I'm a child of the brightest of nights.
Posted on Mon Sep 17 14:01:00 UTC 2007
“Don't worry, we're not rapists.”
“I've heard THAT before.”
The twisty little gin soaked alleyways off Queen St are the hunting ground for a certain type of thirsty thirty five year old. A lucky escape, she wanted to become a lawyer to regain custody of her nine year old son, I didn't know what to say when she showed me the photograph. Apparently her Dad owned a four point two million dollar mansion, I didn't know what to say to that either.
Sometimes it's good to be an asshole, to flex your muscles and exercise a little power, try and test your strength. A little evil, a momentary sting, the mosquito bite of minor cruelty but oh mother what a rush! I treated another human being like an object, manipulated her psychological levers and pulleys and her pain was like sweet white wine gushing from uncorked thighs. In the end my partner in crime was glad we didn't bring her home. On one hand, a simultaneous tag team spit roast with a well earned “high five” at the moment of climax would have been one for the record books and would have definitely cemented our friendship, on the other we would have to talk to her afterwards.
I don't think I'm really misogynistic. It's not just women, having the upper hand over people in general make me go all tingly. When you don't care about them, don't care about their feelings, when on the sliding scale of humanity they barely rate as a primate, when they are disposable, irreconcilable figures in the garbage column and their opinions are just generic templates you can swap in and out at will...
You can't be nice to everyone.
Here is my friend Jon "The Hell Bound Smoker" Adams' photo-realistic rendition of the nights events:
Should I feel guilty? Eight ball sez no.
- - -
Twittr: who gives a shit? seriously.
“I've heard THAT before.”
The twisty little gin soaked alleyways off Queen St are the hunting ground for a certain type of thirsty thirty five year old. A lucky escape, she wanted to become a lawyer to regain custody of her nine year old son, I didn't know what to say when she showed me the photograph. Apparently her Dad owned a four point two million dollar mansion, I didn't know what to say to that either.
Sometimes it's good to be an asshole, to flex your muscles and exercise a little power, try and test your strength. A little evil, a momentary sting, the mosquito bite of minor cruelty but oh mother what a rush! I treated another human being like an object, manipulated her psychological levers and pulleys and her pain was like sweet white wine gushing from uncorked thighs. In the end my partner in crime was glad we didn't bring her home. On one hand, a simultaneous tag team spit roast with a well earned “high five” at the moment of climax would have been one for the record books and would have definitely cemented our friendship, on the other we would have to talk to her afterwards.
I don't think I'm really misogynistic. It's not just women, having the upper hand over people in general make me go all tingly. When you don't care about them, don't care about their feelings, when on the sliding scale of humanity they barely rate as a primate, when they are disposable, irreconcilable figures in the garbage column and their opinions are just generic templates you can swap in and out at will...
You can't be nice to everyone.
Here is my friend Jon "The Hell Bound Smoker" Adams' photo-realistic rendition of the nights events:
Should I feel guilty? Eight ball sez no.
- - -
Twittr: who gives a shit? seriously.