AHOY!

i haven't written in this bitch for a while, but my timesheet said i worked 73 hours this week so you can understand my lackadaisical attitude towards communication. one interesting thing that did happen to me: got a phone call from my dad and he tells me about the conversation he had with Reg about my blog. what you need to know is i don't even tell my dad when i've eaten a lot of bad carbs, much less doing bumbs of coke off a hooker's ass..... which i have also never done... why did you tell dad about my blog? what did you think was going to happen? my mom was even more curious- luckily my parents have as much computer skill as a monkey fucking a football, so i'm safe. (thanks E for the monkey/football analogy). i did, however, throw them a morsel or two from the archives. they were happy.
so in the honor of mom and dad, i will now write a dirty, dirty, dirty blog entry that they will never, ever read.

ahem.

i've been having a shit-ton of back problems in the last week, so i decided to download a power yoga video to try and torque the 'ol bastard back into alignment, but when i got home and opened up the file, i found it to be high-class pornography instead of yoga. not knowing whether to be disappointed or pleasantly surprised, i gave the movie it's due regard and, against my better judgment, watched on... i fancy myself a bit of a porn-scholar, like a connoisseur of fine wines; someone who knows the history and culture of his medium, a person who can classify and characterize each individual subject as part of an evolving artform... i immediately saw this particular movie as a rare species:

spanish pornography, like grocery-store romance novels, is entirely poetic but devoid of the kinks and fetishes associated with the cheap, san fernando vintage we have in the u.s., so i was not surprised to see the opening credits fade into some wholesome guy-girl outdoor sex. i yawned. the wonder of the internet has caused me to find this sort of thing un-impressive... but then it switched gears on me... a sultry narrator began to bring life and shape to the otherwise commonplace vision of a large, hairless man assfucking a tiny hairless woman. the voice was quoting neruda when the camera cut to a topless, midget woman leading a white horse ridden by a handcuffed man painted with dia de los muertos bones and wearing a gas-mask with pvc pipe connecting his mouth with the back of his neck like a freaky, S&M elephant. hmmmmmm, thought i... this is a bit unexpected. but i watched on, too mesmerized to do what any wicked monkey-boy such as myself would do while watching strangers bang like sewing machines in the european sun. i believe i ate popcorn instead. in a word, i was transfixed. the women in the movie were stunningly attractive, and free from the plastic enhancements you find in the american adult cinema; they were angelically gorgeous. the men, on the other hand, were each clad in a freakish combination of full-head masks with airway restrictions fashioned to the mouthpiece. it was sort of like the bar scene in star wars when luke and obi-wan hire han solo and chewie to rescue princess leia, and han says the millennium falcon can do the kessel run in under 12 parsecs...
but with fucking.
i was torn between arousal and terror, and that's not always a good combination... since then, i've had a sneaky paranoia that the strangers i pass on the street go home to their wives after work, throw on some dido, light some candles, pour a glass of wine, throw on a sand-people mask, close the blinds and share a beautiful moment together. that's ok, though. if you live in a big city, statistically you bump into at least 6 people every day who make their own amateur porn... think about that next time you ride the subway.
sweet dreams, kids.