SUPERMILK: September 2002 Archives

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September 17, 2002

so tasha left me.

i always seem to have the greatest ideas about how to please a woman. and i'm always dead wrong. i think, really, the problem is that i'm a visionary. i'm just terribly brilliant. and being terribly brilliant (and innovative) means that you are often going to be misunderstood. it's the mark of genius.

like personally, i thought it was pretty original for me to want to introduce spare ribs into my sex life with tasha. i mean, sure anyone can think of using honey, whipped cream...or bananas. and who hasn't tried a few brussel sprouts???? come on, now! yeah, that's right! i know i'm not alone in that!!

but spare ribs. now that takes a creative mind. oh yeah. i know you can see it. that's right. those greasy, splintery shards of crisp pork. the slick little bones. the charred edges, the DUCK SAUCE for crying out loud. i was workin it.

ah, well. i was getting tired of her anyway. she did all this weird looking at you shit. you know? like...like lookin at you, an' shit. it was fucked, man. like...what are you looking at? you know? like, fucking freaky. so fuck that.

yeah, fuck that. i'm glad it hurts when she laughs too hard. it will keep her in check. damn. and i smothered those things in duck sauce. it shoulda been a cakewalk.

maybe i shouldn't have heated them up in the microwave first.

eh, anyway. enough of that. that shit's getting me down. i'm hungry.

SUPERMILK is an expert Squeezer of Lemon, Thumber of Nose, and Navigator of Moronity. His mark can be found on the Bedpan of Hammurabi, the forehead of Dagonet, and the office stationery of Jorge Bourgoise. Additionally, he approved this boatload of kielbasa for export at 7:31 PM| (0)

i'll just never understand girls.

blew it again. man. i just don't know what it is with chicks! what am i doing wrong? seriously, 'cause i'm doing everything perfect. and still. i can't get nowhere. i mean, hell. i don't even wanna have sex with them. personally, i find sex repulsive. all that grimy, stinking, screw-faced nonsense. jutting your hips out like some ape, writhing in fluids, squirming in your primal desperation, grunting, etc. i'd rather get stoned to death with bowling balls.

jesus christ. that sounds pretty harsh. i don't know if that's true. by bowling balls? okay. maybe i was exaggerating. but anyway, i think i just live on a different plane than girls. like....like you, know, i'm on my own plane. like they're on TWA, and i'm way over here, on Carnival. no...like they're on TWO, and i'm on American Airlines. yeah. or what's that one over in israel where they're all safe and shit from airplane terrorists? Ja-Lel? no, isn't that Superman's father? something like that. eh, anyway. what was i saying?

oh yeah. i'm in a world of my own and shit. or..oh yeah.

so anyway, after tasha left, you know, i was feeling pretty low. but there's this other girl that i've kind of been making eyes at for the longest time. we see each other at 2:15, right before my sculpture class. out in the the hall. anyway, her name is judy. yeah, kinda cool, right? reminds me of Punch and Judy, you know? yeah. i made a joke about it, but i don't think she got it. she just got some weird look on her face and said something hostile. i don't know. she's weird. fuck her.

but yeah, so here i was feeling bad, 'cause tasha just split. so i arrange this date with this girl, with Judy. yeah, i know, i'm skipping part, but that part is boring. hi, how are you, blah blah, flutter of eyes, shy smile, etc. the date was made.

and on the way home -- she notices this guy, and this guy is doing this little routine, with a radio and stuff. he's doing this dumbass little jive and bop pantomime about some guy going to work, and everything going wrong, and then, oh i don't know, something about the guy leaving and being happy, or something stupid, i don't know. it had a happy ending. i just wanted to go, she wanted to stand and gawk there. this guy had a head of blonde curls and this amazingly huge and vapid grin on his face the whole time. i found myself smiling along with him out of some insane physiological empathy. i immediately wanted to foul myself. and carve my guts out publicly.

so, anyway, later i'm thinking. you know? i've been developing this little routine, too. because i'm just like that. i perfect things. it's a sign of my higher nature.

okay, anyone can just wipe their ass and get off the toilet. but me, i've got a whole little number. i've got thirteen steps, and it's sort of a dance. it all just flows together. it begins with a twist, and a lick of the fingers before i grab the toilet paper (for grip), a tucking under of the arm, a quick, sharp tug of the paper, a mid-air transfer of the tissue, and so it goes. i'm really rather good at it. all the motions just flow into one, and i can just imagine a crowd oooohing at the majesty of such flawless art. i really think it could be a judgable thing. like those bartending competitions. there would be points awarded for originality, dexterity, speed, technique. oh, lord. i would bring home all the ribbons.

so, yeah, finally, the obviousness of it struck me! if i could just get Judy to somehow walk in on me in the act of this graceful maneuver, i could surely win her respect, too! just like the grinning idiot with the radio! i felt on top of the world. i was full of revelation and i loved everyone, for a rare fourteen minutes.

well, anyway. it wasn't as foolproof a plan as it sounds. i managed to call her into the bathroom just at the right moment, but the actual door swinging open completely threw me off balance; i panicked, licked my fingers in the wrong order....it was mayhem.

but still! you think that seeing how ambitious i was to win her affections would've sealed the deal!

oh, well. i guess she just wasn't the One.