As always the standard disclaimer (The Senator’s Claws) is in effect. Nothing written here is true other than what is true. If you find yourself thinking any of the following is written about you it would be advisable to reconsider the way you go about your days, and any other paranoia issues that may be corrupting you. The lone exception to this involves “Cold-Finger” Laken and her attributed quote, both of which I simply would not be able to create out of my head. Any attempt to correct the grammar that lies within will be met with the swift crack of a beer bottle to you’re skull the next time I see you. The use of the incorrect you’re as opposed to your in the preceding sentence was only a test.
Identifying and generally taken out of context lyrics or quotes that can be related to this story include:
“You gave it to me, but I really didn’t want it, I came out on top by the luck of the draw.” – Phish
In the final verse of “Tangled Up In Blue,” Bob Dylan sang “don’t know how it all got started, don’t know what they’re doing with their lives,” he was lucky. Sometimes you do know what’s going on in people’s lives, every last detail, twenty-four hours a day, like a doctor on call, only worse. This tale could start off with “it was the best of times, it was the worst of times,” but then an argument could be made that it’s been done before. Of course an argument could be made that everything has been done before. Well, almost everything.
Somewhere a pretty girl is walking down the street when she realizes she is being propositioned by a bunch of drunken men in Spanish – a completely worthless language kept in business only by its simplicity. Though she enjoys the power that is inseparable from extreme beauty it does get pressing to be constantly stared at and photographed. Fully aware of what they are saying and tired of hearing it the girl turns to them and says, “that sounds like a great idea, I do have nice legs and a nice ass. Why don’t we go back to my apartment and do it? Actually, fuck it, I can’t wait lets have sex right here…line up I’ll take you all on, one at a time. The ones not fucking me can record it and put it up on the Internet so all of your friends can see. Who wants to be first?” Instantly silenced the scummy men recoil and redistribute themselves to a friendlier street corner where they will bother other girls.
Somewhere a boy is sitting in a bar having a drink staring at a girl that he thinks might be staring back at him. He desperately wants to go up and say something to her, but wouldn’t know how to and wouldn’t be able to unless he had consumed several drinks at which point his conversation would not be truly reflective of who he was, or rather thought he was. He will continue staring hoping maybe she will come up and talk to him, knowing that the odds of this are low, but also aware that the dictionary meaning of the word ‘low’ is not the same as the dictionary meaning of the word ‘none.’
Somewhere Feather Began has just set a record for the fastest childbirth ever recorded. She simply walked in to a hospital spread her legs and a baby fell out. “I didn’t feel a thing,” she brags, “I guess all of my years of riding bedposts finally paid off!” A stunned doctor notes that the umbilical cord is the only thing that prevented the baby from getting its first taste of the ground. It will take thirty years and two hundred thousand miles of travel to find out exactly who the father is, a trucker named Tyrone that bedded her along I-295.
Somewhere Hamilton Leithauser is walking around, his hard-wiring and available cache overflowing with ideas that will eventually become songs that will make people happy – hopefully never once thinking that in Just World his songs would be making a lot more people happy. Currently he’s working on a song about “a trumpet and a trombone,” that again in Just World would be a big hit. Also in Just World, a slight tangent from the real world and generally only reachable via REM (the sleep, not the band that used to be great and now might be better off retiring even if they are friends with Radiohead), the guy always gets the girl, bad things only happen to bad people, and Perez Hilton has been ground up into the manure he should be shoveling instead of writing about. As it is, back in the real world Hamilton’s songs will spread the same amount of joy to a smaller amount of people thus making those people really, really happy, overflowing you might say.
Somewhere in Manhattan a girl is getting dressed to go out for a night with her girlfriends. She is debating whether she is showing too much cleavage, which much like prices tags in expensive shopping stores is generally a question that if it need be analyzed the answer is not the one the questioner is hoping to arrive at. The girl will also be aware that she has very little money to her name and that drinks are expensive and that there is an immediate correlation between the attention she will receive from men and how much cleavage she is showing. More importantly there is an inverse relationship between the amount of cleavage she shows and the amount of money she will spend for the evening.
