(Warning: there’s some potentially NSFW-type content below. You’re welcome.)
Hey there, readers. Haven’t written anything in a while, for which I apologize. Let’s blame it on the muses or personal problems or some bullshit.
You probably thought I just up and quit this project like everything else in my life, convincing myself that it wasn’t funny and that I didn’t deserve to be happy. If that’s the case, then you think just like the voices inside my head. I wonder if you, like the voices, are also the 2009 line-up of the Park View All-Stars. They’re relentless. Imagine hearing things like “That’s right, eat it all, fatty! No one loves you!” in the form of screaming eleven-year-olds and their coaches, and you’ll understand why I spend so much time crying in an empty bathtub.
At any rate, I’m back people, And I would like to share with you a few of my recent revelations about the Internet. Specifically, pictures of people on the Internet.
Did you know that now, thanks to the technological achievement that is the Internet, a person no longer has to go through the process of courtship and dating and fancy dinners to see people naked, but can just hop on the ol’ Web and touch yourself to your heart’s content? It’s a much safer venue for such activities than a Chuck E. Cheese’s. Don’t tell me you’ve never gotten turned on out of your mind playing a hot round of Skee Ball.
While the ease of access to literally billions of pictures, videos, gifs, etc. of hot people naked may seem like a government conspiracy to transform the population into desensitized, asexual shut-ins, clueless and careless of the outside world because they’re too busy desperately seeking something they can still masturbate too, thus making the rise of the autocratic police state an assured victory, it probably is. But really, who gives a shit when there’s free porn?
Now to my point. I myself was enjoying Al Gore’s magical gift, the Internet, perusing various photo blogs of ill repute, when I came across something that made my heart skip a beat, my brow sweat from the heat of passion, and made my fantasy about eating whip cream out of the top-left 10,000 point hole of a Skee Ball machine not sexy at all by comparison: photos of this person:
It was nearly enough to make me believe in God. I learned from a “Playboy Coed of the Week” blog post that she was named Alexandra, that she attends Middle Tennessee State University, and that she feels that “the human brain is the sexiest organ in the body.” That last factoid in particular was great news for me, being that my brain is basically the locus and sole repository of any redeeming qualities I have to offer. Can’t get ass-acne on your brain.
Now, believe it or not, at one point I found myself thinking, “It would be awesome to take this girl out. You know, to the movies or some shit.” This wasn’t my first or only thought, but it happened.
What was happening to me? This was the point when the Park View All-Stars decided to throw in there two cents: “Gerald, don’t you realize that this person is a regular subject of glamour shots and such, which are readily available via Internet access for which you aren’t even paying? You don’t have to meet her and swoon her. You don’t have to rub Proactiv on your ass.”
But you know what? I told those showboating Little League fucks to piss up a rope and decided that I wasn’t going to go in for the government’s plan to keep me hooked in to the Porn Matrix. I was going to figure out how I could find this Alexandra and see that movie, or at least how a person in a similar circumstance as I could achieve the same and transcend mere masturbation.
Now Tennessee is is like the secret Tenth Circle of Hell that Dante blocked out of his memory, so going their was out of the question. I figured that she is probably involved in some sort of California (where I live) based modelling agency. If I just killed her agent, she would come here for the funeral, and I’d see her there! But then I realized that this plan was starting to sound a lot like that psychology question to see if you think like a sociopath, and realized that my quest was probably best left uncompleted.
And plus, what the hell would I say to her on a date? What kind of meaningful, engaging, moistening conversation would I even be able to muster in such a scenario?
– “So. Do you like weed?”
– “I don’t like to abuse my body with drugs. I Like to go for natural highs, like the ones I get when I’m doing well in school, or when one of my shoots comes out really great.”
– “Oh. Well I smoke a lot of weed. What about cheese sticks?”
-“I try to stay health conscious in my dietary choices. It’s important for my health and my modelling career.”
– “Hm. Well Tennessee totally fucking sucks, doesn’t it?”
– “I think I’m going to leave now.”
In the end, what was I supposed to learn from all of this? Why did I bother telling you people about it?
I guess the gist of it would be that the Internet is a powerful tool. It does you credit, but it could be made to serve the Emperor. Keep perspective, don’t loose yourself in all the bright flashing lights they have around these days to entertain you.
And Alexandra: If you read this, I like 3D movies and lots of fucking concessions, so bring that Playboy money. And don’t worry, you can have some of the Raisinettes. I don’t even know why I got them, they suck.