I could take your money
But I'd rather have your candy
I could take your bullshit
But I'd rather have your licorice
I could try to get to know you
But I'd rather steal your gummy bears
I could dance around you
But I'd rather fleece your Reese pieces
I could fuck your brains out
But I'd rather have your mints
I could make you wait for it
But I'd rather share your M&M's
I could be your soulmate
But I'd rather try your pop rocks
I could sell you drugs
But instead I'll sell you sugar
I could stop the presses
But I'd like to see your twix
I could call you names
But I'd rather drink your Kool-aid
I could be your baby
But I'd rather have your candy
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Jesse and the Straight Guy
Jesse loves the straight guy
Which isn't healthy
And he knows
He knows it isn't healthy
He eats, sleeps, and breathes 'it isn't healthy'
It's become his mantra
The reminder that somehow
He let the one thing that can't happen happen
Has become what he tells himself
As if it will somehow make it go away
'It isn't healthy'
And yet it is solid
It is so solid
That the weight of it
Has turned into a couch in his living room
He can sit on it
And resent it
At the same time
His fantasies are progressed beyond sexual
And that's how he knows he's in trouble
When you are fantasizing about a straight guy
Going food shopping with you
You know you're in trouble
He finds himself snapping at girls
Any girl, no girl in particular
Because they can have the straight guy
And many of them don't have the straight guy
And he snaps at them despite the fact
That almost all of them don't even know the straight guy
'Paper or plastic?'
'You have no idea how amazing he is!'
It would sort of be like that
If people said 'Paper or plastic' anymore?
He dreads the idea of the straight guy marrying
The way some may dread the thought of death
Or having to process tax returns from two different states
Without any help from an accountant
He feels the love starting to slip away
And then the straight guy mentions going camping together
And he loves camping, and the straight guy loves camping
And what is 'gay' and 'straight' anyway
But labels that shouldn't be adhered to
And why can't he just--
Oh right, because if he were to talk the straight guy into a relationship
But one that did not include sex
They would pretty much have exactly what they have now
Which is, clearly, unsatisfactory
Still, he thinks about it
And he thinks about resting his head against the straight guy's shoulder
At some independent movie house
Where they would spend a Sunday afternoon
He thinks about the straight guy making him coffee in the morning
And the two of them reading the newspaper together
Trading sections and summarizing articles for each other
He thinks about the straight guy while he's alone in bed
Because somewhere the straight guy is alone is bed
And somehow it all just seems so...unnecessary
What in my brain, he thinks
What in my brain makes this happen?
What part of my brain is determined
To make me miserable?
What part of me pushes away reasonable happiness
In favor of elusive happiness?
Why am I doing this to myself?
Jesse and the straight guy go camping
And the straight guy teaches Jesse fishing methods
And fire-making methods
And bird calling methods
And Jesse is thrilled and morbidly depressed
The entire time
And then the straight guy takes him down to the lake
Where they watch a sun close its eyes
For the night
Jesse puts his hand down
And the straight guy puts his hand down
On Jesse's hand
And maybe it's intentional
And maybe it's not
And no, it doesn't mean that
But it does mean that the straight guy is aware
That in that moment
Jesse needs a hand on top of his
And they sit, the two of them
Watching the night arrive
With the understanding
That it will not stay for long
Which isn't healthy
And he knows
He knows it isn't healthy
He eats, sleeps, and breathes 'it isn't healthy'
It's become his mantra
The reminder that somehow
He let the one thing that can't happen happen
Has become what he tells himself
As if it will somehow make it go away
'It isn't healthy'
And yet it is solid
It is so solid
That the weight of it
Has turned into a couch in his living room
He can sit on it
And resent it
At the same time
His fantasies are progressed beyond sexual
And that's how he knows he's in trouble
When you are fantasizing about a straight guy
Going food shopping with you
You know you're in trouble
He finds himself snapping at girls
Any girl, no girl in particular
Because they can have the straight guy
And many of them don't have the straight guy
And he snaps at them despite the fact
That almost all of them don't even know the straight guy
'Paper or plastic?'
'You have no idea how amazing he is!'
It would sort of be like that
If people said 'Paper or plastic' anymore?
