fit nicely on your face," he continued.  "Umm-hmm" I said aloofly. 
"Yeah, you look really nice. So do you have a man or anything?" He asked promptly. Suddenly, I stopped walking (plus I'd arrived at the door of Webster Bank's enclosed ATM machine).  
"Yes." I answered with a polite smile. "I'm practically married!" 
"What do you mean, practically married?" He needed to know.  
"I live with my paramour." 
"Oh. You faithful? How old are you?" he asked.
"I've no reason not to be. He pays the rent and all of the utilities, bills, cable. He takes me on all expense paid trips and dinners, plus he does most of the cooking. I'd hate to mess that up. Plus I'm 45. Probably way too old for you."  (Lies!)
He blinked at me. "Um, I promise you it'll be worth it, to get to know me. You're just my type too. You look like you're 28-years-old." He pressed.   
I surveyed his low slung, too big for his frame jeans and unkempt cornrows from behind my shades and asked "Would you be willing to inherit all of those expenses?" He thought about it for a second, then said, "Oh. Okay then. It was nice meeting you."
I nodded in a self-satisfied WINNING on tiger's blood sort of way, because in my past experiences dealing with unwanted suitors, lying about being "taken" left them undaunted. 
He turned to leave me be, but not before asking, "So, um... you got any sisters?" ... 


February 12, 2010

Hathor Take The Wheel

I did not want to bat an eyelash over John Mayer’s recent FAIL interview with Playboy Magazine, but the more in-depth I read it- (in its entirety, because I did not want to comment based solely on the excerpts that got everyone in an uproar)- the harder I blinked and the more perplexed I became. I will not comment on the obvious homophobia or misogyny and ageism he displayed whilst commenting on his former girlfriends (‘right made the acid in my stomach gurgle with displeasure), nor on the lack of confidence he has in his manhood for he spoke at length about his sexual prowess and technique as well as his need to prove himself and be better than the former flames of his conquests. 
What I will rant and rave about however, is John’s proclamations that he has a “hood/nigger” pass, suggesting that having one somehow justifies his never ending, assholish behavior, asinine public comments and Twitter rants. He said he was "Very" just like Black folks. "V.E.R.Y." and so it absolved him of stupid behavior. Man, I guess (not).  John also name dropped Kanye West, a fellow partner in lame grappling with his own P.R. issues and who in 1996 (publicly creamed his trousers over the splendor of biracial women or “mutts” as he affectionately called them, Jay-Z, and other rappers, who, shall I add, seem color-struck and enamored with all things lighter-skinned and/or non-Black themselves, and will never miss an opportunity to bash dark-skinned Black women or to drape themselves with the finest of racially ambiguous vixens. But I digress... 
John Mayer… who always manages to fellate his foot hungrily, deep-throating it with gusto whenever he has the media’s attention… felt his scrotum swelling with douche water after waving his “nigger pass” in the air... going on to gloat, after being asked if Black women threw themselves at him  (a stupid question in and of itself), that while he has a Benetton heart he just couldn’t open himself up to the possibility of entertaining Black women, due to his having a David Duke cock.”
insert record screeching to an abrupt stop right here
Correct me if I’m wrong, or perhaps I’m out of the loop, but I had no idea Black women were drowning John in a river of crème de la coochie. I was completely unaware that this rather uninteresting and bland musician was the stuff that makes Black women swoon with unbridled desire. John also went on to make vulgar remarks about noted Black actress Kerry Washington’s hotness and how she might possibly suck a dick and say, “Yeah, I did it, so what?” for she’d undoubtedly break a Caucasian cad’s heart because she's "crazy like a white girl," or some such nonsense to that effect, his love of porn, and how every White dude bulged out of their boxers for sitcom character Hilary Banks from the The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air. Additionally, while John Mayer is entitled to his preferences, why do it at the expense of Black women by suggesting that we are somehow not worthy or significant enough for someone as inane as he is? Listen, at the end of the day, I don't need John's racist penis to validate me as a Black woman or any other White man with a "nigger pass" or otherwise for that matter, so I'll sleep well this evening, but imagine the shock and furor had Halle Berry stated she had the heart of Coretta Scott King but the vagina of Minister Louis Farrakhan ... Mmm hmmm... Think, think, think... famous people. THINK before you spew. 
To the assholes who gave Mayer a “nigger pass,” Therein lies the problem, jerks. You make it OK for dumb-asses to engage in hipster racism because you’re giving them the go-ahead to do so…ofttimes at a Black woman's expense.  And then you’re the same jack-asses who want to mollywhop your White buddy, because he said,  “Nigger please!” Um. No sir. You can't have it both ways. Good for the goose but not for the gander??
John Mayer or any other wanna-be down chav gets no “hood pass” from me EVER. I don’t care how many BLACK friends you collect, I don't care how many close White friends I happen to connect with, and I don’t care how many of your BLACK FRIENDS said it was OK to make stupid statements steeped in bigotry. It is never OK to wallow in ignorance because you think it's the hip thing that will get you an *in.* Real talk. I don't hand those types of passes out. Null and VOID. 
Mayer, choked up and regretful (because his publicist told him to be ), issued a tearful apology onstage in the middle of a performance in addition to taking to his Twitter page yet again to partake in some major damage control. I refuse to stroke his ego by saying, “Awww, he made a mistake.” A mistake is something that’s unintentional and not predicated on arrogance and one’s privilege. He's sorry, because folks got pissed and his statements were not well received, because just like many White people who share Mayer's sentiment(s) about being "down", it's always cool to smile proudly and proclaim how much Black people love you, as a way to justify making ignorant (regardless of one's intention) statements out loud. And to co-opt the cool parts of being a racial minority, while rejecting the difficulties of being one. 
In the grand scheme of his stupidity, self-loathing, and narcissism however, I do not believe that Mayer is a racist. And I don't care if his David Duke cock wants to burn a cross at my window, because I am personally not, nor have I ever been rubbing myself raw over John Mayer. He is a bigot who hates women, however... and is a sad a victim of his own delusions of grandeur, arrogance, and sexual inadequacy. And to those Black folks who think it’s cute for some "others" to trash-talk your mothers, aunts, dads, brothers, uncles, and sisters (yes, those of you issuing out the free "nigger passes" to your White buddies)… stop perpetuating the disrespectful behavior. Enough is enough.  
Perhaps Mayer's attempt to fumble towards ecstasy and understanding will help us mull over the topics of race and gender a little more closely, and think before we open our gobs... trying to be clever. And a simple, "No, Black women don't throw themselves at me. Not at all." would've sufficed, John.

