Tuesday, October 14, 2008
the baby is from the movie 187 starring sam jackson
why it was in my room this weekend is beyond me. what was it supposed to symbolize?
life? death? phoniness of youth? yes yes and yes.
this girl calls me at all hours. i used to have a peaceful life.
i used to sit in bed and watch tv. before that i used to sit on the couch and watch tv with my lap top on the coffee table.
sometimes thered be a tap at the window. sometimes if they were college aged thered be at text message followed by a tap. but shes older so she just calls.
i say you cant booty call someone on a monday night.
she says its tuesday morning. i say i KNOW its a tuesday morning. thats even worse.
sometimes they whine, sometimes they even cry. how is crying sexy? why would you want a crying girl in your house? doesnt she know i have neighbors? doesnt she know i have a reputation to uphold.
my reputation is the perfect neighbor, the one you never hear. the one who could be dead in his house for a month for all you know but youd never know. except the plants are watered and the newspaper gets picked up each morning from the porch.
other than that youd never even know i exist. keeps to himself.
would never have suspected him.
but these girls need to be noticed. its like the world will end if someones not on top of them. the world is gonna end, i tell her. life is a cabaret, old chum.
today i dared ask her, if you were satisfied sexually, and if all eyes of the world were upon you, and after they told you how beautiful you are, then what, then what would you want to do in that moment? what would you have to say for yourself?
huge mistake, cuz this too made her cry. mistake cuz this time it really was my fault.
and this time i had to let her come over, cuz this time she saw that she really doesnt have much to offer humanity other than the magical ability to wear pretty much any article of clothing which no man can resist to try to take off of her.
a paradox in pumps.
a dilemma in a denim skirt.
a tap, then a pound on my screen door.
# | |
Previously on busblog...
|
