“Yeah girl, imagine this: You and me in matching leopard skin thongs. No, not leopard print… leopard SKIN. Yeah baby, that’s right… What? No, the skin itself doesn’t have the pattern; I think that’s just on the fur. Yeah, they’re really just grey thongs, but consider the source. We’re like wild cats stalking one another. What? No… look, just shut up and listen.
No, I didn’t mean “shut up”, I just meant…
[fall out of Barry White voice and into normal, not-sexy voice]
Look, I’m trying to make a special thing here. I’m sorry.
Your… no? No, turn off your phone. Come on, really? Fine, text your mom first then turn the thing off… tell her I say “Hi”.
OK, done? No, you don’t need to check your Facebook. Really? Would you just… Look, I put a lot of work into this so could you please just turn the phone off for one hour? Please? OK, thanks.
No, you’re beautiful, baby. OK, now listen, I’m setting up some sexy shit here.
Alright, where were we?
[Resumes with Barry White voice]
Oh yes, we’re in our matching leopard skin thongs (why are you making that face?) and then we’ll climb onto the back of a giant stuffed Grizzly bear. Yeah it’s real. But get this: the back is hollowed out and it’s a waterbed. That’s right, uh-huh, and there’s an alpaca fur blanket thrown over it, like a snowy peak on top of our water-filled, four-legged ride to sexy time.
No, wait! Forget that. It’s not a waterbed. It’s a motherfuckin’ hot tub! Oh hell yeah, girl. Climb up onto and into my Grizzly bear hot tub. Uh-huh, aaaaaaalright.
You comfy? Here’s a glass of wine, red… like the passion that’s filling up this room like a tornado of… a tornado uuuuuuuuuuv… shit, I can’t do analogies. The room is just full of passion, you’ll have to take my word for it.
What? No, it’s OK to have a glass of wine in a hot tub. You won’t die. Trust me, a glass is fine. You just can’t get hammered.
Oh, what’s that? You spilled a little on the bear’s head? It’s OK, it happens to the best of us, don’t fret. See, the bear is dark colored, so the stain won’t even show (there goes my deposit).
Now slide over here and let me put my arm around you. I’ll turn the jets on and we’ll bask in the glow of my 106” flat-screen television as it plays a fireplace scene, all crackling and warm.
Yeah, it’s weird, I know, but I’m not allowed to have fires in my apartment. What’s that? Don’t worry about how I got it through the door. Just enjoy. I even plugged in a few hair driers and have them aimed at us to mimic the heat of a real fire. You feel that? Nice, isn’t it? All warm and soothing like your body against mine.
Damn, girl. You, me, Barry White on the stereo, leopard skin all up on our junk, and a hollowed out Grizzly bear are all we need to…” [insert ring tone, maybe Sweet Georgia Brown]
You look down, a little embarrassed.
I look up, lips pursed and a little irritated.
Ten seconds of Sweet Georgia Brown kill whatever mood there may have been.
[revert to normal, everyday, talking to mom voice]
“Go answer it,” I say, resigned to failure.
You spring out of the Grizzly bear and answer your phone.
“Hello? Oh hi, mom! What? No, nothing. Just watching TV. Sure I can talk. What’s up? Oh I DID watch the Bachelor last night! Can you be-LEEVE what the bitch said? Oh my God!”
I turn off the jets, set my glass on the bear’s head, and crawl out of the water. Then I grab the bottle of wine, turn off Barry White, turn on some Squarepusher (we’ll go with “Big Loada”), and go sit outside to watch the cars drive by. That leopard skin thong was uncomfortable anyway. What really hurts is how much I spent to rent this Grizzly bear hot tub from the Outdoor Store.
Showing posts with label Wine. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Wine. Show all posts
6.10.12
The Sense You Made
One of the last handfuls of pleasant evenings,
Springwater sesh, pens aflutter, over-pumped ink making One think
“Really? OK, glubs next time”
Crooks of fingers gone blackface and incriminating.
The smells of leaves and rivers and moonlight.
Crickets and frogs chiming in twixt Burial tracks.
Their sounds, these smells,
this empty,
moonlit trail
A lonely moth pulls into the beam of my bike light,
Races and paces me for an erratic few moments,
Then casually throws itself into the spinning spokes of my front wheel,
Presumably now left to a crippled and slow death in my wake,
On the trail.
Considering the scarcity of traffic at this late hour,
I’m inclined to believe that God needed
that particular moth dead for a very good reason.
And I am the bringer of Godly justice
and unblinking wrath.
Beyond that duty,
Three glasses of wine have afforded me the luxury to
Appreciate the serenity and solitude of this late night,
Middle of nowhere as I pull over,
Turn off the lights,
And piss into the dark. Alone.
My mind refreshingly free from thoughts of zombies
And being raped to death by hobos.
All of this
Reaching back into my mind
and forcing me,
once again,
to miss the sense you made.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