Read more about Mayer-gate 2010---

July 23, 2009

Bus Tales: Buttcheek Touches Seat


Dearest Blog Diary:
Wednesday was a warm day. While most might say it was beautiful outside, considering all of the rain we've had in Hartford, CT, I found it hot and hazy in most areas in the city. Cities tend to be especially steamy during lazy summer days. I mean, public transportation is a hot bed for errant body odor and various other unpleasantries I want no parts of. What can one do? Nothing... and so I'm usually at peace as I'm sitting there inhaling short spurts of stifling air every so often, between holding my breath for the 10 minute ride.
Downtown, on a connecting bus en route to my mother's house is where I would be lightly slapped in the face by true elegance and sophistication. Two troglodytes in love and smug about it. Initially, as they held one another in a tight embrace (attached like a carbuncle on someone's ass), as they boarded the bus, I had difficultly making out which was male, and which was female. Upon further inspection, I determined the troll in the backwards, bedazzled NY Yankees cap was indeed a he and the the other one with its hair gelled down tightly on its forehead, over its thick eyebrows, and around its ears like a swim cap and rubbing its swelling (pregnant?) belly was a she. Duly noted. They sat tight against one another. She held on for dear life, seductively rubbing the sequins on his cap as she massaged the back of his head. She looked around the bus, whispered in his ear, he quickly scanned his closest surroundings and they both laughed. Are they making fun of people? What nerve!
Eyes, masked behind large dark shades as I sat in the back- (don't Rosa Parks me, it was crowded!)- I watched them. He fidgeted a lot in his seat, slouched, and also wore dark shades. She continued to rub, knead, and whisper while I struggled to hold my coffee down, when I noticed the young woman's face sitting directly across from them and two seats in front of me. I snapped out of my stupefaction and followed her disgusted gaze down towards the man's baggy jeans. They were sagging around his bottom. Now growing up and living in an urban area, I'm familiar with this fashion trend, most commonly associated with young teenaged boys, who have a love affair with showing off their underwear however, what I saw... what would assault these brown, almond shaped eyes were not the man's underwear... oh noooo! What I spied was the brown of his buttcheek. The fact that he was commando wasn't the most vile development, but the fact that his naked butt was making contact with the seat was! Marring an already germ filled communal vehicle even further, where someone else would sit shortly after his departure... with his butt juices.
Blog diary, I honestly don't know what else to say beyond this point, so I'll just end by saying I didn't think summer could get anymore gutterbutt. What did I do to deserve that?
That is all.

