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Friday, September 16, 2005
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 DINNER IS SERVED
Seeing the picture posted to the right this evening has made this as good a time as any to explain my feelings about Jessica Alba. Those feelings are pretty simple really. Jessica Alba disproves the notion of a loving God.
This isn't just the voices in my head talking, either. This has nothing to at all with the deliriums tremens I suffer at the end of every work week. Oh, no. I firmly believe that Jessica Alba was sent to the earth for no other reason to destroy me. She exists only to further my self-loathing.
And destroy me she will. I know it, she knows it, and now all of you know it as well. Everything about Jesica Alba is a symbol of my personal self-destruction in a three dimensional form. It's a chilling experience when you get right down to it.
If there's one thing that my regular readers know about me, it's that I'm a wildly masochistic man. In fact, if any three of you combine your masochism, it probably only equals a fraction of mine. For some reason, I'm drawn to my own suffering. If I were really stupid, I'd spend my days cutting myself with razor blades. But as a creative sort, I tend to strike at myself through my two most vulnerable points; my heart and my penis.
Someday very soon, Jessica Alba will destroy both.
As you may have guessed, I'm a connisuer of women. I value them as great works of art. I can't think of anything that I don't like about broads. In fact, women make me - an otherwise reasnably intelligent man - a jabbering idiot.
I'll give you an example of how this works. Remember my writing about the last building I worked, the one with the 30% stripper population and my Personal Jesus? Well, there was a resident there with the most obvious breast augmentation work I think that I've ever seen in person. This was a tiny, tiny girl and her tits were so out of proportion with the rest of her body that they were just....fucking beautiful.
Well, on my last day in the building, my Barbie Girl came up to me with a question that should have taken three seconds to answer. What did I do? I went on for what seemed like 20 minutes, that's what! Why did I do it? Because I couldn't bear the idea of not sneaking repeated (yet discreet) peeks at those marvellous knockers for as long as I could.
Finally, I ran out of things to say and Barbie Girl walked away as I (again discretely) gazed at her magnificient ass. Then I turned to my female supervisor as she smiled at me. My supervisor was actually fighting with my company to keep me there, but everyone decided that I was far too important for that and I was need to yell at stupid people elsewhere.
My supervisor shook her head and said, "You are so good with people! I wish I could keep you here." I thanked her and asked if she noticed anything different about my delivery. She responded that I might have gone a little long. I asked her if she had any idea why I had gone on as long as I did. She didn't and was heartily amused when I told her that I couldn't bear the idea of not seeing those tits anymore and wanted to keep them in my peripheral vision for as long as I could.
My boss responded by telling me that she thought that Barbie Girl was either a stripper or a hooker because she had a someone over one night, a "very attractive black girl" and, in the lobby, they cuddled lasciviously before the friend left. I mentioned how likely it was that the visual impression of a "mocha swirl" was to send me to hell. Mostly, the coment was spontaneous so that my boss could avoid hearing the sounds of my heart breaking and my ejaculating in my pants at the same. time. I'm pretty good on my feet, you know.
But I'm not ashamed to admit that Barbie Girl turned me into a dribbling idiot, albeit, a discrete one.
 And I think it would be a safe bet that Jessica Alba's vomit would be more attractive than everything about Barbie Girl.
For the love of Christ, will you just look at that girl? She might actually be perfect. I can't imagine how you could possibly improve Jessica Alba. Actually that's not true, I can. But that would involve making this fake photo (NOT work safe) real and having her appear in public like that all the time.
I'm not sure that I can describe the appeal of Jessica Alba without sounding like a felonious pervert, so fuck it, I'll sound like a felonious pervert. Even though she's actually 24, she has the look of a 15 year old. A very, very naughty 15 year old. The kind of 15 year old that wants to learn to do very wrong things. The kind of 15 year old who rattled Kevin Spacey's very sanity in American Beauty.
I think that it's painful that Kevin Spacey won an Oscar for portraying something that would likely get me nominated for a sex offender registry. And the object of my affection is actually 24 years old! She just has this innocent little girl / nasty little whore look that right thinking men the world over fall in love with daily. So sue me.
If anything, her age is one of the most appealing things of all. I'm assuming that Jessica Alba dates men her own age. This works in the favour of people like me. Guys, if you happen to be under, say, 25, you haven't got a fucking clue how to fuck. And you sure as shit don't know how to eat a pussy properly. Give a woman sodium pentathol and ask her how good you are and I guarantee that you'll be calling a suicide prevention hotline in less than three minutes. Sorry, that's just the way it works.
 And that's why I'm in hell. If I had ten minutes between Jessica Alba's legs, she be spending the next thirteen months scraping wallpaper out of her fingernails. But I think we all know that this will never happen. On a hotness scale of one to ten, Jessica Alba and I are 622 points apart - meaning that she's a 619 and I'm a three. You'd do well to check my math, though, that isn't my strong suit. Christ, even when she tried to ugly herself up by going blonde, which is is usually highly effective (see Lohan, Lindsey), and she's still hotter than everyone else in the human race.
See, I have this theory that the hottest women alive are also the most sexually frustrated. It works kind of like this, hot people tend to pair up. Unfortunately, hot women misunderstand how hot guys think. I'll educate you. If your hot guy could score you, then he can score someone equally as hot. Accordingly, he doesn't HAVE to work so hard to impress you, because the next smoking piece of ass is just around the corner. In fact, such guys can't WAIT to get to the next one.
On the other hand, disfigurements of humanity like me will work our asses off - day and night - to keep hot girls as happy as we can for as long as we can. We KNOW what the alternative is, don't we, my brothers? Ladies, find the ugliest man you know (and my e-mail address is linked on the right) and I'll assure you that you'll soon forget where your clitoris ends and his tongue begins. Within hours, you'll be thinking that you breeched birthed and adut male. You'll just have to trust me on that.
You know, when I first saw the picture at the beginning at this post, all I could think was "Jesus, I'd like to eat Jessica Alba's ass for the rest of my life. But here I am, some 1,360 and 22 paragraphs later, and I still don't think I've expressed my love for Jessica Alba with any articulation.
This is either love or I'm the worst writer ever.
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