The Night Story.
****************************************************************
i want a burrito, but i guess i'll type instead.
why does this computer insist on putting red shit under every misspelled/uncapitalized word i type? it's called style you bizitch. there it goes again!
so yea. the thing i am going to type about, the raison d'etre of resurrecting my long forgotten jerrnal, concerns a steve joke. not necessarily a joke steve told, but rather, a sort of unintentional but immensely amusing anecdotal variety of joke concerning steve. it's called the night we grossed out steve. the night story:
we are watching pink flamingos, sipping cocktails, sarah, steve, and i. a good solid friday night, we had hours previously bought a vacuum cleaner. and dined at chilis. a sort of satisfied irony no irony sort of mix drink night. we're watching the movie. sarah's seen it like 5 times. this is my second. we both love the movie, and though steve would too (guy makes fart jokes approx. every 5 seconds; not to criticize, no non, this is what gives steve his own vulgar, albeit charming spice). steve, however, as he is known to do (defence mechanism?), was acting like a big vagina about it. he said he was "scared about the poop scene" because he didn't know if it would sit well with his "stomach" (insert sighing simpsons scientist/bruce noise here). i told him "hogwash stevers, be a man and watch this movie." it was shot in baltimore for christsakes.
so he does. and he likes it. he laughs. then comes a scene in which divine and crackers storm the dyed hair couple's house and thrash things around. and divine and crackers really connect, you know, really bond in the only way a morally depraved mother and son can. so divine starts to go down on crackers while he sits on the couch. at this point steve gets visibly upset. he starts squirming around. takes a few quick sips of his drink. squirms a bit. then after only about 20 seconds he gets up and says, "man this is fucked! thats just another guy sucking on another guy's dick! fuck this man!" and storms off to his room. sarah and i quickly look at each other a la "WTF?" and continue to watch the movie. then when the scene's over, i go, "umm steve you can come back" and he flips me the bird. "haha" we chuckle. poor steve. he eventually comes back a few minutes later and doesn't even wince during the poop scene. go figure.
so yes ladies and gentlemen we grossed out steve. and what's so strange is how sarah and i didn't even wince at the scene. it's just a scene. yes a flaccid man on man dickjob scene, but let's think about this, this is john waters. big deal eh? and whats more is routinely when hanging out with us, if steve or i allude to a joke or anything mildly humourous concerning bodily functions or dicks or sex, sarah will visibly react as a proper lady should and in all good fun shriek and covers he face to hide her embarassed laughter. if anyone's gonna squirm it should be her; why didn't she do so with the divine scene? because it's art. it's just art. it's john waters communicating with us. yes there are dozens more implications regarding art and the reader/watcher and what that means, but for a general application, one must realize that it's fictive. it's just a show. if it were pornography, that'd be a different story. john waters is not trying to get us off physically. so what is there to fear? the line is thin, yes, between exploitation and non-exploitation, but i see the two camps as rather divided in this case.
so yeah. the latent homphobe discovered in one of the most sexually homoerotic heterosexuals i know? maybe. that's not for me to say. all i can say is that i grossed out steve. yeah. steve.
better than nothin' times at the carter-balthaser residence. ew, our names make us sound like the ugliest pair of hyperliberal vermontian lesbians this side of topeka.
"just like sister ray said. yall be sucking on my ding dong"
school's done thursday. i am going to get retarded that soir.
****************************************************************
i want a burrito, but i guess i'll type instead.
why does this computer insist on putting red shit under every misspelled/uncapitalized word i type? it's called style you bizitch. there it goes again!
so yea. the thing i am going to type about, the raison d'etre of resurrecting my long forgotten jerrnal, concerns a steve joke. not necessarily a joke steve told, but rather, a sort of unintentional but immensely amusing anecdotal variety of joke concerning steve. it's called the night we grossed out steve. the night story:
we are watching pink flamingos, sipping cocktails, sarah, steve, and i. a good solid friday night, we had hours previously bought a vacuum cleaner. and dined at chilis. a sort of satisfied irony no irony sort of mix drink night. we're watching the movie. sarah's seen it like 5 times. this is my second. we both love the movie, and though steve would too (guy makes fart jokes approx. every 5 seconds; not to criticize, no non, this is what gives steve his own vulgar, albeit charming spice). steve, however, as he is known to do (defence mechanism?), was acting like a big vagina about it. he said he was "scared about the poop scene" because he didn't know if it would sit well with his "stomach" (insert sighing simpsons scientist/bruce noise here). i told him "hogwash stevers, be a man and watch this movie." it was shot in baltimore for christsakes.
so he does. and he likes it. he laughs. then comes a scene in which divine and crackers storm the dyed hair couple's house and thrash things around. and divine and crackers really connect, you know, really bond in the only way a morally depraved mother and son can. so divine starts to go down on crackers while he sits on the couch. at this point steve gets visibly upset. he starts squirming around. takes a few quick sips of his drink. squirms a bit. then after only about 20 seconds he gets up and says, "man this is fucked! thats just another guy sucking on another guy's dick! fuck this man!" and storms off to his room. sarah and i quickly look at each other a la "WTF?" and continue to watch the movie. then when the scene's over, i go, "umm steve you can come back" and he flips me the bird. "haha" we chuckle. poor steve. he eventually comes back a few minutes later and doesn't even wince during the poop scene. go figure.
so yes ladies and gentlemen we grossed out steve. and what's so strange is how sarah and i didn't even wince at the scene. it's just a scene. yes a flaccid man on man dickjob scene, but let's think about this, this is john waters. big deal eh? and whats more is routinely when hanging out with us, if steve or i allude to a joke or anything mildly humourous concerning bodily functions or dicks or sex, sarah will visibly react as a proper lady should and in all good fun shriek and covers he face to hide her embarassed laughter. if anyone's gonna squirm it should be her; why didn't she do so with the divine scene? because it's art. it's just art. it's john waters communicating with us. yes there are dozens more implications regarding art and the reader/watcher and what that means, but for a general application, one must realize that it's fictive. it's just a show. if it were pornography, that'd be a different story. john waters is not trying to get us off physically. so what is there to fear? the line is thin, yes, between exploitation and non-exploitation, but i see the two camps as rather divided in this case.
so yeah. the latent homphobe discovered in one of the most sexually homoerotic heterosexuals i know? maybe. that's not for me to say. all i can say is that i grossed out steve. yeah. steve.
better than nothin' times at the carter-balthaser residence. ew, our names make us sound like the ugliest pair of hyperliberal vermontian lesbians this side of topeka.
"just like sister ray said. yall be sucking on my ding dong"
school's done thursday. i am going to get retarded that soir.
****************************************************************