July 15, 2009

Summer Symphony...

Summer Time, and the living is easy. Fish are jumping... and the cotton is high...
Spit globs on cement, neck tattoos... Lazy, disgusting and lumbering pigeons, camel toe.
Muffin tops abound, bubbling over too tight waist bands, ... crazies unhinged, mumbling on the bus and whilst stomping down steamy city streets... menacing almost, but ignored nonetheless. The pungeant perfume of b.o. on stuffy public transportation wraps me in a tight embrace as I choke down the sick rising in my throat...
Ill fitting denim shorts digging into fat thunder thighs... as they ride, ride, riiide up betwixt and between sweaty delicates... thighs rubbing together like sticks at a camp fire... ahh Summer Time and the living is easy....
Toddlers screaming down the street as agitated mothers jerk them about, men walking down the street topless, as their carefully nourished beer F.U.P.A.'s jiggle shamelessly in the summer breeze... tees slung over their shoulders, prisoners just released from the penn trying to sell inspirational poems, begging for any monetary contribution... Fish are jumping, and the cotton is high...
Teenagers in sagging skinny jeans and fitted graphic tees, non-chalantly gliding by. Tweens cursing up a storm out of earshot of parents. Free and careless. ... Oh your daddy's rich, and your ma' is good lookin'... So hush little baby, don't you cry...
Vendors peddling fake haute couture, luxury purses, and perfume oils as the smell of fried foods and hot steamy garbage circulate and dance a slow Tango around the city's landscapes...
"How you doin's" from rubber necking dudes you've no interest in....
Jazz festivals, ice cream trucks, Italian ice, and mosquitoes.
Summer in the city has defintely arrived folks.
Lily Allen said it best in this vid... That is all.

May 02, 2009

Casual Encounter

I love these random, casual encounters I come up against. Now, my friend says that I'm a"maneater" and a "temptress," who has left a trail of broken men leading from my door, but her opinion is born out of bitterness because she can no longer eat delicious cupcakes and cream sauces and I can. So her opinion is pretty much moot at this point and time and nothing can be further from the truth, but I digress.
I always find myself in the midst of foolishness. Whether it be a strange man wanting to take photos of my shoes to another insisting on removing his prosthetic foot at a trendy wine bar... I am a magnet when it comes to the bizarre.
This Friday was no exception. While leaving a diner, clutching a tasty pepperoni grinder, with peppers, lettuce, tomatoes, black olives, cheese, and mustard (former vegetarianism be damned)- a Mailman stepped back out of the way to let me pass (the aisle is narrow and my hips span across many nations and universes) however, I didn't think I needed that much space... but I thanked him anyway for letting me through.
"That's okay. I wanted to see how you looked anyway."
he said smugly. Both amused and annoyed, I hurried past and across the street back to work. Amazing. I am back on meat (for the past 3 years now) and am also a PIECE of meat to be appraised, judged, poked, and prodded. What clownery! Here's a thought... Instead of sidewalks and aisles, why not just make the landscape one, long catwalk for women to walk down... just to make things more convenient for you all? What a novel idea! (insert side-eye here). Men-beasts... you never cease to amaze this simple woman. The grinder was tasty by the way.

April 22, 2009

I'm Thirsty...

... and I've been strongly advised to boil the tap water before I drink it. Well, I did and it isn't cold yet!
And to think of all of the hundreds of times I joked to my bottled water guzzling friends, "What's the point? We live in America. The water is fine!"
Now, they say that rotifers and copepods aren't harmful, but I'm not willing to risk the risk... so I'll stick to this here gin... until my boiled water cools down.

