I Am Verbal Birth Control
So I’m setting myself a bit of a pattern here…upon the anniversary of my birth, I looked back at other birthday rants I’ve written. When I wrote my last convention rant, I looked back at my previous convention rants. And now…I look back at the last two Valentine’s Day posts…because this is one day I will not miss, no matter what.
2005…I said ‘fuck’ a lot and talked of my hate of this day. Oh, big deal…what was I, in high school, still?
2006…I kissed Warren Ellis’s pock-marked ass and found a new definition for V-Day: Happy Horny Werewolf Day…go back and look, there IS a reason for this.
But this is a new year, and as with most other conventions in my life, I am forever changing. No more with the brazen anger. No more with the childish pranks. Today, I take this day under control and I say “the fucks with all thems shit, man!” Today is the dawn of a NEW KIND of Valentine’s Day. Today the sun rises for an Older and Wiser and More Vile Electric Bastard…an Electric Bastard who cares less and less as he slips into dotage and the inevitable onslaught of senility and more and more about the ability of each man and woman to stand up and face the demons of his or her own actions.
+=+
So…tonight…when you, in a champagne induced and rose-scented stupor go stumbling off into the dark corners of whatever truck stop or greasy spoon you find yourself in…when you go meandering off to be alone with that person with that special someone, just remember the words of your faithful Bastard…not…ALL of them, mind you, because I am tantamount to Verbal Birth Control. BUT remember the following important ones for that magic moment…when his neck muscles tense up and his face turns red and his lips pucker in that wide-eyed silent ‘oooo’ and you fear for just that…terrible second that he’s going to take a shit like a howitzer cannon all over the far wall…when the left side of her lip curls up and her hair stands straight from the static of rubbing against the carpet too long, and you suddenly realize how much she looks like Billy Idol…but that doesn’t stop you, does it, lads, because you always wanted to fuck Billy Idol anyway, ever since you were a kid.
Responsibility. Culpability. Accountability.
Because when you walk into the office tomorrow and your co-worker looks at you with the silent question SMEARED across his little ferrety face, “But did you Jam her?” I want you to be able to nod and smirk and let your smug little expression say it all-I want you to be able to answer that post-fratboy dickhead, “Of COURSE I jammed her…Responsibly.”
Condoms. BC Pills. BC Glasses. Diaphragms. Spermicide. I don’t care if you’re fucking, sucking or just taking Wally the One-Eyed Wonder Weasel out for a little walk, I want you to do it safe. ALL situations tonight! I want you to wear a condo if you’re jerking off like I am. Well…I don’t expect any of you to jerk off like I’m going to jerk off…suspended from the ceiling by hooks and sobbing out the name of your neighbor’s dead aunt, Madeline…but however you want to do it, just do it RESPONSIBLY!
Fuck long. Fuck hard. Fuck messy. Fuck screaming. But Fuck SAFE, friends.
Responsibilitarian ’08
p.s. The post you just read may have contained some suggestive language and a few visual images you probably didn’t want in your head. This is your final warning that you probably shouldn’t have read any further than the +=+ mark, if you valued your sanity. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!
p.p.s. For all the women who’ve read those visuals of which you have just been warned, I understand that you can no longer contain yourselves. Applications to be my girlfriend will be accepted and reviewed. Line starts to the left.
p.p.p.s. Responsibilitarian ’08
2005…I said ‘fuck’ a lot and talked of my hate of this day. Oh, big deal…what was I, in high school, still?
2006…I kissed Warren Ellis’s pock-marked ass and found a new definition for V-Day: Happy Horny Werewolf Day…go back and look, there IS a reason for this.
But this is a new year, and as with most other conventions in my life, I am forever changing. No more with the brazen anger. No more with the childish pranks. Today, I take this day under control and I say “the fucks with all thems shit, man!” Today is the dawn of a NEW KIND of Valentine’s Day. Today the sun rises for an Older and Wiser and More Vile Electric Bastard…an Electric Bastard who cares less and less as he slips into dotage and the inevitable onslaught of senility and more and more about the ability of each man and woman to stand up and face the demons of his or her own actions.
+=+
So…tonight…when you, in a champagne induced and rose-scented stupor go stumbling off into the dark corners of whatever truck stop or greasy spoon you find yourself in…when you go meandering off to be alone with that person with that special someone, just remember the words of your faithful Bastard…not…ALL of them, mind you, because I am tantamount to Verbal Birth Control. BUT remember the following important ones for that magic moment…when his neck muscles tense up and his face turns red and his lips pucker in that wide-eyed silent ‘oooo’ and you fear for just that…terrible second that he’s going to take a shit like a howitzer cannon all over the far wall…when the left side of her lip curls up and her hair stands straight from the static of rubbing against the carpet too long, and you suddenly realize how much she looks like Billy Idol…but that doesn’t stop you, does it, lads, because you always wanted to fuck Billy Idol anyway, ever since you were a kid.
Responsibility. Culpability. Accountability.
Because when you walk into the office tomorrow and your co-worker looks at you with the silent question SMEARED across his little ferrety face, “But did you Jam her?” I want you to be able to nod and smirk and let your smug little expression say it all-I want you to be able to answer that post-fratboy dickhead, “Of COURSE I jammed her…Responsibly.”
Condoms. BC Pills. BC Glasses. Diaphragms. Spermicide. I don’t care if you’re fucking, sucking or just taking Wally the One-Eyed Wonder Weasel out for a little walk, I want you to do it safe. ALL situations tonight! I want you to wear a condo if you’re jerking off like I am. Well…I don’t expect any of you to jerk off like I’m going to jerk off…suspended from the ceiling by hooks and sobbing out the name of your neighbor’s dead aunt, Madeline…but however you want to do it, just do it RESPONSIBLY!
Fuck long. Fuck hard. Fuck messy. Fuck screaming. But Fuck SAFE, friends.
Responsibilitarian ’08
p.s. The post you just read may have contained some suggestive language and a few visual images you probably didn’t want in your head. This is your final warning that you probably shouldn’t have read any further than the +=+ mark, if you valued your sanity. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!
p.p.s. For all the women who’ve read those visuals of which you have just been warned, I understand that you can no longer contain yourselves. Applications to be my girlfriend will be accepted and reviewed. Line starts to the left.
p.p.p.s. Responsibilitarian ’08