here's how to gain some insight into what the world is like for the 'other half':
get your moleskine from out of your designer courier bag. actually while you're there take a moment to admire its construction and marvelous fashion. did you buy that? is that your little bag? little coochie-coo smoochy woochie yes it is! look at your cute li'l courier baggie yes you DID!
now clean yourself. then open the notebook - we will say it again for clarity's sake, it is a goddamn MOLESKINE, not just pieces of paper stuck together with leftover glue from last night's private 'party' - and on one page list all the sweet bitches you've been with. male, female, it doesn't matter. there was hardly any difference anyway, at the time. that time you drank tequila dripping from a leaky pipe in the ceiling - that was tequila, right? there was a worm in it anyhow. make notes now next to each entry in this list about things like: size, coloration, duration of copulatory exchanges, how much money and time and shame it cost each of you, and so forth. if it helps to jog your memory, draw little diagrams next to the ones that were particularly memorable or grotesque. how does the human body sustain itself when bent into such odd positions? is a penis really supposed to wrap three times around the human arm, like some kind of reticulated cock-python?
WHAT ZOO ON EARTH WOULD HARBOR A COCK-PYTHON?
here's how you learn from today's exercise, the part where we drive home the nature of this good terribly fashionable earth and its seriousness: leave the moleskine around, conveniently bookmarked on the copulation-partner-listing page, where your loved ones and current sex partners are guaranteed to find it. now hide behind the couch or a nearby clump of sagebrush. watch them! they are approaching. he or she looks so curious and well-meaning. this is why you fell in love in the first place. that is not the lesson.
the sweet bitch will open up the moleskine and find your latest entry: your funny-book drawings of the dirty sex acts, names of his or her best friends and coworkers with whom you've 'gotten slurpy' in the executive bathroom or terminal C at the airport, by the pretzel stand - oh you could go for a pretzel couldn't you? pervert.
look at that sweet bitch's face. see that expression? the pain, the confusion? do you see how aesthetically displeasing he/she finds your little cartoons and ideograms?
that awful feeling etched in furrowed brow, those crying eyes: there is a place called darfur, east of here - further east even than brooklyn - and living in darfur is, as near as we can tell, JUST LIKE THAT FEELING. like finding that moleskine and the sex pictures inside, with names named.
there, you see, asshole? you made that sweet bitch so sad just like in darfur.
and yet to get shit straight sometimes you need to be a little dangerous this way. never give up, america.