He dreads the idea of the straight guy marrying
The way some may dread the thought of death
Or having to process tax returns from two different states
Without any help from an accountant
He feels the love starting to slip away
And then the straight guy mentions going camping together
And he loves camping, and the straight guy loves camping
And what is 'gay' and 'straight' anyway
But labels that shouldn't be adhered to
And why can't he just--
Oh right, because if he were to talk the straight guy into a relationship
But one that did not include sex
They would pretty much have exactly what they have now
Which is, clearly, unsatisfactory
Still, he thinks about it
And he thinks about resting his head against the straight guy's shoulder
At some independent movie house
Where they would spend a Sunday afternoon
He thinks about the straight guy making him coffee in the morning
And the two of them reading the newspaper together
Trading sections and summarizing articles for each other
He thinks about the straight guy while he's alone in bed
Because somewhere the straight guy is alone is bed
And somehow it all just seems so...unnecessary
What in my brain, he thinks
What in my brain makes this happen?
What part of my brain is determined
To make me miserable?
What part of me pushes away reasonable happiness
In favor of elusive happiness?
Why am I doing this to myself?
Jesse and the straight guy go camping
And the straight guy teaches Jesse fishing methods
And fire-making methods
And bird calling methods
And Jesse is thrilled and morbidly depressed
The entire time
And then the straight guy takes him down to the lake
Where they watch a sun close its eyes
For the night
Jesse puts his hand down
And the straight guy puts his hand down
On Jesse's hand
And maybe it's intentional
And maybe it's not
And no, it doesn't mean that
But it does mean that the straight guy is aware
That in that moment
Jesse needs a hand on top of his
And they sit, the two of them
Watching the night arrive
With the understanding
That it will not stay for long
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Holly Golightly at Airport Security
Oh my dear man, I don't have the faintest idea what you're talking about
WHY can't I bring Cat along with me on the plane?
I simply couldn't put him in a carrier
He'd hate it
Besides, wouldn't it do the passengers good
To see a lovely cat
Roaming around the plane
Having a lovely time?
I dare say he has a better disposition than you do
You can't possibly be upset about the gun I was carrying
That was an antique given to me by a distinguished gentleman
In lieu of...well, we spent some time together
And he wanted to give me a present
He was a hunter you know
Wanted to give me a boar's head
But it looked so dreadful
And anyway, I wouldn't have anywhere to put it
I don't like guns
But the world isn't like it used to be
Why, a girl can't walk the deserted streets of the city
At six in the morning
Wearing a diamond necklace
Without worrying that someone's going to rob her
Oh, my dear man, I always carry knives around with me
Otherwise I might be served a steak that I'll be unable to eat
You wouldn't expect me to try cutting it up using a spoon, would you?
And I need various knives
Because I have no idea what sort of steak they're going to serve me
A big steak, a small steak, a tough steak, a fatty steak
So I need to be prepared!
The what?
Oh, that's not a real bomb
It's just a prop bomb
I worked on a movie for a few days
And when they wouldn't pay me
I took the bomb in protest
And I've had it with me ever since
Sir, I would hope that in your line of work
You could tell the difference
Between a fraudulent bomb
And the real thing!
If you just bring me the bomb, I can show you
When you hit the detonate button
It plays 'Moon River'
My dear man, do you plan on keeping me here much longer?
I have an appointment in Paris
That I absolutely cannot miss
Well, can I at least use the powder room?
Thank you, sir
I'll be right back
By the way, the powder room does have a fairly large window in it, I assume?
Wonderful
It's so nice to know some things never change
WHY can't I bring Cat along with me on the plane?
I simply couldn't put him in a carrier
He'd hate it
Besides, wouldn't it do the passengers good
To see a lovely cat
Roaming around the plane
Having a lovely time?
I dare say he has a better disposition than you do
You can't possibly be upset about the gun I was carrying
That was an antique given to me by a distinguished gentleman
In lieu of...well, we spent some time together
And he wanted to give me a present
He was a hunter you know
Wanted to give me a boar's head
But it looked so dreadful
And anyway, I wouldn't have anywhere to put it
I don't like guns
But the world isn't like it used to be
Why, a girl can't walk the deserted streets of the city
At six in the morning
Wearing a diamond necklace
Without worrying that someone's going to rob her
Oh, my dear man, I always carry knives around with me
Otherwise I might be served a steak that I'll be unable to eat
You wouldn't expect me to try cutting it up using a spoon, would you?