December 06, 2008

Gene's Coffee

Overheard Friday morning, while I was standing in line at Dunkin Donuts for breakfast and coffee...
Random, middle-aged White woman (standing in front of me, in line, talking to an older white man standing next to her): Gene asked me to get his coffee for him, I forgot to ask him how he takes it.
Random woman yells across at someone standing a few feet away, to my left.
Random woman: I am picking up a coffee for Gene! I forgot to ask him how he takes it! Do you know how he drinks his coffee?!
Man's voice yells: He takes it just like he takes his women! Black! The woman grows silent, and faces forward.
I smirked and frowned at the same time. I refused to turn to see where it came from, however. I felt like me snapping my head to the left was almost expected. I didn't feed into it.

June 26, 2008

Intellectualizms

I'm no prude. My mouth and mind emit and harbor some rather colorful and randy thoughts and commentary. That aside, every now and again I will meet the acquaintance of a phrase or piece of slang that'll make me either giggle with glee, shrug my shoulders indifferently, or roll my eyes, perplexed by its sheer stupidity. Yesterday was no exception, for I recently discovered the term "No Homo." Which has been in use for some time, apparently. Ridiculous and awkward sounding... its meaning is even more nonsensical. Urbandictionary.com basically defines No Homo! as a phrase one shouts out after having inadvertently said something, well, 'gay'. Anonymous contributors offer up a wide array of witty examples (and I'm copying and pasting them verbatim. Grammatic errors and misspellings intact) such as: Hay man, pass the nuts. No homo and I cornered him in my room and nailed him with a board. No homo. Or my personal favorite: 'yo homie, i just spent five hours talking with my man on the phone, no homo'
Apparently, yelling out "NO HOMO" after having made an ambiguously homosexy sounding comment, is supposed to cancel out a heterosexual man's femme side or make him seem even more virile. How butch. Non? I opine that it's just another way for some chauvinist, insecure fuckknob- (conflicted over his own sexuality)- to unnecessarily assert his manhood, because he may perhaps (I'm just speculating) harbor some deep, dark, sexy fantasies involving Leather Bear Daddies, lithe... sinewy Twinks, and silicone butt plugs.
What better way for a man to feel like a MAN than to indulge in a daily dose of homophobia? It's simply not enough to hoot and holler in a strip club or pour Cristal and money all over a hooker, for that's just a whetting of the MAN'S appetite for destruction. I'd be willing to wager that this term is born out of the RAP (notice I said RAP and not Hip Hop) culture of posturing, dick swinging, and champagne dreams and delusions of making it rain on some ho's. Just saying... NO HOMO!

January 26, 2008

Personal Space Invasion Syndrome (PSIS)

I've been documenting the crazy on here since about 2004. I think regular readers (assuming people have been following this blog for that long)- probably are hip to the fact that I am a self-described neurotic with a smattering of germaphobia and a dollop of obssessive behavior (i.e. where I place items in my personal space matters, as I insist things be placed a certain way, and that they're neat and organized). And while this much I know is in fact true, my quirkiness has not prompted any need for prescriptions used to combat any anxiety or psychotic episodes. In summation, I'm a relatively normal person- (considering the levels of actual weirdness festering out there)- who is slightly askew. I pump a celebratory fist at my eccentricities and don't plan on changing any time soon. No one's infallible. And for those acting like they are... you all need to cut it out. The prologue aside, if there's one thing I cannot stand, it is when people (particularly those not close with or familiar to me) invade and tamper with my personal space and belongings without my permission. Close talkers (if I back up a couple of inches... please don't move forward to close the already small gap)- If you don't come in a wine glass, we aren't about to kiss, or about to engage in relations... there's no need for anybody to be 2 inches away from my mouth, beyond the standard (6 to 8 sq ft), conversational closeness. I think violating someone's space; adjusting and taking other people's things without asking is rude, discourteous, and disrespectful... particularly if you're the type of person who resents having your things tampered with and especially if it's within the context of a communal (i.e. work) environment, where the majority of the space is already shared, to begin with. It's almost as if certain people feel as if they're entitled to behave this way, or they have the right to impose their tastes by strongly suggesting a person should rearrange things to look a particular way other than how they choose have it set up. I mean, you listen and humor people afflicted with PSIS by saying, "Oh okay, that sounds nice. But I think I'll just leave it like this" and they're adamant about trespassing, like an uninvited guest who insinuates him/herself into your home, rearranges the furniture, and uses your toothbrush! You can see their sweaty fingers and palms wiggling with the desire to touch your stuff. To rearrange, to fix and fuck everything up... making you ready to sling some pimp slaps. These people, who like to stand shoulder to shoulder, toe-to-toe... so close that you feel a little of their spittle spray your face during conversation. Making you shudder with disgust, also prompting you to tap your foot uncomfortably, to swallow hard, and blink furiously to keep from going nuts. People, listen, regardless of how crazy this rant may seem, this type of bahavior is definitely a spatial DON'T. I think we've gotten too comfortable in this current cult of personality. Manners are a thing of the past. We live in a culture that divulges TMI about bowel movements, itchy delicates, and explicit sexploits (some great to listen to, some not so sexy), where people will grope, expose themselves or rub up against strangers, and where people think it's okay to invade... to bully their way into someone else's orbit, scattering forces messing up the alignment of your small planets. All it does is create tension, anger, and more neuroses to grapple with. How difficult is it to be respectful of other people's space and property? It's not. Some concepts are fundamental and implicit. So back the hell up and keep hulking figure and hands off of other people's sphere, unless invited. That's it.

