Monday, April 11, 2005

State of the Union Address

Prissy Bitch shot a look of disdain, quickly followed by the profound wisdom: “The upper class never use coupons. Coupons are so middle class.”

I countered, “Perhaps, though that coupon is paying for these drinks right now.”

Counterpoint: “Well, my family, back in [whatever country where 10 bucks goes a year or so] had lots of money, and my grandmother [harkening back to the time where it was possible to tour all of Europe on $5 a day] blah blah blah, and we never use discounts on anything—airfare, travel, diamonds…”

I saw no point in countering. I was being tolerant. I was being kind. I was looking on the bright side of humanity. I was drunk.

Leggy changed the subject. Prissy Bitch talked between us to someone else. “How’s your dad?”

“Oh he’s fine.”

“How’s your mom?”

“She’s doing well. Hee hee; in fact, my dad was so thankful for her help in looking after him, he bought her a new present that arrived a few days ago; an 8 carat diamond ring.”

Prissy Bitch’s eyes, rather, orbs of sunken jealousy, lit up. He stopped his conversation and hissed “What color?” He insisted.

“D. It’s internally flawless.”

“I prefer Champagne colored diamonds.”

“You would.”

I left and went to play with my friends to let Prissy Bitch chill out and relax. Later, I went back to see Leggy. Prissy Bitch was still prissing and bitching about something. Leggy looked at me in a way that made sense; he had a little epiphany. It was along the lines of “Gee, I do hang out with pretty miserable people.”

The bar on Friday was another example of a bunch of racist white people. They don’t mean to be, they just are. They don’t recognize they are, they just are. They are too fucking stupid to realize they’re racist hypocritical meat heads.

Normally they have bad skin—as in, really really bad skin—pocked marked and tanned, and normally have the barbed wire tattoo on their arm. These are the men who have spent their entire lives chasing after the idea that is presented to them. Sometimes it’s the Aqua diGio man, sometimes it’s the Polo men; either way, they’re fiction, but they can’t see beyond that.

It is a miserable life to be living to chase a thing. These miscreants have spent so much time and energy being something, and have forgotten entirely how to be someone.

And these are Leggy’s friends. Kinda sad, really. Now I understand the appeal of his new boyfriend, milkymoo.

The world can be a pity sometimes.


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