And I need various knives
Because I have no idea what sort of steak they're going to serve me
A big steak, a small steak, a tough steak, a fatty steak
So I need to be prepared!
The what?
Oh, that's not a real bomb
It's just a prop bomb
I worked on a movie for a few days
And when they wouldn't pay me
I took the bomb in protest
And I've had it with me ever since
Sir, I would hope that in your line of work
You could tell the difference
Between a fraudulent bomb
And the real thing!
If you just bring me the bomb, I can show you
When you hit the detonate button
It plays 'Moon River'
My dear man, do you plan on keeping me here much longer?
I have an appointment in Paris
That I absolutely cannot miss
Well, can I at least use the powder room?
Thank you, sir
I'll be right back
By the way, the powder room does have a fairly large window in it, I assume?
Wonderful
It's so nice to know some things never change
When We Were Nineteen
When we were nineteen
We made the right mistakes
Rather than the wrong mistakes
You make when it's too late to make them
We used to use bungee cords
To pull ourselves back
Into reality
We ballroom dance around each other
Mentioning each other's taboo topics
And wondering if we're pushing
The right buttons
This one is red
This one is rare
This one is too soon, too much
Too fast
And everyone's bright
And everyone's quick
And everyone's got their own ideas
When we were nineteen
We were so mean to each other
For absolutely no reason
And our skins could weather the storms
We'd break up our thoughts
And break up our minds
And break up each other every night
Just to keep our dreams intact
First we'd start a fight
Then we'd start to screw
And pretty soon we were screwing up
Everything
Nothing
Could break
Nothing
Could hurt
Nothing
Could make us change our minds
We were sixteen
We were thirty-three
We were a hundred
And twelve and nine
Santa was real
And bills weren't real
Reality tv wasn't real
And our parents weren't real
But music was real
And stray dogs were real
And jobs weren't real
But being broke was real
We used to go to the mall
And play tag with each other
We used to go roam the East Side
Like tourists in our own hometown
We used to hold hands just 'cause we were friends
And lay next to each other
And be there for each other
And not care about where
The next meal was coming from
When we were nineteen
We didn't know fatigue
We didn't know deceit
We didn't know enough to be cynical
And now we're not nineteen
We're all sorts of not nineteen
And when we dance we crash into ourselves
We like the finer things
That nineteen couldn't bring
And we look back we say
'I don't remember'
Why don't we remember
Why don't we remember nineteen?
We made the right mistakes
Rather than the wrong mistakes
You make when it's too late to make them
We used to use bungee cords
To pull ourselves back
Into reality
We ballroom dance around each other
Mentioning each other's taboo topics
And wondering if we're pushing
The right buttons
This one is red
This one is rare
This one is too soon, too much
Too fast
And everyone's bright
And everyone's quick
And everyone's got their own ideas
When we were nineteen
We were so mean to each other
For absolutely no reason
And our skins could weather the storms
We'd break up our thoughts
And break up our minds
And break up each other every night
Just to keep our dreams intact
First we'd start a fight
Then we'd start to screw
And pretty soon we were screwing up
Everything
Nothing
Could break
Nothing
Could hurt
Nothing
Could make us change our minds
We were sixteen
We were thirty-three
We were a hundred
And twelve and nine
Santa was real
And bills weren't real
Reality tv wasn't real
And our parents weren't real
But music was real
And stray dogs were real
And jobs weren't real
But being broke was real
We used to go to the mall
And play tag with each other
We used to go roam the East Side
Like tourists in our own hometown
We used to hold hands just 'cause we were friends
And lay next to each other
And be there for each other
And not care about where
The next meal was coming from
When we were nineteen
We didn't know fatigue
We didn't know deceit
We didn't know enough to be cynical
And now we're not nineteen
We're all sorts of not nineteen
And when we dance we crash into ourselves
We like the finer things
That nineteen couldn't bring
And we look back we say
'I don't remember'
Why don't we remember
Why don't we remember nineteen?
