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Monday, February 28, 2005
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A QUIET, PEACEFUL LIFE: A PORTRAIT IN 24 HOURS
I was strongly tempted to go to the Toronto Blogger Bash on Friday night. After all, I was working just around the corner and could have been there early enough to enjoy a lovely beverage and meet the great Damian Penny. An enjoyable time was probably had by all.
But not me.
As much as I was looking forward to the evening, I suddenly remembered that my reputation as a desperate pervert tends to precede me. For this reason, decent people avoid my company - particularly in public. Wiser heads know that any public association with the likes of me cannot serve them well when the End Times come. If there is any truth in the Book of Revelation, and there is to be a Rapture, linking your life to mine could well jeopardize your chances of Eternal Salvation.
Besides, several of the attendees at that night's function are Learned Members of the Bar. I have suffered more humiliations in the last two years than any one man should be forced to endure. Being shunned by lawyers is simply too much to ask. Bob Dylan once wrote that, "To be an Outlaw, you must be honest." I think we all know which side of the fence this puts the lawyers on, don't we?
There are those who engage in Perversion and Obscenity for professional reasons, and those that do so for the simple joy it brings. Lawyers embody the former and I, the latter. I'm not saying that lawyers are soulless beasts, but.....Actually, I am saying that. Never mind.
I probably wouldn't have been particularly good company, in any event. I had spent the entire day surrounded by a bevy of attractive women, including the blonde with the lips and tits that I wrote about last week. After spending 9 hours in the company of beauty, I was nearly incandescent with lust. A very select number of you have seen me in such a state, and I wouldn't recommend it to the faint of heart. There are only so many women with the fortitude to see such a thing. Mostly these are the survivors of Great Wars and Tsubamis and the like.
If there is anything that I have in common with former president Jimmy Carter, it is that we both know what it is to have Lust in our hearts. But I would imagine that our lusts are very different, as President Carter is a repressed Georgia Baptist and I am a libertine Canadian. Carter would have sought out a Confessor that night, while my head was swimming in the many ways I could unleash my degenerate carnal desires. I knew that the only way I could find any Peace was in a tireless - almost martial - regimen of cheap wine, cheaper painkillers and relentless masturbation. As you can imagine, these are decidedly solitary pursuits. Unlike Jimmy Carter, who would build someone a house when such a mood strikes, when I feel the Lust burning, I do something about it.
Some of you have been on the receiving end of my demented sexual desire and I'm sure that it's an experience you'd rather forget. It's a process of licking, biting and fucking that could last for many hours if not days. Acts that could have resulted in stiff prison sentences just two years ago are likely to occur. Some people think of "unnatural sex acts" as a negative thing. I, however, firmly believe that this when the sex starts to get interesting.
That I can sexually exhaust any three women in one night is no source of Pride or Honor to me. Rather, it is a badge of great shame. Were I a better man, I'd feel better about it. But combining my powerful libido with the car accident that is my face and my War Criminal soul is something of a cruel joke. Verily, I am cursed!
No, being in a public place with strangers that good eve was the last thing I should've done. That weak inner voice of reason has saved me from more degradation than I could ever share with you in this forum. I cherish it.
However, my disposition was to get worse the very next day. Much, much worse.
I was working in a Major Metropolitan Mall and things were quiet, unnervingly so. My labor made me weary and I needed the respite that only nicotine can provide a man like me. As in much of the civilized world, cigarette smokers in Toronto are treated like the worst kind of rapists and thieves and are forced to huddle outside in a ofacularly offensive mass. In such circumstances, I try to conduct myself as the Gentleman that has made my Worldwide audience proud.
But I needn't tell you that these are trying times for us all.
As I inhaled my sweet, sweet tobacco and felt the relaxing tonic of nicotine flow through my veins, I noticed a group of youngsters, two males and two females. They were perhaps 18-20 years of age. In my business, such a grouping makes a Professional like me suspicious. Such gatherings are almost certain to result in terrible criminal conspiracies. I inspected them all so that I could later give an adequate description to the proper authorities when the time came.
The males were nondescript. There was nothing outstanding about either of them, other than they looked as though they had just begun the beautiful vice that is smoking. Ordinarily, I would find comfort in this, but my mood was dark and I was instead disgusted. Besides, both of them had the aspiring felon facial hair found on at least one member of every Boy Band on Earth. I wanted to see them castrated immediately.
The females were another story. The first was a brunette, perhaps 5'7 and 130 pounds. I know that I have said this in public before, but I should repeat that the only time a woman should weigh 130 pounds is if she's seventeen feet tall. On the other hand, she had obscenely large breasts that assuredly causes physical discomfort in everyone that she finds herself in a social setting with. Had it been 24 hours earlier, I would have invited her to the Blogger Bash, just to see the lawyers dry their sweaty palms at as discrete a distance from their crotches as they could manage in public.
