Just a quick precursor to this post: The above is the opening line of a rap that my friends and I wrote while driving around New York about ten or eleven years ago. It was based on the fact that my driving was really out of control. That was based on the fact that we were in a crappy van in Manhattan during the late afternoon, when everything is crazy. Also, I’m a bad driver. To this day, I think it’s one of the all time great opening lines that any of us have ever written. With all apologies to the Johnson and Bono families. Anyway, on to the post:
Every night when I lie in bed, attempting to sleep, I get these ideas for what I’m going to write in this thing the next day. It’s usually something that involves a bizarre dynamic or some sort of list or just some observation that I think is incredibly clever. But I’m in bed and I think ‘oh, that’s so good…I’ll just remember it.’ I never do. Consequently, in the morning, I’m stuck with no ideas, but the irritating knowledge that JUST beneath the bubbling surface of my conscious mind, something greater lurks. That’s why I’m going to get hypnotized. Or, maybe I’ll get a lobotomy. Or no, I mean trepanation. Trepanation is definitely what this I need. When I was particularly young I used to be in a ska band and we played with a band called Trepan Nation a bunch of times. Looking back, if they’d been as good as their name, they would have been unstoppable. Instead they were kind of uneven. Heh. What do I know? I was in a ska band.
Anyway, today is an exciting day. The baby and I will be going to the grocery store where we’re going to pick up some big tubs of ammonia and all the Sudafed in the place and then, after we throw a little homemade meth mix together, we’ll clean the house and I’ll work on various creative (ultimately doomed) projects until the baby’s mother gets home. THEN, once the lights go down in the city and the perverts come slinking out, I’m off to band practice, where I’m going to get as drunk as I possibly can and pass out, then wake up and try to go through the set we’re playing on Friday at Chicago’s House Of Blues. That’s right. I’m taking this practice shit seriously. I’m doing a dress rehearsal. Fully drunk, in my codpiece and assless chaps. I’m writing all the banter between songs this afternoon and I’m gonna practice it tonight. I’m thinking “this next song’s about getting your dick sucked” between every song. What do you guys think?
Nah…we don’t do that kind of shit. This is what I was talking about before. This is, if everything goes well, gonna be our last practice before the show, and we’re going to let the shit just kind of roar. We’re pros, after all. I mean fuck, I’m constantly entertaining the youth these days, what with the baby and all. He likes it when I get drunk and pee on the guy standing in front of him (that guy is usually me). The crowd at HOB will like it too. I’m positive.
So, I remember a friend of mine telling me once when he went to visit a college (which college, I can’t recall) back when he was just graduating highschool, that he got kind of drunk at some bar or party, I don’t remember the details, but whatever, this isn’t the good part, and this girl took him back to her place. They were getting all set to bone, and she asked if he was into kinky shit. He, being probably 18 at the time was like “um, yeah, of course…Anything at all is what I’m into!” and that’s when she broke out the knotted rope.
According to the lore, she spread out some sort of tarp, then she stuffed the rope (a smooth, sailor style nylon type rope, I believe, or at least that’s what I picture) up his ass, and then blew him and at the moment of truth, she yanked the rope out of his ass with a “Geronimo!” like zeal that apparently made (and I quote) ‘shit go everywhere’.
I don’t know why I’m reminded of this story right now. I remember that my buddy said it was incredible, but as I recall it now, I’m almost positive that this story is bullshit. What kind of eighteen year old kid is adventurous enough and confident enough to let a girl he doesn’t know stuff a rope full of knots up his ass? What kind of college girl has a ‘shit catching tarp’ in her house that she just pulls out every time someone wants the old ‘parachute pull’? Why was the rope already knotted? Is it washed and reused, or does she do that in the morning like prepwork at a resturaunt? OR did they just stop everything and cut a new length of rope off the big spool in her living room and knot it together right then? Kind of stops the momentum, huh? Yeah, it’s got to be bullshit, but man, when I was 18 or whatever, that story awakened in my mind the amazing possibilities of college and knot tying all in one brief tale.
My dog is licking my feet right now and it’s a nice change of pace from showering. Well, I suppose technically, it makes showering even more important, but you know what I mean. Ah, that little guy is awake. Time for a little tummy time and some peas. He, like his mother, hates peas, apparently. I don’t hate peas, and like any good parent, I’m hellbent on making sure he does something he hates just because of some vague notion about character or something. I only work one day this week. Thursday. Hah. Take that recession! I don’t need your stupid play money! I got rock and roll.
Okay, tummy time! Bye.