My epic weekend has been followed by long days of work. Well, so far just two days. I’m not toiling away in a sweltering cotton field, but you know how it is. Aren’t we all more fabulous while not at work?
So…the writing feels a bit like a homemade airplane, sputtering and failing to reach great heights. Mostly it sort of hovers over the runway with the same kind of awkward rigidity of a teenaged boy getting a girl’s bra off for the first time. Fumbling like fuck.
But fear not bitches, it can only get better from here.
Can I call you “bitches”? Are we friends like that? I don’t know. YouTube recommended Curtis Mayfield’s soundtrack to the film”Super Fly” to me, which I feel is the website’s way of saying “I respect the hell out of your taste, here’s something groovy for you while you don’t write your blog”.
Funnily enough, I also have a plan to “stick it to the man”, so that’s just another thing that Super Fly and I have in common. Otherwise it’s nothing but guns, drugs and hos. Or is it ho’s? Or hoes like in gardening? I can’t remember I missed that day of Pimp School. I also missed the course of pimp ultimatums, when Fat Freddie doesn’t have his money, up and coming drug kingpin Priest warns him that either he is going to get his money by robbing someone or he will put his wife out on “whore’s row”. Now that is one hell of a threat.. in fact, it’s kind of a lose/lose situation. I bet Fat Freddie never thought, “Could I get a full time job and pay you back in weekly installments?” He’s like “Honey? You still got that dress you wore for Halloween last year?” Don’t worry, there’s a song on the album “Freddie’s Dead”, so you just know that someone popped a cap in his ass.
Am I saying that right? Pop a cap? Like am I actually shooting him in the butt, or is ass a general term? Are people still getting jiggy with it? Is that still a thing?
I’m not even going to lie to you, when I came here tonight, feeling like one major blah-ger, I was going to write about James Spader in Pretty in Pink.
Don’t you just want to knock that ashtray right off his knee into his smug face in the same way you’d like to sweep an arm across a cluttered desk to make out with him on top of it. “Pretty in Pink” James Spader confuses me.
It’s 8:30 at night, and this is not usually my style to post so late. I actually just received a phone call from my mother, demanding the whereabouts of said blog. “Mom–I’m writing about pimps, R&B concept albums, and I cannot figure out out to spell ‘ho’ –just back off!” And then I talked to her for twenty minutes while surfing the internet for pictures of various pimps and thugs…and young James Spader.
But that’s the beauty of blogging, sometimes you think you are going to write about Beyonce and Jay-Z’s “Bonnie and Clyde ’03″…
And you write about “The Shining” instead…
You think it’s scary when you read my edited thoughts, you should see what it looks like inside my head…
You better believe that’s not alphabetized.
The disorganization and time wasting is all part of my plan for sticking it to the man.