June 25, 2004
I Lied
And, of course, Bush lied. Bush lies like a damned dog, I'm told in my special education classes. Lies to protect satanic interests, and Vice Presidents who tell Senators to Fuck Off, etc etc. Then they give me the little blue pill.
I did lie. I danced.
Not with anyone in my entourage. A big tall blonde biker girl, almost as tall as me. Enormous false breasts, all the better to overshadow the chunkroll she was sporting. I believe that is the extent of the biker chick aesthetic. If I get the 44 triple D's it doesn't matter how big my chunkroll is. She was not bad looking for a biker chick, though. Decent teeth. Gums weren't bad, either, as I rolled her lips back to inspect them before I danced with her. Just like my old Shetland pony Spooky. See, I'm thoroughly convinced one can catch periodontal disease from two feet away. I take no chances with my choppers.
I still would not have danced with her, but we were on the deck over the marina, the sky had broken for a slice of moon, and the band was playing my favorite romance song: Black Sabbath: Paranoid. Yes, verily, hard rock head banging. How could I refuse?
The Bride knows from long experience to stay away from me when this sort of thing comes upon me. Cheap vodka makes me both promiscuous and belligerent. A dangerous combination, but biker girl's date was flagellating himself in an air guitar orgy in the corner, anyhoo, and she had beckoned me to the sawboard decking that served as a dance floor.
One dance. These moments pass, and I am, while not forgiven, tolerated. Like a three-legged dog (which, coincidence upon coincidence, I believe I am).
Yes, I am always dragged kicking and screaming to these outings, and then dragged kicking and screaming away from them.
I missed my Intrepids, though.