I once had a one-night stand. She was ten years my senior with luscious lips. That's all I remember about her looks besides her breasts and ass. She had broken up with her boyfriend Cedric, who worked with her at Ocean Drive magazine. We were both wasted at a South Beach bar. A friend sitting at the booth behind us reached across my chest and told me to give up because I wasn't going to get any. She called me a white Supremacist and I told her she was right. We fell to the floor and broke some glasses, then walked three blocks down to her apartment. I remember struggling with a third condom as she went to the bathroom. I waited a long time before checking up and finding her passed out on the toilet. Her name was Capucine.
The following month I started freshman year of college. Ebony was in my Comparative Genocide class and we paired up for a dehumanization project. We decided to analyze a real-life current systematic killing of a people instead of imagining our own. Palestine, we argued, is seen as an invasive species. "A rodent problem," I specifically remember saying. She told me I reminded her of Hitler. "That moustache." We pinned ourselves against an entire classroom of Jews who were none-too-pleased. That's how we began to relate to one another. It was something I had done many times before. She invited me to a party in Cutler Ridge. Her friends assured me I'd be safe as soon as they met me. We drank fortified wine and Ebony placed her hand in my backpocket. I tongued her ear when no one required our attention. A fight broke out and a bicep was stabbed. The molly kicked in as lights flashed red and blue. She slept over my house many nights before she invited me over.
Parked on her driveway were matching black impala and monte carlo. Her share of the efficiency was towards the back. Her brother asked me where I purchased my shoes. She pointed to a door which led to her parents' bedroom, then showed me her room and told me her parents were out of town. I asked her if she was baby-sitting her baby brother. She laughed and said of course. I always laugh when people laugh at something I said, like I understand the joke I just made.
She made a dreadful pasta in jar sauce, a steamed
vegetable and a portion of meat. An American tradition. I’ve cooked up pasta
before, beef bolognese on lemon-pepper angel hair, smoked beef rib on a plate,
asparagus and mayonnaise, associated crystal hot sauce, the Italian works ground on a silver tin. I
swallowed ragu and opened another four loko. After some steady rope sex, I got up to go to the bathroom. I felt tempted and decided to peek into her parens' bedroom. It was a broom closet.
It reminds me of the time a friend invited me to dinner at her house and set a pot on fire. She asked me to hold her hands behind her back as I pushed against her. That night I learned something.
It reminds me of the time a friend invited me to dinner at her house and set a pot on fire. She asked me to hold her hands behind her back as I pushed against her. That night I learned something.
 | Dan Brat | |||||
| gay marriage tonight | ||||||
| It was weird, because I looked at pornography pretty frequently at this point. It was even a problem, so that I would spend an hour looking for the most disgusting pictures I could find. Maybe disgusting is not the word. For example, I liked a short video where an older man was fucking a girl in the ass while he put a Blow Pop inside her. Then he stopped and put it into her ass. Then he put it into her mouth, and he started to fuck her again. But somehow this conversation ... | ||||||
 | Vicari Valdez | |||||
| i feel like i've read that before. where is it from? | ||||||
| Dan Brat | |||||
| Amie Barrodale | ||||||
| William Wei | ||||||
| this is like the fifth time I reread this story | ||||||
| Vicari Valdez | |||||
| ah yeah! | ||||||
| great story | ||||||
| really good | ||||||
| i should give it a re-read as well | ||||||
| Dan Brat | |||||
| check out the stuff she posts on vice | ||||||
| I really want to learn from her style | ||||||
| Vicari Valdez | |||||
| i only read one about when she got married in las vegas | ||||||
| loved the comments section | ||||||
| was not moved by it immediately | ||||||
| but it was like a contemporary HST | ||||||
| in a way | ||||||
| Dan Brat | |||||
| HST? | ||||||
| Vicari Valdez | |||||
| hunter s thompson | ||||||
| in the sense that it's 1st person journalism | ||||||
| Dan Brat | |||||
| oh word | ||||||
| Vicari Valdez | |||||
| and it reflects the banality of our times | ||||||
| Dan Brat | |||||
| yuh | ||||||
| Vicari Valdez | |||||
| like she's not taking a bunch of drugs | ||||||
| she's not really doing anything at all | ||||||
| and it's even more narcissistic | ||||||
| like she was in town (i assume) to cover a porn convention | ||||||
| and she talks about sharing a hot tub with a pornstar | ||||||
| but doesn't bother to tell us (or remember?) the name | ||||||
| she kind of doesn't even really care about what's happening in the city above and beyond what she's doing | ||||||
| Dan Brat | ||||||
| We got take-out from a delivery service, and around eleven, her hair had fallen down, and her cheek was resting on her hand so the top of her head just touched my shoulder. I still have the shirt I was wearing at that time. It’s hanging in my closet. | ||||||
it's subtle
|
i hate this cold ironic angle that defines every fucking diff int article
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