Somewhere a high school girl has just received a text from a boy who fancies her asking if she would like to go on a date. While the girl is thrilled to receive such a text, she is unaware of the feeling of having a boy she likes ask her out in person…the fidgeting, the awkwardness, “if you’re not busy tonight and don’t have anything else to do…” She’s missing out on one of the greatest things about being a girl – watching boys fidget when asking them out. The boy for his part is also missing out on the wonderful feeling of seeing his potential paramour say that she would be delighted to go out with him, one of the happiest feeling a decent boy will ever know. The girl will eventually text back ‘y’ and later post something nice on the boy’s Facebook page for all to see. Somewhere else there will be another boy who also has or had feelings for the girl whose heart will drop when he sees her commenting on another boys page. It’s just the way things go these days. Incidentally, in Chicago, a grown adult, 36 years old, is busy superimposing pictures of himself alongside famous actresses, to give the appearance that he knows them. He has 365 facebook friends, a fake profile that provides Himself compliments, and no real plans for the entire weekend…
Somewhere along Canal Street a thoroughly decent guy is watching a shriveled in a way that he didn’t think was possible Asian woman walking towards him with her head entirely down to the ground. He knows that she can’t see him coming towards her and has decided not to bother getting out of the way figuring that in the event of a collision he will be the winner and teach her a good lesson, muttering as they bump into each other, “in America we walk with our fucking heads up, pretend you’re at a Las Vegas buffet!”
Somewhere a celebrity is celebrating his recent success by having a girl shove her hand up his ass. The only thing surprising about this is that the celebrity is not an investment banker, as they are the types who usually enjoy such pleasure.
Somewhere in the world Interpol is playing a concert as this is being written. It is sold out and all of the fans are having a great time. Meanwhile throughout parts of Brooklyn, and the Lower East Side, hundreds of bands are sitting around talking about how much better their band is, while they sit around a dingy apartment clicking on their own bands Myspace page hoping to gain enough hits to attract the attention of an unheard of record label. If given the opportunity any of them would fellate Paul Banks for the chance to play on a bill with his band.
Somewhere Cleve Yuck is talking on the phone to a perspective customer. “The Manhattan real estate market is the hottest it’s ever been! I can help you get a place but will obviously need the full fifteen percent broker’s fee for my work.” For the record his work will consist of walking his customer into an apartment. The total time of his work will be two minutes. Around the corner, in substantially less than Yuck’s two minutes, a very unlucky girl, will have sex for the first time and a few weeks later find out she is pregnant. Her life will become one big afternoon special.
Somewhere a well known business man tells his wife he is going to head out to an important business dinner. He says good night to his two children and heads out of his Park Avenue apartment. Walking out the door he brings up the name “Andy,” on his mobile which is code for Andrea and heads over to her apartment where he will have sex with her and then leave. A writer from a gossip page has been onto him for the past few weeks, something the well-known business man has become aware of. He didn’t get where he was in life being careless. The next morning the gossip writer will be fired without explanation. Sadly, nothing will happen to the businessman, though if he were a citizen of Just World,’ he would be castrated. Only an animal does such a thing to his family.
Somewhere in Manhattan a girl is curious what her boyfriend is up to. She has gone through his e-mails and Facebook and Twitter accounts and found nothing incriminating, though she does wonder who the fuck needs a Twitter account! Not satisfied she will call him every fifteen minutes until he returns home at which point she will lock him out of the apartment for not coming home sooner. Being locked out of the apartment should be considered getting off easy for the boyfriend. The last girl that so much as looked at the girl’s boyfriend was deported after having the police (on an anonymous tip) discover forty-seven grams of cocaine in her apartment. The girl wasn’t even a drug user and still has no idea how or why the drugs got there.
Somewhere a waiter has just spit on somebody’s food. The customer had sent back every plate they were served while being loud and showy. The offending gentleman had made it a point to show off his knowledge of food, repeatedly questioning the waitress – “now is that a lot of sage in the sauce?” “I have rolled it around my tongue and determined that it is indeed sage, tell me it’s sage.” The waiter wonders what he will place his saliva as. He also wonders what type of people would dine with such a cretin and will hopefully find out if they pay by credit cards when he will steal their information and do a little investigating on the Internet.
Somewhere a guy is too hungover to go to work and so he calls in sick. Somewhere else Morrissey, feeling a slight itch in his throat decides he too will call in sick. The difference between the two is that the latter will let down thousands of loyal fans that maybe take his Oscar-Wilde’s-spirit-to-music lyrics a little too closely. The fans will be crushed, but proving that fan is short for fanatic will quickly forget when the next tour dates are announced.
Somewhere David Schwimmer is enjoying drinks at a local bar. On this night a handful of models keep approaching him, which he likes, only they seem unable to separate him from his character on the show that made him famous referring to him only as Ross. They ask him things like, “are you still together with Rachel?” “I don’t see a wedding ring on your finger.” “How are Chandler and Monica doing in the suburbs?” “Can I get Phoebe’s phone number for my friend?” It’s only a show he wants to tell them, he was only an actor on the show. The real problem is that though many girls want to approach him, none of them want to ever go home with him because they would not want to be the girl that breaks up Ross and Rachel. It would be a slutty feeling.
