5.21.2006

Revenge Is a Beer Best Served Cold

Oh, kittens. Do I have a story for you.

Yesterday I worked a twelve hour day and then cruised up to North Beach with Erica for drinks with Mathisen. Then I got an hour and a half of sleep before my ten hour day today because NICHOLAS MATHISEN WAS FUCKING ME SIX WAYS FROM SUNDAY UNTIL SOMETIME EARLY THIS MORNING. No, I mean really. I mean I only got to stop at home this morning for about two and a half minutes before meeting Erica to walk to work and even now I can literally still smell him on me. I had the longest day, and it was soooo worth it. I am gonna rock the hardest cleanly when I finally go home.
The point? Well, there are many. Time for a list, kiddos.

1. As most of you know, Mathisen is a writer. Amazingly enough, so am I. I generally don't write about other writers as a courtesy, but I need to today [and in the new piece, "Muses"] to prove a point. On a side note, I have known Mathisen for a year now, our official anniversary being sometime last week. Other than my roomates at The Flat LeStat and Bike Josh (Chokey McChokerson) he was my second friend in SF to Boy Wonder.

2. You may not know that I have a site tracker. Hahahaha. A SITE TRACKER. If you visit my blog, I know your ISP address, how many times a day you visit my blog, the last website you came from, and what words you actually Googled to arrive at my blog, which means I can tell if you were looking specifically for it, or stumbled upon it. Basically, I am watching you. All the time. I get tons of unique hits a day and I know where you live. ["Spooky." Who said that?]

3. Mathisen's penis is bigger than yours. As far as I know, this applies to everyone currently reading this unless [memory serving, I may not even be right about this one] you are six-feet-nine-inches tall. On a side note, both the people mentioned in the last sentance are writers. Speaking of writers [and people I've slept with], I finally heard from Clifford Wayne Anderson, and he's doing just fine. He hasn't dropped off the face of the earth with Guy as I feared.

4. When my friends and family get really bored, they sit around and Google me. All the time. One time, they found a link to someone's MySpace page that I used to call at all hours of the day or night at varied and intermittent intervals so they could take a cab over to my apartment and fuck me and you know what it said on there? All this stuff about me! Even though it actually made me look quite flattering while he simultaneously demeaned himself, I was still hella pissed. HELLA PISSED. Pissed to the point where I called him out of the blue six months after that last time I saw him to make him change it. On a side note, WELCOME TO SARCASMVILLE. Clearly this never happened. I would rather spend my time doing more important things like drink beer or stare at a wall, especially when, and of course this is completely hypothetical, one might have to find something like this on the 12TH PAGE OF GOOGLE RESULTS. I know. I checked.

5. Roll call: Hodson, Mathisen, Oldfield, Huntsman--I know all y'all feel me. The rest of you? You probably feel me too; save one. One of you. Let me explain something: I, Milkshake Moure, does not give a shit what you think about me. I am ashamed of many things, i.e.: my country, my biological mother, etc; but absent from this list is the way I choose to live my life. I love every neurosis, every un/warranted emotion, every good and bad decision, every part of everything that I have done including every last one of the 68 people who have been fortunate enough to have sex with me. Yes, that number is exact; I keep a list. But besides all of those people and even everyone who is not one of those people, there is merely a point when you have to just get over yourself. You think me callous? Fine. I'll take it. You don't wanna take it? then don't fuck writers, specifically me.

Epilogue:
Trying to drag myself out of Mathisen's bed this morning was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do, but was made a lot easier knowing that I've said my apologies to him for everything that I cannot that Davey would like me to say [if you don't get this, check my archives]. What was our conversation like this morning? Well, I'm glad you asked.

"Mathisen. Mathisen."
"Yeah. Huh."
"'Kay, I gotta go to work, but I gotta ask you a question."
"Yeah. Sup."
"Can I use you as a guinney pig?"
"What? I have no idea what the fuck you're talking about."
"I'm gonna post about all the high voltage sex we had last night. And this morning."
"'Kay. Wait, I don't get it."
"Don't get what? We talked about this, I have a point to prove."
"No, I mean, I don't get why you're asking. Just fucking do it. Do what ever you want Miranda."
"'Kay. You gonna reciprocate?"
"Maybe. You know, maybe I will."
"Tight."
"Yes, Miranda. Yes you are."

--M
[props to my little bro, Aaron Gerking (a.k.a. Bud) for supplying the title to this post.]

2 comments:

~PhoenixRising said...

The question is, how does this play into the 5$ bet made long ago? Or was that resolved?

Oh, and let me take a moment, since I have it, to use the line I've been dying to use since I first heard it,

"guess you got pounded like a farm-fresh chicken breast!"...

le dave

Milkshake said...

YES! I DID!
--M