Friday, February 11, 2011
Ira Glass Hosts an Adult Entertainment Radio Program
Welcome to This American Lust.
I'm Ira Glass. Today on our program: Sordid Sins. Stories of indiscretions done indiscreetly.
Our story today in five acts.
Act One: "Pride Goeth Before the Balls"
A story of a women who finds love in the African jungle when she comes across a missionary/lion tamer, who has long been aching for the touch of the fairer sex.
Narrated by David Rakoff.
Act Two, and when we arrive at Act Two of our program, I'll say--Act Two: "Envy and Ivory"
Two sisters fight over the same blind pianist, who turns out to see them better than they can see themselves seeing him...seeing them...all too clearly.
Act Three: "Three-Hoed Sloth"
In this act, we follow three ladies of the night on their journey through the erotic underworld...of Tuscon.
Act Four, Act Four, and one more time, Act Four:
"I Wanna Eat @#$% Off Your %^&*, Bra: A Tale of Gluttony" written and narrated by Sarah Vowell. A story about the people who founded Hawaii and how things got so kinky, so fast.
And finally, Act Five: "Greed Gets You Tied Up and Paddled"
A man mugs a woman only to have her chase him down, knock him unconscious, drag him back to her apartment, and, as you probably guessed from the title, ties him up and paddles him.
And that woman is celebrated author Joyce Carol Oates.
Stay with us.
I'm Ira Glass. Today on our program: Sordid Sins. Stories of indiscretions done indiscreetly.
Our story today in five acts.
Act One: "Pride Goeth Before the Balls"
A story of a women who finds love in the African jungle when she comes across a missionary/lion tamer, who has long been aching for the touch of the fairer sex.
Narrated by David Rakoff.
Act Two, and when we arrive at Act Two of our program, I'll say--Act Two: "Envy and Ivory"
Two sisters fight over the same blind pianist, who turns out to see them better than they can see themselves seeing him...seeing them...all too clearly.
Act Three: "Three-Hoed Sloth"
In this act, we follow three ladies of the night on their journey through the erotic underworld...of Tuscon.
Act Four, Act Four, and one more time, Act Four:
"I Wanna Eat @#$% Off Your %^&*, Bra: A Tale of Gluttony" written and narrated by Sarah Vowell. A story about the people who founded Hawaii and how things got so kinky, so fast.
And finally, Act Five: "Greed Gets You Tied Up and Paddled"
A man mugs a woman only to have her chase him down, knock him unconscious, drag him back to her apartment, and, as you probably guessed from the title, ties him up and paddles him.
And that woman is celebrated author Joyce Carol Oates.
Stay with us.
Only Clara Cuts My Hair
I'm sorry, I'm sorry
But only Clara cuts my hair
I let Muskadis do it once
And I looked like a shag carpet
No, I'm afraid it's Clara or nothing
Where should I sit? Here?
Isn't this Clara's chair?
I hope you didn't fire her
Because if you fired her
I'd have to take my business elsewhere
I can't abide change
Life changes enough
Without us contributing to it
Who plans on shampooing me until Clara gets here?
Perhaps she's running late
She's been sick, you know
Sick with the...you know
And if she's running late, that's fine
I don't want her overexerting herself
You develop a bond with the person who cuts your hair
Clara's more than a stylist to me
She's my dear friend
To be honest, I don't even need a haircut that badly
My hair takes forever to grow
I could wait six months in between haircuts
But I enjoy seeing Clara
Muskadis, you can shampoo me if you like
And I'll tip you for it
Just don't pick up those scissors
Or you'll regret it
Where are the photos?
Her photos of her--
Oh dear
Has she...?
Oh dear
I don't understand
Why didn't anybody call me?
I may be older, but I'm capable of handling bad news
You don't live eighty-four years on this planet
Without weathering some tough times
I'm saddened, of course
But she was sick
So I assume there was suffering
And now she's at peace
Which is fine
Well, I suppose I'll go home
Home?
What a silly question
Of course I know where...
Well...
Once I start walking
I'll remember
I'll just...
Muskadis, there's a number in my purse
Could you call it?
If you call it, then...