But it was her friend that I found mesmerizing. She was blonde and wearing a parka - so common in February - that prevented me from properly evaluating her breasts. Her modesty was endearing to me. She had a beautiful face and an ass that I'm convinced that I'll still be muttering darkly about on my deathbed.
Yes, I was smitten.
As I enjoyed my cigarette, I watched the Young Men, they that will someday Lead Us All, hit on the girls. Poorly. If I wasn't so fascinated by the whole sorry spectacle, I would have walked over and vomited on their shoes. Even a maladjusted monster like me has a smoother rap. Watching these.... Boys made me ashamed to even own a penis, let alone ever having used it.
Then the whole spectacle spiraled into a descent of horror that I fear may have changed me Forever.
One of the sadly goateed mutants asked the ladies their ages. A Gentleman knows that this is a question best left until after the wedding vows are complete and divorce procedings are underway, so great is the risk of bodily injury. The mammothly mammaried one, shockingly, answered.
"We're fourteen", she said, almost spitefully.
They Boys raised their eyebrows in shock. Not five feet away, my eyes were rolling back in my head. I was gripped with Fear, and I knew that everything that I had previously believed about myself was tragically wrong.
As the girls provided student IDs to prove that they really were in the Ninth Grade, my vision grew blurry and and a sickly dizziness overtook me. Waves of Nausea and Contempt rolled through every muscle of my body. It was then that a Shocking Revelation hit me.
Yes, I still wanted to hammerfuck the blonde. Even though I know it is legal, I know that it is Shockingly Wrong. And it didn't matter. If I could have at that moment, I would have had her buttocks tattooed on my forehead. I know that some of you would condemn me for this, but you weren't there and you didn't see the majesty of her ass. For this, I forgive your impertinence.
I then felt a sharp pounding in my crotch and between my ears. I had never felt this before, and I grew wild-eyed with Fear. Several pedestrians walked clear of me. As the reverberations of one blow faded in my head, another would strike my Goodies. I feared a Stroke and a Spontaneous Orgasm simultaneously. It was a horrid feeling that I wouldn't recommend to the worst Terrorist.
My memory at that point comes and goes, but a few things stand out. I'm almost certain that I doubled over and fell to ground, cowering and convulsing as spittle soaked my cigarette. That which had previously been important to me above all else had now been destroyed by my lust. At long last, my craven libido would bring me nothing but ruin. I had expected it for years, but never thought it would be like this.
Everyone knows that the two most dangerous emotions in the human experience are Desperation and Lust. Either can drive an otherwise sensible person to murder and cannabilize his fellow citizens without provocation. Those bystanders that recognized those symptoms in me that day wisely gave me a wide bearth, yet staying within a safe enough distance to enjoy the show.
The War of Lust and Shame had finally begun and my personal Armageddon was closing in quickly. I knew how it would end. My testicles audibly rattled as my mouth opened in what must have been a howl that changed the lives of all that heard it. Soon there were would be an explosion of Love that would tear through the denim of my pants, soil everyone within 300 feet of me and sully my family name for generations to come.
I lay on the concrete, trembling and resigned to My Inevitable Fate. I hoped only that I would be killed in the process.
Just as suddenly, there was a moment of clarity. The Soccer Mom of one of the girls had mercifully pulled up to the curbside in an SUV to pick them up. They had ended the conversation with the boys. First the brunette and then the blonde entered the rear of the Monster Truck.
As the blonde was halfway in, one of the boys called out to her and she turned back to him.
"I don;t care if you're Fourteen," he declared contemptuosly. "You still have a really nice ass." And he smiled as he said it! Then the girls drove away, the boys returned to the mall and I rose slowly, knowing that the worst was over.
The shaking had stopped, my stomach and testicles settled and I was, once again, at Peace with the World. While I had thoughts, degenerate and depraved as they were, about a Girl Young Enough To Be My Daughter, I hadn't spoken them aloud. For the first time in what seemed like Eons, I knew that I wasn't the Worst Jackal in the immediate area.
I then stood, cleaned my overcoat off and went back to work, secure in the knowledge that I was still a Gentleman.
Other than that, the day was uneventful.
Editor's Note: The above is what happens when skippy falls too deeply into the writing style of Dr. Hunter S. Thompson, deceased. As an impartial observer, I can tell you what really happened. skippy saw the blonde and thought, "nice ass" to himself. Upon hearing her age, he snuffed out his cigarette and went back to work. In fact, for the first time in nearly two years, he was glad to do so.
PermalinkLabels: Life With skippy
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