2004-10-01 - 4:18 p.m.
You must figure that the world is never safe from me and all the other Dorothy Parker wannabes that exist. It's a sarcastic, intellectually stimulating place to live.
Apparently, ambiguous is the new thing to be. I can only clench my fists and exercise feminine wiles for so long without delirium setting in. Make it butch and make it right.
Motorcycles are good, but you have to wonder whether half the people wearing the gear actually ride. Razor scooters, perhaps. It's odd how there's automatic sexiness in a vehicle for disaster. Yeah, you're really hot when you crack your head open and have skid marks down your back. It makes me drool so. Question your motives. You want the really hot motorcycle guys to crash and burn? Quite the morbidity factor.
What about smokers? Not as attractive, but it reinforces the "living on the edge" thing, considering that they're engaging in prolonged suicide. Morbid? Hell yeah. Let's get that straight. Morbidity is in these days. It's practically a prerequisite to warrant attention. Sweet, nice, smart guys aren't going to whore all that. Have a tube of fake blood ready. It'll get you the girls.
Well, I'm one of those contributing to the delinquency and carcinogens. Blame me for all the tattooed freaks headed for death. Death and taxes, like Dorothy Parker, but the prose is nowhere near as beautiful.
Glare a little and have a caustic way with words. Being straight edge doesn't work when there are so many lit cigarettes all around, and you're trying not to scream for your asthma to revert.
What's with trucker hats? You're not a trucker, so leave it well enough alone. This also applies to cowboy hats, though I'm fairly (99.9%) sure that Brian McComas isn't a real cowboy. Neither is Keith Urban, but the dungarees and Crocodile Hunter aspect make him more believable.
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