Today heaven weeps to cleanse away the bad intentions of this sun bleached hell hole we call Los Angeles.
Holy shit, sorry that last line came out a bit too “artful” even for me.
Let me try again.
It’s gloomy and raining here. (Cool that came out like I have testicles)
My favorite type of day in Los Angeles because it metaphorically washes away the fakeness of this city and gives me glimpse of the real people that live here. And it’s refreshing to know they’re all as depressive and as drunk as I am. However I must admit to being a rather happy drunk over the past few days. Why? Well it’s not because I saw my first set of natural tits since my American Airlines flight landed roughly three weeks ago. Although, those B-cups did make me smile. It’s that I am now officially an uncle to a beautiful little niece.
How happy you ask? So happy I willingly hugged my father for the first time in fifteen years. Which quickly prompted a speech about how I was a “faggot”, and that I’d never survive in the military. To which I replied with “Don’t ask, don’t tell.”
So now after picking myself up off the floor and stopping the bleeding… I’m trying to figure out exactly what I was going to write about.
Self-assessing the possibility of brain damage?
People who tweet their YouPorn habits?
Wait… It was very simply a heated discussion I had with someone over what the word “fling” meant.
In my mind a “fling” is basically what a whore has ten to twenty times a night depending on how much she has to charge to pay her pimp and rent. According the 0.019th of a second I spent researching on Google, it means, a brief and casual sexual encounter with someone.
Google and I are apparently too literal.
The accepted Los Angeles definition of “fling” is a deep and spiritual “relationship” lasting the length of three to five dates that all end in passionate sexual encounters with the same person. To which I pointed out, all can happen in the course of one night depending upon the how you define “date” and the sexual stamina of the person you’re with.
Besides, sex after one dinner date? That’s cheap even for a whore.
What is with people hitting me!?
Is it really jaded to believe that more can exist between two people? Has sex really become nothing more than sneezing in someone’s face? I mean seriously, depending upon where you climax the tissue could look like it was used for just as much. Some hookers and my ex girlfriend actually charge more for it.
Regardless, I may not fully understand it, much like the elaborate handshakes of the urban culture in the nineties; I must learn the concept of sex meaning nothing more than just that, a handshake.
It’s going to get sticky.