I get HIV, part 1.

When I turned 18, the world was reborn in an ocean of fire.

I'd already been living on my own for a few months, my parents bought me a car...

and I started eating cold pills for recreation.

I had a girl's haircut. Every day was a fucking circus. I was chasing skirt around every corner, sometimes my ex-girlfriend would get drunk and sleep with me. Other times the most recent ex-girlfriend would trick my pill-addled self into going down on her in the most disgusting bathroom ever. The days were good, the nights were dark.


God's face was in the trees, I was putting lit cigarettes behind my ear and screaming "FIRE!", good times.

At any rate the car, lovingly referred to as "the camel" for the rest of this tale, broke down. I blew it up in Fellsmere(nowhere land, FL)on my way to collect a cat in Port St. Lucy. I walked a mile or so to a pay phone. Left a few messages and started walking back up 95N.

I walked for an hour or two.

It got dark.

I met a guy who looked like Santa who was walking the opposite direction, and as much I want to think he said something spooky and riddled with portents like;

"Strange days, aye brother?"

But it was probably something like "hey buddy, some night huh?"

walking walking walking.

"oh man its so lonely and dark," I says to myself. When blessed be...






along comes Mary.

Ok, more of a bullet point presentation than a story,

all things considered [[and there are a shit ton of things to consider--editor]] this past weekend(this post was drafted on the 8th) was a roaring success. Despite having personally lived in Tallahassee for quite some time, I have never been privy to some of its finer points. Thank whatever god that still checks his voice mail for friends like Mannes&Rhino...

Now for us to properly assess the weekend we'll have to break it down into more basic elements.


element one; My associate, mainlining a cocktail of whiskey and Darvocet. While in and of itself is not necessarily the most interesting thing in the world. However, IT IS. I'll explain by way of the tale that follows.

element two; Me trying to impress a long-legged-full-headed-art-bitch. That in and of itself is immensely amusing to onlookers. Oh bytheway this endeavor was at a non-swimming-pool party. yeah.

element three; a supporting cast involving a home-owned bar known as Mecca and its' regulars. Two delightfully intelligent DJ's. a mansion and an army of randos. a tape recorder. enough darvocet and cheap booze to stabilize a nation of chronic back pain sufferers.

The night in all its glory starts, peaks, and ends with Sleazy trying to take his dick out to explain to everyone that all he has to do is walk in there exposed.

and someone will just have to start sucking it.

me convincing some random young lady to explain to D. that he was a two-toned turd, clad all in gray. for some reason(probably the pills) this hurt his feelings.

pretending to be a photog with a fancy camera strapped to my neck taking very close pictures of everyone's mouths. while the flash drove everyone insane. Did I mention I was dressed like a fucking tourist.---->

I'm going to include some audio in a couple of days when i can get mannes to explain it to me. Because i can't explain myself until you hear what I heard.

regardless this has been more of a "we aren't done with this" post than an actual recounting of our bottom feeding.

we've just added a new contributor "juice" who will be joining us shortly and we'll have some new surprises in store in the days to come.

In retrospect, moments before the great hour...

There was a bit of an epiphany between my hetero-soul mate and I this evening at a midnight cookout we had at my house.

Because its not humanly possible to be up to no good EVERY night of the week. We'll also use this blog to keep track of our past misdeeds. We came to this conclusion only after (x)amount of beer and MD-20/20, as our past "victories" will hopefully outshine our future endeavors.

At any rate...

submitted for the approval of the midnight society I'll weave the tale of, "The Time I Forgot That Girls Name Right After We Had Sex."

Just so we're all clear, I am not in any way what people would call a "smooth operator". My communication skills are often awkwardly elaborate, riddled with hyperbole and all in all a bit extravagant. This night starts off like many of my new found nights have; relaxing with friends, shithousewasted. Just a couple of reasonable associates left in the house after the majority of what could call a sub-sect of a party have already gone home. A few chums... and some Skirt. I give the Skirt proper noun status only because, as the title of our story will remind you, I forgot her name. Casual friend conversation coupled with drunk Skirt jabber* pepper the dwindling hours on the porch. This carries on for some time before, in my stupor, I decide I need to get laid and tell her, "its time for bed".


"its time for bed"


I don't talk like that. But in my defense, there is only so much prancing and chit chat a person can make before they decide that its time to practice making children with a cute girl who's too drunk to make sense. As a matter of fact I can't think of anyone i know who just tells some freckle-nosed little strumpet they don't know AT ALL to "go to bed". where does that happen? Iowa? Vienna? somewhere people lock their daughters in the basement and sire whole generations that never meet the world outside? or anywhere a winning football game has just gone down and the hoes just don't know any better....? perhaps.

feigning cutsie ignorant sillyness. this girl proceeds to fight "bedtime" until I agree to stay up and play cards with her in bed(this right here is the big WTF no really, What the Fuck? Cards? In bed? fucking creepy). While laying in bed and playing an obviously downhill game of texas hold 'em(there are no chips, and i have NEVER EVER IN MY WHOLE FUCKING LIFE TIME bothered to learn how to play anything that was not a drinking game) she starts to step up the creepiness.

as in, Makes delightful and intelligent conversation about Kurt Vonnegut. She goes from making not a lick of sense and me wanting to go to bed i'm so drunk to..."so i have this tattoo from some line in 'hocus pocus'..."

startlingly stimulating conversation leads to some of the most intense dirty mouthed whore talk I have EVER, in my whole fucking life EVER heard come out of a woman's mouth. it was borderline comical. however I won't share so I can keep some inch of this girls anonymity safe. Because some of the things she was saying, wooo weeee! with my luck, someone would read this and recognize that unique language of "whore".

[[[penetration ensues]]]

then, post coitus, we continue speaking, laughing, blah blah blah. nothing romantic or anything like that, but nice civil conversation. the only thing is,

she's using my name. much more than necessery.

because she knows I've forgotten her's,
surely she's noticed it by now.
and then she asks.
and of course
I tell her
uhm no?
guess

uhm
ok

"******"

and its wrong

(ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME! how the fuck do you forget a girls name. after you have sex with her? how did i let it get to sex without committing her name to memory first? when did this start happening to me?)

She still slept over and was even better than I could hope for sexually the next morning.


i don't hope for much early in the morning by the way. at least not sexually.

good evening

How this seemed like a good idea, I will never know. But it does...

I would go as far as to say that Wellington and I are the two very worst people to get together for something like this. I seem to very frequently team up in random exploits but always with someone as a voice of fucking reason. Someone to keep things from going 'too far'. With Wellington or myself as 'the moral compass' we may quickly spiral into something out of a Brett Easton Ellis novel.

And all that isn't even the most appealing part. I will say that my co-conspirator has been a dear friend of mine for over ten years now (13?!?!) and I would certainly always want the best for him. However, I think we both know exactly how much we can trust each other. Or rather have a good sense of where one would undoubtedly fail the other. Pray it never comes to that... unless...

Some other time. This is about doing something with someone... Something heinous and beautiful and (seemingly) pointless... Something filled with ellipses and parentheses.

Here's to doing whatever you want and justifying it in whatever afterthought you'd like.