"Living good and playing hard, cruising on the boulevard...so rough, so tough, out here baby" - Ronnie Hudson & The Street People, West Coast Poplock (ol' school funkin' hip hop 2)
This is the first in a series of logos (they'll get better over time, I'm just lazy today):
If you don't know where the subtitle came from, go here.
I'm not sure how one is active in a sex hunt when you're brizzoke. On this fine MLK weekend, a week when I got a raise, should be receiving a freelance check, and other cash-friendly things, I'm the brokest. It's a good thing I have a full tank of gas and food in the house so that I can spend this last 20 dollars on dinner with The HSW tomorrow.
So, yeah, the hunt for sex. I've got my fedora on and I'm wearing large amounts of khakhi with my shirt tousled and unbuttoned slightly. I've got the whip at the ready. I'm just not sure this is going to do much good when I'm spending most of the week on my couch attempting to follow a hacker through neo-Tokyo without getting noticed. Will women just come gliding into my apartment on vines to ravage me? This seems like a doubtful scenario...even though it seems like the kind of thing that happens all the time if you watch Playboy's Sexy Urban Legends.
It's become like a team sport, this sex hunt. All of my lady friends are offering assistance ranging from "maybe we won't hang out so much since, you know, we look like a couple when we're out" to inviting me to weddings because there will be cute girls there. Does hot sex happen often at weddings? And if I stop hanging out with lady friends won't I just be the alone guy at the bar?
I'm getting my suit tailored as we speak and I'm going to the ceremony by myself...just in case.
If I hung around Hollywood Boulevard in the afternoons, I could happen upon the reverse cowgirl. That might actually rule.
I almost went to Hollywood Billiards last night for a "Reality TV Reunion" of sorts with lots of people who have worked on various reality tv shows over the past few years. I might have run into Jessica and Heather (assuming, of course, that they would go to such a thing and remember who I was since, you know, it's been like a year since Dan's birthday) as well as Lechner, Dawn, Shan Van, and others. I also would have probably run into the guy that inspired this post. Alas, I had no dollars so I sat at home with my headphones on cooking some cajun grilled chicken and vegetables and beating doc diggler in match play.
side note: I made grits and scrambled eggs and warmed the rest of my cajun chicken for breakfast this morning and practically had an orgasm at the table. What if I wanted to spread grits all over someone? Is that sexy? Or creepy? I want to eat you up like a bowl of grits...but first let me get some salt, butter, and milk. And maybe an egg or two. Can I have biscuits on the side? You know what, instead of me eating out, why don't we both eat in? I can make fried chicken. We'll be greasy and we'll lick our fingers afterwards. It's almost exactly like sex.
Maybe that wasn't really a side note.
So tonight, Friends and lovers, I'm going to watch Tiffani Thiessen kiss Jaime Pressly. I will also probably watch Yao and Shaq go at it. That might lead to me trying to figure out how to connect one of the secondary stories in this week's episode of The Shield with Shaq's recent issues with cultural insensitivity (prejudice if you're nasty). Most likely, though, is me playing more outlaw golf and finally starting to read Shameless.
Aaron suggested I become THE Black Erotica author.
I assume that means that I should actually be experiencing things that are actually erotic. Besides, you know, grits in the morning.