Thursday, November 03, 2005

November 3rd, 2005 Upload 1 (7,893 words out of 50,000)

David, Bob, David and Eric - they always like to go to tiki bars when they’re on business – all these old fucks do. I never understood what was so charming about a bar with a hay roof and surf boards on the wall. It’s just so commercial – it’s so full of stuff that that only uncivilized fucks like David, Bob, David and Eric would call “décor”. I sometimes try to get them to go to a martini bar – maybe a cigar bar – but they always say they want to go some place wild. They want to see 18-year-old titty and flirt with the waitress that has the charming Chinese-character tattoo - who the fuck am I to disagree? My job is to make sure they have fun no matter where they are – even if it’s in a place where they play “The Lion Sleeps Tonight” every hour on the half-hour and ninety-nine-point-five percent of the patrons sing it at the top of their lungs while sucking down tequila mixed with sugar and fruit flavoring. That song was made for them, seriously, it was originally going to be titled Mbube and the chant that’s apparently so fun to fucking sing is in goddamn Zulu – these fucking people don’t even know they’re speaking Zulu because if they did they probably walk around finding as many excuses to say “Uyimbub” as they do to say “Voulez vous coucher avec moi ce soir”. These guys don’t understand that they may be partying with some low-class, drunken bitches here and it’s fun and all but the chance of finding one that’s going to fuck your brains out when you get home is about as likely as me finding a tiki bar that actually serves the blue lable. These chicks, they’ll suck on your face for a little bit and maybe puke in your car – if you actually do get to fuck them it’ll be the standard missionary style (maybe doggy) and you’ll end up creaming on her pot-belly and going home at three-AM. You take some chick home from a martini bar – some thirty-some-odd-year-old breadwinner away on business while her husband is at home jerking-off to gangbang porn – you’re going to have the time of your life. She’s going to tie you down and ride your cock with her ass while telling you stories about how her husband never makes her cum anymore – she’ll be sucking on your toes and begging you to eat her out while she wears your spunk on her slut of a face. That’s because the martini-bar bitches have a sense of desperation – this is their night to do all of the nasty shit their husband is too fat and lazy to do. With the tiki bar chicks, there is no desperation – they’ll be back next week. Sex, to them, is a fucking chore – a competition. They have it almost every night with twenty-year-old boys who don’t know what they want and in turn teach them nothing about what they can get. These are the chicks that keep a role of paper-towel by the side of the bed and say “ill” while they wipe off the mess you left in their bush. These are the chicks that think they’re nasty when they offer you a hand-job, as if I couldn’t do it better in my hotel room by myself – as if the phone-sex operator can’t say nastier shit than these college sophomores. “You like that? You like the way my hand feels?” No, you fucking skank, I do not like the way your hand feels. Of all the body parts you can use to get me off, your hand would be my last choice, so why don’t you stop drawing attention to the fact that I’m getting jerked off.

But David, Bob, David and Eric love this place, it makes them feel young. I just don’t think I can take it anymore, I think I need to find a new fucking job. New city even, why not. I live like a prince in Manhattan, could you imagine what my life would be like in some laid back city like San Francisco? I’d own that fucking town, I’d be overlord of San Fran. Gay people have tons of issues too, that’s partly how I get over so well in New York, but what the fuck is San Fran, like fifty-percent gay? I’d fucking pay for nothing in that town I’d have so many people in my pocket. I imagine I’d be able to find my job there as well except it would pay a lot more. Some forty-year-old dude going to Houston for a single day – one day away from the femininity of a city that’s slowly killing him – he’d want to maximize the potential of that single day so badly he’d pay me high-six figures just to make it happen for him. Unlike David, Bob, David and Eric – these guys have gotten too comfortable with me. My last raise was seven-point-four percent. I travel across America with these fucks, buy them lap-dances, point out the stripper that would suck their dick for an extra twenty-bucks, get college chicks to let them feel their tits in exchange for a Midori Sour, convince two drunken bitches to make out in front of us, break a chair over some fucking pricks head because he didn’t understand the concept of a table scratch and how that concept applies to going for the eight-ball and all I get for all of my effort, all of my fucking ridiculous rock-star antics and slum bars these fuckers make me go to and uneven fights they encourage me getting involved in for all of that all I get is a goddamn seven-point-four percent raise. A little over twelve-grand, money that’s going to be swallowed up by my projected cost of living increase.

Fuck that. San Fran. Maybe San Diego or Miami. San Antonio if they find a way to cull their fat-ass population. Everyone seems to think I’d get along fine in Los Angeles but everyone also seems to think I like hanging out with them and for some reason they think they would get along fine in Los Angeles – as if they’d be shopping with Courtney Cox on Saturday and having dinner with Steve Martin on Sunday. I keep thinking that maybe I just need to get out of this country for a while – maybe go to Barcelona or Prague – but every time I visit I can’t find my groove. It turns me into a cynical bastard, makes me someone I don’t want to be. It makes me awkward, stumble over my own words – makes me sweat when people talk in a different language – makes me anxious when I need to get back to my hotel room. I rarely get laid and when I do it’s usually with an American chick.

Whenever I’m overseas, I become David, Bob, David and Eric.


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