December 01, 2007

Please Standby

I'm packing and getting ready to make a move... Restructuring and getting back on track is an overwhelming feat. Packing however, sucks more than anything that has ever sucked. I got rid of some shoes and still have too many pairs to contend with, so for the time being, they're all strewn in the middle of my floor. I've just been stepping over them. Which is a pain in the middle of the night when trying to feel my way in the dark, to the bathroom. Hopefully the very near future will bring welcome changes, a bigger apartment, and new opportunities, which I'll tackle with gusto! In the meantime, I've been killing myself packing and pondering what comes with, what's beat and needs to be trashed, and what goes into storage. I've also been looking into getting a post office box... which would make accepting gifts (hint-hint) a lot easier from kind readers. In any event, perhaps if I stop taking Bacaradi rum breaks, I could accomplish this feat quicker. Anyway, also enjoy this cool picture I took while riding down the street in West Hartford, CT. New England is a beaut, during the fall.

November 10, 2007

The Disintegration of Sexy Times

I've always been indifferent toward porn. It has never prompted any deep desire in me, during my precocious pre and late teen years to watch out of curiosity, amid all the salacious buzz. Sneaking a peek at the erotica on Cinemax after 11pm, finding and then reading Jackie Collins's titillating plots, Erica Jong's Fear of Flying, and the illustrated educative wonderment of The Joy of Sex was it for me. I didn't watch hardcore porn until I was in college... with my best friend. We watched out of sheer boredom. We walked down to the town's local video store and picked something from the late seventies/early eighties, much to the cashier's amusement. It featured an interracial raunch fest. Basic man on woman boning. Nothing too shocking or sexy and void of anything particularly depraved and disgusting. The usual cheesy fare, in fact. Neither of us found the antics sexy or arousing. We laughed raucously and critiqued the clownery of it all. Pure comedy. We decided perhaps we were too intellectual and snotty to get it. Other then a porn clip online here and a legitimate art house flick there- (most recently the movie Short Bus, which featured unsimulated sex)- it hasn't interested or enticed me since. Despite the rash of filmed celebrity sexploits being "leaked" online. Over the years... after having watched and read a great deal of "behind the scenes" documentary style films and books, I've came to the conclusion that porn is not erotic, is silly, quite frankly, ridiculous. Most of the pornographic material being released is filmed and produced by men. Men and their distorted visions of how women should look, what ridiculous sexual positions we should be bent in, and how we should act. Despite rumblings to the contrary, I doubt any of the women acting in these films have any actual orgasms. Hair flinging, head whipping, and high pitched 'O' and fuck yeaaah sounds, I'm sorry but the orgasm is fake. All in all, it's harmless fun for the lonely, lecherous, and in some cases... the socially inept. I've never been one of the protesters screaming for the industry to be banned. That being said, a lot has changed with the porn industry. The ever increasing advances in technology, the internet, video cameras, webcams, and the like have made porn more accessible and more achievable for aspiring porn mongers. Any amateur can film their sexual exploits and upload them onto Xtube or Pornotube with relative ease. In turn, the industry has become a virtual free for all. College fraternity houses host parties where group sex and orgies abound, while their peers (men and women spectators) stand off to the side, cheering the guerrilla fuckfests... clutching beers, fists pumping in the air. All in front of the camera and easy to view over the internet. These "gonzo" type films have raised the stakes... and the stakes have become even more disturbing and depraved in their delivery. The acts women subject themselves too is enough to make the most hardened, difficult to offend person cringe. And it takes a lot to make me want to gag and then vomit in my mouth or turn away with disgust. Some of it is downright perplexing. Such as the compelling documentary Sex: The Annabel