Speaking of slutty feelings somewhere a girl is leaving a boy’s beautiful Tribeca loft feeling slightly guilty as she has just cheated on her boyfriend. She only did it because she thought he was cheating on her, which for the record he wasn’t, but how many times could he be “too busy with work?” The guy was a friend of a friend and she hopes it doesn’t get back to her boyfriend because nobody likes to get caught cheating and if she knew for sure that her boyfriend wasn’t cheating on her she would have never done what she had just done. In midtown Manhattan, the girl’s boyfriend is sitting in a tiny cubicle working to try for a promotion, not caring about the money for himself, but more for what he can use it for to make his girlfriend happy.
Somewhere a boy is having trouble sleeping as he is stuck trying to figure just how large the difference between a girl friend and a girlfriend is. The only thing he knows with certainty is that it is bigger than the space a standard or even non-standard keyboard provides.
Somewhere a copy of Infinite Jest is resting in a bookstore. That the book exists and isn’t continuously sold out only proves that there are a lot of idiots in the world. Interestingly, Painfully Awkward, written by an idiot of the highest order has been number one on Amazon and Barnes and Noble book lists since its release. Nobody can understand it.
A few blocks west of the bar some college students are sitting around listening to Bob Dylan all wondering how Dylan himself is able to live with the fact that he was who he was and he had done what he had done, instantly feeling that heir lives were lacking. Two blocks and thirty years from where the college students are having these ‘deep thoughts’ Dylan lived the part of his life that people like to talk about the most.
As the college students are discussing this one of them will go on a music blog and see a comment that has been written a thousand times by a thousand anonymous posters ‘The Strokes are a bunch of rich kids from NY. They ripped off The Velvet Underground and Television.” At the same time the individual members of The Strokes are relaxing in warm vacation spots with their beautiful wives and families happy for being able to experience what it was like to be one of the most (and rightfully so) hyped bands in the history of rock and roll. Someplace, somebody is remembering that night The Strokes played Milk Studios.
Somewhere deep underground, on a downtown six train a guy is busy trying to lower himself on his seat on the subway because he thinks he might get a look at the girl’s crotch sitting across from him. The girl has become aware of what the guy is trying to do and is now staring him down. The guy knowing he’s been caught immediately turns away and at the next stop, though it is nowhere near where he needs to go, will vacate the train. Two cars down on the subway a little guy is sandwiched between two fat women who look like their asses had a stick of dynamite explode in them. How could they get so big and why do they need to sit on the subway he wonders. To an outside observer It looks like human oreo cookie (regular not double stuffed). The MTA has provided grooves in the seat – it should be a rule that if you don’t fit in the groove you stand.
Somewhere, a very drunk “Cold Finger” Laken has just sent a string of vicious text messages, immediately deleting them when done, explaining to her friend “if I don’t remember it, it didn’t happen.” Quite possibly, no better combination of words has come out of a human mouth.
Not somewhere, but in the same bar as before the shy boy is still staring at the girl he wanted to talk to he has finally worked up the courage to do so. Hoping for the best he approaches the girl and introduces himself. The girl, in a bad mood, tells the boy to go into the bathroom and look really hard in the mirror, something the boy does. When he comes back the girl asks him if he saw anything in the mirror that would make him think that she would want to have anything to do with him. It will be five years before the boy approaches another strange girl and even then it will be with horror. What the boy never found out was that the girl was actually staring at a clock located behind where he was sitting because she was in the midst of being stood up for a date with a boy she really liked.
Somewhere a guy has just retired for the evening and decided to watch a little youporn, when he notices that he is on there posted under the comedy section. The clip shows a girl taking his hand and putting it on her breast and him passing out and foaming at the mouth. It had received a 5.0 rating and been viewed 1,590,999 times in the past week. Shamefully, he opts just to go to bed. Somewhere else minorities specifically Blacks, Asians, and Mexicans are wondering why when they are on youporn they are categorized as taboo. There are currently 12,590,000 (worldwide) people on youporn, which is a somewhat creepy way to be connected.
Somewhere two members of the Italian mafia are roaming around the Lower East Side looking for a guy a contract has been taken out on wondering why nobody had tipped them off that the neighborhood had really changed in the last decade or so, the last time they had been there. Operating under the normal protocol, requiring the button men to dress in a manner making them non-distinguishable from those around them the two have arrived covered in Hassidic attire, only to find drunken boys and girls in way-too-tight-to-be-comfortable jeans laughing at them. The leader of the Hassidic mafia duo wonders why the death order had been placed, as the grievance being lobbied against their target was bad, but nothing worthy of being erased from the map for. It was something that was probably going on in every bar in every city, in every country and really all over the world. It was what happened when a vivid imagination clashed with too many drinks and won(lost).
At the end of each of these stories being told, the teller will add three little words, as if they were necessary ‘don’t tell anyone.” And who could be told? Nobody would believe it anyway.
Posted by painfullyawkward 
Posted by painfullyawkward 
Posted by painfullyawkward 