Then I should be all right
Muskadis, when they get here, can you...
You are Muskadis, aren't you?
That is your name, isn't it?
Can you tell me when Clara died?
Her name was Clara
She worked her
She cut my hair
Didn't she?
Didn't she?
But only Clara cuts my hair
I let Muskadis do it once
And I looked like a shag carpet
No, I'm afraid it's Clara or nothing
Where should I sit? Here?
Isn't this Clara's chair?
I hope you didn't fire her
Because if you fired her
I'd have to take my business elsewhere
I can't abide change
Life changes enough
Without us contributing to it
Who plans on shampooing me until Clara gets here?
Perhaps she's running late
She's been sick, you know
Sick with the...you know
And if she's running late, that's fine
I don't want her overexerting herself
You develop a bond with the person who cuts your hair
Clara's more than a stylist to me
She's my dear friend
To be honest, I don't even need a haircut that badly
My hair takes forever to grow
I could wait six months in between haircuts
But I enjoy seeing Clara
Muskadis, you can shampoo me if you like
And I'll tip you for it
Just don't pick up those scissors
Or you'll regret it
Where are the photos?
Her photos of her--
Oh dear
Has she...?
Oh dear
I don't understand
Why didn't anybody call me?
I may be older, but I'm capable of handling bad news
You don't live eighty-four years on this planet
Without weathering some tough times
I'm saddened, of course
But she was sick
So I assume there was suffering
And now she's at peace
Which is fine
Well, I suppose I'll go home
Home?
What a silly question
Of course I know where...
Well...
Once I start walking
I'll remember
I'll just...
Muskadis, there's a number in my purse
Could you call it?
If you call it, then...
Then I should be all right
Muskadis, when they get here, can you...
You are Muskadis, aren't you?
That is your name, isn't it?
Can you tell me when Clara died?
Her name was Clara
She worked her
She cut my hair
Didn't she?
Didn't she?
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Henry VIII in What Women Want
Helen Hunt!
What is this nonsense I hear you thinking?
Speak the foolishness you have locked inside your head
Or else I shall severe it
And shake it out onto my office floor
Like so much whore's urine!
How dare you question my ability to know what it is you desire!
I know what every woman desires!
Fresh beef and the King's seed
Resting delicately inside their sinful nethers!
Now I find out that you want love and children
And another Oscar to prove your career
Was not a giant fluke?
You're lucky I don't send you to the guillotine
And marry Marissa Tomei from Scene Two
She's an Oscar winner too
And unlike you
She doesn't furrow her brow
Like a constipated hedgehog
Every time she delivers a soliloquy
Being in this film is hurling my mind into madness
My daughter is a harlot
My secretary is a strumpet
And my therapist is played by Bette Midler!
Curse the demon who installed me
In this Greek tragedy
Helen Hunt, I demand that you throw yourself out the nearest window
It is the only way you can die with honor
England will mourn you
For as many days
As we would mourn
The royal goldfish
I'll be in my office trying to block out the thoughts
Of that lesbian dominatrix, Delta Burke
Leave the window open
Just in case I fail
What is this nonsense I hear you thinking?
Speak the foolishness you have locked inside your head
Or else I shall severe it
And shake it out onto my office floor
Like so much whore's urine!
How dare you question my ability to know what it is you desire!
I know what every woman desires!
Fresh beef and the King's seed
Resting delicately inside their sinful nethers!
Now I find out that you want love and children
And another Oscar to prove your career
Was not a giant fluke?
You're lucky I don't send you to the guillotine
And marry Marissa Tomei from Scene Two
She's an Oscar winner too
And unlike you
She doesn't furrow her brow
Like a constipated hedgehog
Every time she delivers a soliloquy
Being in this film is hurling my mind into madness
My daughter is a harlot
My secretary is a strumpet
And my therapist is played by Bette Midler!
Curse the demon who installed me
In this Greek tragedy
Helen Hunt, I demand that you throw yourself out the nearest window
It is the only way you can die with honor
England will mourn you
For as many days
As we would mourn
The royal goldfish
I'll be in my office trying to block out the thoughts
Of that lesbian dominatrix, Delta Burke
Leave the window open
Just in case I fail
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