a sudden realization, told as an aggravating real-time first person narrative
or
"How I almost missed the SG Burlesque show in San Jose!"
So I almost had a heart attack when I realized it was July 21st, because I had burned that date into my brain and managed to forget why after a few weeks. There I was sitting at my computer at 2:00am staring blankly at my desktop (which is a thrilling depiction of the ultimate battle: Alien vs Predator vs Terminator vs Robocop vs Velociraptors vs Neo) when the cursor drifts over the clock revealing the date.
"July 21st? FUCK I missed something!"
Finally it dawns on me, and I breathe a sigh of relief when I realize that there's still time.
And so later on that day, after completing numerous errands, Itzamna and I get ourselves cleaned up and semi-presentable and head off to The Blank, which is yet another lame club in San Jose. Actually, after we arrived I found out that during the drive Itzamna was thinking "God I hope this place isn't just a big room with a concrete floor and a bunch of people standing around"; and, hilariously, that's exactly what the The Blank is! So Itzamna gets a drink and I apply my overpowering deductive reasoning skills to discern that there's going to be a band playing soon. So we wait, and wait, and wait and wait for something to happen, and nothing does. We wander outside, and I start to get this weird feeling. I can't figure out where it's coming from at first, but then as I look around at the people assembled outside it starts to become clearer. Finally it slams down on me full force when I see Reagan spit out a window and some guy with a skateboard lurch forward to catch the loogie in his hand and slurp it down. Yeah, go ahead and read that last sentence again, but no combination of words can really capture how truly pathetic it was.
But getting back to my point: I realized that I'm not really sleazy enough for this site. I've been a member for too long, and I haven't really harassed any females on here. Sure, my style is generally oriented more toward the bizarre, but it has become clear that SuicideGirls.com calls for a higher magnitude of creepyness on my part. And on top of that, now I have to make up for lost time.
I think the only solution is to start stalking a SuicideGirl. Maybe more than one.
But how to choose? There are 338 of them for christ's sake!
Well luckily I've got it all worked out: I've prepared a questionnaire that I'll distribute to the SGs at the SF Burlesque shows over the weekend, and post a copy here in my journal later so that any other SGs interested in this unique opportunity can apply. Or, for any SGs who may not be too keen on the "question and answer" kind of format, candidates will be allowed to submit a 500 word essay on why they think they are worthy of my stalking attentions.
The services I can provide range from leaving an endless string of obsequious journal comments to installing high tech surveillance equipment in your home, or following you on the street or invading your place of work to declare vociferously how "I CAN'T LIVE WITHOUT YOOOOOOOU!"; or, for the more masochistic SGs, we can arrange a scenario similar to that of "Misery" by Stephen King . I run the gamut here, people: it is YOU who shall determine your level of involvement!
Extra points for early entries.
And in the meantime, I'm going to practice that "lurk and stare vacantly/hungrily at the SGs" technique that seems to be so popular at these Burlesque shows....
oh, and behold the copious profile updates, born of sleep deprivation mainly. Gaze upon them and question your sanity.
-----------update 7/25--------------
After tonight's Burlesque show in SF I have decided that Sicily may be ineligible for my Stalkee position. Something tells me that stalking her could backfire. Severely.
Well, maybe I'll reconsider if her essay is REALLY good....
Oh, and huge, collosal, monolithic, towering, and utterly gi-normous props to Scott from Pilot to Gunner for adding Itzamna and I to their guestlist for this evening.
or
"How I almost missed the SG Burlesque show in San Jose!"
So I almost had a heart attack when I realized it was July 21st, because I had burned that date into my brain and managed to forget why after a few weeks. There I was sitting at my computer at 2:00am staring blankly at my desktop (which is a thrilling depiction of the ultimate battle: Alien vs Predator vs Terminator vs Robocop vs Velociraptors vs Neo) when the cursor drifts over the clock revealing the date.
"July 21st? FUCK I missed something!"
Finally it dawns on me, and I breathe a sigh of relief when I realize that there's still time.
And so later on that day, after completing numerous errands, Itzamna and I get ourselves cleaned up and semi-presentable and head off to The Blank, which is yet another lame club in San Jose. Actually, after we arrived I found out that during the drive Itzamna was thinking "God I hope this place isn't just a big room with a concrete floor and a bunch of people standing around"; and, hilariously, that's exactly what the The Blank is! So Itzamna gets a drink and I apply my overpowering deductive reasoning skills to discern that there's going to be a band playing soon. So we wait, and wait, and wait and wait for something to happen, and nothing does. We wander outside, and I start to get this weird feeling. I can't figure out where it's coming from at first, but then as I look around at the people assembled outside it starts to become clearer. Finally it slams down on me full force when I see Reagan spit out a window and some guy with a skateboard lurch forward to catch the loogie in his hand and slurp it down. Yeah, go ahead and read that last sentence again, but no combination of words can really capture how truly pathetic it was.
But getting back to my point: I realized that I'm not really sleazy enough for this site. I've been a member for too long, and I haven't really harassed any females on here. Sure, my style is generally oriented more toward the bizarre, but it has become clear that SuicideGirls.com calls for a higher magnitude of creepyness on my part. And on top of that, now I have to make up for lost time.
I think the only solution is to start stalking a SuicideGirl. Maybe more than one.
But how to choose? There are 338 of them for christ's sake!
Well luckily I've got it all worked out: I've prepared a questionnaire that I'll distribute to the SGs at the SF Burlesque shows over the weekend, and post a copy here in my journal later so that any other SGs interested in this unique opportunity can apply. Or, for any SGs who may not be too keen on the "question and answer" kind of format, candidates will be allowed to submit a 500 word essay on why they think they are worthy of my stalking attentions.
The services I can provide range from leaving an endless string of obsequious journal comments to installing high tech surveillance equipment in your home, or following you on the street or invading your place of work to declare vociferously how "I CAN'T LIVE WITHOUT YOOOOOOOU!"; or, for the more masochistic SGs, we can arrange a scenario similar to that of "Misery" by Stephen King . I run the gamut here, people: it is YOU who shall determine your level of involvement!
Extra points for early entries.
And in the meantime, I'm going to practice that "lurk and stare vacantly/hungrily at the SGs" technique that seems to be so popular at these Burlesque shows....
oh, and behold the copious profile updates, born of sleep deprivation mainly. Gaze upon them and question your sanity.
-----------update 7/25--------------
After tonight's Burlesque show in SF I have decided that Sicily may be ineligible for my Stalkee position. Something tells me that stalking her could backfire. Severely.
Well, maybe I'll reconsider if her essay is REALLY good....
Oh, and huge, collosal, monolithic, towering, and utterly gi-normous props to Scott from Pilot to Gunner for adding Itzamna and I to their guestlist for this evening.
VIEW 8 of 8 COMMENTS
xoxox