Chong Story, which documents- Grace Quek's (Annabel is her porn name)- rise, exploitation, and eventual retirement from the porn industry. Annabel allegedly pioneered the whole "gang bang" trend in the industry. Nothing was too graphic or hardcore for Annabel. She performed a diverse array of hardcore sex acts, including "triple penetration." Annabel's motives for starring in The World's Biggest Gangbang were troubling as the documentary delved into her past. Needless to say, this current wave of pornography breeds misogyny and encourages violence toward women. Spat on, slapped, pissed and defecated on, penetrated and fisted in every orifice by several different men at once... It's sickening. And it's distressing. Particularly the gonzo films featuring Black, Brazilian, and Latino women. Men take trips to urban areas (usually scouting in a van of some sort) in search of "Black ghetto sluts" willing to oil up, shake, and then spread their cheeks in a seedy looking hotel room, on film. The perpetuation of sexual stereotypes frustrate the hell out of me. Two steps lower and more debased than the garbage shown in rap videos. And those in and of themselves are bad. I'm open and believe in people having the right to engage in whatever consensual sexual act they desire... but some of this stuff is troubling, notwithstanding my liberal stance. And it's not behind closed door. I think challenging what's wrong with the porn industry as it depicts itself today, does not a prude or anti-sex type make. I do believe there's something wrong with people who don't challenge this sort of behavior, the women who willingly subject themselves to this sort of humiliation, and the men who encourage them to do it or who are sitting at home with their hand down their boxers watching it and then thinking it's okay to go out and mistreat women, outside the realm of that business. In fact, I'll go as far as to say that the behavior in these gritty porn movies- the degradation, the abuse, the spitting, skull f*cking, quadruple penetration, crude talk, choking etc. are anti-sex. Here's a small snippet from Robert Jensen's book, Getting Off:

It hurts to know that no matter who you are as a woman you can be reduced to a thing to be penetrated, and that men will buy movies about that, and that in many of those movies your humiliation will be the central theme. It hurts to know that so much of the pornography that men are buying fuses sexual desire with cruelty.

It hurts women, and men like it, and it hurts just to know that.

Donkey punched, penises rammed down their throats until they puke, heads dunked in toilet bowls while they're being reamed from behind, faces saturated with semen and pee, wanting to jizz on a woman's face... Is this the type of sexual interaction men are craving to have with women?? Do you all secretly fantasize about making some woman vomit, while you force your penis down her throat? If so perhaps I should get my delicates stitched closed and look into becoming a nun.
Read a more substantial excerpt from Jensen's book here.
Also read this Money Shot entry, from October 29 blogged by Girl with a One Track Mind.

October 25, 2007

Sucio!

Dear Man Standing At the Computer Across from Me at the Public Library,
Please stop looking up and glaring in my direction. Just because I'm not making eye contact with you doesn't mean I don't see you out of my peripheral view. It's making me uncomfortable. I came to the library to return some DVDs and to check my email, but really... when you sneak lascivious glances at people, at women... it makes them feel uncomfortable. It's bad enough these teenagers are hovering like a pack of hungry hyenas, waiting to jump on a computer to check their Facebook and Myspace pages... but really... this is ridiculous. Also, stop shaking the effing table when you lean forward and more importantly, stop aiming your juicy, phlegmy coughs in my direction sans covering your mouth! Considering you're facing me, those particular germs are making their make toward me, laughing maniacally as they shower me in a curtain of bacteria and sickness. I can hear them giggling over the prospect of inhabiting a fresh new host, every time you hack and cough with reckless abadnon! I cannot afford to get sick. It's uncomfortable, I hate it, and I can't focus when I'm congested with mucus.
Thank you and bises
Coffey