I am your Worst Nightmare


Verygood. It seems that underwear is on sale. It is truly I, in the virtual flesh. I write this, because it is long.

How to catch old ladies…

Last time, I had just ended the affair with my nurse, DQ. Not enough oral, so DQ had to go back to the coma patients. That’s the easiest place to get dick when you’re not into things. Incredible, though. Phenomenal, really. The soapy sponge over my masculine form, it was yellow and sudsy. I liked it that way. I still have no idea why I was hospitalized, I only know that DQ kept me in a room for three months. True, I enjoyed my time, but the steak didn’t have enough juice to satisfy me for long. This leads me to last night on Tri-Met…
I had faked my death at least three times (that I can think of) before Mickey Rourke, the celebrity paid actor, climbed aboard. Sometimes people say, “We don’t have any damn paid actors working for us!”  Nobody that hires Mickey Rourke can say that. Dah! You can get that in a jar, at the store, but you won’t find any of it around here. So when MR climbed onto the bus, I started counting backwards from 1,000,000. One plus a million… Translation is never perfect. ONE MILLION!
The English language… Translating between virtual and real… When MR climbed aboard, I was chatting with a lovely older woman, named Olivia Newton Oliver Jones. She was not from Australia, but she made me feel something. She had a rather small vocabulary for her age, but the sex was great. It gave me new clarity. “A good pounding” also works great.
Nine years it had been since I’d last seen a celebrity from outside of Portland, yet there is only so much I can say in one sitting. You can’t coax the cotton out of fabric. I can only still describe some of the details. He had chicken-flavored breath, and my nose knew the terrain quickly. I only wish that I’d of had a shovel with me. Even just a wooden handle. I would have fucked up Mickey Rourke with a handle. I would have gotten salty and sweaty. A ring of gravy under the pits. Bring on some onion rings.
I wish that I’d of had a shovel, because then I would know if all those things about ONOJ, the old non-Australian lady, were true or false.

What’s the best thing about old ladies?

They might make you cookies, and replies are donated to charity.

How to catch old ladies?

Carry a big stick.

2 Responses to “I am your Worst Nightmare”

  1. jmaas said:

    Are any of you fucking idiots ever going to write about art?

  2. robot said:

    look who’s talking!

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