Sunday, December 15, 2002

You Can Pull This Off Day!

"Simply put, I believe my father was assassinated," he'll say. His eyes will suddenly bore into your own. After searching the bottom of his highball glass for what seemed like the first few centuries of the date, his gaze will feel like a pair of hands stretched out across the table to grip the sides of your head in their grasp and hold you still.

"I am alone in my conviction," he'll continue. "And my refusal to concede to the conclusions reached by others regarding his death has sentenced me to a lonely life."

Nod here.

"My mother severed contact with me years ago. She would rather lose a son than accept that her life with her husband was a lie. That the man she'd married conducted his life in a manner unbeknownst to her, a manner that demanded his execution."

Kind of wince. And let your eyelids droop piteously.

"My brothers despise me," he'll go on. "They've threatened me with violence if ever show my face near their homes. They refuse me presence with my nephews, afraid I might fill their minds with truth. Who am I to tell someone how to raise his child?"

Give a brief, silent laugh, just a jerk of your shoulders, to let him know you got his joke.

"There have been other women," he'll say. Now his look will turn accusatory. "Women who appeared to ally themselves to my cause. Some proved weak, unwilling to do what was necessary to help me bring the truth to light."

Shake your head.

"Others were lonely. They were liars willing to humor me to secure a warm body in their beds at night."

That's you. Keep going.

"'At least he doesn't drink,' they rationalized. That's why I started drinking. To ward off those desperate women who thought they might be able to tolerate a man with a less conventional preoccupation. Women who prefer the devil they don't know to the devil they just divorced."

Scowl here. Let him know with the corners of your mouth that these women are held in your contempt for their deceit. Don't say anything yet.

Now he'll finish his drink. And when he puts his glass on the table, wrap your hand around his hand that's wrapped around the empty glass. He'll search your eyes for a lie. If you don't flinch, you'll see him warm to you, then stiffen.

"I live only to learn how and why my father was killed, and to bring his assassins to justice. My allies are as dear to me as the blood in my veins. My enemies are those who doubt me."

Now you speak. And it's okay to ask the question. It won't scare him off. He would suspect you if you didn't ask it.

Say, "Do you have any evidence that he was assassinated?"

He'll say, "Not yet. The evidence is out there. But I haven't gotten around to looking for it yet. But tomorrow I plan to find out where the libarary is and use their microfiche machines to look up old newspaper articles. See if there's any clues."

Nod, as if you think he's on the right track and that that would never have occurred to you.

Then ask, "What was your father like?"

Now he'll look down at the table. He's yours now by the way. But he'll look down at the table and play with the ring of condensation from his glass and say, "He was a sad man. His eyebrows were always bent up and out like the handlebars of an old bicycle."

Say, "The kind with the little plastic streamers coming out of the hand grips."

"And a little bell," he'll say.

"And a little bell," you'll say.

When the check comes, pay it. Tell him, "Save your money. You'll need it for bribes." Then take him back to your apartment and have sex with him. I know it seems like the whole thing is going to be interminable, but it really won't be that hard to pull off and once you do you'll be having sex with somebody. And the best part is, if you like having sex with him and you want to keep on doing it, all you have to do is pretend to believe, or rather, pretend you give a shit about this assassination crap and he'll keep having sex with you. And as soon as you don't dig his plow no more, all you have to do is tell him you think he's full of shit and he'll declare you "blind for the light" or whatever and he'll never talk to you again.

He will ask you for money, though. "For the investigation." But it won't be all that much since he really does believe everything he's spewing and he won't be able to justify spending money on items unrelated to the search, except for lunch and stuff. But since he doesn't know what he should do to begin the search and he's really lazy about getting started, you're really only going to be buying the lunch and stuff. Now put on your party dress and bag yourself a man!

Happy You Can Pull This Off Day!

Saturday, December 14, 2002

Acid For Blood Day!

You know how in Aliens the aliens had acid for blood? That's like the final, fail-safe, naturally occurring defense mechanism; even at the moment of destruction the alien can still kill its prey and with no effort of its own exerted. Engage the creature in combat and even in victory you can still be defeated.

Well today's the day that you have acid for blood too. You might not believe that's possible, but today it is. Look, it's written right there in front of you on some asshole's fagotty little blog. So before midnight tonight, go find your ex's new lover and try to kill the twat. Having acid for blood, you might be charged with the confidence necessary to take his or her life with ease. But you should allow for your opponent to exact at least one flesh wound upon you so he or she can watch the blood spurt to the ground and sear a clean hole through the floorboards to the basement. Everyone'll freak and the whole town'll agree that you're King Shit of the Winner Bitches

One problem with having acid for blood; when your blood is drawn forth from a wound, you basically have to be suspended in the air so that the blood can drip straight to the ground without seeping from the wound out upon your skin, thereby searing away at your own body. Also, when you came to have acid for blood, all that acid basically ate away at your insides and your epidermis and you probably amount to just a puddle of acid melting your desk chair and the floor below where you were just sitting before you logged on and read that you had acid for blood. Also, some CDs you borrowed from your roommate that you left on the floor are totally ruined.

Happy Acid For Blood Day!